#time loops are fun from every angle

[captainkirkk]

Currently thinking about the people who AREN'T stuck in the time loop and how jarring that must be

Imagine: You wake up to a morning like any other morning and suddenly you don't recognise your friend. Your friend has lived for years - decades, maybe - in worlds that you can't possible understand and it shows. You don't understand. Your friend was fine yesterday.

And even if you find out about the time loops, you have no memory of them. You can plan, but it's probably something your past selves have already tried. You can offer comfort, but you can't tell them anything they haven't heard before. And you can't go with your friend into tomorrow. You're just a ghost.

[greatgoddyke]

some bobbles (+ two unfinished things)

[glow-worms-are-believers]

Tim Drake: Ugly Duckling (dp x dc)

So this is the last day of pride month, and so also the last day of me trying to write as many LGBTQ+ canon dc characters. It’s been fun (and I got to read a whole bunch of comics which was actually much more fun than the first time I’d tried to read those!!)

Now even though this is the end of June, feel free to send an ask if you want me to write a blurb with any character. I make no promises, but I will very much try! (It might take a while especially if I’m in a Tumblr hibernation phase.)

Anyways, for the last day of pride month I wanted to do Tim Drake coz he’s dc’s main “it” gay girl. I’ve been working on this Dead Tired fic for ages, based on the post about Tim getting turned into a swan and meeting Danny, who as a prince has to give him a kiss to change him back (I can’t find the prompt but it was hilarious so this was my take on it).

Here’s the beginning of the fic:

Red Robin was on patrol duty, while Batman and Robin were following a lead on possible joker safehouses. All in all, It was a pretty quiet night with only two muggings, both low-energy as both perpetrator ran away as soon as a bat-shaped shadow moved. 

So Red Robin had spent most of the night chatting with Babs. He was grappling around town, as they started on the new date app they’d both found out Jason was using.

“I told him he can’t put only photos of his motorcycle but- wait I’m getting a call,” Oracle interrupted herself. Tim waited before the earpiece came to life again.

“Sorry to cut this short Red Robin, got a full-attention request from Canary. If you need anything, beep me, and Keep your coms open.”

“Bye, Oracle,” he said, and like that, Red Robin was alone once again.

 He stopped on Grand Avenue Station and just let himself take in Gotham. The city was beautiful at night, and Tim was itching for a camera. He seen hundreds of pictures of the city’s skyline but they always managed to be unique. The night sky may always be covered by dark clouds above, but Gotham had its own stars in the lights shinning on top of the skyscrapers. So lost in his thoughts, Tim was, he almost missed the soft noise that sounded behind him. The voice that sounded behind him was harder to miss.

“Wither away so late, Little Red Bird?”

Red Robin turned to see a tall woman standing half in the shadows

“Sorry, can I help you?” Answered the vigilante despite the bad feeling creeping up to him.

“I’d like to know where I can find your guardian,” the woman said, still in the shadows.

“You mean Batman?” He chanced.

The woman nodded and Tim resisted the urge to sigh.If this was another one of Bruce’s ill-advised fling, Tim was going to hack every electronic device the man had to play sex-eds on loops for at least a week.

“He’s busy at the moment.” Then feeling like he shouldn’t assume what the woman wanted Bruce for, he continued. “But if you need any help, I’ll do my best.”

The woman stepped forward, and Tim could see her better. Her face was bare, but her distinctive outfit seemed to indicate she was some kind of vigilante-slash-criminal. The outfit did, in fact, ring a bell in the back of his mind, but it was dim. Tim didn’t tense up, but he did angle his body in a way to accommodate for a better escape through grappling. She continued walking until she was within arm’s reach of Tim, towering over him. She extended a hand to lightly caress his cheek, and Tim went still at the touch.

“Such a kind Little Bird you are,” she said gently. “You know, you remind me of my daughter.” She sighed. “Oh, what pretty children you both are.”

“Thank you,” said Tim as he sidestepped out of the way. “I’m sure she’s a lovely person.”

“Oh she was,” the woman said and through his growing wariness, Tim spared a thought for the girl. “She had dark hair and the fairest skin, just like you. The most beautiful girl in the land some would even say.”

That niggling feeling came back as a feeling of familiarity poked at him once again. “You must’ve been very proud.”

The woman let out an airy laugh before saying playfully/contemplating. “mustn’t I?”

A shiver ran down his back. Alright, there was something wrong with this woman, and Tim wasn’t waiting around to find out what. Not without any information or backup.

“Well, if there’s nothing I can do for you, I really have to get going,” Tim said as he took out his grapple gun. In a second, the gun was ripped from his hand , and he was slammed to the side of the staircase leading up to the roof. He let out a gasp at the impact and his features tensed in pain. The woman hadn’t even touched him.

“Not so fast, Little Bird. We don’t want you going back to the Batman just yet.  I’m not ready to make him my Knight yet.”

“Your knight?” Tim managed to get out. He tried to move his arms, but some unseen force was pinning him in place. Shit, that meant he couldn’t reach the comm to send out a distress signal. Hopefully Babs would check in soon.

The woman smiled as she approached him once again. “What better for a Queen, than a Dark Knight?”

And just like that it clicked. “You’re the Queen of Fables.” 

“Well look at this, you’ve got the brains and the beauty,” she teased, her voice as smooth as honey.

“What do you want with Batman?” Tim asked though he could guess from previous encounters she had had with the Justice League that the villainess wanted to turn Bruce into a fairytale character of some sort. She’d done the trick on Clark, and twice on Diana, so it was probably Batman’s turn now. So, yes, Tim could guess, But the longer he kept her talking the more time he had to figure out a way out of this.

“I told you, he’ll be a Knight of the Queen,” She extended a hand and tilted Tim’s face up. “Do you know what that would make you Little Bird?” 

Most villains assumed the batclan worked like a crime family. So the family of a knight? “Nobility,” Tim guessed, unsure where this was going.

“Exactly.” She smiled, and then she moved. Tim braced for the hit.

Instead of a punch though, he only felt a tingling sensation. Cautiously, he opened his eyes, only for them to grow bigger as he took in his uniform. Or the lack thereof.

He was in something-century clothing, in some sort of frilly shirt and pants, all in white. This was worse than a punch. Then, as the thought hit him, Tim’s hands flew to his face only to come in contact with the silky fabric of a masquerade mask. He sighed in relief, and as he calmed down, he realized he was now free of the force pinning him down.

“The color is for my daughter,” the Queen said. Then, she let her head fall to the side before tracing a line across his forehead and Tim could feel something like a circlet setting down on it. “There you go. Now, it’s perfect. You could practically be siblings.” 

“No thanks.,” Tim answered.

The Queen tsked him. “That’s no way to behave Little Bird, has nobody taught you to say thank you when you receive a gift.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” Tim disagreed mildly as he took stock of his weapons. Everything was gone, including the earpiece, which meant Babs had to have been alerted and someone was en route.

The Queen frowned. “I was going to be merciful, for you guardian’s sake, but I no longer feel generous.” She raised her hand and Tim tried to roll away, but the magic beam swerved and hit him in a blinding flash of light.

When he managed to open his eyes once again, the world seemed quite a bit bigger than it had been moments before. 

“What did you do to me?” He said. Or tried to say.

Instead a strange squawk echoed and Tim took a step back in surprise. However, he lost his balance and started to fall and as he tried to catch himself with his hand, two large white wings unfolded. He dropped down, which wasn’t as far as he would’ve estimated and laid stiff. He moved his left arm, and a white wing followed suit. 

Oh, no. Oh no no no.

A grating laugh interrupted his freak out. “There you are my pretty Little Bird, all better. White really is your colour, don’t you th-“

With a loud hiss, Tim propelled himself towards the woman. Making use of his newfound beak, he pecked and bit everything he could, as he flapped his wings.

“Blasted creature- Get off! Stop it, you despicable, puny-“ 

Finally she managed to grab Tim and throw him away from her. He landed with a squawk, but managed to get himself back to his feet quickly. “You little/awful brat,” she snarled. “You’ll pay for this!”

But as the Queen threw out her hand, something rippled in the air between them and the magic beam seem to explode midway into a green vortex. Tim’s clumsy attempt at waddling away had him head straight towards it, and it was in vain that he tried to redirect the course. She and Tim made eye contact as the swan-boy tipped right into the swirling green vortex, both of their eyes wide-open in surprise.

Danny was exhausted. He was currently on week one of the full month of Royal Duties he’d promised Clockwork. Being Prince of the Infinite Realm was not all that it was cracked up to be, and that was saying a lot since he had already been expecting it to be awful. 

When Clockwork had made the request, Danny had proceeded to freak out about his new status, and then tried to abdicate. It was only the master of time reminding him of all the terrible possible candidate for the throne per rites of combat (such as Vlad) that stopped him from washing his hands of this mess. And now Danny was forced to spend one whole month of his summer vacation in the Ghost Zone to fulfill his duty as a Prince. 

He thought it would be some paperwork, maybe a battle or two, nothing too bad, but nooo. Because, of course nothing was easy, Danny had to show up at Events, and be Diplomatic. It was meeting, after meeting, after weird parties that were a mix between Medieval Banquets and Debutante balls. 

And worse of all were the marriage proposals. Danny could sorta understand, marrying into royalty was a definite plus for a lot of more powerful ghosts but when they called him a half-breed behind his back, only to smile in his face with a marriage contract in one hand and flowers in the other, that was where he drew the line. 

Plus there was also the fact that he was, like sixteen.

Suffice to say, Danny was exhausted and hiding out in Pariah Dark’s old castle as a last resort. It wasn’t his favorite place all in all, but the gardens were absolutely beautiful, which was where he was walking. He was currently headed to the hedge maze, since it was the best way to get rid of any tails he may or may not have. 

The maze was nasty if it didn’t like you, and it didn’t like anybody but Danny, and even then, it still tried to take a bite every once in a while. Despite the snaking vines and roots trying to capture anything that moved, the flowers that wailed softly when disturbed or the sharp thorns of the hedge plants themselves, it was still a beautiful place. Uniquely, the closer you got to the centre, the more colorful (and dangerous) everything got, which was why he liked it best. 

He reached the centre much quicker than the first time he tried, thanks to the maze actually helping him, and something pale caught his eye right in the middle of the open area, right next to the bench Danny loved to use. As he got closer, he realized it was a swan laying on the floor, seemingly unconscious.

“Oh no,” Danny said as he approached. “What happened to you?”

As if awakened by the sound of his voice, the swan started to shift, its wings twitching and it rose its head groggily. As soon as it clocked in Danny, it let out a surprised squawk, followed by a long hiss as it struggled to move away.

“Hey, hey, none of that, Duckie, you’re ok.” Danny raised his hands placatingly. “I don’t want to harm you, ok? I just want to make sure you’re ok.”

The hiss subsided by a bit, but that may have only be due to the swan managing to get further away.

“Sh, sh, it’s ok,” Danny repeated as he slowly inched forward. The swan stopped hissing but still observed him warily. “I don’t want to hurt you Duckie, but I do think we’d better get you out of this maze.”

Danny took another step, and this time the swan stayed still. “How about bringing you back to my rooms just for now.” The swan hissed louder at the statement. “Don’t worry Duckie, I’m not keeping you prisoner it’s just this maze has been known to eat people. And you’re too pretty to be eaten,” Danny flashed a smile at the swan which had it stare back with a gaze saying really?

“So what do you say, wanna crash at my place?” Danny asked. The swan didn’t move forward but he didn’t move away either.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t trust a guy who talks to birds either,” Danny allowed. “And the place where I’m staying is a little gloomy, so I don’t blame you, but I can’t leave you here. The maze is honestly really dangerous, especially for a nice bird is like you. “

The swan seemed to hesitate before it hesitantly made its way to Danny. Ghost animals were usually smart but the swan seemed to understand English, which made communicating that much easier. Danny smiled and opened his arms. “I can carry you.” The swan just looked at him, with what Danny would’ve thought was a deadpan stare. “It would go much faster.”

If the swan was human it probably would’ve sighed, but instead, its wings just fell a little before it waddled towards Danny and looked up as if to say ‘get on with it’.

Danny smiled and gathered the animal in his arms. “Buckle up,” he said before flying off towards the maze exit, which was accompanied by a low hiss. Making sure there was nobody there to ambush him, Danny made it back to the castle in record time.

“Here we are Duckie.” Danny set the swan back down and it plopped down on the ground and just steadied themselves for a while.

Tim was a swan. He had wings and no fingers, and his feet were webbed.

He was handling it though. By which Tim meant he was shelving the impending panic attack for later when he wasn’t stuck in a swan body. 

Ok, so he’d been turned by the Queen of Fables, so there had to be an answer in a fairytale,a way to make him normal again. He knew the ugly duckling story. That had a swan in it, right? He didnt know any other swan stories, except maybe as a dish during the wedding banquet of whichever princess. He vaguely remembered a Barbie movie that had passed on the TV when he was younger but the only thing that came to mind were a scary-looking Troll thing, and ballet.  So with lack of better alternatives he was going to go with the ugly duckling. The ugly duckling’s happy ending was reuniting with family, so maybe all he needed was to make his way back to Gotham.

“Are you ok?” 

And that was another thing. The guy. The one Tim had at first wanted to get away from. He seemed nice and all, but he also had neon green eyes, and fangs. Unfortunately, while they suited the boy very well, they also marked him as an unknown. 

On the other hand, if the glowing portal wasn’t enough of an indication, the green tinge of everything around was clear indicator that Tim wasn’t in Kansas anymore. The guy seemed to want to help him, and having an ally wherever he was could only help.

Tim nodded as best as he could with his long weird neck, and he had to take a few steps to regain balance.

“That’s good,” the boy smiled with his white pointy canine. “How did you end up in the middle of that maze?”

Tim just looks back tiredly. He didn’t know how to even try and explain when he couldn’t say a word and had no opposable thumbs.

“Yeah, sorry.” The boy winced. “Maybe stick to yes or no questions.”

There was a sharp knock at the door that had the boy turning away.

“Prince Phantom!” A voice rung through the door.

Prince? 

The newly-dubbed Prince Phantom got up to open the door, “yes, what can I do for you?”

“Your meeting with Queen Dora is approaching. Do you still prefer to forgo an escort guards?” a purple lady was saying.

“I’ll be fine without, Maj but thank you very much,” Phantom answered with a polite smile.

“I’ll pass it along, my Prince.” She bowed and closed the doors behind her.

Phantom walked back to lay on the bed with a sigh. “I really hate that they call me that.” He turned towards Tim to continue. “I bet swans don’t have royalty. You guys had the right idea.”

[abowlofsourcream]

💫⏳ The Switch-A-Loop AU Guide ⏳💫

In this Au, Everyone Loops except Siffrin! This Au will focuses more on the party’s dynamics outside of just Sif. They try their best to figure out what is going on with the help of the mysterious Loop. They will find out more about the curse, the king, and most surprising their lovable rouge! Whether they want to or not…

Have fun!

Special Memories Here!

v The Characters v

- Mirabelle, The Chosen Heroine: Chosen by the Head Housemaiden, She first believes that the loops were the work of The Change God. A silly idea if you knew what she knew but a pleasant idea nonetheless! Besides, this way, she may be actually able to prove herself! This blessing would somehow give her the change she needed! At least… That’s what she thought… So why are they still here? What more does she need to prove? Maybe, the Head Housemaiden would know what happened to the world… Oh, if only there is a way to ask Siffrin what she said to him?

- Isabeau, The Beloved Warrior: You know it’s funny, he always thought that defeating the king would be more impactful. Like in those books you read as a kid! The hero goes on this incredible journey, growing stronger, falling in love, all that jazz! But boy, these Loops took the wind out of his sails! Like, he barely try’s to confess to Sif anymore (not that he feels any less about them). However, now knowing that beating the king wouldn’t stop the loops, the next best thing is to try other ways! Now he doesn’t like to brag, but he’s a pretty smart guy. Siffrin has something to do with what’s happening, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it. Maybe, there is a way to help them help the others! It just might work!

- Odlie, The Wary Scholar: Well, this turns out to be quite more than she signed up for. Not to say that she entirely regrets meeting any of them, they are quite the enjoyable lot to be around… However, it seems these Loops are taking a toll for the lot of them. Fortunately, she is ready to find out what exactly is going on. Luckily, she has taken the time of taking notes, oh she loves her notes! Although, there is a part of the puzzle that at every angle doesn’t quite fit. Siffrin. As much as she doesn’t want to admit it, they are in the middle of all of this Somehow… The fact that they don’t remember the loops, the way the king talks to them, even when he talks to the Housemaiden. The other’s try tell Odlie that it’s probably nothing, that Siffrin is in just as lost as the rest of them. But she just can’t let this go. She will find out why this is happening to her family, whether Siffrin is guilty or not…

- Bonnie, The Pure Hearted: Now, they may not understand what is happening and why all the adults are scared. But that is okay! The party snack leader is here to keep everyone safe, especially Frin. Frin can’t remember like the rest of them, so Bonnie has to make extra sure that he’s okay. Making sure he avoids all the tears, not to hit their hip against that counter, not to eat the pineapple and all that stuff! After all, it’s the least they can do. After what they did to… Anyway, they already somehow got Frin to let them hug him and sometimes he even call them “Bon Bon”! So, the other’s say that Firn and the king might be from that country that everyone forgot or something. Maybe, if you can get the King and Frin to talk… Maybe the King will help them! Like, What’s the worst that can happen! :)

- Loop, The Starstuck Guide: It’s Loop! The incredibly helpful and informative guide to this party! The only one that seems to know all about the loops. The party is unsure about what Loops wants out of this, and all the advice they give is weird/confusing! Also, they are kind of mean? Like, they try to comfort the party the best they can. However, when it comes to Siffrin… They don’t say anything out front about Sif but they do say things about him. Like pointing out all of his deaths or mistakes, lightly insulting him and making fun about how forgetful he is. It’s not great! Like who do they think they are. They just don’t know Siffrin like the rest of the party do… However, there is something familiar about this stranger.

- Siffrin, The DAMNED Traveler: ………………….. It’s all their fault………… just you wait……

[justagalwhowrites]

Halcyon - Ch. 17: You're Sorry, Great. Awesome.

You and Joel throw Sarah a birthday party. Things don't go as planned. A continuation of Halcyon from the prologue through Ch. 16, a modern no outbreak AU TLOU fic found on Tumblr here.

(I am BEGGING HBO for some flashback scenes this season PLEASE.)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: SMUT! Unprotected P in V sex. Fingering. Kind of aggressive sex. Modern No Outbreak AU, No use of Y/N, Slow burn, 18+ only, Minors DNI

Length: 7k

AO3 | Main Master List | Prologue | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“You gonna come for me?” 

Joel was everywhere, fucking everywhere, deep inside, pressed tight over you, arms looped around beneath you, his breath hot against your ear as he sucked wetly at your neck. All you could do was whimper below him, clawing at his skin as you scrambled to keep him close. 

“There you go,” he said, voice low and quiet and rough. “Fuck, gettin’ so damn tight on me, you’re close baby, lemme feel you.” 

You angled your hips as best you could below him so that every thrust reached deep and every motion worked your clit. 

“Joel,” you breathed, desperate and too close to your climax to care that you sounded pathetic and needy. “You feel so good, fuck, please, please, please…” 

His thrusts grew harder, sloppy, panting breathlessly against your skin. 

“Love makin’ you feel good,” he said, sounding half out of his mind as he did. “Fuck, love makin’ you come, you gotta come for me baby, I need it, c’mon honey, please, fuck, I love, I love…” 

Your orgasm hit you hard, making you cry out, pressing your mouth into Joel’s shoulder to muffle the sound of your pleasure. 

“Oh fuck,” he groaned, his hips stuttering. “That’s right, keep comin’ for me, gonna fill you up, fill you up so fuckin’ good, leave you drippin’ me all damn day, fuck!” 

He pressed deep and you could feel the heavy throb of his orgasm as he spilled into you, his come hot and thick on your most sensitive places inside. The feel of him pressing himself tight against you, clinging to you like you were all he wanted, made you come again around him, this orgasm more subdued as you focused on just how damn good he felt inside you. 

“Holy shit,” he panted, going limp on top of you as both of your orgasms eased.

“Tell me about it,” you said, breathless too, trailing your fingers up and down the broad expanse of his back. 

He laughed a little. 

“Fuck I love startin’ my day that way,” he said, pushing himself up from you and kissing your forehead as he slid out of you, a thick thread of his come and yours connecting your bodies for a moment before he collapsed at your side. 

You waited, as you always did, for him to decide how close the two of you would be after. But he tugged you against him, so your head was on his chest and his arm was around your shoulders, giving you a squeeze. You draped your arm over his broad chest and snuggled closer, breathing in the smell of his skin. You always liked having time like this with Joel but you were extra thankful for it then, the stress of getting ready for Sarah’s birthday pool party easier when you had a few reliable orgasms every day. Now that the day had arrived and you had a list of things that still needed doing, it seemed necessary to soak up that closeness with him while you could get it. 

“Me too,” you said quietly. 

“Speaking of starting the day,” he said and you could hear the smile in his voice. “You ready to have about two dozen tweens crash in on us for the afternoon?” 

You snorted. 

“As I’ll ever be,” you said. “I think we have everything except the cake and a few snacks but we should check again before one of us goes to pick it up.”

