#redid the old one a bit

[sweeneydino]

Scutes

Don’t tell him.

[deoidesign]

Quick re-do of a 4 year old piece

[astr-hal]

oc music stickers. hehe

[zivazivc]

SCREAM

*nondiscreetly snaps a photo of them talking*

I love this!! 😭😭 Les looks so awkward, that's kinda funny sksksksjs But man, this is so good. Now I'm wondering what exactly they're saying and how the conversation even began.

They have a lot to talk about @zivazivc

[neuromantis]

every minor thing that falls through pisses me off so much.

i've felt like i've been drowning in black tar for a while now. and every minor inconvenience is another stone in my pockets.

[catmask]

oh yeah. did i show??? critter has a new stream sprite. the other one was getting a bit old so i redid it

[shapelytimber]

And at last !! the baddies

Finaly they are all here !!!!!! The full recap/height chart will be ready soon :3c

ALSO ! I modified Padme's one a little (redid the portrait a bit and some other minor details), and added Sabé :)))) dw about it <3

[COMMISIONS]

[PART 1] - [PART 2] - [PART 3]

Yapping below vvv

Had a lot of fun with Palpatine's outfit !! She gets to dress dramaticaly like the rich influencial nabooian (?) woman she is (the gown is heavily inspired by a 1998 Dior dress) ! Of course after the creation of the empire she doesn't do that anymore :( evil old lady in a bathrobe didn't bother to brush her air for 20 years... Good for her ig

I must admit.... Dooku's design is the most indulgent one here, it's targeted to *me* specifically fjfkdk like this outfit (minus the cape...for now) would be something I would wear, the dracula vibes because it's christopher lee and I have no problem what so ever with the hammer draculas, the feminine tall older woman- so yeah maybe I pushed the sith vibes a bit, and gave her the shadow the hedgehog color palette... But this is one of my faves design here sue me

For Boba I redesigned the og trilogy look a little bit, by taking some elements from disney's design and adding a bit of my own flaire to it :) and giving her a *big gun*

And for the first time..... You can trully appreciate how tiny Boba is jdndk big gun for tiny butch

Vader is just Vader- what do you want from me this is one of the best designs ever created djdk I'm not changing anything here (but this *is* one of the best Vader I ever drew jfkdkd don't know what I did different but he looks great !)

And Sabé is here now !! nothing to do with the fact I stumbled upon the Sabédala ship and it has occupied my mind ever since jfkfj Anyway ! Had a lot of fun with the flame dress (I know it doesn't contrast well with Padmé's, but I really wanted to do this one :(( the over handmaiden's outfits weren't as iconic imo)

PS : link to a post explaining why Vader uses he/him and Anakin she/her

[animatewarriorcats]

Beavers! I had this one on file now for a couple years, and was waiting until I redid Dovewing's design to post it haha, whoops. I know the journey books are kind of annoying in warriorcats but the Beavers were an addition I found very interesting! A beaver damn can vastly change the landscape of a river system for miles downstream, so the premise is plausible at least, and it was an interesting way to demonstrate the magnitude of Dovewing's powers of perception to perceive things beyond the capabilities of a normal creature of any kind. I don't know where the beavers ended up going, hopefully they're doing well wherever they ended up setting up their new lodge.

Beavers are actually very docile most of the time. Being the largest North American rodent, they have the instincts of a prey species with not many predators that can easily take on a lodge and come away unscathed. Domestic cats in particular would have a pretty tough time defeating beavers, as adult beavers can easily head to head against Lynx and coyotes, sometimes even Cougars if numbers are on their side. They are most vulnerable in the first two years of their life, which will be spent entirely with their birth family lodge where the protection of numbers increases their chance of survival. In terms of size, They are born about the size of a two month old kitten, less than a pound but about a foot long nose to tail, and spend the first couple months inside the lodge where they can play both on dry land and the water inside a safe enclosure. They grow relatively quickly, by the time they are three months old they will weigh close to 4kg or 8 lbs, already a decent size to contend with a small cat, but still very much a baby. By their age of independence at about two, they can weigh upwards of 30 lbs or nearly 14 kg. Beavers also never reach a growth peak, and can become truly massive, upwards of 100lbs/45kg. The fact that the clan cats were able to move beavers with a patrol of 8 cats is a little bit extraordinary, but we will pretend that Lionblaze pulled some super strength and that's why they succeeded haha.

I have here some photos of beavers, on the left is a hunter with a large specimen to demonstrate how big they can get though I don't love or condone hunting haha. In the center I tried to show how different in size adults and offspring can be, and on the right are three different cats near beavers, all of which seem to be quite young, the top one I know for sure from the youtube channel was just a few months old at the time of this image.

[nchye]

Burn, Mark, Heal

MINORS DNI! red dividers by @uzmacchiato and @cafekitsune

pairing: dad!tattooartist!dean winchester x fem!ex-wife!reader summary: Dean Winchester doesn't hunt monsters anymore. These days, he runs a tattoo shop in a town that remembers him too well, using ink to rewrite the parts of himself that still bleed. His body's a canvas of mistakes, old ghosts, and shaky beginnings, and now, so is his life. Between clients, crayon battles with his son, and run-ins with the woman who once wore his last name, Dean's trying to prove that people can change… even if they’re covered in old scars and new tattoos.

disclaimer: english is not my first language! warnings: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, self-loathing dean winchester, exes to lovers, sloooooow burn, third person fic, dad dean (i feel it's a warning), sam is a lovely uncle, smut with all the feels (oral - both receiving, soft dom dean, unprotected and half-clothed sex), no use of y/n, no explicit physical description, canon divergent, dean's pov, mentions of 15x20, flirty dean, flirty reader???, one sexist line (it's dean c'mon), communication!!! these two talk, a lot!!! reader is a boss ass bitch if you ask me (esp when it comes to her worth). word count: 13k+ (sorry about that), proofread (at least i tried to)

chye's corner: this is my first attempt at writing since 2021 and my first EVER dean story. pls consider a reblog, a like, or a comment! thank you for choosing to read my words (((:

chye's grimoire (masterlist) requests are open!

Hexproof Ink. Lawrence, Kansas. Tuesday, 11.26 AM. 

A stained rag looped lazily through his hand while Dean was wiping the chair with methodical care. He used the same concentration reserved for cleaning a sawed-off. Old habits die hard. Not that you could kill a ghost with disinfectant, but he needed to connect his past life to this new, quieter, version of himself. The scorching sun streamed through the tall front windows of his tattoo shop, the Hexproof Ink (Dean was quite proud when he came up with the name, Sam grimaced a little bit at the cheesiness of it), casting warm gold light over the polished floors. The old record player was humming one of his favorite songs somewhere in the background.

He liked that what he did with the shop. Every angle of it screamed Dean Winchester, from the rock music to the posters on the wall. Going back to Lawrence hadn’t been easy, and he had enjoyed the distraction. He bought it from some old gentleman who used it as storage, but Dean knew something more could have been done with the space. He first thought about opening his own car shop, but the memories of John and Bobby weaved together were too painful for him to bring himself to do that. He could still fix cars in his spare time whenever he wanted to. But, still, he did need to make money somehow.

Opening a tattoo shop was the next, most logical, choice. He was decent at drawing. Actually, he was fucking awesome at it. Did he know how to tattoo someone? Hell no. And that was exactly why his body, once pristine except for his anti-possession tattoo he got more than ten years ago, was now covered with his work. He needed the practice, and what better guinea pig than himself? For the record, the first tattoo had been an absolute disaster. A crooked bullet casing on his left thigh, done with a borrowed machine and a bottle of Jack Daniels just out of frame for when it got too painful. It scabbed badly and healed worse. He kept it anyway, as a token. The next one was a crude take on Impala, just on his forearm, lopsided and faint. He redid it three times before it looked half decent. He hated it now, he could serve his baby some more justice if he just waited, but it was honest. A reminder of who he was. He needed that sometimes, now that he was starting to forget. Then came a clock on his ribs that was supposed to display Sam’s time of birth, but it was an hour late. A colt on his bicep that he’d modified to look more like art than a weapon. Lyrics he never admitted mattered on his pecs of a lullaby Mary sang to him a long, long time ago. Burn, mark, heal. All over again. 

And yeah, he wasn’t the best. But the word spread, and people started coming in. Quietly. First-time clients. Nervous rebels-wannabes. Couples, single frisky women, fathers, mothers, friends. Occasional hunters who never said it out loud, but Dean somehow always knew from the look in their eyes. And his Hexproof Ink took off, as much as it could in the town of Lawrence, anyway. Which was enough, at least for him. His days were busy, just like he wanted. No, needed. He spent his week going through calls (he was considering hiring someone to handle that), appointments, the remodel of his old house, and playdates with his son. Except for Tuesdays. On Tuesdays, he liked to relax. It was his off day. Or, better, it was her day. For the past three months she had walked into his shop unannounced. Sometimes it was to drop off Beau’s jacket. Sometimes to bring back the sketchpad he “forgot” on her porch. Once, it was to tell him their son had tried to salt the windows just like daddy taught me how. 

The bell above the door jingled, soft and familiar. Dean didn’t look up right away. He didn’t have to, her perfume invading his senses. She walked in like she always did on Tuesdays, the door clicking shut behind her as she stepped into his world. Same easy sway to her walk, same threadbare confidence. She stopped near the counter, a few feet from him, and he dared look at her. She was holding up the necklace Dean gave her several Christmases ago, one of the few things she had kept from their marriage. It was beautiful, a charm full of dried herbs and salt that was meant to protect her from the supernatural with a stone of her favorite color. He had crafted that personally (with Rowena’s help) and he couldn’t forget the adoring look she had on her face when she first wore it. That was a long time ago now, and the necklace didn’t hold the same value it did before. Now, instead, the charm was broken. So much for protection. 

“You got a minute?” she asked, voice dry, hiding some hints of warmness. “As you can see, your kid went full Hulk on my necklace.” she chuckled. 

Dean tossed the dirty rag over his shoulder and stood up. There was a smudge of ink on the side of his hand and a crooked grin on his face. “Sounds like my son.” She rolled her eyes. “Let me guess,” Dean stepped forward. “Thought it was a monster egg again?” 

She put the necklace in her pocket. “Yeah. He smashed it with a broom. Didn’t even know how he got it” she muttered under her breath. “Well, I guess it’s time if you’re free” 

Dean’s eyebrows rose. “Time for what?”. He cleared his throat. “And for you I’m always free” he winced. “That was cheesy, ignore that” 

She grinned. “Not a chance, but I’ll let it slide for now. I need that anti-possession tattoo, so I can stop hoping nothing breaks next time” or, Dean knew exactly what she meant by that, So I can stop wearing your necklace, you worthless piece of shit. 

Dean smiled at her nervously and pointed at where she should get comfortable. “You know, you used to say you never wanted a tattoo. Said you didn’t want anything permanent on you... except me, of course”

“Wow,” she said, eyebrows arching. “You really sat on that line, didn’t you?”

“Had time to think. Not like I was busy being a decent husband anyway”

“Well, at least you’re self-aware now”. 

Dean turned away to prep a new needle, hiding how this talk was affecting him. “Where do you want it?” A long time ago Dean would have said this sentence balls deep in her, enchanted by her moans, her mouth, her body, her eyes, her soul. But not anymore, or ever again. 

“No pentagrams with skulls, Winchester,” she warned, peeling her jacket off and lifting her shirt just enough to reveal the skin above her hip. Dean felt himself stop breathing for a second, so much so that he had to turn away to regulate his thoughts. Still dangerous, even after all this time. 

“Damn” he muttered, reaching for his sketchbook and flipping to the easier stencils. “You ruin all my fun”. He showed her the same anti-possession tattoo he had on him, but with a finer line that would match her aesthetic better. Once he got the green light, he started to take care of everything, while she laid behind him waiting for Dean to start. 

He couldn’t stop his mind from going back to a time where he didn’t have to wait for a damn tattoo to touch her, he could just roll over and hug her frame from behind. He sighed and scrunched his nose. Now was not the time to think about that. Maybe later, once he got into his bed, alone, and pretended the last four years hadn’t happed, he could allow himself to stop feeling guilty and imagine how life would have turned out if he left hunting the countless times she asked him to. 

He turned around. The hurt look on his face now gone, replaced with a cocky grin. Dean couldn’t fool her, she knew him too well. He was trying to fool himself. He pulled on his gloves, the latex snapping softly as he sat on the rolling stool beside her. He focused on everything but her, applying the stencil gently against her skin. His hands moved with practiced care, but, still, he couldn’t stop the flicker of memory. This skin, this closeness, this once-familiar intimacy now edged with unspoken words and tension. 

“Beau good this week?” He had to stop the silence.

“Besides my necklace?” She said, trying not to squirm under his touch. “Mostly, he’s been trying to build a salt launcher out of Legos. Says you promised one.” She tried to meet his eyes, but Dean remained focused on the skin on her hip, trying to avoid another crooked tattoo. 

He chuckled. “I said I’d think about it.”

“He says that’s your version of yes.”

“Smart kid.” He murmured. “Definitely gets that from you.”

The hum of the machine filled the room as he powered it up. Ah, that’s exactly what he started tattooing. The buzz was grounding, the only thing that felt normal these days. “It’s gonna hurt a little bit”

She nodded, closing her eyes. “You were right, I never wanted to get tattooed,” she said over the sound, her voice steady.

“Yeah, I know.” The needle danced carefully over her skin. “The only thing you ever wanted was out. A house. Stability. If you ask me, nothing more stable than a tattoo.” He tried to lighten up the mood. 

“And I got it,” she said, opening her eyes. “Stability, I mean. Eventually I did get it.” She looked at the wall across from her.

Dean paused. “Took you a while.” 

She nodded. “Took you longer.” 

He went quiet, still working. This was not a safe territory, he didn’t want to talk about that today. He was not ready. “I thought hunting was the only thing I was good at,” he then said. “Didn’t realize being a dad required the same instincts. Well, maybe with fewer shotguns.”

She let out a small laugh. He would think about this moment later. “You left the life one day too late. You had to almost die to finally open your eyes” 

“I know,” Dean said. “I was late. But I am here now.” I am here for you if you want me. 

The scent of antiseptic and ink settled between them. “Beau’s happy here,” she let out. “He likes knowing his dad’s close”

Dean didn’t look up. “I like being where he is”

She sighed like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. “Good”

He dared to ask. “What about you?” 

“I like stability, Dean. I like this life. I like knowing my son isn’t going to grow up like a soldier and sleeping with a knife under his pillow.”

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat. “I don’t want that for him either” 

She turned her head slightly to meet his eyes. “I know that now.” She reassured him. “I know you want this life too.” She saw the look on Dean’s face and before he could say anything, she promptly stopped him. “Don’t do that thing where you flirt and look guilty at the same time.”

Dean nodded, keeping down whatever it was he wanted to say, and grinned. “What if I just flirt? No guilt involved”

She gave him a look that could hut a man if he weren’t already bleeding. “Then I ignore you and get a nice tattoo out of it.”

He chuckled under his breath. “That sounds fair. You gonna ignore me forever?” 

“I’ve got stamina.” Doesn’t he know that. 

Dean didn’t press any further. He just finished the tattoo slowly and carefully. He wanted to touch her as long as he possibly could. The record player was still carrying out his favorite tunes. He wiped the last bit of ink away with a steady hand. 

