#−−− ꧁ DEWEY : if you can dream it you can dewey it. ❨ writing. ❩

[writtcninthestars]

@lcnelylcves // starter for any

maybe dewey shouldn't have been throwing the ball in an area filled with homes and he wouldn't have gotten into this mess. reluctantly, he made his way toward the front door of the home the ball went through the window at. "um hi. my name is dewey duck and i regret to inform you that my baseball went through your window." he was trying to be charming, because then maybe the person wouldn't be too mad at him. "the wind caught it and i don't know, suddenly i heard the sound of glass shattering and now i'm here." an awkward chuckle escaped as he scratched his arm. digging himself in a deeper hole, dewey blurted "i used to be a duck!" it was probably too much and only made his case worse, but oh well.

[residenthughes]

coming home - connor dewar

pairing: connor dewar x fem! reader

word count: 11k

tags/warning: friends to lovers, childhood friends to lovers, fluff, slight angst?, mentions of alcohol/drinking, minor swearing

summary: your entire life has entailed having connor by your side, no matter where the universe carves your paths. back home for the summer leading up to your final year of university, there's much to ponder - even your feelings about your best friend.

notes: this is genuinely a labour of love, the longest fic i've written in a long time 😭 i wanted this to be short and sweet, but it's long and sweet and i don't know how to feel about that lmao. but (!!!) i am really proud/happy about how this has come together and i hope you all enjoy this fic just as much as i loved writing it 😇 this is mostly proofread, but it is 5 in the morning, so I'll return to this soon! (apologizes for any errors towards the end!) more dewey content shall be coming soon, hehe! much love! <333

(also! this is very much in celebration of dewey's first goal as a leaf, teehee! 😁💗⭐️)

Summer’s always your favourite time of the year. Tan lines, midnight drives, fireworks, the beach. So much sweetness is in the breezy summer air and you simply can’t get enough. You wouldn’t admit it, but your favourite part of the season is when one of your closest friends, Connor, comes up from his gruelling hockey season and returns to the slow and laid-back lifestyle of your small town. Having grown up next door neighbours the majority of your lives, you quickly became two peas in a pod, always together with laughter following closeby.

Your friendship is something you’ve always treasured, held in some reclusive and special part of your heart that only houses your fated connection. No matter how mundane your time together may be - Connor strumming his acoustic guitar and you reading as the citrus sunset dips into the horizon - it's all so memorable to you and nothing, as you’ve come to experience, can ever replace his place in your life. However, life is a constant cycle of change and that first dose came when you two were fourteen, too awkward for your own good and growing out of your bodies. Connor was selected to play in a high-level hockey league hours away from your hometown and as your fingertips buried themselves into his tear-soaked t-shirt, you swore nothing could compare to this pain. The absolute tear of your beating heart out of your raw chest that ached with every gasp. You were a mess, undeterred by your futile attempt to appear as nonchalant at your silly age, but the second Connor stood on your porch, luggage in hand and the sadest tinge in his sage eyes, you fell apart.

Despite the sheer anguish you experienced that crisp autumn day, you adjusted. Stayed in contact with your best friend and continued to build up your life in his absence. Completed all your teenage rites of passage - took some extracurriculars, went to prom (you wanted to ask Connor, but ultimately decided against it), graduated high school and started attending university in Calgary - nine hours away from home. So many things changed and some still stayed the same. Connor was still as hockey obsessed and through his diligent efforts, he’s achieved his dreams of playing in the NHL night after night. You were there for draft day and there for his first game, university be damned. As was Connor, in the stands during your high school graduation and any time you needed him, whether that was him sitting on the phone with you until four in the morning or meeting up with you halfway across two countries because he felt like it. There was always something so spectacular about you two, your stories detailed by destiny and hung amongst the stars. A divine creation that despite the odds, of paths that have taken you two elsewhere, always merged because that is simply how it’s meant to be.

And, so it is, your last summer before your final year and here you are, fingertips tapping against the wooden bar as your leg jerks in anticipation of a figure that will come through your hometown bar, Punch & Judy’s doors any minute now.

Your best friend, Charlotte, manages to interweave your antsy fingers in between hers, a nurturing smile across her smooth face. “He’ll get here, don’t worry.”

Your eyebrows quirk, your legs stopping all motion. “Who said anything about worrying?”

She rolls her eyes, unamused. “You know what I mean,”

Then, she goes on to untangle your fingers, leaning her crossed arms against the bar occupied by the usual mellow group of regulars, including your own bunch of friends. “Besides, you know him. Knowing you’re here, he’s tryna get here quicker than a New York minute.”

A funny feeling flips in the pits of your stomach, an immediate flush coating the apples of your cheeks as you clumsily grab at your cider bottle. Connor always poked fun at your inability to enjoy a cold one, resorting to fruity flavours of cider. “He’s a law-abiding citizen, he’ll wait for the greenlight even if it kills him.”

“If you say so,” Charlotte casts you a glance out of the corner of her eye, smugness tugging at the corners of her lips as she takes another swig of her beer. The bell signifying the main door opening sounds in the background. “Oh, look. Speak of the devil and he shall appear! Hey there, stranger!”

Suddenly, your attention is elsewhere, eyes pinned to the tall silhouette that struts through the doorway of the LED ridden bar, kind eyes and a kinder smile with his tousled hickory hair and hushed voice finding its way to your eardrums again after so long. It’s like coming home again, watching from afar as close friends fall into endless hugs, your reunion saved for last as you beam a closed mouthed smile, reproduced by your best friend who opens his arms for a hug that solely belongs to you. You fall into him instinctively, inhaling his soft woody scent as you bury yourself in his embrace, the pendulum of your life coming to a pause as your universe centres.

“Get a room, you two!” Connor’s brother, Quinn taunts from over your shoulder, eliciting an exaggerated sigh from you as you’re reluctantly reminded of the lame chirps he seems to be full of whenever you and Connor are together.

You ignore him, savouring the moment for what its momentarily worth before Connor’s pulling away, arms loosely wrapped around the circumference of your waist as he peers down at you with those same green eyes you’ve known your entire life.

“Hi.” you breathe, short and sweet.

He simpers, something coy in the lines of his smile as he replies back, “hi.”

It’s a simple greeting, but there’s so much more in those few syllables - the endless gravity of your shared experiences and fondest memories making their way back to each other. Your eyes linger for a minute longer, taking in each other’s presence that’s long been missed due to your busy schedules leading up to your summer break. You part ways and despite how fulfilled you are to have him here and see him after some time, there’s a small knack that nags at you - hollow and wanting as you venture to a booth nearby, squishing up in between Charlotte and another one of your guy friends, Owen Power, who like Connor has been busting his ass in the NHL and friends with you all for longer than you can remember. You all chatter amongst yourselves with Connor’s brother sitting across from you, a discussion brewing as Connor returns shortly after getting a drink at the bar, sliding beside his brother with a beer in hand.

“Come on, Connie. Help me out here, these guys have lost the plot.” His brother argues, an eye roll your response.

Connor looks between your group, a knit in his eyebrows. “What’s the deal?”

“They’re tryna say, get this - that dolphins are more dangerous than damn orcas. Can you believe that?” Quinn attests, expression pinched as he ruffles the curls of his bleached hair sticking out his snapback.

“Hey! We’re well within reason to be arguing with you. You on the other hand? I don’t think so.” Charlotte proclaims, an accusatory finger directed towards Quinn.

“Yeah, not gonna lie, Quinn. You’re severely underestimating how evil dolphins are,” concludes Owen, his hand raised as he pushes up his glasses on the bridge of his sunkissed nose.

Quinn guffaws, jaw slack as his eyes flicker between everyone’s faces in quick succession, clearly in disbelief. “Are you hearing this right now?”

“Look, Q - we’ve been over this,” you start, hands extending as if to make sense of your proposed point. “You’ve been fed dolphin propaganda. We’ve literally shown you so many resources about their heinous crimes. Take it or leave it.”

Quinn groans, elbowing his older brother who wordlessly listens to the ongoing conversation. “Bro! A little help would be nice.”

A brief pause follows his younger brother’s melodrama, Connor weighing out the arguments of a conversation he hadn’t been here for, his eyes flickering over towards yours fleetingly. An unexplained shiver runs down your spine, the action camouflaged poorly as you appear to distract yourself from the sensation, fingernails scratching against the lines of your neck as you look up at the ceiling.

“Hello?!” hollers Quinn.

You swear he loves to hear himself talk.

“They’re right,” Connor concludes, eyes set on you as he speaks before he takes a swig of his beer, focusing back onto his brother. “Personally, I think you’ve been taking one too many trips to Sea World.”

“The promised land of dolphin propaganda.” mentions Charlotte.

“This is ridiculous!” Quinn exclaims, sending a heavy elbow into his older brother’s arm, all of which barely gains any sort of response from him. “What happened to honour amongst bros, huh? They don’t have that in Minnesota or what?”

Connor scoffs lightly, his smile reading amused as his head turns towards his brother. “That doesn’t mean I have to agree with everything you say.”

Quinn mumbles something under his breath, clearly displeased. “I forget you’re my harshest critic.”

Their double act entices the crowd, your circle of friends laughing amongst yourselves as Quinn folds his shoulders with his usual theatrics. No one buys into it, much less Connor who drapes his arm loosely around his brother’s squared shoulders, leaning in with a tickled pink smile that reflects within your own expression.

“You’re just mad I won’t kiss your ass.”

That earns him a shove off Quinn’s shoulders, sending him into a fit of laughter. Everyone chortles along, basking in the merriment of the moment before you’re delving into other non-controversial topics, indulging everyone in the bits and pieces of your lives they’ve missed and just like that, you're four drinks in and so sentimental it hurts. Owen suggests a walk around the town centre, a tradition you cannot help but all agree to as you all shimmy out of your respective booth, bidding Judy at the bar farewell as you file out of the establishment.

The cobalt sky dazzles with stars you’ve forgotten shine so bright here, the midday heat nowhere in sight as a cool breeze pushes you forwards. You linger behind Quinn as he impulsively hops onto Owen’s back, who stumbles at the sudden weight whilst Charlotte laughs at the unfolding scene. Nostalgia warms your heart at the sight, eyes half-closed and posture relaxing as the warm summer night holds you close and kisses your worries goodbye.

An arm drapes over your shoulders, your slow strides matching up with Connor’s as he looks to you, smile small and earnest as he playfully challenges, “Since when did you know about dolphin propaganda?”

You gasp, humour shaping your lips. “Well, you’ve been in my ear most of my life yapping about it, so…”

“Hey, I’m just saying - was I wrong?” the smirk on his face attests to his unwavering confidence and as you catch a whiff of his woody cologne, you roll your eyes in defeat, smile still on your lips.

“Considering you wore a shark tooth to school, I didn’t think so.”

You have to bite back the wide smile that fights to spread across your face, a few snickers here and there escaping before the loose ring around your shoulders closes in, Connor smushing your face inwards against the strength of his bicep. You can’t help but laugh throughout, swatting away his pesky grip that lasts no longer than a few seconds before all you hear is the echoes of your winded chuckles. In an effort to stabilise yourself from the momentary loss of oxygen, your hand seeks Connor’s, holding onto his larger and warmer as your feet hit the pavement in unison.

“Feels good to be back, doesn’t it?”

You let your head fall to Connor’s shoulder, arm wrapping around his lower back as your steps sync with such ease. A lightness in your limbs and how perceptive you can be to the sounds of downtown - car horns, hushed chatter and the like - let you know there’s nowhere you’d rather be right now than here. Back at home, with your best friends and your partner in crime who you answer in the form of a hum.

-

Your first few days back in the Pas are slow and uneventful, most of your time spent decompressing from the taxing semester and unpacking your items, all of which you didn’t know just how much you possessed. In an effort to make the most of the sunshine and get out the house for reasons other than your part time job at the local diner, you sign up for community gardening activities and ask the groupchat if anyone wants to come along. Everyone appears to have plans, except for Connor, who in the early hours of the next morning, picks you up from your childhood home and drives into town where for the next few hours, you’re knee deep in dirt under the blaring sun as you plant various kinds of greenery to spotlight the natural beauty of your rustic town.

What is certain, when early afternoon pours in, painting the sky in shades of honey and tangerine, you’re exhausted beyond belief. You have no idea how Connor makes the drive home, yet he does and when you two collapse into the hammock in your family’s backyard, your lips are slack and echoing more yawns than you can contain.

“That was great and all, but that’s knocked me out,” Connor groans, limp body shuffling in the confinements of the cotton hammock hanging off one of the trees in your backyard. The same tree which holds the treehouse you and Connor partially lived in throughout your youth. “That was more tiring than hockey practice.”

You’re tired and easily distracted, your head perched up in a way that puts the treehouse in your direct eye-line. “Remember when we’d watch movies in that treehouse?”

A brief pause follows, occupied by the tranquil chirps and running water from the nearby bird bath. “Yeah, I’d always wanna watch Jaws but you wanted to watch Disney movies.”

You give him a laugh, shuffling yourself in order to get comfortable in the small space. Why did you two think this would work like it did ten years ago? The thought occurs to you, but you brush it off to save yourself additional mental load, making the adjustments to cater to some form of comfortability in the tiny space. Even if that means sacrificing your shared personal space as your body overlaps onto Connor’s strong and firm one.

“Says the guy who knows the all the songs in Lemonande Mouth,” you counter, “And, Let it Shine.”

Without missing a beat, in his sleepy voice, Connor replies with, “kissy kissy, Roxanne, did you miss me?”

