#meg writes things

[dinsdjrn]

gone, from austin | series masterlist

summary: Joel Miller: the one that got away; right person, wrong time. Now you’re back in Austin and it hurts just as bad, as if you’d never left five years ago

warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, no use of y/n, Sarah is alive and well, female reader, young!joel is an assshole (but not rlly), brothers best friend, ex-lovers to lovers (eventually), f! mc has unresolved trauma, implied cheating (not joel), slow burn, eventual smut, angsty at first, proof-read but i have not a clue what im doing. let me know if i missed anything <3

main masterist

parts~

part one - gone from austin

part two - your needs, my needs

part three - landslide

part four

playlist

[dancethroughthethunder]

Hiccups, Pens, and Other Ways Bob Might be a Wizard (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Reader

Word Count: 7.4k

Summary: Five times your teammate Bob knows and does the exact thing you need and one time you hope to return the favor.

Author’s Note: As is a theme in my fics, I love love love friends to lovers and a 5+1 fic. This one happens to be with the sweetest WSO around, who I'm convinced is a Nana's Boy and an acts of service guy. This work can also be found here at my ao3. I hope you enjoy! Divider credit to @/saradika

1. 

Your morning exercise is going to start any minute and you can’t stop hiccupping. Usually some nice slow sips of water get rid of your hiccups but for some reason that doesn’t seem to be working right now. Eventually you set your water bottle down and groan. 

Hangman and Coyote are laughing hysterically each time you hiccup, as if they’ve never heard someone have them before, and you can tell that Rooster is trying his best not to laugh along with them.

“It’s not that” hic “ funny.” You say, rolling your eyes at your teammates and thankful that Mav hasn’t arrived yet to start the day.

“It really is. You sound like a little mouse. Maybe we’ll change your name to Squeaky.” Hangman can barely get out in between laughs. For some reason, this is what breaks Rooster’s composure and he starts laughing along, muttering something you can’t quite catch about cheese. 

You’re not offended, and you’re not really annoyed with your teammates, you just really want these damn hiccups to go away. You’ve held your breath, tried slowly drinking water, and you just can’t get rid of them. You know that Hangman is right and you sound ridiculous and all you can do is hope that by the time your morning officially starts and you all observe the first flight of the day, you’ll be back to normal. It’s not like they’re your fault, but you’re sure that Mav will give you shit for interrupting and distracting the team if they’re still happening once the day starts. At this point, you’re almost desperate enough to ask one of the guys to try and scare you. Almost.

You hear footsteps down the hall, and pick your water back up, hoping that if Mav’s on his way in, you’ll get lucky and be able to kick your hiccups quickly once and for all.

“What’s your callsign?” Bob calls out as he comes into the room, flight suit on and helmet in hand. Bob and Phoenix are first in the air this morning, and you’re surprised he’s in the briefing room instead of out on the tarmac. 

“What?” hic . 

Bob clearly knows your callsign, you’ve known each other for years, you two go back before the Uranium mission. Besides, even if you only met a few months ago, it’s painted on the side of your plane and in true Top Gun fashion, everyone else calls you it pretty much exclusively. 

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready to go up?” You ask.

“I’ve got a few minutes. Humor me?” It’s Bob, so even though you’re confused, you do. You’re not sure that there’s much that Bob could ask of you that you wouldn’t do without much hesitation. 

“It’s” hic “Hawk.” You tell him, knowing that your tone conveys your confusion.

“Oh no, it’s Squeak now.” As per usual, you and Bob both ignore Hangman. You are tempted to flip him off but know that with your luck, that’ll be the moment an admiral strolls by. You keep your hands down and your attention focused on Bob. 

“Good. Full name?” Bob nods earnestly as he asks, and you’re sure you’re looking at him suspiciously, but you go along with it, giving him your first, middle, and last name in between hiccups. 

“Last one – what’s your birthday?” Okay, now you’re sure he has to be up to something but you give him the month and date, turning to look at Rooster who just shrugs.

“With the year?” Once again, you do what Bob asks and repeat your birthday, tacking on the year at the end. “Oh shit gotta run, you’re welcome Hawk!” Bob looks down at his watch and turns around to run, presumably out to the tarmac.  

“What was that?” You turn to ask the rest of the squad when suddenly you realize that somewhere between your full name and now, your hiccups have completely disappeared. 

“RIP Squeak, she squeaked her last squeak.” Fanboy’s comment doesn’t make sense, but everyone is laughing anyway.

You head to the door to watch Bob run out to meet Phoenix on the tarmac, yelling out after him. 

“Bob what the fuck? Are you a wizard?” Shaking your head in disbelief, you make your way back to your seat just in time for Maverick to come in and turn on the flight radio to begin the day’s exercises. Mav’s clearly in a mood so you’re extra thankful, even if you’re not sure what drew Bob to the training room in the first place or how his interrogation solved your hiccup problem.

Resolving to ask Nat later, you grab a pen and your notepad and start trying to pay complete attention to Maverick as he walks you through the morning’s plan even though your mind keeps trying to drift towards your favorite WSO.

2. 

“Damn.” You’re trying to finish jotting down some thoughts before your next meeting, but your pen doesn’t seem to be cooperating. “Nat, do you have a spare pen I can borrow?” 

Judging by her grimace, you know what she’s going to say before she says it. 

“Sorry, Hawk. Try one of the guys?” 

You love your teammates, you trust them with your life – literally – but at the end of the day, sometimes they’re useless. This is one of those times. For a group of highly decorated aviators, it’s shocking how often one of you has to cave and buy an entire box of cheap pens to keep around for everyone’s use.

Given how often you and Phoenix have teased the guys for using a last-resort pen (as you’d dubbed them), you really don’t want to have to go grab one. Even if you hadn’t given the guys shit about it, you’re particular about your pens when it comes to your personal work notes. 

Contrary to popular belief, not everything you do at work is officially on the record, required by law. There’s nothing in your meeting notes that would require them to be kept or maintained, by policy, so while they’ll be securely disposed of due to their reference to highly classified information, they’re yours to do with what you’d like. For you, that means writing them with a gorgeous gel pen in your favorite shade of purple.

It’s one thing when you’re submitting something official, on record, then you understand the need for a simple blue or black ink. Truly, you don’t mind all of the rules and regs, you wouldn’t have survived this long in the Navy if you did. Sometimes, though, it’s nice to branch out where you can, and for you an easy way is your note-taking. Your mom has always had the most beautiful handwriting, and is always taking notes, and jotting down thoughts and to-do lists in pens of all colors with stationery scattered around the house. While your handwriting is a far cry from hers, you definitely got her love of stationary and pretty pens. 

You’d once swapped Hangman’s pen for a sparkly pink gel pen after he’d made a bullshit comment about your notes, calling you Naval Aviator Barbie. You’d only agreed to give his original pen back once he apologized to you and Nat, and admitted that your ability to do your job and your pen choice are completely separate. That, and you made him promise to buy you each two drinks the next time you went to the Hard Deck. 

Was the punishment worth the crime? Not at all. You eagerly admitted to Nat later that you were already in a bad mood, and had lashed out even though you knew Hangman was just having fun. Sure he crossed a line now and then, but even you admitted that his pen comment wasn’t one of them. 

To your amusement, he refused to give back the pink pen and occasionally left you notes written in it, or loaning it to the rest of the team when they inevitably turned up without a pen. 

This time, it’s your turn without a pen. Normally you have a spare, but you suddenly realize that you forgot to grab an extra, last time you were in this situation. Looking down at your beautiful purple pen once more, you resign yourself to having to go grab a cheap pen from the box at the side of the room.

Sighing as you stand up to make your way to the box of shame cheap pens, you’re stopped by a hand on your arm.

“Did you say you needed a pen?” Bob asks.

“Yeah, I thought I had one.” You shrug. As much as you love your pretty pens, it really isn’t the end of the world, you’ve already spent a very silly amount of time thinking about it. 

“I have one!” Bob smiles as he reaches into his pocket. 

Bob, like you, appreciates a decent pen, though he’s more likely to stick to a standard blue. Which is why you’re surprised when he pulls an exact duplicate of the pen in your hand out of his pocket.

“Bob, you lifesaver. That’s my favorite pen! Thank you!” 

“I know. It’s no big deal.” He brushes off your thanks and heads back to his chair. 

You’re not sure how you got so lucky as to have Bob have one of your favorite kinds of pens ready for you, but you’re not complaining. In fact, it makes it even sweeter a few minutes later when Fanboy’s pen dies and he makes a show of getting a last-resort pen. As Fanboy grabs his new pen, you tear off the page you’re writing on and slide it over to Bob. 

Bob reads your thank you note (in your pretty purple pen) and smiles, while you try and avoid making eye contact with Nat. She knows you too well to accept ‘it’s polite to say thank you’ as an excuse for your handwritten note, and you definitely don’t want to have that conversation with her at work, in front of everyone. You wouldn’t put it past her to say something, especially since she’s been on you about catching you staring at Bob lately. You know that eventually you’ll cave and talk to her about it, but for now you make a show of focusing on your new pen and preparing for your next meeting.

3.

3:07 A.M.

Maverick’s Angels(Dagger Emoji)

You: Hey guys, ask me what I’m doing

You: Okay what are you doing, Hawk?

You: Thank you for asking! I’m currently sitting outside my building waiting for FD to shut off the alarm at my building for the third time. Third!! Twice now they’ve gotten it off just for it to start again within 30 seconds. I’ve been out here for an hour. 

You: I will both beg and pay whoever is getting coffee tomorrow (today???) to get me a large instead

You: Please

You: I’m like 99% sure it’s Coyote’s week. Javy I’ll love u forever.

You: & if I’m wrong, I’ll love whoever puts my coffee in my hand (sorry Javy. or not. If it is you. Idk anymore).

6:15 A.M.

Bob Floyd: Swap coffee runs with me. I’ll go this morning, you can go next week.

Bob Floyd: Please.

Javy Machado: (salute emoji) 

Sometime after the Uranium mission, after being stood up as a special detachment at North Island, you all fell into the routine of Friday morning coffee. You can’t even remember who started it, but someone suggested that once a week, someone stops by the coffee shop near base to pick up coffee for everyone. It’s close enough to base to not be wildly inconvenient, but the most important thing is that it’s off base. There’s only so much cheap government office coffee you can drink. 

You have a standing order for Friday mornings, and a rotation for who gets it. No one person has to be the one to pay, pick it up, or bring it more than once in two months with your arrangement. As far as anyone knew, it was supposed to be Coyote’s week to grab the coffee, so when you run into the briefing room (later than you normally would but not enough to be considered truly late), you’re surprised to see Bob handing out coffees.

You’re so busy complaining to Phoenix about how tired you are that you didn’t even stop to look down at the coffee being put in your hand before taking a sip of it. It’s a large as opposed to your regular medium order and you’re so thankful you sent that 3AM text in the group chat. As you take a sip, you’re pleasantly surprised by the flavor. 