“There,” he said, secretly proud of how the lines didn’t have any bump or curves to them. “You’re officially protected. Again”

“Until Beau tries to draw over it with a permanent marker.”

“I can add flames if you want, you know he’ll love that.”

She stood, shirt falling back into place as she twisted to check the ink in the mirror. “Looks great, Dean.”

He stood too, perhaps a little too quickly. She pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh at her eagerness. “I, uh- I know that you didn’t want tattoos. But,” he scratched the back of his neck. “Ah, I drew up a design for you last night. Just something I thought you might like. I could show it to you. No strings, I swear”.

She turned, met his eyes. Dean knew exactly what she was thinking. Fifteen years knowing each other would do that to you. 

“No, no, wait. You don’t,” he sighed. “I’m not trynna win you back, alright?” He wanted to. “You don’t have to want me back, at all.” Please save me from myself. “But I still want to be someone you don’t regret.” Wooooow, Winchester, what the hell was that?  “It’s just a drawing, scout’s honor” he crossed over his heart. 

There was a beat of silence, then two. And then she turned toward the door, voice tossed over her shoulder like a lifeline she didn’t want him to grab too tightly. “You were never a scout, Dean, but you can drop the drawing in the mailbox, Beau likes mail.”

The door closed behind her. All that was left was the quietness and the echo of her words still humming around him.

He didn’t follow her, not today. 

But tomorrow was Wednesday. And Beau always came by his shop on Wednesday to learn how to draw. Which meant she’d come too. 

Yeah, he couldn’t wait. 

Hexproof Ink. Lawrence, Kansas. Wednesday, 2.30 PM. 

Dean was sitting cross-legged on the floor, barefoot and ink-smeared from his last session, with Beau beside him, both of them hunched over their own piece of paper. Crayons and marker caps scattered around them. The man was reeeeally glad his appointment for 3PM cancelled on him. Beau’s tiny pink tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth as he scribbled furiously like he was casting a spell, his long warm blonde hair all over his flustered face, which he refused to push back or let someone cut. He was a stubborn piece of work, just like his dad. His oversized t-shirt read MONSTERS ARE SCARED OF ME (curtesy of his uncle Castiel for his fourth birthday. Dean had rolled his eyes and, “Real subtle, Cass.”), the words cracked from too many washes. His socks didn’t match, one had tiny bats, the other had a faded Iron Man logo. His pants, which has started the day as a soft gray, now looked like someone had dropped an entire bottle of cerulean ink across his lap. Which, technically, they had. Beau had tried to help his dad, he did!, but tiny hands and glass didn’t work together. So, he ended up baptizing himself with a full bottle of Pilot Iroshizuku Kon-Peki, cerulean glory and all. Dean didn’t even get mad. He just handed him a wet rag, sighed like a martyr, and said, “Now you’re officially a Winchester, bud.”

He now stole glances at him between pencil strokes, trying not to beam at his son, which was proving harder to do by the minute. “That claw’s looking awesome, buddy,” he complimented Beau. “But maybe you can make it scarier?”

Beau gasped like Dean had shown him the truth about the world. “Maybe I can make a fire claw!”

Dean nodded solemnly, hiding a smile. “Obviously, fire’s always the answer.”

“I sure hope not.” He didn’t hear the door jingle open and was surprised when he saw her there. He wasn’t expecting her for another two hours. He had told her to enjoy her Beau-free early afternoon and rest. Clearly, his ex-wife had other plans. She walked in with her keys in one hand and exhaustion riding her shoulders like an old coat. Dean knew she was stressed from that damn awful and stupid corporate job she got roped into, but he didn’t pry. It wasn’t his place anymore. 

There was a faint crease between her brows, but her face softened the moment she saw them on the floor. Oh, well, the moment she saw Beau, at least. She took them in, Dean barefoot and grinning and Beau with crayon on his cheek and joy written all over him. The man stood up as she stepped further into is shop.

“Hey,” he said softly, brushing his palms over his sweatpants, staining them even more. “I don’t know why you’re here so soon,” He spoke like he was scolding her. “But he’s alive, I swear. Minimal glitter and loads of fun”

Beau popped up from the floor and ran towards his mom with a wrinkled piece of paper where crayon flames were licking the sky. “Mommy, look! This monster breaths green fire because he eats radioactive garbage!” 

She crouched beside him, taking the drawing like it was treasure. “Impressive,” she said, giving Dean a sideways glance. He was grinning. “And biologically implausible.”

Beau smiled like he’d just been knighted. With that look on his face he definitely was his father’s son. “That means cool, right?”. 

“It means super cool!” She ruffed his hair and brushing a rogue curl out of his eye. She stood to full height a moment later, letting her son continue with his masterpiece... or whatever he came up with next.  “Did he eat something?”

“He had a snack. Buddy refused to eat anything that wasn’t shaped like a dinosaur, had to cut the lettuce like a t-rex to try and persuade him,” he chuckled. “The lettuce didn’t make it too far, tho”.

They both looked at Beau, who was now battling a dragon against a flying octopus made of pipe cleaners, complete with sounds and explosions. They had a soft look in their eyes, the one of two loving parents who were trying their best despite the situation they found themselves in. And anyone who would look at Beau would see a happy, average, kid, and that was perfect.

Dean leaned against the counter, folding his arms across his chest. His voice dropped just slightly so his son couldn’t hear him. “He asked me why we don’t all live in the same house.”

Her smile faltered. Dean instantly felt guilt eating at him for even bringing that little comment up, but he knew he had to check in with her on this. “I told him that we both love him. That sometimes grown-ups work better in separate spaces”

Her arms crossed too, almost like she needed a shield. “Good. That’s, huh, a good answer.”

“I wanted to say more.” Dean hesitated. 

“Mh-mh”

Silence settled between them. Full of something, of too many years and not enough chances. Of something familiar. It wasn’t uncomfortable, per se, but it called for one of them to say something more. So, Dean answered. “He’s happy,” he muttered. “I see it. But I keep wondering what would’ve been like if I’d gotten out when you asked me to.”

She didn’t look at him when she answered. “But you did not.” Her voice was calm, but it struck him. “You picked the life. You picked Sam,” she continued. “And I picked leaving before it killed you... and Beau and I in the process.”

Dean exhaled slowly. “You always knew what to do.”

“No, Dean.” She finally met his eyes. “I just accepted it first.”

“You’re good at this mom stuff”

Her expression softened. “I’m trying.”

“You’re better at it than I was at being yours.”

The softness vanished. Her spine straightened, her arms pulled in just a bit tighter. Reflexive. “You’re doing better now, Dean,” she said, her voice smooth but cool. “That’s what matters to him.”

Dean swallowed. “And to you?”

She offered a small smile, but it wasn’t real. It was polite, practiced. “I’m not the one you need to win back.”

He didn’t say anything after that. He knew she was right from the start. But he was not strong enough to leave Sammy behind. He had to protect him. Dammit, it was engraved in his mind from the start and Sammy... Sammy needed someone. Dean used to think that someone could be him, but then came Beau, and Beau came above everything and everyone else. It took some time for him to accept he could not live a double life. Hunt monsters during the day and read his son to sleep at night. Those two things were never compatible in the first place. His father was the striking example of that. But he was so so so stubborn. Damn him, if he just understood it faster. If he just... he wouldn’t have lost them, lost her. 

When she walked out of the bunker that night four years ago, with their tiny son in her arms, he should’ve done something. Anything. But he just looked at Sammy, waiting for some words of comfort that never came. Or he just didn’t hear them. He still didn’t know. She didn’t cut him off completely, she let Dean witness his son’s milestones as much as he could, but it was not the same. He worked for weeks on end trying to crack a case and, in the process, missed Beau’s first steps, his first solid food, and his first words (Da-da). And then, just when he’d decided to finally retire, a damn nail in his back almost took him away from a future with his son. He was lucky enough to survive, a sign of something from above. A sign he embraced and moved to where he swore he would never go again, Lawrence. That was two years ago. 

“LOOK! I draw Mommy fighting a troll with a spoon.” Dean was pulled back from his thought from Beau’s loud voice.

He grinned. “Accurate enough.”

Her front porch. Lawrence, Kansas. Saturday, 7.23 PM.

Dean jogged up the walkway, boots crunching on gravel, heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with being out of breath. He was twenty-three minutes late; he didn’t even have to check his watch to know. He hated that he knew the exact number. Beau was supposed to be ready by seven. He imagined him with his backpack already zipped, paper dragon in hand, bouncing at the front door waiting for his dad. Dean hoped his son was still having trouble with reading the time, or he was screwed. 

It wasn’t on anyone but him. A walk-in at the shop had passed out halfway through her first ever tattoo. The girl was nineteen and trying so hard not to cry that Dean had ended up sitting with her for forty-five minutes after, cleaning blood of the chair and offering lukewarm Sprite from the back fridge. By the time he looked up, it was 7:18. He hit every red light on 12th, texted her on my way and nothing else, and cursed himself the whole drive.

He stood on her porch now, one hand shoved deep in his jacket pocket, the other fidgeting with a cracked zippo. His boots felt too loud on the worn floorboards. Dean barely knocked. Just one of those guilty, half-hearted taps on the door, the kind that said I know. I messed up. Again. The porch light flicked on fast. So fast she must have been waiting impatiently for him to show up. Dean pursed his lips and let out a smacking sound. Yeah, he was screwed. He looked at the mailbox behind him, where yesterday he had left the drawing he made for her. It looked like it was still there, maybe she hadn't checked it yet. 

Once he turned to the front door, she stood there. One of her hands was resting lightly against the frame, as if it grounded her. Her black dress wasn’t fancy or flashy, but it hugged her like memory. The neckline dipped just enough. Her hair was done beautifully, not too much, just... intentional. Her makeup looked as good as ever, enough to make Dean feel like he should’ve changed out of the shirt that smelled like ink and pine soap. She looked like someone who was going somewhere. Somewhere good, and clean, and grow-up. Somewhere Dean Winchester had no place. His throat tightened, catching up to what was happening in front of him. 

“Hey,” he said, too casual to be truthful. “I know I am late, I didn’t mean to, I swear –”

She smiled. “It’s okay Dean, come in. Beau’s grabbing his shoes, he’ll be out in a minute.” She moved, giving him enough space to go in. When he was close enough to her body, he smelled coconut on her skin and red wine on her breath. Ah, that’s why she’s not mad at me right now. “What happened?” She then asked. 

“Shop ran over. Had a situation. Nothing dangerous, just... messy as hell.” He tried so hard not to ask the question. The dress, the makeup, drinking before dinner. Everything was screaming at him not to go there, to confirm something that would’ve just hurt him. Still, he couldn’t help himself. “Big night?”

Her lips curved. “Dinner”

“Anyone I know?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Nope.”

Dean offered a nod like someone swallowing glass. “Right. Cool. Good. Hope he likes overpriced wine and pretending he’s not intimidated by you.”

That got him a look with one eyebrow raised, guarded. “Dean.”

“I’m just saying.” He shrugged, trying to mask the ache in his chest with bravado. “Not everyone can handle sarcasm, and a kill shot stare.”

“You used to like it.”

He looked at her, really looked. “I still do.”

The words settled between them like heat from a long-dead fire. Not hot. Not burning. But there, still. Still warm if you reached for it. She didn’t roll her eyes this time. Didn’t scoff, didn’t shut him down. Instead, she looked at him the way someone might look at a memory they weren’t sure they could trust. She stood with her arms crossed, half-leaning against the edge of the entryway table.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

“I know,” she replied this time, not a challenge.

They both smiled. His, soft. Hers, if he didn't know better, almost shy. 

Dean stepped a little closer. “Can I tell you something without you kicking me out of this home?”

“That depends,” she said. Her voice didn’t quite hide the way her fingers gripped her elbow, like she was keeping herself in place.

“I still think about you,” he said. “Not like... some creep or some sad song or anything. I just do. Like when I’m driving. Or when I’m cutting stencils and Beau’s drawing monsters next to me. When I am eating pie and it doesn’t quite taste right like the one you make. You just... show up in my head. Like muscle memory.”

She looked down. Her thumb dragged along the seam of her dress. “Dean.”

“I’m not asking for anything,” he said quickly. “Not now. Not more than this. Just, I needed to say it out loud, alright?”

She nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Beau’s voice echoed from the hallway, singing some nonsense song about dragons and meatballs, getting louder with each step.

Dean looked toward the sound, then back at her.

“Your drawing,” she said suddenly.

“What?”

“The one you left in the mailbox.”

“Oh.” Dean scratched behind his ear, suddenly boyish. He was wrong before, then. “Yeah. I didn’t know if you’d–”

“It’s on the fridge,” she said.

Dean froze. His mouth opened, then shut again. She gave him the smallest smile. The kind you only give to someone who used to know you like a favorite book. The kind that held maybe.

And Dean, fool that he was, smiled back.

Dean's backyard. Lawrence, Kansas. The next Saturday, 4.09 PM.

Cheap burgers slapped onto a charcoal grill, a bear-up metal cooler full of beer and Capri Suns, lawn chairs dragged into a loose circle around a fire pit he’d built last fall. The barbecue was Dean’s idea, he’d insisted on doing everything himself, something about community thing. Really, it was because Beau had asked for s’mores, and s’mores had to be made on special occasions. The man never turned down a chance to play dad with a spatula and a six-pack. 

Beau was running wild across the patchy grass, barefoot, shirt half untucked, one knee bloodied and already forming a thin scab from some dumb, glorious adventure with a stick and a hose. His cheeks were red from the sun. There was a marshmallow stuck to his chin. Dean stood at the grill, tongs in one hand, beer in the other, wearing a black apron that read MASTER OF THE MEAT in red letters so faded they looked like claw marks. His hair was messy. His cheeks reddish from the alcohol in his system. His smile hadn’t left his face since around the time she’d texted "maybe I’ll stop by."

A few neighbors had wandered over, lured by the smell and Dean’s easy charisma, the kind that didn’t try too hard but still landed. He secretly loved that, he needed to expand his circle a little bit. His neighbor from two doors down, Angela or Amanda or Amelia, was lingering near the grill now, red solo cup in one hand, her other arm brushing against Dean’s a little too deliberately every time she laughed. Angela, Amanda or Amelia was in a sundress, floral and flirty, her blonde hair curled into perfect spirals and her lipstick a high-gloss cherry red. She was doing that thing Dean knew too well. The head tilt, fake laugh, too many compliments about his “grill technique” and how “rare it is to find a man who can cook and fix things.”

Dean, to his credit, was polite. Awkwardly so. “You sure you don’t want a veggie burger?” he asked, flipping a patty and trying not to look at her too long. “Got one in there. Purely decorative.”

Angela (Amanda or Amelia) leaned in a little closer, tapping her acrylic nail against her cup. “Oh, I like meat.” Aaaand, right there, she lost all the appeal Dean might have found in her. There was a time when he would’ve loved the attention; he had thrived off it for years. But now it just seemed all so... bland. Angela (Amanda or Amelia) was definitely one hell of a woman (if you asked anyone else).

Dean blinked. “Right. Uh. Great.”

And then, like a perfect, inconvenient miracle, the gate creaked open.

