#things I wrote instead of things I should be writing

[perotovar]

Well Pedro dropped a new poem that proves he likes women. You can stop writing the faggot shit now.

honey, you forgot to include this part in your original message:

well, shit, it's a good thing i'm not writing about pedro then, huh?

writing about fictional characters that don't exist eases a lot of that worry for me!

sure would be a shame if he didn't have any roles that were canonically queer...

it would also be a shame if pedro himself didn't talk about how various types of queer media didn't shape him/mean a lot to him...

oh, let's not forget the writer he talks more about than any other...

or idk, all the times he's been a vocal supporter to lgbtq folks

"but that doesn't prove he's gay" i hear you say.

obviously. because he doesn't want to talk about his private life. and we should leave it there and respect his wishes.

so, coming into the inbox of a queer member of the fandom and sticking your finger in their face is not the moment you thought it was. all it's going to do is make younger/closeted queer people feel unsafe and unwelcome.

maybe instead of trying to send me a "gotcha", take this time as some self reflection because caring this much about a grown man, a stranger no less's personal life is fucking clown behavior.

also, that poem he wrote doesn't prove shit. all it proves is that he's talented in a lot of ways. if that's the outcome you got out of it, then i'm concerned for your mental wellbeing.

pedro pascal is not going to fuck you.

leave me the fuck alone.

[rkivefae]

(repost from old acc, it's been a few years since I've been on here)

Okay, so my friend has doodled in my chemistry notebook when I let them borrow it, then I began thinking,,

Steddie high school au

Eddie draws continuously in chemistry class and he has certain things he draws with inspiration from that class and doesn’t want to contaminate it with other classes so he hides the notebook, poorly, in hope that when he comes back, it'll still be there.

Steve comes to his seat, in the back of the class and notices it immediately. His first thought is that someone lost it so he grabs it in hopes of seeing a name but instead sees crazy drawings. Ranging from small sketches of supposed knights to fantasy creatures that Steve never would have thought of seeing.

"If found, leave where it is OR ELSE" It read in thick sharpie letters on the front page.

He felt bad for being nosy and going through it but he couldn't help himself as he continued looking through it. After some heavy overthinking, he decides to draw something back. He wasn't the most talented but he was better than most in his art classes, so hopefully they didn’t laugh too much at his attempt.

He decides to draw a jester, tried his best to shade in all perfectly and portion everything properly. To say the least, he was impressed with his final product because this is better than anything he’s ever done in is classes. Next to it he writes, as if the character was saying it, “You should put this in better places.”

He didn’t even focus in class, AT ALL.

But when he came back to the class, he found the notebook again. Took one look at it and tried to fight back the desire to just crack it open and see if they wrote back. His fingers itched to have the glosses cover turned open. just a peak. He tried to reason and at first he held back. Trying to focus in class but that ended terribly, so he grabbed the notebook after about 5 minutes of spacing out on the teacher and eyeing it.

When he opened the page, there it was. A reply.

It was a king, you could tell by the crown he wore but fangs were prominent in the grinning feature. Black curled hair that fell onto his shoulder that was covered by a dark suit. A hand stretched out with a sword towards the Jester, “There is a trespasser? And a fool? State thy business!”

Steve fucking giggled. Giggled! Of all things he could’ve done, he giggled! King Steve Harrington since freshman year, had all the ladies wooing at him and guys wanting to be him just giggled because the owner of the notebook drewsomething for him.

Steve would never get focus back into that class since he replied. Always waiting for the notebook and it became his priority. He didn’t understand how he was still passing that class with how much he began lacking!

They talked about simple silly things at first before Eddie began picking it up more, talking more about who he was but never stated a name, not yet. They weren’t ready for that.

Steve even helped Eddie decide on what to use as his Hellfire club signature look that was going to be fought to be published as an official club on school record!

But when the last page came along at the ending of the school year, Eddie spoke about it. Said, “It’s the end of the year, the last of this book. Could I finally ask your name?”

Steve’s whole world stopped spinning. He couldn’t even begin to explain the thoughts racing through his head.

When they know, would they stop being friends with him? No one truly liked Steve Harrington, he became popular by default of being a pretty boy and on the basketball team. Most talked about how his group of people were assholes and that he might as well be, too. He wasn’t oblivious, he knew what most people thought. He was a boy of a rich family that was spoiled. That wasn’t a lie, but his life wasn’t pretty, thanks to his father and mother. But could anyone really understand that? Walking through the door of his home in fear of what he’ll walk in and see, what would happen to him if he breathed wrong in the presence of his father?

What if when he says his name and they don’t want nothing to do with him? What if when he says his name, he loses the only honest friendship he has? What if they share the things he told them in the notebook to everyone else withproof as a way to ruin his life because they didn’t like him? Maybe they weren’t like that but Steve couldn’t take that risk. No one with this chance would not take it, right? Tommy would take it. The rest of the boys on the team would take it. Carol would take it and laugh about it. He couldn’t expect different from other people, right?

Steve’s breathing quickened as his chest tightened, tears welling up and he gripped his chest. He rushed out of class with an unsteady balance, the teacher yelling behind him and he didn’t return for that period, the notebook left open and unsigned.

He couldn’t.

That moment was talked about everywhere, how he rushed out of class and didn’t return. No one bothered to question why, just whispered how panicked he was. Poor Steve, they said mockingly in the halls but never to his face.

Eddie knew.

It didn’t take long to piece it all together, the incident, the opened notebook, the fact that it was all too much of a coincidence and the things he said just made sense for it to be Steve Harrington.

He didn’t want to believe it at first, laughing that it was just dumb and there was no way that Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington was talking to Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson with passion. But then again, they both didn’t know who each other was.

When Steve talked about dumb moments with his ‘friends’ and how he felt bad for the people they ‘hung’ around, the games he lost and how he beat himself up, even the moments that Steve told him how he hated the social ranking - it all should have made sense. At first, Eddie thought that the person writing back was like him, a freak with nerdy interest. Which, in a different font, Steve was.

However, as the next few years flied by, Eddie just watched Steve from afar. From sucking faces with Nancy Wheeler in the hallway, picking her up and twirling her around, smiling bright because he was happy to the moments that it looked like Steve was seconds away from turning over and dying. The bruises that cascaded over certain parts of his body being a brushed off topic and the fear that was in his eyes when he turned the corner. Like he knew things he shouldn’t.

There was raw fear, hatred, anger and even disgust that Eddie was able to recognize. Part of him wondered where the happiness went and the other was tired of him staying afar, wanting to talk to him because Steve Harrington was more than just a pretty boy from what he knew and the look on his eyes only said more.

Eddie never got to, Steve rushed past every day, ready to get the day over and he couldn’t talk to him. Soon, Steve graduated and Eddie was held-back again and he took that as a sign. A strong one. To just get over it. He was never going to know Steve Harrington and it was stupid for him to even think so. Plus, if he did, it was stupid! The town freak with the most loved boy in town? Not a good duo. So, he stayed afar for good.

Until he didn’t.

Steve Harrington waltzed in with an arguing Dustin Henderson, the club all watching the two before Steve Harrington scoffed. “I’m serious, I’m not playing your nerdy campaign just because you’re missing a person! I don’t understand it,” He said, pushing a bag towards Dustin’s chest. “You know I’m not smart enough to understand that.”

Before Dustin could reply, Eddie took that as his chance to finally greet them. He climbed out of his chair rather loudly, catching both of their attention before walking up to Steve, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning forward.

“Well, Well, if it isn’t the missing Jester.” He said, a cocky tone laced within it

It took only a few seconds before Steve’s eyes widened when it clicked.

“No. Fucking. Way.”

[zepskies]

@lamentationsofalonelypotato

Aw that makes me so happy, friend! Thank you!! 🥹💓💓

I love hunter!readers, but the soft!readers really have my heart. Not that a hunter!reader couldn't be soft per say, but I just love how cutesy she is.

Oh yeah, totally love the hunters to lovers dynamic, but I love writing women that can be strong and have moments of vulnerability. And thank you!! This reader has a special place in my heart now lol 💕

You're so right. Benny should have asked more questions!! Benny should have had the talk with Dean and if he is Dean's best friend he should have known. It kinda makes it sadder though. But I'll bet the epilogue kinda explains that a bit too 🥰 But at the same time yes, Benny was a good guy for stepping up and stepping in.

Oh you're right, it does make it sadder because everyone had a choice here and an opportunity to talk it out. 😭 But yes, doesn't change the fact that Benny was a good man to the reader and Robbie. ❤️❤️ (Oh yeah, the epilogue will def get into that part of the Benny storyline. ❤️)

It really is. I bet that Ben/Soldier Boy would let his kid watch something too soon and then live with the consequences when he can't have sex with the reader for a month because the kid sleeps in the bed with them 🤣

Omfgggg HE SO WOULD. 🤣🤣 He'd be all "What's the big fucking deal?" Until his evening "plans" are ruined by his poor traumatized child getting in between. And reader going, "See??" as she holds the baby instead of him. 🤣

Don't be sorry, near-death experiences that make people realize they love one another is the kind of angst I live for LOL

Ahahaha same though 😈

It really was wonderfully realistic- all the emotions all the drama, it was beautiful! I also think that it resonates more that way- making it about the internal and external struggle with relationships rather than some big-bad to fight. Because sometimes the big-bad is the little voice inside that makes you push everything down or sometimes the big-bad is you? If that makes sense lol.

Oh thank you, my lovely. I really appreciate that, and that you think it resonates more that way. 🥹❤️ And yes that very much is the crux of this story -- that sometimes you're your own worst enemy, and sometimes you stumble and fall on your face and hurt the people around you, however unintentionally. It takes a lot of growing and maturing to figure out this thing called life. 💜

Yeah, I'm pretty sure that happened when I was in my two weeks off period 😅 But I don't think it's so much as you not having 'thick skin' or being 'defensive'- I see it more as you being open to the criticism, but them not giving you anything constructive. If someone says 'oh that's stupid' but then don't tell you why, it becomes more about the writer than what they wrote.

Oh sorry! I can't remember if we talked about it or not. Really it wasn't even worth getting into anyway. However that's how I felt about it. There's a big difference between constructive criticism and criticism.

But oh yeah no. The fact that they felt the need to also send in an ask criticizing you even more is just uncalled for. I don't blame you for answering it, it would have annoyed me too- especially because lately I feel like the meaner anons think they're helping writers by being super rude?

Oh yeah, some anons get spicy with it lmao. I tend hit them back with, if you really believe you're right and want me to take you seriously, say it with your chest and talk to me non-anonymously. It's a kind of entitled behavior. We write what we want to write.

Yes exactly! The AU is "different!" It's more about the relationships and drama and miscommunication! (slightly mad at you for that last one jkjk 🤣) AU's are supposed to be different, that's literally it- alternate universe. Which is why they didn't like it, because they didn't understand it. 😬

Exaaactly! (ahaha I wouldn't blame you for being mad! Dean and reader both are super frustrating in this. 🤣🤣) Yeah, you're probably right about that. At the end of the day, we can't please everybody, nor should we try to. 🤷🏽‍♀️

But you're welcome! I really did enjoy it and I'll bet the epilogue is going to be amazing! 💗

Aww thank you, my lovely! You're always so supportive and I appreciate you so much. 💕💕

IF I STAY - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader

Summary: Your dream is to work with kids as an elementary school teacher. Dean is well on his way to becoming a firefighter, keeping things light and “strings unattached” as he goes. After a one-night stand you never saw coming, you and Dean are forced to deal with the consequences…and figure out if the connection between you is worth fighting for.

AN: Deep breaths Are you ready for a rollercoaster of emotions? 😘❤️

Song Inspo: “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” and “It’s Now or Never” by Elvis

Word Count: 13.1K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, pregnancy feels, hurt/comfort, fluff, time jumps and flashbacks, sexual tension, mutual pining, spice~, and an ending…

❤️‍🔥 If I Stay Masterlist

Part 2: It’s Now or Never

At the doctor’s office, Dean goes in with you for the first trimester ultrasound. There you learn that you’re going to have a boy. Tears well up in your eyes and slip down your cheeks.

Dean wears a look of amazement as he sits on the edge of your bed. He takes up your hand and squeezes gently. He tries to be a strong support, even though he also tries to hide the fear that begins to churn in his gut.

For one of the first times in his life since Sam was born, he feels the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. In a good way. In a fucking scary way.

He looks at you and sees the wonder written across your face while you watch the tiny shape of your baby on the screen. His heartbeat thwaps fast and loud in the speakers.

Dean realizes something else then; the decision you're making is changing the course of your whole damn life…and it’s his fault.

With his weekly hookup rate, in the very back shelves of his mind he knew something like this could happen, even though he thought he'd been careful. (Apparently, condoms are fragile little shits.) But here, in this white wall-to-wall room that smells like hospital antiseptic, that thwap thwap thwap of a heartbeat reverberating in his ears, the reality of this is crashing hard on his shoulders and rattling down to the base of his spine.

Despite his earlier happiness, those thoughts stay with him when you two eventually get back into his car. You have the pictures of the sonogram in your hands. You smile down at them before you put them back in your purse for safekeeping.

However, you notice Dean’s sudden melancholy as he stares out at the road. He’s started the car, but he hasn’t moved to pull out of the parking lot yet.

“Hey, you okay?” you say, resting a gentle hand on his arm.

Dean shakes his head. “Look…I’m sorry for tossing a giant friggin’ monkey wrench into your life. I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

If possible, your heart softens even more. You slide your hand down to grasp his.

“Dean, this baby wasn’t planned, but he’s not a mistake,” you say. “I don’t regret anything.”

Dean stares back at you, incredulously. He can’t believe you could really say that to him. He doesn’t know what to say. He only knows what’s in his mind, and what he feels compelled to do in that moment.