On the weekend, the sweeter your coffee, the better. You love adding different syrups and flavors, trying whatever specialty latte or coffee the barista recommends. You’re just as happy with a simple medium iced coffee, black with one sugar, and you know that’s significantly easier for the weekly coffee roundup so on Fridays you keep your order simple. Which means you took a sip expecting an iced coffee, black with just a hint of sweetness, and instead you end up recognizing the taste of an iced maple latte, with a little cinnamon stirred in and what you think might also be an extra shot of espresso. 

Rooster comes flying into the room to grab his coffee, and you barely have time to toss Bob an extremely grateful smile and mouth a quick ‘thank you’, seconds before Maverick strolls in, grabbing his own coffee and going to the front of the room to start the day. 

When you woke up at your normal, much later than 3AM, time you had been pretty sure that your sleep-addled self was right, it was Coyote’s week to grab coffee. You’re so thankful you were wrong. Only Bob would have thought to change up your order and grab your number one favorite latte, knowing that you had a rough night (morning?). 

It’s not until later when you’re chatting with Fanboy that you overhear Bob thanking Coyote for swapping coffee weeks with him. You’re sure Fanboy notices the way you pause, mid-sentence while you take in this information, but he does you the favor of not saying anything, steering you back to your conversation while you wonder what, if anything, Bob might have meant with your coffee.

4.

You’re supposed to be heading out the door any minute to go see some local band perform. You should be leaving shortly, just as soon as Bob and Nat come to pick you up. The three of you will be going to meet Hangman, Rooster, Fanboy, and Coyote at the bar. Knowing how punctual Nat and Bob are, you were pretty proud of yourself for managing to be ready on time, until you couldn’t find your phone. As unnatural as it would feel to go out without it, it would be even worse since you were the one to download everyone’s tickets. 

So far you’ve triple checked the pockets of your denim shorts, checked the pockets of the comfy robe you wore getting ready, looked under the cushions of your couch, scoured every counter and dresser top, and you just can’t find it. If only this venue was more old school, you’d be able to print out a copy of your tickets from your laptop but no, they have to use a rotating QR code. 

“Fuck.” You groan, deciding to drop to your knees and check under the couch. You can’t imagine why it would be there, but considering you haven’t found it in any of the places that would have made sense, it’s worth a shot.

“Hi, it’s us.” Natasha calls out as she walks into your apartment. “Door was unlocked.”

“Come in.” You yell back from your spot searching under the couch.

You hear footsteps coming closer as Nat and Bob head into the living room, where they find you on your knees, ass up, searching for your phone. Your search feels even more urgent and even more ridiculous now that your friends have arrived to witness it.

“Damn, nice view.” Without being able to see her, you know Nat’s talking about your ass. You maneuver yourself so that the arm closest to her stops feeling around for your phone and instead snakes out from under the couch to flip her off. Unsurprisingly, Natasha laughs at this and you’re pretty sure you hear a chuckle from Bob.

“Um, Hawk, what’s up?” Bob tentatively asks.

Groaning one more time, annoyed with yourself, you scoot backwards out from under the couch and sit back on your heels, looking up at your friends.

“I can’t find my phone. I know we’re supposed to be on our way but I can’t find the damn thing I’ve checked everywhere. And even worse, I have everyone’s tickets on it.” You tell them, standing up and pointing out where you’ve already looked as Natasha starts retracing your footsteps.

Once you’ve finished your brief recap of where you were when you noticed it was gone, and where you’ve looked, Bob gives you a brief nod and heads into the kitchen. Shrugging, you and Natasha follow as he walks determinedly over towards your fridge where he reaches up, grabbing your phone.

“Oh my god, you found it.” Your jaw drops. “Maybe you really are a wizard.” 

“What the fuck, Hawk? Why would it have been there?” Natasha laughs, snapping a quick picture of Bob, the fridge, and your phone, to use to tease you about later. 

“What could have possessed me to put it up there? Thanks, Bob.” Walking over to grab your phone, you catch your reflection in the microwave. “Ah shit, give me one second, let me go fix my hair then we can go.” 

You dash off to the bathroom to smooth your hair back down from its slight messiness, caused no doubt by your search under the couch. 

“Alright, let’s go. I don’t want to hear shit from Bagman if we’re late.” Nat grabs your purse off its hook, calling out to let you know she has it as she heads outside to start the car. 

“Seriously, you’re a lifesaver Bob. How could you possibly know that’s where I put it?” You ask as you meet him by the door and duck down to tug on your shoes.

Bob shrugs, “I pay attention, and I know you.” 

For a moment, you’re so thrown off by the admission that you nearly stumble. You catch yourself, crouched down, one foot in the air, still trying to put on your shoe, and try to figure out how a person responds to something that kind and that blunt. Before you have a chance to do anything other than finish putting on your shoes, straighten up, and smile at Bob, you hear the car horn outside as Natasha indicates her growing impatience.

Together, you set outside as Bob waits while you lock up. You’re excited for tonight, you love going to concerts and spending time with your friends, and while you walk towards the car, you’re thinking about the possibility that your inevitable twirling around the dance floor with Nat might turn into a dance with Bob as well. 

“Ladies first.” Getting to the car half a step before you, Bob politely opens the front passenger door and gestures for you to take the seat next to Nat. As you climb in, neither you nor Bob say anything about the slight blush on both of your faces, and you hope that Nat’s too focused on pulling out of the driveway to notice. 

“So is this a good time to ask why you didn’t just log into your computer and transfer the tickets to one of us?” Nat asks once you get on the highway.

“It most certainly is not.” You reply, trying not to groan (again) at how flustered you were by your own confusing choice of places to set your phone.

“Whatever, fridge girl.” Nat looks like the cat that got the cream as you groan at your new nickname. You can only hope that you can remind her how much you love her as your best friend and talk her out of using it in front of the guys later. You know Hangman would never let you live it down, and he certainly doesn’t need any more encouragement to drive you nuts. 

“Seriously Bob, how did you know where my phone was?” You turn around to look at the man in the backseat.

“I’ve seen you put it there before, and then also forget where it is.” He admits, with a sweet smile that doesn’t feel mocking, even though you both know how silly it is.

“How have I never noticed that?” You’re asking yourself just as much as you’re asking him.

“Oh, whenever I notice, I move it back down to the counter so it’s easier to spot.” Bob says, in a very matter of fact way, like it isn’t one of the sweetest things you’ve ever heard. 

This time, you know that Nat catches the blush on your cheeks and from the look she’s giving you, you just know that you’re going to get pulled aside later to finally talk about your feelings. Depending on how many rounds you can talk Hangman into buying you first, you think you might just let her. Turning back to face the road, you decide that you aren’t just thinking about dancing with Bob, you’re actively hoping for it and looking forward to what the night might entail.

5.

It’s been half an hour since you sat down, and you’re getting the feeling that your date truly isn’t coming. You’d tried to rationalize to yourself that half an hour isn’t the end of the world (maybe traffic was bad) before remembering that you were already five minutes late to get to the restaurant, and it took them another fifteen minutes to seat you. So really, Prince Charming is 50 minutes late.

You groan, remembering Phoenix teasing you about your date in front of the rest of the team this morning, knowing that they’re bound to ask you about it tomorrow. The date was with some friend of a friend so you’re not all that broken up about him personally, it’s just the general feeling of embarrassment that stings. 

Picking your phone up, you text Phoenix that you’re admitting defeat and are trying to figure out whether you should cut your losses and call an uber to head home or stay and at least treat yourself to dinner. Until you see your phone light up and laugh at yourself for not assuming that your best friend would make the decision for you.

7:52 PM

Natty: Give me 15, I’m on my way. I’ll come in on my knees begging your forgiveness for being late. Take all of the attention off you and onto my groveling. 

You: You’re ridiculous. 

You: See you soon. 

You slide your phone away, recognizing that an apology text from your date won’t be coming and order a second glass of wine the next time your waitress walks by. You’re probably not the first person to have been stood up in this restaurant, but if the waitress gives you a look of pity one more time you might just melt into the floor. So you spend the next few minutes making a point to really read the menu, and hope that Nat won’t actually be too embarrassing when she shows up. 

“I’m sorry darlin’, I just completely couldn’t get away sooner.” Looking up, you’re shocked to see Bob standing in front of you, holding flowers, and wearing his uniform. You hear a soft aww from behind you as the waitress comes up to take Bob’s drink order.

Bob hands you the flowers as he sits down, and smiles at you. 

“Well hi there. I can’t say I was expecting you.” You smile at the flowers, and then at Bob.

“I was at Tasha’s and she mentioned what happened. She said she was going to come cause a scene begging for your forgiveness but then thought maybe me coming in late, in uniform, would make up for it as opposed to her groveling at your feet. Ya know, imply work’s why I was late.” Bob gestures to the uniform and blushes as the two of you laugh over the image of Phoenix begging your forgiveness. 

“Well, who can resist a man in uniform? I mean truly, why else do you think I even joined up?” You joke. 

It’s not a joke you’d make to most people, knowing that so many do think that way about women in the military. But you trust Bob. Mama Floyd raised a good one, and you know he’s never once thought of you or Natasha that way, and he frequently listens to you two complain about the guys who do. 

You’re still not entirely sure why it’s Bob coming to your rescue instead of Nat but you’re thankful he’s here saving you from further embarrassment and it’s not like you’re complaining about getting to have dinner with a kind, handsome man in uniform. Even if it’s the same uniform you have in your closet, and even if he’s just a friend. Because that’s all he is, right? Right. At least that’s all that you’ve let yourself admit. Gently shaking your head as if to physically knock those thoughts off to the side, you look back up at Bob.

“If you still want to go home, we can. I just thought that maybe this way you’d still get a nice dinner. I thought maybe it would be better…” Bob trails off, a shy shrug betraying his hesitation.

“Better than doing a solo walk of shame out of here alone, having clearly been stood up? It’s definitely better. Thanks, Bob. As long as you don’t mind being my date for the night.” You wink.

“Oh no, ma’am. Special orders from Lieutenant Trace to ‘do the charming gentleman thing’, and also for us to bring back ice cream.”  That doesn’t surprise you. You’re not sure which one of the three of you has the bigger sweet tooth, and regardless of how the night went you had already been planning to stop at the nearby ice cream shop to bring something back for a post-date debrief with Nat, hoping that maybe Bob would be there too. 

“Then let’s do it.” You slip your hand in Bob’s as the two of you look over the menu, and chat about your day. Eventually the waitress comes back with Bob’s drink and the two of you place your orders, with Bob politely letting you go first. 

When your food arrives, you reluctantly pull your hand out of Bob’s. You’re not entirely sure why Bob hadn’t pulled his hand away, maybe he’s trying to really sell your fake date for the waitress? Regardless, you like the feeling of your hand in his warm one and are more than happy, if a bit confused, to keep it there as long as you can.

“So, possibly-a-wizard Bob, the hiccup trick. How? And how did you even know I needed you?”

“Oh,” he laughs, “well I’d left my glasses cloth in my locker and always prefer having it on me before I go up, just making sure they’re as clean as possible before I’m in the air.” You nod, knowing exactly what he means. The two of you had joked before about wishing glasses had teeny tiny wipers like car dashboards, especially for people like the two of you with a job requiring such an attention to detail.