She stepped in, in one hand she held Beau’s backpack, the other holding a glass Tupperware dish covered in foil. Black tank top. Worn jeans and cowboy boots. Dark sunglasses. Hair up in a loose knot. She looked effortlessly stunning. He knew comparing people was of bad taste, she had taught him that much one time when he dared compare her and Jo’s butt (they were not together then), but he couldn’t help himself: she was a vision compared to the woman next to him, who was still battling her long eyelashes. Dean’s breath caught for a second. She always did that. Walked in like she wasn’t part of his world anymore and somehow still belonged more than anyone else. 

Beau saw her first, his whole face lighting up like someone had lit a match behind his eyes. He really looked like his mom when he got excited, Dean noted. “MAMA!” he shouted, running towards her at full speed “YOU MADE THE POTATO SALAD!”

She caught him one-armed, grinning. “You think I was gonna let your dad serve people that store-bought thing he likes to call a salad?”

Dean leaned over the grill, smirking. Since their last encounter last week, he felt better about their relationship. She was not his, not yet. A man can only hope. “Wow. Not even a hello first?”

She raised an eyebrow as she walked up to him, holding out the dish. “I said your dad. That’s basically a compliment.”

Dean chuckled, taking the Tupperware from her hands. “You even brought the good one. Damn. You really couldn’t stay away.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but Angela (Amanda or Amelia) stepped closer, heels tapping faintly on the uneven brick patio. “Oh, this your sister?” she asked, blinking between them.

Dean nearly dropped the spatula from the amusement he was getting from the whole situation. “Nope,” he said. “This is my ex-wife.” And the woman of my life and dreams. Except I fucked up so now I’m grilling burgers alone. 

The woman’s entire posture shifted. Just a little too stiff to be comfortable. “Oh.” she muttered. 

“Hi,” his woman said sweetly, half-smiling. “Nice dress.”

“Yeah- thanks, it’s vintage. I’m going to get some more- more beer.” Angela (Amanda or Amelia) blinked again and faltered, then slipped off towards the drinks table to avoid the confrontation.

Dean turned back to her, his grin lazy and amused. “You couldn’t resist,” he repeated himself like nothing happened.

“Beau wanted to come,” she said, scooping some potato salad onto a paper plate. She really was obsessed with it. “I’m his emotional support adult.”

“Uh-huh. You came just in time too. Thought I was about to be seduced over the coleslaw.” he teased, flipping another burger. She rolled her eyes, but her mouth twitched at the corner. He thought he was finally getting somewhere with her.

“She asked if I live alone,” Dean said casually.

“Did you say you like to change your sheets once a month?”

“She said she likes meat.”

“Jesus Christ, Dean.”

“You’re jealous.”

“I don’t get jealous”

Dean just looked at her. “You really do.”

She didn’t answer, which, for her, was basically an admission. Dean decided that was enough for him to understand that there was at least a small part of her that still cared for him. He could work with that.

Dean handed her a cold bottle of wine from the cooler. “I saved you one. Figured maybe you’d show.”

She stared at him a moment too long, then took it, the glass sweating between her fingers. “You hoping I’d get territorial?”

“I was hoping you’d let yourself belong to something again.”

That stopped her cold. She didn’t have a sharp retort for that, just the sound of her bottle cap hitting the side table and her eyes shifting toward Beau, who was now trying to launch a marshmallow across the yard with a stick, once again proving his Winchester blood. 

Dean’s voice softened. “You belong here, you know.”

“Don’t,” she said quickly. Not cruel. Just afraid of the ground shifting under her feet. Dean nodded, accepting it. For now.

Beau ran over again, arms full of tiny sticks and graham crackers. They both welcomed the distraction. “Can we make more s’mores?!”

Dean crouched beside him. “Absolutely. But first, you eat half a burger or I’m telling the marshmallows on you.” Beau giggled and ran off from Dean with renewed purpose. He was a little devil, pun not intended.

She watched them together, the two of them were like puzzle pieces that made more sense than she was willing to admit.

The blonde woman reappeared then, lips touched up, a new cup of beer in hand. She scanned the yard, spotted her again, and, to her credit, walked directly over. “Hey,” she said, chipper and determined.

She looked up, chewing slowly. “Hey.”

“I’m Annie.” The blonde stood straighter. “Didn’t realize you and Dean were...?”

“Co-parenting,” she said smoothly. “Successfully. Most days.”

Annie sipped her beer. “That’s great. He’s really... settled. I wasn’t sure what his deal was.”

She raised a brow. “His deal?”

“You know,” Annie shrugged. “That whole rugged, broody thing. Hot guy with a past. You don’t want to assume anything.”

She smiled slowly. “Right. Because it’s hard to tell if the guy running a tattoo shop and making s’mores is secretly a flight risk.”

Annie laughed, a little nervous now. “Exactly.”

She let the pause linger. Just long enough. “You seem nice.”

Annie blinked. “Thanks?”

“And I’m sure you’re used to getting a lot of attention.”

Annie’s smile froze. “I’m sorry, are you...?”

“No,” she cut in gently. “Dean’s single. He can talk to whoever he wants.” Annie relaxed. Almost. “But if you’re gonna flirt with him in front of our son or come around thinking this is just some tattooed bachelor with a tragic backstory, you should know what you’re walking into.”

Annie shifted, defensive now. “And what’s that?”

“A man who still sets an extra plate when he makes pancakes, for me. Who once spent an entire night rewatching cartoons just so our kid wouldn’t be afraid to sleep.” Annie’s eyes looked everywhere but at her. She leaned in, voice low. “Dean’s a lot of things. But he’s not easy. And if you can’t carry that weight, don’t pretend you can.”

Annie stared. “Do you still love him?”

She didn’t blink. “Doesn’t matter. He’s still mine.”

Annie backed up slowly. “Right. Well. Thanks for the clarity.”

“Enjoy the salad.”

Her kitchen. Lawrence, Kansas. Sunday, 11.08 AM.

His brother sat awkwardly at the small kitchen table, knees practically tucked to his chest, surrounded by crumpled white printer paper and half-finished prototypes of what might one day resemble paper airplanes. Glue sticks, safety scissors, and a ruler with bite marks (Dean hoped they were Beau’s) were spread like a war zone across the table. Sammy sported a man-bun, which, if you asked his older brother, looked ridiculous for his age, and had a calm look on his face. Retiring did wonders for him. He didn’t have a problematic relationship with an ex-wife or a son that could ruin his beauty sleep, so he was just cruising through life. The last Dean heard of was that he was seeing a redhead with the nicest eyes (Sam’s words). They didn’t talk much these days, but they always texted. Their relationship had shifted once Dean made the big decision to move back home and stay with his little dysfunctional family, but not in a bad way. Things were just weird now. No more life-or-death situations, no more hunts, no more shitty motels. When they took all that away, the painful truth that the two brothers had grown up to be very different people was obvious to their eyes. They needed to be apart from each other. That was healthy, normal, safer.

Beau leaned over his latest creation, little brows furrowed in concentration, glue on his fingertips and the tip of his nose. Sammy guided him gently, holding the paper flat while Beau creased the wings. “This one is flying!” his son said with absolute conviction. Dean thought maybe he was going to become a pilot. That would make him proud. 

Sam grinned. “Third time’s the charm, right?”

Dean stood across the room, leaning casually against the counter like he owned the place. He had spent the morning there after they agreed to meet up to have breakfast together. Beau had begged for both of them to be there while he ate his pancakes. Dean had given a mental high-five to his son for using his puppy eyes with his mother and allowing him to spend some time with them. As soon as he entered the warm kitchen, his eyes flickered to the fridge where his drawing still stood proud. He had thrown a smug smile at her, and she had rolled her eyes with a blush on her cheek. Half sunflower, half sun. It wasn’t the most challenging design, but it perfectly encompassed their love. She was the sun and he was the sunflower, always turning toward her light.

Coffee mug in his right hand, he was just observing his brother and son with an adoring look on his face. He hadn’t said much. He was loving how caring Sammy appeared to be with his nephew. He looked... happy. Like something in him settled when he was around Beau. Like maybe he needed it more than he realized. 

The kitchen door opened, and she walked in, rubbing a towel through her damp hair. Her cheeks flushed from the warm shower, bare feet, loose shorts, and an old navy-blue tee that Dean instantly recognized as his. Or at least, one that used to be. He didn’t say anything, but his heart was swelling in his chest. This all felt so domestic. But the look in her eyes stopped him from imagining the perfect life with all of them.

Her eyes moved to the unexpected guest in her house. She didn’t freeze. She recalibrated, like a soldier squaring up the threat and realizing everything was ok. “Hey, Sam,” she said, voice even.

Sam smiled, warm and genuine. “Hey. Hope it’s okay I stopped by.”

“Of course,” she said, crossing to the table without hesitation. “Beau’s been talking about your last visit all week. You guys starting a militia made of paper and glue, or...?”

“Prototype phase,” Sam said, deadpan.

Beau beamed. “This one’s gonna go into space.”

She leaned over to ruffle his hair, lips twitching. “As long as it doesn’t go into the ceiling fan like last time.” 

Beau giggled. “That was awesome!”

Dean sipped his coffee. “Not for the fan.”

The sunlight slanted through the windows, catching particles in the air. For a second, the scene looked like something from another life. Almost like a real family. Almost. What demon did he have to summon to have that? No, Dean, we know how that went down the first time. 

Beau suddenly shot to his feet, gripping his paper plane. “Gonna test it outside!” He barreled out the screen door before anyone could stop him, the door slapping shut behind him.

Silence followed, a long breath of it. The kind that makes you notice the sound of your own heartbeat. Sam straightened in the chair, smoothing invisible wrinkles from his jeans.  “He’s getting big.”

“Six going on sixteen,” Dean muttered, still sipping on his cup of coffee. It was really pretty. He didn’t have anything this nice in his house, maybe he should move in. Huh, as if she would let him. 

She gave Sammy a small smile. “He loves when you visit.”

“I love being here,” Sam said, glancing toward the door. “He’s... he’s bright. He’s kind. You both did a great job.”

She nodded, one shoulder rising slightly like she was bracing for a wave. “Thanks.”

Sam shifted again. “I know I haven’t been around as much as I wanted to be. Life’s... complicated.”

She crossed to lean against the counter beside Dean, close but not touching. She tilted her head. Dean froze. He wasn’t expecting her to be this close. She probably noticed how her presence had made him stiff, so he tried to relax and act like this was a daily occurrence. “You don’t have to explain.”

“I kind of do,” Sam said, quieter now. “At least to you.”

Her mouth pressed into a line. She didn’t look away. The air changed, thinner, like too many truths were trying to live in the same space. Dean stayed quiet once again, sipping his coffee like it could distract him from the tension he knew was coming. This wasn’t his moment to talk. 

“I never wanted to take Dean away from you,” Sam said carefully. “I know what it cost.”

Her jaw didn’t move, but Dean saw it from how close they were standing, the way she held it tighter. “You didn’t take him,” she said. “He went.” Punch right to the gut. He took that jab like a man (trying not to cry his eyes out). 

“I know,” Sam murmured. And the weight of that knowing hung heavy in the space between them.

Dean set down his mug, finally speaking. “Sam’s part of Beau’s life now. So are you. I don’t need either of you dancing around old scars.”

“I’m not,” she said softly.

Dean looked at her. “You are. You smile at him like you’re trying not to kill him right there.”

She didn’t deny it. Sam looked down for a moment, then stepped forward, not too close. “I left the life too, you know. For myself. But also because I saw what it was doing to Dean. I couldn’t watch it destroy both of you.”

She studied him. “I believe you. And I appreciate you loving Beau.”

“But,” Sam said gently, “you still look at me like I’m what you lost.”

She paused. Her expression didn’t crack. But her voice did. “Because you are.” Dean didn’t move. Just let her words hang there, raw and blunt like a confession dropped mid-battle. He looked in her eyes, searching for something. He didn’t even know what he wanted from her. Forgiveness, understanding, maybe. What he found was desperation, but also a warm flicker of hope. A sign that it wasn’t too late. Her wounds were healing, little by little. 

Beau’s voice echoed from the yard, laughing at something only he understood. “I don’t blame you, Sam,” she said finally. “But I can’t forget that I asked him to leave a hundred times, and he didn’t, not until you didn’t need him anymore.”

Sam nodded slowly. “That’s fair.”

“Doesn’t mean I hate you,” she added, a little softer. “Just means I have boundaries.”

Sam gave a sad smile. “I’d rather that than polite lies.”

“I don’t do polite lies.”

Dean looked between them, exhaling hard. “Well... this is wildly uncomfortable.”

She snorted, not a laugh, exactly, but something close. Sam chuckled too, easing the tension slightly as he grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. “I should go,” he said. “Three-hour drive, stack of books, and probably a paper cut waiting for me.” He paused in the doorway. The light caught his profile, older and a little worn, but somehow lighter than he used to be. “I care about you. Both of you. And I’m not trying to fix anything. Just... show up when it counts.”

“You do,” she said. Quiet. Honest.

Sam glanced at Dean. “See you soon?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah.”

And from the yard: “UNCLE SAM! COME THROW IT WITH ME!”

Sam smiled. “One more flight.”

He stepped outside. The door clattered shut behind him. She and Dean stood in silence, the aftershocks of old wounds still lingering. “I’m glad he came,” she said after a long pause, arms folded.

“Even if you want to strangle him a little?” Dean asked, glancing sideways.

She tilted her head. “I want to strangle you more.”

Dean grinned. “Still hot.”

She rolled her eyes, but didn’t move away.

Beau’s Room. Lawrence, Kansas. Thursday, 8.02 PM.

The paint roller made a low, rhythmic sound as it glided over the wall. Dean stood on one side of the room, wrist flicking in practiced arcs as he worked a stubborn patch near the window. His t-shirt clung to his back in the summer warmth, the sleeves speckled with blue like he’d been caught in a powder-colored explosion. She stood opposite him, barefoot and focused, tongue peeking from the corner of her mouth as she cut in along the trim with a smaller brush. She’d tucked her hair up into a ponytail hours ago, but strands had started to fall, streaked with dust and sweat and a smudge of paint she hadn’t noticed on her jaw. Beau had lasted about an hour before declaring himself “art director” and disappearing. 

“You’re doing that wrong,” Dean said without looking. His voice low and lazy. He could feel her eyes narrow like heat behind him.

She scoffed, standing on tiptoe to reach the top corner with her brush. “I’m literally doing the exact thing you showed me.”

“Yeah, but my version has finesse.” Dean stepped back a little to examine his own work, pushing his hand through his hair and leaving a smear of blue paint above his temple. “You’re more... chaotic.” 

“Is that right?” she asked, leaning just enough to get a better angle, the curve of her hip knocking against the stepladder.

Dean finally turned, and when he did, he grinned, wide and crooked, the kind of grin that once meant trouble and now meant he was enjoying himself too much. “You're getting paint on the trim.” 

She looked down, lifting one foot out of the way of a nearly upturned paint tray. “I am not.”

He pointed with the end of his roller. “Right there. That corner. Shameful.”

She stepped back to assess it, hands on her hips. Her brush dripped onto the tarp as she tilted her head. 

 “That's not the trim. That’s... artistic bleed.”

Dean laughed, full and unfiltered, a sound that filled the room like music from an old favorite record. “Artistic bleed? That’s a war crime in painter terms.”

“Well, next time hire a professional,” she shot back. She brandished her brush at him like a sword, one brow raised. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat and the effort, a streak of blue paint running just under her collarbone like it belonged there. “Watch it, Winchester. I’m armed.” They both let out a soft laugh before she sat down to paint a little lower. 