He leans over and kisses you. It’s a firm meeting of his lips to yours and achingly familiar. But ultimately, it’s chaste. He pulls away and settles back in his seat.

When you blink your eyes back open, your expression is slack in shock.

“I’m sorry,” he says, seeming sheepish, and guilty. “I meant to say thank you. Just didn’t know any other way to say it.”

After a moment, you smile at him. It’s warm and almost shy.

Dean clears his throat, trying to ignore the way his face is heating up. He doesn’t say anything more. He just takes the wheel and shifts gears, pulling the car out of the parking lot. 

You don’t know what possesses you to bake cookies. Dozens and dozens of them, all the chocolate chip cookie recipes you can find. You’re in search of the perfect one. This will be the recipe your son will grow up on, and every time he eats them, he’ll remember how much you loved him.

And then, he’ll be ruined for any other chocolate chip cookies that try to grab his taste buds. He’ll say, Blech. Chips Ahoy? These aren’t as good as Mom makes!

…Or something like that.

Yes, these cookies have to be perfect. You’ll even write the ingredients down on a notecard and hide it away, and it’ll become your family secret recipe.

Once you feel like your cookie game is strong enough, you decide to test these babies out. You bring two dozen painstakingly baked confections to Firehouse 83, where Dean works. The man is a bottomless pit, to be sure, but you also want other people’s unbiased opinions. For science.

You park your car on the side of the road, making sure you’re not blocking the driveway where two huge fire trucks are parked. You head inside the firehouse with your big container under your arm and your purse on the other. Now at seven months into your pregnancy, you’ve gotten to the embarrassing “waddle” stage.

You’re still determined to be active though! You plan to keep working until you have the baby. Your parents live a few hours away, but you’re grateful that they want to help out as much as possible.

Even though they weren’t happy to hear about how you got pregnant, by now they've met Dean and begrudgingly admitted to liking him. He's really stepped up to the responsibility of a future father, insisting on baby-proofing your apartment, helping you shop for the essentials, and going with you to as many doctor’s appointments as he can. He’s even agreed to giving you child support payments, even though you hadn’t wanted to ask for it.

You look for him now as you enter the firehouse, trying to push the heavy glass door open with one hand.

“Here, I got you,” says a familiar baritone voice.

You’re pleasantly surprised at the man who helps you inside.

“Benny! It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah, been…a while,” he chuckles, glancing down at the swell of your belly, but he squeezes your shoulder and leans in to hug you gently.

“Dean filled you in?” you ask. You hope so. Having to explain the story to one of his own friends would be embarrassing, especially since this is the man you walked in Sam’s wedding with. It reminds you of that day, and the way you told Dean that news in a glorified closet, with shaking hands and the wrong kind of butterflies.

Thankfully, Benny nods. “That he did…but come on, I’ll show you around. And I see you’ve brought somethin’ special for us?”

He gestures at the container you're holding and offers to take it off your hands. You give it to him, grateful for the help.

“Yeah, and I want you guys to give me your honest opinion.”

Benny tosses you a wink and a smile. “That I can do.”

Your cheeks begin to warm in a blush, but the way he helps you to a comfy couch in the common room earns your smile. There are still good men left in this world, and you’re glad to know that Dean works so well with one.

“You want some coffee, or water? Think we might have some lemonade,” Benny says.

“Water would be great, thank you,” you reply, as you rub your belly. The little man has decided to kick at your liver today. “I stopped drinking coffee for the baby. ”

It's your biggest challenge, to be honest. Try wrangling a group of fifteen to twenty six-year-olds while running on green tea, the fumes of sleep deprivation, reduced bladder control, and as much vim as you can muster.

“Ah, right,” Benny nods. “My sister has two kids. She cut out coffee, pain meds, some dairy stuff. But she claimed cheesecake was all right, ‘cause it’s got cake in the name.”

You giggle. “I see no flaw in her logic.”

Down the hall of the firehouse, Dean is just coming back in from going through a set of drills. He’s still the Candidate—the freshest blood in the house—so they’ve been putting him through his paces for the past several months. He’s eager to learn and to prove himself.

His ears perk up in confusion though. Did he just hear your voice?

Why does it smell like a bakery in here?

When he rounds the corner, he sees you in the common room, smiling and giggling like a teenager at something Benny said to you while he eats a soft baked cookie right out of a Tupperware container. You must’ve brought it for the firehouse.

This cozy little scene kind of annoys Dean somehow, though he doesn’t know why. He does know that it shouldn’t.

“Hey, look who’s here,” Dean says, forcing himself to smile. It becomes easier when you look his way, your eyes brightening at his arrival.

“There you are! Come ‘ere and try these,” you say, pointing at the box Benny holds. “Tell me if our son’s going to have the best PTA mom ever.”

Dean can’t help but grin after trying a big bite of one of your cookies.

“Oh, mah Gah,” he says, holding a hand under his mouth so nothing comes crumbling out.

“Good?” you ask.

“Good friggin’ cookie,” he confirms, after he swallows. “You’re gonna have the other parents frothing at the mouth. Who’s gonna be able to compete with this?”

Benny nods in agreement. When Dean squeezes your shoulder, your sweet, happy smile makes him smile too.

She’s going to be a good mom, he thinks. He can only hope against hope that he can be the man his son needs.

Two months later, the time has finally come. Your water breaks when you’re in the middle of teaching your second graders how to spell exaggerate—and no, Joey, it’s not e-g-g-zagerate.

However, the embarrassment of him pointing out the fluid beginning to stain your slacks is swiftly cut off by your shock. Your first call is to the principal, to have her send someone to cover your class. Your next call is to Dean, telling him to meet you at the hospital.

“Why the hell did he have to bring her,” you mutter to yourself, wiping sweat from your brow. Here you are, gritting your teeth through contraction after contraction in this damn hospital bed, and Dean is outside the room talking to Lisa.

You know you have no real reason to be upset. She’s been trying her best to be your friend in recent months. Hell, she helped Eileen and your mom plan your baby shower. She even brought you flowers when she got to the hospital, but you notice how less than five minutes after she got here, she and Dean became embroiled in yet another argument. It seems to you that all they do is argue, break up for a week or two, and then get back together again.

The sex must be explosive, like the fireworks at goddamn Disney World.

But Dean eventually does come back into the room alone. His support grounds you over the next few hours. He lets you basically break his hand, all while he gives you encouragement (and stands by your shoulder, so he doesn’t see anything you’d rather him not see).

And then, your son is born. Every muscle, every cell in your body is exhausted, but the pain meds have kicked in, and you’re in that blissed out state between abject reality and being entirely entranced by the bundle in your arms. His perfect face is just there, sleeping for the moment after the nurses taught you how to breastfeed.

Dean returns to sit in the chair beside you. He gives you some water and a piece of a protein bar. You’re not that hungry, but he pointed out that you haven’t eaten since before your water broke.

“Sam and Eileen are on their way up,” he says.

You nod in reply. You’re too into your son right now to think of anything else.

Dean shakes his head in wonder as he reaches out with a tentative hand, brushing his fingers over the baby’s downy head. He was born with a little tuft of brown hair.

“Okay, down to business,” Dean says, shooting you a playful look. “I vote for Zeppelin.”

You groan. “Dean, no. Veto. I’m not naming my son after a rock band.”

“Aw, come on. It’s a badass name!”

“What about Aiden?” you suggest.

“Veto,” he snorts. You two agreed to getting five “vetos” each, but this discussion has been more like a battle of wills over the last several months.

“Okay, what about Daniel? That’s strong, classic,” you pose.

Dean considers it with a tilt of his head. “All right, that one’s a maybe.”

Again, he strokes the baby’s soft cheek. You look over at Dean with a small smile.

“You’re going to be a good dad, you know,” you tell him. It earns his gaze. Although he’s trying to stay strong, you read the hidden insecurity there, the worry and fear. You rest a hand on his arm. “You are, Dean. You’re a good man, and you’ve really stepped up these past few months. This obviously isn’t how either of us thought our lives would go, but if this had to happen with someone, I’m glad it’s you.”

Dean’s expression softens. He hesitates, but he lays a hand over yours and squeezes gently.

“Thanks,” he says.

Your eyes meet, and it’s a moment charged with something you can’t even name. It’s not the first time you’ve felt this feeling with him. It both fills your heart with warmth, and makes you ache.

Then the door opens. It’s Lisa, Sam, and Eileen. Dean’s hand slips away from yours as they all pour in to congratulate you and Dean, and of course, meet the baby. There’s a lot of soft cooing and playful shushing.

In that small chaos, your parents call to tell you that they’re finally almost here. It really sucked not having your mom with you, but your parents live far enough away that they were going to take a train and stay with you for at least a week. Their train unfortunately got delayed due to mechanical failure.

It's okay though. Getting through the past several hours has made you realize that you’re stronger and more capable than you think, and even though part of you is still scared to death, you don’t need a husband to be a good mom. You’re going to give this your all, no matter who’s beside you…

And that's no more apparent than when Dean soon has to step out again, leading Lisa out of the room. He saw how her “helpful” suggestion to have a get-together at their apartment to celebrate the baby’s birth was setting you on edge. Really, you just want to sleep for the next 24-hours and not have any more pictures of you taken.

It gets loud enough outside your hospital room that Sam and Eileen feel they have to intervene. Lisa is Eileen’s best friend, and she’s the best equipped to try and deescalate the argument from that end, while Sam deals with Dean. It’s messy, it’s irritating, and it means that even today, you can’t just have a little bit of peace.

You sigh and cradle your still nameless baby close to your chest. He’s all that matters. Already, your heart is so damn full just taking him in.

“What’s your name, my little love?” you whisper. “What am I going to write on your certificate, besides Winchester?”

“How about Benjamin,” comes a Louisiana drawl.

You perk up and smile in surprise. “Benny, hey.”

He greets you with a slightly hesitant kiss on the cheek. He’s brought the baby an adorable teddy bear, and you a beautiful bouquet of white and blue roses, along with a box of chocolates.

“It’s the assorted kind, but they’ve got plenty of the caramel ones you like,” he says, then gazes down at the baby. “Aw, he’s a little charmer. Already got more of you than Dean, that’s for sure.”

You laugh lightly at his teasing. “I don’t know about that.” You hope your son inherits Dean’s strong jaw, and his green eyes.

Benny scratches the back of his head. “Also…sorry if I’m crossing some kind of boundary here. Looks like it’s a bit of a circus outside.”

You shake your head and smile through burgeoning tears. You set the chocolates on the end table where he’s placed the flowers and the teddy bear.

“No, it’s very sweet. Thank you,” you say. You glance out the window of your room to the hallway, where the arguing between Dean, Lisa, Sam, and Eileen seems to finally be calming down. You’re so damn tired, you don’t give a crap about whatever they’re hashing out now.

You look down at your son, and despite your strong thoughts earlier, insecurity begins to creep back into your mind like inky claws.  

“How are you holding up?” Benny asks. His face is kind and concerned when he notes the change in you.

You meet him with a wobbly smile. “Honestly? I’m afraid. I know I have a lot of people who want to support me, and I’m grateful, but…I just have this terrible feeling that we’re going to end up alone, him and me.”

You look down at your son, and you have to wipe away a tear from your eye before it falls on his face.

A large, warm hand rests over yours. Your gaze raises slowly, and Benny smiles at you. He’s serious though.

“Don’t you worry about that,” he says. “You’re not gonna be alone.”

FIVE YEARS LATER... 

For all that changes, there are some things that stay the same.

Dean and Lisa are still the world’s most “off again, on again” couple you’ve ever met. Sam and Eileen are still going strong as the hardworking, driven career couple. Your son is growing more and more every day and just started kindergarten this year.

(You ultimately caved on Dean’s idea to name him Robert, as in Robert Plant, lead singer of Led Zeppelin.)

Oh, yeah, and the “you and Benny” thing? That’s been going well for two years now.

What can you say? The man is persistent, but respectfully so. He’s considerate, reliable, and always calls you when work at the firehouse has him running late.

You haven’t yet invited him to move in with you. That part you’re still hesitant on, mostly because of your son, but Benny helps you drop off Robbie at school and makes breakfast for you all whenever he stays over your apartment. Benny takes an interest in your son’s life and keeps up with all his energy, taking him to the park to run himself ragged before dinner, and helping you tuck him in at night.

Benny is a bit closed off though, the strong stoic type. He’s hard for you to get a read on, and sometimes you wonder if he’s just indulging you when you ramble on about your day or make silly jokes. Even now, sometimes you withhold the first thought that comes to your mind, hoping he doesn’t think you immature or…too much.

But Benny shows his caring in all those little things he does for you. They add up into the big things, and he makes you feel supported. He makes you feel safe.

He even helps you plan your son’s fifth birthday. Robbie wanted to go all out on a dinosaur theme; he’s been hooked on Jurassic Park ever since Benny “accidentally” let him watch it with him on one of your rare nights out with your friends.

So you set up a little party at the park by your apartment. You managed to reserve the biggest gazebo, where there are three picnic tables covered with dinosaur plates, and tablecloths, streamers in different shades of green. You even bought a big dinosaur cake—also in a radioactive green color that you hadn’t been sure about, but your son talked you into. Robbie thinks it’s awesome.

He’s running around on the playground with a few of his friends from school. Their parents (along with Sam, Eileen, and Lisa) are talking amongst themselves at one of the picnic tables while you try to figure out how to get the Bluetooth speaker to connect with your phone.

“Haha! Got it. If you're so smart, Alexa, why don't you connect on the first try?” You fist-pump the air triumphantly, just as Benny comes to your side. He wraps an arm around your waist and kisses your cheek, making you smile.