“See, logistics like this are why I never did this before,” Joel teased. “So much easier to just show up at a bowling alley or some shit where they do it all for you.” 

“She’s going to have so much fun though,” you smiled a little, remembering going to Party City with Sarah a few weeks before to find things for the party. She’d excitedly picked all the purple butterfly covered decorations and invitations, beaming as she did, her front teeth still a little too big for her face. “You’re going to have cool dad points for months off this.” 

“Fuckin’ better,” he said and you nuzzled closer to him as you laughed and he sighed. “I’m gonna miss this, Goldie girl.” 

“What, starting your day fucking someone?” You teased even though it stung knowing that’s all it was. 

You and Joel had thrown yourselves fully into the friends with benefits arrangement over the last month. You fucked every day, usually before he went to work - when Ellie’s early morning cries got one of you out of bed for at least a few minutes to settle her before returning and getting tangled in each other - and again in the evening when Sarah and Ellie were both asleep and you could take your time - pulling orgasm after orgasm from each other until you passed out, naked and sweaty and slick with come. You loved it. Far more than you should love it, so much that you had to fight to keep from saying it and ruining everything. You’d finally found some way to almost have what you wanted, you weren’t about to wreck it just because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut. 

But it was all ending soon, anyway. Anna had a release date from the inpatient program you’d gotten her into and, after talking with her and her doctors, you’d decided that you and Ellie would move into Anna’s house for a while. That meant leaving Joel’s and his bed and the comfort you found inside his space. 

“Don’t act like you’re not gonna miss that, too,” you could hear the roll of his eyes as he spoke. “But I more mean doin’ stuff like throwing this party with you. If you weren’t here, I’d just be stressed about it if I were doing it at all. But you’re here so I can look forward to it and how happy it’s going to make her and I’m going to miss having you here to do that shit with.” 

“I’m not going far,” you said, smiling a little into his chest. “But I get what you mean. Taking care of Ellie was so scary at first but you’re here and now, it’s not. Because I’m doing it with you.” 

Joel trailed his fingers up and down your upper arm and you just lay there with him, feeling his warmth and the softness of his skin and wishing you could find some way to be this close to him all the time. 

“You could just have Anna move in here,” he said and you laughed. “Hey, I’m serious!” 

“I know,” you said. “But no, not the best idea for this stage of recovery, that’s a lot of upheaval when she’s already going to be adjusting to life outside and as a mom. But once I bring Ellie there, Anna’s going to be seeing a therapist daily and if she’s getting overwhelmed, she’s going back in. Who knows, I might be back here before you know it.” 

“Hate that you’re makin’ me be against you showing back up here,” he said, just as the alarm on your phone started to ring. He groaned and you rolled to turn it off but you were only away from him for a moment before he pulled you back with a little yelp. 

“Hey!” You laughed into his chest. “C’mon, we need to get going…” 

“We got time,” he said, his voice husky, his hand skimming over your side, fingers trailing up to your breast. 

“Joel…” you breathed, sounding just as needy as you felt and you tried to avoid the twinge of shame that crept in with that need. 

“C’mon,” he said, tilting your chin so he could kiss you. “Lemme have you again. We got time.” 

His hold on you tightened and so did the knot in your stomach and you knew you couldn’t say no to him. You never could. 

“OK,” you said softly. “We got time.” 

You were both still breathless when Sarah knocked on Joel’s door about 30 minutes later and you turned to muffle the almost maniacal giggle that slipped out of you as she spoke. 

“Hey Dad?” She called to you both. “Can we have pancakes?” 

“Sure thing, baby girl,” he panted. “Just… five minutes.” 

You could practically hear her frown through the door. 

“What are you guys doing in there?” She asked. “You sound weird.” 

“Just… gettin’ ready for the party,” he said and you snorted. He pulled you tight against him so your mouth was pressed tight to his chest. “Be out in a minute.” 

Once the two of you left the quiet privacy of his bedroom, things moved quickly. You bounced and fed Ellie while Joel made breakfast for the three people in the house eating solid food. After you ate, Joel cleaned up while you put Ellie in a baby wrap and worked with Sarah to decorate the living room and the pool. She carefully decided where she wanted the gift table and where the snacks should be, what games should be out, where goodie bags should live, stepping back and considering everything with a serious look on her face that you had to fight to not giggle at. 

“OK,” she said after a while as she surveyed the space and gave a firm nod. “I think it’s perfect.” 

“You picked a good set up, kiddo,” you smiled, not even irritated that you’d swapped the gift table and the snack table’s positions four times. “Everyone’s going to have a great time.” 

“I hope so,” she said, beaming. “I can’t believe I get a pool party! I’m going to go get ready!” 

You and Joel left Sarah at the house to do her hair while the two of you took Ellie to pick up the cake and the last few things you needed at the store. 

Your niece was strapped to your chest and you were halfway down the chip aisle when you ran into Alyssa, the friend at work you’d made at the start of the school year that you hadn’t spoken to in months, too wrapped up in everything with Ellie and Anna and Joel to do anything like maintain a relationship with a coworker. 

“Oh, my God!” She beamed at you, pulling you in for an awkward hug with Ellie to the side. “I haven’t seen you in… shit, months? How’ve you been? Busy, I see!” 

“Yeah,” you laughed a little. “I’ve had my hands full taking care of this one. My sister’s… sick.” 

“Well, she’s an absolute doll!” She smiled broadly, leaning in to Ellie who beamed back at her, smiling her little gummy smile. “Hi there, cutie! Are you keeping your auntie from writing the next great American novel? Are you totally worth it? I think so!” 

“OK I got the cookies, too,” Joel said, coming up behind you and putting his hand on the small of your back, reaching around you to drop the packages in the cart. “Don’t know what kids don’t like fuckin’ cake but…” You cleared your throat as your cheeks got hot, feeling oddly exposed at the idea of having someone see Joel’s casual intimacy with you like this, Joel’s face near yours in a place you might kiss him if the two of you were at home. “Oh. Hi. I’m sorry, have we met?” 

“Yeah, hi,” she smiled, straightening and looking Joel up and down in that way she had. “I’m Alyssa, we ran into each other when you came by campus toward the start of the school year. Good to see you again! It looks like you two have gotten…” 

“Oh, no,” you laughed quickly, eyes darting to Joel, hoping he wasn’t panicking at the concept of being with you. “No, no, we’re… he’s been helping with Ellie here, he has a daughter so…” 

“Yeah, I’ve just done it all before,” he said, an odd twinge in his voice. “Don’t mind helpin’ out.” 

“That’s so nice of you,” Alyssa said, still watching Joel closely. “God, there’s just something about a man who’s good with kids…” 

“We are in high demand,” Joel said, a new flirtatious edge to his tone that made your stomach get tight. “Sorry to pull this one away but, speaking of kids, we got a birthday party to get back and finish settin’ up for…” 

“Oh, of course,” she smiled, waving him off. “Sorry, I don’t want to keep the two of you on a Saturday! But… you know, if you two aren’t…” 

“We’re not,” you said, probably too harshly, not able to look at Joel as you said it. 

“Then maybe we could have a drink sometime,” she said, as though you hadn’t spoken. “She’s got my number, if you’re interested.” 

“Uh,” Joel said and you forced yourself to glance his way, his hand still on the small of your back. “Yeah, alright, I’ll… I’ll let you know.” 

“Looking forward to it,” she winked before looking back to Ellie. “Goodbye, sweet girl!” And then she looked to you. “So good to see you!” 

“Yeah,” you forced a smile. “You, too.” 

You watched her go before turning back to Joel. 

“Sorry, that was…” you searched for the word. “Awkward.” 

“Yeah, think you could have denied that a little harder,” he said wryly and you glared at him. “What? Don’t think I’m that embarrassing.” 

“You know you’re not embarrassing,” you rolled your eyes. “I just… don’t want to tie you down.” 

“You don’t tie me down,” he said. 

“That’s sweet,” you said, grabbing the biggest bag of Doritos and adding them to the cart. “But… you know, the lists did include helping each other find a stable relationship and -” you looked around quickly, lowering your voice as you did “- we both know that friends with benefits is not that.” 

“So you’re gonna set me up with your friend?” He asked, sounding almost annoyed. 

You frowned. 

“What, are you going to pretend like she’s not your type?” 

He just looked at you for a moment, his jaw tight. 

“Never mind,” he said. “Let’s just go get the cake.” 

“What?” You asked, following after him as he took over pushing the cart. 

“Nothin’,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“Joel,” you caught up with him. “Is everything…” 

“It’s fine,” he snapped as the two of you got to the bakery counter. “Just drop it, alright? Jesus.” 

“Fine,” you muttered as Ellie started to fuss against you. “Dropped.” 

But you didn’t want to drop it. You tried to find a way to bring it up again but Joel was still surly on the drive back to the house, his mouth still in a thin line as he carried things in from the car. 

“Are you really going to be like this all day?” You asked quietly as you set the cake on the table in the living room next to the butterfly themed plates. “Because…” 

“I’m not bein’ like anything,” he said. “I’m fine. I don’t know why you keep askin’.” 

“Because you’ve been acting weird since the chip aisle,” you said. “And Sarah’s been looking forward to this for like two months.” 

“She’s my kid,” he said, defensive. “I know that she’s looking forward to it, alright? And I have not been ‘acting weird.’” He put the words in air quotes. “I’m just stressed about making this party happened, not everything is about you and what your people think, Goldie.” 

You pulled back from him, his words sharp. 

“I’m sorry that my coworker thought we were a couple,” you hissed, keeping your voice low. “We’re not in high school anymore and while you night think anyone would be a better option than me but not everyone is going to just assume that you could never want me!” 

“That’s what you think?” He asked, stepping closer to you, his hands on his hips, his shoulders feeling unreasonably broad. “You think that’s why I’m upset?” 

“Aunt Goldie?” Sarah said, running into the room, a sarong in her arms and wearing the swimsuit you’d helped her pick the week before. “Can you help me put this thing on? I can’t figure it out.” 

“Of course, kiddo,” you said, taking the sarong and giving Joel a look. “Come on, we’ll get it figured out.” 

You left Joel with the snacks and went to help Sarah, trying to shove Alyssa and Joel’s shitty mood out of your mind. 

***

Sarah was happy. 

Joel kept reminding himself of that. 

Sarah. Was. Happy. 

That was the important thing, that’s what mattered, that’s what the two of you had been planning and working on for weeks, throwing Sarah the party she’d been begging him for for years. 

And now it was here, Sarah was happy and he had a grill full of burgers and hot dogs, a backyard full of 25 pre-teens and a handful of parents who’d volunteered to help make sure no one drowned. 

Including the dad of one of the kids in Sarah’s class. One who had a decade on you and Joel and was apparently single and deciding to make that your fucking problem. 

And Joel wasn’t sure how long he was supposed to stand here and watch you flirt with that fucking guy. 

It was bad enough, getting hit on in front of you at the fucking grocery store and watching you rush to dodge any connection you had with him. No, now he also had to deal with this fucking asshole who was - frustratingly - not really an asshole at all. 

Tim was a guy Joel had met a few times, one of the few hands on dads in Sarah’s class. They’d chaperoned a few field trips together and Joel liked the guy. Or he had, anyway. The pair hand bonded over their daughters’ love of Taylor Swift and learning how to do hair and their shared apprehension of the coming teen years. He was good natured, an invested father, a guy he’d have liked to grab a beer with sometime. He’d been meaning to try to get their kids together and see if he could actually, maybe, have a friend outside of you and his brother. 

And then Tim saw you and everything changed.  

Now, Tim was making Joel’s fist clench and his stomach tighten because he was making you laugh. You were in your swimsuit, one that made Joel want to touch every goddamn inch of you, Ellie in your arms in her little sunhat and you were laughing at something Tim was saying, that fucking smile of yours making his heart ache. That fucking smile holding so much promise when it was made for that guy because smiling at him was different than smiling at Joel.

Because, really, how would he measure up to someone like fucking Tim? The guy who actually made good money, who had bothered to go to college, who didn’t need to wait to accidentally knock someone up to get his shit together. And you obviously had a thing for guys who were older, Tim’s graying hair and casual ease making Joel feel at least a little lacking before let alone now. Of course you’d be interested in him over Joel. Why wouldn’t you be? 

“You alright?” Tommy asked, sidling up to Joel by the grill. 

“Fine,” Joel muttered, still watching you. Tim held his arms out and you passed him Ellie before reaching to grab a can of White Claw from the cooler next to you, smiling and cooing at Tim and Ellie as you did. Joel ground his teeth. 

“You sure?” Tommy said. “Because think that burger would disagree.” 

Joel frowned, looking down to find the patty on the corner of the grill smoking, the dripping fat from the meat making the fire flare up below it. 

“Shit,” he swore, quickly sliding the spatula below the burger and moving it away from the flames. 

“That one’s yours,” Tommy teased, taking a sip of his beer and looking out toward the pool. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Joel said, taking stock of the rest of the grill to make sure nothing else was on fire. 

“Goldie’s lookin’ good,” Tommy said after a moment. 

Joel’s grip on the spatula got tight. 

“Guess so,” he said. “I see her every day so… wouldn’t know.” 

“Oh I think you know,” Tommy said. “Looks like she’s gettin’ awful cozy with that guy over there.” 

“Hadn’t noticed.” 

“Really?” Tommy said, brows raised. “Guess you were… what, starin’ at the fence behind ‘em then?” 

“Fuck off, Tommy.” 

“I’m just sayin’,” he said. “Like to think I know you pretty well seeing as you’re my brother and all. Just calling it like I see it. Calling it like I’ve been seein’ it for 20 years.” 

“Well, you’ve been seeing wrong,” Joel said. 

“Don’t think that’s it,” Tommy said. Joel opened his mouth to argue but Tommy didn’t give him the chance. “Look, if you really want to sit on your ass about it forever, that’s on you. I’m just saying that it sure seems like now is a damn good time to work your shit out with her. Either that or decide to just be a miserable asshole forever because you’re stubborn. No skin off my back.” 

“You, what, think you know everything because you’ve found a woman who will stick around?” Joel snapped, fighting to keep his voice low. “You’ve been in a relationship for five goddamn minutes, don’t sit there and…” 

“Hey guys,” you walked over, smiling, Tim still at your side with Ellie in his arms. “ETA on burgers? Think I should go get all the condiments set out?”

“Not a bad idea,” Joel said, fighting to keep his voice even. 

“Want help?” Tim asked. 

“If you can just keep holding the wriggly one, that would be amazing,” you smiled, touching his arm. His fucking arm. You looked back to Joel. “I’ll get everything set out… Are you OK?” 

“Fine,” he said through clenched teeth. “Why?” 

“If you say so,” you said, turning back to Ellie. “You be good, squrimy wormy.” 

“She’ll be an angel,” Tim smiled. “Don’t even worry about it.” 

Joel and Tim both watched you go inside, Joel struggling not to think about the sway of your hips below the gauzy wrap you’d tied around your middle like a skirt. 

“Kids seem to be having a great time,” Tim said, looking out toward the pool. “I know Lucy’s been talkin’ about nothing else all week. Kid was born in December but I can already tell she’s going to be begging me for a pool party for her birthday all the same.” 

“Glad I was able to pull it off for Sarah,” Joel said, looking determinedly at the grill. 

“Well, you had help,” Tommy said and Joel shot him a glare. He pressed on like nothing had happened. “Sure it’s a lot easier when you’ve got your best friend there pitchin’ in…” 

“Yeah, she was saying you two have been putting this together for a few weeks. If you don’t mind my asking,” Tim said, leaning closer to Joel and angling Ellie away from the heat of the grill. “What’s… what’s goin’ on there? Are you two…” 

“Nope,” Joel cut him off. “Just… we’re just friends.” 

“Cool,” Tim nodded slowly, looking toward the house as you carried plates of burger toppings out to a table covered in a purple tablecloth. “Because damn if she isn’t something.” 

“See, that’s what I’ve been sayin’,” Tommy said, giving Joel a look. Joel just glared back. 

Tim wasn’t looking their way, his eyes glued on you. 

“I still can’t believe she wrote that book,” he said, sounding a little awed. “I still think it’s the best thing I’ve ever read. Must have been a hell of a trip to read that already knowing her.” 

Joel was quiet, just flipping the burgers and taking a drink of beer. 

“What was that like?” Tim asked when Joel had been quiet too long. 

He glanced up at him, the annoyingly perfect fucking image of him holding Ellie while looking like the exact kind of person you’d go for making him hold his beer bottle a little too tight. 

“Wouldn’t know,” Joel said, looking back down at the grill. “Haven’t read it. Don’t read much.” 

“Oh,” Tim said, sounding surprised. “Well, you should. It’s amazing. She’s…” 

“Something,” Joel cut him off, knowing he probably sounded like a dick but not caring enough to stop it. “You said.” 

“Thank you for that,” you said, walking up and wiping crumbs from burger buns on your hands on your swimsuit. “Way easier when I’m not holding an infant but I’ll take her back now. Hi baby girl! Were you so good?” 

“She was a dream,” Tim said, putting Ellie in your arms. “Makin’ me wish I had another one.” 

“It’s the cuteness,” you said, smiling a little before looking down at your niece, letting her wrap her tiny hand around your thumb. You nuzzled into her head and kissed her. “She’s tricky that way.” 

“Might be,” Tim smiled, watching you with the baby. “But still, real hard not to miss it. Wouldn’t mind having another one.” 

“Yeah?” You asked, looking up at him with raised brows, holding Ellie against you. 

“With the right person,” he smiled a little and if Joel had to watch this shit any longer he was sure he was going to break something. 

“Alright, burgers are up!” He yelled toward the pool, ignoring the fact that Tim was standing close enough that he flinched. 

Joel hung back as the kids clambered out of the water until everyone had a burger and you found him, a slight frown on your face. 

“Are you sure you’re OK?” You asked. “Because if this is about earlier at the store…” 

“Don’t they teach you smart college types that doing the same thing over and over don’t get you different results?” He snapped. “Stop asking.” 

“Sorry,” you said, sounding hurt which made Joel’s jaw tighten. “Just try not to miss out on the good shit from today because of… whatever that is.” 

You didn’t wait for him to respond, you just went to find fucking Tim, that hurt look melting off your face when he said something that made you smile in that fucking way you had, where you started slow and then it spread so your whole face shined, the way that Joel loved so much. 

Joel stuck close to Tommy and his new girlfriend, Maria, for the rest of the party, trying to focus on Sarah and how she really was so fucking happy. He tried to ignore you. He tried to ignore the side eye from Tommy and the way you were looking at fucking Tim like he hung the goddamn moon. He tried not to think about the fact that, soon, you and Ellie would be leaving and this semblance of a family that he’d fallen into wouldn’t exist anymore. It would go back to the way it was before, just him and Sarah, and you’d go off and live your own damn life with Tim or someone like him. 

The frustrating thing was, it wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t know what he’d be missing. When it was you and fucking Brad at least, Joel didn’t know any better. He didn’t know how good it could be with you. He didn’t know what he didn’t have. Now it would always be there, hanging over him, covering his memory of this time with this bitter patina that he couldn’t shake. 

Tommy and Maria and fucking Tim stayed after the party wound down and helped clean up, you putting Ellie in her bouncer as you laughed at something he said. Things were back to normal - or close to it, a cake with a purple frosting border only half eaten on the kitchen counter and a few bags of trash by the door waiting to go into the big bin in the garage - in no time at all, something Joel was thankful for because that meant that Tim would probably leave soon. Hopefully. 

“Where did y’all get that cake, anyway?” He asked following you inside as you put a sleeping Ellie in her playpen, Joel just a few steps behind. “It was really good.” 

“H-E-B,” Joel said even though he knew Tim wasn’t asking him. “Nothin’ crazy.” 

“Thanks,” Tim smiled over his shoulder toward Joel before looking back to you. “It was good. Really.” 

“There’s tons of extra,” you said. “Want to take some home? Lord knows I don’t need it and if Sarah eats it all we’ll never see the end of the sugar high.” 

As if to prove a point, Sarah and Lucy, Tim’s daughter, shrieked in glee over something in the back yard. 

“That’d be great,” Tim said. “Sure Lucy’ll enjoy it.” 

“I’ll wrap some up for you,” you smiled, leading the way to the kitchen. 

“Try not to break your jaw clenching it like that, brother,” Tommy clapped him on the shoulder. Joel glared at him. “We’re gonna head out.” 

“You know where to find the door,” Joel said. 

“Know where to find your attitude, too,” he replied. “Try not to screw yourself over here, Joel.” Tommy left before he had a chance to argue, his arm around Maria’s shoulders as he led her to his truck. 

But Joel, for a change, decided to actually take his brother’s advice. He didn’t want to screw himself over. He wasn’t ready to lose this with you, not yet. 

He went to the kitchen to find you standing next to the cake, your body angled toward Tim’s, closer to him than Joel was happy about. 

“So I’ll call you,” he was saying, a crooked smile on his face. 

“Sounds good,” you smiled back, handing him his phone. “It might be a bit, a lot going on right now, but…” 

“I can wait,” he said. “Something about good things coming to those who do…” 

Joel cleared his throat and you almost jumped away from Tim, eyes a little wide, almost like Joel was your dad and you were in trouble. 

“Get what you needed?” Joel asked, brows raised, hands shoved in his pockets. 

“Think so,” Tim said, pocketing his phone and picking up a plate loaded with cake and covered in plastic wrap.”Thanks for having us, it was a great party.” 

