#anyway time to write more ...

[hinamie]

unconditionally

[lucabyte]

monologue

[bardicbird]

a little siffrin comic about touch, violence, and oranges

[fantasykiri5]

Day 3 of HADM: it’s Tango Tek! Of the Create series variety, since he doesn’t have a season skin and this one fits his base theme too well.

[hailsatanacab]

Family Dinners - dpxdc

"Holy shit, you're Bruce Wayne!" Danny gaped, jabbing a finger at the man sitting at the head of the table.

The bustling dining room goes silent as everyone turns to look at him.

"Danny, who did you think was going to be here?" Tim asks, disbelief plain in his voice and Danny feels his face flush red.

"Sorry, I, uh, I guess I just never put it together. Tim Drake-Wayne. Wayne Manor. It, uh, makes sense now." He laughs sheepishly and scrubs at his neck before slumping back down into his chair.

"Well," Tim says with an indulgent sigh, "at least I know you're not just friends with me for my connections."

"Yeah, I'm really sorry, I just never thought about it, I guess."

Danny sinks lower as everyone around him laughs. Come to dinner, he said, the food is the best, he said, ignore the family, he said. Danny really wishes he'd listened to Tim and just ignored them—almost as much as he's regretting accepting the offer in the first place—but... he's having dinner with Batman.

Ancients, that's so weird!

The last time he saw Batman was in the future and, suffice it to say, it was not going well. There hadn't really been time for family dinners there.

Wait. Family dinners?

He peers around the table, openly gawking at everyone as it all clicks into place.

"Everything alright, Danny? Now realising who everyone else is?" Tim asks with a roll of his eyes.

"Uh... something like that..." Danny mumbles as everyone laughs again.

From further down the table, the smallest Wayne scoffs and clicks his tongue.

"I thought you said he was smart, Drake?"

"So, you all do it, too, then?" he asks, ignoring the jibe. Danny's only a little bit jealous as he thinks of how much easier they must have it, how much easier it'd be if his family had been on his side, too. "You all work together?"

"Nah," Dick says from across the table with a brilliant grin. "Tim's the only one that works with Bruce, we all have different jobs. I'm a police officer in Bludhaven."

"Disgusting." Danny blurts out without thinking—because seriously, what kind of self-respecting vigilante would also be a police officer?—before clapping a hand over his mouth. "Sorry."

The whole table laughs again, the loudest being the blonde girl a few spaces down from Dick. Look, Danny wasn't really paying attention to names when they were all paraded in front of him. Dick only gets remembered because his name is a joke.

Come on, Danny, recover!

"That's, uh, not what I meant, though."

"Oh?" Dick asks, cocking his head slightly to the side. Is it Danny's imagination or does his smile tense slightly?

"Yeah, I mean like, you know, in costume. It must make it so much easier to have everyone together like this."

"Costume? What do you mean?"

Yeah, Danny's not imagining it, everyone tenses up at that. It's really only now that he's realising that this probably isn't how he should bring up that he knows about their... night time activities. In fact, he probably shouldn't be bringing it up at all.

"Uuhhh..." Danny looks wildly around the table as he continues making his stupid noise. Think, think, think! There must be a way out of this!

"Danny?" Tim asks, looking concerned.

"Oh, Ancients, this isn't how I wanted it to go at all," he mutters, slipping even further into his chair. He's almost on the floor now and he so, so wishes it could just swallow him up.

His real first meeting with Batman was meant to be cool! He had planned to be Phantom, maybe save them from a tight spot, prove his worth as a mysterious and powerful ally as thanks for the help Batman gave him in the future.

"Danny, what are you talking about?" Tim starts tugging on his sleeve in an attempt to pull him back up from his pit of despair.

Eventually, Danny relents and sits up straighter, hiding his face in his hands and whining all the while.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't expect him to be here and it threw me off so now I look stupid and it's so embarrassing!" he wails, flailing his arms wide. "Why wouldn't you warn me that Batman was your adopted dad, Tim? Couldn't you have let me know?"

"I'm sorry, what? Danny are you alright? There's no way Bruce can be Batman, look at him!"

"Yeah," the blonde girl laughs from the bottom of the table, "look at him! That's a wet noodle of a man! Batman can actually do things, B is incapable of pretty much everything."