Groaning despite the snickers slipping past your lips, you bury your head into Connor’s chest, refusing to hear the rest of his ramblings. “My girl is hotter than your girl, you know it! You know it.”

To get your point across, you unbury your head, wide eyes peering up at your best friend who’s so amused by this all, hair messy and smile stretching from ear to ear. A bright sight. “Can you not?”

“You’re just hating 'cause I sing better than you.” He follows that by sticking his tongue out at you, so mature for his age that you grant him the response of a heavy sigh and an averted gaze, settling back into the peace and serenity of your backyard.

However, the silence doesn’t last long before you’re speaking again.

“Your hair’s getting long,” you observe, fingertips dancing along Connor’s nape as you absently fiddle with the long strands of his hair, silky between your fingers. “You should let me cut it.”

“Name a time and place, and I’ll be there,” he mumbles sleepily against the crown of your head, soothing you further towards a serene sleep. “Unless you fuck it up. Then, I won’t forgive you.”

You give him the satisfaction of a laugh tucked away in your chest, the ghost of a smile dissipating as the aches of a hard work’s start to plunge their teeth into your flesh and bones, body like cement as you sink further into the comfort of the hammock, into the comfort of your calm summer afternoon.

“One of my friends from my team’s supposed to be coming up for a night or two,” Connor croaks, voice hoarse and the gentle breeze of the summer’s day pecking your skin in an act of love. “Think…you’ll all get along with him quite well.”

His point is punctuated by a tired yawn that proves to be contagious as you mirror the action moments after, eyes unbearably heavy as time moves slow like molasses, body further sinking against Connor’s. You don’t even stop yourself from falling asleep, only blinking away the exhausted sting in your eyes to answer your best friend.

“Can’t wait,” you mumble, adjusting your body against Connor as your limbs slot together like puzzle pieces, matched at every curve as slumber envelopes you two in a kind embrace. “It’ll be good - the visit…and the rest of summer.”

Your words trail in a drowsy daze, tone doused in sleepiness as your eyes can no longer keep themselves open, glimpses of hickory branches and pear leaves wishing you peace and serenity as you finally fall asleep.

-

Your shift at the local diner passes without as much traffic as expected, local patrons ordering their usual with a few tourists dropping by to try the culinary experience of your average but nostalgic diner food. Due to how quiet the establishment is - Mabel, your boss and long-time owner of the diner - lets you off early and with a hug, you scurry back to your family house to get ready for the night's events. After dozing off with Connor in the hammock out back, your mother softly awoke to you with a holler she’s used since the dawn of time.

“Up and at ‘em, kids. Dinner’s ready!” in the distance of your dreams, you hear your mother yell.

With drowsy film still coating your eyes, you and Connor manage to dislodge your limbs from one another, sleepy smiles and croaky chuckles exchanged as you amble inside your house and Connor stays for a filling homemade meal that everyone at the dining table fawns over. Connor hangs back as you venture into the kitchen to wash up, a tradition you two have forged, him washing the dishes and you drying them. Not much dialogue takes place between the two of you and there is no need. For all the instances where you believed the need for conversation, you appreciate this silence so much more - how there’s no urge to talk for the sake of talking and how much comfort there is with simply just being with Connor. After you’ve done the washing up and Connor’s hugged your mother goodbye, fist bumping your father hilariously enough, he’s climbing into his car and wishing you well.

“You sure you don’t need me to pick you up from Mabel’s?” coaxes Connor, the wiggle of his eyebrows offsetting the echoes of titters that leave your lips.

“I’m good, thanks. Need to shower and get ready, anyways,” a gentle gust of wind blows, fallen leaves scraping against the cement of your driveway. “We all know how long that takes.”

“I don’t mind waiting.” Connor simpers, says like it’s the easiest thing in the world and like it doesn’t demand for the city of butterflies within you to soar beyond their ability.

You flash a strained smile, giving the top of Connor’s car a pat as your posture straightens and you step away from the vehicle. “Goodbye, Connor.”

“See you soon.” and just like that, he’s gone with the wind, taking a little piece of you with him.

It’s when you’re strolling your way back inside the house, halfway up the stairs to your bedroom that your mom gives you a gentle call, beckoning you back down the stairs to find her in the dimly lit living room, mahogany reading glasses hanging low on the bridge of her nose whilst the quiet snores of your father and his baseball game fill in the background noise.

She folds her newspaper, crinkles running up your spine as she addresses you. “So good to have Connie over, makes me miss him more when he’s away.”

Connor is like a son to her, the better part of your childhood glued at the hip whilst your parents cooed and awed at your loyalty to one another. He helps around the house with no complaint nor expectation of compensation, buys her favourite flowers every Mother’s day with an additional heartfelt gift come her birthday. He listens, he jokes and he cares. What more could she ask for?

“Can’t imagine how much more you miss him whilst you’re away.” she comments, throwing her denim clad leg over the other, directing all her attention to you, swaying between two feet with your hands behind your back, sceptical.

“Well, we try to meet up when we can, so it’s not too bad,” your hand goes to scratch the back of your neck, chin jutted as your head leans to the side. “…Is that why you called me down?”

Awkwardness rarely rears its head in your household built upon openness and unconditional love, which is why the unspoken truth your mother struggles to vocalise raises a red flag, your skin prickling as you fiddle with your hands behind your back.

She’s looking at you now, a maternal love in her eyes as she speaks up. “Maybe, I can’t really put my finger on it, really. I did, however, want to say that I hope you guys keep each other in your lives, however that may pan out in the future. There’s a special happiness in your eyes I want you two to be selfish with.”

It’s a small thing, she says. A snowflake amongst the pile of snow in the realms of your mind, but as you lay in bed later on that late afternoon, staring at the gold stars Connor helped hang up in your room, your mind wanders places it never conceptualised. Inserts Connor in places in your life where he hadn’t been previously - opposite you illuminated by a candle-lit dinner, dancing in a kitchen as you prepare breakfast and kiss each other in between, above your bare body as he holds you in the palm of his hand like you are the most precious thing the universe has gifted him. It’s a point in time that despite busying yourself with dipping your toes back into your hobbies - heck, even walking your next door neighbour’s golden retriever to clear your head - it never quite leaves you, awakening something deep and dormant in you that never goes away.

Snapping out of your syrupy daze, you adorn yourself in your finest line dance clothing, slipping on your gingerbread cowboy boots before you’re tying bows in the pigtails of your hair. Your mother yells down the stairs for you and you leave in a flash, kissing her goodbye as she drops you off at Punch and Judy’s, your jewellery clinking together as you walk through the main entrance.

Much like your first night back, the bar is illuminated in dim light and sharp LED lights of varying colours. Cowboy hats dominate the sea of customers, the building crowd of the bar dressed in shades of denim and tired leather cowboy boots. Knowing the others have already arrived, saving a spot at a nearby booth, you decide to make your way to the bar first, ordering your signature berries-flavoured cider, to which Punch (co-owner) makes quick work of, the cold beverage in your hands before you can blink.

“Beer not to your liking, sugar?” A smoky, mellow voice grabs your attention.

You spare a glance at the source of the gravel voice, eyes long lingering as they capture the image of a face that stirs a flip in the pits of your stomach. The man stood beside you braces his muscular arms against the hickory brown of the wooden bar, his sleepy chocolate eyes trained on yours as he takes a swig of his tequila flavoured Desperado beer. Locks of umber messily cascade along his face, unless tucked away in his vintage black cowboy hat that ties together the rugged cowboy look he presents with the sweet addition of his light stubble. To make things worse, he’s stupidly fit, his black t-shirt clinging to the curves of his muscles like second skin. If it were up to you, you’d-

“Like what you see?”

The smug comment snaps you out of your hazy olge, a pout forming upon your lips with an accompanying knit in your eyebrows. You make a point to angrily grab at your pint glass, ingesting a big gulp of the sugary alcohol whilst the rugged cowboy laughs to himself.

Even his laugh is attractive. Sick bastard.

“Coming from a man drinking a Desperado? Funny,” you have to laugh at whatever lame attempt of making conversation this man is pulling, Punch masking his misplaced laughter behind a cough as he polishes a pint glass. “How flirtatious you are.”

You admit, your latter remark is more bark than bite, a quick chirp that refuses to feed his ego yet grab his interest all at the same time. The ruse proves to work in your favour as the sexy cowboy gives another one of his huffed laughs, his body turned towards yours.

“Give me a chance, sugar. Just tryna start the night off right,” he counters, so brazenly confident in himself that you don’t know whether to laugh or shy away from his prying eyes. “Tequila beer and beautiful company - sounds about perfect to me.”

You react in a juxtaposition, eyes rolling and cheeks flushing as you divert your line of sight away from the handsome man flirting with you at your hometown bar. Perhaps, he’s some city folk travelling through the town, fancying himself a good time at Punch & Judy’s weekly hoedown Fridays, a little bit of flirting on the side to inflate his ego and keep his blood pumping. Whatever reason explains his presence, you are not one to complain. Your love life isn't very entertaining to put it mildly, so you're willing yourself not to get swept up in his caramel eyes.

Against the wishes of your quickening heart, you decide to give Mr. Handsome Traveller the time of day, body shifting as you face each other finally. “You don’t quit, don’t you?”

He cocks an eyebrow your way, something sneaky and sugary in the lines of his smile. A brief pause follows his actions, the soft rustic sounds of old town country murmuring from the jukebox nearby filling up in the space between your figures. It’s when he’s about to make yet another cocky comment that your conversation is put on pause.

Connor’s voice calls your name, head turning to find your best friend standing in between you and the Punch & Judy’s cowboy of the night, eyes wide and expectant as they shift back and forth in the middle of your standing figures.

“Dew, forget about Desperados tonight. The lady in bows will have your head otherwise.” Handsome Traveller nods his chin towards you, humour dancing in his smile as he snickers into his half-full glass.

Then, it dawns on you. Dew? One of the handful of nicknames Connor’s adopted over the course of his livelihood. So, they’re acquaintances? Or closer? Your eyes frantically search for social clues to point you in the right direction.

“The lady in bows is my best friend,” Connor explains, a bite to his words as his eyes glare a knowing look at Sexy Cowboy. He then goes on to face you, gaze softening almost immediately as his head tilts in his friends (?) direction. “This is Brandon, or Dewey One.”

Oh. Makes sense, you rationalise. This is Brandon, Connor’s close friend and teammate on his current team out in Minnesota, the one who gets into fights he can’t win on the ice whilst Connor trails nearby picking up his fallen gear. The one he told you a couple of days ago that was coming up to visit. And, of course you were flirting with him.

Of. Course.

“Dewey One?” you ask, minorly deflecting from your embarrassment and still genuinely curious.

Connor inhales, as if to speak but Brandon beats him to it.

“Brandon’s just fine,” he interjects, expression unassuming as Connor’s eyes put his visiting friend underneath a microscope. “Nice to meet you, darling.”

Normally, you’d wrinkle your nose at the sometimes sleazy pet name Brandon casually calls you, except this time round you find it more amusing than cringe-worthy, which is how you find yourself grinning as you two exchange a handshake that testifies to how strong Brandon is. You clear your throat to stop the circus unfolding within you.

“Come on,” Connor gestures over to you to follow suit. “Can’t keep ‘em waiting.”

You call out an agreement over your shoulder as you go to grab your drink, the hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention as a close whisper brushes past your ears.

“I ain’t no quitter, sugar.”

-

The next couple of hours are spent packed into a crimson leather booth that peels at the ends, going from topic to topic over many a pints. Brandon fits so easily into your group, his infectious energy illuminating as he takes up space without regard, his confidence more enticing than suffocating. Everyone seems to be in good spirits as the alcohol keeps flowing and as you sit back, careful eyes watching your friends engage in conversation, you wish for this to be your forever for as long as you'd like for it to be.

A nudge against your shoulder turns your head, greeted by Connor’s sage eyes. “You ready for Judy’s Line Dance?”

His rhetorical question draws a laugh from you. “You say that like I don’t do this every time I come back.”

“Yeah, but if you were ready then, you would’ve brought your cowboy hat,” comments Connor, his veiny hands grasping gently at the ends of your braided pigtails accented with a bow. “What? Wanted to show off your pretty bows?”

He thumbs the ends of your hair, engrossed in the strands and its feel and for some reason, the casual intimacy of the moment inflates something in your chest, a balloon about to burst as you forcibly breathe in and out, clearing your throat afterwards. “They're my favourite accessories.”

Connor huffs, corners of his lips lifting gingerly as he continues his motions with his hands whilst your body remains rigid with the exception of your racing heart and crimsoning cheeks.

Your mother has definitely planted a seed you cannot unroot.

“Yeah, you’re almost always wearing them in your BeReal. posts. They’re real cute.”

For a fact you know so well, Connor’s confession comes as a pleasant surprise, one that shallows your breaths and quickens your pulse. It makes you reflect back on before, when all was platonic and the comment wouldn’t have made you bat an eyelash. Now, your skin tingles and you’re struggling to find the words to encapsulate your affection past your dry mouth. So, like many others in your position, you settle for a safe reply.

“Aren’t you a charmer?” you roll your eyes, brushing off his grasp because you might combat otherwise, projecting your attention ahead of you to come face-to-face with Brandon, who despite the engaging conversation he shares with Owen, his eyes skirt over to you.

You look away, even more flustered than before.

It’s just your luck when you hear Judy’s tap incessantly against an old microphone that you have something else to hold your focus, eyes brimming with glee as she announces the dances for the night and their updated partner songs. Last time you were here, they were still playing their beloved country hits and you danced along thanks to the amounts of alcohol you consumed, but their new playlist of pop hits within the past decade or so, you’re more motivated than ever to tear apart the dance floor.