“Thanks for comin’,” Joel said, wishing he’d just get through the niceties and get the fuck out of his house. “Know Sarah liked having Lucy here.” 

“Lucy had a great time, too,” he said before turning back to you. “Think we’ll get outta your hair but… talk to you soon?” 

“Yeah,” you smiled. “Looking forward to it.” 

Joel walked Lucy and Tim out to their car, Tim handing his daughter the plate with the cake before turning back to Joel. 

“Look,” he said, all polite pretense gone from his voice. “I feel like I did something in the wrong here and I don’t want to try to steal another man’s girl…” 

“She say we were together?” Joel asked, brows raised. 

“No, but…” 

“Then there you go,” Joel said, a little to harshly. 

“Well then I must have done something else,” Tim said. “If it’s just that you’re protective of your friend, trust me, I meant it when I said she’s somethin’ because she is. I don’t know if it’ll work out but I’m not gonna hurt her.” 

Joel clenched his jaw, trying not to picture someone else touching you the way he did, someone else pulling the little sounds of pleasure from your lips the way he did, loving you the way he did. Just the passing thought made his stomach turn, his blood hot. He wanted to tell Tim to back the fuck off because you belonged with him. But he couldn’t do that. Because it wasn’t true.

“Good to see you,” Joel said instead. “Drive safe.” 

He didn’t wait to see them leave the driveway. Instead, he went to find you. Because maybe you didn’t belong with him, maybe you couldn’t be his in the way he wanted but goddammit if there wasn’t something in him you apparently wanted. You wanted it enough to be his friend, to ask for his help, to fuck him when you didn’t have another option. There was something in him that you thought was worthwhile and there had to be some way to make you remember that.

Joel stalked back inside to find you reorganizing the fridge, Ellie asleep in her playpen in the living room. You glanced his way as you put a plate of leftover burgers back in the fridge. 

“Sarah’s showering,” you said. “But then she wants to open presents and asked if we could watch a movie after, I told her that should be fine but…” 

Joel didn’t give you a chance to finish. Instead, he grabbed you, rougher than he should have but he couldn’t bring himself to care, pulling you away from the fridge with a surprised but quiet yelp as he pressed your back against the wall. He forced his knee between your thighs and pulled your mouth to his as he kissed you, harsh and sharp, devouring you and your needy little sounds. His hand tightened on your chin, holding you still so he could press tongue into your mouth, his other hand grabbing your thigh and hitching it over his leg, opening you to him. 

He shoved the gusset of your swimsuit aside and thrust two fingers inside you, your tight heat wet and welcoming and he didn’t ease his way to that soft, sensitive place deep in you. Instead, he pressed in hard, his palm against your clit before he pulled his mouth from yours, everything wet and messy. 

“Joel,” your eyes were wide, searching his. “What…” 

“You think he can do this to you?” He rutted his cock against your hip. “Think he can make you come like I do?” 

“Sarah’s home,” you whispered, your panting shifting to a moan as he pressed harder on your clit. “Fuck, Joel, you can’t just…” 

“I can hear the shower,” he said harshly. “Answer the question. You think he can make you feel like this?” 

To prove his point, he added another finger, stretching your tightening walls and making you gasp, fingers scrambling against his shoulder as you looked down to the place he was entering you. His own come from the morning was sliding over his skin and he was almost pissed about that, that you’d even look at another man while you were still full of him. 

“I…” you looked back at him, pupils blown, lips shiny with his spit and yours from when he kissed you. “I… I don’t…” 

“Think that fuckin’ guy can fuck you like I can?” He asked. “Think he can make you feel like I do? He can’t and he fuckin’ won’t.” 

You moaned, desperate and uncontrolled and buried your face where Joel’s shoulder met his neck. His cock ached in his swim trunks, leaking and angry and he rutted it against you but he knew he wasn’t going to find relief right now. He didn’t care. 

He felt like a man unhinged, the thought of you with someone else, touching someone else, in bed with someone else, loving someone else pushing him on. He couldn’t give you much, he fucking knew that, but there had to be a reason you’d stayed in his bed the last month and he was going to goddamn well make sure you knew it. 

You came then, your pussy throbbing hard around his fingers as you moaned, voice cracking as you did. He stilled inside you, his hold on you easing so that his palm was more cupping your sex than pressing into it, savoring the feeling of your pleasure on his skin as your come soaked him. Your whole body went limp and he had to hold you up as you panted for breath. He eased his fingers out of you more gently than he’d done anything else since he’d started touching you, carefully tugging your swimsuit back into place over your leaking slit. You whimpered against him, sounding fucked out and exhausted. 

Joel carefully adjusted you, holding your face in his hand, your eyes wide and mouth open as you took shaky, uncertain breaths. 

“What was that?” you asked quietly. 

Joel didn’t know how to answer. 

“You OK?” He asked instead. 

Your eyes raked over him, still wide and shocked, and he lowered your leg back to the ground, giving you a chance to stand on your own again. 

“What do you want from me, Joel?” You whispered. 

“Hey Dad?” Sarah yelled from her room. “Do we have more of that hair stuff?” 

His jaw tightened. 

“Go,” you said, reaching around him to hold onto the counter for balance. 

“We’re talkin’ later,” he said, watching you for a moment before going to help Sarah. 

He did his best to focus on his daughter while she opened her presents from her friends, you smiling and taking notes about who got her what so Sarah could write thank you cards, never once looking at Joel and he had this sinking, raw feeling in his stomach that he might have ruined things, actually ruined things this time. You stayed on the opposite end of the couch from him as the three of you watched the Hunger Games, careful to never even brush against him when you got up to get something. So different from every other time the three of you had sat here, you casually leaning your head on his shoulder or touching his leg to get his attention. 

“Thank you, Dad,” Sarah said as he tucked her into bed - something he was sure she was going to start insisting she was too big for any day now. “That was the best party, everyone had such a good time, it was so fun to see everyone!” 

“I’m glad you had fun, baby girl,” he smiled, smoothing her hair back from her face. “I know you’ve been wanting that for a while.” 

“Yeah, but I know you’re busy,” she said. “It’s OK that it took some time.” 

“Well, I should never be too busy for you,” he said. 

“Probably right,” she said, scrunching her nose. Joel laughed. “I love you, Dad.” 

“Love you, too,” he smiled, reaching to turn out her lamp. 

“Oh, tell Aunt Goldie I love her too?” She said. “I forgot to…” 

His heart clenched. 

“Course baby girl,” he said. “I know she loves you, too.” 

“Duh,” she smiled. “I’m the best.” 

Joel laughed. 

“Don’t let it go to your head.” 

He started back toward the living room to find you but stopped when he saw the light on in his bedroom. He paused at the door, wondering if he should knock even though the two of you hadn’t had that pretense in weeks. 

But he just opened it, moving quietly and closing the door silently behind him, finding you emptying the drawers that had become yours in the months you’d lived in his house. 

“What are you doing?” He asked quietly. 

You looked up, your eyes finding his and narrowing. 

“Goldie…” he moved to touch you but you pulled yourself away before he could. 

“Don’t,” you snapped, packing your things into the suitcase that had been tucked away in the space between Joel’s dresser and the wall for so long he’d almost forgotten it was there. 

“Look, I…” he began but you cut him off. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” You asked, all but throwing some shirts into the suitcase. “What was that!” 

He sighed, not able to look at you for a moment. He wasn’t sure how to answer that. What was he supposed to say? Sorry, the thought of losing you to another man made me lose my mind for a minute? Now that you don’t need as much help with your niece I wanted to remind you of the one other thing you seemed to need me for? 

“I…” he broke off. “I’m sorry.” 

“You’re sorry?” You asked, brows raised. “You’re sorry, great. Awesome. What do you want from me, Joel? Do you want me to never date anyone so you can fuck me when you’re bored? Do you think I’m going to just live here forever so I’ll be at your disposal whenever you need to get off?” 

“That ain’t…” 

“I want to be with someone who loves me!” Your voice was thick, wet. “I want a chance at loving someone and I want them to love me, too, and I can’t do this with you, Joel! I can’t upend my entire life because we’re doing whatever this is, I can’t and I don’t want to.” 

His chest got tight and you just shook your head, going to get more out of the drawer to keep packing. 

“Anna is about to come home,” you said. “I was already going to leave soon. I’ll go tomorrow, spend a few days in my own damn house in my own damn bed and then go to her place.” 

“Goldie,” he whispered, stepping close to you, taking your face in his hand. You at least didn’t pull away from him this time. “Just… stay.” 

Your eyes searched his for a moment and, for half a second, he thought you might say yes. 

“I can’t,” you said softly. “I’m sorry.” 

Joel just hoped you couldn’t see the pain in his eyes as you went back to collecting your things to leave him behind yet again. 

Next Chapter

A/N: I really wish I could explain what came over Joel here but I can't I'm sorry I think he possessed me and this is what happened SORRY

Thank you for being here and for reading. I love you!

Taglist: @kaseyconnour

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

The Spaghetti Squash (The Surprise, Part 12)

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: pregnancy times, established relationship, literally so much fluff, just fluff on fluff on fluff, some explicit language (please let me know if I've missed anything!) Word count: 1.4k

Summary: As your pregnancy progresses, Emily starts to feel disconnected from the experience, sad that she can't feel what you're feeling. She tries to control what she can, but you help her see that letting go isn't the worst thing in the world.

Week 22: The Spaghetti Squash

“What about that one, Em? It’s pretty.”

You pointed to Emily’s laptop screen, at a nice, oval crib, made of natural wood. Very modern looking. 

“Honey, I don’t care if it’s pretty. I care that it’s safe.”

“Well, I care if it's pretty. Click on it and see!” you badgered her, yawning.

You leaned heavily on Emily’s shoulder, trying hard to keep your eyes open. You’d been scrolling through baby site after baby site for nearly two hours now, checking things off Emily’s ridiculously extensive shopping list. Normally, you’d be interested. The problem was that Emily had to do a solid half hour of research into each and every item.

“Bossy…” Emily mumbled, lifting up her arm so you could snuggle into her chest. She scrolled through the page, looking at all of the crib’s features.

“Look!” You pointed at the screen. “It converts to a toddler bed and a kid bed. So it can grow up with her.”

“And it’s GreenGuard Gold Certified!”

“Wow.” Your voice dripped with sarcasm. “Adorable.”

“Hey,” she protested, pinching the skin under your arm. You squirmed and giggled. “I’m keeping him safe. You can keep him cute.”

You yawned again, shutting your eyes for a moment and sinking into her.

“Y/N,” Emily cooed, cupping your cheek and rubbing her thumb against it. “Stay awake, baby. You promised we’d get through five things tonight.”

You groaned, noncommittal.

“Y/N,” she prompted again, this time patting your face lightly.

“I didn’t know it was gonna take literal hours…” you grumbled.

“Here,” she said, lifting you up a bit and kissing your cheek. “You can pick what we look for next. Something fun.”

You squinted at her.

Her eyes were huge, and she had that hopeful, pleading half-smile that she knew would get you to do anything. As a final blow, she bit the corner of her lip. Fuck. She was just too irresistible, it wasn’t fair.

“Ugh. Fine.” You stretched and sat up as Emily placed the laptop in your hands.

“What do you want to look for?” she asked, looping her arm around yours and rubbing her thumb against your bare skin. She placed a quick kiss on your shoulder and nuzzled into your neck.

“Crib sheets?” you suggested, perking up. “I found a brand I really like.”

“Are they–”

“Green, gold, whatever-the-fuck certified?”

She blushed a bit. “Yes,” she said softly.

At this rate, you'd spend another hour and a half with Emily deep-diving on crib sheets.

“Emily,” you sighed, turning to look at her. “You are the love of my life and the mother of my child and I love you more than breathing. But for fuck’s sake, you’ve gotta cool it a little bit.”

Her eyes turned a little sad, a little embarrassed.

You continued, a bit softer now. “I know it’s just because you love her and you want to keep her safe. And I know it’s hard for you right now because I’m the one who’s carrying and I can feel her moving and this is the only thing you can control. But, baby, I promise you that a couple of 100% organic cotton crib sheets that might not have that super special certification aren’t gonna kill her.”

Emily was quiet. You turned to hold her face in your hands, tracing her angles, all her lines–you knew them better than you knew your own body. She smiled a little as you brushed her hair out of her face and kissed her forehead.

“Maybe you should be a profiler,” she chuckled, leaning into you and looking at the website you’d pulled up. “Goddamn.”

“Sorry,” you said, drawing her to your chest and tucking her head under your chin. “That was a little harsh.”

“No, you’re right.” Emily exhaled deeply and nodded. “Alright, let’s see these sheets.”

Your stomach did a little flip, excited to share one of your finds with Emily. So far, she’d picked most of the things, and you’d let her, knowing that the lack of control was hard for her.

“Okay.” You scrolled and clicked on a crib sheet, crisp white and covered with tiny dinosaurs. “I mean, look! It’s got little brontosauruses!”

In a rare show of letting go, Emily squeezed your arm and said, “Add it to the cart.”

“Really!?” you squealed.

“Yeah, of course, honey. It's cute.”

You kept scrolling, but Emily stopped your wrist. “Oh, baby, look at that one! It’s got bananas!”

“Adding it,” you decided with a dramatic click.

After a few more minutes of looking through crib sheets, you’d placed your order and shut the laptop for the evening, proud to have made it through all five of Emily’s predetermined list items. You knew you both needed to go to bed, but you were just so comfy sprawled on the couch. Emily’s head rested on your baby bump, and you carded your fingers through her hair.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so controlling about the shopping,” she whispered out of the blue.

“It’s okay, honey,” you said, softly massaging her head.

“No, it’s not,” she sighed. “I didn’t realize I wasn’t letting you pick anything.”

“Em, I promise it’s okay.”

She didn’t answer, instead running her hands along the side of your belly, as if feeling for something, anything.

“Has he been moving tonight?” she asked, her voice almost sad.

“Mmhm.” You hated to see her sad. You wished so desperately that she could feel what you were feeling. You didn’t want her to feel left out of the pregnancy. You didn’t want her to feel any less the baby’s mom than you were.

“Tell me what it feels like.”

You thought for a moment. “Mm… kind of like butterflies. Or, like, when you’re nervous and your stomach does a flip.”

She was quiet again, and you pulled her face up to your chest, pressing kisses to the top of her head. “It’s gonna be okay, Em. You’re her mom, too.”

“I know,” she mumbled.

“You know, I think the baby can feel you.”

“What?” She lifted her head a bit, looking at you quizzically.

“Maybe you can’t feel her yet, but I bet she can feel you. She can hear you, and I read today that babies feel their mom’s emotions.”

Emily looked up at you, her eyes shining a bit.

“I always feel happy and safe and loved when you’re with me. And that’s what she feels, too. She can hear you and she feels those things when you’re around because I feel them. So she knows you’re here. She can feel you.”

Emily blinked back a few tears and pressed her face to your stomach, planting a few kisses on your baby bump.

“I love you,” she whispered to your stomach, and you thought you might cry, too.

“Can you hear me, little one? I love you. Maman loves you so much.”

You let out a shaky breath, trying not to cry, trying (and mostly failing) not to let your overwhelming love for this woman turn you into an absolute puddle. For neither the first time nor the last, you were utterly flabbergasted that this was your life. That there was a baby inside you, growing strong and healthy. That the baby would have two moms, something you’d never thought possible when you were growing up, imagining your future. And, best of all, that you had Emily. Sweet, strong, beautiful Emily. Who loved you so well. Who made you so happy you sometimes thought you'd explode with it. How did you get so lucky? How was it that, despite it all, despite all the tragedies, big and small, along the way, you’d somehow stumbled into a life so good that it was, quite literally, beyond your wildest dreams?

“I love you, Em,” you blurted out, unable to stop yourself or stop the tears from brimming in your eyes.

She looked up at you, and you could tell she was happy, truly happy. And if you could do nothing else in your entire life except make this woman happy, you’d die satisfied.

She sat up a bit, pulling on the collar of your shirt to draw you into a kiss. A soft kiss, one that you melted into, one that reminded you of your very first. All butterflies and excitement for what was to come.

“I love you, too,” she said, pressing her forehead to yours. “So much.”

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 4

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

🔥 Series Masterlist

Song Inspo: “Take It to the Limit” by The Eagles

Word Count: 6,000 Tags/Warnings: Major fluff alert. Some angst(ish). First date part 2…and a second date?

Part 4: Rocky Road

You enjoyed dinner more than you expected to. Dean was funny, and charming, and deeper than you might’ve expected at first glance.

He also didn’t let you even think of paying any part of the bill. In his view, he’d asked you out, so your purse was staying the hell away from the little black booklet.

The only problem was, the freely flowing conversation you and Dean had all through dinner kind of stalled after you left the restaurant. He’d chosen a spot in downtown, so the two of you walked leisurely down the sidewalk, under rows of soft overhead string lights and a gentle chill on the evening air. 

Dean had his hands in his pockets, and even that casual gait caught your eye. He looked good tonight in his black slacks and jacket. The dark blue buttoned-down worked for him too, just as well as the red plaid and jeans worked for him last night. Just like his gray lieutenant’s polo and navy pants worked for him.

In fact, you didn’t think there was anything that wouldn’t work for him.

“So, what’s next?” you asked. Dean glanced over at your question, looking a bit uncertain.

“Well, I’m gonna be honest. This is as far as I thought things through,” he said. “What do you want to do?”

You hummed and touched your chin. You paused and considered your surroundings. There were little shops, clubs, and restaurants on either side of the street. But then you spotted something nearby: a cart with a pink overhead. You smiled.

“You up for dessert?” you asked, pointing to the ice cream stand.

Dean shot you a slightly disbelieving look.

“Yeah? Ice cream after that fancy shmancy meal?”

You shrugged. “Why not? Come on.”

You looped your arm through his and tugged him along with you. He smiled at your enthusiasm and let you do it.

He later watched you try no less than five flavors of ice cream before you settled on the first one you tried—chocolate chip cookie dough. Which you ordered on a cone, with brownie pieces on top.

“The only way to do business,” you told him sagely. Dean grinned and held a hand to his chest.

“A woman after my own heart,” he said. “Here I thought you were gonna make fun of me for getting rocky road.”

“Why would I? I don’t discriminate when it comes to dessert…and only fun people get rocky road,” you countered.

“Tell that to my brother,” Dean scoffed. “He gets plain-ass chocolate chip. Every time.”

“Oh, you have a brother?” you noted with interest. “Any other siblings?”

“Nope,” he said, and accepted his cone from Steve, the guy operating the kiosk. “Just my giant little brother.”

“Giant?”

“…You’ll understand when you meet him.”

“When, not if. That’s encouraging,” you said with a smile. Dean shot you an amused grin back.

You held your cone with one hand while you rifled through your purse for your wallet with the other, but by the time you looked up, Dean was already handing over his credit card. Your brows furrowed.

“Dean—”

“This is all still part of the date,” he rationalized. His green eyes fairly danced with amusement, which you begrudgingly accepted with a sigh.

You then looked at your cone from all angles, trying to spy the best spot to start. You decided to go at it from the side. Though you tried to be graceful about it, you realized you hadn’t totally succeeded when a brownie piece almost fell off. You yelped and managed to catch it before it fell on your dress.

“Smooth,” Dean remarked. You shrugged and hummed happily while you took another bite.

“I told you. I don’t play when it comes to dessert,” you told him.

“Clearly,” he teased.

You briefly looked up at him through your lashes, making him smile. You really did have a pretty pair of eyes. And when your tongue came out a little to lick your lips, he was drawn to that as well.

And an even prettier mouth, he thought. Damn.

He raised a thumb to wipe away a bit of ice cream left behind on your lower lip. You blinked up at him, your eyes a bit wider, and he saw the bout of shyness in your resulting smile.

You shivered then with a bit of cold, whether from the ice cream or the chill on the air.

Dean’s mouth quirked, and he gave you his cone. “Hold this for a sec.”

You did so for him, but you watched him curiously as he shrugged out of his jacket. He wrapped it around your shoulders, like this was some kind of Hallmark moment.

Heh. Can’t believe Meg had it right, he thought, as he caught your blush.

“Thanks,” you said softly.

“Can’t let you catch cold in this little dress,” Dean reasoned. He tugged you in closer by the ends of his jacket.

Once again, his gaze was drawn to your face, your eyes, and finally your lips. You still held both ice cream cones between you two, but he could be careful enough to sample something else.

He started to lean in…

“Hey, man!” said Steve. “Don’t forget your wallet.”

Hesitating, Dean’s lips pursed as he turned his head to look back. Sure enough, he’d left his wallet on the counter. Letting out a subtle sigh, he glanced down and found you biting your lip in amusement.

He released you to go back and pluck his wallet out of Steve’s hand. The kid looked college age, and chilled out of his mind, like he didn’t realize he’d just interrupted another dude’s flow.

“Thank you,” said Dean, a bit pointedly.

Steve gave him a bored smile.

While you continued walking and finishing off your ice cream, you went with the flow of people coming and going; couples, families, people walking their dogs and with their children for an evening stroll.

You learned that Dean’s brother was a few years younger than him. The two shared an apartment, though Sam had a girlfriend, Eileen.

She worked at a specialty school, specifically with hearing impaired children, as she herself was deaf. Sam had learned a bit of ASL in school and worked on becoming fluent after they met. He was an assistant prosecutor working in the district attorney’s office.