“How’s it going out there?” you ask, nodding at the kids. Plus Dean, who’s gamely been the one to keep them entertained with different games. Right now, it’s a thrilling game of Cowboys and Outlaws, where Robbie and his friends are the cowboys, and Dean is the outlaw. He’s been hiding under the slide, behind trees and other playground fixtures, while the kids have little squirt guns to pelt him with water every time they find him.

It's pretty damn cute, and you’ve been taking pictures. You smile at the sight of Dean leaping out at Robbie and the kids, catching them off guard.

“You’ll never take me alive, Sheriff!” Dean declares.

“Oh, it’s goin’,” Benny remarks with an amused shake of his head. “Still hard to believe that guy’s about to make it to Lieutenant.”

“Hahaaa, gotcha!!” Dean cackles. He’s grabbed up Robbie and yanked him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Robbie screeches with laughter while his dad runs around the playground, being chased by a bunch of five-year-olds with squirt guns.

Your smile threatens to make your cheeks hurt. You know your life is…unconventional, to say the least, but Dean is a good father to your son. He’s also been working hard at his job. He just took the Lieutenant’s test, and even though Benny already occupies that position at Firehouse 83, a spot at another firehouse might open up for Dean to transfer.

“Part of me doesn’t want to,” Dean admitted to you last week, while he was working on fixing your stubborn, leaky sink. “All the guys there, they’re like family, you know?” “I understand,” you nodded. “You have to do what feels best for you, whether that’s staying where you feel comfortable, or moving up in your career somewhere else. If it doesn’t feel right, don’t do it.” He took in your advice with a slow nod. “Yeah, thanks. Guess I have to time to think about it. Lisa had other ideas.” “Of course,” you said with a smile, but it soon dropped. “Why, what did she say?” “Do what I can to move up,” he sighed. “She’s got a point. That title comes with a pay bump, one I could really use right now.” “I get that. Totally valid,” you said. “But I just think it’s important for you to be happy with it too. Especially with what you do, helping people, saving people…I’d imagine being in the right mindset for all that is important, right? Who you work with can be just as important as the money stuff.” Dean considered you with a smile. “Yeah, exactly.”

As you think about it now, you have to admit that he’s grown up a lot.

Dean has to lean against a tree to catch his breath. Am I already getting too old for this crap?

Feels kind of young to have a stitch in his side after a few rounds with these kids, but even he has his limits. Lisa comes to bring him a bottle of ice-cold water, which he appreciates. He’s tempted to dump it over his head like he does after successfully neutralizing a fire. It gets literally hot as hell under that helmet and mask and all his gear underneath.

“Need an iron lung?” Lisa teases.

“Toss in a new pair of knees, thanks,” he wheezes. He downs half the water bottle in one go, but he smiles at seeing his son keep running around with his friends. He’s just got that manic kid energy that goes on for days. But Robbie’s also smart; like Dean, he likes taking things apart and putting them back together in new and ingenious ways.

Dean hopes his son likes the new model car set that’s waiting for him on the picnic table full of presents. In fact, he’s still surprised that you didn’t go with the race car theme he suggested for the party, but apparently, Robbie’s more into dinosaurs now. Dean wishes he knew that before he bought the model car set.

He looks over and catches sight of you and Benny wrapped up in each other. He has his arm around your waist while you fiddle with something, but the way you lean over and whisper near his ear elicits a smile on Benny’s face.

Dean’s good mood diminishes.

“Well, don’t they seem cozy,” he mutters.

Lisa arches a manicured brow. “Yeah, pretty sure he’s getting ready to propose.”

That earns Dean’s attention, his head swiveling back to her in surprise.

“Really?” he asks. “Who told you that?”

“His sister,” she replies. “Meg’s in my intermediate class, remember?”

Dean nods, sipping at his water, even though he’s a bit absent in the eyes. Lisa watches him shrewdly.

“Why do you seem upset about it?” she asks. “Benny’s your friend.”

“I know,” Dean says. He doesn’t need that reminder, or the guilty twinge. It’s not like he’s done anything wrong.

“And she seems happy,” Lisa points out. “Don’t you want the mother of your kid to be with a good man who treats her right?”

He nods, trying to hide his growing annoyance. “‘Course I do. I just…I don’t know. I still don’t see them together, I guess.”

“Well, they’ve been together for like, two years.”

Again, Dean nods his acknowledgement. It’s hard for him to believe that so much time has passed already. He honestly didn’t think you and Benny would be together this long. He’d always felt a little uncomfortable with one of his best friends dating you, but you’d seemed happy about it, so he didn’t discourage it. But he’d never been very supportive, either. At least, not about your relationship.

Lisa sighs and grabs his arm, pulling him aside before he can rejoin the party.

“Listen, we need to talk about something,” she says.

Dean restrains a tired groan. “Can this wait ‘til later?”

“I think we should do this now,” she says. A hallmark Lisa-ism. She’s opinionated and strong-willed, something Dean’s always respected about her. Sometimes though, the timing is damn irritating. He doesn’t want to get into another argument with his girlfriend in public, especially not at his son’s birthday party.

“Speaking of commitment,” she says with a sigh. “I think it’s fair to say that we’ve been on a five-year rollercoaster, you and I. You know why that is?”

“I’m sure you’re gonna tell me,” Dean says, crossing his arms.

“It’s because you’re spread too thin,” she says. “Between the firehouse, construction jobs on the side…not to mention other things.”

“What? What’re you talking about?”

Lisa’s lips purse, before she pointedly gestures over at you with her eyes. “Well, for example. You’re still going to her place after your next shift to fix her fridge, right?”

“Yeah, I mean, should be pretty simple. I’ve just gotta swing by the hardware store and grab this specialty tool I ordered—”

“Dean,” Lisa deadpans. “That’s exactly the kind of thing I’m talking about.”

She heaves a deep breath, running her fingers through her long brown hair.

“I get that navigating this situation hasn’t been easy for you,” she says. “It hasn’t exactly been easy for me either, but look.”

Lisa takes his hands in hers, uncrossing his arms. “I want to get married someday. I want kids too. And I want that kind of life with you…I’m just not sure you want it with me.”

Dean expels a heavy sigh. “Lis—”

“Don’t answer me right now,” she says, but she levels him with a serious look. “You need to decide though, Dean. Five years is long enough. You should know by now if you want to be with me.”

After letting go of his hands, she softens the edges of her words with a gentle kiss on his cheek. Then she turns to join the group now gathered around the picnic table where the food is, all the kids cheering for pizza and cake.

After the party, Sam, Eileen, Lisa, and Benny pack up their cars and yours with the leftover food, party supplies, and presents. Dean helps you clean up the trash, all while keeping an eye on Robbie getting out the last of his sugar-high on the playground swing.

You shake your head tiredly, if with a fond smile. “That kid’s gonna be up all night hype on that radioactive cake.”

Dean chuckles. “You want me to take him tonight?”

“It’s okay. I think he’s going to want to play with his toys,” you reply.

“Well, he could just as easily do that at my place,” he reasons.

You consider it, but you shake your head. “Yeah, but we got him the bike. He’s probably gonna want to try it out for a few minutes before we get him cleaned up.”

“By ‘we,’ you mean you and Benny,” Dean says, his tone becoming surly. “And about that. Don’t you think a bike is something you should run by me? That’s typically a ‘dad’ kind of gift.”

You pause what you’re doing at the sound of his tone. Your brows knit together.

“Sorry, but I feel like a bike isn’t exclusively a dad thing,” you say.

“My dad got me my first bike,” Dean replies. “Spent a whole three days teaching me how to ride.”

You take a minute to think about it. You understand where Dean’s coming from, so you nod.

“Okay, I get it. You want to be there to help teach Robbie? I’m sure he’d love that.” 

Dean tosses a wadded-up ball of frosting-covered napkins and stops, letting his hands fall to his sides in frustration. He draws closer and helps you untie the balloons from the picnic table.

“Yeah, I do, but that’s not the point,” he says. “Why can’t I take him home tonight?”

You blink up at him in confusion. “Well, like I said. The bike—”

“That I should’ve gotten for him,” he snaps. “Which, let me guess, Benny picked out. Right?”

You frown at him in earnest now. “Dean, why are you getting so upset about it? It’s just a bike.”

“Well you know what, it’s not! And it’s not just the damn bike either.” He swipes a hand over his face in annoyance, a telltale sign you’ve come to read well on the man. “Look, I’m missing too much shit, all right? Like, like the dinosaur thing! And the fact that I only get him on the weekends.”

You turn toward him, trying to put a cap on your own annoyance. This isn’t the first time you two have had a conversation like this. 

“We’ve gone over this before, Dean. Your schedule at the firehouse is just too unpredictable,” you say. “Robbie needs as much stability as possible between us. But…okay, if you want to take him tonight, that’s fine. We can bring the bike over to your place and show it to him there.”

You’re trying to be as reasonable as possible, and Dean knows that. Still, anger prickles just under his skin, and he can’t help but push his luck.

“You still should’ve asked be before you got the bike in the first place,” he argues.

Your brows raise high. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Look, it’s not like we bought him a Honda Civic. Honestly, Dean, why are you picking a fight with me right now?” you ask. “Did you and Lisa get into it again or something?”

Dean looks away and crosses his arms, giving you all the confirmation you need.

“Yeah, that’s right,” you nod. “I saw you two over there on the playground, looked pretty heated. But do me a favor. Don’t come at me with that energy, because I’m too damn tired of it!”

When you walk away from him, Dean can’t help but stare after you. He knows he fucked that up, just as he knows that you don’t deserve him snapping at you. He’s just too irritated to admit it.

For the entire week that follows, Dean finds himself distracted. He sticks to his word and helps Benny teach his son how to ride a bike in between their shifts at the firehouse, but Dean comes home each night feeling even more frustrated and drained than before. It’s too much, knowing Benny’s slowly but surely carving out a father-figure role in Robbie’s life.

These thoughts follow Dean to work, even while he climbs up the firetruck ladder in the rain. It’s parallel to a busted utility pole that still sparks with electricity, even in this torrential downpour. His task is to get up to the top and grab a large branch that’s tangled in the lines.

Rung after rung, he climbs. His safety mask protects his eyes from the rain, but he wishes they had some mini windshield wipers to keep his vision clear of the droplets pelting him in the face.

He also can’t help thinking of you. If Lisa’s right, then Benny’s about to become a more permanent fixture in Robbie’s life, and yours. 

Okay fine. It’s not like Dean expected you to be single forever, but did you really have to get with one of his best friends? Does it really have to be Benny, who seems so natural with Robbie, and more patient than Dean, and more of a support to you and Robbie than Dean can ever be?

And then there’s Lisa’s little ultimatum. He understands why she’s frustrated with him. Honestly, he’s surprised she’s stuck around this long. He knows she’s not going to wait too much longer for him to get his act together. For him to decide, as she put it.

It’s not that he’s not sure about her, it’s just that…

Just that what? he wonders.

He manages to grab the wily tree branch and maneuver it out of the power lines. 

He just doesn’t realize that his glove doesn’t have quite enough friction on the metal side panel of the ladder. Not only does his hand slip, but he’s forced to let go of the branch while he loses his balance. The branch falls to the sidewalk, far, far down below.

“Dean!” Benny shouts in alarm.

Luckily, the truck itself breaks Dean's fall.

Holding Robbie’s hand tightly in yours is the only thing keeping you steady as you lead him through the hospital. After the receptionist had checked you both in and gave you the room number, you hastened down the hall and up to the right floor. 2005.

Robbie breaks into tears when he finally gets to see his dad, laid up though he is in his hospital bed. Your throat tightens at the sight of Dean hooked up to all those monitors. He has his arm wrapped up and fitted into a sling. He has a thick piece of gauze taped to the side of his face, covering a wide, angry abrasion, but he seems to be resting easy on his back. The bed is at an incline, with most of the overhead lights turned off.

Robbie rushes to the bed before you can stop him. He hesitantly touches Dean’s non-injured right hand. “Daddy?”

“Robbie, wait,” you say, keeping your voice quiet. You quickly go over to the bedside and grab ahold of Robbie’s shoulders, but Dean takes a deep breath. His eyelids crack open.

“Hey, buddy,” he says, attempting a smile. His voice is rough and weak, but at least he’s awake.

Robbie’s lower lip wobbles as tears fill his eyes again.

“Come ‘ere,” Dean says, a little stronger. When he reaches out to his son, the kid hops up onto the bed and buries his face into his father’s chest. Dean holds him as securely as he can, soothing his hand over the boy’s hair and pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“It’s okay, little man. ‘M okay,” he promises. Robbie nods, but he still continues to cry.

You can’t help but do the same. Tears slip down your cheeks without your consent. Dean beckons you over too, gesturing with his chin and a slight smile. You’re more tentative in the way you sit down at the edge of his bed. You run your fingers through Robbie’s light brown hair to help reassure him. Then, you meet Dean’s gaze and lay a hand on his good shoulder. You don’t know whether you’re steadying him, or yourself.

“How do you feel?” you ask. “The hospital called me. Benny told me what happened.”

The thought reminds you to text your boyfriend. You hadn’t had a chance to tell him you made it here yet. He must be downstairs grabbing a bite to eat, because he’s the one who rode with Dean in the ambulance and has been with him for a while.

“The hospital called you?” Dean notes in slight confusion.

“Eileen told me that Sam is in court right now, so I must’ve been next on the list,” you say. He also must have taken Lisa off his emergency list the last time they broke up for almost a month. He probably forgot to update it again.

You reach out a hand to almost touch the bandage by his temple. Instead, you hesitantly hold the side of his face to see the area better. Dean closes his eyes for a moment. You can see he’s in pain. Your hand lingers on his cheek, but you know, deep down, that it shouldn’t.

Dean doesn’t stop you though. He lets out a deep breath, savoring how nice the gentle touch feels when the rest of his body feels battered to hell.