"Thank you, Stephanie," Bruce sighs, massaging his forehead.

It's... Those are the first words Danny's heard Batman say since everything went down and it's enough to knock him out of his embarrassment.

It's really good to hear his voice again. Especially now, when it's strong and healthy and full of personality—even if that personality is little more than a tired father right now—far better than how it had been, at the end.

Danny sits up, back straight, and grins. He's got this. He remembers it perfectly. Some people count sheep to fall asleep, Danny repeats his mantra to be certain that he'll never forget it.

"Gamma alpha upsilon tau iota mu epsilon, 42, 63, 28, 1 colon 65 dash 9."

Once again, the whole table falls into silence.

"Holy shit..." breathes the other D name (Duke? Danny's pretty sure he's Signal) from opposite Stephanie. "Isn't that...?"

"The time travelling code." The littlest Wayne says stiffly. "We have met in the future?"

"That's not just the time travelling code, Dami." Dick says, looking between Danny and Bruce. "That's the family time travelling code."

Danny's grin freezes in place.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"1 colon 65 dash 9." Dick explains, still flicking between him and Bruce. "It means you've been adopted into the family and we should all treat you as such, no questions asked."

"Tell you what, I'm about to ask a question." Danny says, dumbstruck. "You just told me it was a code to identify time travellers, not anything about being adopted! What the hell, B?"

Bruce looks about as shellshocked as Danny feels.

"We must have been close," he says finally, after opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water a few times.

"No! Not that close!" Danny reels back, taking a deep breath ready to refute it all, but... "Well, I mean, you found me when I first got stuck, and you helped me get better despite being... And then we fought together against the, uh, bad guy, before he, um, he... before you couldn't."

An uncomfortable beat passes while they all pick up on what Danny tried so hard not to say.

"So, you're not from the future, then, you travelled there and came back?" Tim asks, breaking the tension and leaning forward with a glint in his eye.

"Yeah, it was a whole end of the world thing, but don't worry about it," Danny says with a hand wave, "It's all kosher now, won't ever happen."

"What did happen?"

"Seriously, don't worry about it, we cool."

"How long in the future was it?"

"About ten years? You were pretty spry for an old man, B," Danny laughs, wishing they'd get off the topic of what happened and get back to the adoption bit.

Everyone shares degrees of a cautious smile as they relax out of the shock, and Dick—whose grin is the biggest—says, "No wonder you got the family code, you're already riffing on him like one of us. How long were you there for?"

"A week, before I managed to get back to my present and stop him then."

"A week? Jeez, B, that has to set some kind of record, seriously."

"Oh!" Danny says, sitting bolt upright and blinking in surprise before pointing at Dick and bouncing in his seat. "You're Nightwing!"

"What?"

"That's exactly what Nightwing said when Batman told me the code! Makes so much more sense now."

Dick laughs and claps his hands, delighted.

"You were not formally adopted?" The grumpy small one—Dami?—asks, his face pinched.

"I didn't even know I was informally adopted."

"And your parents? Are they alive or dead?"

"Damian, stop—"

"They were dead in the future, but they're alive now." Danny says, looking down. He fiddles with the tablecloth, twisting the fabric around his fingers as he fights down the pang of sadness that he always feels when he thinks of them now. He forces a bright smile on his face and hopes it doesn’t look too strained. "I just, uh, can't talk to them much, anymore."

"Damian," Dick warns, "1 colon 65 dash 9. Treat them as family, no questions asked."

"This is Damian treating him as family, the little turd has no manners." Tim scoffs, rolling his eyes, but he gently bumps shoulders with Danny to knock him out of his funk. Danny can't help but send him a watery smile.

"I have the most exemplary manners, Drake, unlike some people." Damian spits, crossing his arms with a pout. "I was merely ascertaining his status to see how he could possibly fit into the family."

"I know this is all a bit sudden, Danny," Bruce smiles, ignoring Damian and reaching out to lay a warm hand on his arm, "for all of us. But if I felt strongly enough to give you that code after spending a week with you in the future, then you are more than welcome in this family, if you so choose it. I think I can speak for all of us when I say we'd like to get to know you a bit more."