“Wow. They sound like a power couple,” you remarked.

Dean inclined his head. “Yeah, they’re the smartest people I know, to be honest. They’ve been going strong for a few years now.” 

And he learned that you were an only child, raised by your grandparents, and still living in your childhood home with your grandfather.

You admitted to him that after your grandmother passed away a few years ago, you just never found it within yourself to move out and leave George alone. He still needed you…and you probably needed him too, in some ways.

“Nothing wrong with that,” Dean said. "Taking care of your people is number one."

You gave him an appreciative look. He wanted to ask where your parents were in this situation, but he didn’t want to pry if you weren’t up for sharing. It felt like something even more personal.

You then stopped in front of a beautiful French bakery. It was closed, but you could still smell freshly baked bread and sweetness through the glass doors. You leaned against them while you peered inside.

“Ooh, I’ll need to come back here,” you said, before you remembered that you did in fact have company. Dean sidled up next to you and crossed his arms in amusement.

“You want a piece of cake or something?” he teased. “I’ll get my crowbar from the car.”

You grinned. “Not the jaws of life?”

“That’d be a bit extreme for a glass door, don’t you think?” He raised a brow at you.

“Don’t underestimate the lengths I’ll go to for quality cake,” you quipped back.

“All right,” he chuckled. “I like a girl who knows what she wants.”

You’d lost count of how many times you’d blushed tonight, but it had to be a record. You turned to him, but unconsciously kept a hand on the glass door.

“When I was in culinary school, I dreamed of opening up a bakery just like this,” you said. There was the gleam of memory and nostalgia in your eyes, and Dean found himself getting swept up in it.

“What happened to the dream?” he asked.

You sighed, letting your hand fall away from the glass. You hesitated to confide in him, to reveal this much of yourself. But there was something about this man that…well, that made you trust him. Even with this part. You tugged his jacket closer to your body.

“My grandma died about a month before I graduated,” you said. “She and my grandpa raised me…after my mom left.”

Dean’s gaze gentled, while his brows drew together. That just about answered his question about your parents.

“How old were you when she left?” he asked.

“Officially? Six years old,” you replied, sighing heavily. “She didn’t want responsibilities.” 

He acknowledged this with a slow nod. He got the feeling your dad was never in the picture.

“Have you talked to her since?”

“No,” you said. “I lived with my grandparents from the beginning. She’d breeze in and out of town, from what little I remember. But one day, Gram finally asked her: When are you going to realize that you’re a mother?” 

You glanced away for a moment. “Well, after that…I never saw her again.”

You took in a deeper breath to steady yourself. You didn’t often talk about this, let alone with someone you’d just met. Yet again, you felt safe enough with Dean.

“But after Gram passed, my grandfather was already retired,” you continued. “I needed a job, not a pipe dream.” 

Dean had been listening to you with rapt attention. This was the first time he truly frowned. The wind was brushing strays of your hair across your forehead. He reached out and tucked a few strands behind your ear.

“Not all dreams are pipe dreams,” he said.

You flickered at a smile, looking up at him.

“Fair enough,” you replied.

Your eyes roamed his face this time, falling to his lips. You found yourself tilting up your chin when his face began bowing toward yours.

You felt his warm breath on your cheek, his hands grasping your arms, your hands gently resting against his sternum. By now, your heart was tripping up, double timing. And yet, you felt at ease as your eyes closed.

Only to be startled out of your wits when a dog yapped by your feet.

Even Dean jolted. His grip on your arms tightened on reflex. Both of you turned with wide eyes at the little Pomeranian that yanked at its leash. The woman holding it pulled her dog back.

“Sorry!” she called as she passed by. And she was still wrangling with the dog as she made her way down the sidewalk.

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. You read the thought across Dean’s frowning face. Though you felt the same way, you still smiled.

You leaned up and kissed his cheek instead.

“Thanks for listening,” you said. “I know that was heavy for a first date. I’m sorry.”

Dean’s eyes were warm when he looked down at you. You seemed to be honest and straightforward, which wasn’t a bad thing. In fact, he liked that a lot. In his experience, it wasn’t something he encountered very often with women.

Or maybe just with the women you’ve gone after, he thought.

“Nah, don’t apologize…but I’m sorry for your loss. I really am,” he said, thumbing at your cheek.

You could see that he meant it too. “Thank you.”

You ducked your head, fighting embarrassment. Not that he'd given to reason to feel embarrassed or ashamed, but you still couldn't believe he'd cracked you open like a book, without even trying. Andréa was sure to tease the hell out of you for that one.

You glanced back up and managed to spy something past Dean's shoulder. You smiled and took his hand. 

“Oh look! There’s a bookstore open,” you said, and led him farther down the path.

Dean later followed you, once again with his hands in his pockets as you browsed through each aisle. He should’ve known you were a reader. But you were cute, he thought, as your fingers brushed across certain spines of books while you scanned their titles and covers.

You glanced over at him. “I’m sorry. This must be really boring for you right now. I’ll come back another time—”

“No, no. I’m along for the ride,” Dean said with a smirk. It earned another amused look from you.

“Well, buckle up then,” you teased. You led him down to the Mystery section—murder mysteries being your favorite, you told him. He raised a brow at that.

“What? Were you expecting romance novels with telenovela-style covers?” you asked. And you draped yourself across the bookshelf, holding the back of your hand up to your forehead, like you were about to “faint.”

Dean shook his head at you, but his eyes were dancing again.

“Nah, give me a juicy mystery,” you said, as you continued to browse. “Clues, evidence, surprise twists, villain reveals…”

“Well, I’ll say that real life Magnum P.I. ain’t all that fun,” Dean remarked. That made you raise your head from the book you were inspecting and look over at him.

“Hmm, that sounds like personal experience,” you said.

He hesitated, but he eventually nodded. “Yeah. My dad’s a cop. A detective, actually, in homicide. Real Law & Order, you could say.”

Your eyes grew comically wide, and Dean had to laugh.

“Now that is interesting,” you said. “How long has he been a cop?”

“Heh. My whole life,” Dean replied. There was something behind his eyes that you didn’t miss.

“Hmm, something tells me being a cop's kid isn't all it’s cracked up to be,” you said. "Bet you couldn't get away with anything, huh?"

He smirked. "Not a damn thing. I coulda sworn my dad had cameras planted all over the house."

But no, his dad was just that good at reading him and Sam. Granted, it wasn't often that they tried to pull one over on the old man, but their teenage years had been...interesting.

You laughed lightly while you continued to browse.

“Your dad was tough growing up?” you asked. Dean considered you, and your question with a tilt of his head.

“My dad’s a good guy,” he said. “The best at his job. And he’s the toughest son of a bitch I know.”

You knew then that there was a story there, or maybe several, but you didn’t want to push it. Dean seemed to be at the edge of what he was willing to get into on the subject.

So you just nodded and chose a couple of books, which you insisted on paying for yourself. Unlike a meal or dessert, he hadn’t participated in this part, you reasoned.

“That’s not how that works,” Dean said, but he begrudgingly let you pay for your own books. You carried the bag out of the store with a satisfied smile on your face.

Dean shook his head with a smile of his own. Though he did take your free hand in his on the way back to the car.

Dean meant to take you back to your house…but maybe you weren’t quite ready for the night to end just yet. He was driving his sleek tank of a car down the main road when you got an idea. 

“Oh, we’re going to drive over the river,” you remembered. “There’s this little spot right before it where you can pull over and park, see the skyline… Have you seen it?”

Dean glanced over at you with a gleam in his eye. “I have. It’s definitely a sight to see.”

“I haven’t seen it in a while,” you said.

A smile curved his lips. “Well, that’s a damn shame. Let’s fix that.”

The Impala soon pulled into a clearing off the side of the road, just before the Kansas River. True to your memory, there was a beautiful view of the city skyline. The half-moon above sprinkled light across the water. The waves were otherwise black and choppy.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen it at night,” Dean said. You turned to him and smiled.

“Thanks for tonight. I had a really good time,” you said.

He raised his brows at you. “We’re not done yet. You’re the one who wanted to sightsee.”

You chuckled and nodded in agreement. You were feeling a bit warm with the heating vents on you, so you unclipped your seatbelt and shrugged off Dean’s coat. You folded it up nicely and draped it across your lap.

You didn’t notice it, but Dean’s gaze drifted over to you when you bared your shoulders again, revealing smooth skin and the tantalizing neckline of your dress. Even in the dim lighting, the vibrant green caught his eye. 

But it wasn’t until the car stopped rumbling so much that you noticed the radio playing hard rock in the background. It sounded like a lot of screaming and guitars to you.

“What the hell are we listening to?” you said.

“Hmm, not an Van Halen fan?” Dean replied, giving you a chiding eye. “Aw, I don’t know if I can trust you if you can’t appreciate Sammy Hagar.”

“Oh no,” you said with a laugh. “He likes mullet rock.”

“Yes, he does,” Dean grinned. “The bigger, crazier hair the better.”

You rolled your eyes. “All right, Hendrix. Mind if we change the station?”

You hand reached for the radio knob, but Dean’s hand batted yours away.

“Ey, ey!” he said, though a smile raised the corners of his lips. “Driver picks the music.”

 You full on laughed then.

“Okay, but can we please listen to something less grating?” you asked.

Dean snorted. “All right, your highness. Let me see what I’ve got…”

You watched him curiously as he reached over on his side and pulled out a few ancient relics.

“Oh my God. You still listen to cassettes?” you asked in disbelief. Dean shot you another grin as he sorted through a handful of them. He considered you for a moment, debating his decision.

He chose a cassette and popped it in. Soon, the rhythmic melody of a guitar filtered through the speakers. You tilted your head.

“The Eagles?” you guessed. The song was familiar…

“All alone at the end of the evening, and the bright lights have faded to blue,” crooned from the speakers. “I was thinking 'bout a woman who might have loved me. I never knew…”

“Wow, all right,” Dean said, grinning. “Guess I haven’t lost you to the Bieber pop masses just yet.”

You gave him an amused look.

“My grandfather is an Eagles fan,” you smirked back. Though you patted the Impala’s dashboard. “But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’ve got an old soul.”

“I prefer the term ‘vintage,’” Dean quipped. He noted the way you seemed to be admiring his car. “My dad played this stuff all the time when Sam and I were kids…I guess the car’s another thing he passed down to me.”

You looked over at him then. “Yeah? He give it to you as a graduation gift or something?”

He inclined his head, brushing a hand through his hair.

“Sort of,” he said. You smiled then, shifting towards him in your seat.

“Ooh, that sounds like a story.”

He acknowledged that with a nod, though he hesitated. “You really wanna hear it?”

You rested an elbow on the armrest between his chair and yours, chin in hand, staring up at him encouragingly. Your brows raised in a “go ahead” gesture.

With an amused sigh, Dean nodded.

“Believe it or not, after I graduated high school, I wasn’t sold on the whole college thing.” His lips twisted wryly. “That was more Sam’s beat. So my dad thought it’d be good if I followed in his.”

Your eyes widened. “You were going to be a police officer?”

Dean smiled. “Well, I got into the Academy.”

That was where he met Cas, all those years ago. First, they were sort of silently competing on their scores, each wanting to be the best in the class. For Dean, it was because John Winchester had been the best. To this day, he still held some of the top scores in the region.

Meanwhile, Cas had come from a strict, religious family that drove him to succeed in whatever he put his mind to. Cas hadn’t liked Dean’s casual, joking, surface-level arrogance, thinking he wasn’t taking it seriously.

Dean had thought the guy had a serious pole stuck up his ass.

“I was about halfway through, but I just…my heart wasn’t in it,” Dean said. “Cas could see it. He asked me why the hell I was working so hard if I didn’t really want this.”

“To beat me?” Cas had asked. “To level your dad’s scores? To prove you can be him? Frankly, that sounds idiotic. Not to mention, utterly pathetic.”

Dean hadn’t wanted to face it at first, but he’d known then that his archenemy was right.

“You know…up until then, I don’t think I’d ever considered what the hell it was I wanted,” he admitted. His fingers drummed on the Impala’s steering wheel.

He knew you were listening. Just listening, like you were taking in his every word. He didn’t know why, but your quiet attention made him keep trying to fill the silence.

“So I quit,” he said. “Didn’t tell my dad…but Sam was the one who put the Fire Academy paperwork on my desk. Once I worked up the nerve, I took the firefighter test on the sly.”

“Was your dad mad?” you asked.

Dean chuckled. “At first.”

It had also been the first time he felt like he’d truly impressed his father. Namely, by not doing what John expected of him. That was more Sam’s territory.

“But after I made it through the Fire Academy, he gave me Baby,” said Dean.

He laid a fond hand on the steering wheel. It hadn't been the first time John said he was proud of Dean, but that day was still a good one, etched into Dean's memories. Sometimes it blocked out the darker ones.

“Baby?” you asked in bemusement. 

He blinked, looking over at you with a quirk of his lips.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, and swiped a hand over his mouth.

That, and the way his gaze dropped a bit, you thought he seemed a bit embarrassed. Not by his old-ass taste in music, but by the fact that he’d named his car.

What a giant dork, you thought, as your smile grew.

Leveraging a hand on the armrest, you leaned over and kissed his cheek for the second time tonight. This time you lingered a moment, leaving the mark of your lipstick behind. 

“It’s a good name,” you said.

Dean smiled back at you. Right about then, that was about the best thing you could’ve said.

He raised a hand to your cheek, brushing the back of his hand along your jaw. He settled on gently taking your chin between his fingers, before he leaned in and finally kissed you.

It started out slow as his lips moved against yours with purpose. Your eyes closed at the feel of him. Each new touch drew you in further, making your head swim with warmth, and your heart begin to race.

You unconsciously reached out and grasped the collar of his shirt. His hand moved to cradle your cheek and guide your head to the side, so he could deepen the kiss. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, and his tongue soon swept across to sooth it. You couldn't help the small, pleasant shudder that ran through you.   

You weren’t sure who stopped first, but when your eyes eventually opened again, it was to those talented lips curving into a smile. 

“Not gonna lie, I’ve been trying to do that all night,” he said, chuckling a bit.

You couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up into your throat and managed to escape. “I know.”

You leaned against him, with your hand still curled in his shirt. Your eyes briefly lowered.

At the delightfully hair-raising feeling of his thumb brushing back and forth against your cheek, you glanced back up at him. Your smile became more flirtatious, yet still with a bit of nervous energy.

“Want to reenact the moment?” you asked.

Dean grinned and pulled you in again, flush against him this time. All while his music continued to play. You recognized another one from your grandpa’s collection. This time, you didn’t mind. 

This man might’ve been vintage in his tastes, but his touch made you feel brand new.

“What would you say…about doing this again sometime?” Dean asked.

That is, between feverish kisses on your front porch. You’d been trying to say goodnight for a few minutes now, but every time you tried, the two of you kept getting pulled back into the feel of one another.

He held you close against him, his hands molded to the curve up your hip and pressing into your lower back. Your fingers were alternatively tangling and soothing into his hair. You clung to his shoulders as his lips and tongue continued to rob you of your breath, as well as your good sense.

You were making out with this man under the porch light like you were a teenager afraid of getting caught by your grandfather. (He was probably asleep by now anyway.)

And you couldn’t remember the last time you’d been kissed like this, touched like this. The evening chill spread goosebumps across your arms, but your insides were warm and champagne-bubbly. All the while, his lips made slow, sensuous movements against yours. 

When you caught a moment to pull away, just to take in a few needed breaths, your eyes flicked up to his.

“I’d say make an appointment,” you teased. “I’m a busy woman.”

You tapped his chin with a finger, making him smile.

“Oh, yeah? Can you pencil me in…say, tomorrow at 7:00?” he asked.

“Tomorrow.” You raised a brow. “Anxious, are we?”

His smile faltered, just a little. “Too soon?”

“…No,” you admitted. If you were honest, you wanted to see him too. “7:00 is good.”

Dean was about to reply when the porch lights flickered overhead. Your brows furrowing, you turned and spotted your grandfather in the window by the front door. You didn't like the look of his smile, hinting with mischief.

“Oh my God,” you muttered.

“Did I make you miss curfew or something?” Dean joked.

Embarrassment began to heat up your face in record time. You groaned and shook your head as you turned in his arms.

“My grandfather, ladies and gentlemen.” Your lips quirked. “And his incurable wit.”

Dean’s hands fell away from you so you could reach for the door, just as you heard it unlocking from the other side. George cracked the door open a few inches and peeked his head out.

“If you wanna put on a show, you should sell tickets,” he quipped, giving you and Dean a raised brow.

“Grandpa, really?”

He laughed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Just kiddin’,” he said. “Hey there. Heard you’re the fireman who saved the cheeky damsel in distress here. How many does that make for ya this week?”

You sighed. And you pleaded with Dean, via your eyes, to be patient here.

“Well, wouldn’t call her a damsel, but she’s certainly the prettiest one so far,” Dean told your grandfather, though he shot you a teasing wink.

You couldn't help a smile. “Yeah, he’s got a caravan of us waiting back at the station.”

Dean chuckled along with George, who then gave him a more appraising look. Dean knew when he was being silently judged. He met the older man’s gaze directly.

“Anyway, sorry for crashing in. Glad to meet you, son. I’m George,” said your grandfather. He stepped out fully to shake Dean’s hand.

Dean took it with a firm, but relaxed grip. He nodded respectfully.

“Good to meet you. I’m Dean.”

“So I’ve heard,” George said, his tone a little enigmatic. “You plannin’ on seeing her again? ‘Cause I think you might be a special one. She had me approve no less than five different outfits before she decided. And I said, ‘Hun, if he’s half a man at all he wouldn’t care if you were dressed in a woolly potato sack and nothin' else—’”

“All right, is that Wheel of Fortune on back there?” you quickly cut in. A wilder blush was taking root down to your neck. You pointed back inside, where you could hear the TV playing. “I think your show’s back on.”

George’s eyes widened like he was catching on to you, reading between your lines. He “apologized” with placating hands.

“Okay, that’s my cue. Though I’ll have you know, it’s Shark Week on the Discovery channel. Wheel of Fortune’s for old people,” he quipped.

Dean smirked. “Hell yeah. Gotta love Shark Week.”

“Right?” George gestured at him as if he’d just found a kindred spirit. “A whole damn week of sharks.”

“Great! Well, sounds like the show’s back from commercial,” you hinted. Actually, you hoped he recorded those episodes. You loved a good nature documentary that made you fear the beach for another six months.

“All right, I got it.” Grinning to himself, George gave Dean one last tip of his imaginary hat. “G’night, you two.”

“Good night,” you and Dean replied, though yours was distinctly tighter, while he was more amused. He glanced down at you after the door clicked shut.

You bit your lip, meeting his eyes. “Sorry. No matter how old I get, that’s still his way of being protective.”

“As he should,” Dean said, chuckling a little. He bucked a gentle fist under your chin. “You’re like a daughter to him, right?”

Your lingering embarrassment began to even out into a smile.

“Yeah, basically.”

“With a sharp shooter like you, I’ll bet he doesn’t have a lot of chances to look out for you,” he remarked.

You inclined your head at that.

“Maybe,” you replied. You reached out to straighten the lines of his jacket. You’d managed to wrinkle him a bit since hanging out in his car by the river earlier.

“So…you said something about 7:00 tomorrow?” you asked tentatively.  

Dean grinned. But it soon faded as reality seemed to interject. “Ah…you know what, let’s do 7:30.”

His hands found your waist, but they soon slid around to hold you securely in his arms. It made a heady feeling rush through you, down to the tips of your fingers. You soothed through the mess you made of his hair and rested your hands on his arms afterwards.

“Are you sure?” you asked. Dean thought about it for a moment.

“Let’s do 8:00, just to be safe. I get off work at 6:30,” he said. He wanted to give plenty of wiggle room, just in case something cropped up.

You agreed, even though this aspect of things had the potential to make you anxious. You knew his job was unpredictable at times, but you were a planner, organized and detail oriented. And you did not like the unknown. Hence your mildly anal tendency to make checklists.

Dean could see the wheels turning in your head though.

“Don’t worry. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. When he gave his word, he fully intended to keep it.

So he kissed away the reservations he saw in your eyes. 

Despite the pure magic that had been last night, today, you had a suspicious feeling.

It was 8:30 in the evening, and Dean still wasn’t knocking at your door. He hadn’t responded to your text either.

You were ready for dinner. This time in a black dress, nice, short, and enticing, as your grandma had long ago impressed on you: every woman should have a little black dress.

At 9:00, you gave into your instincts and tried to call him. It rang for a while, but ultimately went to voicemail. You sat on the living room couch with a glass of wine in one hand, your cell in the other, and you frowned.

You still hadn’t moved the vase of tulips from the coffee table, and you noticed them again. They were starting to open up nicely. 

Grandpa George glanced over at you from his favorite chair, watching your mood begin to sour with both annoyance and worry.

“He’s probably just caught up on a call,” he said, and raised a teasing brow. “Maybe saving another girl from a crapped out elevator.”

You shot him a droll look. “Thanks. But yeah, he probably just got held up at work…not standing me up at all.”

Logically, you knew it was probably the first option, but the less secure part of yourself wondered.

George relented when he saw how pensive you looked, with a tinge of impatience.

“You must really like this guy,” he said.

You looked over at him with a soft frown, but you didn’t answer. It told your grandfather everything he needed to know. Even with the protective walls you tended to put up whenever you were anxious, he knew you better than anyone.