“Fell off the ladder. Was a stupid rookie move,” he explains, but when he sees that look on your face, he tries to inject a little more joking into a smile. “S’ not so bad.”

“You could’ve broken your head as well as your arm,” you say, more sharply than you mean to.

Robbie whimpers and clings tighter to Dean. You cover your mouth, as if you can trap the words back inside. You don’t want to upset your son more than he already is, so you fall silent. Another tear works its way down your cheek, but you brush it away. Dean shakes his head.

“Hey, I’m okay,” he reassures you too. He manages to smile as he pats Robbie’s back. “Right, buddy?”

The boy’s head perks up. His eyes are still shiny, but he smiles too. He’s not one to speak when he’s upset though, so he just curls up against Dean’s chest and hangs onto him. Dean rests his good arm snugly around him.

You smile and stroke Robbie’s back. Though your hand lowers, resting on Dean’s hand. You take in a deep breath to calm yourself down. Dean’s fingers curl around yours, prompting you to glance up into his eyes. The way he’s watching you is soft, grateful.

Until the door creaks open. Benny steps in with a subtle clearing of his throat. You jolt internally, and you slip your hand away from Dean’s. You offer your boyfriend a wan smile.

“Hey,” you say.

“Hey, baby.” He comes over and greets you with a kiss to the side of your head. He smiles at your son gently. “The gang’s all here.”

“Oh! Let me call Sam, and Lisa too. They still don’t know what’s going on,” you say. You get up from the bed to grab your phone out of your purse. Dean nods in agreement and thanks you, while Robbie plays with his dad's long fingers.

“How you holdin’ up, brother?” Benny asks, after you step out of the room. He settles into the chair near the foot of the bed.

“Ah, you know me. I’m like a cat. Always stick the landing,” Dean says, smiling lazily. The morphine is starting to kick in again.

Benny smirks. “Maybe you do got nine lives, the amount of close calls you like gettin’ yourself into.”

Dean’s good humor fades. He considers his son in his arms, and he shakes his head.

“Yeah, well, no more,” he says. He got a taste of what it would be like to leave his boy behind, and he’s not fucking doing it. He’s not leaving you to raise Robbie by yourself. The mere idea tears a new hole in his heart.

His eyes sting just enough that he has to blink a bit harder, swallowing past a thick well of emotion in his throat. He presses another kiss to the top of Robbie’s head. Then, Dean meets Benny’s gaze.

“Thank you,” he says, and he means it.

Benny nods.

“You got it, brother.”

When Lisa steps off the hospital elevator on the second floor, you happen to be coming out of the bathroom to fix your racoon eyes. You’ve been crying way too much. You attempt to greet Lisa with something reassuring, but she cuts you off. 

“What happened, and why didn’t the hospital call me directly?” she asks.

Her tone is cutting, and it takes you aback.

“Well, Sam and I were listed as his emergency contacts—”

“Why?” she snaps. “You’re not his wife or his girlfriend. I should’ve been listed.”

Jesus Christ. At this point, you can’t help it. You’re too tired and emotionally drained to lasso in your temper with this woman.

“Maybe if you and Dean stayed together longer than five minutes at a time, he’d put you back on the short list,” you sling back. “But the truth is, you’ve never just…been there for Dean. Not without demanding something from him.”

Lisa scoffs incredulously. “Oh, that’s fucking rich coming from you. You’re the reason he can’t commit to anything. You think your little world is the only one that matters, and you call Dean for any little thing! What, don’t you have a boyfriend to help fix your goddamn sink?” 

You open your mouth to retort, but you pause as her words seep into your mind. She might actually have a small point about that one. You realize then just how often you’ve been asking Dean for his help, not just with your apartment, but with your car, and other logistical things that usually have to with Robbie. Dean’s just such a good handyman, and you thought he genuinely liked being able to help…even though Benny did mention once or twice that he’d be just as happy to help you.

“Lisa, this is a lot more than a leaky sink. I just wanted to get here with Robbie and make sure Dean was okay,” you try to explain.

“Good. I’m glad his son was the first person Dean got to see when he woke up,” Lisa says. “But I should’ve been the second.”

She brushes past you before you can even think of what to say. You’re in a state of shock, feeling guilty, incensed, and on the verge of tears all at once.

A familiar voice calls your name, and you turn to Benny just as those tears begin to fall. He gathers you up into his arms and holds you there in the middle of the hallway.

“She shouldn’t talk to you like that, no matter how high tensions are today. I’ll talk to Dean,” Benny says. You shake your head and bury your face in his chest, clenching your fingers in his red flannel shirt. 

“No, it’s okay,” you reply, despite the sob that shudders through you. You’ve lost the will to fight.

Benny shakes his head and presses a kiss to your forehead. “It ain’t okay, baby.”

“Please, don’t bother Dean with this. Especially not right now,” you say. You take a moment to wipe your eyes and get ahold of yourself. “I’m gonna go get Robbie so Dean can rest.”

You can’t shake the feeling that Lisa is right. You do rely on Dean too much. You just don’t want to think about why that is.

Dean makes a full recovery after a few months. He never does hear about what happened in that hallway, but he knows that things need to change. 

He decides to dig out his mom’s engagement ring from a locked box of his parents’ keepsakes, though he’s still waiting on the right time for it. He and Lisa start looking at houses though, for real this time. She hires a realtor and everything. 

He’s making a firm decision, and he thinks it’s the right one. He wants to be there for his son, but he doesn’t want to keep “spreading himself too thin.” He has to figure out how to set some roots, and some boundaries with you while he’s at it. He’ll just have to come to terms with the idea that he won’t get to be there for everything. 

He has to be okay with the fact that you’ll probably marry Benny. You’ll keep making him cookies and cakes, giving him your smile and your time and your body. And Robbie will probably think of Benny as more of a father than his own Weekend Dad. 

Meanwhile, you’ve spent the past few months keeping yourself in check as well. You’ve stopped calling Dean for help whenever something breaks down in your old-ass apartment. You try to keep your conversations less about life and troubles and whatever funny thing your students did that day in class, and more focused on Robbie–strictly about his schedule and his needs.

It’s kind of painful, if you’re honest with yourself. Sam will always be one of your closest friends from college, but in the past five years, Dean has truly become your best friend. Because you’ve told him things. The things that come from sharing a child with someone, like Sunday dinners with your parents, flipping through old yearbooks and childhood pictures—and the details of day-to-day schedules and little stupid things that happen in moments between moments.

Dean also knows the deep cuts. Like being pregnant and scared and breaking down crying on the side of the road. Like sharing the deepest well of your insecurities with someone who knows your body intimately, even if just for one amazing night...a night you’ve never quite been able to put out of your mind.

However, you know that things can’t stay the same. From now on, he just needs to be your son’s father. Nothing more, nothing less. 

So today, on a crisp April 24th, you’re getting ready for a highly anticipated evening with your boyfriend. Robbie is sleeping over your parents’ house, and Benny has been planning something special for your third-year anniversary. 

You slip into your new dress, a deep emerald green, with a pair of black heels you’ve rarely worn since before you got pregnant. Come to think of it, you were wearing these the night of Sam and Eileen’s bachelor-bachelorette party. The night you…well, the night Robbie was conceived. 

You shake your head to rid yourself of those thoughts. You even consider changing. 

You’re being silly, you shake your head. They’re just shoes. 

And yet. Thinking of that time so long ago, it reminds you of a recent Sunday dinner at your parents’ house.

Two Months Ago...

Your parents live modestly, but comfortably in rural Kansas. Their ranch-style home boasts a creek in the backyard, where your dad is teaching your son how to catch minnows. Your mom is inside working on an apple pie, knowing it’s both Dean’s and Robbie’s favorite.

You and Dean have kept close to the house under the shade, sitting on a bench made more comfortable by a pair of old polyester cushions with red, faded flowers.

“How much longer do you have to wear that?” you ask Dean. He glances down at his cast-covered left arm.

“Doc says it’s about ready to come off,” he says.

You nod, allowing yourself a certain smile. “How bad are you itching to grab my mom’s garden shears and cut it off right here?”

“Woman, don’t tempt me,” he says, his lips twitching at a grin. “I’ve been eying those overgrown scissors for the past half hour.”

You laugh and take another sip of your glass. Yours holds sweet tea, while Dean’s has some of your dad’s favorite whiskey. You both raise your heads when Robbie yells across the backyard.

“I caught a minnow!”

“Good job, buddy,” Dean grins. “See if you can catch a marlin!”

“A marlin?” Robbie questions.

“Yeah, like that orange guy in Finding Nemo,” Dean calls back.

Your dad gives Dean the same wry look you do, though yours is tinged with more amusement.

“Dean, that’s a clown fish,” you say. “He’s not gonna find that in the creek.”

“Aw, shit,” he tries to quiet his laugh. “Ah well, should keep him occupied for another twenty minutes.”

You bite your lip to stifle your laughter as well. Though something else occurs to you the longer you watch your son play and explore in the creek. Your dad has the patience of a saint as he puts yet another bait worm on the hook for the kid.

“He’s starting to ask questions, you know,” you tell Dean, in a quieter voice. “‘Why aren’t you and Daddy married? Why can’t we all live together?’”

Dean's brows raise. His good humor dims when he looks over at you.

“What do you tell him?” he asks.

You take in a deep breath, considering your words now as carefully as you did with your son.

“That we care about each other a lot, as friends,” you say, meeting Dean’s eyes. “And we love Robbie very much. Nothing’s going to change that, even if you and I aren’t together like a normal mom and dad.”

Saying it like that makes your heart twinge, for more than one reason. The way Dean’s mouth twitches into a rueful smile just makes it worse, but you try your best to ignore it.

“I never thought about having to explain it to him,” he says, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

It’s that anxious tell of his again. You notice every time he does it.

“I have,” you admit. “I just didn’t know for sure what I was going to say until it was coming out of my mouth.”

Dean smirks a little. “Yeah, that sounds like you.”

You roll your eyes and sip your drink, crossing your arms as well. Dean considers you then, looking at you in a way that makes you raise a brow in question.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing, it’s just…” He sits back against the bench and rubs his hands down his jean-clad thighs. “For the record, I did try to ask you out once.”

“What?” you scoff incredulously. “No, you’ve been with Lisa since the beginning.”

“Before Lisa,” Dean says.

He isn’t joking. He isn’t teasing. He’s serious as he stares back at you with those green eyes of his. Your brows furrow as you wrack your brain. Did he drunkenly leave you a voicemail on one of those “off again” episodes between him and Lisa? No. You know you’d remember something like that.

“It was a few weeks after the bachelor party,” Dean says. “I called you up, remember?”

Your eyes widen. Finally, that jogs your memory.

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.” And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition.

You have to laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Dean, you did not ask me out,” you say. “You wanted to hook up. There’s a distinct difference.”

Dean frowns at you. “No, I was. I invited you over—”

“For essentially some Netflix and chill,” you retort.

“Hey, I offered to make you dinner,” he argues. “I didn’t say anything about hooking up.”

You pause at that. His earnest denial makes you actually think back to what you remember about that conversation on the phone.

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.” And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition. “I could make us some burgers, toss in a couple of beers and a movie night,” he adds.

You cover your lips with your fingers as you begin to realize…

“That was you asking me out?” you ask incredulously.

Dean’s brows furrow and he throws his hands up. “What? Who doesn’t like a little movie night?”

“Dean,” you huff another laugh. “You could’ve made it sound more like a date.”

“Well, ‘scuse me. Sorry I couldn’t afford the Ritz at the time,” he grumbles.

You sigh. “That’s not what I meant.”

The more you think about it, the more you just shake your head at yourself. Why did you have to overthink it, like you do everything?

“Wow,” you say, softer and more contrite. “I honestly never thought…”

“Yeah,” he says. He shifts his gaze out ahead.

You glance over at him, now more unsure of yourself. He wouldn’t have any regrets, you think. He has Lisa. As much as they go at it, they always inevitably get back together. And now you know they hired a realtor. They’re about to start making solid steps forward.

But Dean surprises you with another question.

“Do you think if…”

He doesn’t finish it, but you think you know what he’s asking. You hesitate, your fingers flexing around your glass that beads with condensation. You set the glass down beside you. 

Just as you open your mouth to reply—

“All right, pie is cooling and dinner is served!” your mom calls out. Her head pokes out of the sliding glass door to the backyard. You offer a smile, trying to hide how you jolted in your seat.

“Okay, thanks, Mom,” you nod.

You turn back to Dean, who also hesitates. His eyes meet yours, but all too soon, he locks the moment away.

Bracing his hands on his knees, he rocks to his feet and goes out to get Robbie and help your dad bring in the fishing gear.

You grab Dean’s whiskey along with your tea on your way back inside the house. You consider the amber liquid disturbed in his glass, and you down the rest yourself. The burn down your throat is a good distraction. If he asks about it, you’ll say you got the glasses confused.

You know you’ll have to leave that conversation unfinished at the foot of the bench.

Now...

Benny comes by your apartment and helps you into the passenger side of his pickup truck, like the gentleman he is. He takes you to a nice restaurant in downtown, much nicer than the usual sports bar or kid-friendly restaurant. You're very much looking forward to eating at a restaurant that doesn't feature chicken fingers or "kiddie" corn dogs.

“This is gonna be really expensive,” you whisper to him, after he hands his keys over to the valet. 

Benny squeezes your hand in his, leaning over to kiss your temple. 

“Don’t you worry about that. We both deserve a night out.” His blue eyes gleam with amusement. However, his gaze gentles, becoming more sincere. “You work hard, carin’ for everybody around you. How about you let me take care of you for once.”

Your eyes begin to water, your throat constricting with emotion. You rub his arm gratefully.