“If you ain’t shy to do a little two step, please make your way to the dancefloor please.” Judy grins into her mic, tipping her cowboy hat as patrons make their way over to the illuminated space.

Connor makes way for you to exit the booth, your boots hitting the ground as you iron out any kinks in your outfit. Amidst your actions, you catch other movements out of the corner of your eyes, to which you find Connor playing with the ends of your bow this time round. There’s always been something so sweet and tender about him - in the way clouds are amongst a blue sky, in the way laughter spills over so easily in the presence of a found family and in how harmonies make you feel as if you're floating. But, it’s never been like this before, this intense and vivd. In a way that rids you of all thought and scares you beyond your deepest fears all at once. You’re still finding your footing in this new territory, a plain that speaks to the existence of your feelings but has no road nor destination. It’s a simple plain you seek to find some end to, picking up clues along the way that predetermine what the future holds. At the beginning, the animosity scared you pale and grey. Now, the end is what grasps your fear in a fierce chokehold. To pry yourself from the jaws of unhinged anxiety, you allow yourself to relax, to seep into the present and take it for what it's worth because the end is unknown and you’re not there yet. Not by any measure of time, you hope.

“Kick butt out there, rockstar.” His big smile deepens the soft lines of his face, a pure display of pride in his features as he gives you a pat on the back and gives way for you to shine.

It’s small, insignificant in the grand scale of things, but your smile deepens too and you nearly float to the dancefloor, adrenaline rushing through your body as the DJ prepares the upcoming music.

As you settle in line, you feel a light pressure lay upon the crown of your head, eyes darting to find Charlotte in the line next to you, giving you a wink before she faces forwards, thumbs slotted through the loops of her flare jeans. Her straw cowboy hat no longer, you reach up to find said object upon your head and with a chuckle behind your hand, your thumbs hang on your belt loops and let the music guide you.

It’s only when you’ve done your first turn that you realise that Brandon has also decided to join the line dance, huffs of amusement sounding from you as he glides and slides with a confidence dusted with his normal dash of comedy.

When Judy announces it's time for the partner dance, it’s your cue to catch your breath as you plan to evacuate the dancefloor. As mentioned earlier by Charlotte, the pretty sandy brown haired man who’d bought her a drink earlier in the night circles his arms around her waist as she gives him a smitten grin. You beam at the endearing sight, about to make your way towards your booth but are stopped in your tracks as a calloused hand clasps around your wrist.

Brandon’s expression is more sheepish than you’ve ever seen, his eyes distracted as they wander away from you. You raise an eyebrow.

“Who says the night has to end here, sugar?” His voice trembles partially, its edge lost in the coyness lining his smile as he finally looks at you with a dazzle of hope in his eyes.

A momentary pause delays your response, the moment used to turn the cogs in your head and sneak a glance back at your booth, where Connor was last you saw him, eyes trained on you as he simply watches the interaction. Under the weight of his gaze, a creeping sense of embarrassment climbs up your back, scolding the skin. You’re about to give your reply when the music starts up and Brandon speaks again.

“Put this desperado out of his misery and allow me this one dance?”

It’s so cheesy, maybe even idiotic - the words he proposes to you but he’s trying and that’s what appeals to you most, warms your heart and sways your response as you send him a nod that has Brandon cheesing ear to ear, his hand leading the way as you two fall in line.

You haven’t had much experience line dancing with a partner, the closest experience to this being a night you barely remember, happily back sliding with a fifty year old local in your college town bar who wanted to feel young again. Regardless of the fact, there’s no time to mull it over as the music already starts and your fingers are interlocking, matching up with the rest of the duos as you dance, cowboy boots stomping as you make a scene.

In all the commotion of heavy stops and ongoing thumps of Rihanna’s ‘S&M’, Brandon manages to catch your attention, mirroring your movements to a tee.

“You and Connor don’t do this much, do you?” he queries.

“You kidding me? Connie has two left feet, I’d be left for dead if it wasn’t for Charlotte.” You yell over the blaring upbeat country music, arms extended as Brandon glides you further away from his figure.

“Good thing I’m here tonight.” jesters Brandon, and you laugh along because you’re tipsy and having a lot more fun than you imagined.

Despite your familiarity with the dance routine you two execute to a tee, you’re caught off guard when Brandon brings you inwards, bracing you against his hard chest before his arm circles around the circumference of your lower back, holding you steady as he dips your body slightly. Your foot is kicked out, your (Charlotte’s) straw hat’s fallen to the scuffed dancefloor and you’ve just had the wind knocked straight out of you, eyes feverishly searching for answers as the bar falls to a hush.

You’re looking in each other’s eyes now, chest heaving and high off the adrenaline pumping through your veins from all that dancing. All time ceases to exist and it’s just two of you, sharing laboured breaths and looking for any cues for how this will end. It appears as if you’re in your own head at this point, combing through a thousand possibilities all at once to respond however you see fit. Thankfully for you, Brandon breaks the silence.

“One night and one night only.”

The sentence sends shivers down your spine and you’re pretty sure Brandon feels you quiver in his arms as he gives a brief chuckle, hauling you up onto your two feet and bringing you back to reality. You don’t really find their footing after that.

The rest of your time at Punch & Judy’s passes by in a flash, more pints being consumed over your group’s loud chatter as the night stretches on. Charlotte and her blue eyed companion indulge in another dance before he’s whisking her back to the bar and paying for everyone’s next set of drinks - bless his heart. He introduces himself as Jack, a new face in town and as he and the boys exchange pleasantries, the wild eyed non-verbal dialogue you engage in pieces together Charlotte’s sentiment and if it isn’t enough, when Jack makes his departure, she gives him a kiss on the cheek and bides him a coy farewell, a promise to meet in the next coming days on her tongue. One thing is certain, when Jack makes his exit from the bar, the door shutting behind him, you’re yelling and shaking each other’s shoulders in glee, stupidly happy and sharing that with one another.

Your table has their last drinks and before you know it, you’re being squeezed into the back of Owen’s pickup truck, sandwiched between Charlotte and Connor whilst Owen and Brandon sit up front. Over the murmured sounds of slow alternative music, you get bits and pieces of their conversation, the two excitedly talking about their shared love for Legos and the most they’ve splurged on one set. You shake your head with a laugh, going to share your merriment with Charlotte, only to find her soundly asleep, a light snore bypassing her punch pink lips.

“How you holdin’ up, champ?” Connor’s low voice draws you in, a slight head turn in his direction. “Don’t think I’ve seen you dance like that since we were ten and begging our parents to have a sleepover.”

The image is so vivid in your brain, two wide eyed kids that held hands as they begged and pleaded to have a sleepover, only for their polite request to be refused. Taking matters into your own hands, you dragged your parents’ big hands into the living room, where in front of them and an oblivious Connor, turned on MTV and danced to some popular song of the time. Lucky for you, it worked. Unluckily, Connor would hold that over your head forever onwards.

You’re cringing into your hand, face mangled in discomfort as you wish away the reality of you doing that away. “One of us had to convince them. Plus, it worked, didn’t it?”

“I can’t argue with that,” Connor laughs behind a fist before his hand falls to his side, a moment of quiet between you two. “You and Brandon seem to be hitting it off.”

A single eyebrow raises to express your confusion, perplexed frown prominent not because of his statement which is completely true, but because there’s an edge to his voice - something unfamiliar and cold in the way he says his words - a tone you’ve yet to hear, even after all these years. Uncertain how to proceed, you choose to be cautious about the matter, selecting your words carefully.

“He’s nice,” you state, because Brandon is but something in you twists uncomfortably, feels the recognizable pangs of embarrassment as you’re subjected to uttering this out loud. Or rather, in front of Connor. A betrayal of some sorts. “You were right about him fitting right in with us.”

There’s a strange shift in the air in the backseat of the car, the once peaceful quiet now becoming increasingly heavy and awkward as your words hang in the air like knives. Connor absorbs your words, stare averted as he watches his fingers fiddle with the lock of the door on the windowsill. You run your palms against the material of your denim shorts because you don’t know what to do with them otherwise.

It’s only when you’ve scratched the back of your neck, eyes stiffly roaming the interior of the car that Connor replies. “Yeah..I guess I just didn’t know how well.”

You’re about to ask him what he means by that, going to press him but Owen’s suddenly shut off the truck, his blinding interior lights turning on and him killing the ignition, alerting you of your arrival. Connor climbs out before your vision reverts back to normal, so you put the matter on pause and softly wake up Charlotte who sheepishly wipes away dried drool at the corner of her lips and climbs out the pick-up with you. You’re about to shut the door behind you, though someone beats you to it.

“I got it.” Brandon’s husky voice sounds from behind you, the slam of the door following.

You send an appreciative smile his way, perhaps a bit of timidity mixed in there too, turning to include Charlotte in any possible conversation to come, only to find her halfway up the porch stairs of Connor’s house.

How is it always the two of you left alone?

“Let’s head in, it’s chilly out here.” suggests Brandon, you falling in line with his request as the beginnings of goosebump dot your arms, the roughness of your skin hitting an all time high as Brandon’s large hand falls to the small of your back, guiding you up the stairs into the cosy and quaint house.

Hums of conversation lead from the back porch of Connor’s house, the presence of your friends known as you wordlessly navigate your way through the halls of Connor’s house, hallways and framed pictures you’ve committed to memory. When you’ve made your way to the kitchen, you find Owen nursing a cool bottled water, hair tousled and cheeks dusted in pink.

“There you two are,” announces Owen, fingers threading through the waves of his brown hair. “Everyone’s out back - apparently, Quinn’s out back too.”

You waste no time beelining for the backyard, the sudden weight of your reality dawning on you the second you stepped through Connor’s doorway, a cold shower of water easing you out of the mirage you’ve impulsively floated in. Once you’re outside, the cool air sinking into your skin, you spying the usual suspects - Quinn, Charlotte and Connor gathered together around a fire Quinn boasts about making. His glee is short lived.

“That boy scouts training finally coming in handy, huh?” Charlotte banters, a suppressed smirk sneaking amongst her features as she takes a seat in one of the camping chairs surrounding the fire.

“You laugh now but when you need someone to tie an impossible knot and survive off the land, don’t come running to me.” responds Quinn, taking a swig of his beer as Charlotte holds her hands up in surrender, laughing regardless.

You’re about to turn on your heels to head back inside, retrieving a beverage of your own, but a familiar call of your name is stopping you in your tracks.

“I’ve got your cider here,” alerts Connor, expression indifferent as he approaches you to hand off a can of your favourite berry cider and a bottle of water. “Blankets are on the chairs too.”

It’s embarrassing how much you want to melt into this man’s arms right now. Nonetheless, for reasons you know all too well, you express your gratitude in a toothy grin that he mirrors with a closed mouth, pulling you down into the camping chair beside his.

Soon enough, Brandon and Owen are sitting round the fire too and your night ends like this, light-hearted discussions under the stars as the heat from the open flame soothes your heavy eyelids closed. Whilst you’re mildly awake, you don’t miss the glances you and Bradon trade over the sandstone fire, loaded questions in his eyes. Had this been any other occasion, any other person not linked to Connor, any other reality where your current feelings didn’t exist for Connor, then there would be no questions asked, blossoms of wine doting both your necks come tomorrow morning. Alias, these were not the conditions and simply lounged in your camping chair, hoping Brandon didn’t look your way every time Connor’s hand would play with the bows in your hair.

-

Arm hanging out of his shiny porcelain white pick-up truck, Brandon squints as the rays from the blistering sun reflect into his eyes. Having said their goodbyes earlier, Connor and Brandon dab each other up with good-natured smiles before Brandon throws his focus over to you, standing with a bit more awkwardness than you’d like.

“Take care, Lady in bows,” Brandon says, a well-mannered nod sent your way with a closed mouth smile. “Don’t give Dewey a hard time. He’ll come round.”

For a split second, you’re eyeing him as if his face contains all the answers, but when he gives you that knowing look, the same one Charlotte and your mother give you any time Connor’s name is mentioned - you know. Know all too well and blush as a result, head snapping behind you to see if Connor’s within earshot. Thankfully, he’s in the middle of chatting with his brother, hands in his pocket as Quinn points off into the distance. You circle back to Brandon, the apples of his cheeks clear as day as he snickers like he’s been told a secret.

It’s as if this best kept secret brings you infinitely closer, your walls falling as you begin to bare the depth of your sentiment surrounding Connor. There’s no more beating around the bush, so you lower your head as you kick at the rocks at your feet. “You think so?”

You hate how small your voice comes out, meek and questioning everything known to man. It’s unfamiliar and not to mention, uncomfortable in every aspect of the word. Alias, Brandon sees you - catches the vulnerability you’ve shared with him and embraces you with a kindness that ushers a relieved sigh from you as he responds back.

“I’d bet my NASA Space Shuttle lego set on it.” Brandon banters, smirk soft and small.

So, he’s serious. Very serious, it seems because you know how treasured the item is to him. You exhale a breath you hadn’t known you were holding.

“Thanks, Brandon,” you breath, coyness coating your cheeks as your hands fall behind your back, your fingers tangling. “Don’t go fighting no alligators.”

“We can only hope,” Brandon gives his side-door a smack, rounding up everyone’s attention. “I’m hitting the road, fellas. Enjoy the fair for me, yeah?”

A chorus of agreements go off from behind you before Brandon gives one more salute, speeding off into the canary yellow sun. The small crowd outside Connor’s house disperses and regroups again later on that day, refreshed and ready to attend the local fair held every summer and the highlight of the year.