She sat cross-legged across from him, brushing a smudge off her knee with the edge of a napkin, which only spread the blue into a larger, cloud-shaped stain. Her ponytail had slipped sideways. A thin stripe of paint crossed her jawbone (he now remembered was a gift from earlier, when Beau had gotten too excited near the roller tray and unknowingly impersonated Jackson Pollock). She nudged an empty paint tray with her bare foot. “You missed a spot.”

Dean didn’t even lift his head to check. Cocky. “Impossible.”

“Right above the closet,” she said, leaning her shoulder against the wall behind her. “Little patch. Very obvious. Honestly, kind of embarrassing.”

Dean gave a long, exaggerated sigh and leaned farther back. “I left it on purpose. It’s artistic,” He mimicked her words from earlier.

She snorted, tapping her soda bottle against her thigh. “You just didn’t want to move the step stool again.”

“I’m preserving realism,” he said, voice lazy. “In real life, nothing’s perfect.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Wow. Did you get that off a coffee mug?”

Dean smirked. “I think it was a fortune cookie. One of those serious ones, though. You know, like it’s really trying to teach you something about yourself in between the lo mein.”

She laughed, a real one, surprised and sharp and bright. Her hand went up to cover her mouth, as if she didn’t trust the sound yet, as if it had escaped before she could smooth it out. Dean cracked one eye open, catching it. That laugh. That sound. It hit him like it always did, sudden and quiet and loud all at once. It was a sound she rarely let slip. She smiled often, sure, but laughter? That was something she protected. Something she gave away cautiously, like it cost her something.

He smiled too, without thinking. Without control.

She caught him watching. Her brow rose. “You’re staring.”

Dean didn’t look away. “Can you blame me?”

She rolled her eyes, but it didn’t sting like it used to. It wasn’t an eye-roll to shut him down. It was softer, tinted with something that looked suspiciously like... deflection. Her cheeks flushed, just a hint of pink across the tops. “Don’t start,” she warned, voice lighter than before.

Dean tilted his head toward her, grin curling wider. “I’ve been good. Haven’t flirted once today.”

She gave him a look. “You said my tank top was ‘ruining the barbecue.’”

“That was an observation,” he said, lifting his chin. “Science.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I also said this color blue made your eyes look illegal, which, if anything, is just factual reporting.”

She huffed a laugh and looked away, not too far, just under her lashes. He watched her like he might memorize it. The way her mouth tugged at the corners. The way the paint on her skin made her look like she belonged to the room. Like she was part of it. Part of this life.

“And,” Dean added, softer now, “I didn’t say anything about how you look right now. Which is impressive, because... this is definitely a look.”

She raised an eyebrow, smiling despite herself. “Covered in paint and drinking flat soda?”

“Hot,” Dean said instantly. “Peak hot. Like, cover-of-a-catalog hot. ‘Messy domesticity,’ page twelve.” She smirked. It was small. But it was real.

She leaned forward just a little, elbows on her knees, her eyes locked on his. “Are you trying to impress me?”

Dean blinked, caught, but not backing off. “Maybe.”

There was a beat. Just long enough to shift the air. Then she tilted her head, eyes sparkling for the first time in a long time, and said, “Well... I do like a man who can cut in around baseboards.”

Dean stared. His roller hit the floor with a soft thump. “Hold up,” he said slowly. “Was that flirting?” She took a long, measured sip of her soda, not breaking eye contact. Dean’s mouth dropped open slightly. “That was flirting. That was flirting.”

She gave the tiniest shrug. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Dean grinned so wide it could’ve lit the room on its own.

“Too late.”

Her house. Lawrence, Kansas. Monday, 1.09 AM. 

The knock on the door was soft. Just two quiet taps. She was already awake.

Beau had started burning up around ten, tossing in his sheets and calling for water, then Dean, then both again. His cheeks were hot to the touch, his body curled in a shiver under two blankets. She’d tried everything, cool cloths, medicine, lullabies. But when he whispered, voice hoarse and eyes glassy, “I want Daddy,” she’d called without hesitation. Now, she opened the door and found Dean standing there in jeans and a worn flannel, hair messy from sleep, and keys still in hand.

“I came as fast as I could,” he said, voice low, trying not to startle his baby. 

She stepped back without a word to let him in. Worry was written all over her perfect face, but it seemed to ease a little bit once he saw him. 

Beau’s room was dim, lit only by the soft yellow nightlight shaped like a moon. Dean crouched at the edge of the bed instantly, brushing back sweaty hair from his son’s forehead. Beau stirred, eyes blinking half-open, smile curling weakly when he saw him. “Hey, buddy,” Dean whispered. “Heard you weren’t feeling so good.”

Beau nodded, then sniffled. “Hurts.”

“I know, kiddo. I got you.”

Dean stretched out on the edge of the bed, one hand on Beau’s back as the boy curled into him like instinct. His breathing slowed. His fingers curled into Dean’s shirt. He was asleep in minutes, he really needed his dad. She stood in the doorway, arms folded, watching the two of them. There was something about it, about the quiet devotion on Dean’s face, the calm that always came when Beau felt him near, that made her chest ache in places she'd convinced herself had long gone numb.

Beau was sound asleep, finally, having found his peace. He was still warm, but at least now he was calm enough to get some rest. On the corner of his bed, the man noticed a baby monitor she must have whipped out of storage for this moment. She was really worried about her baby boy. Dean eased himself up carefully. He followed her out into the hallway, then down into the kitchen, where a dim bulb above the sink cast everything in warm gold.

She poured him a glass of water without asking. He leaned against the counter, rubbing his eyes and muttering some sort of thanks. The words didn’t quite come out, but she understood anyway. “He asked for you,” she said.

Dean looked up. “I’m glad you called.”

“I didn’t want to. You were probably asleep.”

“I’d rather be tired than miss that.”

She nodded, arms crossed, leaning against the fridge. Her oversized sleep shirt hung off one shoulder. Her voice was quieter when she spoke again. “You’re good with him.”

“He’s my whole world,” Dean said simply.

A silence settled between them. Soft. Familiar. Then her eyes dropped, just for a second, to the gap in his flannel where the buttons hadn’t been done all the way. She caught a glimpse of something new, bold lines inked just above his heart, something floral, geometric. Familiar.

Her brows pulled slightly. “That’s new.” Dean followed her gaze, then tugged the fabric aside slightly to show more of it.

It was a tattoo. Her design. Or at least, the one he’d sketched for her weeks ago, the one she’d never claimed, never acknowledged fully beyond a quiet smile.

Her breath caught. “You got it?”

“Yeah.” Dean let the shirt fall back into place. “Did it the day I finished the shading. Didn’t really think about it. Just… felt like I should.”

She didn’t say anything, but her eyes stayed on the fabric.

Dean looked down, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “There’s a few, actually. Ones that remind me of you.”

Her eyes met his again, curious, hesitant. “A few?”

Dean shrugged like it was nothing. “Song lyrics you liked. Your handwriting. I’ve got the coordinates of the cabin you wanted to buy in Montana.”

“You never even liked Montana.”

“I liked you.”

That landed like a thud in the quiet kitchen. She looked away, not because she wanted to, but because his honesty always hit too square in the chest when she wasn’t expecting it.

“You’re ridiculous,” she murmured.

“You’re beautiful,” he replied, just as soft.

“Dean...”

“You haven’t seen me shirtless in a while,” he said, half-teasing. “I’ve got half a gallery dedicated to you.”

She laughed quietly, shaking her head, but her smile was soft now. Open. Like an old book creaking at the spine. “You’re ridiculous,” she said again.

“Yeah,” he replied. “But I’m here.”

She moved to the sink, turning the faucet on just enough to rinse her hands. Anything to avoid looking at his stupid, perfect eyes. He came to stand behind her, not touching, but close enough for the air to shift between them. His chest brushed against her back.

Neither moved away.

“I hate that we’re good at this,” she said suddenly.

Dean blinked. “At what?”

“Being apart,” she said. “Missing each other quietly. Pretending like we’re okay with it.” She turned around, her face still painfully distant from his. 

He stared at her, really stared. “I’m not pretending,” he said. “Her eyes flicked up to his. “I miss you all the time. I thought I told you”

The silence that followed was full, not heavy, not sharp. Just full. With breath and warmth and the kind of history that never really faded, no matter how much space she'd tried to put between them. The water had stopped running minutes ago, but neither of them had completely turned it off. The tap dripped once. Then again. She turned the handle absently, shutting it off. Dean exhaled through his nose.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “This is just… a lot.”

Dean nodded. “I know.”

“You come in with your soft voice and tired eyes and that shirt that’s barely buttoned and act like this is fine. Like we’re fine.”

He didn’t smile. Didn’t tease. “We’re not.”

“Exactly.” Her voice cracked at the edge. “But I still want...” She stopped. Bit the rest back. Looked down at the counter like it might give her an exit.

Dean’s voice was quiet. “You still want what?”

She shook her head, frustrated at herself. “I don’t know. You. This. Us. The version that could’ve worked.”

Dean was close, but still careful. He’d never been good at careful, but with her? He’d learned. “There’s still time for something,” he said, like a suggestion. Not a promise. “Doesn’t have to be what we had.”

She didn’t answer, just stared at him. His shirt had slid slightly to one side again, collar loose, neckline gaping just enough to show part of the tattoo he’d designed for her, now inked into his skin instead. It was healing well. The linework was clean. It belonged to him now, and still, somehow, it felt like it was hers. “I didn’t think you’d actually get that one,” she said softly.

Dean’s gaze followed hers down to the edge of his chest. He shrugged. “I wanted to carry it, even if you didn’t.”

She looked away again, but slower this time. “That’s not fair.”

“I know.”

She crossed her arms, jaw tight. Her eyes were shiny but dry. “You don’t get to be the poetic one. That was my role.”

“I think we both are kinda sappy.” He paused, waiting. Then added, “And we’re both still here.”

She blinked. “I don’t know what to do with that.”

The house had gone quiet again, the kind of silence that feels heavy. Saturated with all the things that hadn’t been said, all the years they hadn’t touched, and the inches they’d pretended weren’t still charged between them. Dean’s hand was near hers, his thumb brushing the edge of her wrist like a question. She hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken. But her eyes had gone soft in a way he hadn’t seen in years. Soft, but stormed over, like she was fighting something back.

He swallowed. “Tell me to stop.” Time to be brave, now.

She didn’t. He stepped closer, slow, steady. No swagger. No games. Just the quiet magnetism of a man who had waited too long to be this close again. His flannel brushed against her arm now. Her breath caught, not loudly, but enough that he felt it.

“You don’t have to mean it,” Dean said softly. “But if you say it, I’ll back off.”

Still, she said nothing. She looked up at him instead, not away. Not down. But at him. And Dean saw it, clear as day: the wanting, the hesitation, the ache beneath her ribs.

So he leaned in. Just slightly. And then she kissed him first.

It was small, barely there, a brushing of mouths more than anything else. But it stopped the whole world. Dean’s hand moved automatically to her waist, not pulling her in, just anchoring. As if to make sure she was real.

She pulled back a fraction, eyes wide. “I shouldn’t have...”

Dean kissed her. This time, there was no hesitation. His mouth caught hers with a quiet hunger, years of restraint unraveling in one press of lips that still knew each other. His other hand cradled the back of her neck, fingertips threading into her hair. She gasped softly against him, and he felt it, not just heard it, but felt it. The way her whole body pressed in before she could stop herself. She tasted like lemon soda and something sharp, want, maybe. Or memory.

Her hands were on his chest now, fingers splaying across his flannel, clinging like she didn’t trust herself to let go. Dean pulled back just enough to look at her. Her lips were swollen, eyes glassy. One hand still fisted in the fabric of his shirt.

He rested his forehead against hers. “Still time to stop.”

“I don’t want to stop,” she whispered, not quite a confession, more like a truth that had waited too long in the dark.

Dean kissed her again. Slower this time. Deeper. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask for permission anymore, the kind that remembered. Their bodies pressed together without needing instruction. His flannel slid from his shoulders as her hands found the ink beneath, fingertips grazing over familiar muscles and new tattoos, things she hadn’t touched in years, things she never stopped imagining.

She whispered against his throat, “This is a mistake.”

Dean’s voice was rough against her skin. “Maybe. But it’s ours.” 

Dean’s mouth was on her collarbone, her throat, then her shoulder. She felt her shirt slip, one side dragging down her arm. His lips followed the fabric’s trail, slow and burning. His hand slid up her side, fingertips barely skimming the underside of her breast. It was hesitant, almost shy, a man relearning a body he never truly forgot. Her head tipped back with a shaky exhale, hands sliding down to tug at the hem of his jeans, fingers bold now. Needing.

He groaned quietly when her hands slid higher, thumbs brushing the edge of his ribs. “Jesus, sweetheart.”

“You okay?” she whispered, teasing, breathless.

“I will be if you keep touching me like that.”

She smiled against his mouth and chuckled slightly, probably remembering the countless times they had been in that exact same situation. Dean, on the other hand, was burning from the inside out. It was like heaven had answered all of his prayers. It was lust, and memory, and grief all wrapped up together. Four years of not having each other. Four years of waking up at night thinking she was still lying at his side. Four years of darkness. And then, light. Bright, warm, full. Dean knew he still loved her, but the feeling of her lips on his, her hands tracing every muscle of his body, was a confirmation. He never stopped feeling hers.

She kissed down his jaw, slow and deliberate, like she needed to memorize again every inch of him from the mouth down. Her lips brushed the edge of his throat, and he shuddered, hands gripping the counter behind her like it was the only thing anchoring him to the moment.

Her voice was low, teasing. “You gonna survive this?”

“Not cleanly,” Dean muttered, rough with need. “But what a way to go, sweetheart.”

She didn’t answer, not with words, but what happened after told Dean she was pleased. Their bodies were flush, warm from touch and wanting, breath soft and shallow between them. He looked at her like he wasn’t sure this was real, like if he blinked, he would wake up once again in his bed alone. She brushed her hands on his shoulders and prompted him to move back and follow her lead. He took a couple of steps back and met the wall behind him. She leaned forward for another feather kiss, her eyes looking right into his soul. She swept the line of stubble on his jaw with her thumb. He was mesmerized by her every move and almost forgot how to breathe. 

Her hands moved down, unhurried, curling around his hips, pulling him closer and closer until there was no more room between them, only heat and the tension that had been simmering for years. And then Dean felt like he had just won a million bucks. She began to lower herself, knees brushing the cool tile, lips still teasing the line of his stomach where the flannel was undone. Dean’s hands cradled her face and met her eyes. He asked a silent question; there were no words needed for now. She nudged closer to his boner, which he had begun to sport minutes ago, and gave a small kiss on his jeans. That undid him. He sank back against the wall, one hand slipping into her hair while she undid his belt and pants. Calm down, Winchester. The air thickened. 

Once his boxers were completely off, she gave him a toothy smile. “As pretty as I remember,” she whispered. Oh shit, fuck fuck fuck. Her hands wrapped around his shaft, soft and firm. She gave a squeeze, asking Dean to look at her. Could he? Yes, he was strong, that wouldn’t make him come on the spot. Definitely not. “I want you to ruin me, Dean.” His eyes widened, his woman was a devil. It wasn’t just the phrasing. It was her voice. The way she said it, low, reverent, like a dare and a vow all at once.