“Thank you,” you say. “You don’t know how much I appreciate that.” 

It’s always easy with Benny. Nice and simple and easy. Nice, supportive, and considerate.

Nice and safe.

That thought follows you while you and Benny walk into to the restaurant. He’s reserved great seats in the back corner, overlooking a beautiful courtyard. It’s decorated with hydrangeas and light wood dining tables, all framed with a rod iron archway as the sun begins to set just so. After holding your chair out for you before he sits himself, Benny orders a bottle of champagne to kick things off.

He turns to you with a somewhat nervous look in his eyes, like he's steeling himself. It’s uncharacteristic of Benny, who’s always so calm and charming and sure of himself. It makes a zing of anticipation run down your spine, and…a dash of fear. You don’t know why, and you don’t know how to beat the feeling down as you fidget in your seat.

He subtly clears his throat, then takes your hand. “Sweetheart, I know I’m not all that good at the words you’re supposed to say. But I can say that the past three years with you and Robbie, it’s come to mean the world to me.”

Your smile softens. He brushes his thumb over the back of your hand, encouraged by your reaction.

“So I think it’s time I made it clear where I stand, and how much I want to be the man in your life,” he says.

Your eyes begin to widen in shock, but not for the reason he thinks.

“Dean,” you gasp.

Benny’s expression slackens. “What?”

You point over his shoulder, and Benny turns to follow your line of vision. Dean and Lisa have just walked into the restaurant. They notice you pointing their way, and they both pause in surprise as well. Lisa is beautiful as usual in a slinky black dress, completely backless (something you feel you could never pull off, unless you had an invisible bra to keep the girls perked up).

Dean is…well, you’ve very rarely seen him in a suit, but charcoal gray works for him. The open collar and white buttoned-down works for him, as do the three top buttons he’s left undone, showing a tantalizing strip of tanned skin. He stares back at you like he forgot you live in the same time zone, let alone the same zip code.

“Uh, hey!” he casts out an awkward wave, before he makes his way over to you and Benny. Lisa is less than enthused.

“We shouldn’t interrupt their night,” you catch her whisper to him, but Dean doesn’t seem to hear her.

“What’s up, party people! Of all the gin joints in all the world, huh?” Dean says, a little too loudly when he thumps Benny on the back. Benny grunts, giving a bit of a forced chuckle.

“Dean,” he greets. “I think I told you about this particular gin joint. Good to see you can actually clean up once in a while.”

“Ah, you know what, this monkey suit ain’t too bad,” Dean says, pulling at his collar.

You smirk in amusement. “Yeah, I remember how much you complained about wearing a simple tie for Robbie’s Christmas pageant.”

He smirks down at you. “Hey, ties still might not be my thing, but nothing wrong with a sharp collar.”

He pops his for emphasis. You don’t know why it makes you laugh, but it does. Maybe it’s just his face and the silly, endearing expression he makes when he pouts his lips in a “blue steel.”

“So, is this just a night out, or you guys celebrating something special?” Dean asks, gesturing at the champagne bottle and your full glasses of bubbly.

Benny gives his friend a certain look. “Yeah, as a matter of fact. Today’s three years.”

He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles. You smile back at him, though you’re a bit self-conscious at the way both he and Dean, and even Lisa have their attention on you.

“We should let you guys get back to it then,” Lisa says.

Honestly, it’s a relief. You and Benny nod, wishing them a goodnight.

For some reason, you notice how Dean’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. But he goes with Lisa, laying a hand on the small of her back. You force yourself to tear your eyes away from them and refocus on Benny. You take up your champagne glass and raise it in offering.

“All right, where were we?” you ask, if with a nervous trill in your belly.

Benny smiles. He takes up his glass and clinks it with yours.

Lisa nearly sighs. She and Dean are back in line at the front of the restaurant, waiting to be seated. The second time she catches Dean glancing over at the table where you and Benny sit, she shakes her head and digs into her purse for the valet card. She’s done with this.

“I think maybe we should go to a different restaurant,” she says.

That finally earns Dean’s attention, mostly confused. “What, why?”

She just gives him a long look.

He realizes that whatever her reasons are, it’s easier to just give in than to fight her on it. He’s learning when to pick his battles. Or is he just giving up?

Also, if tonight’s “the night” he thinks it is for you and Benny, maybe he doesn’t want to stick around after all. Three years, huh?

“All right, fine. Let’s go,” he agrees.

Dean and Lisa wait for the valet to bring the Impala around. The minute he gets behind the wheel and turns the key into the ignition, she changes her mind.

“Look, let’s just go home,” she says. “I don’t really feel like eating out anymore.”

Dean’s brows raise. “What? Aw, come on. We’re already dressed and everything. You look great, Lis. Just tell me where you wanna eat.”

Lisa remains firm, with a small shake of her head. “Please, Dean, just take me home.”

After a moment of indecision, Dean sighs. He revs the ignition and does as she says.

It’s only a fifteen-minute drive back to their apartment, but in that stifling silence, it seems to drag on for a small eternity. He glances at her a couple of times. Lisa has her arms crossed as she stares out the window, watching the other restaurants and mom-and-pops shops and forest trees and old houses of Lebanon, Kansas go by.

Dean counts it a blessing when they’re finally home. He walks up the few short steps up to their ground-floor apartment and unlocks the door. He flicks on the lights inside, and she breezes past him to toss her purse onto the couch.

Dean takes off his blazer and begins to undo the buttons on his cuffs. He watches her all the while, knowing that a storm is brewing. She shucks off her heels and slowly paces the living room on bare feet, like her whirling thoughts are fueling every step.

“All right, I give. What’s going on?” Dean asks. “What’d I do this time?”

She pauses, with her back turned to him.

Shit, he thinks. He shouldn’t have said it like that.

He prepares for the inevitable blow up, but it never comes. Lisa just heaves a sigh. Slowly she turns, and Dean’s shocked and dismayed to see the tears welling up in her deep brown eyes. He makes quick strides toward her, but she raises a hand to keep him at bay.

“Dean, when you picture yourself happy, truly��happy,” she says. “Is it with me? Can you imagine yourself marrying me? Buying the house, having kids, growing old together?”

If Dean was thrown for a loop before, he’s even more stunned by her question. “Lis…”

“Just be honest, for once,” she pleads. Her tears begin to brim over, but she blinks, somehow keeping them at bay.

It’s a bit too long before Dean realizes that he can’t give her an answer. At least, not the one he knows she wants to hear.

When he thinks of that picture in his mind, of course he sees his son. But the only other person Dean can imagine there beside him is…

“I…” He wills his mouth to work, but nothing else comes out.

The only face he can conjure is yours. Your eyes are warm and welcoming, your smile as bright and contagious as your laugh.

The only voice he can hear is yours, gentle and strong at the same time.

The only one he can see is you.

He knows the shampoo you use and the perfume you like to wear, how the sweet and floral scents mix together and linger in your hair and on your skin.

Even now he remembers the contours of your body, and how it could fit so well against his. He knows that you used to try and hide your shape under loose, baggy shirts and cargo pants that did nothing for you. He knows how much courage it took you to wear that red dress to his brother’s party, because you told him once, at one of those Sunday dinners at your parents’ house.

Come to think of it, there’s not a whole lot that Dean doesn’t know about you, except maybe what you see when you look at him.

“You love her,” Lisa finishes for him. “I think you always have.”

Dean’s throat tightens. Somehow he swallows anyway, and he shakes his head. 

“Lisa, I loved you.”

“Maybe you did, in your own way,” she says, laughing a little through her tears as she wipes them away. “But you already have a family, Dean. Go fight for it.” 

Dean doesn’t know what to say, but he knows what he can do.

He goes to her and kisses her cheek. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says. 

Lisa merely nods, wiping her face dry. She watches Dean Winchester walk out of her apartment, and out of her life for good this time. 

Dean calls your cell, but it goes to voicemail. He drives all the way back to the restaurant and doesn’t find you or Benny there. 

Dean realizes that what he’s doing, what he plans to do, is not fucking cool. He wouldn’t blame you or even Benny for being severely pissed when Dean shows up. He also knows that he can’t let another day pass where he keeps lying to you, and himself. 

He eventually finds you at home. What’s weird is that Benny’s truck isn’t in the driveway—just your car. He knocks on your door, and he waits.

He unconsciously holds his breath while he waits in that terrible existence of limbo. However, his heart thrums back to life when he hears your footsteps drawing closer to the door. Anticipation, excitement, dread, it all roils together inside him like a bad cocktail as the door swings open.

And he’s once again rendered a bit breathless at the sight of you in that dress. The color alone appeals to him, let alone the way it accentuates your every curve, from full breasts to the swell of your hips, the softer slope of your thighs, and bare toes painted. You’re fucking delectable, every curve, and a temptation without you even meaning to be. 

You’re just…you’re still so goddamn beautiful, like the night he first saw you. Even now, he can almost feel the give of your thighs under his hands, his fingers pressed to supple flesh. 

But then he’s drawn to your face, and your wide eyes full of surprise. Your mascara is a bit smudged though. Your eyes are red too, like you’ve been crying. His brows furrow in concern.

“Dean, what’re you doing here?” you ask.

“I need to talk to you, but uh…did something happen?” he asks. “You okay?”

You’re reluctant to tell him. Did Benny say something to upset you? Or was it something he did?

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you say.

Instinctively, Dean knows it’s a lie.

“This isn’t a good time though,” you say, after clearing your throat. “Can we do this tomorrow, maybe?”

Dean leans a hand on the doorframe.

“Please, it’s important,” he says. His eyes implore you harder than his words. Please.

That does it. A sigh passes through your lips, but you let him in. He knows Robbie is with your parents for the night, which actually makes this easier.

Once he steps inside the apartment, Dean does notice that your bedroom door is open. Half the drawers to your dresser are open too, and empty. Certain frames that used to be on your coffee table are no longer there, like the one of you, Benny, and Robbie on a camping trip. 

“You want some coffee, or soda?” you ask. 

Dean declines and grasps your arm before you can busy yourself into “hostess” mode. He leads you to the couch, where you both sit down together.

“What happened tonight?” he asks. “Where’s Benny?”

Your lower lip wobbles, the beginning of your telltale cry face. Dean knows his son gets it from you, and it always breaks his heart. He squeezes your arm gently, trying to ground you.

“Benny proposed to me tonight,” you confess, taking in a sharp breath. “He proposed, and I couldn’t give him an answer.” 

You shake your head as the tears sting hot in your eyes. 

“He got so upset, he just—he left!” You throw your hands up. “But honestly, I don’t blame him.”

Dean tries to comfort you as you try and fail to wipe at your face. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, cupping your cheek to brush the tears away himself. 

“Why couldn’t you answer him?” he asks. 

You look up at Dean, and you finally notice the shine of hope in his eyes. Dean touches your cheek more tenderly. 

“Does it mean I have a chance here?” he asks.

Despite what your eyes tell you, you still gape at him in shock. “What? But…what about Lisa?”

“It’s over. For good this time,” Dean shakes his head. “I realized what I wanted for my life, and where my heart is…”

And he chuckles weakly. “Truth is, you’ve had it the whole time, sweetheart.”

You begin to crumble all over again. You pull away from him and his touch, because you can’t believe it. You cover your face with your hands, sniffling as you try to make sense of his words, his touch, and the warm flutter threatening to brim happiness in your heart.

“God, Dean. You can't just..."

"I mean it," he insists.

You're still reluctant to take him seriously...no matter how much you want to. It's a conflicting realization that hurts, and makes you feel stupid for taking so long to figure it out, and makes you hate yourself for hoping his words are true.

"Come the morning, you’re going to change your mind,” you reason, without looking at him. “Like you’ve done with Lisa a thousand times.”

“No,” Dean says firmly. He shifts closer and prompts you to look at him, really look at him.

“Not about this, and you know it,” he says, catching and holding your gaze. “That’s why you couldn’t say yes to Benny. Because you know what we’ve got. It’s the real deal.”

You still look uncertain, even though you can’t bring yourself to pull away this time. Dean has always had this way of looking into the very depths of you, like he can actually see every thought as it passes through your mind.  

“I should’ve said yes,” you say. “I can rely on Benny. I know he would stay by my side, and…and I know he won’t hurt me.”

Not like I’ve just hurt him, you think. Guilt still pricks at your heart. The last thing you ever wanted to do was lead him on, and yet, that’s what you’d done, wasn’t it? You thought you had loved him. You’re sure that you did, but maybe it just wasn’t the kind of love that could reach down deep and grab you, set your blood on fire, and make you ache when the burn was gone.

That spark licks across your skin when Dean takes your hands.  

“What if I want to be that guy for you,” he says.

You allow yourself to look at him. Really look at him.

You know Dean. When he gets an idea in his head, it inhabits every bone and shred of muscle in his body. There’s no mistaking his resolve, or the steady grip of his hands over yours.

“If you let me, I’ll stay. I won’t leave you,” he says. In his eyes, there’s a firm promise. “I can be the guy you rely on. The man you can trust. The man who’s gonna love you, come whatever. Because now I know what it means. I know how it feels.”

You bite your lower lip against the smile that wants to surface.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

Dean smiles for you. “If you wanna know the truth, I’m pretty sure I’ve been loving you since the day I heard Robbie’s heartbeat for the first time.” 

Your tears flow harder at that. A shaky breath escapes you, though it does nothing to steady you. Dean strokes your cheek gently with his thumb. 

“Please, just give me this one chance,” he asks. Begs, really. 

He doesn’t have to though. You nod, just a little. 

“Okay,” you agree. “Let’s try.”

Dean's smile spreads slow, but warm across his face. It’s your favorite kind, the kind that crinkles his eyes. 

He leans in and claims your lips with his own. The passion of it is familiar, but you don't think it’s the same as five years ago. Now, there’s an underlying note of tenderness in his touch and each new way he tastes you deeper. He holds nothing back this time, and neither do you. 