The fair lives up to its expectations, grand and joyful with a variety of rides ranging from teacups to a catapult-like ride that swings back and forth and then upside down. You’re distracted by all the colours, the sights and sounds that you’re so oblivious to what goes on right before you, until your vision is shrouded in black and your face is submerged in fluff.

Retracting, you blink your eyes to adjust to the change in lighting, lips parting as you stare at the massive latte-coloured teddy bear that Connor presents to you, the rest of your friends nearby taking their turns at the darts board way ahead of them.

He must see you struggle to find the words, his grin infectious as he jests, “I think I’ve finally out-conned the concessionaires.”

You must look like an idiot, or a deer in the headlights as Charlotte jokes, disbelief strikingly apparent on your face as you reach for the souvenirs, the fluffy animal so cosy in your arms and melting your heart into a big puddle of goo. “Thank you, Con.”

“Don’t mention it.” a smile plays tenderly on his lips, the sheer kindness he captures in his sage eyes enough to make your pulse race and head spin.

After the thoughtful gesture, your high spirits cannot be tamed as you indulge in every little thing your heart desires - laughing a little harder, smiling a little wider and stuffing your cheeks full of hearty food that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. Charlotte basks in your glee, speaking of a glow you radiate as she snaps photos of your stuffed cheeks, a knowing smirk on her lips as she hands you your teddy bear once your food is finished. You don’t reply, exchanging words through your glances as you make your way towards the second bit of rides the boys want to try.

“Wait, isn’t that…?”

As Quinn’s voice trails off into the distance, you find yourself turning in the exact direction where he directs your view, eyes landing on a pair of figures - one being Connor and the other being, Amelia, Connor’s ex-girlfriend from high school and most notably, his last girlfriend. Her waves of blond hair glisten in the sunshine, something like a Renaissance painting. Her smile bright and wide as she greets Connor with an enthusiastic hug, a hug you feel lasts longer than necessary.

They then go on to immerse themselves in conversation, and for the life of you, you can’t look away - pry your jealous eyes away nor dry swallow this bitter pill because she’s still so into him. Hands familiar and all over him, leaning in when she gets the chance and beaming like she’s won the lottery. In all fairness, her life’s been such a tale - excelling academically, incredibly driven in all sports and other extracurricular activities that garnered her attention. And such a kind spirit too, always there to help no questions asked that it made you physically sick that you could foster any ill feelings towards her, because she’s such a light and maybe Connor would see that too. As he did when they were together.

You’re too busy losing yourself in a sea of self pity that you don’t notice Charlotte's attempts to snag your attention nor other things at first, your illegitimate fears getting the best of you but as your posture stoops, your eyes floating everywhere around the busy fair that it pauses on Connor’s figure. Once immersed in conversation, he appears distracted, indifferent somehow as his attention wanders, wanders over to you as his line of sight floats over to you from time to time as the conversation stretches on. At first, you think it’s your mind playing tricks on you, feeding into delusions that’ll soothe your pity party, but at some point, he holds your gaze, giving Amelia a pat on the back before he’s jogging over to where your friendship group is, not even uttering a word as he slots himself between you and Owen.

“What was that about?” Quinn just has to ask.

“Oh, Amelia just wanted to catch up,” he sounds distracted, his mind elsewhere but you don’t dare to indulge, your sight directed elsewhere as you grip onto the plush teddy bear as if it were a lifeline. “She says hi, by the way.”

You don’t do much listening after that, tuning out all the colours and sounds of the fair as you ride the highs and lows of what your life has become.

-

A sense of urgency plagues you from that day forth, a hurriedness in your actions as your anxieties get the better of you, going from lounging around in day old pyjamas covered in crumbs and mystery stains to getting a head start on your master’s personal statement and running every errand you’ve been procrastinating. Your parents swear you’ve become a different person - venturing outside the house before noon to visit the bank to change your address or go get your car serviced. Perhaps seeing Connor with Amelia was the jump start you needed to stop relishing in instant gratification, distracting yourself from facing any sort of music that pertained to the future and all its question marks. You still hang out with the others, more so Charlotte as you spend a few afternoons at the lake with one another, feet dangling into the water as she updates you on her adventures with Jack.

It’s the first time someone’s pursued her with such sincerity and charm that she’s hesitant about his authenticity. And yet from the sounds of it, Jack doesn’t mind one bit and shows his patience as they get to know each other, the smitten man taking your best friend on dates that further solidify their connection. You couldn’t be any happier for your best friend, this kind of treatment a long time coming, all of which you express just to see her blush and dive into the cold lake water to avoid further talks. You chase after her, teasing her mercilessly as the thoughts still linger at the back of your mind - your own sentiment with regards to Connor and what has come from the change of heart.

Emotional anguish and so much fear you’re not sure what to do with yourself. It takes a week of mulling things over, his missing presence due to off-season hockey training for you to make up your mind, peeling into his driveway and hiding your apprehension behind a strained smile as he greets you at the door. You preoccupy every bit of silence with running chatter, because you don’t want to hear yourself think, a multitude of topics discussed over vodka pasta you make together before you’re finding your way into his bedroom, the early evening sky greeting you as he flicks on his buttermilk bedside lamp.

He brings out his guitar, the same one you gifted Connor two years ago at the height of his newly-found hobby and plucks the strings, creating a melody you compel yourself to relax into, somehow ending up sandwiched in between him and the guitar as he directs your fingers to play one of your favourite songs, just because.

Apparently, your shaky hands don’t make for good playing material.

“You’re shaking like a leaf, you cold or something?” notes Connor, his looming presence over your body sending you into overdrive, your skin feverish and mind imploding from overwork.

“This is different.” you annouce, because it is. Unlike times before, it didn’t mean as much to be alone in his bedroom with him, getting glimpses into the life he’s lived and who he is as a person through all his possessions. You could handle the casual intimacy - the soft spoken whispers, the unprovoked kindness, the skin to skin contact that didn’t send your heart into a series of flutters. Now, all you can do is bat an eyelash, many at that, and this you must make known. For the selfish reasons you can think of.

“What d’ya mean?” he mumbles, clearly distracted and known the wiser to his breath fanning over your neck, goosebumps rising against your skin as your body grows rigid against his.

So acutely aware of your proximity, of the bursting feelings that thud at the confinement of your chest, your thoughts scatter like glass. “This, Connor. Being like this…with you.”

That strikes a chord with Connor, his motions ceasing altogether as his hands drop from the guitar and you’re forced to face the music. Sink your teeth into this undeniable truth that’s followed you all these years and you’ve been too blind to see. Confront the holy truth that maybe there was more divine work intertwined in your story with Connor, that maybe the universe wrote you two as one heart as opposed to two. That, as the summer days ticked by, the sun seeping into your skin, your love grew for Connor like molasse - slow and thick and palpable that once you were aware of its existence, that’s all that consumed you. Coated in his syrupy love, an endless desire.

You’re facing your best friend in spite of the hellish screams in your mind to play this off as some random mood swing, a joke even, because laughter follows you two everywhere, right? But, you know. Know better than anybody else that Connor knows you, like the back of his hand. Sees right through any charade you may jester him with, so any attempts to divert the conversation are as pointless as anything. Your confession starts and ends here.

A flicker of concern mixes in the dark of his eyes, hands clasped together with a crease in between his eyebrows. “I don’t follow.”

A full body sigh draws out of you, shoulders sagging and back curving, your hands casting aside the acoustic guitar with caution. You’re back to staring at each other, in the silence of the night, caged in between four walls that burn your eyes white as you once again grapple with your innumerable feelings and the finality of it all - this longing.

“Don’t you think,” you croak, question in your eyes as you look up at Connor, stifling any rise in emotion within you. “-this summer has been different?”

His sage eyes cast away, pink lips settling into a pout as he racks his brain for whatever answer you may be looking for. “No? Maybe? I don’t know.”

He adds on, looking back at you as he leans closer without fault. “Is this because it’s your last summer before you graduate?”

Connor’s got a point. When you’re trying to kid yourself into not having romantic feelings for your childhood best friend, your mind wanders to places where it has more control. Plans for after college, what modules you’ll be taking, what societies you want to join, what last things you’d like to cross off your list before you’re forced into full fledged adulthood. It’s a thought that lingers ever so presently at the back of your mind, like background music stuck on loop, but ultimately, Connor has missed his mark and you tell him so.

“Partially, but,” you wet your lips, struggling to find the words again as the burn against your cheeks proves to be insufferable. “This is what’s been on my mind more than anything else.”

Your point is accentuated by your single finger gesturing between the two of you, a poor attempt at best to foster some sort of confession of your romantic feelings. Because it's so scary, lending these thoughts your voice because they become much more real, spoken aloud for his ears to hear and his heart to see. For his heart to feel and what then? What awaits you once your confession reaches his ears? The unknown is scary, chilling to the bone and you wish to shroud yourself from it as long as there’s daylight.

There’s a beat before you hear Connor’s voice again. “What about us?”

Hearing him vocalise those three words makes the moment so real, so vividly intense that it sends chills down your spine and slows your laboured breath, the thump of your heart all you can hear aside from the ticking clock against Connor’s bedside table. It ticks and ticks, signifying the curtain call to your summer long charade.

“Connor, I..” It’s as if the magnitude of your feelings have manifested into some beast, with razor-like fangs and sharp claws that slash at the confinements of your chest, the words of love dying on the tip of your tongue as the moments hangs over your head like a gauntlet. You’ve never been so scared before, driven nearly to tears as your desperate hands grip at the material of your hoodie to ground yourself in some sort of way whilst you try to push yourself. To see this through until the very end and leave the destination unknown.

“We’ve been friends our entire lives. I don’t know anything beyond being with you and I never wanted to, and I feel like that means so much more than it did years ago,” his eyes are on you, undivided attention served on a silver platter that you turn away from, for its sincerity and shine. “Maybe, I did know deep down inside what I know now all those years ago. Like when I cried and begged for you not to leave the Pas. Or when you held my hand any chance you got when we were kids, or anytime you smiled at me really that let me know I always liked you. Maybe, even love you - I don’t know. But, what I do know is that I just couldn’t leave for Calgary without letting you know. Even if that means…”

You don’t have the heart to utter your next words, a dagger to the heart at even the possibility of losing your best friend and partner in crime. Perhaps, it isn’t worth saying - this whole grand love confession because this is a risk you’re not ready to face. However, despite your thundering heart against your bruised chest and however many times you’re second guessing yourself here, the weight lifted from your words is undeniable. An unspoken truth that had been set free, that needed to be set free - whatever the fallout may be.

A snicker snaps you out of your deep seated fears, your scattered daze settling on the view before you, one you had least expected. Connor, eyes cast away from yours as he huffs into his hands, a laugh you’re undecided where it derives from.

“…Are you laughing at me right now?” You feel awful for even asking such a ridiculous question. At the same time, you’ve just been as vulnerable as you’ve ever been in your entire life - some hesitancy is to be expected.

At your question, Connor’s huffs of delight cease and stares at you at alarm, realising his mistake. “God, no. Fuck, I’m so sorry, I just-”

“You used to rub dirt on me, and now you're proclaiming your love for me,” an airy laugh puffs out of his moving chest, a mixture of disbelief and amusement painted amongst his chiselled features. “It’s a bit of an adjustment.”

He seems…happy? Relieved? You’re not really sure, but what you at least find peace in is that there’s no sunken look about him, no expression worn that conveys disappointment and hurt because that’s all you’d have to see to know where his heart lies.

“Good or bad?” you ask.

His eyes bounce back to yours, those same olive eyes you’ve spent years looking into, glimmer with a sparkle that you’ve yet to see and robs you of rational thinking as your heartbeat picks up the pace.

“Good,” he whispers, like it’s a secret for just the two of you - one that is small and fragile, but so special and cherished that it makes your heart squeeze. “Because, there’s no one else I’d rather be with. Not by a long shot.”

You swear you could cry, burst like a dam and drown in your tears that overflow with such joy and relief because this is it for you. So right and settled, being where you’ve always meant to be - so loved and treasured by the one person who knows you better than yourself, someone who’s seen you at your most awkward and at your worst, and loves you because he has. Because he’s seen it all and wants to spend the remainder of his life doing so, a conscious choice he makes everyday because he loves you and you love him.

You’re unsure how you’ve ended up like this, limbs curled up in your lover’s lap as he cups your cheeks, rough thumb caressing the skin as his love shines through his gaze that blows his iris’ out of view. He looks so beautiful like this, unabashed and vulnerable, secure in love and what destiny holds for you. He looks at you as if you colour his skies and spin his world round and just like that, you lose yourself in him. Thread your fingers through his strands of umber brown and kiss him like you mean it. Kiss him long and hard, and with everything you have because it’s long overdue, so needed that you melt into him, lips overlapping as you taste destiny on his tongue.

The story of you and him, a tale as old as time.

[effortandmore]

tuesday moon | knj (18+)

summary: being “just friends” with kim namjoon sucks

pairing: namjoon x f!reader

rating: explicit (18+ please)

genre: fluff, smut

au: university, co-workers to lovers to friends to lovers again (they're oblivious)

warnings: it's mostly fluff i think. they're oblivious. smut: minors should not be interacting/reading, namjoon has a big dick, a lil praise kink, oral sex (f!receiving), penetrative sex, the usual suspects i think. drinking (but not before they sleep together), tae is into new age jazz... and they were roommates!

word count: 7.7k

a/n: so... i had this dream a couple months ago and couldn't get it out of my head, so here you go. thanks, sleep brain. the title is from a neutral milk hotel song (but tbh the '23 album isn't great). thank you to @ugh-yoongi and @the-boy-meets-evil for reading this over. and then for doing it again when i couldn't even find the mistake you told me was there 🙃

read on ao3

You’ve learned a lot in university—which given how much money you’ve spent to be there is a relief. But amongst business classes and writing workshops and statistics, the most important knowledge you’ve gained is that of small things. 