He stared down at her, every inch of him tense and undone. Her hands still moving lazily on his cock, her eyes locked on his like she was pulling him apart with nothing but her gaze. “You’re gonna kill me,” he rasped, half-laughing, half-wrecked. His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth. “I swear to God.” She smiled, slow and shameless, and leaned forward, licking Dean’s finger, mimicking what she wanted to do with his cock. “Okay, okay, sweetheart. There you go, no need to beg for it.” He brought his hand back into her hair into a makeshift ponytail and teased her mouth with the tip of his dick. “Open. No hands”. 

She did what he asked, what a good girl. Obedience wrapped in fire. She looked beautiful like this. Not just because of the heat in her cheeks or the way her lips curved around unspoken hunger, but because she trusted him. Completely. Even now. After everything. When her lips finally wrapped around him, Dean felt his heart slamming into his chest. It was gravity pulling him back to her with every breath he took. She remembered what he liked, the little flick of her tongue on his tip, the sound of her choking on his girth. Tongue swirling and curving against every vein. She let him guide her, and Dean began to thrust into her mouth. He was trying to not be loud, his son was asleep and feverish upstairs, but he couldn’t stop himself from groaning each time he hit the back of her throat.

Her eyes were looking straight at him, begging him for something more, and he answered her prayers. He buried himself in her mouth and stayed there for a second too long. His mouth was open in a silent scream. She tapped on his leg one time before he let her take a deserved breath. “Look at you,” he whispered, a string of saliva connecting them. “Every damn dream I ever had, and still better than I remembered.” She blushed, something so innocent despite her currently sucking the life out of him. Without being prompted, she moved a little down and took one of his balls into his mouth. His hands tightened in her hair. “Holy shit, sweetheart”. 

Her tongue circled the base of his dick, her hands still obediently crossed behind her back. She kissed her way over to the tip and buried his cock once again in her wet mouth. She moved fast, back and forward, with precise strokes, engulfing him once again. Dean felt his leg shake and his muscles tighten. No, not yet. He pushed her head away, but she stole another kitten lick, making him shudder at her eagerness. She stood up shakily, breath ragged, lips swollen, and her eyes, God, her eyes, were glassy with something between satisfaction and surrender. Her chest rose and fell in unsteady rhythm, and there was color in her cheeks that made Dean feel like the floor might drop out from under him. He was overwhelmed by her, by the softness in her expression, by the heat still coiling through his body. 

He took a step forward, pushing her toward the kitchen counter once again. He leaned closer to her lips, and she closed her eyes out of instinct, but he grinned and turned her around. She let out a loud yelp at the sudden movement, and Dean covered her plump mouth with his hand. He smiled on her neck, leaving wet kisses all over it. “Shh, sweetheart. Can you keep quiet for me, huh?” He removed his hand and focused on her neck. Each kiss was softer than the last, a whisper of heat pressed against skin that had memorized him long ago. She tilted her head instinctively, breath catching, giving him more space and permission. Dean’s hand slipped around her waist, grounding them both. His thumb moved in slow circles along her side, but his mouth... his mouth was hungry. When he found the spot just below her jaw, the one that made her breath stutter, he paused. Smiled against her skin like he’d found treasure. “This one’s mine,” he murmured, voice low and warm. Then he kissed it. Not sweet. Not fleeting. A pull of lips, a graze of teeth, just enough pressure to make her back arch and her hands curl into his shirt. He sucked, slow and deliberate, leaving behind something she could feel. Something she wouldn’t forget.

She chuckled. “Really? We’re not twenty anymore”

Dean just shrugged, smug and flushed. “If you’re gonna haunt me, sweetheart... might as well return the favor.” he bit over the sore area and she hissed, from pain and pleasure. His hands reached under her shirt, grabbing her breasts. He teased her nipples with slow circles while still peppering her neck with small kisses. He cupped her breasts gently, reverently, like he was relearning her shape by heart. Her back arched towards him and Dean took a moment to compose himself once his cock rubbed her panty-covered pussy. The slight pressure made his breath hitch. She wasn’t speaking, but her body was. She was giving herself to him, and Dean was a weak man, he would never say no. Don’t rush this, Winchester. 

Her body was giving away more truth than her words ever dared. Dean’s lips moved from her neck to her shoulders, then down her spine, still covered by fabric, slow and reverent, every kiss pressed like a vow he never stopped dreaming about. She trembled under his mouth, not from fear, not from cold, but from the unbearable closeness of it all.

Then, without a word, he sank to his knees behind her. The motion was instinct. Pure and unfiltered worship. She turned around, eyes wide. He grinned and gently bit one ass-cheek. “Let me,” he said, his voice low and full of that rough, unguarded tenderness he only ever used with her. He moved her panties to the side and was met with the sight of a lifetime. She was glistening, puffy, closing around nothing, waiting for him to make a move. 

She bent over slightly, presenting herself to him. “Dean...” she moaned.

“You need to be quiet now,” another bite. “If you make a sound I’ll stop.” Her hand slid into his hair, slow and tentative, like she wasn’t just allowing this, but anchoring herself to it. To him. One hand smoothed over the back of her thigh, the other resting gently at her hip, holding her steady, holding her still. He could feel the tension in her. God, she’s letting me do this, he thought, head bowed, breath brushing warm across her skin. She still trusts me enough to be this close. 

He massaged her inner thighs, teasing her, making her body beg for him. The muscles under his hands trembled. She thightened her grip onto his hair and he chuckled. He was being a little shit, but he wanted to make this moment last forever because he wasn’t sure about what would come next. And then, finally, he licked her center. He felt her body twitch under his mouth. The taste of her was salt and heat and everything that had haunted him in dreams, every silent night in his home when he swore he could remember what she felt like around his tongue. Dean licked her slowly, deliberately, a long, open-mouthed drag that made her knees buckle. One of her hands fisted in his hair, the other braced against the counter. He could hear her trying not to moan. Trying to follow his rule. It made him grin against her. She whimpered, hips rolling involuntarily as he pushed his tongue deeper, tasting her like she was a prayer and a punishment. His nose pressed against her, breathing her in. His hands tightened around her thighs, grounding her, dragging her open.

She was panting now, chest heaving with the effort not to fall apart. Dean could feel how close she was, how her body trembled with every flick of his tongue, every subtle shift of pressure. She was dripping, wetness smearing across his chin, and she didn’t even care. “You gonna come for me like this?” he rasped against her. “No hands, sweetheart. Just my mouth.”

She made a choked sound, the closest thing to a cry she could manage without breaking the rule. He slid one hand up to press between her shoulder blades, guiding her lower, keeping her open, on display. His other hand stayed on her hip, anchoring her as he worked her apart with his mouth, relentless, skilled, worshipful. Every motion said what he wouldn’t. I’m yours. I never stopped being yours. He flicked his tongue on her clit, drinking everything she was willing to share with him. And when she came, shaking, lips bitten closed to stop herself from screaming. Dean didn’t stop. He held her through it, licking her softly, gently, until her legs gave and he had to pull her into his arms before she fell, standing up. She collapsed with her back against his chest, still shaking, still panting. His hand slid into her hair, holding her there, grounding her. He kissed the top of her head. “I’ve got you.”

Her body was warm in his arms, breath shallow against his chest, skin damp with sweat and the echo of release. Dean held her for a moment longer, fingers tangled in her hair, breathing her in like he was trying to anchor himself. But his need hadn’t gone anywhere. If anything, the taste of her, the way she shattered for him without a sound, had only pushed him closer to the edge. He shifted behind her again, guiding her gently to lean against the counter once more. She didn’t resist, in fact, she arched her back slightly, offering herself like it was instinct. Like her body knew his. Dean groaned softly, hands sliding down her back, appreciating the curve of her, the trust in her.

“You’re killing me, sweetheart,” he rasped.

She smiled into her arm, teasing. “You promised to ruin me, remember?”

That broke something in him. He reached between her legs, fingers brushing her slick heat again, just to tease, just to make her squirm. She gasped at the sensitivity, and he kissed her shoulder in apology. Then, slowly, he lined himself up and pushed forward. The heat of her made him hiss. Her body took him like it was meant to, soft and tight, still fluttering from before. His hands gripped her hips, anchoring them both, as he buried himself to the hilt.

He didn’t move at first. Just stayed there. Inside her. Breathing.

She tilted her head back, eyes closed. Her lips parted around a sound she didn’t let slip. Dean leaned over her, chest to her back, mouth brushing her ear. “Feel that?” he whispered. “That’s mine.” She nodded, breathless. 

He started to move, slow at first, deep, each thrust dragging across the places that made her tremble. She pushed back to meet him, her body answering his rhythm like a question already solved. The sound of skin on skin filled the kitchen. The pace quickened. His hands slid up to her waist, her ribs, cupping her chest again, grounding himself in her.

“You feel so damn good,” he growled, lips pressed to her spine. “Don’t wanna stop.”

“Don’t,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Please.”

That did it. He snapped his hips harder, faster, the edge creeping up his spine like fire. She gasped, clinging to the counter, letting him have her, all of her, as he rutted into her with all the hunger he’d buried for too long. He reached down to touch her again, wanting her to come with him, to feel it together. She broke first, a trembling, near-silent cry, her whole body tightening. Dean followed, burying himself deep one last time, his jaw clenched, his breath broken against her shoulder.

He didn’t tell her he loved her, that was too soon.

But he stayed inside her like he couldn’t survive anywhere else.

[goatlilly]

May I ask, how do you come up with your designs? Because I'm SOOO bad at character design and I would really use some tips

Hey, sorry, I sort of answered the wrong ask when I first posted this. (My bad.)

For most of the designs I just took the character’s personalities, my knowledge of kid fashion/children in general, and their Akkuma designs and went from there—For example, Princess Ladybug is a mixture of her Puppeteer design, a ladybug dress that my five-year-old sister has, and the idea that she likes magical girls and just wants to be one. :)

Hope that helps.

*Edit

I realize I should probably talk about my process for the adult designs some, since those are a bit more complex. Let’s go one by one:

Lady Luck—Her design was probably harder than any of the others, because I had to balance a lot of different ideas—I wanted her to look mature, competent and inviting, while also incorporating some more Chinese elements into the design. In her case, I sort of started with one design and worked off of it until it reached a point where I was happy with it. Here’s each of those in order (top left to bottom right.)

Elements of each made it into the final design.

Matagot—This was a lot easier, since all I had to do was work off of his canon design for the most part. The trick was making him look more like an antihero than a villain, since his canon design is at the height of his corruption. Really, all I changed from the first version of the design was to have his hair showing. Made him a bit more inviting. Here’s some bonus concept art from back when I was feeling out his character:

Not gonna lie, I still kind of vibe with the hair covered version, but I had to go with what felt right. If you want to see my first posted design for him, click here.

Vixen—So she was actually one I knew almost immediately what I wanted for. She only took a couple passes before I was happy with her. Basically I knew I wanted her to look like a mature version of Alya, with a sort of professional look mixed with a playful nature. Once I had the first sketches done, it was just a matter of streamlining the design.

Queen Bee—Audrey was easy—She just kinda came into existence pretty much perfect the first time. I just thought Chloe but older, and there she was. A couple tweaks to her original design and she was ready to go.

Venadrone—Easiest design by far. I don’t think I even changed anything from my first pass. I was just thinking I needed him to look a little like a bumbling fool while also trying to imitate Queen Bee’s charisma and commanding personality. Like a peon, basically. So yeah.

Bombshell—Here’s where I got stuck. I knew what vibes I wanted, (Reckless and Iconic, like a big name streamer but if they were a superhero,) but I was having trouble translating that into an actual character design. The first rendition was passable, but it wasn’t really giving enough sass for me, and it felt way to tame for a hero named Bombshell.

So I had to sleep on it for a while. Then I finally figured out what vibes I was going for—Deadpool vibes. That made everything so much easier. I just referenced a bunch of images of Deadpool and Deathstroke, then Incorporated it into a new design. It took a couple passes for me to get it right still, but the end result landed close enough to what I wanted that I was ready to post it.

That last one was almost the final design, but the chest part was too thin and looked too much like a snake, so I redid it one last time.

Violeon—Not as hard as I expected him to be. Honestly, his design came pretty naturally to me. (It helped that I had previously worked on a Chat Noir/Butterfly fusion design as a concept.) really I just took Gabriel’s design, made it more childish and… Adrienish I guess? And I had what I wanted more or less.

Anyways, the final result is good.

Foulette—this one took a bit longer, not because the concept was hard to come up with (Once I thought Swan Lake tragic heroine the design for that pretty much made itself,) but because I was struggling to balance the colors. Color balancing is easier in some ways with traditional art than digital art thanks to having a more unified and limited pallet to work with, but that doesn’t mean color placement is easy. In particular I wasn’t sure if I wanted her to be lighter or darker. So yeah. Anyways, here’s how that went.

Eventually my design landed closest to the last image. I tried giving that version light blue gloves at one point, but in the end I decided dark was the way to go.

Gorgana—She was pretty darn easy once I had enough references to work off of—it was just a matter of compiling a bunch of the right ones—snake fangs, that one KDA rapper girl’s light up mask (can’t remember her name, but it was from their first music video “Popstars,”) and couple of killer gorgon ladies and a whole bunch of rocker fashion from before I was alive. After that the rest was just simplifying all that into a super-suit, and there she was. :)

So… yeah. Hopefully that’s more helpful than with the Minnie’s. For most of them it really was as simple as my first instinct mixed with messing around. Those guys are so much easier to draw.

[mactavishwritings]

Hello! I have a request for poly!141 + Keegan maybe where their wife(if you’re okay with fem!reader) is pregnant and she comes to base with food for them but she can’t get past the gates bc they won’t let her past and she calls price and they all come out pissed before bringing the reader inside and they eat together. And maybe the reader gives them all a little note of the baby’s gender(u can pick) just a lot of fluff.♥️

I'm so mad. i started this request earlier today, but my work redid the wifi so i lost my draft :( oh well

so i took this and ran w it omg

You were growing more and more frustrated, a pounding headache taking the forefront of your mind. The soldier who was standing guard, minding the gate, refused to scan your pass. The main issue was that your visitor pass was expired. You had already renewed it and were just waiting for the new one to come in the mail. John assured you that you could still use the old one, that all they had to do was scan the old one and it'll prompt for the new, updated pass.

The soldier refused to even listen to you, just telling you to get off the base. You were damn near about to stomp your foot like a child, feeling completely helpless. "Just humor me and scan the damn pass!" You shoved your pass towards the man, who took a step back from you. You were completely done. You had planned on going on base to reveal the gender to your boys. You just wanted to get in and to them. You angrily grabbed your phone and the soldier sighed. "Jesus I knew pregnancy affected a woman's emotions, but I didn't know it would affect her intelligence!"

Your eye twitched and just smiled tightly at the man. "Just give me one moment." You nodded as you immediately dialed John. "Hey baby, what's up?" You could hear the boys in the background and it helped your mood a bit. "My darling. Can you do me a favor and come sponsor me? They won't let me on." You heard him chuckle to himself and it sat weird with you. "What do you mean? Just have them scan your pass. The system will say you're valid." John clearly had a smile on his face and didn't understand what the issue was. "That's what I thought, however, this soldier guarding the gate said that wasn't possible. But as this soldier said, pregnancy affects a woman's intelligence so what do I know?" The laughter in the background immediately went silent and you just heard breathing. "Stay there. We're coming."