"I know a threat when I hear it, Bruce." Danny snorts. "But, yeah, I get it. I'm sorry this is all so weird, it really wasn't how I wanted to find you again, but... I'm glad I did."

"So are we, Danny." Dick says, with a warm smile. "And formally or not, 1 colon 65 dash 9 means you're family. Welcome to the fun house! No take backs or refunds, sorry. You're stuck with us."

[neptunym]

weirdos

[shushmal]

There's an incredibly pretty girl at the front desk in Family Video, and Steve—Eddie's boyfriend of eight months—is leaning over the counter with a sly smile and half-lidded eyes.

Eddie pauses in the doorway, struck dumb for a moment as he takes in the scene, and then gleefully ducks down behind the nearest shelf.

"So tell me," Steve says, all low and intimate. "What kind of movie were you looking for?"

"Um," the girl says. She doesn't sound very enthusiastic—barely indulgent at best. Eddie wishes he could see, but any sight of him will ruin Steve's chances right now. He's got a pretty good mental picture though. "I really like those old black and white movies, the really glamorous ones, you know?"

"Oh, totally," Steve sighs, like he's swooning. "Like Cary Grant, Clarke Gabel?" Eddie can practically hear his smirk. "Katharine Hepburn? Ginger Rogers?"

"Oh, I love Ginger Rogers!"

"Really?" Steve says matching her excitement. "Well, you're just in luck! Robin here knows all about those old black and white movies, don't you Robin?"

Eddie presses a hand to his mouth to hide his snickering. Robin had looked like a hooked fish when he'd walked in, she's gotta be gaping stupidly right now. "Uuuh," he hears her mumbling, and tries not to snort too loud. "Y-Yeah, uh, golden age of Hollywood stuff, absolutely. I could? Show you where they are?"

"Oh my gosh, that would be amazing!" the girl says, her interest in the conversation now warmed by several degrees. Eddie is still a little in awe of how well his boyfriend can sniff out gay girls.

"I got the front here, Robin," Steve cuts in smoothly. "You ladies take your time, make sure you pick out a good one!"

Eddie waits another beat, listening at their footsteps shuffle away, before he pops up from behind the shelf. Steve, lighting up like a Christmas tree, beams at him.

"Am I a genius or what?" he whispers, grinning ear to ear.

"Your lesbian powers know no equal," Eddie says just as quietly, taking the girl's spot at the counter, leaning into Steve's space. Steve happily mirrors him, until they're tucked together, the world narrowing down to the two of them. It's Eddie's favorite place to be. "All hail Steve Harrington, blessid he, lesbian whisper. Come to aid all useless queers in the fight against singledom."

"Thank you, thank you," Steve says with an air of novel benevolence. "I promise to only use my powers for good."

"Dingus. Doofus."

They jump away from each other as if shocked. Robin glowers at them both, but the pretty girl behind her is giggling and standing way too close for friendly, just at Robin's elbow.

"Move it, lovebirds," she hisses as she rounds the desk. "I need to check Claire out."

"I think you already have," Steve says. His smile this time is down right evil.

Robin actually hisses at him, and hip checks him away from the register. Eddie does a bow, sweeping his arm out to give Claire the prime spot in front of the desk, before he turns back to Steve.

"My dear, if you could please," he simpers, all posh and nasally. "Show me to your finest, grossest horror movie, thank you my good sir."

"Ugh," Steve groans already heading off into the shelves, not waiting for Eddie to follow. "You're lucky I love you, Ed. Shit gives me nightmares."

"I know," Eddie sings, chasing him. "I love you too."

[remcadll]

Gen obsessed with how.. *dead* your Jason's color pallete is. Like, that's corpse pale right there. Not a spec of blood left flowing in there (also father Todd's skin being full of color in comparison is a nice touch)

THANK YOU I love making him look a bit ghoulish. Guy who's not supposed to be alive but yes he is. no he isn't <3

[inkskinned]

i'm a little afraid to go to pride this year. many of us are, a little. sitting around our tapas and video games, the silence that hangs over the discord server. it feels different, we say.

we're privileged. the community that came before us laid the groundwork so i could be raised in a different world, and i will never forget their sacrifices and dedication. they gave us this: a pride that feels like community and celebration and joy. i remember the first few times i went to a queer event - i'd been raised so catholic. feeling safe like that, for the first time... it saved my life. i go to pride to celebrate that feeling - my people, laughing. out in the sun, the way we couldn't have been even 25 years ago. that feeling: no wonder we call it "pride."