Of small things and how they can change your life in unbelievably big ways. 

Kim Namjoon isn’t exactly small. But the events that put him right in the middle of your life are. The first day you meet him is a Tuesday. Tuesdays have always been for non-events: for meetings and your least favorite classes… For snagging a coveted dryer on the third floor of the dorm building because Jeongguk saves it for you when he’s finished with his seemingly endless laundry. Tuesdays are for your first real uni friend, Taehyung, to show up to the laundry room unannounced and make you listen to weird new-age jazz on his phone that you hate, but love how much he loves it.

And then your work-study starts. A job in the library is supposed to be easy, has better hours than a lot of the jobs that are available, and pretty much only requires you to understand the Dewey decimal system so you can reshelve things quickly. You can count and read, and those seem to be the only things the head librarian cares about. Cake. 

Your first training day is a Tuesday. It’s a rainy afternoon, and in one of the conference rooms in the back of the law floor are you and three other new employees. Right away, it seems like Yoongi, Hoseok, and Namjoon are already friends. They joke and whisper throughout the orientation videos and absolutely make you feel like a fourth wheel. At your first break, Hoseok extends the invitation for you to sit with them when he notices you still sitting by yourself in the back of the room, and it's then that you learn they for sure already knew each other—music majors and all in the same class even though Yoongi is a little older than the other two. They signed up for all the same work-study assignments hoping they’d be placed together, hoping they could have a chance to work on music during slow times at the slowest work-study assignments. Namjoon, though, who has been quiet the whole time, finally speaks up at this. 

“Well, I also like books,” he says softly, one side of his mouth turned up in a grin. “So, I guess I had an ulterior motive.” 

“Of course you did, Namjoonie,” Hoseok replies. 

Yoongi turns to you, explaining, “Namjoon’s a double major. Smartest guy we know. Literature and music.”

You talk more with them after the ice is broken—Yoongi’s a double major, too, math and music. Hoseok raps and does street dancing in his free time, and around the three of them, you feel like you’re woefully underachieving just at life in general. 

“What about you?” Namjoon prompts after you get some background on all of them. 

“Ah… nothing impressive. Economics major. Just what my parents wanted, you know. But I like books, too. I volunteer at the public library already, but it doesn’t exactly help with tuition.” 

“You volunteer?” Namjoon repeats, looking surprised. 

“Oh, yeah… It’s no big deal. I just read books to kids sometimes.” 

“That’s awesome,” he says, and the look on his face tells you he might actually mean it. Next to him, Yoongi snickers and Hoseok smiles brightly at you. 

“Namjoonie here has wanted to volunteer doing park clean up for a while, but Yoongi and I are always dragging him to the studio on the weekends, so he doesn’t have time.” 

Namjoon shrugs. “It would be nice to feel like I’m helping, I think.” 

“It is,” you agree, sharing a look with him across the table. “The purpose of life is to be useful…” You mumble the quote under your breath, assuming they wouldn’t know what you meant anyway. 

“Emerson?” Namjoon asks. 

“Oh! Uh… yeah, I mean… That’s what people think, but probably not. It’s most likely from a speech someone else gave when they gave Emerson an award, but most people think it’s him—” you cut yourself off when you notice Namjoon’s eyes gone wide.

“Self Reliance is one of my favorites,” he says, leaning forward, excitement playing in his voice. 

“Same! No one ever knows what I’m talking about, but ‘Nothing at last is sacred but the integrity of one’s own mind’ is maybe my whole life philosophy,” you ramble, just happy that someone might finally know what you’re talking about. No one in your economics classes ever shows any interest in philosophy, anyway. Your roommate calls you a nerd every time you bring stuff like this up, and Jeongguk just stares at you with big eyes like he wants to drink every word you're saying but doesn’t understand a drop of it. But Namjoon actually looks… interested in what you’re saying. More than interested, even.

Yoongi elbows Hoseok and smirks. “Namjoon’s in trouble,” he says. 

But before you can ask what that means, the head librarian interrupts to tell you it’s time to get back to training. You have to partner up for training to use the library’s reservation and shelving programs, and Namjoon comes right up to you, grinning shyly, and asks if you want to be his partner while his friends whisper on the other side of the room. You know immediately how this is going to go. Or you think you do, anyway.

And you’re right. By the end of the first week of your work study, you’re in Kim Namjoon’s bed. 

It’s just like it sounds. 

You’re naked, legs bent at the knees and open with his head between them. You noticed his brain first, but it only took that first afternoon to realize that not only was he smart, but stupid hot and kind and sort of funny in the sarcastic way you like, and he seemed to like something about you, too.

On Saturday, you work a slow shift together, both of you using most of the time to catch up on homework, and when it’s over, he asks if you want to come back to his place and keep studying. You agree quickly, but as soon as you get there, you realize you’re both on the same page about being more interested in studying each other than your class work. One thing leads to another, and here you are, moaning into your own palm as he flicks his tongue over your clit in a steady rhythm. 

“Namjoon, I–” You’re pathetic, you think, gasping and barely able to make words come out of your mouth, but fuck if he’s not good at this. Better than you’d thought he would be, actually. He came across as a little on the shy side during work, like he might be one of those guys who needs you to tell him where the clit is. Eager to please, but not quite sure how to go about it. Willing to take direction. 

He is not that.

“Gonna come, baby? You like my tongue that much?” Namjoon lifts his head to ask, and his lips are slick with you and his voice is deep and his fingers just don’t stop moving… It's so much. 

“Yeah, so close…”

At that, Namjoon smirks and ducks his head back down to finish the job. He makes quick work of you, sucking on your clit and twisting one of your nipples with his free hand. The other has two fingers fucking into you in just the right way, just shallow enough to hit your g-spot each time he pushes in. 

The orgasm builds fast, pressure from the inside, pressure from the outside… Everything feels so, so good, and you try to tell him so, but all you can do is whimper through it, clenching your thighs around his ears when you come on his tongue and he tries (bless him) to keep licking your core as your knees shake. 

“Fuck,” you say on an exhale, arm tossed over your own forehead.

“I’m down,” he teases. 

You’re about to say something sarcastic back, but when you lift your arm and look down at him, you lose that train of thought. He looks fucking incredible: flushed, a little sweaty, chin shiny with your orgasm and he’s grinning with those stupid dimples out… How could you not give him everything he wants? Maybe it’s the orgasm talking, the sweet rush of dopamine affecting you when you say, “I want that. Fuck me…” And for emphasis, when he stares at you a little stunned, you add, “Please, Namjoon?” 

He only nods, enthusiastically and a little dopey with it, a little like the boy you saw in the library. But when his cock is out—big… like, really big. Why even have a cock that large, really? What’s even the point of that?—he’s smirking and appropriately (you hope) confident again. 

“That is…” you look down and make a vague gesture in the direction of his dick, which makes him look down, too. 

He shies almost instantly. “Yeah, it’s okay if it’s too much or whatever…”

“No! That’s not what I meant. I just… You look good.” You scoot up so you can have level eye contact. “Want you to fuck me. I can handle it, promise. I want to.” 

Namjoon swallows, visibly nervous, but agrees anyway. 

You knew it would be fine. Any partner who makes sure to tell you you’re beautiful, who makes sure you come first, who pays attention to your body the way he has for the last couple hours is probably going to keep doing that, you decide. And he does. He’s careful, even though you think it might actually be killing him a little to not move once he’s over halfway inside you. He checks in with you, makes sure the consent is still there, and then when you ask him to “actually fuck me, Namjoon… want your cock… all of you,” he does. And he delivers. 

You’re essentially sitting in his lap, his palms spread on your hips as he moves you on his cock and it is… Well, it’s unequivocally the best anyone’s ever fucked you. His lips are on your neck, your breasts, the swell underneath them where they meet your ribcage… He keeps talking to you in his raspy whisper, making sure you feel okay, telling you how good you feel to him. There are times when he gets a little porny, telling you how tight you are (you’re sure a cock that big hasn’t seen anything not tight), and then he says, half out of breath, “Knew you would be a good girl. Knew it from the first time I saw you.” And you didn’t even know you wanted to be a ‘good girl,’ but suddenly you very much do. 

Before he comes, he makes sure you do again, too. His thumb finds your clit and his lips are hot against your ear, whispering filth when you tighten around his cock and shudder in his lap. He’s not far behind you, pulling your hips down when he thrusts into you a little harder, sweat beading on his forehead with the effort. He’s quiet when he comes, just a low moan of your name as he stills under you. 

After, it’s the small things he does that you like. It’s nice that he doesn’t try and move right away, just runs his hands up and down your back—soothing, almost. The closeness is nice, his head resting against your collarbone while you stroke your fingers through his hair. It feels intimate, more than a first time or a one night stand with your coworker should. But neither of you make a move to change that, so maybe it’s alright. 

For now. 

You haven’t exactly been the most social university student, but you know how these things are supposed to go. You clean up, you get dressed, you make awkward small talk about your classes or your work study and then you go your separate ways. You go back to your apartment and you don’t talk about what happened. He might look at you like he knows what’s underneath your hoodie next time you see him, but you know it won’t happen again. That’s not how it works. Not for you, anyway.

Kim Namjoon is a good guy, that you’re sure of. He’s a hard worker, he’s smart, he has lots of friends and hobbies and between that and school and work, you know there’s no way he’s looking for a relationship, and you also know he’s going to do his best to let you down easy if he thinks that’s what you’re after. 

But, he’s your friend. And your co-worker, and the sex was great, so you want to at least spare him the effort of all that. So, when he gets up to dispose of the condom and find a washcloth, you get dressed quietly, pack your textbooks, and do your best to look mostly put together by the time he comes back. 

“So,” you start as he returns to his room, “that was great… Really great, Namjoonie. Thank you.” 

He looks… confused. “You’re thanking me for sex?” 

“I uh… yes?”

Namjoon gives you a dimpled smile with an eyebrow raised, clearly amused. “Okay… Well, you’re welcome, then. And thank you.” He gives you a teasing bow, and with it, you feel a little relief. Because he’s obviously ready to move forward and this can just be a fun thing that happened and you don’t have to make him worry about letting you down, and you don’t have to worry about how much you fucking like him already. You can just be friends. 

The problem, you realize quickly, is that being “just friends” with Kim Namjoon sucks. 

It’s like sending your poor, delusional heart through a cheese grater with each of your work-study shifts. It’s swallowing down every dream of happiness when you have to sit next to him at a party and watch him nod along in agreement as Hoseok tells him how hot the new guy in his dance class is. (The guy is hot, with at least a 6-pack, big, pouty lips, and biceps like cannons. So, even you have to agree they have a point.)

Okay, that’s probably dramatic. Incredibly dramatic according to Taehyung and Jeongguk. Which, honestly, says a lot coming from them. 

So, you do your best to forget your crush and just be cool about everything. You both make a frankly commendable effort to never talk about what happened between you, and after a few weeks, things don’t feel quite so weird. Namjoon’s probably relieved you never mentioned it again, didn’t expect him to be your boyfriend or anything. 

You think you’ve done well. 

At one party, halfway through the semester, you meet Namjoon’s friend, Seokjin. He’s quiet at first, polite with a big smile and a nervous laugh. He sticks close to Yoongi and Namjoon, and it doesn’t take long before he’s being shuttled across the large backyard in your direction. 

“Hi,” he says simply. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

“Oh! That’s good… I think?” 

“Yah, Namjoonie here—”

“Well, that was great!” Namjoon interjects. “Glad you two finally met. We’re late for something, though. So, bye!” And then he’s pulling Seokjin behind him through the yard in the opposite direction. It’s so weird. 

In his protests, you’re pretty sure you hear him say, “You’re ridiculous,” to Namjoon. If you were more sober, you would have recognized it as the first small thing that should have tipped you off. 

The second thing happens right before summer break. Your whole group, consisting of your and Namjoon’s friends, are sitting around at lunch discussing everyone’s plans for the summer. Hoseok and Jimin (the hot dancer he wouldn’t shut up about who is now his new boyfriend) are going to a dance clinic on the other side of the country. Jeongguk is going home, promising you he’ll leave you a list of acceptable laundromats in his absence. Seokjin and Taehyung are working—teaching acting classes to teenagers at summer camp. 

Yoongi’s got an internship, so he’ll be around, but barely since it’s in the city and your university is a little outside of town. It’s a long subway trip, so he’s got a sublet up there he’s moving into for the summer months. 

And then it’s Namjoon’s turn. 

“I’m staying. Not on campus, obviously. But I found an apartment and I’m looking for a roommate.” Everyone nods along except Jeongguk, whose eyes dart from Namjoon to you and back several times. 

“What about noona?” he finally says, hooking a thumb in your direction. “She’s staying, too.” 

“Oh, I don’t think—”

“That’s not a bad idea…” 

Namjoon and you look at one another. He’s flushed, and he’s doing that thing he does when he’s nervous where he rubs his throat. 

“I’m sure Namjoon has plenty of people in mind already,” you say, trying to give him the out he clearly wants. 

“Not exactly,” he mumbles. 

“This is perfect!” Seokjin exclaims. “Don’t you think this is perfect, Namjoon?” 

You lean over to whisper to Namjoon, “You don’t have to, it’s really alright.” It feels like you’re making him nervous, you can feel his muscles stiffen where you’re touching his arm, and the flush he was sporting is spreading to his neck now. 