You waited for John, smiling at the soldier, who was on the verge of kicking you off base completely. You saw John's black car roll up at a speed that even made you nervous. You shifted in your seat as you watched John step out of the now parked car and all the other three boys stepped out, but stayed by John's car. John calmly walked towards the gate and the soldier immediately stood at attention, saluting John. He nodded at the man before snatching the scanner out of his hand. "Watch this, ya fuckin' dumbass," John stated before holding his hand out for your pass. You happily handed it over and John scanned it himself. The gun beeped for a moment before showing a green check mark. You were clear to enter the base.

After you smiled sweetly as the soldier mumbled an apology, you followed John's car as the boys drove back to their barracks. The base was huge, you could easily see yourself getting lost if not for the boys in front of you. You pulled into the parking spot reserved for expecting mothers and Simon was quick to run over to help you out of the car. "Let's get you in mama." Simon kissed your head and Johnny pulled the cake from your backseat.

"You make this yourself, Chridhe?" Johnny hummed, coming to kiss your hand before rushing inside as Kyle held the door open for all of you. John entered after you and Simon and they all brought you down to their rec room. You sighed, finally happy to be able to sit down. "That idiot up front was a dick." You mumbled and groaned, rubbing your head. "Said some dumbass shit." You rolled your eyes and sat forward looking up toward the boys.

"You got through it, babe." Kyle placed a kiss on your forehead and smiled. "I'm ready to know what we're having." All the boys nodded in agreement and you immediately got excited. "Oh yeah! Let's cut into this cake." You grabbed a knife and told the boys to close their eyes. You cut them all slices and placed a piece in front of them. "Okay ready? Open."

You had tears in your eyes as the boys looked down at the cake to expose the blue filling inside. Johnny and Kyle both jumped up with joy and John laughed loudly. Simon reached out to hold your hand tightly as Johnny and Kyle both wrapped you up in their arms.

"I'm so happy!" You squealed, tears rolling down your face. "Thank you so much, woman." John grabbed the sides of your face and kissed your nose lightly.

You felt completely content, ready to share this moment for the rest of your life with these men.

[p0rk-guts]

He's finally done I think. WOAW! Radio demon time!!!

Okay time for comparison + breakdown rant ^ - ^ another SUPER long one I had a lot to say about this silly guy

ALRIGHT. So. Atp all that can be said has been said about Alastor but I'll gloss over it anyhow. Grossly historically inaccurate hair and clothing. Invisible deer theming. One of the main reasons he's got one of the most clowned on designs in the show is bc he's a pretty good representation of the worst it has to offer. He's absurdly red and has the waspiest waist in town. Also gotta zero in on the coat for a second bc I find it incredibly stupid that he went to that tailor bc of his coat being ripped and then left the shop with the exact same torn coat on oh goddd that felt like a complete joke who wrote this

Also his "redesign" was pointless. He stayed pretty much entirely the same except his colors got pinker and grosser and now he has this?? White trim on his lapels??? Even less 1930's accurate and it only serves to hurt the pallate in my eyes. It's the only spot of white on his entire design, it doesn't appear anywhere else so it throws it all off. And it's so bright. Is it supposed to be a focal point?? His tits????

Anyways onto my guy who I love so very deeply. I'm pretty sure sepia film was outdated by the 1930s but I gave him a palette inspired by it to emphasize how dated and stuck in old ways he is. Added blood red accents bc. Well. Cannibal murderer. Also bc I redid the sin colors so red is wrath and it seems like a fitting sin to pair him with.

After looking into 1930's men's fashion a tiny bit (thanks anon, this video was helpful!) and gave him a double breasted coat but wider and pointier so he looks a little less like just some normal guy and really emphasize how prideful and egotistical he is. "Ooo look at me I'm super big and imposing and powerfulll". I think it's a fun character trait of his. Definitely keeping it.

I liked him wearing gloves bc I feel like he wouldn't like getting his hands directly dirty and would always be covered when committing his murders. Maybe he's a germaphobe even. "I can excuse murder but I draw the line at dried blood on my skin". Also the gloves being white would contrast really well with blood so. Love that

I gave him a long tie to free him from the Vivziepop bow tie uniform and a fedora to add to the 1930's vibe and serve as something that can occasionally obscure his face in shadow. His glasses are also opaque and I imagine his eyes would rarely be shown if ever to make him seem more inhuman and off-putting, disconnecting him from personhood a bit. Wanted to add to that with his smiling mouth never opening and just being a static grin that can only occasionally widen or lessen, his voice cracking out of his "speaker" with fuzzy radio static. Seen multiple ppl use that idea and it always eats

I love Alastor's silly theatric nature (primarily in the pilot) and I'd probably keep it, but I'd add a layer of uncanny-ness to him where when he's not putting on his silly jovial facade, he gives off an unnerving vibe. Trying to appear approachable and charming and pleasant to lure people in before he's revealed to be less than human. Loveee thattt

I love Alastor being a deer. Predator becoming prey (animal) + "prey animal" lulling people into a false sense of security before striking. Love it. We should be CAPITALIZING ON IT❗So I gave him deer like legs, visible deer hooves, and more readable deer ears + the ham radio tower antenna antlers (sorry 4 calling them horns 💀)

Tried to make it a little more obvious that he's a mixed man of color by giving him dark wavy hair and the faintest hint of lip definition Viv uses in her style. I think it works. He's still not dark skinned tho

LASTLY the mic. Also not an original idea as I've seen tons of others turn it into a carbon mic but turned into a pentagram shape and I love the idea a lotttt so I joined the crew.

AND THAT DOES IT!!!! hope u like him as much as I do hehe. Just 1 supplemental doodle this time sorry :/ showing off how his face is probably obscured most of the time. He's. So hard to draw. I'm just bad at men but I'm tryinggggg guys

Alsoooo I've already finished the drawings for Niffty, Angel, and Husk! Once I've finished their breakdowns I'll add em right to the queue, and then I'll make a post with all of the main 6 together :3

[animeyanderelover]

I did something like this before with Dazai but I just sort of redid it again because I was in the mood.

Tw: Yandere themes, toxic relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional mindset, clinginess, touchiness, stalking, paranoia, controlling behavior, manipulation, guilt-tripping, isolation, abduction, pregnancy, C-section, mentions of non-con, Stockholm syndrome, baby-trapping, afab s/o

Tags: @lovley-valentine7 @leveyani @chxxz @shumidehiro @izanami78

Pregnancy Hc’s

Pluto

🐺​You've always wondered if Pluto due to being a Demon Hound would go into rut as well now that apparently he has chosen you as his mate. You remember having done a lot of research on wolves. Now that you are permanently stuck with him in a den filled with clothes and blankets he has stolen from villages to keep you warm, you can't help but feel scared when you see the worst fits of winter slowly passing by and the snow melting. Breeding season is from February to March as you can recall and so you watch with growing caution and worry Pluto's behavior. He's recently acted strange. He always rubs his scent all over you, growls as soon as you dare to leave his vision and has been getting a lot more aggressive and irritated with every living being around his den. You fear the worst as he grows clingier and clingier until one day your worst fears are confirmed when sharp nails rip your old and worn-out clothes from your body as red pupils dilate and you feel his erection rutting against your entrance, irritated that he can't get in before he finally slips into you. He barely separates from you during his rut as he spends his time either breeding you or cuddling next to you protectively.

🐺​You know that he would be the one who would notice your potential pregnancy first due to his enhanced senses and when he soon starts nudging your tummy with a satisfied rumble coming from deep within his chest and starts licking it, you take it as a confirmation that he succeeded in breeding you. You don't take the news well because you know that you have no doctor to visit and no midwife to help you when you'll eventually give birth. You only have Pluto with you who resembles from behavior and intelligence a wolf. You can't help but sob a bit when you realise that you'll have to essentially go through pregnancy and birth all by yourself. Pluto, distressed by your sorrow and stress, starts whining and tries to ease your distress by cuddling himself physically close to you. Obviously he doesn't understand what you are thinking right now or why you are so stressed in the first place. He only knows that he doesn't like to see you so panicked and sad, especially now that you carry pups.

🐺​As the male wolf who sired the offspring developing in your tummy, he grows exponentially more protective as his instincts remind him that he is protector and provider for the mother of his children as well as the babies themselves. He starts hunting animals and even buries them for later. You do your best to light up a fire in here to cook the raw meat or just command Pluto to breathe fire for you, a useful trick you've taught him ever since he abducted you. A part of his brain also recalls occasionally what food you consumed when you were still living in a town and since food is now more important than ever with you gestating his young, he raids towns in his Hound form for food and brings it to you. You don't want to touch food that has been directly touched by his saliva when he spits it out in front of you but you accept canned food which Pluto remembers for his next hunt. Besides his hunt for food and his pursuit of everything that dares to get too close to his den, he spends all of his time wrapped around you. Either in his human or hound form.

🐺​You notice that Pluto is confused when you don't give birth within spring and you assume it's because his kind usually gestates young quicker than a human. He whimpers as he presses his nose and ears confused against your swelling stomach as he looks up at you with concerned eyes. You assume that he can sense that the babies are developing fine inside of you as well as that you are healthy which only leaves him majorly confused. You can't help but wonder if you are still growing faster than a normal pregnant human would or if you are actually expecting more than one because you could swear that your stomach looks bigger than it should be already. The only thing you can do for now is wait though. Pluto grows more protective and anxious the more time passes by as his confusion and unease only grow as you don't give birth as well as seeing you starting to struggle as your belly swells and starts hindering you from moving around as much.

🐺​As soon as you can confirm first movement and you realise how much movement it is, you can only silently confirm that you are definitely carrying more than one baby. When Pluto sees and feels the movement in your belly too, he lets out a few excited howls and starts licking your belly more from that day on to show you as well as the pups inside more affection. You really wish that he could talk like a normal human whenever he presses his ears against your stomach because you think that with his enhanced senses he might even be able to hear the heartbeat of the babies and can count them. You can only leave the den when he is with you and the more pronounced and rounded your stomach becomes, the more he insists that you ride on his hound form so that you don't tire yourself. He ususally remains in hound form as he watches you cleaning yourself in the river, his ears twitching and turning around with every small rustle and sound.

🐺​When autumn arrives and the babies are still not born, his anxiety increases. He frantically starts stealing more food as well as clothes and blankets for you to prepare for winter. He's often wrapping himself around you in his hound form nowadays to keep you and your big belly all the time warm. You expect to give birth soon as you have done the basic calculation and at this rate you can't wait as your stomach has gotten so huge. Your labor starts and your water breaks in early winter as you spend hours upon hours with contractions. Pluto is emotionally just as distraught as you are as he cries and whimpers, licking your sweaty head as he tries to comfort and encourage you as you birth his kids. Nearly a day filled with pain later, you've given birth to three boys, all with his silver hair. If he'd have a tail right now, it would wag like crazy as he lets out what you assume are excited barks as he tenderly chews off their umbilical cord and licks them clean before he carefully pushes all of them against your chest. He pulls a few stolen blankets over his new family before turning into his hound form and wrapping himself protectively around his mate and freshly born litter.

Snake

⚕️​Snake is a hybrid himself so chances of him experiencing something akin to mating season aren't unlikely. It will probably not be as strong with Snake who is normally always a more shy and insecure around you but there is an intense need for him during such periods to mate with you and breed. He is conscious of his sexual urges though and generally tries to avoid you during such times. He doesn't want to force the sexual act on you even if all of his snakes try to coax him into believing that he shouldn't resist his nature. Snake refuses though even if temptation is sometimes very strong when he feels the warmth of your body on his skin as his pupils go from their ususal slits to growing, black orbs as he feels his desire flaring up hotly inside his body. Sex during this period of time is rougher as the normally more submissive male becomes more dominate, although he tries to be more careful with you despite essentially being in heat.

⚕️​As he eventually calms down from his heat and returns to his normal self, although highly ashamed and apologetic afterwards, his snakes and him soon sense that he has succeeded in what his heat-addled brain wanted to do. You're pregnant. He doesn't know how he should tell you and hesitates for a while. Snake is terrified that you'll be angry with him for impregnating you and also worries that you might reject the child to whom he seems to already form an attachment to. His golden eyes often focus on your stomach as he grows more protective and starts following you around more often. His snakes seem to try to tell you what Snake hesitates to speak out as they wrap themselves around your stomach protectively to protect the precious life inside. You can tell that something is going on but Snake still can't speak up. So far no one besides Sebastian seems to have caught on, the butler telling Snake in an amused tone that he should tell you soon as you are already suspicious.

⚕️​He apologizes as soon as he has told you and you can see that he is visibly anxious and nervous for your reaction. At this point you've had your own suspicions already as your period has been late and you've started to experience some typical symptoms like a change of smell. You are a bit unsure because this pregnancy wasn't fully planned even if you were aware of Snake's intentions when you agreed to have sex with him during his heat but you also don't hate the baby and just decide to raise it together with him. Snake is visibly relieved when he hears your answer as his eyes water a bit. He's shaking a bit when he hugs you because he is excited, nervous and anxious all at the same time. Snake seems to be a bit unwilling to share the news initially with Ciel and all the other human servants as he is quite protective but he knows that it's necessary so he soon tells the Earl of Phantomhive about the fact that you're expecting. When Mey-Rin, Bardroy and Finny find out, they're busily congratulating him as well as suggesting names for the baby, even arguing over it.

⚕️​Snake feels increasingly more uneasy and worried whenever he has to leave you alone so to not feel as anxious, he always leaves a few of his snakes in your company. All of his animal friends gladly do him the favor of looking out and guarding you and there is always at least one poisonous among those who stay with you. Just to be completely sure that nothing happens to you whilst you are pregnant. So you end up always having one snake gently wrapped around your neck whilst the other one is wrapped around your stomach for as long as it is still possible. Snake gets all flustered when you slowly start developing a baby bump, his hands trembling slightly when he touches your tummy with his hands carefully as if afraid that even the slightest touch could harm the precious life inside. He's more warily than ever when he brings you over to the mansion because all other servants, besides Sebastian, have been kind of asking him if he could let you visit. His snakes have been against it, it's only because you wanted to come over that he yields. He's still cautious and stays alerted because he knows that the servants in this mansion can be quite clumsy and he wouldn't want anything to harm you.

⚕️​He has been sensing it for kind of a while now and his snakes have been too but Snake waits for a while to confirm his suspicion as your stomach swells with new life until the first kicks eventually happen. It's then that he can confirm that he has been sensing two lives within you and all of his snakes have done so too. He looks anxious when he tells you this because one child is already such a big responsibility. Two at once is even bigger of a responsibility though and he can't help but worry even if he is also equally as excited. At one point your stomach gets too big for some of his snakes to comfortably wrap around so instead they curl themselves over your stomach comfortably as soon as you sit down or lay in bed. You notice that they are often hissing, their tongue flipping out as their head moves closer to your stretched skin. Snake informs you that they're communicating with the babies inside your stomach and often translates to you what they're saying. Both of you actually wonder if the babies will also be able to understand snakes like he does and judging from the increased movements whenever a snake is talking to them, you like to imagine that they do.