“I was walking past the training room and heard you hiccupping and Hangman’s loud mouth teasing you, so I figured that wasn’t the first one. As for the cure, no clue why it works. It’s a Nana Floyd special.” He admits. 

“Why am I not surprised, if anyone’s magic, it’s absolutely your nana.” You and the team had a chance to meet her when she came for a visit with Bob’s parents, and you immediately took a liking to the sweet woman. You’ve always been close with your own grandmother, and it certainly helped how much of Bob you could see in his nana. 

“Exactly, so I figured I had just enough time to help you out. I was just hoping it would work and that it wasn’t a Nana-only secret.” He smiles. 

“Fair enough, I’m pretty lucky the Floyd magic works for you too, then.” Trying not to think about how he could work his magic on you, you continue, “and speaking of, how did you have an extra one of my favorite pens ready to go?” You stop to take a bite of your dinner, never looking away from Bob.

“Oh, well I know you and Natasha can be particular about your pens and stuff so I usually have an extra, just in case.” 

Right then, the waitress stops by to ask how your meals are, and you realize that without even noticing, you two are almost halfway done eating. You’ve been so engrossed in your conversations, your actual date could have shown up with an entire brass band and you’d have been none the wiser. 

“Well, that’s incredibly kind. Thank you, Bob.” You smile, continuing your conversation.

“Anything for you, darlin’.” Bob looks at you earnestly before looking down at his plate, focusing his attention on grabbing another forkful of veggies.

The astonishing thing is that you think he might mean it. 

The two of you finish dinner and unsurprisingly, though you try to fight it, Bob insists on paying for the entire meal. 

“Hawk, I’m not letting you pay.” He rolls his eyes, good-naturedly, at your stubborn streak. 

“Bobby, I’m not making you pay for a date you didn’t even plan on taking me on.” 

“Come on, darlin’, don’t make me have to tell Nana that I didn’t pay for dinner on a date. You can’t do that to me.” He says with a smile, holding a hand to his chest as if the idea is physically painful. You smile and shake your head, giving in, and try not to melt too much as he shoots you a playful wink as he sets his credit card down on the table. 

With a wink that rivals Rooster’s, and gentlemanly charm like you’ve seen Hangman pull out once or twice, quiet but charming Bob could do some serious damage to the female population of San Diego. Even if he’s just here to save you, you’re feeling lucky to be the one receiving his attention. 

Bob finishes paying, and you get ready to go, making sure to grab your beautiful bouquet. 

“Now, what kind of date would I be if I didn’t get you that ice cream?” Bob asks as he takes your hand again, leading you out of the restaurant. 

“One that still brought me flowers and bought me dinner, which was especially kind as again, he was rescuing me from being stood up.” You tease.

“Let me put it this way, we both know how badly you want some ice cream, and even if I wouldn’t get it for you anyways, Nat’ll kill us if we don’t bring some back. So if I get to keep being your date for the next few minutes, I’m doing it right and buying you ice cream.” 

For a second, Bob almost looks nervous, like he’s said too much. For your part, you can’t stop thinking about how nice it would be to be on a real date with Bob, not just being two good friends out to dinner, one rescuing the other’s pride from serious embarrassment. 

“Alright, ice cream it is. Thank you.” You gently squeeze his hand as you wonder how much longer until he pulls away. You’re on your dream date with your dream guy and half of you wants to thank Phoenix and your missing date for their involvement, and half of you wants to curse them for putting this opportunity in front of you, only for you to know that it’s fake, just a friend doing a favor. 

There’s no time to think about that right now, as Bob leads you towards his truck, where he opens the door for you and holds your flowers while you buckle in. Either Bob’s a significantly better actor than you’d ever realized, or maybe, just maybe, this means something to him too. You think you might embarrass yourself too much if you worry about it tonight, so for now you decide to just enjoy the moment, knowing that you’ll tell Nat every detail later once Bob leaves. 

On the short drive to the ice cream parlor, you make up your mind. You’re going to let Bob buy you ice cream, drive you to Nat’s so you can all hang out, and then later once he heads home, you’ll stay and talk to your best friend about everything you’ve been thinking about all of the sweet little things Bob does for you. Then, if you’re brave enough, and if Nat doesn’t tell you that you’re making a catastrophic mistake, you might just plan to talk to Bob about it.

And then, 1. 

Part of you is nervous that you’ve been misreading everything, you know Bob’s a sweetheart to everyone. You’re sure that he would have helped anyone with their hiccups, and you happen to think you have great taste in pens and ink color, it’s not like you have a monopoly on their use or like it’s inherently romantic to have an extra pen for a teammate. Hell, he even keeps some for Nat.

You know he’s observant, that also explains being able to find your phone, right? But on the other hand, you can’t explain it all away as just being friendly. Bob could easily have let Javy grab you a large coffee, and there’s practically a million easier options he could have chosen instead of showing up to save you from your failed date, in uniform, with flowers. He could have let Phoenix come get you as she was planning, he could have joined her in coming to get you, and he could even have just come to pick you up by himself. 

Thinking back to sitting at that restaurant, holding Bob’s hand and looking at that sweet face while you talked, you can’t help but smile. No, there’s no denying it. Showing up dressed and ready to wine and dine you to save you from a bad day and a no-show date isn’t exactly the standard friendly course of action. You’re sure he wouldn’t have acted that way with Nat, as close as they are. Yeah, Bob is a sweetheart, but it has to be more than that. You want it to be more than that. More than that, you’ve talked the situation over nonstop with Nat as she insisted that this wasn’t just in your head.

Which is how you’ve found yourself standing on his doorstep, a bunch of sunflowers in one hand and takeout from your shared favorite burger place in the other. You adjust your sweater one last time and knock on the door. 

“Hi there.” The door opens and you’re quick to greet a very surprised Bob.

“Hi, darlin’. Nice flowers.” Ever since your ‘date’, Bob has let a ‘darlin’ slip in here and there. It takes more strength than you’d care to admit not to melt every time he says it. You like it just as much as when he calls you by your real name, as opposed to your callsign. Though you have to admit that ‘Hawk’ sounds pretty good coming from his lips, too.

“I’m glad you think so, they’re for you.” You hand Bob the flowers as you step past him into his house. 

“How do you know my favorite flower?” He looks at you curiously.

You could tell him that you’ve seen the fresh bunches he usually has around whenever you all come over for movie night. Or you could tell him that you remember meeting his Nana and hearing her call him Sunflower as she wrapped him up in a tight hug. You could even tell him that it was a lucky guess. But you remember a similar conversation a few weeks ago, so instead you smirk and take a teeny tiny step towards telling him how you feel.

“I pay attention, and I know you.” 

It takes a second for Bob to place the words, and somehow his smile gets even wider. He takes the flowers from you, and it takes all of your self control not to reach out and put your hand on his cheek, right where he’s blushing. 

You follow his lead, heading into his kitchen as he grabs a vase and starts trimming the flowers to go in it. 

“So, Bob. Last week, you rescued me with a great dinner. For tonight, I brought takeout.” You lift the bag in your hand. “I was thinking maybe we could go out for dinner later this week, if you’d like?”

“Sure, that sounds nice. With the team?” Bob looks up and sees you furrow your eyebrows.

“Oh, if that’s what you want!” You try to quickly recover from your disappointment. For what is probably half of a second but feels like an eternity, you and Bob just look at each other. Then, it hits you that you’ve had all of this time to process how you think Bob feels but when it comes to your feelings, you just sprung it on him. Well, no, that’s not quite right. You haven’t actually told him yet. Knowing Bob like you do, he’s probably taking the absolute safest route to avoid making things awkward in case you don’t mean anything other than friendship.

“Oh God”, you groan, “Can I try this again?” Bob nods, but he’s clearly not entirely sure what’s going on. 

“Okay, Bob, in addition to the flowers, I brought takeout for dinner tonight, as you can see. I was wondering if later this week, you’d like to go out for dinner. With me. As a date. This time, planned and on purpose. Together.” You don’t know if you’ve ever stumbled through a sentence like that, but you also have never asked out a guy like Bob, as wonderful and kind and jaw-droppingly handsome, so it makes sense you’re off your game.

“Oh!” Bob’s eyes get wide, and he looks down at the bouquet in his hands, smiling sweetly. “That sounds great, darlin’. I’d like that a lot.”

“Perfect, it’s a date.” You lean over and give Bob a quick kiss on the cheek, before going to grab plates and heading to the living room with the food. 

You hear the fridge open and turn around to ask, “Bob would you mind grabbing me a lemonade?” right as he comes into the room, already carrying a can of your favorite pink lemonade for you.

“Okay, see, it’s this! How do you do that, are you sure you’re not a wizard?” You tease.

“I’m sure,” he laughs, “I just know you.” And how lucky you are to be known by Bob. 

“I hope you know, it’s not just the gifts and the things you do for me that make me interested in you. I mean that’s part of it, sure. How could a girl resist a handsome man who always has her favorite drink ready and knows how to fix her when she’s running late and frazzled. You pay attention and you see me, but I see you too, Bobby.”

Bob looks down and smiles, a sweet blush coloring his cheeks. Bob does more than enough to show you he cares so you push on with your plan to make sure it’s clear how you feel, despite the slight worry that you’re coming on too strong. 

“I know that you love cooking, but you’d rather cook for all of us than just yourself on Sundays because if it’s just you then it feels like a chore to get ready for the week. I know that you’ll never admit that to your family who raised you on Sunday dinners, and that you probably called them this morning like you do every weekend to say hi. I know that when the first summer day rolls around, you’re going to drive with the windows down and country music on the radio.” 

You start putting your food onto your plates, giving you somewhere to direct your attention other than just intensely staring at Bob, as you continue. 

“It’s the way you always look for me in a crowd and save me a seat at the hard deck, and you listen to my stupid jokes, and remember the things I like. And I know you’re a good friend to all of us, but you do even more for me. You’re a good man, an incredibly kind man, Robert Floyd. The best I know.” Remembering what he said earlier, you add, “And I’m lucky to be known by you.”

This time it’s your turn to blush, worried that you’ve said too much. You were only planning to ask him on a date, not unload all of your feelings onto him. 

“Hawk,” he starts, before wordlessly taking the plate you’re working on out of your hands and setting it down on the coffee table. 

Bob gently places a hand on your cheek, and you’re already turning to look at him as he looks at you. 

“Darlin,” he tries again. You’re anxiously waiting to hear what comes next. How could you have never noticed the way that he looks at you before now? If you could have one wish for the rest of your life, it would be for Bob to keep looking at you like you’re the loveliest thing he’s ever seen. 

Then he says your name, your real name, softly, before slightly nodding to himself and moving even closer to you. The next thing you know, Bob’s lips are on yours and both of his hands are gently cupping your face, holding you as if you’re the most important thing in the world. 

Up until now, you thought it was a romance-novel cliche to sigh into a kiss. Now you hear yourself sigh and know better. You can’t imagine a world where you don’t know what it’s like to kiss him. You can't believe this is the first time you're getting to kiss Bob. Sweet, handsome Bob who pulls away, and gives you one of the biggest smiles you’ve ever seen.