“Would you even want to?” He asks softly.

You’re not sure, actually. It’s already hard work trying to put your stupid crush out of your mind most days. And now, you only see him a few days a week. Your brain (a logical friend) is telling you that living with him will be terrible for your heart. Your heart isn’t as smart and is pounding faster just thinking about spending more time around your crush. Friend, you correct yourself. 

The problem is that only Tae and Jeongguk know about your feelings, and none of them know you and Namjoon have already slept together. So, if you say no, it might be weird. As far as they know, you’re just friends, good friends. Why wouldn’t you want to live with him?

“Yeah,” you reply brightly, swallowing down your nerves, “it’ll be great, Joonie. I can cook and you can help me study for my summer classes.” You’re nodding along as you speak, trying to convince yourself that what you’re saying is true. 

“Okay… sure. Roommates,” he says, looking a little stunned.

“Roommates!”

You stick your hand out to shake his. You’re the least sexy person to have ever existed, you decide, as he laughs and shakes your hand. 

“It was a terrible idea,” you whine into Taehyung’s lap. “He’s just here… all the time. And sometimes…”

“Yeah?”

“Sometimes he doesn’t wear a shirt!” You slump further into your friend, making what you know are pitiful whining noises into his thighs.

It’s not like you’d go as far as saying moving in with Namjoon for the summer was a mistake. But it wasn’t great. Actually, it was really fucking great, and that was the problem. Or part of the problem anyway. 

The apartment is nice—nicer than you’d envisioned when he told you about it. Not too big, but on the corner of the building so you got nice light throughout the day. You each have your own bedroom (thank god) and they aren’t large, but Namjoon gave you the one with the room for a chair by the window, even though you knew he’d been planning to write lyrics there. As promised, you cook for both of you in your small kitchen and Namjoon helps you with your summer classes. 

With all of your friends gone or busy, you two don’t see much of them, and it feels like you build your own little world: late nights listening to the records he brings home, eating simple meals by the window and complaining that you don’t have a balcony, getting dragged out on bike rides when the sun falls and it’s cool enough outside, hunched together on the floor of the living room scrolling webtoons and drinking one too many cheap beers, and the worst (best) of all—falling asleep on the couch together before you wake up with a jolt realizing your head is on him and it’s far, far too much to realize his chest is in your face… so you scramble to your room like a coward and don’t fall back asleep, too keyed up. 

Seokjin, when you do see him, adds in more and more “old married couple” jokes as the summer goes on. He makes fun of your chore lists on the fridge, cutely decorated with whatever doodle has been occupying Namjoon’s mind that week. 

(Jin doesn’t even know that when all the chores are done, you save the little post-it notes, snatching them off the fridge when Namjoon’s not around or not paying attention, and putting them carefully into a little box in your desk drawer with all the other scraps and mementos of your friendship you’ve kept over the almost-year you’ve known him.)

Jin teases you when he lets himself in, late in the mornings, and finds the two of you still asleep, tumbled atop each other on the floor, record-listening session gone too late, the needle still digging into invisible grooves at the center. 

It’s not his fault it doesn’t feel like a joke to you, he doesn’t know that you feel like the 45 and all of the jokes and all of Namjoon’s smiles and all of the little notes he leaves and the way he blushes when you come out of the bathroom in your robe like maybe maybe there’s just a chance you’re not the only one still thinking about that one time… that those are the needles, and you’re here, spinning in place while they poke and prod and dig for a melody that just isn’t there. 

Namjoon, to his credit, is the very definition of a good friend and roommate. He does all the little things. He brings you breakfast sometimes when he’s been out all night and knows you’ll be waking up shortly after he comes home. He cleans, so that even though he’s got so much stuff (endless records and books and figurines and things he just thought were cute), your apartment never feels dirty, just lived-in and homey and a little cluttered. Buys toothpaste when you forget—before you forget, even. Puts your favorite flavor of soju in the fridge every week even though he hates it. 

And it’s not just what he does at home (your home. with him. which you try not to think about because the way the thought makes your heart swell and almost burst is dangerous and confusing, and you hate that you can’t stop thinking about it entirely.) he takes you out, too.  It helps that he’s more social than you: gets you outside in the real world between classes and studying. Makes sure you touch grass. Does stupid dances with you to bad music at worse clubs. Buys you hotteok at 2am because he knows you want it even though you won’t admit it so he says both pieces are for him and lets you argue that it’s bad for his heart and you’re willing to take one off his hands just for the sake of his health… because you care for him. 

You don’t let yourself think about the way it seems like he flushes and his eyes twinkle a little when you say that. It’s got to be in your imagination. 

He doesn’t know that each time he goes out of his way to do something nice for you hurts a little. Doesn’t know that each time he’s a touch too sweet, you wish you’d stayed that one time. Can’t possibly relate to the way you wish that one night turned into a date turned into something more, maybe. 

And you know he can’t relate, because he’s started doing this thing while you’ve been living together: talking about someone. Someone that he likes. 

It’s devastating and you try so hard not to cry on the nights when it comes up. You succeed in never crying in front of him, but if you drip snot onto your pillow trying to hold back your sobs once you’re alone in your room, he doesn’t have to know. 

You don’t know who she is, but you’ve overheard Namjoon on the phone with Yoongi talking about her. She sounds great, if Namjoon’s probably clouded judgment is any indication. He thinks she’s smart and talented, says she sells herself short and he thinks she’s as close to perfect as anyone on the planet. He doesn’t go out without you too often, and you don’t ask where he’s been if he doesn’t offer, but he must be spending time with her because you catch him on a video call with Hoseok saying she can cook and she’s brilliant and she’s everything he’s ever wanted. 

She also sounds like she doesn’t know what she’s got, because Namjoon’s convinced she doesn’t like him back and that she’s out of his league—you finally ascertain that the reason he’s been going to the gym more was because one time she said she thought another guy had nice biceps and he knows they were bigger than his. 

One time, you come home late, catching Tae at a bar near campus after he’s done with classes and drinking a little too much. You’re not drunk, but you’re in that warm space past sober where everything is a little softer and funnier and Namjoon looks dangerously pretty sitting at his desk with headphones on working on a song. 

You plop on his bed, as you do now, and wait for him to notice you’re there. It doesn’t take long. 

“Hey,” he says as he pulls off the headphones. He’s giving you the double-dimple smile, which is especially effective when you’re tipsy like this. Throws you more off-kilter than another cocktail would have. “Have fun with Tae?”

“Hmm… yeah.” You lay back on his bed and don’t let yourself worry about your shirt riding up or your hair spilling around you in a haystack. It’s just Namjoon, and you know he doesn’t think about you like that, know he’s already seen you with more skin showing, hair messier. 

“Need me to get you some water?”

“No,” you sit up on your elbows, “s’okay. Didn’t drink too much. What’re you working on?” 

Namjoon is staring right at you, something indiscernible on his face. He looks almost like he’s in pain or something. “You alright?”

He shakes his head and looks embarrassed. You have no idea why. “Yeah, fine… I’m fine. Just a song, nothing too special.” 

“Can I hear it?” 

“It’s personal… Kind of silly. It’s not done yet… I’m not sure you’d like it,” he says. 

“I like everything you make.” It comes out too honest, you’re not sober enough to hide the tenderness in your voice, to wrap it in something less vulnerable.

There’s no response to that, and you worry you’ve given too much away for a split second before he unplugs his headphones and hits play on the song. And if you thought the sight of him working, bathed in moonlight and neon, was beautiful, this song is truly something else. 

It’s lovely—sweeping melody and building building with layers until it crashes all around you, his voice low and quick, persistent with words of love. It’s a love song disguised as wordplay, or maybe the other way around. It’s him in music: smart and beautiful and selfless and breathtaking… You want to keep it, you want it to be yours, you want the words to be about you or for you or just written with you in the back of his mind. It’s too much, it’s so so beautiful, and you know it’s about her. It’s for her. She’s the one who has his attention and who gets his words and it makes you want to crawl under your blankets and never come out like a petulant child. 

You’re laying down again, so you don’t know what he’s looking at as you listen. When it ends, you’re asking the question even though you don’t want the answer, even though him saying it will make it too real. “Is it about her?” you whisper. 

“Yeah,” he answers, just as quietly. “It’s about her.” 

You sit up quick, make sure you’re turned away from him so he can’t see the tears that are beginning to drip down your cheeks. 

“It’s pretty,” you say as you head toward the door, hopefully not giving yourself away, not looking back in his direction. “Really pretty. She’s lucky, Namjoonie.” 

You don’t see the confusion on his face as your bedroom door closes behind you. You don’t hear him tell you goodnight in a small, concerned voice. 

After song-gate, you do your best to put a brave face on and move forward. It’s more for him than you, you have to tell yourself. Because you, your heart, you don’t want to let him go, can’t stand the idea of watching him be happy with someone else. But you, Kim Namjoon’s best friend, you want nothing more than for him to be happy, even if it’s not with you. And it’s hard, but for the most part, you let that version of you win. 

You give him broad smiles and you keep not asking where he’s going when he leaves without you. You try really hard not to overhear his calls with Hoseok and Yoongi and when you do, you give him a ridiculous double-thumbs up and tell him to go for it, that she’d be a fool to turn him down. You’re pretty sure you’re the only one who ends up looking foolish in that moment though, even if you really, truly mean it. 

One day (of course it’s a Tuesday), you come home from class, and you’re sorting through the mail when you spot a card on the counter that wasn’t there in the morning. Namjoon must’ve left it when he came home, you can hear the shower running from down the hall. It’s rare he beats you home on Tuesdays, always saying he’s got “something” to do “across town” and you just assume it’s with her, so you don’t ask. 

But what’s more interesting than him being home early is what the card is: a temporary driver license issued to one Kim Namjoon. It’s got a picture of him, dimples out and glasses on, dated that day. You hadn’t even known he’d taken the class or the tests. You wonder why he wouldn’t tell you… It’s a big deal to him—he’d always said he didn’t need it, liked taking the bus and the metro. Thought cars were bad for the planet and that there were too many of them in the city anyway. But here’s the card, proof that for some reason he thought it was time for a change. 

“Oh! You… I didn’t mean for you to find that…” 

You look up. Namjoon’s standing by the couch, watching you examine his license, wrapped in a towel because if there’s a god, he only wants you to suffer. 

“You got your license?”

“Ah… the temporary one, yeah. Still need to take the road test.” 

He seems nervous, fidgeting with the blanket on the back of the sofa. You don’t know why he’d be nervous, it’s cool, you think. One more thing to add to the seemingly endless list of things Namjoon can do. 

“Proud of you, Namjoonie. But… why? I thought you didn’t want to drive.” 

He shrugs. “Don’t really, but… I just thought… Well, I thought if I got up the nerve to ask someone on a date, it would be nice to drive her. Just once or twice. Make it special, I guess. It’s probably stupid, but I thought y—” He cuts himself off and pauses. Looks out the window and scrunches his forehead up like he’s scolding himself. “I thought she might like that,” he says, finally. 

“Did she tell you to get a license?” You’re sure you sound as outraged as you feel when you ask. 

“No! She wouldn’t… No. I just wanted to try.” 

“Okay. Okay, good. You shouldn’t change yourself for anyone, Joonie.” And then you do that thing again, where you say too much, where it comes out too fond. “You’re more than enough just the way you are. If she doesn’t know that, she’s not good enough for you.” 

Namjoon smiles softly. “I’m starting to think she does,” he says. 

And the look on his face… It’s happiness and warmth and fuck you wish it was for you. Those nagging feelings of wanting more more more from him are welling up in your chest. “Good,” you say, still too tender as you set the card in his palm and scoot past him to your room, mail forgotten. “That’s the very least of what you deserve.” 

Later that night, you’ve tucked the soft and vulnerable parts of you back inside, showered, ordered food, and sent Namjoon down to pick it up with a stop at the convenience store for soju and beer. You can do this, you tell yourself in the mirror, psyching yourself up for the first time you both will hang out with all your friends in months.

The summer is drawing to an end. Seokjin and Taehyung are done teaching, Jimin and Hoseok got back over the weekend, Yoongi’s internship ended the week prior, and Jeongguk is back from his visit home, everyone returning in time to buy books and settle in for the new semester. 

You and Namjoon have decided to keep the apartment: close enough to campus, affordable enough, and you both bashfully agreed you liked living together, an arrangement sealed with the secret handshake greeting from a drama you’d watched together over the summer. So, you have the biggest apartment out of all your friends (which doesn’t say much), and they’ve all decided in your group chat that the group “welcome home” party would take place in your living room. 

Seokjin and Taehyung arrive first, Jeongguk in tow. They’re pouring through your door play-fighting and laughing and for a minute, you forget your crush on your roommate, you forget he’s pining after someone else, and you just feel so much joy that your friends are back as they pull you into a crushing group hug. 

“We brought wine,” Seokjin says. 

“Ew!” (A twin chorus from you and Jeongguk). 

“Fine, you two have your cheap soju and leave the good stuff for the rest of us.”

“Hyung, that bottle was only six—”

“Shh! Have some respect!” Seokjin says, slapping in the air in Tae’s general direction. 

They file into the kitchen to drop off snacks and cheap wine while you leave to dig around in Namjoon’s room for some records to play. It’s a hassle, finding enough that you like and then having to flip them every fifteen minutes, so you finally give up and resign yourself to just playing a playlist off your phone. Or anyone’s phone except Taehyung’s anyway, because “experimental jazz night” was not a hit last time he suckered you all into it. 