“It may not be what you think. Just relax,” he said. “He’ll call eventually. And when he does, let him actually talk.”

You huffed. But your lips formed a smile as you nodded in agreement. 

Whatever was holding Dean up, you just hoped he was safe.

However, by 10:00 p.m., you were both worried and irritated. You changed out of your dress, but you kept your makeup on in one last ditch effort of hope.

You laid in bed and watched Friends reruns. Even though you knew every joke, it usually still managed to make you laugh.

Not this time, unfortunately.

But, Dean finally called around 10:30. You let it ring a few times before you answered your cell.

“Yes, Lieutenant?” you greeted flatly.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he said. His tone was already full of remorse, but you couldn’t help it. You were feeling petty.

“I don’t think you get to ‘sweetheart’ me tonight,” you said.

“Look, uh…I’m sorry I’m not there,” said Dean. “I really am. I wasn’t trying to do this to you.”

…Damn it, you actually believed him. You heard the sincerity in his voice, along with how tired he seemed to be. And that was before he even got to the explanation.

“There was a five-car pileup on the road, and someone got T-boned on either side,” he said. “It took us basically all night to clear it up and get the injured out of there. Was a big mess. I just left the station a few minutes ago.” 

Your irritation soon fizzled into shame. You should’ve known.

“That’s…a really good reason,” you said.

“Just let me shower and I’ll come right out to you.”

You sighed. “It’s okay, Dean. Let’s just try for another time. You must be tired…”

It was his turn to sigh.  

“I know it ain’t okay,” he said eventually. “I can hear you clear as day.”

Your lips quirked wryly.

“How can I complain, Dean? You were literally saving people.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you’re all dolled up, and I’m not gonna get to see it,” he said. A bit of his usual charm and good humor crept into his voice. It made you smile.

“And I really put some effort into this smokey eye,” you quipped. You also curled a strand of styled hair around your finger absently.

“I’m gonna pretend I know what that means, but it sounds sexy as hell,” he replied.

Your smile deepened. “Okay, what about Tuesday night?”

“Hmm…sorry, that day’s no good. I’ve got a 24-hour shift Tuesday to Wednesday,” he said. “What about Thursday night?”

“Ah…I’ve got an appointment after work,” you said.

Really it was George’s doctor’s appointment, but you wanted to go with him this time to make sure the doctor was doing his best to diagnose George’s persistent cough.

He’d also been more tired lately, you’d noticed, even after a full night’s sleep. He was blaming it on old age, but you knew your grandfather. You knew when he was downplaying to avoid the doctor, or to avoid worrying you.

“Friday?” you posed.

“I’ve got another long shift,” Dean said.

Damn it. It seemed like his schedule and yours wasn’t very compatible. You were starting to get discouraged…

“Oh, wait,” Dean said, his tone perking up. “I forgot. I’ve got this Monday off, during the day…why don’t I take you out to lunch?”

“Lunch?” You considered it with a frown. “It can be hard for me to leave my desk. I have to take a lot of calls.”

Most days you worked straight through your lunch hour. But Dean’s reply was smooth.

“That’s all right,” he said. “How about I bring takeout? Office picnic.”

Slowly, you smiled.

“Okay. I’ll see you on Monday then,” you agreed.

“Yes, you will,” Dean said. His tone was firm. “You can count on it.”

AN: Okay! How did you like part 2 of their first date? (And Dean meeting George for the first time lol.)

Hopefully round two of their second date will go better. Though Dean finally meets the infamous boss...

Next Time:

“Hey, what’s your progress on the Greenway account…oh,” said Nick, pausing where he stood.

He took note of Dean in the room and straightened his posture. His expression changed from its lazy gait, to a more tightened one. You swore you could spot a tinge of annoyance as well, like he was surprised that he hadn’t caught you alone in your office.

“I see I’m interrupting,” he said.

Holding in a sigh, you looked over at Dean and found him similarly assessing Nick.

“This is Dean. You might remember him from last week, when the elevator broke down. He’s one of the firefighters who got me out,” you said.

Your hand fell on your companion's arm. “Dean, this is—”

“Her boss,” Nick said. He seemed to lighten up and give Dean a smile, reaching over to shake the man’s hand. Dean obliged him.

“So I’ve heard,” he said.

Keep Reading: PART 5

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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[lesbianrobin]

you were warm when everything was cold

5,470 words

lucas/max, steve/eddie, lucas-centric

Lucas can't stop staring.

“Whaddya think?” Eddie twirls, showing off every angle of his borrowed letterman jacket with Harrington embroidered across the back. “So, Harrington? Gonna take me to the prom?”

Steve laughs, taking Eddie's outstretched hand and spinning him around again. “What, are we going steady?”

Eddie gasps. “Why, Steve, what kind of girl do you take me for? Of course we're going steady, I don't just go parking in cars with any old boy!”

Steve dissolves into laughter, pulling Eddie close by his belt loops and resting his forehead on his shoulder until the laughter subsides. Eddie runs his hands through Steve's hair aimlessly, playing with the strands, and shit, Lucas needs to look away, but he just can't.

“It looks good on you,” Steve says, so low that Lucas can barely make it out. He raises his head from Eddie's shoulder, leans in close so their foreheads are pressed together.

“Would you be mad if I added a few patches?”

“You can add patches if I can fix up the rips in your jacket.”

Eddie frowns. “Hey, I earned those rips.”

“And I earned my letterman.”

Eddie hums. “You'd make a good housewife.”

“How's that?”

“Well, you like to sew.”

“It's a basic life skill!”

“That you often practice for fun. You do all the cooking, you look after the kids, you love to clean…”

Steve clicks his tongue. “Only one problem there, Munson.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows. He's doing a terrible job of hiding his smile. “Oh really? What's that?”

Steve lightly grabs Eddie by the front of his jacket. “I'm not doing all that for a bum.” He pushes Eddie back a little just to pull him back in, knocking their foreheads together.

Eddie gives up on hiding his smile. “Oh, a bum?”

“That’s right. I need a man with a good job. Steady paycheck.”

“I provide.”

“You think I'm gonna raise children with a drug dealer?”

Eddie laughs, shakes his head, leans even closer to Steve, and—Okay, yeah, Lucas has gotta look away. He turns back to the pile of clothes he and Max have been sorting through.

Max is looking right at him, single eyebrow raised. Lucas’s stomach drops. “What?”

Max shrugs innocently, looking down to the stack of clothes in her lap like nothing happened. “Nothing. You like this?” She holds up a dark blue turtleneck sweater.

“Uh, for me or for you?”

“You, I can’t stand stuff around my neck like that.”

It does look soft. “I’ll try it.”

Steve apparently has an infinite abyss for a closet. Every time Lucas thinks Steve must have brought down the last of it, there’s another box, another armful of sweaters and t-shirts and polo shirts that Steve doesn’t need anymore even though they’re functionally indistinguishable from the stuff he wears every day. He’s got a lot of jackets, too, and Max has already claimed three for herself while Lucas has yet to snag one. Probably because he’s been distracted from their treasure hunt by… Well. He’s not sure what.

There’s something about watching Steve and Eddie that makes his chest ache, just a little bit. Something that feels like it’s just out of reach, like if he could just jump an inch higher he could grasp it and know what it is, have a name for it, figure out what feels like it’s missing with Max. He never felt like something was missing with Max before. She was perfect. She is perfect! Like, sure, not actually perfect, because nobody’s actually perfect, but she’s perfect for him just like he hopes he’s perfect for her, and they’re perfect together.

Maybe Lucas is overcompensating.

Max has been more present lately. More herself. Honestly, if anything, she’s more herself than ever. Vecna gave her this… confidence, sort of. Sureness in herself. Like, she just has this aura now, like she’s been to hell and personally kicked the devil in the nuts, and even though he knows it’s because she did essentially go through hell and personally kick the devil in the nuts, Lucas still kind of loves it. It’s like he’s dating the actual Max Max, or Ripley from Alien.

And yet. Even though Max isn’t hiding anymore, even though they talk now, even though their relationship is objectively better than ever, sometimes Lucas is just a little bit sad.

—

Movie nights are becoming worryingly essential to Lucas's mental wellbeing.

It doesn't have much of anything to do with the movies. It's how he feels safe surrounded by all of his friends, how the darkness forms a blanket to block out the rest of the world. Everyone that matters is right there in the glow of the TV. He knows they're all safe.

Right now, half of them are asleep.

Erica conked out early. So did Robin, who's curled up into a little ball and snoring lightly against Steve. Steve is awake, but Eddie is asleep in his lap, Steve's arms around his waist and chin resting on his shoulder. Dustin is awake, but he keeps jerking his head suddenly, like he's trying to keep himself up, and Lucas figures it's just a matter of time before he's out, too.

Max is awake. She's lying on him, and Lucas knows from experience that his arm is going to fall asleep pretty soon if she doesn't move, but what kind of guy asks his girlfriend to get off of him? Maybe a guy who doesn't even like girls.

But he definitely likes girls. Like, that's not even remotely up for debate, and it's not some deep-seated repression thing, it's just the truth. He loves when Max lays on him, up until the point where his arm gets numb and tingly. So what gives? What's the problem?

Lucas closes his eyes. He tries to picture Max with short hair, although Eddie's hair is long, and El's is short, so maybe that doesn't mean anything. He imagines her with a sharper jaw, although Dustin's jawline is soft, and Nancy's is sharp, so that probably doesn't mean much either. He imagines a Max with broader shoulders, maybe an inch or so taller than him, a Max he has to lean up to kiss, a Max with more than just peach fuzz on her upper lip.

He's not particularly into it, but he's not repulsed, either. Franken-Max is still beautiful. Handsome. Lucas still loves him. But that's a bad example, probably, because he already has feelings for Max, and changing some superficial stuff doesn't change the feelings. Who's a hot guy celebrity? Max likes Ralph Macchio. When he thinks about Ralph Macchio, though, all Lucas really feels is jealousy, maybe a little bit of disdain. So he thinks of Han Solo. Lando Calrissian. Luke Skywalker. They aren't bad-looking, sure, but Lucas doesn't feel too strongly about any of them, appearance-wise. Maybe he just can't find guys in movies hot.

His mind drifts, as it often has lately, to Steve and Eddie. It's not the way they look that has Lucas obsessing over them. He knew Steve and Eddie both long before they were Steve-and-Eddie, and he never had this kind of fixation on either of them before. Well, sure, maybe he's spent some time looking at Steve's arms, but that was more of an athletic inspiration thing than anything else. What is it about the two of them together that's so fascinating?

So many little scenes are burned into Lucas's brain. Eddie holding the door for Steve, calling him sweetheart and babydoll and a thousand other little nicknames that make Lucas's face and ears go hot. Steve carrying Eddie piggyback through the rain because Eddie was wearing those ratty old Converse with the floppy sole and Steve was worried that if he stepped in a puddle he'd get frostbite or trench foot. The two of them sharing clothes, wearing each other's jackets. The way they move, how sometimes when the radio's on they'll dance, and first Eddie's the girl, and then Steve's the girl, and neither of them is actually a girl, and it doesn't even matter, it's all just whatever's fun in the moment, whatever makes them feel good, and holy shit. Oh, shit. Oh, God.

Lucas wants to fall asleep during movie night in Max's lap. He wants her to drape her jacket over his shoulders when he shivers. He wants her to put her arm around him, hold him like he's precious. He wants Max to want all of that, too.

His arm feels numb. If Lucas were a girl, or if Max were a boy, he'd ask if they could switch places. But he isn't, and she isn't, and what kind of guy asks his girlfriend to get off of him so he can use her as a pillow instead? Lucas isn't sure if there's a word for a guy like that. If there is, it probably isn't very nice.

So he lets his arm go numb. He tries not to look at Eddie, at the way he nuzzles into Steve's chest and Steve just holds him closer.

“Hey,” Max whispers in his ear. Lucas jerks a little in surprise and she huffs out a laugh. “You okay?”

“What?”

“You've been spacey lately,” she murmurs, “Usually you'd be trying to figure out the logistics of all the Muppet action.”

She's not wrong. Lucas is fascinated by how they make the Muppets ride bikes and stuff. There must be a lot of wires and people involved.

“Everyone's asleep,” Lucas whispers back, “Didn't want to talk. You know Erica hasn't been getting much sleep lately, didn't wanna mess it up.”

Max shifts, pulling Lucas' arm around her shoulders so she can snuggle into his side. It's a bit better, but now he's gotta endure the pins and needles phase.

“You're sweet.”

He can almost hear it, sweetheart like how Eddie says to Steve, but that isn't Max's style and it's silly of him to even think about it. It's not like he wants her to change. It's just nice to imagine a world where none of the gender shit really matters and they can be like Steve and Eddie, and Lucas can be held and feel safe because the real-life Ripley's got his back.

God, he's pathetic. Lucas sighs, flexing his arm to encourage that terrible tingling to run its course. He has an amazing girlfriend and he's whining about nothing. Well, whining to himself. In his head. It still counts. It's still total pussy behavior.

Lucas pulls Max closer, kisses the top of her head. He can feel her head turn to look up at him, but he keeps his gaze leveled at the TV, and she doesn't say anything. They're fine. He and Max are fine.

—

“You know you can talk to me, right?”

“Huh?”

Max turns her head sideways to take a bite out of her hot dog. It's cute. She always gets ketchup and mustard smeared on her nose if she just bites straight into it.

“It goes both ways,” she says, chewing, and it should be gross, but it's not, really, because it's Max. She finishes chewing and swallows before she opens her mouth again. “I'm your friend before I'm your girlfriend.”

“You got some…” Lucas picks up a napkin from the picnic table, leaning forward to wipe a smudge of ketchup off the corner of her mouth. He kisses her, quick, because he's there anyway, and she smiles into it before shoving him away.

“Nice try. You gonna answer me?”

“Answer what?”

Her smile fades. It's replaced by a look of concern that makes Lucas feel nauseous.

“You can talk to me. You know that. Right?”

"Right." Lucas takes a sip of his Coke, just for something to do with his hands.

“I'm not…” Max looks down, sighing before she meets his eyes again. “I'm doing better. I can… you don't have to be okay all the time, you know? You can tell me things. You can tell me anything.”

God, his chest aches. Lucas reaches out and takes her hand.

“I know,” he assures her. “I know.”

He hasn't seen Max look this deeply sad in a while. She looks down and lifts their entwined hands, pressing a kiss to the back of his knuckles, and his heart flutters.

“Okay,” she says. She lowers their hands, drops his, and picks up what's left of her hot dog.

As she tilts her head to the side and gets mustard on her cheek, Lucas gets the distinct impression that she doesn't believe him.

—

When did he start spending so much time around Steve and Eddie?

It sort of makes sense. He used to spend a small amount of time with Eddie, a moderate amount of time with Steve, and then they all went through some shit and bonded and Lucas's Eddie time got bumped up to moderate, and then Steve and Eddie became an annoyingly adorable package deal, and now Lucas can't escape them. He's a little pissed, honestly. Fuck them for being gay and in love and equal and shit. Ruining his life. Lucas has never really been the type to envy other people's happiness, and he feels like maybe Steve and Eddie are making him a worse person. Before, he always figured that if his friends are happy, then he's happy, and that's it.

Upon further reflection, though, it occurs to Lucas that perhaps he just never had friends with much of anything to envy.

“You look adorable, sweetheart,” Eddie states out of nowhere, and some small part of Lucas still expects Steve, with his jungle of chest hair and unreasonably large biceps and many years of womanizing, to shove Eddie away, to reject the sweet kiss Eddie presses to his cheek, but he doesn't. Of course he doesn't.

Lucas suddenly recalls the wild look in Steve's eye, the ferocity in his voice, the strength with which he batted the demodogs away back in the junkyard. It feels like so long ago.

Steve does sigh a little. When Eddie tries to move away, Steve tugs him to his side and kisses the mass of curls on his head. The vibe is kinda weird today. Steve seems… off. So does Eddie, but Eddie is so perpetually strange and erratic that Lucas could just be making shit up.

“Okay, okay,” Robin says, more to herself than anyone around her, “I think this is it? Yeah, this is…” She squints at the binder in her hand. “Okay, yeah!”

She hands over the impressively large binder to Steve and Eddie, who each hold one side so that it'll stay open and Robin can read her sheet music. Robin raises her trumpet to her lips. She pauses.

“Just remember, this is, like, totally unofficial, and I'm only playing one part, so it—”

Mike groans. “Oh my god, just play it.”

Nancy flicks his ear. He bats her hand away.

Robin waves Nancy off just before she delivers what looks like a devastating smack to the back of Mike's head. “No, he's—yeah, I'm gonna play it.”

She raises her trumpet, takes a deep breath, and then Lucas is hearing an incredibly loud rendition of the Star Wars theme reverberating through Mike's basement. It's honestly, like, really impressive. When Robin finishes, Lucas claps and whistles, and Mike says, "Holy shit, that was awesome," and Dustin and Nancy cheer too, and Robin's bashful smile warms Lucas's chest.

“Just imagine it with, like, a bunch of other trumpets and trombones and a tuba and some other horns and I think there's, like, piano and synthesizer and maybe a timpani too, but I think it sounds okay just with the trumpet. I mean, nowhere near as good, but you can, like, recognize it, you know?”

Robin's concert continues. This was supposed to be a big group study session, but Lucas doesn't mind the delay. Steve doesn't even need to study, he's just here because he's Robin's ride, so he'd probably say something if it was a problem. She plays Fly Me To The Moon and a few others that Lucas vaguely recognizes. Eventually, Robin tires, packing the trumpet away and condemning them all to hell.

“This shit sucks,” Dustin mutters, flipping a flashcard back and forth without looking at it.

Mike sighs his agreement.

Lucas shrugs. “At least we're not Eddie.”

All three of them glance over to where Nancy and Robin have been drilling Eddie for the past hour, only to find that he's nowhere to be seen.

“Huh. Guess he had enough.” Mike sounds jealous.

“I'm gonna go to the bathroom,” Lucas says, “Do me a favor and kill me when I get back.”

“Kill yourself,” Mike says.

“Don't worry, I'll kill you,” Dustin says supportively, “I'm a real friend.”

“Thanks.”

Lucas leaps over the coffee table to avoid disturbing the pile of backpacks and textbooks on the floor. He takes the steps two at a time, enjoying the chance to stretch his legs after an afternoon of sitting on Mike's couch. When he gets to the bathroom, the door is closed, and he reaches for the handle but freezes when he hears a voice.

“...didn't mean it like that,” Eddie says.

Lucas puts his hand down, but he inches closer to the door, just shy of pressing his ear up against the wood.

“I know, I already said it's fine.” Steve sounds tired.

“But it's clearly not because you're upset.”

“I'll get over it. You had a point.”

“Well, yeah, but I was being a total dick about it.”

“You know I don't mind a dick with… wait. Wait, I meant… uh, I'm used to your… shit.”

“You're used to getting dick from me? Or… uh, you don't mind a dick when it's mine?”

Steve snaps his fingers. “Yes! Yeah, those. Ugh, you're a genius.”

“No,” Eddie whines, “Don't be nice to me right now, I feel evil.”

“Ed, it's literally fine. You're right, it doesn't matter if I look perfect every time I walk outside.”

“But you do, that was my point, you don't need to worry about—”

“Eddie. Let it go. It's fine. I'm fine.”

“Can I just… Okay, I know this morning it seemed like I was just being an asshole because you were making us late with your hair stuff, but can I just explain what I meant to say?”

Steve sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, sure, go for it.”

“I just… I see you freaking out all the time about how you look, and what people think of you, and it's not that I think it's dumb, because I can understand wanting to feel confident and wanting people to accept you, but the thing is that you don't have to do that. You don't have to. You are the kindest, sexiest, most badass person I know, and that's not something you have to put on for other people, it's just who you are. So it drives me crazy to see you driving yourself crazy over who thinks you're a loser and who thinks you're a douchebag and all of that, because not only does it not matter at all what some random assholes think of you, but, like, when you're just yourself? When you're just being yourself, Steve, everyone falls in love with you, that's how I fell in love with you, and it breaks my fucking heart when you feel like you need to put on some kind of act or have perfect hair or whatever for people to like you, because you don't.”

Silence. Lucas waits, afraid that somehow they realized he was listening, but then Steve speaks, his voice thick with emotion.

“You love me?”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes immediately. “Yeah, I hadn't mentioned?”

“Mm, no, no, I think I'd remember if you—”

“You sure? You forget things a lot, you know—”

“Oh, shut up, I love you.”

“Ardently?”

“If that means a whole lot.”

“More or less. Means passionately. It's, uh…” Lucas can hear the embarrassment in Eddie's voice. He doesn't think he's ever seen Eddie embarrassed before. “It's from Pride and Prejudice.”

Steve laughs. “God, I love you. Then yes, Eddie Munson, I love you ardently.”

“And I you, Steve Harrington,” Eddie says, with a tinge of that regality he uses for upper-crust NPCs, but it sounds sincere at the same time, nothing about it even remotely artificial. “I love and admire you ardently.”

Lucas backs away from the door. His head feels kinda… buzzy, as he walks to the upstairs bathroom. He shouldn't have been listening in. That was a private moment, seemingly an important one, but Lucas has terrible impulse control lately and he has that feeling again, that one like he's reaching up for something that's barely out of reach, his fingers brushing it when he jumps, but he just can't quite jump high enough to get his hand around it and bring it down to his level.