“How could I not feel the same way? I’m the lucky one. Nat said you might be interested and I was worried I was overdoing it –” And this time, you lean in, pressing another kiss to his lips before he can even finish his sentence. Then suddenly you’re giggling into the kiss, thinking about the ways that you’ve hoped he was interested, and the ways he was desperately trying to broadcast his feelings while allowing you the space to comfortably reject him. 

“Do you think that maybe this time, Nana Floyd would be okay if I paid, since I asked you on the date? I mean, really, it’s feminism when you think about it.” You joke once you pull away.

“You know Nana’s all for girl power, but on the first real date? I don’t think so, darlin’.” 

“Hmm, that last date felt pretty real to me.” You admit.

“I know what you mean. Maybe our first real, planned date, is what I mean. One where I’m on time, and instead of grabbing the first bouquet I see to try not to be any later, I bring your favorite flowers, and if I’m lucky I get to kiss you goodnight.”

“There’s no chance I’ll let you leave without a kiss. But I don’t have a favorite flower.” You tell him, but Bob just laughs.

“I know you, and I also know that you think that’s true.” Bob winks again, and this time it’s even more incredible because you know he means it.

“We’ll see, Bobby.” 

He leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before moving to pick up your plates. 

“Now what do you say we have dinner and watch a movie, darlin’. Then maybe you’ll let me be lucky enough for a preview of Saturday with another kiss.”

“I think I can do that.” You finish putting the food on your plates, splitting the regular fries and curly fries exactly in half between you.

Looking at the mischievous, confident look on Bob’s face, you say a quick thank you to the universe for letting you be the only woman in San Diego who gets to experience his charms like that. Falling for Bob is easy, especially when he goes out of his way to show his constant affection and attention, hiccup cures, shared dinners, and all.

[feyhunter78]

Description: During your Uncle Robert's Royal Procession, you find yourself enraptured with Ned Starks' bastard son. While Jon has never dreamed so vividly until your arrival. A thread seems to exist between you and him, pulling you together. Luckily for you both, your father Tyrion sees the need for a sworn sword in his beloved daughter's life.

Ch 2

You should know better, truly you should, but you’ve always had a weakness for pitiful-looking creatures, or at least that’s what your father has always said. He stands a pace ahead of you, watching as your uncle, the King Robert, embraces Lord Ned Stark with a boyish joy you have never seen in your uncle. Your Aunt Cersei stands to the side of them, smiling politely at the Lady Catelyn Stark, Joffery all but hanging from her skirts, demanding attention. Usually, you would scowl at the back of the boy’s head, but the sight of Ned Stark’s bastard son has you quite distracted.

He is pitiful, even his name, Jon, it’s so common, so often used it cannot differentiate him from others. He stands stiffly, with gray eyes so dark they almost seem black set beneath thick brows. He has curly dark hair that frames his face, an unchanging frown upon his face, and his hands clasp and unclasp nervously as he watches the mingling of your two families. Jon’s dressed like all the other Starks, but somehow lesser, as if he has chosen only the drabbest of colors in an effort to blend into the dreary landscape. There’s a solemn softness to him that intrigues you. What secrets does he keep? Why does he look so mired in grief? He notices your gaze, and his face tints pink as he ducks his head further into the fur collar of his cloak. You bite back a laugh, for a moment he looked like a turtle.

The boy beside him, Robb, stands an inch or so taller with cornflower blue eyes, and auburn hair. The clear son of Lady Catelyn radiates confidence, nearly bordering on arrogance, as he surveys the servants unloading your family’s belongings from the wheelhouses. Beside him stands a boy whose arrogance you wouldn’t mistake for confidence, even if you were less astute than you are. But the arrogance rings false, you can see the cracks in his bravado, the insecurity leaking from every pore. It’s in the way he hovers so close to Robb, as if he fears to be away from him would be his undoing. This one you know inside and out; your father had drilled you on everyone you were going to meet before you even stepped foot outside King’s Landing.

Theon Greyjoy, last surviving son of Balon Greyjoy, a war prisoner disguised as a ward, the closest companion to Robb Stark, both accepted and held at a distance, Lord Stark’s sword an ever-looming threat should his father ever revolt once more. Theon has eyes like the sea and tousled hair the color reminiscent of the mahogany desk in your father’s study. He is lankier than the other two, hungrier, and when your eyes meet his, he winks. You resist the urge to wrinkle your nose in response, you were a lady, a Lannister, you were not so easily swayed. Theon is handsome, but if your father’s reports were true, he spent much of his time in brothels. The tactics that worked there would not work on you.

“And this is my eldest daughter, Sansa.” Lord Stark says, motioning to a girl that was perhaps two or so years younger than you. She is beautiful, with fiery red hair, eyes like Robb’s, and high, graceful cheekbones. She curtsies with the air of a Southern lady, and smiles when you do the same. This is who you are meant to befriend, and it does not seem it will be too difficult, Sansa’s eyes eagerly drink in every aspect of your being, as if she wishes to glen all she can of Southern life before it is ripped away from her.

“She is as beautiful as her mother.” Your father says, giving her then Lady Catelyn a smile.

They both thank him, Lady Catelyn beaming at the praise, while you notice Sansa’s cheeks flush with color. She is easily flattered; you must remember that.

“Allow me to introduce my own daughter, Y/N Lannister.” Your father introduces you, putting emphasis on your surname, the very fact that you have one. You are not a bastard, no matter what awful Joffrey likes to say. Your mother and father had married in secret, she died giving birth to you, it was tragic and left your father quite saddened, but you were not a bastard.

Your eyes dart back to Jon taking him in subtlety. You wish to see him blush again, but you will not make your actions so easily observed.

“It is too cold, why must we stand here all day?” Joffrey whines, crossing his arms over his chest and stomping his foot resoundingly.

Your aunt fusses over him, and Lord Stark leads you all inside, talking jovially with your uncle as you hurry to catch up with your father.

It is loud in the Great Hall of Winterfell, made of gray stone and smelling of smoke, meat, and a hint of dog, which you must assume is from the Direwolves. It is well lit and filled with people, all enjoying the bountiful feast set before them on long wooden tables. You’re seated away from your father, something you despise. He is closer to your Uncle Jaime, nearer to the King and Lord Stark, while you have been seated with the other children. It has only been you and your father for so very long, a part of you feels anxious to be separated from him, but you are a Lannister, if you cannot charm the strangers around you then can you truly call yourself such?

“Will you tell me more of King’s Landing, Lady y/n?” Sansa asks, looking enraptured by the mere thought of it. She is dressed in a gown of blue silk, her fur lined cloak on the back of her chair, her hair done up in a style you’re quite familiar with. She is very beautiful, and you spot many men staring at her, one of them being Theon who is seated at the lower tables. You catch his eye and smile knowingly. In response, he scowls and ducks his head.

You must mention this observation to your father.

You smile and return your attention to Sansa, regaling her with tales of festivals and feasts, of tourneys and services in the Great Sept. Her siblings either listen as well or turn their attention elsewhere, which you don’t mind. They are not who you are here to befriend.

Sansa sighs dreamily and turns her gaze to Joffrey, who is seated next to his mother further up the table and is staring down at his food as if it has offended him. “And what of Joffrey? Surely you must be close?”

Your cousin, and closest companion, Myrcella snorts into her drink, and you shoot her a look. Myrcella was meant to be sitting next to Joffrey but had convinced someone to switch with her so that she could be next to you.

“Joffrey is a…spirited boy, he has many…passions.” You say carefully, running your finger along the rim of your glass.

Your father suspects Robert will wish to wed Sansa and Joffrey. It’s a strategic match, but your cousin is a horrible bully, you have marks hidden beneath your sleeves to prove your words, and you do not wish to see innocent Sansa suffer in such a way. True, you have not spent much time with her, but she has been warm and welcoming, her innocence shining through like the sun on a spring day.

“Does he enjoy tourneys? I have heard the King was quite the warrior, he and father fought together.” Sansa continues, resting her chin in her hand.

You smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles in your skirts. “Joffrey has not competed in any tourneys quite yet, Lady Sansa, he is too young.”

“He is three and ten, is he not? Most squire by one and ten, why has he not been sent to one of your bannermen like his uncle?” Robb says, taking a long drink from his glass.

“My mother does not wish for him to get injured; he is heir to the throne, after all.” Myrcella chimes in, saving you from coming up with another excuse for why Joffrey has not been allowed to leave King’s Landing.

Sansa nods and gazes longingly at Joffrey once more. “That seems most wise, what a dutiful mother Queen Cersei is.”

“Where is your mother, Lady y/n? I did not see anyone else arrive.” Bran, one of the younger Starks asks, his round innocent face not dulling the sting of his words at all.

Myrcella takes your hand under the tables and squeezes it. She has been privy to the nights of crying, of mourning the mother you would never know.

“Bran, that is not polite.” Sansa hisses.

You shake your head, a soft smile on your face. “My mother died giving birth to me, but I am told she held me in her arms before the Stranger came for her, that she named me and spoke of how dearly she loved me.”

Bran makes a soft noise of apology, and the conversation lulls, until finally you have finished your meal and are free to retire to your chambers.

You wave off any offer to escort you, telling them all you wish to admire the architecture of Winterfell in solitude.

It’s not wholly a lie, though you cannot say you ever wish to be alone , you enjoy the company of others, are invigorated by it, but tonight feels different. Perhaps it is the mention of your mother, or the false face Joffrey is putting on for the Starks and their bannermen, the sound of his laughter ringing about the hall. You wander the halls of Winterfell with a faint knowledge of where the guest chambers lie, when you find yourself approaching the training yard. The night is quiet, snow falling gently, the brisk air seizes your lungs, purifying them with an icy chill.

You are not alone, the thud of blunt metal upon wood, the sounds of exertion, the turn of boots in snow covered dirt. You slowly move towards the sound, knowing your father will scold you later for such carelessness. There are countless people here, and you cannot be assured they all wish you well.

Jon Snow, the ever so distracting bastard, stands in the middle of the yard, training alone, the moonlight shining down on him, making his pale skin glisten. You rest your hand on the stone archway, one foot on the dirt, the other still firmly planted on the stone. You should leave him alone, you know it, but you’re mesmerized by the sight, the tension in his muscles, the expanse of his back, the strength in his arms. He is a little older than you, six and ten to your five and ten, both old enough to be married, yet both remaining unbetrothed.

There had been offers for your hand, even though you were the imp’s child, and many wondered if you would sire broken children, if you would pass on your father’s curse. But for the gold that backed your name many were willing to risk it. You didn’t like your suitors, they were too brash, too lewd, too old, or simply just not right.

Jon stops and lifts his tunic to wipe the sweat from his brow. His stomach is toned, his skin mostly smooth, though there are some faded scars.