When you come back down the hall, your kitchen is suspiciously quiet. There is whispering and you can’t hear what they’re saying but you know anytime Jeongguk and Seokjin are colluding that it means trouble. 

“What’s going on in here?” You ask as you make it back to the kitchen. 

The three of them are reading the notes on your fridge and they all hop around immediately. Jeongguk and Taehyung have the decency to look guilty, but Seokjin just looks like he’s unearthed the lost city or something. 

“What are these?” he asks, eyebrow raised. 

“Our shopping list? Chore list?”

Seokjin grins. “No, not those… These.” He plucks a sticky off the fridge and starts reading it aloud. 

“...And greet the all auspicious day,

Whose privilege permits my song—”

You can feel your face like a wildfire, hot and persistent, as you snatch the piece of paper out of his hand and tuck it in your pocket.

“That’s nothing. Just a poem” 

“That’s not nothing, that’s a love poem.” 

“We just leave each other quotes sometimes,” you mutter, fussing around the kitchen, opening the bags of snacks and setting them on the counter. “It’s no big deal. Just a small thing.” 

Jeongguk looks at you with wide eyes. “And you sometimes leave each other love poems?” he asks cautiously. 

“I guess… It’s whatever,” you say. 

“What’s whatever?” Hoseok’s bright voice drifts into the room. You snap your head up to see that he’s with Jimin, and they’re followed in by Yoongi and Namjoon, carrying all the food and drinks. 

“Namjoon hyung and Noona leave each other love notes on the fridge!” Jeongguk says brightly. “It’s so cute.” 

Your jaw actually drops, and you see in your periphery, Namjoon’s is doing the same. 

“They’re not love notes!” You protest. 

“They’re poems,” Namjoon adds with indignance.

“Besides,” you add, “he’s got a girlfriend or whatever.” You know you sound a little annoyed, and you don’t want to, but it’s worth it if it gets them off your backs. 

“Wait, what?” Yoongi finally joins the conversation, peeking his head around the corner into the kitchen. 

Six pairs of eyes are on you, and one (Namjoon’s) is anywhere but. You get the offputting feeling that something is happening, but you don’t know what. That the boys staring at you know something you don’t. 

“Namjoonie… He’s got a girl he likes. So, they’re not love notes. They’re just quotes we like.” 

Yoongi stares at you like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing, and then Hoseok says, “Oh my god, they are that bad.” 

Seokjin nods. “The worst, actually.” 

“What? What is going on?” You ask. The question is directed at anyone, but you’re looking straight at Namjoon, who still won’t look at you. 

“I’m just gonna open some soju,” Jimin says. “Come on, guys.” 

The statement is clearly directed at Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jeongguk, who are all still huddled by the fridge, clearly amused at whatever is unfolding in your kitchen. One by one, they file out. Namjoon tries to follow them, but Yoongi unceremoniously shoves him back into the kitchen with a hissed, “I don’t think so, Namjoon.” 

“I’m so confused,” you say quietly. Namjoon finally lifts his gaze to meet yours, and he looks so so nervous. Just like the day you’d agreed to be roommates. You have no idea why, because you’d never do anything to make him feel that way, not on purpose. “Is this about her? I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have—” 

“No! I mean… yeah, it’s about her. Or you, I guess?”

“Me?”

Namjoon nods. He takes a deep breath and shoves his hands in his pockets. “You. You and her.” 

“I don’t even know her, Namjoonie.”

He sighs. “You are her.” 

You’re every meme of confused people trying to do math. You think you probably have a literal question mark above your head. You think you heard him right but… but there’s no way that it’s what he meant.

“What?”

Namjoon looks like it’s almost painful to keep speaking, also a little apologetic. “I like you,” he says, shrugging. “I like you so much, and I’m a dick for agreeing to be your roommate when I felt that way, and I thought after that one time… Well, I thought maybe you needed more and that’s why it never happened again, so I started going to the gym more and trying to… I don’t know. Be more?” He runs a hand through his hair and slumps against the counter. “I just like you so much and I wanted you to like me, too. But I—”

“You like me?”

“Oh, fuck, so much.” It’s almost out like a breath, floats through the space between the two of you, waves itself in front of your face. 

“That’s why you thought it would be weird to be roommates…” you say, pieces clicking together. 

“Yeah,” Namjoon agrees. “And why I tried to get biceps like Jimin and why I leave you love notes on the fridge, and why I wrote you a whole song about how incredible you are, how you make me feel, and how much I want you even though you don’t want me back…” 

“Biceps like Jimin?” 

“You said they were nice…” 

“Oh my god.” Little details of the past few months since you slept together all start floating around in your head and you see it so clearly now, it all starts to make sense, all the silly little things Namjoon does for you because it’s you, because he likes you… and oh no…

“Namjoon.” 

“Yeah?” He’s painfully cute like this—nervous and a little shy, hair falling into his eyes like it can protect him from looking right at you. 

You take a couple of steps closer to him. “I like you, too.” 

“You what?” 

“I like you, too. Just the way you are. I like all the nice small things you do for me, I like how you think, I like how you smell like soap all the time ‘cause you take a million showers… I like living with you… I like your records and your books and… And it’s stupid probably, but I save all your doodles like a teenager would ‘cause I just like you so fucking much… And I’m the bad friend, the one who moved in with you even though I liked you like this. I thought I would get over it.  I thought… I don’t know. I thought after we slept together you just wanted to be friends, so I’ve been trying so hard, but…”

“It’s awful,” he says, a giant grin on his face as he watches you stumble through your confession. “I thought you just wanted to be friends, too. You left before I could ask you to stay.” 

“Yeah, it is awful. Liked you since that first day in the library.” 

“Fuck, me too. We’re so ridiculous.” 

“Jin was right, we’re the worst,” you whisper. 

“You are!” You hear Jin call from the living room.

You let your head fall forward and bury it in Namjoon’s chest as he wraps an arm (with a perfectly sized bicep, you note, reminding yourself to tell him later) around you and laughs into your hair. 

“You’re listening to us?” you protest. 

“Hard not to,” Yoongi answers, “small apartment.” 

“You fucked?!” Hoseok yells.  

“Oh my god,” you moan into Namjoon’s shirt. 

“I bet they made love,” you hear a dreamy-voiced Jimin chime in.

You can feel Namjoon’s laugh rumble through his chest against your ear. It’s the best feeling you’ve felt in months. 

“So,” you start, pulling your head off his chest, but letting him slide his arm down yours until you’re loosely holding hands. “What now?” 

“Well, we should probably talk.” 

You peek around him to see your friends all staring at you. “Maybe later?” you ask. 

“Later is good.” Namjoon smiles so so big. You love knowing that you’re the one making him feel happy, you think you’re a little ridiculous for being jealous of some other non-existent girl this whole time.

“We like each other,” you say, still a little in shock. 

“We do.” 

Then, because you’re you, and you have not ever once been cool in front of Kim Namjoon, you lift your palm up. And because he’s him, and now you know he probably thinks he has never once been cool around you, he gives you a high five, his palm connecting with yours and then lingering there while you look at each other and you try not to lift up on your toes and kiss the shit out of him. 

“Did they just high five?” Hoseok asks, incredulous. 

“They’re so weird. Do you remember when they shook hands on being roommates when it was so obvious they wanted to jump each other on the couch? They probably kissed no tongue and called it sex,” Seokjin says, unhelpfully. 

“Hey!” you shout. “We can hear you!” 

“The sex was really great, for your information,” Namjoon says, and your face heats immediately. 

“It was,” you agree, if for no other reason than it really really was. And you want to make Seokjin as uncomfortable as possible. “Namjoon really knows wh—”

“This is going to be even worse than them being oblivious, isn’t it?” Yoongi asks no one in particular, cutting you off.

But that night after your friends leave, and you do get the chance to kiss Namjoon again, who is now not only your roommate, but your boyfriend, you know Yoongi couldn’t have been more wrong. This is infinitely better than being oblivious to Namjoon's feelings.

“What do you see in me?” he says into the ceiling, sweaty and a little hazy post-orgasm, after you’d made sure to seal your new arrangement properly. No high fives, no handshakes, just long kisses and nervous touches turning more sure, Namjoon making sure to whisper into your skin how much he cares for you, how sexy he thinks you are, how long he’s waited to have you again like this… 

(And you returning those words, moving your hips in slow circles in his lap, fingernails trailing across his shoulders as you tell him how good he is, how gorgeous he looks, how his biceps are the exact right size for you to squeeze—which makes him laugh while he fucks you, and if that’s not the best thing you’ll ever see in your life, you’re not sure what is...)

You lace your fingers with his and turn to him, thinking about all the things you love about him, how all those pieces layer together to make something so big that it seems to take up your whole heart. “I like all the small things that make you, you.” 

And he kisses you as a reply, lips soft and sweet on yours, and you decide that from now on, Tuesdays are for kissing your boyfriend in the moonlight and making sure he knows exactly how much you like him so that neither of you are ever unsure again. 

[ennas-aesthetic]

Retired!Dream as a Librarian AU

Both @ineffablyendless and I spent a night brainstorming on what we think Retired!Dream would be doing (you know, if he walked away like Destruction did and decided to live life not tied down to impossible responsibilities), and we immediately agreed that he would LOVE being a librarian. So here's a collection of our Retired!Dream as a librarian headcanons:

Surprisingly, joining the library wasn't Hob's idea.

The first few months after he left his duties and responsibilities as ‘Dream of the Endless,’ Morpheus had gone into a bit of an existential crisis. He has basically lost his entire function, which was the anchorage of his whole being and identity. If he is NOT the manifestation of the collective unconscious and the Prince of Stories, then who the hell is he?

(He has no idea where Destruction has gone, too, so it’s not like he can tap him and ask casually how to start living his life as a human. Dream is drawing on a blank, and is completely lost on who he should be and what it is that he wants to do.)

Hob is there for him during those months. He is gentle and kind and patient; he tells Dream that he can do whatever the fuck he wants, and encourages him to try various things. Crafting, painting, writing. Dream has a natural affinity to the arts (of course) but none of them seem to stick (and the Bohemian starved-artist persona was more Destruction’s thing, anyway. Dream may be a ‘human’ now, but the pettiness went nowhere, it seems.)

Hob tells him that he will NEVER mind Dream going out of the flat when Hob’s off to teach at the University. Encourages it, even. He tells Dream that he does not need to be cooped up in the house, that he can go wherever he wants. Dream often stays in, anyway, (because he has got nowhere to be), until he could not take the constant ennui and boredom any longer and books out of the flat.

He goes around the locale for a bit, explores the town he and Hob live in. Inexplicably, he is drawn to the local library.

Stepping into the library reawakens a small part of him that has been dormant ever since he left the Dreaming. Stories had always been his domain, and it is there that a tiny part of his soul (if he has any) is moved – as if the place has put him under its spell. He browses the shelves, reads through books and novels that he has read a thousand times. Often, though, he is content sitting at the little visitor’s nook, looking at readers of all ages exchanging and accepting stories and tales, and feeling a forgotten part of his heart twinge with bittersweet calmness and serenity.

Haunting the library became a daily ritual. And as it is with humans and rituals, the staff become more and more used to him the more he frequents the place. Slowly they integrate him into their tight-knit band of librarians. Dream finds himself in deep discussion with various people over folktales and legends and stories, and they are entranced by how much he knows, endeared by his seriousness and aloofness. It is in conversation with the head librarian that he finds out they are always accepting volunteers. Would Dream like to be one?

When Hob finds out he is overjoyed. It was a no-brainer, really.

And that’s how Dream became part of the staff of the local library.

Sometimes Dream wonders how he had gotten here. Oh, if only his subjects could see him now. If only Lucienne could see him now. He was the owner of the Dreaming’s vast, endless library, sure, but as Monarch he had left the more menial tasks to Lucienne. Which, he realizes, was quite the “dick move” (as Hob puts it), on his part. He gets taught how to shelve books using the Dewey Decimal system, how to administer fines for books that are way past their return date, find the exact shelf for Fortunately, The Milk that a child had wanted for forever, how to wrangle silence with a vehement ‘sssssh!’ and a death glare. The last part he could do with ease, but the others not so much. He resolves to be more appreciative of Lucienne’s work over the millennia, if he ever sees her again.

But the work itself is pleasant, an anchor. He never had a sense that being a librarian is a chore. In fact, the task seems to keep him fixed, hinged on an axis of purpose and drive. After months of senseless brooding he is happy he has this at least, to define the fuzzy boundaries of his identity. He is still crafting who he wants ‘Morpheus’ to be, but it gets easier, a day at a time.

And the people, to his bemusement, love him. He is surprised at the ease of which he gets accepted into the brood, and realizes that people are so much kinder than he could ever have thought. There is Lissa, who is going through her bachelor's degree in Sociology, but who heads the Weekly Library Scavenger Hunt and frequently asks Dream’s help to cut up various visual aids and decorations for their bulletin boards. There is Annalee, who sometimes brings him coffee when they exchange shifts. They help him with the shelving and sorting at the end of the day, and they enthusiastically drag him in to help organize the monthly Slam Poetry competitions. Rupert, an elderly man who comes to stay at the library all day, and who does not forget to ask Morpheus how he is doing. Charlotte, the matronly Head Librarian who notices Dream not eating or taking breaks at the right time (his relationship with food has been complicated and rocky since his imprisonment at Burgess’), and clucks at him like a mother hen for skipping meals.

It’s… it’s a community. Dream has found himself a community: people who CARE about him, who allow him to be part of their little found family, who do not cower away from him or act as if they’re walking on eggshells around him. For once he has found himself an actual, healthy support system. Hob says something about Dream resonates with them: how aloof and awkward he is, how utterly serious and straight-faced he is about the job. They give their kindness so freely that sometimes Dream thinks that there is a catch (because there always was.) But sometimes kindness is brash and natural and emergent - it shows up wherever, whenever, just because.