When he gets back downstairs after his overly long bathroom break, he says he's feeling sick and heads home early. Steve seems concerned, but even as he asks if Lucas needs anything, he has this air about him, like he'd float right off the ground if his shoes weren't weighing him down. It's been a long time since Lucas felt like that.

He goes home. He switches out his jeans for sweatpants. He lays in bed, he stares at the ceiling, and he wonders.

Steve has kind of been, like, the pinnacle of being a man to Lucas these past few years. He's cool. He's strong. He's brave. He always goes in first, always comes out last, always puts himself between the people he loves and the source of danger, and Lucas wants to be like that. He's always tried to be a good friend, to listen and empathize and help when he could, but once the world shifted and suddenly bullies weren't the biggest threat in everyone's lives, he was left reeling.

He can still remember fumbling with his wrist rocket, shooting rocks at the Demogorgon because there was nothing else he could do, and he remembers the dawning realization that he was going to fail, and that his friends were going to die, and that it was going to be because he wasn't strong enough.

Steve fought off the Demogorgon.

He had a bat, yeah, and a lot more height and muscle than Lucas, but still. He did it. And if he could do it, then maybe so could Lucas one day, if he just kept working out, kept practicing with his wrist rocket and watching The Karate Kid. In retrospect, Lucas's logic wasn't great, but he was in middle school, so whatever. He's gotten a lot smarter since then. The wrist rocket is more useful for distraction than outright combat, and karate moves aren't really that helpful in a fistfight.

Steve was just… always solid. He always bounced back. He could take the worst beating Lucas had ever seen and then get up and save the world, and he was always okay at the end of the day, always Steve underneath no matter how bloody and bruised he was on the outside.

Lucas has never been hurt like that, but he's still had nightmares for about four years now. They never really go away. They aren't constant, but every time he thinks maybe he's kicked it, they come right back and leave him panting, sweaty, trembling with the lamp on at three in the morning because he needs to have a light or else he won't know that something's coming. He worries about not being strong enough. He worries about not being enough in general.

According to Eddie, all this time, Steve's been worrying too. Worrying what people think of him. Trying to earn his keep and be what everyone else wants him to be. Showing up late sometimes not because he was too cool to care about being on time, but because he was trying to make sure he looked perfect before going out in public. Eddie wasn't just complimenting him out of the blue earlier for no reason, he was trying to reassure him, comfort him, because Steve Harrington has insecurities. It should have been common sense, but the knowledge hits him like a firework to the face, lighting everything up and leaving Lucas disoriented in its wake. What else has he been missing?

When Steve and Eddie started dating, they didn't, like, announce it or anything. They just didn't hide it, and eventually everyone got the memo, and Lucas is still deeply ashamed of the fact that he was one of the last to realize. It was less about the fact that Steve was dating a man and more about the fact that Steve was letting a man stroke his hair and put a leather jacket on his shoulders and call him dollface, like, seriously. Lucas thought it was a joke. In his defense, he thinks a lot of Eddie's little nicknames are jokes, but there's also something painfully earnest about them that he recognizes now, like each one is a little I love you, and it had been hard for Lucas to see Steve as somebody who wanted that, as someone who needed reassurance and affection and wanted to be treated with care.

Maybe Steve has nightmares too. Maybe even muscles and a nail bat aren't enough to keep the demons at bay. Maybe if Lucas stopped hiding the fact that he needs reassurance and affection and sometimes he wants to be treated with care, maybe if he talked to Max… But Max has had to deal with so much worse. It wouldn't be fair to just dump all of his issues on her, too.

God, she'd be mad if he said that out loud. Lucas can almost hear her voice, saying something like, don't decide for me what I can and can't handle, and he smiles, alone in his room staring up at the ceiling, because he's been a little bit of an idiot.

If even Ripley can need some support now and then, why can't he?

—

“You seem lighter.”

“Hm?”

Max nudges his leg with her own. “That thing you've been weird about all month. You figure it out?”

Nobody is paying attention to them, sitting on the floor in front of Mike's couch side by side. The others are all debating something to do with DnD, he thinks, but he hasn't really been paying attention. Max rented The Karate Kid, and the two of them have been focused on the movie while everyone else got distracted.

“I think so,” Lucas says, and takes a chance. He leans over, resting his head on Max's shoulder, and immediately her arm comes up to wrap around him.

“And you're not gonna dump me?”

Lucas sits up to look at Max incredulously. “What? Why would I dump you?”

She looks embarrassed. She leans in and lowers her voice. “Okay, don't be, like, offended, and this might make me sound stupid, but I noticed you've been looking at Steve and Eddie a lot lately.”

“Oh my god,” he mumbles, and Max laughs.

“So, you’re not…”

“No.”

“That’s good.” Her eyes widen a little bit as soon as the words leave her mouth. “Uh, I mean, that’s good for me as your girlfriend, not, like, in general. And I mean, obviously you could like guys and still like me, but, you know, you seemed really deep in thought, so…”

Lucas laughs. “Wait, so you thought I was, like, having a sexuality crisis, and you didn’t…”

“I didn’t want to push you on it,” she shrugs, “I figured you’d tell me when you were ready. But then you just seemed like you were getting more upset about it, and you were doing that thing where you pretend like you don’t have feelings—”

“What? I don’t—”

Max raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, you do.”

“...Maybe.” Lucas sighs. “I kind of was. But that wasn’t… it wasn’t about, like, guys. Trust me, I tried, and the closest I got to being into a dude was you.”

Max’s face scrunches up. “Me?”

“It’s… listen, I was going through a lot of hypotheticals!”

She giggles. “And one of them was me as a guy? Was I hot?”

Lucas shrugs. “Yeah, I wasn’t not into you.”

“High praise.”

“No, it was…” Lucas trails off, unsure of how to say it. He turns back to the TV and lowers his head to Max’s shoulder again. She lets him, wrapping her arm around him, and actually, how did Lucas ever think this would be wrong? It’s Max. It’s only Max.

“I wanted this,” he mumbles.

“This?”

He grabs her hand where it rests on his arm. “Yeah. You know, they always… like, I just wanted you to hold me.”

“Lucas,” Max says, her voice uncharacteristically tender.

“I’m not saying I wanna be all gross like them, but… I don’t know.”

“...Could I give you my jacket sometimes?”

“Oh my god, yes,” Lucas says, and Max laughs.

“You don’t even know how many times I’ve wanted to give you my coat because you never learn—”

“I learn!”

“No, you dress for fashion instead of function and then you freeze your ass off!”

Lucas laughs too, turning to bury his face in Max’s dark blue jacket, one of the ones she snagged from Steve, and she tugs him closer until he’s practically sitting in her lap. He feels light, like he might float away if she wasn’t holding on to him. But she is. She’s holding him, and she’s laughing, and none of their friends seem to have noticed anything different. It’s just Max, and Lucas, and they’re better than ever.

—

Lucas holds the door for Max, letting her enter Family Video ahead of him. Steve and Robin are at the counter, Robin gesturing wildly as usual. Steve raises a hand, waving as Lucas and Max approach. “Hey, nice jacket, Sinclair. Is that one mine?”

“It’s mine now,” Max says, wrapping an arm about Lucas’s waist and pulling him into her side. “He only wore a t-shirt even though it’s freezing out because he needed everyone to see his arms.”

He rests his arm over her shoulders. “I don’t need to bring a jacket, I have you.”

She rolls her eyes. “You know, one of these days I’m not gonna take pity on you and I’m gonna let you freeze to death.”

Lucas hadn’t even been cold when Max took off her jacket and wrapped it around his shoulders. She had just done it out of the blue, stepped back, grinned, and said he looked good.

Robin sighs. “Ugh, you two are adorable. See, Steve, this is what I’m talking about!”

“And I’m telling you, all you have to do is have a conversation like a grown-up!”

“But it’s scary,” Robin whines, leaning her forehead against Steve’s chest and groaning. He pats her head comfortingly.

“I know. Max, I got your stuff on hold right over there.” Steve nods at a small stack of tapes on the counter. “Already checked them out for you.”

“You had stuff on hold?”

Max had spontaneously decided she wanted to have a home movie night instead of going to the theater, and Lucas had assumed it was just because she didn’t feel like going out.

She pulls him over the counter, and Lucas sees all three Star Wars movies in a neat pile.

“Surprise!”

Max isn’t that into Star Wars. She likes watching horror movies on date night, and she hates sitting through more than one movie at a time, but here she is with three space operas and a tentative smile on her face, and Lucas can’t help it.

“I love you.”

Max raises her eyebrows before dissolving into laughter. “That’s it? This is the moment?”

“Yes, shut up!”

She does not shut up. Max continues laughing. “Really? Because I rented Star Wars?”

“Because you know me.” Lucas grins. “You love me.”

“Well, yeah,” Max says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like he’d said that the sky is blue or that El’s a superhero.

Lucas hears a high-pitched squeal, and he turns to find Steve with a hand clamped over Robin’s mouth. Her eyes are wide and excited.

“Go have your little date before she explodes,” he says, waving them off.

“Thanks, Steve.” Max takes the tapes and turns to the door. Lucas jogs ahead to open it for her.

As Lucas follows her outside, part of him feels like he might just float off the asphalt right into the clouds, but he doesn’t worry about it. There’s no need. Max is right there, and he’s wrapped in her jacket, and she’s taking his hand for the short walk from the store to their bikes. No, Lucas won’t float away.

Max will keep him tethered.

[theslimeologist]

curious as to how you feel about slime rancher's gameplay as a whole, if you wanna talk about it

oh boy.

slime rancher has a unique chaos-focused gameplay design unlike any other game ive played while also going for a chill farming vibe. after years of playing the first game, and just a handful of hours in the second.. i believe the gameplay loop and level design to be the reason I havent played the series in recent years.

everything in slime rancher is random.

crop yield, crop grow time, slime spawns, slimes feeding themselves, everything. and this is the core, foundational game design philosophy they’ve dedicated themselves to. and they’ve doubled down on the randomness in sr2.

shop stock is random every day. unlocking blueprints come unpredictably. resource nodes are randomly scattered about. weather, which can dictate slime AND material spawning, is 100% random. not even to what weather happens, but what DEGREE the weather is.

this much random chance has made the series appeal to me less and less with time. i love to strategize beyond all else in a farming game, and slime rancher’s “chill chaos” just doesnt accommodate my style of gameplay anymore. i want resource extractors. i want to have a reliable income in terms of resources so i can do all the incredible decorating they’ve added.. but i dont think anything could get me to play hundreds of hours of sr2 to collect resources by hand at the mercy of rng. i did this with gilded gingers for fun. i never wanted to do that for EVERYTHING.

now, to look at sr2’s gameplay and design decisions more closely..

slimes live in corrals. boxes. this is one thing i thought could have always been expanded on. enclosures are as simple as ever, essentially what they always were right from sr1 beta. slimes being fed are still dictated by the chance of food hitting their mouths at the right angle, right time, with the slime in the right mood. it just doesnt work reliably, leading to slime chaos despite any player’s best efforts. the devs seem to see this as part of the game, and not something that could be revolutionized or improved upon. the ranch expansions are as simple as ever. we can decorate them though…! i guess…! i wish there was more thought and love put into the ranching. more involved slime care. i had a lot of ideas i never drew down for how things could change..

moving on to the level design itself, the areas in sr2 feel more confusing than ever for me to navigate. and ive stubbornly believed that is not on me. the islands are focused on experiencing beauty and wonder, but not really designed with normal gameplay quirks that can help players navigate without even knowing they’re being helped. like landmarks. sr2 has the volcano, split tree and the conservatory. these three things are actually pretty difficult to spot in most locations, which really fucking sucks. if you’re lost on the sr2 map, they really just want you to open the map or wander. another thing that has always bugged me a TON, is in the rainbow fields there is a fucking death drop into water that looks like youre walking home. like…. LIKE???? another thing that feels especially controversial to point out is how the super-saturated aesthetic of every area can make an area feel samey, confusing even. rainbow fields have rainbows everywhere. imo, you could have gone for that idea while having brightly coloured trees, rocks, grass, that are DIFFERENT COLOURS. FOR CONTRAST. pick bright colours that complement eachother and sculpt the world with it. when i think of rainbow fields, i honestly can only imagine the purply blue grass and moss on grey stones…

it feels as though sr2 was all about pushing the teams creative and aesthetic abilities with a huge sacrifice to regular gameplay design. a slime rancher sequel was an opportunity to build anew from the ground up and address huge issues with 1’s unreliability due to physics and loading zones, etc. the full game isnt out yet so i cant speak on whether they’ll ever take these kinds of issues into consideration in future patches.

anyway at the end of the day, for a game so focused on aesthetic, slime rancher 2 doesnt even have properly textured tangle largos. I wont bother to look or photograph them all myself because tangles are only from rare weather. but next time you’re in game, check out that flat batty tangle flower for yourself. until that flower gets a proper texture patch i dont really have much else to say.

[interpolanticssuperfan]

nothing natural | ken x fem!reader | part 5 | 18+ only

hi everyone!! wow, i did not mean for this chapter to be so meaty!! i sort of had fun setting up the building blocks for ken's return, so i hope it makes sense and feels necessary. thanks for reading and supporting <3 <3 SMUT IS COMING!! DO NOT WORRY (:

tags: @heyareyoulistening @itsametaphorbriansblog @alyeria @chrispontiass

After Ken leaves you, the weekend passes by without notable interruption. Life goes on, and you have no choice but to keep going with it. If the blues of the sky pale, the whorls of white clouds disentangle themselves into nothing; if the pastels of colored buildings all seem duller afterwards, you don’t say anything about it to anyone. 

Not like you had anyone to tell.

Your supervisor ends up buying the flimsy lie you’d concocted as to why you were so behind on reports and emails. To compensate for the hindrance and cover your ass, you worked a handful of hours on Sunday, barely functioning after fighting sleep that night. Blinking blearily into your weak homemade coffee. 

The first night without Ken was impressively quiet. Hours of tossing and turning, counting stippled designs on the ceiling and squeezing your eyes shut when the blue or white light of your television grew too intense, your mind repeating on a loop that you’d never see him again. Funnily enough, the obtrusive screen could have easily been turned off, but the idea of laying cocooned in silence was worse than any other punishment imaginable. 

You remembered how clean and aromatic Ken had smelled in your kitchen, as you observed the featherlight movement of his stomach, his breath tense under your catatonic stare. Like fresh linen, the initial wave of those pink tulips planted in tiny little rows in front of the library, the relief of a clean, spotless home. 

Ken had smelled like a long-awaited sigh, like comfort, like the warm tailend of a nap that you couldn’t be shaken out of. A home you’d never known. Each element of Ken’s ever having existed had blown out the front door and followed him back to a place that didn’t sound real. Maybe wasn’t real.

How could you miss someone you hadn’t even really known at all?

Perhaps you could traipse out of the bedroom, wait out there in silence to see if you could still pick up any lingering traces of him in the dark, if you could pick up any notes of the pure bleach of his hair, pungent like a drying ink stamp. 

Something told you even if you had nuzzled against Ken’s head, it wouldn’t smell like chlorine, wouldn’t smell like sodium hypochlorite or aluminum foil, because Ken didn’t need to seek out alterations to make himself beautiful, didn’t need to add to or take away from any part of his physicality to fit some type of standard. 

He was naturally impeccable. Easily unmarred.

(Astonishing, really, how little time it had taken for your every waking moment to be consumed with thoughts of Ken.)

But now your living space was stoic. Fragmented by a deficit of light and life and sparkling teeth that glowed like ethereal cave moss. 

(Teeth you desired to feel with your own tongue, battling for dominance in his sweet, pink mouth that curved like a marble bow. You wanted to memorize the dips and juts of his molars, his canines, wanted to know them each by shape alone.)

The cold right side of your bedsheets felt freezing to the touch once you’d spent three hours awake in the small of dawn imagining how wonderful it’d be to share it with someone. Picturing the rise and fall of thin fabric as Ken rested, let his body go lax next to yours. The way he wanted to. The way he’d been angling for.

You frowned to yourself, twisting a fraying thread on the empty pillow around your pinky, the silk too plump, too… devoid of blonde companionship.

How could you have pushed Ken away? Was it mere loneliness that had conjured this visceral reaction out of you? The feeling that deep down, you’d never really been seen for who you were and subsequently accepted? Let alone fawned over?

Your head bobbed as if underwater, tumbling out of wakefulness and into disappointment.

The second night without Ken had been fretful. Restless. Two bottles of pink wine sent you straight to sleep, and after brushing Willa’s hair and ordering in ten dollar pad thai, the only flashes of blonde you saw in your conscience were drifting through sleep, hazy through lackluster dreams.

You tried cleaning. Tried scrubbing the tiles of the kitchen for something to do. Anything to remind yourself that you had responsibilities, that life carried on outside of the compelling stranger you’d met at the library.

When Sunday rolled around your work bag felt about as heavy as the ones under your eyes, twin weights that refused to be alleviated.

You wished you understood why this was taking such a toll on you. Even Willa seemed to be raising her eyebrows at you from her tiny enclosure.

You’d been the one to suggest that Ken leave. That he pack it up and go right back the way he’d came.

You’d never really been one for accepting good things that rolled into your life. Whether they made sense or not, had been earned or not. Displays of paranoia at even the most throwaway compliment. 

It’s how you’d reacted to receiving a scholarship – awkward declinations that catapulted house parties or family dinners into palpable silence. “No, no. Really, it’s nothing, I don’t even deserve this. Don’t mention it. Can we please stop talking about this now?”

You didn’t even like celebrating your own birthday.

How ironic, that the pinpricks of attention from your loved ones made you shrink under the pressure, but the laser-tight surveillance Ken directed towards you had the opposite reaction. You came to life under his scrutiny. Felt your heart swell and twist with each moment he spent watching you.

The cashier at the corner store nearly dropped his jaw in horror when he caught a glimpse of how ragged you were looking. Hair a mess, eyes barely open, your fingers fumbling with your wallet as you paid for another pack of cigarettes.

“Been a minute, (Y/N). Everything going alright?” What he really wanted to say was, what the fuck happened to you?

You ignore the stilt of his worried voice. “Fine. Thanks.” The kid doesn’t push it, just adjusts his baseball cap and shrugs, watches you shoulder out the front door with a loaded sigh.

Setting up at the library reminded you too much of the sweet, breezy morning you’d met Ken, the sunshine that had wrapped itself around you. You just couldn’t anticipate how you’d react while trying to pay attention there, surrounded by so many reminders of the only interesting, worthwhile thing that had ever happened to you, so the most sensible course of action seemed to be the patio.

You lasted about an hour in the sunshine before the glare bothered you and all you wanted was darkness.

Monday proved to be worse.

Reluctant to leave the apartment, you work again for the day in the kitchen, pouring a glass of wine at noon and logging off early at four when the carpet starts to spin, when email subjects blur into train tracks of nonsense that you can’t make sense of.

Your sister calls unexpectedly at dinner time while you’re dozing off at seven, drooling on the pillow. It goes straight to voicemail. How nice of her to find time away from her son to remember your existence.

Rubbing your temples, you chide yourself. Not nice to think things like that. Grow up.

Not calling her back, you throw your phone on the bed and follow suit, dropping down again and sipping a crushed can of beer from the night before, stale and tasteless.

Tuesday plagued you with the promise of nice weather, a drop in extreme temperature, but again, the second you got dressed to head down to the library, you felt laziness tug at your mind, felt depression sink into your chest.

Why even bother, you wondered? Why bother when I’ve a perfectly comfortable bed just around the corner where I won’t have to be looked at.

It should have concerned you. The drastic, melodramatic changes you’d been experiencing, the intense highs and lows of your emotional wellbeing all because of some guy you’d only met last week. 

Then again, you’d always been like this. Building up fantasy lives and scenarios in your head so fondly (stupidly) that when faced with reality, actual human beings tended to let you down, so this exercise always resulted in disappointment. Locking yourself in your childhood room, scrawling on the walls in pencil and then erasing what you’d written for hours. Your parents left clueless without any idea as to how to handle your outbursts.  

Wednesday seemed to tease you. A pointless company retreat at corporate meant your supervisors were all out of town until Friday, inviting you to slack off as much as you wanted – ergo, no one would notice your idling. 

So you slept diligently until noon, fed Willa her special pellets during a fleeting moment of salience, and then got ready to catch a taxi to your favorite bar. 

Who said you couldn’t work from a sticky countertop surrounded by shots of tequila and boisterous strangers?

Not like you’d be paying much mind to your laptop anyway. You showered out of habit and slipped into a skirt that fit your hips nicely, in your opinion, and shimmied into a tight fitting brown top. 

It occurred to you that calling your sister back would be a fruitful use of your afternoon, but shoving your phone into your bag, you decided to put that off for another time. 

Perhaps when your head wasn’t spinning with pathetic visions of being shoved into a wall and forcibly kissed breathless, strong hands glued to your side and tracking down the outside of your pelvis, repetitive circles rubbed into your skin with soft thumbprints until you could finally, finally undo the zipper, hurry the rest of his clothes off, shove him backward into your bed –

The taxi blares its horn out front in the road, shaking you from the vivid daydream. Leaving you with nothing but emptiness and a heat pooling in your abdomen that had grown difficult to suppress. Arid summer air filled your weary lungs, and you hid behind a chunky pair of sunglasses which successfully concealed how tired you looked from the driver, who looked to be as old as your father.