Your fingers tangle in his shirt, and then in his hair as you moan into his mouth. “Dean.”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he answers against your lips, though he doesn’t give you much room to keep talking.

You haven’t heard him call you sweetheart in a long time. You feel your heart knitting back together, stitch by stitch. Tears sting in your eyes anew, but you squeeze your eyes shut against them.

“I…”

You can’t even continue the breathless thought. You hold his face desperately between your hands, pressing your forehead to his for a moment as you both catch your breath. But this man is like the sweetest, most seductive vice. Now that you’ve gotten another hit, you can’t resist. You no longer want to.

His arms wrap around you more securely, and he leans in to lure you back into his kiss. His tongue breaches past your lips to curl along yours with tantalizing strokes. His hands slowly move down your back and along your waist.

“Mmm, missed the hell outta this,” he groans into your mouth. Your heart flutters again at the way he holds you, the way his big hands squeeze you and feel you.

You let him guide you down onto the sofa cushions. He slots himself between your bare thighs and runs his hand up familiar smooth skin, bunching the skirt of your dress higher as he goes. He aims to get himself reacquainted with every soft part of you that welcomes him back.

For once, the gates around your hearts swing free. 

Dean never imagined that his own son would hand him the ring he gives to his wife, but today, it just feels like symmetry. He grins and winks at Robbie.

“Thanks, buddy,” Dean says.

His son’s beaming grin is wide and toothy, but the boy takes his job very seriously and delivers the other ring to you. You smile brightly and caress his cheek after you take the shining, white gold band from him. It matches the thinner band that Dean has for you; it'll soon join the engagement ring that once belonged to his mother.

Robbie had liked Benny a lot, but he loves his dad. He’s probably the happiest person in the room to see his parents take each other’s hands in front of the minister. 

Benny is understandably absent in the chapel today. You had met with him after that night of your botched anniversary to apologize to him, and so had Dean. Benny understood. He’d admitted that in the back of his mind, he feared this might happen.

“I wouldn’t blame you for being angry with me,” you said to him. “You can even hate me if you want.” Benny gave you a wry, melancholy sort of smile. “Part of me’s still mad at you, I won’t lie…but there’s no use in it. Not even hating you.”

Even though Benny bowed out, carrying his hurt and his grief on those broad shoulders, letting you go meant letting go of a friend too. He put in his paperwork to transfer out of Firehouse 83.

As he’d told Dean himself that day, and in fact, the last words Benny said to him…

“There you go, Lieutenant. A spot’s just opened up.”

Dean didn’t want to get promoted this way. He felt guilty enough as it was, and not just for Benny leaving the firehouse. Benny recommended Dean to the Chief himself though, saying that if they were going to give someone a Lieutenant’s badge, it may as well be the guy who got a perfect score on his test, and had the natural leadership skills to boot.

To the end, Benny was a gentleman.

Now, Sam beckons his nephew over. Robbie quickly goes to his uncle’s side and puffs his little chest out as he stands proud behind his dad. 

Dean is able to take you in, your beautiful white dress, and everything about you that makes him smile…including the way you smile back at him.

Man and wife is all he hears. It’s all he needs to hear, before he’s pulling you closer by your newly anointed hand. He dips you for a thorough kiss in front of all your family and friends. 

You squeal in surprise, making Dean smile hard enough for his cheeks to hurt. Giggling hard enough to make you tremble, you raise a hand to caress his cheek. But you give him another real kiss after he guides you back up to your feet.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips. The words are just for him to hear. Dean pulls back enough to see the truth shining in your eyes. Beautiful.

“Can’t help it, right?” he teases. 

You smile in amusement, but you grab his chin and shake it. 

“You got me,” you reply. “I really, really can’t.”

Your beaming smile softens. Even though the entire room is clapping and hooting and hollering in celebration, in that moment, all you really see is Dean. 

Here in his arms, you know that this is where you were meant to end up. From now on, it’s where you’re meant to be.

AN: From Lisa and Benny to Robbie and everything in between. Dean and the reader certainly aren't perfect in this, but what do you think about how their story unfolded? I truly hope you guys enjoy this one, because I've had so much fun with it. 🥰❤️❤️‍🔥

So please let me know what you thought! 😘

⋆˙⟡ Keep Reading: The Epilogue

"Shall I stay? Would it be a sin, if I can't help falling in love with you?"

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[neocatharsis]

250508 DOYOUNG Weverse Update

"Hello, everyone. How have you all been?

It’s been a while since I’ve written something this serious, so I started off with a rather stiff/formal greeting. hh

I’ve been debating whether the words I’m about to share are ones I should hold back, but after much thought and consideration, I realised I couldn’t stay silent, thinking of Czennies who might feel endlessly frustrated and upset if we didn’t address this.

I’m aware that various frustrations and disappointments have emerged in Czennies’ hearts recently.

What I say may not perfectly resolve all of your feelings, and I worry it might even deepen some of the disappointment. Still, after much deliberation, I hope you’ll take the time to read this message carefully.

I know many of you are feeling upset about the plans for 127 going forward. While it might sound like an excuse, we’ve been thinking about how we can navigate this period, even with the absence of some members, while still shaping 127 well.

Regarding the encore concert, which I believe is one of the things that has upset many the most, I wasn’t directly involved in the actual operations, but I do know that both the company and the members were eager to make it happen. We all put in our best efforts to make it possible.

Unfortunately, the situation ultimately didn’t allow it to happen, and while the result is disappointing, I feel it’s important not to overlook the efforts and thoughts that went into the process.

I’m not just saying, “Please acknowledge the efforts we made because we wanted to do it.” Instead, I want to emphasise that I don’t think we should avoid sensitive topics just because they are difficult. These are issues we hold dear, and I believe it’s important to have honest conversations about them with Czennies, who have shared their hearts with us for so long.

Not everything goes as desired, nor is it entirely out of reach. I think it’s time for us to embrace this new chapter by continuing to converse and share openly, building it together.

Also, one thing I want to state firmly is that none of the 127 members prioritises themselves over the team.

Everyone cherishes and loves the team deeply, so no one puts their personal desires ahead of what’s best for 127.

Over the past ten years, we’ve received so much as NCT 127, and we’ve been given so much love by Czennies. Knowing this, we understand we can’t act otherwise.

We’re thinking deeply about 127’s future this year and beyond. We’ll work hard to plan it well. Please believe in us.

Just as how 127 has held in there with the six members and Czennies while Taeyong hyung and Jaehyun are temporarily away, we’ll continue to be unwavering even if I or anyone else has to step away momentarily. I know you’re worried, but please believe in us.

Lastly, I hope you know that the biggest reason I’m writing this message is because of Czennies. When the company makes mistakes or causes disappointment, or when there are things 127 needs to correct and reflect on, we deserve the feedback and criticism, and we’ll have to fix them.

But thinking about Czennies being frustrated and heartbroken without any resolution is what makes me the saddest and most upset. I wrote this hoping it might ease your hearts even a little.

This has been a long message, but lastly, truly, I want to promise that 127 will strive to be a team that Czennies can trust, for as long as you support and love us, and even for the times you once loved us.

Thank you for reading.”

Translated by NCTDAOYlNG

[cattypurrrnell]

｡𖦹°‧ Think fast

Description: hanging out with Natalie after soccer practice (sort of fluffy oneshot | words: 884)

Authors note:

I wrote this instead of sleeping

I love writing Nat fics sm, hope you enjoy 🫶

Title from the Weezer song :)

-

You're sat on the bleachers watching Natalie play, the warm summer air inviting back all the bugs from previous years. You bat at the air around your legs causing all the little creatures to skitter away from you. Your lips are curled in a content smile, you hate the bugs crawling all over your legs and arms but watching Natalie do something that makes her so happy is worth it.

You watch as Shauna kicks the ball half way across the field and Nat bolts toward it, giving it a good hard kick into the goal. You shoot up from your seat, the sounds of the teams cheer filling the air. Nat's gaze meets your eyes, she blows you a kiss before the excitement is interrupted by a loud whistle from coach Ben.

“I think that's enough for today,” he says, taking a sip from his water bottle and checking his watch. “Good job girls.”

There's some leftover chatter between the other girls as they grab their things from the bleachers but Nat just runs right over to you, her bleach blonde hair perfectly messy and her bangs stuck to her forehead with sweat.

“You were great out there!” You exclaimed, clapping your palms together.

“Oh shush, it was one goal.” She replied, dismissing your praise with a casual shrug and taking a long sip from her water bottle. You didn't know anything about soccer so as far as you were concerned one goal meant she'd won the game entirely.

“Well, I'm still proud of you.” She doesn't say anything but you notice her face drop for a second taking a pause to register your words before her vaguely sad expression is overthrown by a tiny smile.

She takes a seat next to you and begins digging through her bag, pulling out an extra shirt she'd packed. She took a quick glance across the field to be sure the other girls were leaving before slipping out of her sweat soaked practice shirt and into a fresh black and white striped shirt. After changing she lays down on the bleachers, resting her head in your lap clearly exhausted. The two of you sit there for a while just staring up at the sky as the sunset paints it all kinds of pretty colors. This wasn't uncommon for the two of you, almost every week you followed the same routine to decompress after the lively practices. Even if you weren't on the team just watching the girls was enough to tire you out.

“Are you about ready to head home?” You ask softly, careful not to interrupt the calm moment too much.

“Uh..” You feel her start to sit up, but she barely lifts her head before deciding against it. “Not really actually, I'd rather stay here for now.”

You begin brushing the hair off of her forehead, peering down at her and giving her a small nod before planting a kiss where strands of bleach blonde hair rested moments ago, perfectly content with staying in this moment for however long she desires.

“We should go lay in the grass instead.” Natalie suggests, standing up and grabbing your hand, prompting you to follow her.

“Why?” You ask, head cocked in curiosity.

“Dunno, it just feels right.” She responds. You throw your backpack over your shoulder and follow her, because why wouldn't you? Laying in the grass sounds nice anyway.

You sit in the grass, legs crossed with your backpack beside you. Nat lays on her back, arms and legs sprawled out like starfish. The two of you sit like that for a while, discussing all the latest drama the team is involved in. Nat pulls herself up, placing her palms on the earth behind her back to hold herself up.

“So what trinkets do you have with you today?” She asks, gesturing towards your bag. You'd made a habit of carrying around random little knick knacks in case you got bored, 99% of the time you didn't even know what you had in your bag.

“Well let's find out,” You say, hoisting your bag into your lap and unzipping it. You dig through your school books for a second before spotting a small plastic duck, you drop the duck into your palm and hold it up for her to see “I've got a duck.”

You drop the duck back into the bag and begin hunting for the next small treasure. At the bottom of your bag you find your light pink Nintendo DS. Not what you were looking for but it'd keep the 2 of you entertained.

You pull it out and check the game cartridge to see what game was in it at the moment. Pokémon Ruby, your favorite Pokémon game even if Nat was significantly better at it than you.

“Wanna play?” You ask, holding out the small pink device to her. "It's got Pokémon in it right now.”

“Sure.” She nods, taking the device. She turns it on and then shifts her legs into a criss cross shape. You kneel beside her in order to see the screen. You stay like this until the sun is gone, and Nat feels ready to head home, alternating between fake arguments over what move she should make to win the fights in the game and laughter.

Reblogs and notes are appreciated <3

[a-sweeter-sin]

Thunder ~ Part 2

- George Clarke

You roll like thunder, pouring all your drinks. The party’s lit and you, my friend, half-cut when it begins. You roll like thunder, you’re tryna catch that wind…. -Lana Del Rey

College/high school George Clarke x reader

-I’m still so new to this, I don’t know how to link parts one and two, but part one should be just under this on my page…

Summary: School starts again after the holidays, but this time things don’t feel quite right. There’s this unspoken tension between the two, and it feels as if it could break at any second, George can only handle it for so long…

Her writing program was coming to a close, and so were the holidays, meaning back to reality, or the quiet, mundane, bubble that was her home town.

This writing program had been like a retreat, she was surrounded by people much like her, that challenged her and made her think on things in different ways, much more so than she had ever experienced back in school.

She came back, with a week left before school started back up, before her last year. It didn’t really feel like she was coming back to anything, the trees were still bare from the winters harsh touch, the town itself still quiet. She dragged her hefty suitcase down the familiar footpath, past the same park, the same bus stop where people just stared, glued to their phones like they were scared of being present. She felt different, not in the physical sense, or any cliché way, just more at home within her own skin.

When school started back up, the other students were louder, brasher. One girl cried during History on the first day back and no one knew what to do. She didn’t cry once, not during school, but she wrote like her chest was splintering. It felt good. Like she could channel everything she was feeling, like being scraped clean.

Back home, she stayed in her room longer than she needed to. Her mum asked if she wanted to see her friends, she had to remind her she didn’t really have any close ones here, she had a small group to sit with at lunch, she had acquaintances, people she’d sit next to in class, people who sometimes liked to talk to her in passing, but never invited her to parties.

She hadn’t expected to think about George. But she did, more than she’d like to admit.

He’d stopped speaking to her after exams. No goodbye, no text. He just slowly vanished, like they’d imagined the whole thing. She tried not to romanticise it. She told herself he was just a boy who didn’t know how to hold a mirror to himself, and she was just a girl who made him nervous by doing exactly that.

Still. She found herself walking by the rugby pitches one evening just to see if he was there. He was, standing with a group, laughing too hard at something. His voice reached her before his eyes did. And he saw her.

For a moment there was nothing.

Then he looked away.

She stood there for a few seconds longer than she should have, before then walking on. Her face scrunched up, eyes watering like they did after these times.