who am i to be afraid anyway. there are parts of the world where people are doing much better work than i am. but it's just: i felt at home there, you know? and this year feels different. we are waiting on the dam to break. last year, at boston pride, there was a whole gaggle of sign-holders shouting about jesus. you walk around them and try not to let it get to you.

this year, i'm going to DC's pride with my girlfriend. google sends me concerns about if it's safe to exist in trump's america, if World Pride is a bigass target on all of us. every article uses the words "safety concerns" many, many times. three days ago i witnessed a shooting.

even straight people keep telling me - people are weird lately. sometimes we blame it on Covid and sometimes we blame it on the full moon. but i do remember a time before this, right. it's not just that people are more comfortable being rude. it's this strange, outwards violence. a comfort in being cruel.

it's a big hole to fall down anyway. it's not like they're going to do anything to make pride safe, not really. i don't want a police presence as the solution. and what if this is just fearmongering! what if this is just to get us to stop attending our own events! what if everything is actually fine, and i'm just freaked out by the stated intentions of our president!

and what if i'm just listening to things that are being said. what if i'm weighing the shape and size of this america accurately.

my mother calls me. she's been getting the articles too. i assure her i'll be careful, but i put the phone down and stare at it. i'm going to go to pride. other people made it safe for me, it is my duty and my honor to show up for my community. the only thing we've ever had was each other. it was always an act of bravery. being ourselves is brave.

but i am afraid. i lay out my outfit and i kiss my girlfriend. i cut my nails and clean up my undercut. i hold her hand and hang the sunset flag. the sound of this america feels different. like a volcano trembling. i will love her and i will love being queer and i will sing over the noise of it.

but ... still. in the back of my mind. that feeling, like something terrible has been shifted. like somewhere in the night - they remembered we're different.

[sillylittlecharacters]

thinking about Odile and Isabeau's friendship again...

I think why I find them so compelling is because there's so much room for tension in their dynamic, and yet there's so much affection and care too... Man who doesn't like being treated like an idiot but dumbing himself down is the only way he knows how to earn affection vs Woman who treats everyone like their stupid on principle... Woman struggling with cultural alienation and disconnection with a country that should've been hers vs the Vauguardian posterchild for Change and everything said country stands for... Loverboy vs Hatergirl...

So many reasons why they shouldn't be able to stand each other, or hell, why they shouldn't have met in the first place, but who cares! They certainly don't. Why worry about all that when they're getting drinks later?

[logicpng]

comforble

[ Description in ALT ]

[buttercupshands]

Sketch dump of month old sketches I forgot to post

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

Darry slams the phone down a little harder than he means to, clatterin' it against the wall 'n the pleasant everythin' is just fine voice falls away immediately.

"Everyone with a rap sheet not biologically related to me better start cleanin' or beat it now." Everyone who'd been piled up loungin' on the couch is suddenly on their feet.

"What's goin' on, Dar?" Soda 'n Pony both don't have to ask, jumpin' over each other sprintin' down the hall 'n throwin' the door open so hard it slams against the wall. Clothes fly hodge podge out into the hall, hittin' the wall 'n pilin' on the floor.

"Child fuckin' services are makin' an unexpected call the bastards." Dallas makes a sympathetic sound but grabs Johnny's collar 'n pulls him towards the door. Johnny sighs 'n digs his heels in, jarrin' Dally as he stops. He jerks his head at the laundry room 'n Dallas groans but follows him, both hastily foldin' the pile of laundry Darry had been cajolin' Pony into for two days.

"Oh shit man." Two jumps on top of the couch, flickin' his knife out 'n usin' it to unscrew the traffic signs Steve, Dallas, Two, 'n Soda had stolen months ago 'n Darry had been diligently ignorin' ever since.

"Where's the vacuum?" Pony reappears in the living room, eyes wide. Soda lurches around behind him, head 'n shoulders completely hidden behind the pile of dirty clothes.

"Closet, I'll get it, Pone." Steve ducks behind him, rippin' the closest door 'n yankin' the vacuum from its dusty home.