“Dropping you off right at Paulson’s? Or you going to the cafe right next door? Place is pretty popular from what I’ve heard.” His attempt at genial conversation was kind, but it wasn’t what you needed right now.

“Actually, Paulson’s is fine. I’m meeting a friend.” Pulse still racing in your throat from what you’d been imagining earlier, it takes mountains of effort to keep your voice even.

“No problem. Just making sure.”

 The bar is essentially empty save for you, two employees and a guy slouched into a newspaper near the television. Which is fair, seeing as it isn’t even two in the afternoon.

One tequila soda turns into two which turns into a blistering three which eventually turns into closing up your laptop in favor of chatting gregariously with the bartender, complaining about the weather and the price of gas (even though you don’t drive) and requesting ABBA on the ancient jukebox. Patrons start to trickle in as the sun sets and it’s just as well, you’d been feeling particularly lonely by yourself.

The pack of cigarettes you’d bought dwindles as you reach your fourth cocktail. You light another one, hold it to your lips just as a figure approaches from behind. 

A guy with long, stringy brown hair takes the stool next to you, his scrawny frame swimming in a button up shirt too big for him. He’d given you a once over before picking this spot, and you knew it. You swallow, your throat clicking, and think to yourself that were it not for Ken, he’d be exactly the type you usually go for. 

Quiet, unassuming guys who don’t have much going on in life besides perhaps their accounting job and a few friends they see in dingy bars. Maybe they play shitty music in shitty bands that you hate staying out to see.

You should hate how it reeks inside this smoking-allowed bar. You should hate that you’re capable of drinking so much in one sitting, that it hasn’t knocked you out, put you to sleep. You should hate the persistent way this skeleton-thin loser is eyeing you from behind his beer, but you don’t.

You should hate how easily you rip yourself open for men.

The guy tucks a strand of that hair behind his ear and it makes you squirm. Any music coming from the jukebox feels a hundred miles away.

“What are you drinking?” A beat of silence passes between you, and you flare your nostrils, unsure of how to proceed but honestly so sloppy from the liquor you aren’t giving it too much thought.

“Tequila.” You take another drag from the smoke, blow it away towards the propped open door, your mouth lazing in an “O”.

“How’s that going?”

“Pretty great.” It wasn’t a lie. If great consisted of your vision fuzzing at the edges and your mind falling blissfully quiet for the first time in days. 

“You have beautiful hair.” The offhand comment makes your cheeks flush. It could’ve also been combining with the sizable amount of liquor you’d imbibed. 

“Mind if I buy you another round?” You wonder if this a trap. If it’s a trick. The guy’s deep brown eyes swirl under the overhead lights, comfortably dim, and you can nearly smell the sweat circling the back of his neck. It’s like a starving lion fighting the urge to pounce at a wounded gazelle bleeding out profusely on a plain. Agony.

But the idea of Ken accepting a drink from a girl throwing herself all over him has bile crawling up your throat, and you pale at the thought. Absolutely not – no way. 

Not like you owned him. Not like you wanted to own him. 

“Sorry, I’m actually on my way out.” It’s a blatant lie, it feels thick on your tongue and it’s so obvious to the stranger too with his damp chest on display, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, but it’s not smart for you to entertain him for another moment longer. You round the bar to a less occupied area, take another shot, and close your tab.

Your bag has never felt so heavy on your shoulder before.

The taxi heading back home is initially uneventful, but as soon as the driver peels onto the highway, something about your stomach doing cartwheels and the melting streetlights makes you emotional. You can hear Ken’s voice at your side, hear his words playing at your neck. 

“That’s one enormous building, (Y/N). People work way up there? Even right at the top? Oh, man. Did you see that fountain – it’s like a lake! I bet you can ice skate there when it’s cold enough. Would you go with me? When it’s cold?” 

You’re about to tell Ken yes, of course we can go skating, when you remember it’s not real. It’s so seamless to place him here, to envision how he’d react to the different sights and sounds of the city. Feels so correct, like it was preordained or something. He’d wrinkle his nose at the way you smell right now, but he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to be next to you.

It’s impossible to hide the tears that flow from your eyes as you rest your forehead against the chilly window. Choking back an audible sob, you dig your nails into your palm, everything so small and futile and fucking lonely. The covered seats smell like patchouli and you just want to get home.

Thoughtfully, the driver clears his throat, turns the radio down a smidge.

“Is there… do you have anyone you can call?” He asks politely and clearly despite his noticeable stutter. For some reason he surmises that you’re in a state to have a conversation.

“Uh, I... do I look that bad?” You question.

“I wasn’t trying to insult you, miss.” He seems offended.

“Well. My sister’s the only person I know within a fifty mile radius of the city, and she’s so busy with her kid I don’t think she’d give me the time of day. ‘Specially not when I’ve been drinking like this. Thanks for asking.”

He peers at the road like he’s ready to drop the subject, but he gives a light cough after a few seconds.

“A boyfriend, then?”

Oh, Jesus. Not this guy, too? Can you ever catch a break? His bizarre advances and body language were about to make you cry even harder.

“There was this guy. He was. He was everything. I pushed him away… I feel like I’m going crazy. Didn't even know him that well. He was so exciting. And he treated me like I was the interesting one, but I'm not. I'm not. And I told him to go home. I always do this.” Snot trickles from your nose in time for your bare wrist to catch some of it. If you weren’t so drunk, you’d apologize to the driver for being such a nuisance.

“I’m sure if he was feeling the same way you are, he won’t be upset to hear from you again. Distance can show a guy what he really cares about.”

Thumb scraping at the mascara clumps under your eyelashes, you nod, surprisingly agreeing with the driver. 

“I guess so. I don’t know, it just feels like I screwed things up with him. I have never met anyone like him before. Like if I lost him, I feel like I might die.”

“Sounds pretty serious.” He clucks his tongue, listening intently as the road whizzes by. 

“That, or I’m just an insane person. He relied on me for a lot of things.”

“Were you living together?” The driver wonders aloud, flipping to a local late night talk show. It occurs to you to check the time. Ten past nine. You’d been at the bar for that long?

“No, he was just… getting used to the world. He had been away for awhile. If that makes sense.”

The driver nods knowingly, a glint in his eye that you catch from the rearview mirror. “I see. He did some time and now you’re helping him get acclimated to life again?”

“Something like that.”

“That’s a lot of responsibility to put on your shoulders. Doesn’t he have family who can help too? Unless he cut ties with his family. Getting tangled up with the law can put a lot of stress on everyone involved. I know from experience. My brother robbed an electronics store when he was nineteen, he’s still paying for it.” 

Normally, this sort of long winded back and forth would annoy you, moreso after you’d been crying. But the driver’s words lulled you back down to earth, reminded you that other humans and situations and problems existed outside of your own insulated world.

“Sorry to hear that. To answer your question, I’m kind of his only lifeline. The only one who can help with all the things he wants to know. Like I’m a mother sometimes. I know how that sounds, but it’s not a horrible thing, not really. I have no idea how he’s going to find a job. I don’t know how much I’m supposed to be involved, or if I should just let him be an individual and figure things out on his own. You don’t mind if I smoke, do you?” 

The driver shakes his head curtly, rolls the windows down a pinch for you. You’d been hoping he’d answer affirmatively as you’d already pulled another smoke out from your bag.

“Well, not that you asked my opinion. But I say just be realistic. If you see a need you can fill, I say there’s no harm in helping. Oh, I almost forgot. I volunteer at an animal shelter right outside of town. You know where the Lyons Bridge is?”

“Yeah, my dentist is over there on the corner of Orwell.”

“It’s right across, you can’t miss it. Point being, I can probably talk to my manager, see if we have any work to offer. Not sure how your hubby does with animals, but it’s a start, right? And for someone jumping in fresh, you can’t really beat it.”

The unprompted offer caught you off guard, and you barely had the sense of mind to give him a smile, or positive acknowledgment. You flicked your cigarette with your thumb, watched the ashes dance away. “Wow. I mean. Thank you so much, seriously. That’s so kind of you. If I see him again I will definitely tell him that.”

“You’re very welcome. It was hard for my brother too, getting back on his feet. For years I was the only one in his corner supporting him, so I know how you feel.”

When he pulls up to the half circle parking loop in front of your apartment building, the driver scrawls the name and number of the shelter on a business card. He cracks a lopsided grin, and you realize that this guy is probably way too old to have been hitting on you.

“I really appreciate the opportunity, sir.”

“Call me Mike.”

“Mike. Thank you.” You made to pop open the door handle, ready to face the nothingness of the rest of your night, visions of the wine coolers in your fridge calling to you sweetly, but Mike piped up again.

“Not so fast, little lady. I think you should dry your tears and give him a call. Put on a nice dress, you know? Put your best foot forward. Lord knows he missed you while he was behind bars!” Obviously it was meant to be a joke, but the heart behind it felt a little too real, though you’d lied about the nature of your relationship with Ken.

Ken. Even saying his name had your palms growing clammy, your eyes welling up again with stupid, childish tears. Mike noticed this falter in your face, and he shifted his body fully in his seat to face you.

“No more of that, okay? It’ll be alright. Just get yourself cleaned up and give him a call. Think positive.”

“You’re right. Sorry for making a fool of myself. I’ve just had an incredibly weird week.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

It occurs to you that perhaps Mike is angling for a nice tip. He was your taxi driver, after all. You fish out a ten dollar bill from your bag and hand it to him, taking the business card and sniffling quietly.

“Thanks again. Have a safe rest of your night.” 

Wisps of the night air knocked at your ankles, the exposed skin of your arms, and you scolded yourself for not bringing a sweater. Your bag hung heavy at your shoulder, but you just stared down at the business card. Second Chances Animal Haven, the card read. Ask for Dominic – tell him Mike sent you!

As usual, the unexpected generosity of strangers is enough to make you weepy again, so instead you read the card aloud to yourself, digging absentmindedly for your keys as you head towards the back row of apartment units.

“Here at Second Chances, we believe animals and people deserve to be seen at their best. We’ve been proudly partnered with local rehab centers and addiction programs for twenty years to provide employment opportunities to convicted felons, or those reintegrating back into society. Are you or someone you know interested in volunteer or career information? Give us a call at three zero four…” 

You trailed off, flipping the card over to assess the cute graphic of a man petting the head of a labrador, absolutely beaming. The dog’s fuzzy snout brought tears to your eyes, and you wanted to scream at yourself, why does everything make me so goddamned emotional? It made you feel so puny and vulnerable, being affected like this.

“Stupid card. Stupid drawing. Stupid tequila, stupid fucking –”

Your embroiled utterances fell flat as if smashed into a wall, your eyes slamming shut instantaneously, registering that you’d just ran straight into something bigger than yourself, something moving – 

Something wearing long, chocolate brown corduroy sleeves, expert tailoring obvious even under the flickering sidewalk lamp; something waiting at the bottom of the steps leading up to your unit. 

The hard thud of your foot railing against a solid surface drowns out when you fumble backwards, nearly tripping onto your ass, your eyes widening at the speed of light when your vision focuses and drains of moisture. 

There was no mistaking it. Waiting at the stoop with what appeared to be… five or six baby blue suitcases (each embroidered delicately with swooping, elegant ‘K’ headings) of varying sizes all stacked up against one another, was Ken, who towered above you, clouded in the veiling mist of the summer evening air. 

Through the shadow his piercing blue eyes met yours, startled like a baby deer and even more innocent looking.

Were you hallucinating this? Was this really Ken, standing right in front of you, clad in brown and stunning, silky mustard orange pants that felt otherworldly in its softness, though your arm had only grazed it?

Etched into the face he gives you is instinctive surprise, as if the last thing he thought would wander around the corner was you. You drop the business card to the ground, don’t watch its descent as it flutters down to the sidewalk. Clutched under Ken’s left arm is a thick folder (maybe a book?) filled to the brim with papers stacked neat and horizontal. 

For a sickening pause that lasts thousands of centuries, you wonder if Ken’s here to tell you off. To tell you that he was only dropping by before his departure, that he was going far away and only wished to tell your guinea pig goodbye for posterity. 

You couldn’t have blamed him. In fact, you would have understood. I deserve that, you tell yourself, but Ken doesn’t say those awful things. He bends at the waist and plucks the business card you dropped, holds out his arm to return it. It’s then that you remember to breathe, remember to say something, and it’s then that you notice Ken’s gripping a bouquet of flowers in his right hand, pink and white thick petals wrapped in yellow that repel the light landing on them. 

Ken’s so tall above you, his legs so lean through his almost sheer pants, and you swear you can make out the swells of his kneecaps, the curve of his hip. The incline of muscle in his neck works as he cocks his head slightly, eyes persistent, dancing and twining with yours under the moon, the feeble crackle of the dying, cheap lamp.

Handfuls of silvering blonde hair tumble down across Ken’s tender eyes as he waits patiently for you to take the card. Blinking is an uphill battle. Moving your lips to form a sentence is some sort of sisyphean curse that you’re unsure of how to break.

“I – I’m. Ken. You’re.”

Unflappable, Ken elects to hold off on exchanging the card, and slips it into his pocket. Instead, he takes a brave step forward, and like he’s rehearsed this a thousand times on the sidewalk, puts on his most hopeful smile, extending his pristine hand that holds the flowers that you are starting to suspect might be plastic. Shrouds of crickets kick up their serenade around the both of you.

“(Y/N). These are for you. I tried relentlessly to keep them perfect on my way here, but you would not believe how difficult it is to stop objects from floating while you’re in a spacesuit, I will tell you that much right now.” You hear his heartfelt words but all you can stare at is his face, every inch of him that you can see, the imperceptible flat of his cheekbones, the angular jut of his chin, all of him so illuminated and real and right in front of you.

“You came back.” It’s all you can manage to say. Like as if a prank had been pulled on you. Could it be the case – all these days of torture and self hatred and drinking yourself to sleep had been completely in vain?

Ken’s smirk widens, crinkling the lines of his cheek, but it just makes him look even more like a timeless painting of someone who once had been real. Boyish charm bled from his every move, his honeyed words, every response he could give you.

“Told you I would, didn’t I? Do you like them?” Ken nudges the bouquet even closer to your line of sight, practically begging you to accept them. “Barbie told me – sorry. My friend Barbie who is a florist told me that these are quintessential spring colors. I wanted purple ones too but Barbie said that wasn’t staying on theme.” Ken enunciates every word, relishing in sharing his newfound knowledge of flowers. They appear to be roses, as if they were somehow handcrafted, each one made painstakingly, lovingly. 

Jolting at a realization, Ken raises his eyebrows hastily. “How could I forget? I also brought you a banana. From Barbieland! So that you can really understand what I’ve been working with my whole life.” 

Something in the lowest part of your heart snaps entirely in half, and with fingers trembling like a leaf, you finally take the flowers from Ken, cautiously placing your nose to the tips.

By some sort of miracle, though they’re obviously not real, they smell exactly like roses.

“Riveting, aren’t they?” Ken’s adding, watching through his curled eyelashes to see how you like them, but he doesn’t notice the stinging tears that rush down your cheeks until you’re crushing the bouquet between the both of your bodies, impatient to feel him for yourself, just to affirm this is real. 

The petals don’t budge or compress, they just twirl in different directions to accommodate the pressure, and the breath leaves Ken’s chest at once with the force of it. “(Y/N)? Tell me you’re not crying. The one thing I didn’t bring was a hanky with your name on it, which I was planning on having my friend Barbie who is a seamstress make for you, but my schedule was pretty tight. Here, let me just –”

There aren’t words for how you’re feeling, the relief, the overwhelming adoration, the incredulity that Ken had actually traveled all the way back for you, the sweetness of everything he’s telling you. It manifests as tears that race to escape your eyes and make you look even more disheveled than you already had been.

Ken carefully wipes at your cheeks with the edges of his jacket sleeves, folding the fabric over his thumbs like it’s brain surgery and he cannot afford to mess it up. Without asking permission, he sticks his hand out and tips your face up so it’s level with his. Gentle, so gentle, so endlessly attentive. 

“Why are you crying, (Y/N)?” Your brain should be throttling ahead, formulating a cogent response, but all you want is to hold his shoulderblades in your shaking hands and feel his body flush against yours, make him feel what his presence is doing to you, how it’s making you breathe and sway, unsteady on your feet.

“I thought I would never see you again.”

Ken quirks his eyebrows, dusted blonde and light brown, like he’s taken a punch to the gut. His hands don’t move from their spot on your chin, affixed. 

“You can’t be serious. When I accept an ultimatum, I never back down, and that’s a fact.” He seems to not mind the brazen tears and snot he’s wiped onto his (expensive looking) clothes, he just looks right down at you with a dizzying openness. Your fingers twitch around the stiff flowers where you’re still clamping them tight.

“I. I can’t. I didn’t know…”

“Look at me.” You don’t have the inner energy to fight him. Maybe it’s the liquor that’s rounded out the edges of your usually combative reflexes, or maybe it was the repressed emotional floodgates breaking, and suddenly you weren’t afraid for Ken to see what you’d really been feeling for him. The seeds you’d been sowing of your own destruction. “You really missed me that much? I thought you’d be working away like nothing ever happened.” 

It’s Ken’s turn to feel flummoxed now, analyzing what you’d said, but you can’t allow him the time to rethink. To backpedal.

His chest rises and falls in rabbit-fast motions. You swear he smells like aftershave, but you can’t pinpoint the precise scent, just that it’s minty and pleasant. Ken’s body is like a barricade of warmth and there’s roses in between you and desire gnawed at your stomach like a profanity.

“Please. Please don’t leave again. I need you, Ken.”

“You – what?”

“I need you. I n-need you to be here, with me. Don’t leave again. I. I made myself sick without you. I have a two bedroom place, I don’t h-have to use it for storage, you can have your own room and everything, I’ll be the cleanest, tidiest person in the world. Just. Please, just. Just promise. Can you promise me that? Ken?” It’s embarrassing. It’s humiliating. There's so many things you could've led with: I may be able to help you get a job, I turned into a complete and utter hermit without you here, I think you may be the best thing that's ever happened to me, I've had so much to drink tonight I shouldn't even be standing. But no, it was mushy garbage that decided to tumble out and settle in the cool air.

You know that you should have shut yourself up after the first sentence, but once the first syllable let loose, there was no taking it back.

Ken continues to wipe at your face where you continue to cry, and he rests his chin quietly on top of yours, somehow managing to hold onto everything he’d been grasping and still making just as much room for you as you needed. Your words move Ken to the point that his pulse has quickened, and – 

His pulse? Laying your browbone against his neck, just to see if you’d dreamt that forceful thrum of blood, Ken gives a submissive sigh for the contact. “I will never go anywhere ever again unless you want me to.”

“Your heart.” You mention, tucked against his frame but eyes wild with shock.

“I won’t even look out the window unless you think there’s something I should see.” Ken persists.

“Ken.”

“In fact, I think I’d be most comfortable just waiting for you to lay out what we’re doing every day, first thing, so I can get an adequate idea of –”

“Ken?” Your tone is sharp now, because he’s getting carried away – not that you weren’t receptive to his idea of what living together should look like.

“Yes, little firefly?” Ken muses, pulling you even closer to the front of his body.

“Your heart. It’s beating.”

[msfcatlover]

Moonbeam Dick

I probably had too much fun with this one, but Dick's had so many iterations & costumes over the years, so much cool lore, and is one of the heroes we can actually track real-world influence on his designs! (Whoever came up with the idea to take the Doyalist reasoning of superhero costumes being based on circus performers & wrestlers, and retconning it into Dick's backstory to make the Robin costume based on the Flying Graysons' performance outfits: I see you, and I love you.) So this has been a wild, whirlwind trip through the real-world evolution of gymnastics outfits, acrobatic costuming, and comic history (paying special attention to the different costumes we've actually seen in the various flashbacks/retellings of Dick's origin over the years,) while getting way too many design ideas along the way.)

Now here's a hurdle, because Dick's not going to start with a past Moonbeam costume as his base and alter it to reflect himself. Dick Grayson is going to start with his acrobat costume, and alter it to become Moonbeam. So we're starting with a bodysuit. Skin-tight, full-sleeve, the type that loops around your middle finger to stay in place. Neckline like this fucking fantastic redesign by mabychan.

(Gods, every time I see this picture, I need to stop & stare for like... at least 3min.)

Next: the colors. Dick likes bright colors & high contrast; you barely need to glance at even one of his costumes to realize that. I, personally, really love the version where the Robin suit was a tribute to his family, but red & green really aren't "Moonbeam" colors. Fortunately, the Flying Grayson's costumes have also been shown as potential inspiration for Dick's Nightwing suit, which seems to me like a great way to keep that tidbit in without defaulting to the Robin colors! So the new color scheme is sky blue, dark blue, and white-gold (which would probably be either more silver or gold, depending on the artist.)

So the suit is predominantly light blue, with a larger the dark blue triangle like his Lost Carnival costume on the upper chest, the shoulder-points of which partially run down his upper arms. While some artists might have them go all the way to his elbows or even the finger-loops on his hands personally I don't see them going further than about halfway down Dick's biceps (at first), where the very tips of them disappear behind golden arm-bands which can be used to store gadgets. Matching bands around his thighs, too, though those are larger, for bigger pockets.