Yes, they were simply not right, they did not look like that.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks and you avert your eyes. What were you, a child? A lovesick maid? You have spent no more than mere minutes in his presence, and already you are lusting after him like some silk street whore? It must be the chill that is muddling your mind, yes, the chill. Not the kindness that you saw within him as he played with Arya and Bran in the courtyard earlier in the day. Or the way he stood stiff lipped while Joffrey threw barbed insults at him as he passed him in the hall, or the stack of novels you had overheard the maester say were to be set aside for him. Merely the chill. The chill and the flights of fancy all young girls are prone to.

With that in mind, you wait until he has returned his tunic to its rightful place and step fully into the snow.

He turns on his heel, weapon at the ready. He is perceptive, you note, good reflexes, excellent hearing, fine form, carved from marble, glowing like a god in the moonlight.

Gods y/n, pull yourself together.

“My apologies, I did not mean to startle you.” You say, wrapping your cloak tighter around you. It is thin, far too thin to wear in the chill of night.

Jon lowers his sword. “Lady Lannister, why are you not inside at the feast? Are you lost?”

“Yes.” You lie, batting your eyelashes at him, crafting your expression into one of helplessness. “I wished to return to my chamber, but I lost my way.”

Jon stows his sword and retrieves his cloak from a nearby rack. “I will escort you, if you do not take offense?”

You tilt your head in faux confusion. “Why would I take offense?”

He shuffles his feet and busies himself with his cloak. “You are a lady of a great house, and I am…” He lets the unspoken words hang in the air, and you have the grace to act surprised.

“Oh, yes, right, you are a Snow.” You say, taking a step towards him and extending your hand, waiting to set it on his arm. “Well, I care not if you are a Stark or a Snow, I am sure you are more than capable of escorting me to the guest chambers of your home.”

He ducks his head, that delightful blush returning to his cheeks, and he holds out his arm for you.

You take it gratefully, allowing him to guide you back towards the way you came. The wind blows through the yard as you walk and cuts straight through your thin cloak, a shiver shooting down your spine.

Before you can blink, Jon has draped his cloak over you, clasping it shut with a surprising boldness. “It is far too cold for such a thin cloak; you must remember to wear your furs if you find yourself wandering out here once more.”

You look up at him through your lashes, your heart skipping a beat at the proximity between you and him, the depth of his dark eyes. “And if I were to wander out here again…might I be able to count on you to escort me? I must confess I find the halls of Winterfell quite confusing.”

He lingers for a moment, drinking you in, his head nodding almost imperceptibly, then he wrenches himself away, his gaze set forward. “Anyone in Winterfell would be more than able to escort you, My Lady.”

You nod, feeling the sting of rejection. It’s no matter, this is only the first night, there’s still plenty of time.

Yes I used a Hozier line bc it's perfect for the vibe of this fic

[ninjasmudge]

When Macaque can take his relationship with Sun Wukong falling apart better than Megatron does with Optimus.

why cant you be more like macaque, he just beat some people up and put on plays until he felt better

anyway enjoy this niche crossover

[silverseaming]

It had been a vain, grasping hope of Meg’s that the happiness brought by Kit’s deal with the Lermond’s Cove Company would last. It does, for a while, buoying them through the back-breaking work of ploughing and sowing, when Kit returns to the house well after dark, bone-tired, and Meg has been left to spend the days alone with Daisy. Certainly Kit seems lighter, free of whatever trouble she had been unable to get out of him. But now with the seeds safe in the soil, her old melancholy returns, like the first fingers of winter that begin to claw at the land.

It’s easy to forget during the day, when her thoughts are wholly occupied by Daisy and the house, hands moving quickly from one task to the next. Evenings like this are harder, when Daisy’s asleep, the housework is done, and despite her gentle scolding about catching his death, Kit is still out on the farm fixing fence-posts. There’s always something like that these days — a cow gone lame, a fallen fence, a rotten board in the hayloft, all these tasks that simply must be done, and she can’t say stay with me, I don’t want to be alone, because it’s true, these things must be done and they have no other hands to do them.

So instead Meg sits alone by the fire, embroidery starting to blur before her eyes. It’s something to do, but not enough to wholly occupy her mind. Disappointment is the prevailing emotion, as it is when each new month comes without the news she was hoping for. Sometimes she can make light of it, brush it aside like so many specs of dust on the hearth, but not tonight. Tonight it fills her up, an all encompassing weariness that makes rising from her seat feel almost impossible. It’s just the cold. Or the loneliness. It will pass.

It will pass, she tells herself each step of the stairs. They didn’t feel this steep yesterday, and the room at the top of them didn’t feel so cold and empty, despite the last of the fire still dancing in the grate. Yesterday Kit had been there, washing the farmyard from under his nails and singing under his breath, but not tonight.

Undressing is done without a thought for the task, fingers working mindlessly. Even with the fire the room has a chill to it that makes Meg shiver, tiredness settling in her bones.

It’s selfish, really, to long so much for another child when she already has everything she dreamed of — a husband, a home, a daughter. The thought of Daisy sleeping soundly in the next room brings back some warmth, but it’s not enough. That’s what’s hardest to admit, that despite the love, despite the gratitude, despite all the myriad reasons to be joyful, there’s still something missing.

It is the cold, she thinks, as she finally sinks to the edge of the bed. That’s a reason, at least, a way to explain this all away. Tomorrow will be better, because it has to be.

[quibbs126]

Oh yeah, so I mentioned having an idea for that oplita kid in TF One

Well I did, but it’s also mostly characterized by the idea of: what if it’s the same timeline as Lux?

Like, I imagine Optimus and Elita being a thing only after Megatron’s fall and his and Optimus’ break up. And it’d probably be a bit before it officially starts happening. Meanwhile with Lux, she’s only supposed to happen on accident right at the tail end of Orion and D-16’s relationship

So after Megatron’s banishment, Optimus and Elita here get together, and eventually they have their son (who granted probably doesn’t have the exceptional size difference here since both he and Elita would be motorbikes). But also, unbeknownst to them, Megatron’s got his and Orion’s daughter in Lux, and who also is not aware that Optimus and Elita are actually together and have a kid of their own now

So like, there’s gonna be a lot of drama the day they do find out about the other kid

But meanwhile with the kids themselves, I imagine them just vibing together. And also them meeting first before their parents know about the other, like them both sneaking off and meeting the other. And they don’t know at first that the other is their half-sibling, but it just makes things better when they do find out in their eyes. Their friendship also could be how their parents find out about the whole situation

[essektheylyss]

me: okay time to edit. I am focusing.

me, like four paragraphs in: [angrily ranting about some shitty writing advice post I got served on substack today because I found a line that blatantly disproves one of the stupid examples]

[lazuliquetzal]

I keep on telling people you're the only one who knows how to plot. Can you teach all of us how to plot, please? I love you.

I AM SUMMONED? PLOT BRAIN SUMMONED?

I love plotting. It's my favorite part of the writing process. Plot is "things that happen" and the best part of writing is imagining things that happen. I'm going to assume that whoever may be reading this knows how to imagine The Happenings, so I'm gonna be talking more about structure, but in like, a kinda abstract sense.

A good plot is a little bit more than a string of events. Plot is like music: there's variation in rhythm and sound and melody, but ultimately there's cohesion, because it's all one song. You can have a bunch of wild things happening, but no matter how strange, there should be something that links them all together, because you're telling one story.

Plot structures are patterns in stories. I'm pretty sure most of them were developed as analysis tools (as in, story already exists > look! it follows this pattern) rather than as writing tools, but people use them as writing tools because it's a neat little way to organize the chaos that is "shit happens." Stories follow patterns for the same reasons music follows patterns: we enjoy the certainty of hitting certain beats. But we also like being surprised. A good pop song doesn't sound like a random collection of sounds, but it also doesn't sound like the middle slider of other songs.

There is this shared concept in both music and writing: the idea of tension and release. Basically, you're playing with reader expectation: there's an imbalance in the experience (tension), and we want to see that imbalance resolved (release). All the common plot structures deal with this basic pattern:

You set an expectation

There are complications to the expectation

You meet the expectation

And this rhythm is happening on multiple levels in writing. Scenes follow this structure (we're gonna get past that door, we're gonna find the murder weapon, we're gonna collaborate and come up with a plan) and all those scenes feed into the overarching expectation (we're gonna solve this murder!). I usually think of chapters as their own mini-story, part of the larger whole. And I think of scenes as their own mini-story, part of the larger chapter. I have engineer brain. I see the gears spinning in the clock. That's why all my chapters have at least One Important Thing happening, because that's that particular chapter's Step #3.

And One Last Important Thing:

In music, a delayed resolution is almost always more interesting than the standard resolution. In writing, that means you wanna drag out Step #2 for as long as you can. That's where the bulk of the story is happening, that's how you build tension, that's how you get people to turn the page.

So when you write a fake dating fic, those bitches better not get together until the very end. I came here for fake dating, not for real dating, damn it. If you resolve that expectation early on, you better replace it with a different expectation that's just as engaging.

But also don't drag it out for too long. Sorry. The hard part of writing is learning the difference between too short and too long. Writing is unfortunately a nuanced skill which is why my advice is like "do this but not too much teehee." But tension and resolution is just rhythm, you can build a sense for it if you engage with enough stories.

[lord-squiggletits]

Saw someone say "Megatron and Optimus barely interact in IDW1" and that feels like a very has-only-read-MTMTE thing to say kskdodndd because like sure they didn't co-star in the same long running series for 50+ issues like other characters did (like MTMTE characters interacting with each other or exRID or WB/TAAO) but to say they BARELY interact??? They interact a lot both in superficial "blah we're fighting a war" ways and in super lore important moments/series and also in incredibly homosexual there-is-no-straight-explanation-for-this moments like

Off the top of my head these are some series/storylines/issues where they interact directly. Defining interaction as anything from "the whole story is about them" to "their interaction is a plot element but not necessarily the main focus" to "they interact but only for a few lines":

The Autocracy trilogy (Autocracy, Monstrosity, Primacy)

Stormbringer

All Hail Megatron

The Transformers ongoing 2009 (with emphasis on Chaos Theory and Police Action for the most gay moments)

That one issue where Megatron grabs OP's spark through his chest Mortal Kombat style

Dark Cybertron

MTMTE (past OP in Elegant Chaos, Functionist Universe OP, and current day OP during Dark Cybetron and Megatron's trial)

And then there's other times where IDW1 Megatron and Optimus aren't in front of each other interacting/speaking with each other but are still thinking of each other:

The prelude to Dying of the Light where OP hears the LL distress signal and is afraid (not explicitly for Megatron but like he put Megatron on that ship)

MTMTE, Megatron tells Ravage that something he said to Optimus was the turning point of how he viewed himself

MTMTE again, Megatron all but says aloud that he made Tarn into Tarn to spite Optimus

One of the GI Joe crossovers where Optimus symathizes with a Joe over what it feels like 'to believe in someone who everyone else sees as past redemption' while an image of Megatron is literally behind him in his thoughts

So like, IDW MegOP has plenty of canon interactions and even if not all of them are very long moments (i.e. are only a few lines alluding to each other) there's still plenty of interactions between them. Plus I would say that it's pretty powerful how even the small, blink-and-you-miss-it dialogue moments actually indicate that Megatron and Optimus view each other as focal points where different decisions/beliefs they had revolved in some way around the other person. I think it's cool and compelling that IDW Megatron and Optimus express so often (even if only in thought) that the other person shaped who they became, or THEY did something specifically in reaction/spite towards the other, or where something they did to the other troubles them and lingers in their minds.