⚕️​As happy as Snake is, he's also more prone to insecurities. He's worried that his children might also be made anomalies due to him being their father. He manages to convince Ciel with the huge support of the other free human servants to be given some time off when you approach your due date. He rejects the offer that you could come over to his mansion and give birth in his room as he wants his solitude with you when your water breaks as he prefers to stay in your house. He does accept the offer of letting a midwife stay with you now that you're so incredibly close. He definitely reaches the peak of his protective behavior in those final days when him and his snakes can all sense that it could happen anyday now as he barely leaves you out of his sight. He's not leaving your sight, clutching your hand tightly in his own as soon as your contractions start as if he's the one in need of support, golden eyes observing sharply the midwife from time to time too. You give birth to one boy and one girl and they're surrounded by all of his snakes instantly, the animals determined to protect both of those children. They have some scales littering a few parts of their body but he doesn't care as he tears up when he sees how cute they are.

Dazai Osamu

🤎Dazai wants to start a family with his darling at one point and he has always been hinting at this. Whenever he sees a young family when he’s walking around with you, he jokingly asks you how your children would be if you would have a few. As soon as he sees a pregnant person walking around, he tells you that you’d probably look very cute with a pronounced baby bump that would make you waddle wherever you go and would force you to rely on him for a lot of things. He says all of those things with a harmless and teasing smile on his face yet he also gauges your reaction to his words very closely, brown eyes observing every twitch of your mouth and eyes. Perhaps it would be best for you to have nothing against the thought of children because otherwise you might be succumbed to his manipulation and gaslighting. Jokes eventually turn serious as Dazai makes it clear to you that he desires a child with you, his own hands gently grasping your own as he presses his forehead against your own. Don't you want it too? Leaving a physical trace of your love and adoration on this earth even after your death in form of a sweet child?

🤎​Perhaps you should have expected this outcome even if you yourself never desired a child to begin with. As your period doesn't come and as you slowly start experiencing symptoms such as cravings, a suden change in smell as well as nausea you can feel his eyes trailing after you. It's like he has been waiting for signs of pregnancy from you and now that you experience those changes, Dazai starts feeling extremely giddy. He soon goes out to run an errand and asks you to wait for him at home before he leaves, giving you a quick kiss before he does so. When he returns, he has bought a few pregnancy tests and asks you excitedly to take them. He waits in front of the bathroom, although he knocks on the door every few seconds to ask if he can come inside now. As soon as you allow him, both of you wait for the results. When two red lines appear on all of them and confirm that you are indeed expecting, he starts to let out a genuinely happy and excited laugh. Arms wrap gently around your waist and you feel warm lips travel all over your face before he starts spinning and swaying you around whilst humming happily.

🤎​Dazai decides to keep it a secret from everyone in his workplace for now and is especially more careful to keep the news away from the Port Mafia. He is no fool, he is aware that at one point they will find out. For now though he just wants to enjoy this special time with you whilst also preparing for the baby. For the first time in a while he seems to become conscious of his own life lifestyle and suddenly he does a 180 now that he knows that a baby will soon live here. Dazai starts cleaning everything, clothes and other stuff that used to lay everywhere randomly is sorted away because he doesn't want you to trip over it. He even makes a list what he needs to buy but he still likes to make spontanous decisions as he goes out with you, a hand always wrapped around you as the both of you buy a crib, diapers and choose babyclothes together. He discovers his fervor as he buys everything even if it threatens to tear a hole in his wallet. Both of you find quickly out during an appointment with a doctor that you are actually having twins and he couldn't be more happy as he showers you in kisses as soon as the news are out. So that means that he can name one child and you can name one too.

🤎​He always keeps a picture of the ultrasound pictures in his wallet and whenever he has the time, he just stares fondly at the two little babies in your womb. This is what he'll soon protect and have in his life. He has had his hands on your stomach and even talked to the babies before you were showing but as soon as you start developing a baby bump, he glues himself even more to your side. Hands are always rubbing over your swelling tummy as he all but dotes on you and his two babies. As soon as you are in your second trimester he becomes especially touchy as he eagerly awaits the first kicks of his precious children. It's probably around this time that the other members of the ADA find out about your pregnancy. It's either that they caught him staring at the ultrasound pictures or that Yosano caught sight of the two of you during her shopping trips and connected the dots quickly when she saw your growing belly. Initially his reactions are more careful when all members find out and congratulate him but eventually he becomes more open and starts gushing about how precious and adorable you are with your baby bump and how he can't wait for the babies to be born.

🤎​Dazai starts taking pictures of you at one point too because he wants to capture how beautiful and motherly you start looking the bigger you start to grow and is all but cooing and doting on you during this time as you slowly start struggling with the size of your belly. Dazai on the other hand truly starts blossoming as your situation as well as his babies motivate him to take better care of himself because you and the babies need him to take care of them. He helps you with all tasks that start to become more straining for you, he cleans the house, does the laundry and even starts to pick up some meals to cook so that he can prepare them for you as well as for the babies at one point. He always insists to spoonfeed you whenever he cooks something for you, all excited for you to try them. He does keep you on a diet appropriate for your pregnancy but at one time he starts to become so putty in your hands the further along you are that he starts stocking the food that you start craving a lot whilst you are carrying his twins.

🤎​He is constantly torn apart between wanting to know the gender of his babies and wanting to keep it a surprise. There were multiple times during appointments with the doctor where he wanted to ask or even at home when he already had his phone in his hands and was about to call them only to change his mind in the last moment. He takes some time off from his work in your last weeks as he yearns to spend those last few weeks with you. It'll be the last time for a long time that both of you will be alone after all. He savors the last bit of your pregnancy, his hands and lips cherishing your big tummy as he spends every waking hour with you. When your labor starts, he decides to wait as he packs everything he thinks you two might need for the hospital all whilst giving you soft kisses in between whenever you feel a contraction. When your contractions come in certain time intervals, he drives with you to the hospital and then he stays there with you, his hand rubbing over your stomach as he asks the twins to not give you too much of a hard time and that he can't wait to meet them. His eyes are filled with nothing but love as soon as you give birth to his daughter and his son as he admires his new family.

Fyodor Dostoevsky

🍎​Fyodor has never mentioned anything about children to you for as long as you can remember. And honestly, with the situation you are in with him you have never had the time nor the care to ask him what his opinion of children is. Until Fyodor succeeds in invading your heart and mind and you stop caring about about everything else that isn't him either. Your days from that day on are spend with Fyodor being much more gentle and affectionate with you although sometimes he just needs to ignite the sadistic spark inside of him and see you in pain only to kiss the pain better afterwards whilst uttering sweet nothings to you. You've completely forgotten about thoughts of a child until one day he suddenly brings it up to you whilst you are placed on his lap, his lips brushing against your ear as he asks you how you'd feel about a child. You're a bit surprised but eventually you tell him that you wouldn't mind having a child with him. He gives you a small smile as he replies that he's glad to hear this as you feel one of his cold hands resting on your stomach.

🍎​You realise a few weeks later that he must have already known at that time that you were expecting as you are hunched over the toilet again, Fyodor behind you as he caresses your back and your shoulders whilst you throw up. He's sure that it must be uncomfortable but he hopes that you'll get used to it since this might happen more often now that you carry his child. You've already asked him a couple of times before if the child was intended from his side or if it was an accident. All you always get from him is this mysterious smile and a gentle kiss somewhere on your head as he tells you in a low tone that he's happy and that is all that matters. He quickly arranges everything for you and the child. Fyodor can't risk anyone tracking you back to him and possibly go after you now that you are carrying his baby but he is generous enough to know that it would be wiser to have medics assisting you and helping you, especially once you'll give birth to his baby. He's very picky though as he chooses a selected few doctors and midwives to do the ultrasounds and to cater to your and your baby's needs as soon as he has to drive you to the hospital.

🍎​His hands caress your stomach gingerly as soon as you start showing as he even starts occasionally talking to the baby, mainly in Russian. He's given you already a nickname in Russian and he gives one to the child inside of you too and always addresses the baby by his chosen pet name when he talks to your stomach. Fyodor wants to find out the gender of the baby soon though so as soon as it is possible to find the sex of the baby out through the ultrasound, he asks the doctor to tell the both of you. A small smile appears on his face when he hears that he'll have a little daughter, his eyes twinkling with pride and fondness whenever he touches your stomach from that point on and talks gently with his litte girl. His sadistic desires completely vanish during your pregnancy because he would never be so cruel to hurt you whilst you carry something so small and pure inside of you. This little girl is a gift from god after all, physical proof that both of you are bound together.

🍎​The whole nursery is colored in white and light blue and you don't get much of a say in it. White is the color of purity after all and his daughter will be born pure. She'll be a precious and innocent child, born without any sin tainting her. And light blue to symbolize the clear and blue sky on a day without any clouds hiding it from the human's eyes. The further along you are, the more Fyodor tries to make more time for you instead of spending it scheming and planning his crimes or wasting hours in front of multiple screens. Even whilst he is working, he always has one screen showing him live footage of a camera he has set up in your room for safety. Sometimes he forgets about his work as he instead admires you through the screen. His admiration for his darling definitely grows during the pregnancy. It's so beautiful to see how your body adjusts and prepares for his daughter you grow and nurture inside of you. You are so breathtaking as your belly swells with child and your breasts slowly inflate with milk to nurse the baby as soon as she is born.

🍎​The man finds himself low-key starting to worship you and your body as you grow with his child and he admits to you so as he whispers words of affirmation and praises into your ears whenever his arms are wrapped around you gingerly and his hands rub over your stomach soothingly. He has a smug and content grin on his face whenever you tell him that the little girl starts kicking and moving around inside of you whenever he starts talking Russion to her as if she reacts to his voice and his words as his hands instantly rest on your bump to feel her little feet and hands. He always tells you in an almost teasing voice that he's just starting very early to teach her his mother tongue, glad that she seems to react so strongly to him speaking in Russian to her. He chooses a couple of different names for his daughter, all in Russian as well and all of them have some meaning including purity or God in it. He tells you about those names he has chosen so far and asks you which name sounds prettiest to you. You tell him your honest answer although you don't know if he'll actually consider your answer.

🍎​He removes himself completely from all of his work when your due date is getting close as he spends all of his time from that point on with you. His purple eyes are always on you as he watches for any sign that you might experience the first signs of early labor. Similar to Dazai, Fyodor decides to wait for a while until your contractions are coming within a certain time. You spend early labor with him as both of you pack everything he thinks you might need whilst in the hospital whilst he softly assures you that even if what is to come might be scary and will be painful, it's the last and ultimate act you have to do in order to bring your beautiful daughter into this world. He has booked a private room for you as soon as he brings you to the hospital because he doesn't want too many people around you and his newborn daughter as soon as she is born. There's only the midwife occasionally checking how far you are dilated, otherwise you are left alone with Fyodor who soothes you as good as he can until they tell you that it's time to push. Fyodor tells them to leave as soon as the baby is safely delivered and cleaned, his eyes focused on his daughter as he tenderly caresses her head.

Jouno Saigiku

♦️​Here you are, permanently imprisoned as the government has taken you under special protectionall because Jouno has asked them to do him a favor. You know that this is in reality just a more civilized abduction but no one gives you any help as you are stuck as Saigiku's lover, a doll who can do nothing but wait for him to return from any missions or other business he had to attend to and hope that he won't be in any sadistic mood. You never even thought of any children and you honestly get chills when you think about Saigiku being father to a child, especially if it should be your own. You don't even think that he would want any children if you would have to make a guess based on his possessive behavior he exhibits around you. You barely take notice when your period is a bit late because it wouldn't be your first time that you've missed your menstruation due to the stress you've felt ever since you've been taken. You don't assume anything, not until you see Saigiku's frown as his head tilts into the direction of your stomach.

♦️​You can only freeze in shock and confusion when he suddenly leans down and presses his ear against your stomach and before you can even attempt to ask what has suddenly gotten into him, he hushes you as he starts focusing on something. You see his normally smug and composed exterior fading as you see surprise, then shock and eventually unease all appearing on his face before he pulls away. He furrows, appears conflicted before he asks you when you've last had your period and it's his question that makes you realise that you've been quite late by now. You want to ask him why he wants to know before your breath gets caught in your throat as you connect the dots and Jouno can hear that you've caught onto why he asked this. He instantly makes an appointment with the doctor and not too long after he gets the confirmation of what he already knew. You're pregnant, the embryo already having a heartbeat which he is able to detect now. There is a thick silence as soon as the news are out and you look anxiously at Jouno who seems to contemplate the situation right now.

♦️​You're surprised when he actually asks you of your opinion on the pregnancy and since he would be able to tell if you would have lied or not anyways, you decide to give him an honest answer. You aren't sure how to feel about this. He seems to think the situation through for the next few days, the second heartbeat he can pick up when he is around you a constant reminder of what is going on inside of you. Eventually he makes the decision to keep the child. You don't know if he would force you to keep the baby even if you were against it but you are still unsure to make up your mind about the situation so whilst you aren't distraught when he announces his decision to you, you also aren't thrilled. Saigiku lets out a sigh when he picks up on your hesitance, one of his hands ruffling your hair gently. He knows that this wasn't the plan but now that this surprise happened you two might as well just make the best of it. He takes your hesitance over any hatred directed against your child though. Jouno just hopes that you'll have made up your mind by the time the child is born. He trusts you to make the right decision.

♦️​He would like for this to remain a secret but the other Hunting Dogs find out far too soon for his taste. Fukuchi congratulates him as he pats Saigiku on his shoulder, Teruko is having a laugh imagining Jouno with a toddler whilst Tetchou and Tachibana fret for the way the baby will be raised by Saigiku. Whilst Tachibana at least keeps quiet about it even if Jouno can still pick up clearly on his emotions, Tetchou is a bit more blunt as he openly admits that he is a bit concerned for how Jouno plans to raise his child. Saigiku can only feel his temper rising as this is the precise reason why he wanted to keep your pregnancy hidden for a while longer. How dare he to question his abilities to take care and look out for his own child? Fukuchi stops the two of them before anything grand might happen as Jouno leaves, fuming on the inside. What is probably even worse is that he knows exactly that you think the same way Tetchou does so when he visits you shortly after his argument with Tetchou, he feels the need to make it very clear to you that he wouldn't harm his own child. Honestly, for what kind of sociopath do you take him to even consider such a thing?

♦️​You have regular appointments with the doctor to make sure that the baby as well as you yourself are both fine. Truthfully though, Jouno is playing partially a medic too. His enhanced senses to cancel out his blindness cause him to pay very close attention to everything he can pick up. He listens closely to the heartbeat of the baby as it grows stronger and stronger each week and seems a lot more concerned as soon as he notices that you're stressed or anxious. Whenever he notices that your emotions go a bit haywire he quickly walks to you, asking you with a frown on his face if something is wrong. He wouldn't want you to stress yourself too much since it might be bad for the baby as he starts refraining from hurting or scaring you during your pregnancy. He becomes very touchy with you because of his blindness. He can't see you growing round and looking all adorable and he would lie if he would say that he isn't a bit upset about it so instead he feels your pregnancy. His hands are often on your stomach, slowly running over the surface to feel how much you've grown since last week and to imagine what you might look like now.