"Wait no- I got it-"

"Ponyboy Michael why don't you focus on doin' the dishes like you were supposed to do last night." Darry's frantically yankin' windows open to air out the house, which smells a little too much like an ashtray for comfort.

"But I-"

"Pony c'mon." Soda shifts the laundry to one arm 'n grabs Pony by the front of the shirt, draggin' him into the kitchen.

Two finally gets the sign out of the wall, shovin' it under the couch to hide it 'n runnin' into the kitchen to grab a couple of the sketches Pony's done that Darry has pinned to the fridge to cover the screw holes.

"Pony, why are their unrolled cigs under your bed?" Steve shouts 'n Darry watches Pony cringe through the doorway from where he's tryin' to make the mess of shoes 'n coats by the doorway look more presentable.

"Ponyboy Michael we talked about you rollin' your own goddamn kools." Steve snickers 'n Pony stops lookin' at Darry with big, pleadin' eyes to look outlandishly pissed.

"Go get 'em, Glory God, we gotta get rid of 'em." Pony ducks past Darry, not fully managin' to avoid the whack on the back of the head Darry sends him.

Pony disappears into his room 'n they can all hear them get in a couple solid hits back 'n forth. "Ponyboy Michael 'n Steven Thomas we do not have time for this." There's a brief pause 'n then a stingin' slap. "Ohh, Steven Thomas Randle if that leaves a goddamn mark I'm takin' it out of your ass." Pony unsuccessfully tries to hide his snort behind a cough 'n reluctantly shuffles back out, droppin' the cigs into Darry's hand. He shoves the whole mess deep into his pocket 'n clips Pony upside the head again.

"Anyone else have any illegal shit they'd like to turn in while we're on the topic?" Darry glances up 'n finds five pairs of deeply guilty eyes peerin' back at him. "Oh my God."

"Look, you have to promise not to get ma-"

"So, uh-"

"Man, maybe-"

"Everyone shut up. I'm goin' to close my eyes for thirty goddamn seconds 'n if it is out of my house by then I won't say anythin'." Darry presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, tries not to think about the poundin' migraine flutterin' in his temples.

Both the back door 'n front door slam 'n at least four pairs of feet hit the ground runnin'. Glory almighty, he didn't even want to know.

The kitchen tap flips on 'n he listens as Johnny goes to join Pony, flyin' through the pile of dishes. The door to Steve's beater slams closed 'n the four delinquents of the hour file back into the house.

Darry drops his hands from his eyes 'n shoots Two, Soda, Dallas, 'n Steve a glare that says we'll be talkin' about this later. Most of them at least have the decency to drop their eyes to the floor.

"Alright, someone's gotta straighten up this fuckin' living room, one of you needs to go get the beer cans off my lawn, 'n I need two of you to run down to the corner store 'n get some groceries so our fridge doesn't look like y'all ate me out of house 'n home."

"I'll go get the fallen soldiers, they're prob'ly all mine anyways." Two ducks back out the door with a sheepish grin, catchin' the screen door so it doesn't come off the hinges.

"Me 'n Soda can go get the groceries, we can take the beater." Steve fishes his keys out with one hand 'n grabs Soda by the shirt front with the other.

"Oh, nuh-uh. With my luck, you two would get so distracted I wouldn't see you until three hours after the lady leaves. Soda, you get started on the livin' room. Steve 'n Dallas go get the food. 'N take the truck. At this rate, your beater wouldn't start 'n you'd get stranded in the parkin' lot."

Steve shrugs a shoulder, takes the keys 'n Master Card Darry tosses him 'n Dallas nods, both of them peelin' back out the door. Soda pouts but goes to start pickin' up the clutter without a fight.

Lord, if only they were this agreeable all the time.

Pony 'n Johnny report back to Darry, shakin' the water from the dishes off their hands. "What else do you need, Dar?" Johnny wipes the back of his hands on his jeans, 'n glances around for another job.

"Yeah, Johnnycakes, can you help me with dinner? I want somethin' on that table when they show." Johnny nods 'n Darry ruffles his hair affectionately. "Pony, go get in that shower. You look like you just rolled around in the dirt." 'N he's not even that far off. He's got a smudge of ink right across his nose from whatever he'd been workin' on. Pony scowls but turns 'n goes for the bathroom.