[dinsdjrn]

everything i wanted | series masterlist

bodyguard!joel x singer!f!reader

summary: it's amazing how at the lowest moments of our lives, there's one person who can change the trajectory of everything.

warnings: 18+, minors DNI, angst/fluff/eventual smut, sarah's dead (plot), ellie is alive, parental manipulation/abuse (maternal), depression, drug and alcohol use, sobriety, stalker behaviour from a fan, will update as i go, this ones gonna get dark but it will have the happy feel good too! as always if anything is missing tell me and i will add it!

main masterlist

parts ~

track one - to be seen

track two - think about it

track three - we'll never have sex

part 4 - killer

playlist ~

[dancethroughthethunder]

Happy New Year, Stevie (Steve Harrington x Reader)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Word Count: 4.9k

Summary: 

For someone who romanticizes every holiday, you’re pretty ambivalent about New Years. Sure there’s a promise of a new year and a new beginning which should be right up your alley, but for some reason you’re far more excited about another night with friends than you are celebrating a new year.

It's New Years Eve in Hawkins and you spend most of the night helping your best friend, Steve, get ready for all of your friends to come over for a chill, party. Together with a lot of snacks and laughter, you all ring in the new year.

Author’s Note: This work can also be found here at my ao3. Divider credit to @/saradika

For someone who romanticizes every holiday, you’re pretty ambivalent about New Years. Sure there’s a promise of a new year and a new beginning which should be right up your alley, but for some reason you’re far more excited about another night with friends than you are celebrating a new year. 

It’s not that you have anything against New Years, it just isn’t one of your favorite holidays. If you were more cynical, maybe you could tie that to never having had a midnight kiss, or the pressure everyone puts on making big life changes and resolutions every year, just to abandon them within the month. But cynical really isn’t your thing either, so to you it’s just another day with the added bonus of a night with friends, snacks, and music. You’ll celebrate it, it’s just not the top of your list.

In the past few years, your friends have gotten into a typical rhythm with the holidays, everyone goes to Steve’s for the Fourth of July for a backyard pool party and barbecue, it’s Halloween in the Wheeler’s basement for old times sake after the kids go trick or treating (your favorite part is when Will tosses you a few candy bars later in the night, always willing to share), Nancy and Jonathan host Thanksgiving, and you do your yearly friends Christmas party. Robin and Eddie like to pick one holiday each year to celebrate with a rotating party, just for fun. Two years ago it was Arbor Day, last year it was Flag Day, and this year they hosted a Columbus Day party where they showed up at Steve’s house and proclaimed it their own for the day. 

Yet despite all of this, you don’t really have a set New Year's Eve tradition. It actually might be more accurate to say that your tradition is to rotate who hosts every year. This year it’s Steve’s turn to host, at least according to Dustin and the kids, so you’ve offered to come over early to help him set up.

Nancy mentioned that she’s going to have Jonathan bring his camera for a few nice shots of everyone so as you throw your outfit for later in your bag, you decide to grab your makeup as well, just in case. It’s just a chill party with your friends, and they all know what you look like, but there’s no rule saying you can’t put on your makeup for a nice evening. Right now you’ve got a comfy pair of sweatpants and one of your dad’s old shirts on, and you have a cute sweater and jeans in your bag for later. 

“Alright Mom, I’m off to Steve’s.” You yell out as you head to the kitchen to grab your car keys and the pizza bread you threw together earlier in the morning that still needs to go in the oven.

“Have fun, don’t forget to bring him that plate of cookies.” 

You’re glad that your mom can’t see as you roll your eyes. Every year Steve has to go to some country club party with his parents while your mom’s side of the family does their big Christmas get-together and your Great Aunt Sue always brings an extra plate of cookies. Whether they’re actually for Steve or your mom just pawns them off on him, you’re not really sure anymore. Steve’s been your best friend for years and sometimes you joke that your family likes him more than you. Regardless, you know he loves the cookies so you grab the plate off the counter as your mom walks into the kitchen, curlers in her hair.

“Are you going out like that?”

“Oh, wow, what a vote of confidence.” You tease your mom.

“No, no I didn’t mean it like that.” And you know she didn’t, not really. You love your mom, and you really love to tease her when she puts her foot in her mouth like that. Somehow she only manages to do it with you. She’s an absolute sweetheart and only when it comes to your appearance does your mom manage to say something incredibly well intentioned, yet passive aggressive. 

“I just meant that your hair is wet. At least put a hat on.” She grabs one of the winter hats your grandmother has knitted and tosses it to you.

“Yeah I can do my hair at Steve’s, don’t want to look hideous for the group photos. Have fun tonight, love you!” You laugh as you leave your kitchen, cookies, bread, and bag in hand, and hat on head as you walk out to your car. Once you get everything set in your car and gently place the cookies on the floor so they don’t spill and make a mess at your first turn, you start your car and head over to Steve’s. 

It’s a short drive to Steve’s but it gives you a chance to think about what all you might do tonight. You’re not sure but you think you heard the guys talking about a mini D&D campaign, you know Nancy wants some photos of everyone, and undoubtedly Robin will bring some movies and Eddie will come up with some sort of other game. You’re not sure but feel like it’s safe to assume you’ll end up with the tv on to watch the ball drop at midnight. 

While you’re thinking about your plans for the night, you arrive at Steve’s and pull into his driveway. He’s left you enough room to park right next to him, which is perfect since you’re usually the last one to leave on New Years Day, this way you don’t have to play musical cars later to let someone else out. Getting out of the car, you grab the cookies and your bag and head towards Steve’s door. You used to knock, even after Steve first told you that you didn’t have to, but you finally gave in and stopped knocking. Now you just walk in. 

“Hey, Stevie.” You call out as you kick off your shoes and head towards the kitchen to drop off the cookies and pizza bread.

“Hey yourself. Are these Sue’s? Hell yeah.” You find Steve already standing in the kitchen and he comes over and takes the plate of cookies right out of your hands. 

“I’m going to go throw my bag upstairs.” You tell him, rolling your eyes at the sight of him immediately unwrapping the plastic wrap and grabbing a cookie to eat, as you put the pizza bread dough in the fridge. He’s so predictable. One year you joked that all of the leftover cookies were yours and he chased you around the house for them, which admittedly didn’t last long since he’s much faster than you. 

You walk upstairs and push open the door to Steve’s room to drop off your bag. You turn around to head back downstairs when you decide that you’re already putting in enough effort with your makeup and nice sweater, you might as well finish it off, so you grab a hanger from Steve’s closet and hang your sweater up so it’s not too wrinkled later on. As an added touch, you grab a hairbrush and head back downstairs to rejoin Steve in the kitchen. 

“Stevie.” You greet him, with a big smile on your face.

“Oh I know that look, what do you want?” He asks.

“Would you braid my hair? I don’t want to worry about it while we’re getting ready but this way it can also look nice later.” 

Steve rolls his eyes as he holds out his hand to grab the hairbrush for you. Your hair is much curlier than Steve’s and it’s taken years of friendship and asking him to do it for you for him to get used to gently brushing the knots out of it. A few years ago you taught him how to braid hair, telling him that all you wanted for Christmas was for him to help you out with it sometimes. He loves to tease you about it but you both know that you both enjoy it. You’re pretty sure that Eddie won’t give up asking until Steve agrees to do his too, but Steve always argues that yours is the only hair he’ll do. 

Grabbing a pen and notepad to work on your to-do list, you follow Steve over towards the counter where he hops up and moves you to stand between his legs. You remember being younger and sitting between your mom’s legs as she did your hair, or kneeling on the ground having your mom do your hair before dance recitals in middle school, and your knees much prefer it this way. You try, unsuccessfully, to ignore the way your heart beats a little faster as you settle in and Steve presses his legs against you. 

While Steve braids your hair, the two of you talk about your plan for the night and what you want to get done before everyone else gets over, planning out the decorations and snacks. 

“Shockingly this year I think Dustin and the guys are going to be the last ones to get here.” Steve says from behind you.

“Oh? Do they have something else before this?” You ask.

“I guess some New Years thing at the arcade? I don’t really know to be honest. Claudia said she’d pick them up and bring them over, and I think before that Jonathan and Nancy will come over with the rest of the food, and then Robin and Eddie should get here with whatever they’re bringing.” 

“Alright, so you said you have most of the snacks already?” You say, crossing “Get snacks” off your list.

“Yeah, Eddie and I went to the store the other day and grabbed the chips, cookies, and drinks. Basically anything that didn’t need to be fresh today.” 

“Perfect. I’ll turn on the oven after this so it can preheat for the pizza bread.”

“Nah, I did it while you were upstairs.” 

You can’t help but smile at this. Sure, you make it every year but that doesn’t mean it’s guaranteed that Steve would remember what you cook it at, or know that you hadn’t finished making it this morning. You always appreciate knowing how much attention your best friend pays, and how seen it makes you feel. 

Steve gently tugs on the bottom of your braid to let you know he’s done, and leans down to set his chin on your shoulder so he can look at the list with you. 

“I’ll put the bread in once the oven is ready, we can get the living room decorated, and then I can get all of the snacks out while you bring a few of the extra folding chairs into the dining room?” Nobody ever just sits and talks around the dining room, but every time you all get together at Steve’s you insist on bringing in extra chairs, just in case. Steve doesn’t fight you on it anymore. 

“Sounds like a plan. Jonathan said he and Nancy are coming over around 7:30, so I figure around 7 we can go upstairs and get ready?” 

“Works for me.” You tell him as you finish writing down the order that everything is going to happen in. The oven beeps to let you know it’s done preheating and you walk over to the fridge to get out the dough as Steve hops back down from the counter and gets you a pan to bake it in. 

Once the pizza bread is in the oven and the timer is set, you head towards the living room where you find a few big bags of party decorations. It seems that Steve, Eddie, and Robin went all out this year with balloons, streamers, and a big sign that says Happy New Year. 

Steve puts the radio on and the two of you listen to music while you work to decorate the living room, stopping every now and then for a dance break. Eventually it’s time to take the pizza bread out of the oven and the living room is almost ready, so you take that as your cue to get the rest of the snacks ready. Getting a few bowls and trays out, you start putting the chips, cookies, and other snacks onto their respective trays for the night. Everything, that is, except for Great Aunt Sue’s cookies which go right into the pantry for Steve to keep for himself and enjoy later. 

Before you know it, the two of you have finished getting everything ready and head up to Steve’s room to get yourself ready.

“Ooh, I like it.” Steve says, seeing your sweater hanging up on the closet door.

"Thanks! Nancy mentioned wanting to take a few photos, and I figured I might as well look a little presentable. Mom and Dad gave it to me for Christmas.” You say as you sit down to start putting on a little makeup.