Later that week, they bumped into each other in the same park, the one where they’d sat and talked about everything and nothing. He was on a run, she was walking with her headphones blasting. He said “Hey,” like it was just another day. She nodded. He shifted his weight, like he wanted to say more but he didn’t know if he was allowed.

“How was your writing program?” He asked, searching for her eyes.

“Interesting, good,” She responded. “I wrote a lot.”

“That’s great,” he said, and it sounded like he meant it.

She wanted to ask him why he had disappeared. She wanted to ask if it had mattered to him at all, the walks, the silence, the things they almost let happen, the things they felt, or at least she felt. But she didn’t. She didn’t want to give him the power to confirm what she already feared.

Instead, she just said, “You look the same.”

He blinked, his eyebrows furrowed. “Is that a good thing?”

She shrugged. “It’s just a thing.”

They stood there, a while, just two people pretending they were still the versions of themselves who once had a quiet understanding. But she could see it in his eyes, the guilt, or maybe the confusion. And all she felt was tired. Not angry. Just tired of being the only one who knew how keep hold of fragile things without dropping them.

She walked away first this time. She didn’t look back.

That night, she wrote a poem about absence. About a silent longing. She didn’t name him. She didn’t have to.

-

The year had droned on, term three rolled around and George welcomed the nearing end to his college years.

They hadn’t spoken since their last encounter in the park, yet George found himself looking for her, in the halls, during lunch breaks, and in any classes they shared. He never thought he could miss someone yet be in their presence almost every day.

George didn’t plan on going to her house. He didn’t even know for sure if she still lived in the same one. But his feet carried him there anyway, on instinct, not desire. Or maybe that was the same thing now.

It was raining in that indecisive, misty way that didn’t drench you all at once, just crept in slowly, soaking your clothes. He stood tentatively across the street from her place for a good minute before doing anything. His jumper was almost soaked through, his fists scrunched and jammed inside his pockets. He felt childish, putting off something after he’d come all this way.

Then he crossed the street.

Her mum answered. He remembered her vaguely, from the times they’d spent going between each other’s houses. She had soft eyes, and a warm smile, but she seemed like the kind of woman who always knew more than she let on. She didn’t look surprised to see him.

She called upstairs to you, no judgment, nor hesitation in her voice, before slinking away leaving him shivering in the doorway.

Then came a pause. Footsteps.

Then there she was.

She looked exactly how he pictured her, which annoyed him in a way he couldn’t explain. She was wearing cozy clothes, fitting for the weather, her sleeves reached past her wrists, she tugged on them in a nervous manner, her face formed in a frown when she saw me, not a smile in sight. She folded her arms up as if to protect herself, like a barrier, like she was already bracing herself for disappointment.

“What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know,” he answered her, and it was honest.

She stepped aside against the door, allowing him inside anyway.

He followed her into the kitchen. The light was low and warm, everything too quiet, the atmosphere awkward and cracking, bursting at the seems just waiting for something to be said. She made tea without asking if he wanted any. He watched her move about like he wasn’t even there.

When the tea was done, she headed upstairs, he followed after her, the two of them entering her room. She placed the tea down at her desk, not before finding an uncluttered space, then went to close the door behind him.

“You can’t just show up out of the blue,” she said finally, breaking the silence.

“I know.”

“You didn’t even say goodbye.”

“I know”

“You ignored me. Pretended you didn’t know me around your friends.”

“I know.” He paused. “I’m sorry.”

Her eyes were squinting slightly, her voice had begun to tremble but she held her head high. She looked at him hard then.

“You’re not sorry, George. You just feel bad now because I didn’t wait around for you, didn’t chase after you like I’m sure many other girls have.”

That stung, he could feel his chest tighten. Maybe because it was true. Maybe because he wasn’t sure what he had expected her to do, write about him? Stay quiet? Disappear politely?

He didn’t answer her yet, just shifted to reach for his tea, hoping the mug might help him think of what to say, might offer him a script.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he said.

“What, be decent?” She shot back. “Not just disappear from my life for months, then expect me to welcome you back in after you show up at my door.”

He flinched, just slightly.

She sighed, and for the first time that day he saw her properly, she looked tired, not just of him, but of the whole thing, of being the one who had to say the hard part, of being the one who won’t just give in when given some form of apology.

“I liked you,” she murmured quietly. “I really did. But you made me feel like I should be embarrassed for it, or that you would be embarrassed of it.”

“I liked you too,” “I like you too,” he said, but it came out too fast, and overall, too late.

She laughed, but not in the way he loved, she laughed, bitter. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

“I was scared.”

“Of what? Your reputation, harm coming to your image?”

“Of you,” he said.

That stopped her. She blinked once, then twice, taken aback. Then she laughed again, but it wasn’t bitter this time. Just surprised.

“Of me?”

He nodded. “You saw things, I mean really saw. I’m not used to that.”

She looked down at the floor, then back up at him. For the first time in months, she wasn’t wearing armour, her wall had fallen before him.

“I could say the same, you’ve seen more of me than anyone, you know more of me.”

And maybe that was the last bit of permission he needed, or maybe it was something else entirely, something he couldn’t name but had been building inside him since that first walk home, since their first proper conversation.

He kissed her. Soft, and a little hesitant, like testing something out that you’ve only ever imagined. She kissed him back. Her hands gripped the damp fabric of his jumper like she didn’t trust him not to vanish again, and maybe she was right to.

When they eventually pulled apart, they just stood there, foreheads close, noses touching, breathing unevenly, like they’d finally surfaced something that came from deep down.

He didn’t say anything straight away.

And neither did she.

But this time, the silence felt different, like something beginning, not something breaking.

- Again this is partially based on Normal People, and I don’t usually post stuff like this… I’m not a George Clarke super fan, this is me, yet again projecting. Sorry if this bothers anyone that I used him for this little story thing. 💃🫰

[always-coffee]

An Invitation

What I want to say is

I like your face,

            I think about

your hands on me,

            but I don’t say this

aloud,

            and yet everything

about me is an invitation,

            an open door,

a conjuring of clothes

            on a bedroom floor,

and I’m not sure who

            will make the first move,

only that one of us will,

and it feels like a song

            I once knew

but forgot, you feel like a song

            I once knew,

come closer,

            let me sing it back to you.

[psychicthepsychic-daily]

binary stars

image description:

a starry night sky with a poem. one column is about psychic, the second is about void. first read each column individually, then both together.

psychic:

look into the flaming apathy ask it for guidance and the promise of friendship sing a desperate song for the bleeding warmth and the binary stars …hello?

all i know is give. follow the words of honey and promise and find the whole world waiting for me. my family we were always together. you stir my curiosity; your needlelike stare fixated on me i return your favor, tepid echolocation finds your weighted reverberant thoughts i seek harmonic rapport atop the opposite wall the world stagnates tugging me down and i stubbornly pull away —only to return; looking for frivolity in your eyes

void:

this gaping chasm comprising one’s heart the cold indifference hollowed out laughs at me. to get away from the dark smiling abyss chase a blinding dream. …hello.

you can only take. weightless path leading me north, compass rose exponential love at my fingertips, you can’t fathom life fortune meant to be this way. isolated. i don’t quite understand why you are like this. it’s eating me alive, my mind, that electric tempest. far too loud. so sometimes i sit numb and deaf to it all like puddles of water after the rain glue me to the ground again and again i‘m chasing ephemeral lights, only, only, only, i see myself.

psychic and void:

look into // this gaping chasm the flaming apathy // comprising one’s heart ask it for guidance and // the cold indifference the promise of // hollowed out friendship // laughs at me. sing a desperate song // to get away from the dark for the bleeding warmth and the // smiling abyss binary stars // chase a blinding dream. …hello? // ...hello.

all i know is // you can only give. // take. follow the // weightless path words of honey and promise // leading me north, compass rose and find // exponential love the whole world // at my fingertips, waiting for me. // you can't fathom my // life family // fortune we were always // meant to be this way. together. // isolated. you stir my curiosity; // i don’t quite understand your needlelike stare // why you are fixated on me // like this. i return your favor, // it's eating me alive, my tepid echolocation finds your // mind, that weighted // electric reverberant // tempest. thoughts // far too loud. i seek harmonic rapport // so sometimes i sit atop the opposite wall // numb and deaf to the world // it all stagnates // like puddles of water after the rain tugging me down // glue me to the ground and i stubbornly pull away // again and again —only to return; // i‘m chasing ephemeral lights, looking for frivolity // only, only, only, in your eyes // i see myself.

[inseparabiles]

#highkey envy everybody in the tags#who gets asks like 'please write piss kink yesterday'#where the fuck are you getting your freaks from#high society life has made me so prim and proper#got my pinky up when I drink my fucking tea

would you like write smut like that? is that why you haven't because you don't get asks like that and you would if you did? asking for a friend

It's genuinely. Like don't get me wrong we do like writing our genfic, we do love our all of that that we're doing anyway and people seem to like reading, but it's like

I guess it's been oddly branding? And I don't know if it's that people now take that brand as a "well you wouldn't do this thing and asking it of you would be weird and I'm going to respect your implicit boundaries by not doing it" or if it's more like "we, the audience that you have, want this specific thing that you're already writing and when you part from it it's HIGHKEY WEIRD and OFFPUTTING" or a mix of both but

would we like to get the kind of unhinged requests that we're seeing all over the tags? Get slapped in the face with an ask that's just so out there? Write explicit for the sake of explicit without having to find a better excuse for it? Yes. God. Yes. We would.

[lordgeneralsix]

I can't remember who said this but there was this one dev who said that when making romanceable characters they have to be attractive in some way (personality, looks, not too morally fucked up etc). and since I read that, the statement hasn't left my mind and I'm very aware now of whenever outside influence and modern discourse get to me or other writers. like just yesterday I found myself rewriting a scene to be more "comfortable" to witness, even though the point was to be emotionally charged and face a difficult topic the character had been actively lying about. but some things can't be glossed over. sometimes it's good when media grabs you by the shoulders and makes you face horrible shit. it's good when media makes you uncomfortable even if it's coming from a ~romanceable companion~. that means it's working. if you remain comfortable forever you learn nothing.

I bring this up bc the veilguard companions are the perfect example and victims of the "romanceable characters need to be attractive" mindset. they don't have ugly sides, they don't fight with each other--and I mean really fight--they don't have controversial opinions or do problematic things. they don't ever question your authority over their lives and why you're the guy in charge. they are nice and perfect and their problems aren't really that serious and can be fixed by simply having a therapy session w rook (bc being possessed or gaining new magic isn't a big deal in a world where previously such events are Very distressing and hard to control). they are further proof that trying too hard to make something attractive has the complete opposite effect if your brain isn't the size of a pebble.

it's overall very frustrating that big game developers continue to be so spineless and I'm not giving anyone a pass for shallow writing, especially from a franchise that is known to have complex characters. none of this is impressive after the first three dragon age games, which were well loved and dissected and debated for years after their release. that isn't to say these games don't have kind characters, having that balance is why I personally like dark fantasy and liked what the dragon age games offered (whenever the writing was good..). it's not dark for the sake of being dark (see grimdark), there's a reason why these things are happening, and in this world no one is completely innocent even if they have good intentions. most people like when their characters aren't always kind or agreeable, bc it's extremely rewarding to finally find that middle ground (of course I have to bring up larian, who made bg3 and proved just how much people appreciate flawed characters, see astarion). conflict is the driving force of a story, no matter what it is. even the most sickeningly sweet cozy slice of life story will have some kind of conflict. it's unavoidable. that's life. taking that away is setting yourself up for failure and all that remains is a boring story full of boring people. no one cares about characters who have their lives together.

(the post is technically over but I wanted to put some final thoughts under the cut bc this got longer than I meant)

I want to go back to the statement real quick... like i do agree, it's true as writers we'll subconsciously (or consciously if you're insecure) try to make our characters appealing, but this is the common trap writers fall into by giving a shit about what others think and want from Their work (which btw I fully believe in writing what you want even if it's "bad" because something with genuine soul will never be as bad as soulless cashgrabs). romanceable characters can and should be as flawed as you'd make any other character, bc trust me there's an audience for everything. even a random npc with two lines will be attractive to someone.

the pressure of an imaginary audience is what pushes writers into a corner and prevents writers from writing and exploring what They want. it's the writer's story first, not the audience's. I think the romanceable companion trap can be easily avoided if writers just 1) grow a bit of a backbone and 2) ask themselves if this is even a necessary or insightful mechanic that will help develop a character further. ask themselves if this character even has the capacity to handle a romantic relationship bc everything else is subjective and it's impossible to appeal to everyone (which apparently this is a controversial take). I won't sit here and pretend that I don't appreciate a good romance, but sometimes all someone really needs is a friend.

obsidian is a good example of self aware devs. they tried to do romance for pillars of eternity 2 bc of fan demand, and it didn't work very well. now for avowed, they didn't explore romance bc they know it's not their strong suit and don't feel it's necessary for this story, instead that time and effort went to developing the characters in other meaningful ways. I have nothing but respect for such a decision bc they know what they want from their story instead of lying and trying to be everything at once. less is more as they say.

[crossbackpoke-check]

it’s all the rest of what i want with you

connor dewar/brandon duhaime :: 8k

Summary:

“Brandon,” Connor says with a sigh. “There’s no baby in there.”

“Not yet,” Brandon says. Connor feels his stomach twist, almost like what he would imagine a baby kicking to feel like.

in these trying times of dewvorce, may i offer you 8k of pwp inspired by @stillfertile’s wonderful art which i had. several breakdowns about 🫶 anyway please enjoy!!!