Darry waits until he's shut the door 'n then follows Johnny into the kitchen. "Hey, wanna make that casserole they liked last time?" Leave it to Johnny to remember what meal the child services workers had liked.

"Nah, can't make them think we're doin' anythin' to fancy for 'em."

"Gotcha," Johnny nods 'n opens the cabinet, "so, pasta." Darry chuckles, rufflin' his hair again 'n fallin' in beside him to start the water boilin' on the stove.

At some point durin' their meal prep Dallas 'n Steve return, hoistin' five bags between the two of them, frantically arrangin' 'em in the icebox. Pony slides in, takin' over stirrin' the sauce, hair ungreased 'n curlin' around his ears. Darry drops a kiss to his temple 'n slicks his bangs away from his eyes. Soda takes his place in the bathroom, the shower turnin' back on.

Before Darry realizes it, dinner is plated on the table, the sink is empty, 'n the house is as close to spotless as it ever gets. Relief 'n exhaustion hit Darry like a freight train. They make quick work of packagin' up plates for Two, Steve, Dallas, 'n Johnny 'n Darry squeezes shoulders 'n musses up hair 'n makes them all promise to come back in two hours when the visit is done.

His stomach does an unpleasant twist when Steves's headlights swing out of the driveway. He hates these visits. He truly does. He runs a hand up 'n down his neck nervously, glances at the clock.

Pony's head nestles against his side 'n Darry drops an arm around him, pullin' him in. "We'll be alright, right Dar?" And Darry does what he does best: sound more confident than he feels.

"Yeah, kiddo. We'll be just fine." Soda slides back down the hall in he socks, trippin' n' stumblin' like a foal. "Glory, Soda, please don't bust anythin' before the government folks get here."

"Aw, Dar, you're always ruinin' my fun." Soda grins his wide crooked smile 'n Darry feels Pony relax against his side.

"That's what they pay me for. Now, c'mon 'n eat before it gets cold." Pony pushes himself off Darry 'n Soda grabs him rufflin' his damp hair 'n makin' Pony hoot a laugh. They've just plopped down when there's a knock at the door.

All three of them whip around to look.

Darry shoots them a grin that he hopes doesn't look as nervous as he feels. He blows out a long breath, puts his hand on the knob to open the door, glancin' around one final time to make sure nothin' is out of place when his eyes fall on-. "Oh, glory." He reaches up beside the door 'n yanks out the knife Dallas had pinned the shoppin' list to the wall with. "What am I gonna do with y'all?"

"Keep us!" Soda hollers 'n Pony dissolves into giggles. Darry watches them for a moment, Soda's eyes flashin' 'n the sound of Pony's laugh.

"I'm gonna do my best." 'N he opens the door.

also a tag for being very sweet in the tags this is one of the fics I was cookin' up at work today more to come SOON @horsegirlsodapop ilyyy 😭🫶

[pseudogirlie]

I do find it unfortunate when ppl (especially women) live with a ‘well female characters are hardly ever interesting, so I prefer male characters’ mindset. When there are arguably the same, if not many, many, more terribly written male characters compared to women. Like media/society has just convinced you to put men and their stories first and you’ve gotta break out of that mindset if you’re ever truly going to embrace women in media imo

[pricetagged]

Idk how to label this. Wifehunter John?

The idea of possessive/obsessive John manipulating a situation and stealing a wife for himself struck me, so just coughing the idea up while I sneak away for a coffee before I actually have to start work in 20 mins 💖 entirely unedited, abrupt ending

Masterlist l Part Two

________

For someone married to his job, he has put quite a bit of thought into what he is looking for in a wife. Namely, that she's already married.

His reasoning is threefold. He can admit to himself, firstly, that it satisfies his need for control. Competency. He's a busy man with a demanding job. Not quite retired yet, no time to build his own from scratch. With this, he gets a wife boxed up and ready-trained. Broken in.

Secondly, the need for control bleeds into his saviour complex. She'll need a shoulder to cry on, someone strong and capable to get her back on her feet. She'll be feeling a little fragile. Needy. Perfect.