“I like it, it’s going to be a really nice color on you.” Steve smiles at you. You’re looking at yourself in the mirror as you put on your blush and don’t see the way Steve is staring at you. Steve loves every day he gets to spend with you, but he really likes these ones. The days where it feels like you’re playing house, and he can pretend it’s your house, together, that you’re getting ready for friends to. He loves getting to do your hair, dance around in the living room, and then coming upstairs to watch you get ready. 

Before you can turn around and see him staring, Steve opens his closet and starts searching for a sweater that he thinks will match yours nicely. He grabs it and a pair of jeans and starts getting changed. You’re totally focused on doing your makeup, and it’s not like you’d see anything you haven’t seen, or that you wouldn’t see at the pool. 

You finish your makeup and turn around, where Steve is already dressed, and sitting on the end of his bed anticipating your next question. 

‘Yes, I will check that your makeup is even, and yes it is and you look lovely.” 

You smile at each other, and for a moment you wonder what Steve's thinking about, before the doorbell rings.

“Damn it, I thought Jonathan said 7:30.” He grumbles as he stands up to go downstairs. He makes it as far as the door of his room before he turns back around, “Really, that’s a nice lipstick on you.” He says before going downstairs.

“Hey, Harrington!” You hear Eddie as soon as the door opens.

“Hi Steve!” Robin says, and you laugh picturing the way Eddie has probably just pushed right past Steve into the house while Robin greets him. 

“Hi guys!” You call out, shutting the door to Steve’s room so you can quickly get changed. You take off your sweatpants and shimmy into your jeans right as the door bursts open. 

“Robin, what the fuck?” You laugh. “The door was shut for a reason.” 

“Oops, my bad.” She says, coming over to sit on Steve’s bed, right where he had just been. “Eddie’s downstairs helping Steve make the punch so I figured I’d avoid all of that.”

“Oh yeah, we wanted to have one alcoholic and one not, and I’m almost afraid to find out how much Eddie alcohol Eddie thinks it’ll need.” The two of you laugh. You finish getting dressed, take your hair out of the braid and fluff your curls a little, all while Robin tells you how work has been. 

Soon, you’re ready to go downstairs so you neatly fold up your clothes and put them back into your bag, hanging off Steve’s dresser. As you stop to grab your favorite necklace off the dresser top, you don’t see the look Robin gives you at your sense of familiarity in Steve’s room. Usually this is where Robin would offer to lend a hand with your necklace, but she thinks that if she gets down fast enough you’ll probably ask Steve instead.

“Race you downstairs!” She blurts out as she takes off, leaving you scrambling to catch up. 

Your feet are moving faster than they probably should be as you race down the stairs and one of your socks catches on the floor, sending you sliding across the front hall directly into Steve.

“Well, fancy seeing you here, sir. Come here often?” You ask him between laughs as he helps you regain your balance. He sees your necklace in your hand and neither of you say anything as he takes it from you and you turn around and lift your hair for him to help.

Neither of you know that you’re both thinking about what it might be like if once your necklace is on, instead of saying “ All done! ”, Steve would gently place a soft kiss on the back of your neck. But that’s not exactly a normal friendly gesture to pull out, especially wordlessly in front of either friends, so Steve does offer the expected “All done!” and you lower your hair back to sit on your shoulders like normal.

Eddie and Robin are peeking out at the two of you from the kitchen, where they’re grabbed a few of the snacks to bring to the living room. The four of you work to get the finishing touches ready and soon Jonathan and Nancy arrive with the pizza and veggie tray. 

While you wait for the kids to show up, the six of you play a drinking game. You’re not quite sure of the rules, because you’re pretty sure Eddie is making it up as he goes, and that Jonathan and Steve are arguing with him mostly for their own amusement more than they are over actually caring what the rules are or aren’t. 

After a little while, the six of you are sufficiently tipsy from the punch, the pizza has been transferred from their boxes to the oven to stay warm, and the front door flies open as Dustin walks in.

“Dude, have you ever heard of knocking?” Steve groans.

“Dude, have you ever heard of this?” Dustin says, flipping him off. “Plus it’s a party!” 

“You always tell me not to knock.” You tease Steve as you stand up to greet the kids.

“Yeah, but you’re you.” He says with a wink. 

Max, El, Lucas, Will, and Mike all come in after Dustin and you lean your head out the front door to wave to Dustin’s mom and wish her a Happy New Year before she pulls back out of the driveway.

“Alright, let’s have some food!” Eddie says, coming up to say hi to everyone before making his way to the kitchen where Nancy is getting the pizzas out of the oven. 

“Wait!” Nancy says as she sets the pizzas down to cool. “Let’s get the photos first. Before we forget or anyone spills food.” 

You agree and help usher everyone to the living room. You and the rest of the older teens all pile onto the big couch, Eddie is perched on one arm of the couch, Robin next to Eddie, Nancy on Jonathan’s lap, Steve next to Jonathan, and you squished half on Steve’s lap on the opposite end. Dustin comes to sit on the other arm of the couch, as El and Max fill in on the floor in front of your feet, with Mike and Lucas on either side of them, and Will sitting directly in front of you.

Thanks to the timer, you’re able to take a photo as a big group, with Will getting up to reset it under Jonathan’s instruction. Then, at Nancy’s direction, the younger kids all get up while Will takes a photo of the six of you. You, Steve, Eddie, and Robin get off the couch so Jonathan and Nancy can have their own photo before they’re rushed by the younger kids to take one of the six of them, without any of you “old people”. Similar to Jonathan and Nancy, El and Max want their own photo with their boyfriends, and then they talk you, Nancy, and Robin into a girl's photo. Eddie ignores everyone’s complaints to force them into a guy’s photo, and once that’s done, you think you’re finally finished. 

“Now hold on, one more!” Nancy calls out, sounding like your mother directing you and your cousins on Christmas morning. Before you know it, you’re steered back to the couch, and someone shoves Steve down to join you. 

It should probably cross your mind that the only people who have wanted individual partner photos have been couples, but it’s been you and Steve as best friends for so long, and you’re so focused on how good the pizza smells that you don’t think anything of it as Steve puts an arm around you and pulls you into him. Later, Jonathan will show you the candid photo he took of you laughing, head in Steve’s chest as he said something ridiculous and the sweet way Steve is looking down on you. Eventually, he’ll print it and Nancy will frame it for you as a belated Christmas present. But right now, you’re so focused on how ridiculous Steve is being and how hard you’re laughing, that once again you miss the way your friends are looking at you. 

When you finish taking your photos, Nancy finally concedes that it’s time for food and you laugh even harder watching the guys nearly bowl her over in an effort to get to the kitchen. You spend the next few hours listening to music, having lots of snacks, and as expected, listening to Eddie try and explain another game. 

Eventually it’s 11:30 and you all decide to turn the tv on to watch the last half hour of Dick Clark’s Rockin New Years Eve, which you’ve been watching since you were a little kid. When you go to the kitchen to grab another drink, someone (probably Nancy, if you had to guess) suggests going around and sharing their new year's resolutions. You squeeze back onto the couch next to Steve as he steals your punch to take a sip while you get comfortable.

Nobody’s resolutions are really a surprise, Nancy wants to get promoted at work, Jonathan wants to spend more time with Nancy than at work, Robin wants to figure out how to talk to girls and how to spend less time talking with Keith, and Eddie wants to go to more concerts than he did this year. Max doesn’t have one, El isn’t sure what hers is but decides she wants it to be spending more time with friends. You don’t quite catch what Mike says but you do see Lucas elbow him over it while Dustin laughs. While the rest of the kids share theirs, or make one up on the spot to appease Nancy, you give some thought to what yours might be. 

You’re pretty happy, sure you could do with a higher salary, or for your boss to listen to you more, but right now those are sort of out of your hands. You’ve got some great friends you love, and wonder if it might be a cop out to say the same as El, that you want even more time with your friends. 

By the time you start paying attention again, you notice Steve is staring at you. 

“What are you thinking about over there?” He says, nudging you.

“Just trying to decide my resolution. Do you have one?” You ask. 

Steve opens his mouth, and looks like he’s about to say something when Dustin interrupts.

“Okay Steve your turn.” 

You expect Steve to just finish whatever he was about to say to you, but he pauses as he turns to look at everyone else. It’s brief, but long enough for you to notice that he seems to be changing what he was going to say. 

“I want a better job, I’m with Robin - no more Keith.” He jokes. 

“Your turn.” Nancy says to you.

“Oh I don’t know, you guys know me. I’m a big softie, I just want more days like this with you all where we’re safe and we’re happy.” You say, putting your head on Steve’s shoulder.

“Okay, barf.” Max says, with a smile on her face.

“Yeah, come on, Mom.” Dustin adds. You lift your head off Steve’s shoulder and stick your tongue out at Dustin.

Soon everyone is having fun and joking around again when Will notices the time. 

“Okay guys, one more minute left this year!” He says excitedly. You smile at him, you love Will. You’re not sure you could pick a favorite of the kids, you’re so close with Max and El too, but Will’s always been like a little brother to you. You turn your attention back to the tv, ready to count down the end of the year with the rest of your friends, and the rest of the country all ready to watch the ball drop. You’re half listening to what the presenter is saying on tv, as you watch the countdown clock tick down closer to zero. 

10 

9

“Ready for a new year, Harrington?” You turn and ask Steve. At some point the arm that had been behind you on the couch has moved, and is firmly around your waist.

8

7

“I don’t know, this year was pretty good.” He says as he grabs your drink and sets it down on the end table next to him. “I do think there’s one thing I’d like to be a little different.” 

6

5

“Oh, what’s that?” You tilt your head, wondering what he might have in mind. There’s one thing you’re hoping for, but it almost feels silly to hope, silly to get your hopes up for something that you don’t have any real reason to think might happen. Besides, you’re happy with your friendship and wouldn’t want to risk it for anything.

4

3

Again, Steve looks like he wants to say something but he closes his mouth, stopping himself. 

2

“Oh, fuck it.” 

1

Using the arm already around you, Steve tugs you into him and brings his other arm up to cup your face as he kisses you. 

Happy New Year!  

All around you, your friends are cheering and wishing one another a Happy New Year. You’re too busy kissing Steve to give a shit what year it is. 

This isn’t a quick New Year’s peck between friends honoring a tradition, this is the type of kiss people wait lifetimes for. This is the type of kiss that has you thinking that something in the universe has just suddenly clicked into place, this is the type of thing that people write love songs about, dedicate their art to. You’re sitting here, in his living room, in the middle of all of your friends and all you can think about is the feeling of Steve’s lips against yours and the way that your sweater has crept up so his hand is against your skin. You think his touch might burn you, and you’re going to let it.

Suddenly, a flash goes off, and the two of you pull away from one another. You turn to see Will standing there, Jonathan’s camera in hand and a wide smile on his face. 

“Happy New Year!” You offer, as though everyone isn’t glued to the show that is you and Steve. Eddie starts cheering, and everyone else follows and somehow you’re not sure that they aren’t cheering for you and Steve.

“Fucking finally.” Dustin says, and this time it’s Steve’s turn to flip him off.