[antipathy-arsonist]

i wonder if hank ever feels a sight sense of. resentment at being brought back from the dead yanno?

like yeah maybe the other place is also a desolate hellscape but from the. admittedly little i understand about it (im not. super at picking up all the science fiction-y shit lol) your s3lf like. starts decaying after a while right? until you cease to exist?

i feel they probably do not enjoy being dragged from realm to realm all the time anyway.

every time they wake up from the dead on the cold hard ground outside, or in the magnification chamber, or docs office i think some small itch of irratation and fatigue grows just that small bit larger. and they begin to start forgetting any rational or benevolent reason anyone has for bringing them back until everyone around them seems to be maliciously playing a part in the universes scheme to torment them

woah... edgy

[avirael]

How to hold a grudge (on behalf of someone else)

“Oh! Hello Rael!”

The audacity of this man!, was all Rael thought as they opened the door to their house and found Thancred standing on the other side. They felt horribly tempted to just slam the door right back shut into his stupidly grinning face.

Certainly they could say that it had just been one of these intrusive Lalafell who tried to sell their useless and overpriced goods to gullible people (like A’viloh) or one of their neighbours asking to borrow sugar again. Anyone who was not Thancred Waters.

What did he even want here? Had all of the women in Revenant’s Toll finally realised how much of a fraud he was and fled town? Or maybe they had chased him away with brooms and pitchforks. Yes, the later was absolutely Rael’s preferred explanation for his unwelcome presence here.

They still glowered at the man, trying really hard not to greet him with an insult, when A’vi returned from the kitchen. “Who’s there?”, he asked gloomily on his way back to the couch. Just as Thancred appeared in his field of view, the Hyur raised an arm and waved lightly. “Hello to you too, A’viloh.”

“Oh!”, the Miqo’te exclaimed surprised and almost dropped the bowl of ice cream he held in his hands. And there was that expression again, Rael noted in frustration. The same one he had made the last time they had visited the Rising Stones. It was a strange mix of feelings and Rael thought it difficult to find a fitting word for it. He looked like he had mistaken some dangerous animal for a harmless pet and was now horrified by the bloodshed it caused but still couldn’t stop himself from liking that creature anyway despite its nature. Maybe the comparison was unnecessarily gruesome but Rael just hoped that A’viloh was at least clever enough not to get himself torn to pieces by the metaphorical sharp teeth.

***

It wasn’t all that difficult to understand how the Viera got this rather extreme opinion about Thancred Waters. He had always had a certain reputation around Vesper Bay and Ul’dah, Rael had quickly learned as they had asked around about the Scions before choosing to work with them. On top of that the man hadn’t exactly left a good first impression when they had met in person for the first time. Maybe he had honestly just been curious about meeting a Viera for the first time but Rael had already heard a few pretty stupid pick-up lines during their journey and this man had seemed right in line with that. A raised eyebrow and disgusted look on their face at least had quickly disheartened him to try any further.

But then there was A’viloh! Kind, yet so self-sabotaging A’viloh! Rael had long stopped wondering what it was that he found interesting about Thancred and instead decided to just blame it on a severe case of mental confusion. They had warned him about Thancred back when A'viloh had told them about the invitation but it really wasn’t their place to tell A’vi what to do or, in this case, not to do. So at first the Viera had simply intended for him to either be clever (which seemed unlikely) or learn that lesson on his own and the hard way if necessary. But this had been many months ago and in the meantime a lot had happened. By now the idea that the poor Miqo’te could get his feelings hurt by that vile man was giving Rael a headache.

Sure, Rael occasionally liked to tease him about the way he acted around Thancred and at first all of his infatuation had almost seemed to Rael like a good sign, but that assessment had changed shortly after. Finally Rael had managed to convince A’viloh that it would be a good idea to return to the Rising Stones and speak to Thancred about how the Miqo’te felt responsible for what had happened to him (and only about that, mind you!) but in the meantime Thancred had seemingly recovered very well and immediately reverted back to his old ways. Just worse. Both, concerning the quantity of alcohol and women.

In a surprisingly short span of time Thancred had managed to be seen with more women than Rael could count on their fingers, some of them just shamelessly flirting with but enough of them in more or less obvious situations. And that were just the ones he had no qualms to be seen with, Rael assumed. It was unnecessary to mention that A’viloh’s resolution to speak to him had died down abruptly.

Rael had observed this tragedy for as long and as peacefully as they could tolerate. They hadn’t wanted to interfere in something that actually wasn’t any of their business, so they had hoped that A’vi would soon get angry enough to stop moping. But they should have known that anger wasn’t exactly one of A’vi’s standard solutions for his problem and so of course it only seemed to get worse over time. Rael on the other hand had quickly developed a habit of getting angry on his behalf, to their own frustration.

One day Rael was speaking with Papalymo and Y'shtola about a book they were studying, when they noticed A'viloh gloomily staring down the counter of F‘lhaminn’s bar. After a moment F‘lhaminn, like the good barkeep she was, put a glass of liquor in front of him, raised an eyebrow and expected him to talk.

“What’s up with you?” she asked but A’viloh just grimaced and nodded to the glass in front of him. “That’s not a good idea. Alcohol and me don’t seem to go so well together.”

F‘lhlaminn had chuckled and made a peculiar face. “Oh, just like Thancred I guess…”, she said leaving it up to his interpretation if she meant alcohol and Thancred or him and Thancred, while she eyed him for a reaction.

A desperate sigh was all she got for an answer, but that was more than enough.

“Ha! So I rightfully thought this was about him. You know, I saw you eyeing him and Higiri…”

Avi snapped to attention, ears going up, face turning red. “What?! That ain’t true! Why would I??”

“If you say so…”, F’lhaminn chuckled again and returned her attention to the glass she was cleaning.

Seemingly unaware of the fact that he was proving her right, A’vi turned his head the other way and kept on sadly watching Thancred flirt with one of the doman girls from afar.

At that point Rael had decided to do something and stepped closer. “If you don't stop looking like this, I will go over there and I will punch him in his stupid face.”, they annouced sitting down beside A'vi.

Startled the Miqo’te turned around. “What?”

“It’s excuse me!”, Rael corrected and then repeated their words. “I said I am going to punch him in the face if you don’t!”

A’viloh was either truly unaware about his lovesick staring or had decided to play very very dumb. “Who?”

“Please! Don’t pretend to be more stupid than you actually are. Thancred of course!”, the Viera grumbled.

A’viloh still pretended to be oblivious. “Why should you do that??”

“You know why!”, sternly Rael glowered at him and finally the Miqo’te gave up this charade. “Alright! Fine! But how is he supposed to know that it bothers me?”, he retorted and Rael seriously wondered if he was this oblivious about how he was behaving.

“By the Twelve, A’vi!”, they exclaimed, a saying they had quickly picked up along with another few curses. “He can’t have that much brain damage to not notice that! Everybody in this building must by now have noticed that you are in love with him. I wouldn’t even be surprised if everybody in this whole town knows!”

A’viloh wanted to object at first but quickly gave up.. “I am not-... No… Please! Don’t tell me it is really that obvious?”

Rael rolled their eyes and slightly shook their head. “No, don’t worry! You just longingly stare at him every chance you get and sigh sadly every time he talks to someone. I guess your secret is safe!”

“That’s not funny…”, he muttered quietly with drooping ears. Rael just shrugged. It was only the truth.

Then A’vi added: “The idea that someone like Rowena knows something like that is kinda scary…”

“Careful! She’ll find a way to make money out of that. Blackmail or something…”, Rael couldn’t help but tease. At least the Miqo’te spent the rest of the day brooding over something that wasn’t Thancred Waters.

But then a few days later Rael had reached the point where they had enough.

One late afternoon they had found A’vi picking at his food while once again staring across the room, where Thancred sat at the bar with one arm around the shoulders of an annoyingly giggling Miqo’te girl. It was painful to watch, both Thancred and his conquest being so obliviously obnoxious as well as A’viloh’s reaction to it, but apart from this it was mostly infuriating. Rael wasn’t even sure who they wanted to yell at the most. So after wordlessly watching for a minute or another they lost their temper and growled at A’viloh.

“Are you mad!? You can’t seriously tell me that this -“, they hissed, silently enough not to catch any attention, gesturing towards the bar. “THIS is what you want? To be stupid! And replaceable! And forgotten before morning!?”

Slightly shocked A’viloh had stared at them for a moment, like he just realised it was the truth, before he wordlessly shook his head and sighed. It wasn’t fair that Rael had lashed out at him, they knew that, but seemingly he needed someone to tell him how ridiculous all of this was. Nonetheless he still looked sad of course, so this time it had been Rael, who had decided to take A’viloh and flee as far away as possible, seeking refuge in their house near Limsa again.

Of course this wouldn’t solve anything and they couldn’t avoid that bastard forever, but there was nothing else Rael could do about it. (Unless you counted maiming or murder a reasonable approach of course.) They simply hoped that A’viloh would soon come to his senses and realise how stupid it was to care about someone as ruthless as Thancred Waters.

***

And now this impossible man had the nerve to show up at their door! Obliviously grinning at that! They really wanted to strangle him. “What are you doing here, Thancred?”, they asked with a way too sweet tone and a strained smile, that somehow looked threatening.

“Ah! Very good question!”, he answered and laughed obliviously. “The two of you haven’t shown me your house yet! So I thought I‘d visit and see for myself!”

The carefully put together smile on Rael’s face faded as quickly as it had appeared. There was no way they would be able to remain friendly towards him even one second longer. “Well, now that you‘ve seen it, why don’t you go and—”

A’viloh, who until then was silently observing the contents of his ice cream bowl in concentration, at once snapped to attention. Alarmed he stared at the Viera while loudly proclaiming. “That’s so nice of you! Why don’t you come in first and we‘ll get you something to drink?”

He left it to Thancred to let himself in and instead grabbed Rael‘s arm to pull them into the kitchen.

“You can’t say something like this, Rael!”, he argued quietly.

“I can’t say what?”, they raised their eyebrows and didn’t bother very much to speak quietly. What bothered them though, was that A‘viloh still was so disgustingly friendly to him. Rael had thought he had understood by now, that on this man all kindness was wasted. “That, for all I care about, he can go and fuck himself?”

“Rael!”, A’viloh hissed and nervously eyed the door.

“Why?”, they simply retorted angrily, while picking up the bowl A’vi had put down on the counter and putting a light ice spell on it. They would rather have put that spell elsewhere.

“Because it‘s rude!”, the Miqo’te exclaimed. „Also, I don‘t think that would be very accurate to say considering… you know…”

“Please!”, Rael interrupted. “It’s very appalling how much thought you seem to have spared to that topic!”

A’viloh gasped. “What?! You started this! I didn’t!”

So much for gratitude!, Rael thought as they opened their mouth to retort something maybe a little bit too snarky. But just in that moment Thancred’s voice echoed from the living rooms. “You two have such a wonderful house. I already thought the garden was beautiful but in here? What a pretty place!”, he said as he pranced into the kitchen and confidently leaned onto the counter like he owned the whole place. To Thancred’s luck and Rael’s disappointment the knife block was out of the Viera‘s reach.

“Thank you…”, A‘viloh answered while still keeping an eye on Rael. The Hyur looked at them innocently smiling as if he didn’t notice at all in what a dangerous situation he had put himself. Nonchalantly he looked around and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “But don’t you think something is missing?”

“Missing??”, Rael echoed and wondered if they should break his nose and see if some of his own blood on the kitchen tiles would suit his taste more. But no! That would just give A‘viloh an opportunity to get unnecessarily worried about him again…

“What do you mean, missing?”, A‘vi asked confused and let his gaze wander through the room as well.

Thancred shrugged. “I don’t know, just a feeling… Are you already completely done with the house or is there anything left you wanted to do?”

“We are more or less done.”, replied the Miqo’te and then added. “Well, Rael still wanted a proper work desk but we didn’t have time for that yet. And maybe something to sit down in the garden or an orchestrion but that would be too much work I‘m afraid…”

Thancred nodded. “Mh, that’s a shame! I think some music would make this place even more cozy…”

(If by cozy he meant the untidy chaos A’viloh had turned their house into these last few days…)

“Right?”, the Miqo’te agreed excitedly. It was disgusting.

Rael had enough of this nonsense. They knew that it would get ugly if they had to hear only a single more word of this conversation. But just as they were about to leave with an inappropriate remark, telling themselves not to care about Thancred being a horrible person and A’viloh being an idiot, all of their linkpearls started to chime at once.

Surprised they stared at each other and then answered the call more or less simultaneously. Minfilia was on the other end of the connection asking if they all could come to the Rising Stones. Then she shortly explained that there had been new information and that all of them were to meet as soon as possible to plan their next move.

Her tone had been serious and all of them knew that this could only either mean one threat or another. While Rael went to the living room table to pick up their grimoire from beneath a heap of papers, Thancred excused himself saying that he would check a few of his own sources before meeting them later.

Rael threw a few things into a bag and went upstairs to change clothes. When they returned some minutes later A’viloh was wandering through the living room with a puzzled expression on his face, ice cream bowl in one hand (of course he wouldn’t let that go to waste!) and lifting the sofa cushions one by one with the other.

Rael sighed. “What are you doing??”

“Please tell me you’ve seen any of my weapons somewhere…”

[monster-noises]

Hgggg

Had one of those sundays where i felt just like

A little bit like shit all day

So i didn't really get any of my comic work done and it just kinda became a Lost Day

So now as consequence my brain won't let me go to bed because i did not Satisfy the Requirements as Set Beforehand

But i would like to actually set myself up for a successful week of going to bed on timebl because i haven't the last two weeks and i can Feel it slowly destroying me spiritually, mentally, and physically

But sometimes there js Naught you can do in the face of Wanton Mental Illness

[randum-famdoms]

Fuck it we writin

[robertseanleonardthinker]

the urge to start writing fanfiction but i have never written a piece of fanfiction ever and haven't written creatively outside of school projects in years 😭😭😭😭