And thirdly, it does something wild to his jealous, possessive streak. The idea of taking something precious, of breaking her bond to another man and tying it to him? Delicious. The idea that she used to be someone else's, that he has to imprint himself onto her knowing that in doing so he is erasing the imprint of another man? It has his teeth aching, grinding even as heat rises in his belly. Stirs at him.

The idea swirls lazily in the back of his mind, never quite finding the right time or right partner. He bats at it a few times, lazy cat playing with the notion, seeing how far it can stretch before it snaps. Eyes up pretty things everywhere he goes, glancing down at their left hands just to check, but nothing quite tugs on that string. Until one day it does when he's outfitting the security system at your house.

It's side work. Cash in hand, word of mouth. Something to keep him busy when on mandated leave. Something to keep in mind as his retirement from active duty creeps closer. And your husband is a real piece of work, all blustering braggadocio energy. Young buck, not knowing his place in the herd. Not knowing that he'd be better scratching his antlers off on a tree than going head-to-head with a gristled thing like John.

It's like John's energy, his presence in the house, sends alarm bells ringing in your husband's mind (Be the man. Don't back down. Puff up your chest and strut). And it plays so perfectly into John's hands because your young buck doesn't realise that what he's really doing is fawning. To John. (Look at me, be impressed by me!) He makes his biggest mistake in putting you down in front of him, trying to sidle up to John and create some kind of desperate camaraderie. Ordering you to bring tea to the men at work. Rolling his eyes at your attempts to talk, to ask questions about the work being done. Waving you off so he can stand and watch the proceedings. Like he could supervise. Like he has any clue what he's doing.

Only the promise of the long game keeps John from levelling him with a hard look, from calling him outblike he'd love to.

He hears you both in the in the other room, having swatted the young buck off like a particularly virulent pest. Noisy and bothersome. Not needed - or wanted- in this home. And entirely too stupid to realise that John wasn't being jocular in his dismissal.

You've been scribbling away for the past few days, something occupying your time, keeping you happy and hidden away in the kitchen.

"You're not serious, are you?"

"Well, yes," he hears the slight quaver in your voice before you find your footing. You've got at least a bit of spine. Good. "You said that I should find an occupation. Not just 'laze around the house playing housewife'. This is what I-"

"Oh come on, I didn't mean- You don't think that this is viable, do you?"

"Well... I love gardening. And I'm good at it. And there's no reason that it can't be more accessible for people, especially with the current economic-"

He cuts you off with a scoff. "Dear, just- I don't want you to be disappointed. I think you don't quite understand the time and effort this will take. And you know nothing of marketing, publishing. Why don't you put that away and start on dinner?"

And oh, isn't that delicious. He can taste it now, that idea that has been swirling. It's thick, almost tangible on his tongue. The tension in the house, the bitter lacryma of stifled tears. The slight acidity of words you left unsaid. It has his mouth watering, pupils dilating.

And when he's packing up that evening, tools and materials tucked in to the heavy workman's case, he swings by the kitchen on his way out. Catches the way something is jutting out slightly from the bin, lid slightly askew. When he pulls it out he realises it's some kind of notebook, carefully (lovingly) bound. Pictures pasted, mindmaps and notes and plans scribbled in the margins. Your gardening tips. Kitchen scraps, window boxes, rooftop plots. Urban gardening. It's deeply thoughtful, well researched.

A labour of love, lying in the rubbish.

Sweet, clever little thing. That just won't do.

He leaves your house with a little piece of you tucked away in his toolkit and a nice plan forming. He'll be back, of course, not quite finished with his work. He'd planted a few little links into the system he'd almost installed, projecting not just to the monitor in your home but also in his. Got to keep his eyes on you, keep you safe and cared for in ways that your useless husband can't.

Finding that book was a boon. He'd say it was divinely ordained if he believed in all that. It weighs heavy in his toolbox as he whistles out the door.

Now, how to get you alone and return it to you..

________________

This idea may have been done before? I'm not sure, sorry! I've seen a lot of possessive John floating around. Tagging @stellewriites because I said I would last time, and you've been so encouraging of my nonsense.

Anyway I've got like 4 long-form WIPs that I'm working on, so I may never actually write this one but thought I'd share since that image set I just reblogged made me feral 💖

[whenthelightisrunninglow]

how's the other guy holding up