Bringing his hand back to your face, Steve gently wipes below your bottom lip with his thumb. 

“You’ve got a little lipstick there.”

“Oops.” You giggle. “Good thing you liked the way it looks on me.”

“Baby, is it too soon to mention I like every lipstick on you?” Steve flirts as he comes back in for another kiss.

“Okay lovebirds, you’ve got a whole new year for this.” Robin teases.’ You’ve heard people say that the way you ring in the New Year is indicative of the rest of the year, and if that’s true, you’re looking forward to a lot of kisses to come. 

“Yeah. We’re going to play another game, we haven’t since last year!” Dustin says, and unsurprisingly everybody groans. 

As you all settle in to listen to Dustin explain the rules, Steve leans in and whispers “That’s what I’d like to do this year. I thought maybe we could try this, this year. Whaddya say, wanna be my girl?” 

You don’t even think he knows how good he looks, how intoxicating it is for him to whisper to you like that. You think that something like “ I’ve always been your girl”   might be a little too much so you give him a soft “Of course.” Quickly, before your friends complain, you lean in for one more quick kiss.

“Happy New Year, Stevie.”

“Happy New Year, beautiful.”

If New Year’s Eve means another night like this, you’re pretty sure you can find a way to be excited for it next year. Suddenly, having a new year’s resolution sounds pretty good. You decide in addition to more time with your friends, that your resolution for the next year is to spend time with your boyfriend, which is definitely going to include many, many more kisses.

[variousqueerthings]

smthin important for me in my understanding of mr benton bentoni fraser is that yes he's got the martyr syndrome and yes he was raised in a pretty austere (but loving) environment and was probably one of those kids with an unnervingly large vocabulary and he has real issues related to living up to his father's "image" and that image itself being tarnished and doesn't often allow himself to feel his feelings and has definitely always been an outsider to his peers but...

he is also an adrenaline junkie

my man isn't just jumping off moving cars and getting in trouble and putting himself in hospital a few times a month solely for the sake of the good of the people, he is in danger to Feel Alive and if some smart mean-for-fun dommy sadist figured this out he could get himself bruised (and bossed around) whenever he wanted..... oh look, the show introduced her in s2 👀👀👀

[trialsofapollo-fanfiction]

♪ It's been so long ♪

Where are our fics???

🎵 there’s this little thing called 🎵

patience ❤️

[yellowocaballero]

hi! i've been reading some of your older fics and was wondering if there's any merit in watching buffy for the first time in the year 2024

This may not be obvious, but this is actually an extremely complicated and highly subjective question. I'll try to go on for too long.

As background: my mother loved Buffy and its spin-off Angel growing up. It was our Bible (besides the actual Bible). Not kidding, she was on the forums and fan groups and wrote fanfiction for it and everything (These days, she's really into kdramas and Asian dramas, and calls me about how the Thai seem like big fans of gay people). So I'm quite biased.

BTVS is both a product of its times and ahead of its times. It was a show about feminism and the struggle of living in this world as a woman, when very few shows were doing that. It was the first show to have a long-lasting lesbian couple, and the first show to depict a kiss between them. For better or for worse, it was one of the codifiers of broody vampire boyfriend. It was pretty unafraid to be experimental in a lot of what it did. It had incredibly complex and nuanced character work and growth that I still aspire to. Spike's arc is still matched in quality only by Avatar's Zuko. Angel's long term arc, from Buffy to his spin-off series, still makes him one of the most complex characters on TV. It had the most complex depiction of depression on TV at the time and I still think it's one of the best. I think the show had very high highs.

It also had very low lows. Some of the feminism is problematic in retrospect. The sapphic couple has a rather famous element that was severely problematic. There are, overall, some deeply atrocious arcs that I can appreciate objectively but not in practice. Xander: a whole-ass character aged awfully. On a meta level, the workplace conditions were bad (thanks, Whedon.) There are no people of color. The spoiler's sake I won't go into detail on this, but in general the good stuff was so influential and the bad stuff was just awful.

I think these days people tend to brush off the entire thing because it's Whedon. That is more than fair. But I'd also say that Whedon & Buffy is extremely similar to Brian Michael Bendis & Ultimate Spider-Man. Bendis was fantastic at writing sassy, bouncy, permanently stressed-out teens - issue was, he wrote entirely different serious adult characters the way he wrote these sassy teens. Same with Whedon: the annoyingly constant quips are perfect for Buffy, because that's who the characters are. They're awful in Marvel, because Steve Rogers is not Xander. Kinda similarly, Buffy was genuinely feminist for 90s TV - issue is, Whedon has not grown or developed his views, and now his works feel so sexist (oh my fucking god why did you treat Natasha like that). After a certain point it's egotistical: you're writing like that because you're Joss Whedon and it's how you write, not because it's what's best for the characters and story. But it was really important to me to get the character voices right, and it's freaking difficult to endlessly write dialogue that distinct, full of voice, witty, and clever.

I think BTVS & Angel TV's greatest influence on my writing is how intensely character-driven both of those shows were, and how intricate the characters were. What every character did was something they would do, if that made sense. Even the stuff I hated to watch, that made me uncomfortable, was the culmination of so much (usually). I think I also picked up the constant wit and humor lol. On a personal level, the conversations I would have with my mother where she broke down the character motivations and composition of the story was my first exposure to looking at storytelling from an analytical perspective and a framework of critical analysis, which was an approach I carried into the rest of the media I consumed and that was the primary reason I was able to become a decent writer. Thanks, Mom. Have fun with your kdramas.

TL:DR: There is merit, especially if you care about good character work. There are things about it that may make you want to drop it, which is extremely valid. Season 1 is rough but interesting, Season 2 and 5 are the best, Season 3 is pretty good, Season 4 and 7 skippable, and Season 6 is........epic highs, epic lows......

[futureempressoftheuniverse]

the glass coffin

this is for the day 5 @thedrabblecollective prompt "cold" and is a quick apple-centric nightmare drabble (from ever after high)! it's also been posted on ao3 :)

Lately Apple’s been haunted by a new nightmare where she wakes up in her glass coffin alone, the lid still on. She can barely breathe, a chunk of fruit still caught in her throat, and the cold walls of the coffin are closing in around her. Her frantic, wheezing gasps fog up the glass in front of her face so she can’t see properly to the outside, although she swears she can see figures. It’s impossible that they’re real people though, because if they were they would never be moving away from her, not in her time of need. Right?

[quibbs126]

So it’s half sketches, but instead of that being because I was too lazy to color the rest, it’s instead because I kind of got carried away doing only sketches. And then I figured I should probably line and color at least some of them, so here we are

So this is more from that sort of Mega Man AU I made up yesterday, with some updated designs for Optimus and Megatron, and a new one for Elita

I decided to use my marker pen again for lineart, since I haven’t used it in a fair bit, but admittedly the lines may have been too thick, which I think you can especially see with the faces. But oh well

Elita’s design is still a bit of a work in progress. I thought it looked fine in sketch form, but looking at it now, she might need more reworking, particularly with her head. It kind of looks like she’s wearing a wrestler’s mask, which personally I’m not a big fan of

Also she has hair, because a lot of Mega Man, or at least Mega Man X designs, have hair, so I figured might as well try it out here. I couldn’t settle on a hair color though, or at least one that fit while not blending in with her other colors. I may just scrap it in all honesty, but I think she may need more around her head regardless

But as for Elita in this AU? I’m thinking she’s more a loner, or she has her own team rather than working with this duo. She’s friendly, at least to Optimus, but she’d rather work by her own rules. And as stated before, she’s very over the top anime

She also has a double sided axe here as opposed to Optimus’ single sided, but that might change later if I feel like it

She kind of gives me Protoman vibes? It’s probably because of the glasses, and also because my head’s been rattling around with this one Elita idea for a bit. Namely of her and Optimus being rebuilt by Alpha Trion like in g1, but instead of being rebuilt at the same time, Elita-1 was built some time before Optimus, being Alpha’s first attempt while Optimus was the second. Which kind of fits with Protoman’s origin

It might be her origin here too? I’m not sure how much I want to deal with creators in this story, since in Mega Man the robots very much have creators, while in Transformers that’s not so much the case

She might just be like, Optimus’ cool older sister

On to other things in this AU, so I decided to look up videos on Mega Man X lore to get more knowledge, considering it’s the basis for this AU. So the Maverick Virus is what makes Reploids go crazy and cause issues. So I might incorporate some sort of virus into this story as well?

Like either the Decepticons are basically like Mavericks, infected by the virus and gone crazy, or this is after the war and a virus outbreak has been making bots crazy, possibly targeting Decepticons for some reason. Maybe the former

But also I learned that apparently it was the Maverick Virus was what made Zero chill, because it changed programming and he was evil before that. And I’m considering having this also be the case for Megatron here

Originally it was just as a joke, like I thought it’d be funny if he was crazy and then the crazy virus made him chill instead. But I’ve thought about it a bit more, and I kind of want it legitimately

Like okay, here Optimus and Megatron are the top bots in dealing with the infected bots. Not just because of their strength, but because neither can get infected themselves. Optimus has the Matrix, which gives him protection, but Megatron is just seemingly immune to the virus

Unbeknownst to anyone else however, he isn’t immune at all, and he’s been infected with it for years. However, instead of turning him mad, it cleared his mind and instead made him far more calm, and he ended up instead working with Optimus and his group to stop these other violent bots

He knows this, but he hasn’t told anyone else about his situation, because of several reservations. For starters, his team is meant to take out infected bots, which means they might turn on him, or misunderstand that it doesn’t affect him the way it’s supposed to and think he’s going to turn rogue. He’s also been working with them for a while, so the fact that he’s been keeping this secret might be seen as a betrayal, and he doesn’t want to lose these people he considers friends

There’s also been work towards finding a cure, and he doesn’t want to be cured. He was violent and full of nothing but rage before, he doesn’t want to go back to that. He isn’t fully sure if that’s what would happen if he was cured, but he doesn’t want to take that chance. It’s also a reason why he doesn’t tell Optimus, because the Matrix makes him immune and is considered the best bet for a cure, and Optimus might unintentionally do so, or with good intentions (Megatron tries to generally avoid the Matrix on missions for the same reasons)

But also it gives him questions he doesn’t like having, like why is he seemingly the only person affected differently? And/or if the virus is meant to disrupt and alter intended programming, does that mean he was always intended to be a violent maniac? Why? Why was he made this way? And is he wrong to be the way he is now?

But yeah, Megatron’s got stuff going on. Will probably come up for conflict later

Also megop’s probably a thing here? I have it that they live together, as you can see in the top right. Also while Optimus may not be the gremlin TFO Orion is, he does not sleep gracefully whatsoever. It’s a bit annoying to Megatron but he ultimately doesn’t mind. It was just supposed to be a funny thing, but yeah there’s probably megop here

And I think that’s it for now. I have a couple ideas for Arcee and maybe some for Bumblebee, so I’ll probably do more of this. Also I’m planning on trying out the Mega Man games too, since I saw they’re on the eShop

I also need a name for this AU probably