♦️Since the pregnancy was already a surprise he decides the sex might as well be a surprise until birth as well. He gets some time off before your due date as requested by him and Fukuchi who insists that he gets some time with his new family. Everything is ready by now. From the nursery to the people who will assist you the moment your water breaks as he tells you that you can't just go into a public hospital like this now that you're under his protection and carry his child. You'll have your own special room just for yourself and your own team. Your little daughter isn't born the natural way though as you experience stalled labor throughout the process and suddenly stop progressing as you stop dilating. You decide to wait for a while yet as you still experience contractions without dilating further, the doctor advices that a C-section might be an option and Jouno agrees as he's worried for you and his child. She's still born healthy though as Jouno gets to hold her first, listening to her gentle breath and the sound of her heartbeat. His fingers trace tenderly over her face, trying to imagine what she looks like before he hands her over to you and asks you to describe her to him.

Sigma

☁️​Sigma is a person who just came like this into existence by being written into the Book without any way to ever find a reason why he came into existence anyways. He has found his purpose ever since then in you as he has made it his whole point to exist to look after you and to protect you. You are his purpose in life so he can't allow you under any circumstances to leave him which has led you to be permanently stuck in the Sky Casino and even all the gifts and riches he gets you don't do any good yet he still does his best to appease and please you in any way he can. Sigma as the one who has dedicated his entire existence to you will be relatively quick to notice the small changes occuring in you. He notices how you suddenly crave food you've never particularly liked before, he notices how you're suddenly more sensitive around certain smells as well as some headaches. He frets about your health as he wonders what might be wrong with you but it is you who one day approaches him to tell him in a serious tone that you're quite late for your period and that is when he realises what is wrong. It's something he didn't really want to consider.

☁️​You can't help but wonder that it should be the other way around as you can see Sigma's whole face twist in fear, anxiety and stress as his eyes widen, his heart starts beating out of his chest and his breath quickening. He looks like he is about to have a meltdown and a panic attack so you try to calm him down as he clutches onto you as soon as he feels your warmth, his palms and forehead covered in cold sweat as you help him to regulate his breathing. As soon as he has regained some semblance of composure he apologizes frantically to you. He-he had no intention to get you pregnant! He's so sorry he should have been more careful with protection! You try to put a stop to his anxious rambling as you inform him that you aren't angry with him or anything. He still apologizes as he informs you that he'll arrange you an abortion if you desire one. You tilt your head at him as you ask him what he actually wants and he insists that he'll do whatever you want him to do in this situation. You fall silent as you consider everything before you tell him that you'd like to keep the child. You see him swallowing nervously as he purses his lips but he eventually gives you a nod.

☁️​He spends entire nights reading through every file and online article he can find about pregnancy and memorizes everything in there. From development of the child to the changes your body will undergo to what he can do to make this pregnancy as easy as possible for you. Honestly, he knew before all of this very loosely that unprotected sex would lead to pregnancy but he can't help but be shocked and even slightly disturbed as he reads through everything. The thought of growing an entire life within your womb is so strange but he wasn't exactly created the normal way so perhaps that's why he finds this all so foreign. He insists on knowing the sex of the baby as early as possible as he assigns a few medics to monitor your pregnancy. He needs to order and prepare a nursery after all and instead of constantly second-guessing everything he wants to have delivered, he just wants to know the sex of the baby as early as possible. He still second-guesses everything though because he wants it to be perfect for you and the child so you end up helping him to choose, literally meaning that you say what you like and he buys it without giving his own opinion. Your opinion matters after all.

☁️​It's kind of cute when he randomly tells you how big your son is right now if he would be a fruit and what he is already capable of doing within your womb. He's been still somewhat in denial and disbelief up until a certain point that he has gotten you pregnant yet the reality of the situation crashes down onto Sigma when he notices that you start developing a baby bump. He just stares and stares and stares as you start to grow bigger as if still thinking that he is hallucinating yet he can't deny that he's curious. How does your stomach feel now that you're carrying a baby inside of you? He always wonders but never asks. Not until you yourself take it upon yourself to invite him to touch your belly as you have noticed those curious eyes on your belly for a while now. He asks you if he really can before he carefully touches your tummy, amazed by it's roundness and firmess. You find his fascination with your belly cute though. Sigma is perhaps a bit strict with your diet and activity though as he has only the advice of the doctor and the advice online to trust so he is a tad bit controlling because he really doesn't want anything to happen to you whilst you're pregnant.

☁️​He's initially bewildered but then quickly intrigued when the baby starts kicking around inside of you. Honestly, he is admiring you for growing another human being inside of you whilst enduring the changes that come with it and the further you are along, the more protective and paranoid he becomes. He's constantly checking the cameras in your room to see how you're doing only to pause and always get so fascinated when he sees how big you have grown already. The more you start swelling and the less foreign and strange the concept of you being pregnant with his child becomes, the more another feeling starts blossoming inside of Sigma. He starts feeling an attachment to his son you're carrying as he starts feeling responsible. Responsible to protect him, cherish him and raise him well. He's going to be a father to your child and as much as this knowledge stresses him, it also makes his heart pound in excitement as he realises that his son will be one more reason and justification for his existence. Sigma will have another purpose to exist as soon as his child gets born.

☁️​Besides a few chosen people who Sigma closely monitors, no one else finds out about your pregnancy though. Sigma is too anxious to let anyone else know about it. He's counting days and hours the closer your due date gets as he simultanously worries and marvels over how much you've swollen and changed with his baby developing inside of you and he tries his best to alleviate you of any pressure and pain you might feel by giving you a massage or doing anything you want him to do. He tries and fails to keep his composure the moment your water breaks as he instantly cancels all of his work to instead spend it with you and tells all guards to not let anyone get close to your room. He's sweating, he's hyperventilating and he feels like he's about to suffer a mental breakdown as he watches you going through labor. He's constantly fearing for the worst yet luckily he is disappointed when his boy is born healthy. You fall asleep soon after you've given birth which leaves him pacing back and forth in the room with his son in his arms as he is unable to sit still. His eyes constantly go back and forth between you and the baby, hoping that you'll soon wake up before glancing down amazed at the baby he created.

[microwavesaferat]

Batfam Scar Map!!!

I've seen this done for other fandoms, so wanted to share what scars I think the Batfam have.

Bruce

When he began as Batman, he didn't take good care of his injuries, so he has a lot of scars from the early years, just small nicks and scratches that he never took care of and got worse as he went out as Batman more. He's better now at taking care of injuries, so the majority are very old wounds.

He has a patch of white skin on his neck from the splash back from the Joker falling into Ace Chemicals. Now the cowl has a higher neck in it and he wears shirts and turtlenecks in public to hide it.

The suit is pretty solid, so not much can get through.

He has a long scar right up his back from when Bane broke it. The scar is from the surgery, not the break.

He has a straight line burned on the back of his hand that people assume is from a fight, but it's actually from when he was a kid and touched the inside of the oven trying to cook.

Dick

Constantly got calloused hands and small cuts from the amount of acrobatics he does.

He's very prone to ripping open old wounds from contorting himself, so has a lot of small scars from various things.

From the 2006 infinite crisis comic, Dick has a large explosion burn on his chest.

Jason

Jason did have scars like the others until his dip in the pit healed them all. Despite this, Ra's wanted to encourage Jason's rage, so carved reminders on him.

Jason now has 2 scars, a Y shaped autopsy scar (he never had an actual autopsy, Ra's just did it for fun) and a J branded on his face (this was there before the pit, Ra's redid it).

He can't seem to gain scars anymore, a byproduct of the pit he thinks.

Tim

There is a reason his Red Robin costume has long sleeves, jesus this kid is covered in scars. He's always been one to just ignore the wound and move on.

He has a Glasgow smile from the Joker.

He also has those indents you get when you scratched chicken pox as a kid. This is from the incident with the super ebola.

He also has a scar on his neck from that time Jason slit it. (This has made me realise Tim nearly died a lot)

Damian

He is young and the others have made sure the wounds are taken care of, so he doesn't have that many scars.

He has kept secret the large scars on his back from when he was given lashes by his grandfather.

He has a large scar on his waist from when Batcow accidentally kicked him. He doesn't mind this though as it was his fault he came up from behind and startled her.

Stephanie

She has a mix of scars from Black Mask, mainly burns and cuts.

Actually takes care of her injuries when she can, so not much scaring.

Cassandra

No one can do much as touch her, nevermind scar.

Duke

During the We Are Robin comics, he didn't exactly have time to take care of his injuries, so he's another one with a lot of small scars.

He also has a few burn marks from learning to control his powers.

He has a circular scar on his right calf he got from fitting Killer Croc (actually, he took the last cookie and Damian bit him).

Barbara

Gunshot wound and surgery scars from the Joker.

Other than the main ones, has small scars here and there.

[sunseed-fandump]

Not Every Hand

Had a scene for the Liar's Circus AU pop into my head so I decided to write it out rq.

It's when Gingerbrave meets Dark Choco! Enjoy!

Gingerbrave wandered the dark halls alone. This was the palace the Enchantress had claimed as hers. It was kind of old and in need of a lot of loving care, but if he tilted his head just right, squinted his eyes, and imagined really hard, he could see how this would be a beautiful place again someday!

For now though, it was rather dark and dreary. Don’t get him wrong, Gingerbrave wasn’t afraid of the dark. There were plenty of dark places inside the Circus, after all. However, the tent felt a lot… Safer.

The darkness there was cozy, like a perfect summer’s night under the stars. The darkness here felt like it held malice. For who or what, Gingerbrave wasn’t sure, but he sure did hope none of it was directed at him.

Maybe he should have stuck with Strawberry and Wizard instead of going off on his own. If he was sensing this ominous feeling, then no doubt they were feeling it too. Ah, but Wizard Cookie had gone off to prove Licorice Cookie wrong about some sort of spell. Meanwhile Strawberry had taken to showing Poison Mushroom Cookie one of her games. Then there was the Ringmaster…

He’d been talking to the Enchantress for an awful long time by now. The two of them had shut themselves out on a balcony to discuss something important and haven’t emerged yet. Well… Nobody said making the world a better place would be easy. They were probably talking about all sorts of plans! Just thinking about the complexity of it made Gingerbrave’s head spin--

He bumped into something.

It felt as hard as a brick wall, but as he stumbled backwards he realized it was a cookie. He sort of recognized this stranger from when they had all been gathered earlier. The name escaped him, but Gingerbrave remembered him by his one striking red eye and the scar down the side of his face.

A hand caught his arm before he could go toppling over.

“Careful,” Muttered the stranger who helped Gingerbrave back to an upright position.

“Whoops! My bad…” Gingerbrave rubbed the back of his head with a sheepish grin, “Sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going! Thanks for the help. Er…” His smile faltered. The name was on the tip of his tongue...

“Dark Choco Cookie…” The stranger grunted, standing up straight. He seemed rather wary, but about what, Gingerbrave wasn’t sure.

“Thanks for the help, Dark Choco!” Gingerbrave’s sunny smile was wholly out of place in this dark castle. “I’m Gingerbrave, it’s nice to meet you!”

Dark Choco Cookie fixed the boy with an odd look. “You do not… Recognize my name?”

Gingerbrave took a moment to really think on it, his face scrunching up in a way he felt made him think better. After a beat, he shook his head. “Nope! Sorry. Should I?”

A bitter chuckle escaped the dark prince. “No, I… Am rather glad you don’t.” He wouldn’t be surprised if his father had stricken every record of him. “Plus, I suppose you would be a bit too young to have experienced it. Someone who’s only a decade old would not have been around for--”

“Wait, do I really look like I’m ten?!” Gingerbrave cut him off with surprise. Dark Choco faltered and took a moment to reassess the cookie before him.

For all intents and purposes, Gingerbrave looked and acted like a child around ten years of age. Unless, he had been distanced from normal society for so long he was starting to lose track of how proper aging was supposed to look…

“My apologies. I should not have assumed.” Dark Choco said instead, “How old are you?”

“Well… Let’s see…” The boy took a moment to do the math in his head, then redid it while counting off on his fingers to double-check his work. “I’d say… About a year? Year and a half?” When he looked back up at Dark Choco he was met with an astonished expression. The fallen prince’s eye was blown wide and his jaw had gone slack.

“But… There is no way that could be…” He muttered before realization dawned on him, “Unless… Were you baked by a Witch?” He whispered the word Witch as if afraid the shadows would hear him.

Gingerbrave nodded, “My friends Wizard Cookie and Strawberry Cookie were baked around the same time. Sooo, they’re around the same age!”

“I… See…” Dark Choco took a moment to regain his composure. He had heard legends of cookies baked by Witches hands. How they either had strange destinies or were gifted unique powers. The tales and whispers never stayed the same between storytellers, but one thing remained the same: they were forces to be reckoned with.

And yet this child seemed so… Innocent. So kind. His eyes lacked any form of shadow or guilt. Dark Choco couldn’t help but be ever so slightly jealous.

The sword at his side felt heavier.

“Allow me to offer you a piece of advice…” Dark Choco Cookie let his cloak fall closed. “Keep the knowledge of your origin close to you. There are many who would seek to abuse it.”

Gingerbrave fidgeted with his gloves and bounced on his feet. The boy seemingly couldn’t sit still for more than a few minutes at a time. Fitting for - if Dark Choco recalled correctly – an Acrobat.

“Yeah… The Ringmaster told that to me too. Something about how some cookies might want to hurt us or study us or something…” His distracted look turned into a warm smile a moment later. “But, you seem nice! So I trust you.”

Trust… Trust was the last thing Dark Choco Cookie felt like he deserved.

“Not every hand that is extended to you, is a kind one…” The fallen prince grumbled, but he knew it was probably falling on deaf ears.

“I… Don’t understand…” Gingerbrave’s brow furrowed.

He scoffed. Of course… “I’m saying, evil has many faces. Some harder to spot than others. You would be best to learn the difference between an ally and an enemy.”

Gingerbrave thought deeply on this advice for a moment. He still didn’t entirely get it. Bad guys usually did… Well… Bad things. And they liked doing the bad things! And they didn’t really help others so…

“Do you wanna be friends?” The question caught Dark Choco, who had begun to walk away, by surprise.

“… What?”

“You helped me not fall down and gave me some good advice!” Gingerbrave concluded with a confident nod, “You’re a good guy. So let’s be friends!”

He almost wanted to laugh. A good guy. If he was such a good guy then why did the weight of his sins threaten to crush him? Why was he here instead of anywhere else? Why had he betrayed the trust of everyone he had ever known?

Dark Choco did not believe he was a good guy.

And yet… Something about the boy’s innocent declaration made a small part of his frozen heart thaw. That small part of him who wanted to escape this nightmare, who wanted to leave his dark path, who still dared to hope, stirred at the thought that maybe… Just maybe…

He stomped on the emotion before it could turn into anything else.

Dark Choco Cookie didn’t respond. He turned his back and began walking away.

“Uh…! Okay! I guess I’ll catch you later Dark Choco Cookie!” Gingerbrave called after him. “You should come watch me and my friends practice later! It’s going to be cool! Bye!”

And like that the boy was gone, having taken off in the direction he had come.

Dark Choco Cookie sighed, suddenly feeling wound up. He changed his course to the training grounds, hand already itching at the hilt of his sword so he could let out this pent-up energy.

Just a child walking down a fool’s path… He wondered if his father had seen him the same way.

[meowthefluffy]

Finally redrew my profile picture! I try to redraw it every year but it has been a bit longer than that since I last redid it! (I also updated my banner image as well- comparisons under cut)

Old vrs ✨New✨

I think there is a lot of difference between the two- and also I don’t think I would say one is better than the other- I am very happy with my results!