(While I am trying to evoke how some people draw the 90s Nightwing gold stripe as separate bands lower down the arm, it's probably easiest to imagine Steph's leg-bands to explain this. Also, the bands on this absolutely delightful bedazzled Nightwing by rinpin that I cannot get out of my head are a good reference for placement.)

The triangle also does a great job of framing Dick's Moonbeam symbol: a crescent moon that covers most of his upper chest, filling the triangle from side to side.

(It's another subtle tribute to his parents. Also, the green & gold "All-Star Batman and Robin" costumes are the best look the Flying Graysons have ever worn, don't @ me.)

Like with Cass, I actually found my inspiration for this when I realized what Dick would use to hide his identity: a "colombina" masquerade mask.

(These two specifically inspired me while I was doing research.)

The legs are dark blue, cut at an angle where they meet Dick's torso to evoke Tim's original Robin costume (and, to a lesser extent, the Earth 2 grown-up Robin costume) and make the bodysuit look even more like a classic leotard. Dark blue or black gloves underneath the finger-loops to protect Dick's hands & keep his fingerprints off of things. Black boots with a lighter hem on top (either the light blue or white-gold, I don't really care which) with the V top we see on the Earth-2 Robin's boots, echoing the triangle on his chest. The soles of the boot are light blue.

(The boots will, almost certainly, end up being drawn as just part of the leg, colored the same dark blue as the legs and just having a lighter stripe around his shins as well as the band around his thighs. This is not at all the intended design, but I've been looking at comic costumes for months now, and I know how details get fudged.)

So. That's the acrobat angle with enough details to make it at least passable as Moonbeam. I feel like it needs some more armor. Looking at what I've got so far, how about something like these gauntlets I used as a reference for Shadow!Steph and some simple pauldrons, both in white-gold?

Finally, while Dick's "utility belt" is more of a waist sash with hidden pockets inside, I keep going back & forth on whether or not to give him a scale-mail skirt for the extra protection & flair. It makes sense, but I worry it might be a bit much...

(Styled much like the one on the left, but closer in length to the one on the right. Color could be either light blue to extend the line of his torso & keep the colors balanced or white-gold to keep all the metallic bits consistent.)

This one has been, despite how much fun I had brainstorming, the biggest pain pinning anything down on. I'm so glad I'm done with it now.

[wolfnesta]

I think that somehow the way Nessian is written SJM manages to squeeze in Nesta as the only one for Cassian at the same time that she managed to obliterate the ship for a lot of people. It’s a wonder actually. To be clear I say this from a canon standpoint not all to do with fanon. Go wild. It’s just that the indignation when I see a critical take on Cassian being taken by some rando hater to laugh at Nesta. I love standing up for our girl but the idea that THE Nesta is sort of a secondary choice to Cassian is fun to read in fics and rant posts. I get it because I too feel Nesta deserved the world. The thing is that me personally I agree to the extent that the story does not allow for Nesta to break out of this bubble where she must atone to everyone around her in an almost cringe wish fulfillment way for SJM’s feysand fantasy, Cassian partially being a tool to achieve this. The anger at Cassian seeming to fail at defending his mate translates to me as Nesta not being allowed any room outside of this ‘atonement’ not because Cassian is anything but whooped. So it’s fun to read this and explore it but it’s just not a thing in the story.

Which is why I personally can’t be caught thinking that Nesta is Cassian’s after thought or that he would romantically prefer *other characters* over her because the whole point of Nessian is that Nesta is the one who does not want to be around Cassian. Nesta is the one who’s like get off my ass, leave me alone, and Cassian keeps coming back. Albeit while being a dick but you get it. Nesta could have him wrapped around her finger I mean— she had Eris future HL of Autumn Vanserra eating out of the palm of her hand. Cassian would’ve been toast. I think partly that’s also what the dance scene was trying to illustrate. I get conflicted bringing up canon receipts because canon is the problem most of the time but an example of what I’m trying to say— the infamous scene where he drops Nesta’s hand when Mor shows up but the story also adds:

Mor was watching—watching so closely, every muscle tense. She again reached for his arm, but Cassian angled out of reach, not tearing his eyes from Nesta’s blazing gaze.

Mor waved him off and moved to pass Cassian his gift; but the warrior didn’t take it. Or take his eyes off Nesta

Should Nesta have chosen to just give him the light of day Cassian would’ve followed her advance way before the mess that’s was acofas and beyond. But this creative route was not taken because sjm insists on this weird idea that Nesta is the only character that must confront her mistakes. At the same time giving us that.

To loop back to what I’m trying to say, there’s a lot of critical takes with this relationship and that’s totally fine but it can’t be me to imply that Miss Queen Nesta Archeron is being forced to be a second choice for Cassian when if she wanted to she could have had him in record time. That’s besides fanon and having fun exploring ships.

[m1d-45]

(Hello-! I'm kind of new to asking during events so im sorry if it was actually closed! ^^'') To the General Mahamatra, Cyno.

Hello Cyno! I had just wanted to check up on you, which is why I had brought this letter over, but something was kind of stuck in my head.

Nahida told me you liked telling jokes! So I decided to include a small gift I held onto for a few years! It's a book of jokes I've said or used with explanations. I'm not certain this message will reach you, but if it does, keep it away from the other matra lest they start running again, eheh-

I hope this letter does reach you, Cyno, have a great day or night, okay? I promise to pray for you to have a safe travel no matter what.

-🌟Moth

[There seemed to be a small journal, with a few hand written jokes inside with a tag attached to the front page. It read: "For the General Mahamatra, have fun!"]

cyno walked the desert, red eyes sweeping the sand. he wasn’t looking for anything in specific- you could hardly call this a patrol, in truth. he was simply walking, just outside of aaru village, with no real intent except for his occasional glance upwards to appreciate the meteor shower currently taking place.

the sand and the air were cool, wicking away any sweat worked up from pacing in circles for the last… how long? an hour, maybe? he wasn’t sure. all he knew was that he’d made the decision to go for a walk not long after sundown, and ever since he had been doing just that. walking.

it felt almost like he was waiting for something. every time he would think surely, now he would be able to rest, every problem he has solved and every errant thought out to rest, some new idea would spring forth of nowhere. ‘stay for a while longer,’ it said, and though he would protest every time, well…

cyno shifted his weight his heel, prepared to walk his well-worn loop. however, at the last point before his turn, something warm came up behind him.

his polearm was in his hand before he could think, instinct angling it over his other hand to block whatever blow was coming. yet, nothing came.

a strange ball was floating just past his weapon, the bright shell standing out against the desaturated desert. part of him expected it to explode, to burst into flames, to do something dangerous to prove that his instinct to stay had been right.

but it didn’t, and it was only thanks to his reflexes that he managed to catch whatever dropped from the rapidly-dissipating shell before it hit the sand.

cyno’s mind raced as he noticed one of the objects he was holding was an envelope, understanding crashing into him. he’d just raised his weapon against a messenger of his god- of course it was you, who spoke through the stars, and even unintentionally, he still…

thankfully, you don’t seem to hold it against him.

your letter is kind, and though you addressed him by title, the rest of your language is far more casual. its… comforting, almost, as if he’s received a message from an old friend.

maybe it’s poor form to think of you like this. to dare touch what should be regarded as holy scripture, to flip through the book you gave him, skimming the notes you’d made, the comments you’d left for him.

and maybe it was dangerous to be so distracted in the dessert at night, when the light of your star had almost certainly acted as a beacon for his location. but you had blessed him with safe travels, promised him a safe night, and he believed that that was true.

[tokiro07]

Undead Unluck ch.196 thoughts

[Lucky Number Seven]

(Contents: speculation - power system/lore)

"I'll talk about Unbreakable vs. Unbreakable next week," I said, "surely it'll wrap up then," I said...I say it every few weeks, but I really need to stop trying to predict what's going to happen next...ah, am I Untrust?

Funny thing about this week's chapter: last week, I had the thought completely unprompted:

"Huh. y'know, even with their Rules, there isn't any good reason that the Negators are superhumans most of the time. Like just because Andy can't die, that's no reason he should be able to control the flow of his blood. Shen and Feng's martial prowess and inhuman strength are completely unrelated to their Rules, same with Billy's trick shots. I wonder if maybe their non-Negator abilities are somehow tied to their souls"

And I considered bringing it up last week, but it didn't really seem super relevant to what was going on, so I omitted that section cus I didn't want to get super sidetracked, especially with something that was just a wild shot in the dark

AND NOW IT LOOKS LIKE I'M JUST TAKING CREDIT FOR A PREDICTION I NEVER MADE!!! TOZUKA, YOU'RE MAKING ME LOOK LIKE A JACKASS FROM ALL DIRECTIONS!!!

Anyway...this is such a sick development!!! It's a subtle change, but the difference between using one's will to activate their abilities and using one's soul carries such a significant implication for how the power system will develop going forward

For one, the ability to manipulate, shape and project the soul changes the meta drastically since it adds a completely new wrinkle to how battles are fought, basically adding a new tool to everyone's kit in addition to things like Artifacts and teaming up with UMAs while also adding a potential new weakness to every encounter

I get the impression that souls are meant to be immortal since people get reincarnated between loops, but Ruin said that anyone he kills as a Regulator is removed from the loop, implying he can completely kill souls. But is this a unique trait to him, or is it something that anyone can do if they're able to target souls and he's just familiar with the technique?

Then there's the fact that Fuuko was able to impart Unluck without any tools, simply using her raw soul to go straight to meteoric levels. What can everyone else do to augment or circumvent their Rules? Could Chikara project his vision through his soul to lock down enemies from multiple angles without needing to worry about his eyes drying out? Or could he see a target's soul and prevent them from using their powers entirely?

Can Rip damage souls directly and keep them from recovering? Can Billy learn how to copy Rules better by witnessing them directly? Can Shen get a better read on his opponent by seeing their soul's intentions? Can Haruka harden her soul into armor OR harden her body since it's technically external to her soul? Can Sean make his soul Unseen or project parts of his soul to turn others invisible at a distance?

It'd be pretty boring if everyone just started generically making soul chains and soul guns, but if everyone is able to level up their Rules in unique ways, that'd be a great way to further develop the power system beyond what we've seen so far! I honestly wouldn't be surprised if we found out that Juiz has been using her soul to read peoples' visions of justice this whole time, and we'll probably see that in more detail when Julia gains Unjustice

As fun as it is to develop the power system, though, the real question for this chapter is who were those souls with Fuuko? I think it's fair to say that most if not all of us have concluded already that they're the previous holders of Unluck, who have presumably followed Fuuko to watch over her, but that raises a bunch of questions in and of itself

We know that Juiz and Victor never had families, so their continued existence between loops changed nothing (side note: this is a good indicator that Ruin has in fact been present since Loop 1 since he claims to have been created by God directly, which just further goes to show how hard he sucks as a villain), and that Juiz's eventual death led to her soul being incarnated as the child of a childless couple. From this, we can conclude that because Fuuko did not die in L100, her parents didn't have children in L101 as her soul was not present to be born. If these other six Unlucks have been staying with Fuuko this entire time, then that means that none of them were born in L101, as the chain of succession for Unluck could not be reset. How sad! Their ultimate fate was to not be able to live the lives they wanted even in the final "perfect" world! I guess that's still true of any given Negator prior to the current lineup, though, but still, that's tragic in and of itself, isn't it??

Secondly, though, what do they mean they chose Fuuko? All this time, I thought God picked the Negators based on what would cause the biggest tragedy for them: the world's greatest doctor inflicts irreparable wounds, the world's greatest psychic can only tell lies, the world champion ends his career by killing his opponent, a child drops his only living family from a cliff, a husband's only memory of his wife is her death...you can't tell me that these are because of the previous Negators!!! The Gods making those choices makes sense because they're both sadists, but the Negators themselves??? No, there's something more going on here

The Isshin family makes sense, at least, since their ability doesn't carry tragedy in and of itself, though it's possible that they're just maximizing its effectiveness by keeping it exclusive to smiths. I suppose the previous Untrust going for Latla also makes sense in that regard since giving it to someone with inaccurate predictions wouldn't change the trustworthiness of their conclusions. Unrepair is best used in the hands of someone with an understanding of anatomy, Unstoppable is best used by someone with good reaction time, Unchange is best used by someone with a strong desire for consistency, etc.

I think what it might be is that the previous users are also trying to find who can best make use of their powers in the interest of defeating God in the long term, it's just that God still decides when the power is transferred. I don't know what the previous Unlucks saw in Fuuko, but I highly doubt they said "that girl sure loves her parents; wonder how good she'll get with Unluck if we kill them." No, they probably heard her say or saw her do something that implied an interpretation of luck that they saw potential in, and didn't anticipate just how much destruction that she'd be able to cause

Bear in mind, there's no indication that Juiz ever executed any of the previous Unlucks, nor was she particularly worried about who would get it next after Fuuko. This implies that Fuuko's potential for Unluck is uniquely dangerous; the ability isn't a threat, she is, and whatever it is that made her that way is what made the Unlucks choose her

This brings us to the matter of the loop itself: why do the same people get the same abilities every time? My original thought was that either A) God designed the system that way for consistency so the looper would be able to make decisions based on experience, or B) once someone became a Vessel, the Rule was inextricably tied to their soul, so it would be drawn to them specifically if they were available when the ability next transferred. There may still be some truth to these ideas, but with the understanding that the previous Vessels have at least some say in the line of succession, it seems likely that upon reset, the first user gets it back and then deliberately passes it on to their chosen successor upon their death because they know it'll eventually lead where they want it to

This in turn further suggests that memories are carried in the soul. We've seen this multiple times, with Julia remembering Juiz's life and Sean/others choosing to be born earlier/later, but for the Vessels to consistently choose the same successors, it gives the impression that once they revert to being souls they remember everything and know what they need to do next. I wonder if they communicate with each other at all to coordinate their reincarnations and selections?

If nothing else, we can conclude that Remember probably accesses the memories present within the soul rather than psychometrically reading their past or storing the memories itself like other Artifacts do. I wonder if Remember's reverse ability actually erases memories or just suppresses them? I'm inclined to the latter, since one could feasibly use the obverse in a later loop and get erased memories back as well, and Victor's memories weren't actually erased. That said, Victor may be a fringe case since losing his memories completely could be a form of ego death, and therefore would be negated by Undead. Victor's not a very good sample for understanding the mechanics of Remember, is the point

I won't guess how long it will be before Tozuka revisits this concept and explains it in more detail, since again, I'm always wrong in these things, but I'm very excited for when he does! I've seen a lot of people concerned about the implications that the Vessels are responsible for the tragedies, and I would like that misunderstanding cleared up ASAP

Until next time, let's enjoy life!

[uneducated-author]

Dazai learned to drive from Oda.

Well, it wasn't so much learning as harassing Oda to give him lifts home (Oda dropping him a street away from the most expensive part of the city and then Dazai carving his way towards the container) and Dazai fixated on Oda's hands. How they adjusted the different features, where Oda was looking, how the way his balance shifted gave away the pressure on the pedals. Oda never mentions or gives away that he understands Dazai's ulterior motive, but he must pick up on it, because after the third time his movements become more obvious and defined, and he starts talking out loud about his own driving.

So Dazai steals a car every now and again. He starts with slow loops and then longer journeys. Graduating from backroads to highways. Until he can traverse the whole city, perfectly, safely and accurately. It's all patterns and reading, and it's so much easier in a car. All he has to do is look at the wheels and angles of a machine to know where a person is going to move to.

Then comes the fun part. Because once Dazai learns how to drive well, he gets to learn how to drive badly.

He learns how to skid and angle, drive double the speed limit without looking at the wheel, steering without hands, with his feet. He drifts in the middle of a motorway and does donuts until his tyre marks have left a tattoo in the concrete.

And then, when he's totaled two cars and wrecked four, when he could drive a car and put the passenger through hell, but get them to purgatory safe, he brings Chuuya along.

It's not planned. They're booking it on a mission, not gone wrong, but gone wild. Dazai spies a car, and a little voice inside him says 'now!'

Chuuya doesn't know why Dazai is suddenly going in a different direction, but like hell he's letting his partner go off alone, so like always he follows, throwing himself into a car that neither of them know how to drive.

'What the f*ck is your plan Mackeral' he intends to say, but he gets cut halfway through because the car shrieks and Dazai tears them away like a bat out of hell, and for a second Chuuya shouts for Dazai to go back because he thinks that he left his soul behind.

But Dazai is fierce and vicious and whoops as he turns the wheel much to far, spinning on the edge of a cliff like he's the one with gravity powers, and Chuuya can't breathe but the light flickers through and forges a light in Dazai's eye that he never sees unless they're quiet and alone.

And Dazai looks at Chuuya prepared for his partners screaming and clinging, hoping for it in fact. Or maybe he'll yell at Dazai, wondering where the hell he learned to drive. But instead the boy is smiling, face cracked open like a watermelon, whooping and shooting out the window and shouting for him to move and Chuuya will never stop surprising him will he?

The two tear away and it's reckless and dangerous, but they're built for these moments, covered in blood surrounded by fire, and both lay back panting, catching each others eyes just to erupt into laughter because 'can you believe we just did that?!'

Dazai can't help but smile when Chuuya angles himself so they can't break eye contact and asks for another ride.

Later Dazai teaches Chuuya to drive, except not really. The haze has worn off, and there's not really anything all that special about the dumb machine. He points out the gears and indicators and then veers off. The exhilaration had been fun, he guesses. But he can't expect it to last.

Two weeks later Chuuya shows up with a bike he's stolen, black and vicious, but Chuuya's brought him a hello kitty helmet, that Dazai will wear, just to be a brat. But his partner is smiling and reckless, with the spark that means he thinks Dazai is about to be outplayed, and invites him to take a ride too.

Dazai joined the Port Mafia because he wanted to find a reason to live. He never found one that stuck. But sometimes he remembers his partners screaming and that horrible ride where Dazai had no control but was forced to put his life in Chuuya's hands, and he thinks that he may not have found a reason, but there were seconds that he lived.

[narrators-journal]

It's like hxh characters finding out that's hxh Isa series or movie in the real world, a different world. Which means they have actors. So they're reacting to their actors interview lol

I couldn’t find a way to work in a (y/n) character since a reader insert would depend a lot on the reader’s feelings for something like this. This isn’t a story, after all, I don’t feel right dictating how someone would react to the discovery of being a show character, y’know? So, I left a slot open for reader interpretation! An interactive post, lol.

Otherwise, I just kinda went ham with your general set up. It was kinda hard for me to think if I stuck so close to your exact premise. Hope ya don’t mind!

@coolminahi

In general

In general, the revelation of the show being...a show, would throw the entire cast for a loop. I’ll mention some highlights, but as a whole, the revelation would be something along the lines of existential fear, confusion, and maybe some amazement.

Hisoka

Hisoka is about the only one I can think of who doesn’t have a group, and Kite is just a random character I like, lol. So, they get their own bits. Plus, their fairly simple. Hisoka’s biggest throw off is his actor not having pink hair slicked back like his. The fact their personalities don’t match or his actor doesn’t condone his taste for powerful fighters of any age doesn’t bug him. He can understand that he’s not for everyone.

The phantom troupe

Chrollo has experienced so many powers, and read so many books that he wouldn’t exactly care for the fact his reality is false. Though, he would be offended if his actor is anything but intellegent and appreciative of his reading and grace. Uvogin, though, would have his mind utterly blown. If his physique isn’t realistic to his actor, he’s crushed, and if it is, he would wonder if his actor is a good fighter. If so...could they spar? Feitan meanwhile would lowkey hate his actor if he denounced his torturous tastes. “How can he talk about me like that?! He’s no better than me!” that type of logic. In all, though, the spiders would mostly be confused on how this works. How can Macha or Phinks’ actors be such sweeties? How are they seperate from the characters? How are they different from the actors?

The zoldycks

Where the spiders may ponder the existential angle, the Zoldycks are more worried about the opinions of their actors, and the accuracy of their portrayal. Kikyo would have a fit over the smallest shift in what she believes she’d do, or any harsh comment levelled at her or her babies in interviews, Milluki would complain that his actor isn’t thinner, insulting the man viciously while also picking apart the effects of the show. Alluka would simply find it fun to have an actor, and be called adorable in interviews, while Killua would be annoyed and confused if his actor wasn’t his age. “why the hell is my actor 18?? I’m only 12, how can they opt for hours of make up to de-age him, when they can just hire a twelve year old??”

Illumi would not like the fact their reality is a show. He instantly dislikes his actor, he dislikes how easy going he might be, or him laughing off marriage proposals. He doesn’t like to think about interviews and how this affects him, mostly because of his actor and how different they are. “He’s so emotional and takes nothing serious. I hate how weak he is.” Every one but Killua would probably also be offended at them not bothering to try and match their strength either.

Silva and Zeno would be the only two really pondering what this means for their world. When the story ends, do they cease to exist? If the show is cancelled, what happens then? Those types of questions. Though, Zeno does at least appreciate the work that goes into aging his actor.

The main cast

Gon would be ecstatic to see they’re a show. He’d think it was so cool, and he’d hope all of his friends got good screen time, and were loved by the fans. He would think of the implications, but he’d try not to fret over them. Kurapika, meanwhile, would feel highkey cheated by god. “My family was wiped out...for a mere plot?!” While Leorio wouldn’t know how to feel. His actor seems cool, he seems fun in all of his interviews, but...does this mean he’s not real? Complicated emotions there.

[reader insert]

Readers choice, lol. Feel free to repost or comment how you’d react to this news if you want!