(He is loved by the community, too. They are obsessed with him, this awkward, no-nonsense, goth librarian in doc martens and earrings and black nail polish. Whose partner, a genuine University professor, comes over occasionally to give historical talks and seminars. This skinny, goth, queer librarian who can and frequently glares people to death for the slightest perceived misdemeanor but blooms like a fresh flower for every nervous child who has questions about books. He’s done so well that they upgrade him from volunteer to full-time librarian, of which Morpheus accepts graciously.)

Another thing the community is obsessed with: Morpheus’ Children Reading Programs.

He was not in charge of Story Time Tuesdays. Peter was, except Peter wanted to move back to Brighton to be closer with his family. Morpheus takes the mantle when he volunteered to adlib a story on the behest of one of his fave kids. Of course, unbeknownst to literally everyone else, Morpheus is in his element. He does not just read: he performs. He takes the voices very seriously, and he is an excellent storyteller, weaving a tale of dragons and knights and pegasi so enrapturing the entire floor goes dead quiet hanging on to his every word. When he is finished they erupt into incredulous, awestruck applause.

Story Time Tuesdays become a hit. The kids are apt listeners and a great audience, and adults come over once in a while to sit in, too. Sometimes he does not even need a book. He's like a fucking bard. An old-timey rhapsode who could string one story into another with ease. EASE. He could recite them as though he himself was there for each and every one. (And he was. HE WAS.) The children love him completely.

He is so good at storytelling that the library club affectionately nicknamed him the Library's "Prince of Stories." This sends Hob to hysterical tears.

One time the kids suggested he tell the story of Mr. Sandman. This is the one time he is taken aback, the one time he sputters as he insists Mr. Sandman doesn’t have his OWN story, because he was the storyteller. He does not have a story of his own.

The kids call BULLSHIT on this, because somehow Dream trained them all into believing EVERYONE has their own story. Hob, bastard that he is, who has made a habit of getting off the university early to listen in on Dream’s Story Time Tuesdays, yells "YOU'RE RIGHT!" So Morpheus is delegated into the sidelines as he watches the kids make up a story of their own for once, about a dream magician named Mr. Sandman with a dragon best friend who goes on a quest to leave his island.

Mr. Sandman becomes a recurring character in all of Dream's adlib stories now, at the kids' insistence. He’s the magical godmother and the helpful NPC that helps the heroes on their quests. The other librarians who are secretly compiling all of Dream's adlib stories are naming it "Sandman Stories". The kids dress up as "Sandman" on Halloween and Dream is beginning to realize the children perceive Sandman to look a lot like himself.

He also DID NOT have a complete breakdown in the bedroom he and Hob share, about how the children are adamant that Morpheus has a story of his own, despite believing for entire eons that he has none. It's still hard to reconcile his issues on self-worth, remember that he deserves kindness and compassion. But Hob is there to help him get through it, and the kids continue insisting that the Sandman is a real character with a story of his own that MATTERS. That he has a life worth living, a tale worth telling.

And slowly but surely, he starts believing that, too.

We have SO MANY MORE librarian!Dream headcanons that we haven’t touched on yet! If you have questions + want some more these hit us up! 

[alexmeeksmartin]

scream - incorrect quotes pt.i

a/n: currently sitting exams right now so have not had the time to write! here’s something small in the mean time :)

anika, on the first week of being roommates: i feel like you’re prioritising school over our friendship

y/n: i barely know you?

anika: fine, message received.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

chad, mindy, & y/n are locked in a room

y/n, hysterical and on the verge of tears: what if nobody looks down here?! you know, how are we going to survive? i had- i had a protein bar in my car, i don’t know why i didn’t bring it in oh my god-

chad: guys, if it comes to it, and i mean this… i want you guys to eat me

mindy, exasperated: as i’ve told you before, chad, in those elevators and traffic jams, i will NOT eat you.

y/n: okay, you’re saying that now, but we might not get out of here and we might need to start making tough decisions!

mindy: *sighs*

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

chad: without you, sam, we’re just four idiots who moved to new york together

tara: you make us family, sam

sam: well, i’m like the cool rebel sibling of course

mindy: no, you’re the mom

y/n: yeah, definitely the mom

tara: look, sam, if you come back to us i’ll let you clean my room

sam: deal.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

y/n, in tears: i’m sorry

mindy: oh, y/n, crying… i don’t know what to do

mindy: pat pat. this feels wrong

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

chad: i don’t know if y/n’s dreams can predict the future like mine can, but i do know that if something happened to anika… i couldn’t live with myself

chad: of course, i wouldn’t have to, because y/n and mindy would kill me.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

anika, getting out of the car: i’m leaving!

y/n: can’t you at least call an uber?

anika: you know they banned me for talking too much to the drivers!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

y/n: yeah, the band doesn’t go on till midnight

sidney: midnight?

y/n: okay, if you guys can’t hear me now, we’re gonna have some real problems at the club.

sidney: no problem

gale: no, we’re good. we’re good

y/n: i hope i can be as cool as you guys in thirty years.

gale: does y/n really think that we’re fifty?

sidney: no, y/n is just really bad at maths

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

gale: here’s the thing i realised, you can’t get older if you never celebrate birthdays

y/n, dewey, and sidney coming out with a cake: happy bir-

gale, spraying them with water: no

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

y/n: ethan, i was wondering if we could have a little chat

ethan: you want me to go home.

y/n: no, no, the opposite of that

ethan: i want you to go home?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

anika, confused but knowing that she’s in trouble: you want to tell me what i did?

y/n, mad: do you want to tell me what you did?

anika: i don’t know what i did

y/n: then i don’t know what you did.

anika: fine! i’m bored, i’m going

y/n: don’t forget your phone!

[ducktoonsfanart]

The Donald Duck Chronicles - Donald Duck and Goofy in Kingdom Hearts - Crossover Duckverse - The Secret Life of Donald Duck - My Version

Yes, the first drawing was supposed to be more for Inktober, but well, what I drew is the beginning of my new project, and it will also be related to my fanfictions, but I will write more about that next year. However, somehow I managed to unify what connects Donald Duck, and I showed this in the first multi-character drawing, in which Donald sometimes dreams of being an emperor like Napoleon, and also encounters his other identities in which he is, such as is Duck Avenger (Paperinik), Double Duck and Maui Mallard. And it all represents one character. Yes, I read other fanfictions about The Secret Life of Donald Duck which is more based on Ducktales 2017, but I decided to make my own version, based on Duck comics, cartoons like classic shorts, Three Caballeros, Ducktales, Darkwing Duck and Quack Pack. And while in the middle, Donald Duck is represented through four characters, at the bottom of the drawing are his friends and family members who are superheroes. I also took a lot of this from the Ultraheroes comics. Uno (One), Jose Carioca (Green Bat), Panchito Pistoles (El-Galo-Loco), Fethry Duck (Red Bat), Gladstone Gander (Clover Leaf), Gus Goose (Iron Gus), Masked Tophat (Scrooge McDuck), Daisy Duck (She-Venger, Super Daisy or Paperinika), Darkwing Duck, Gizmoduck, Gyro Gearloose and T-Squad (Huey (Red Shadow), Dewey (Blue Cyclops) and Louie (Green Avenger)).

On the top side, you can see the villains fighting the superheroes and Donald's biggest rivals, which are Due (Two-Un's twin from PKNA), Emil Eagle, Zoster (Evronians), Inquinator, Mad Ducktor, The Raider (although he is more of an anti-hero than a villain), Baron von Sheldgoose, Negaduck (he's more against Darkwing Duck) and Neighbor Jones (Donald's worst neighbor and eternal rival). Yes, I wanted to add more characters, but not all of them would fit in this drawing, but there will be another time.

Yes, I call this "Donald's Chronicles", my new headcanon that I am starting on the occasion of the 100th anniversary of Disney as well as the 90th anniversary of Donald Duck and yes, it will be part of my Quack Pack AU, but in an even more extreme level, with more action and comedy for sure . The second drawing is Donald Duck as a wizard where he practices under the wizard Merlin (you know him from the movie The Sword in the Stone, as well as the myth of King Arthur), together with the knight Goofy. Yes, this is my first time drawing Kingdom Hearts, and I certainly know that Wizard Donald is great and that version will also be part of Donald's Chronicles. And music related to this:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ES9XrjH_XHU By the way, both drawings are gifts for my friend @isabellanajera and @you-big-palooka, who recently celebrated her birthday and who, like me, is definitely a big fan of Donald Duck. And a gift for my friend from Discord, @scroogemcduckair.

I hope you like these drawings and ideas like this. If you have any comments, feel free to say so. Feel free to like and reblog this. And don't use my ideas and copy without mentioning me, please.

[aspoonofsugar]

Hi,.....if you don't mind me asking, can I ask your top 5 (or top 3) favorite characters from Hazbin Hotel? And why you loved them? And your top 5 favorite moments from the series? Sorry if you've answered this question before....Thanks....

Hi!

Thank you for this fun ask :D

FAVOURITE CHARACTERS

1- Lucifer

He's a disaster and I love him :''') He is very well written so far. He has a strong characterization, which combines a comedic side (bumbling dad + airhead) with more serious traits (depression). He is also set up to have a wonderful arc, which ties with important themes for the series, as a whole. Dreams, redemption, freedom and love. His relationship with Charlie is especially sweet: he is very very flawed as a parent, but through his daughter he finds hope again and makes some steps to grow. Plus, he is a mix between Barnum (the greatest show) and Walt Disney, which is very meta when it comes to the themes of creativity and enterteinment.

2- Charlie

Charlie is one of the rare protagonists I adore! She feels both classic (she is a Disney Princess) and original (she is the Princess of Hell). The premise to have such an idealistic character as a high profile demon is both hilarious and very strong thematically. Not only that, but Charlie's conflict is actually pretty deep and layered. On the one hand she genuinelly wants to help Sinners and is right about redemption. On the other hand she is also using her dream to run away from her problems and hide her self-issues. Charlie is deep down a child, who felt abandoned by her parents and who doesn't fit in her own Kingdom. The Hazbin Hotel is a home for both Sinners and herself. A place where she can stay for a while, find familial bonds and grow. On a writing note, I like how active she is. She drives the conflict beautifully in a way which is almost refreshing.

3- Alastor

Here comes another disaster! Alastor is clearly the key character of the series, both when it comes to plot and to theme. He is clearly linked to Lilith's mystery somehow (either because he made a pact with her or because the reason of Lilith's disappearence ties with whoever Alastor made the pact with). He is also a challenge to Charlie in how she believes everyone can be redeemed, but Alastor will try very very hard not to be LOL. And he will probably fail :''') Apart from it, he is very well used in the first season. His mystery is built up and he manages to stay active and move the plot without taking central stage. In a sense, he stays in the shadows, which is fitting for a shadow character.

3- Angel Dust

Angel is a sweetheart, who hides his feelings and goodness out of fear. I like his sibling bond with Charlie and how selfless he is towards his loved ones. His stay at the hotel isn't really about redemption, as Charlie thinks. Rather, it is more about healing, finding a stable environment and escaping a toxic relationship. I like his small step towards independence. His story is just beginning and his arc is just set up, but it has already the potential to be great.

5 - Adam, Sir Pentious, Vaggie, Sera (basically a bunch of characters LOL)

Adam is a villain I enjoyed immensely. He is just fun to hate LOL and I am curious to see if he will gain some depth. Either through coming back or post-mortem. I also like he is a play with School of Rock's Dewey Finn. He is in love with rock and metal and even uses rock rhetoric, like "Stick it to the man". Except that he embodies everything rock isn't. He himself is the man. He is a mediocre authority figure who uses his power against the weakest. Sorry Adam, but Charlie is way more punk rock than you :P

Sir Pentious is adorable <3 His arc is simple, but well done. I love how he slowly opens up to others and his crush for Cherri Bomb is adorable. I am curious to see where his story will go.

Vaggie has a very interesting premise in how she foils Lucifer as a fallen angel (and will probably foil Lilith, as well). The reveal of her background was great and I love her design and her focus in Hello Rosie, where she finds a mentor in Carmilla. Still, I want more of her and feel like her arc is just set-up as for now. It ties with trust, which is a great theme for a love story.

Sera has only appeared once, but I like her characterization. She is sympathetic, but also very clearly in the wrong and the main responsible for the whole conflict (yes, even more than Adam as she wields more power and could have stopped him). I like her bond with Emily and I am curious about her relationship with Lucifer, since what happened to him seems to have scarred her.

FAVOURITE MOMENTS (IN NO ORDER)

More than Anything - Charlie and Lucifer's confrontation

Charlie and Lucifer discovering each other and affirming their familial love is beautiful. Charlie reveals she still adores her father, despite his flaws and neglect. Lucifer finds in himself the drive to dream again.

You Didn't Know - The questioning

The whole courtroom scene is brilliant thematically. The main conflict goes from redemption for sinners to questioning the system. It is poignant how Lute and Adam are stuck in their heads and unable to either ask nor answers questions. Charlie and Emily instead keep interrogating others and themselves. They discover the reality around them is complex, starting with their loved ones (Vaggie and Sera). Still, these doubts will make them stronger in the end.

Lucifer's Big Damn Heroes moment

Lucifer joining the fight to save his daughter is a great conclusion to his arc this season. Plus, he manages to be both badass and hilarious at the same time :''') His short skermish with Adam is pretty funny, as well and it was cool to see his demon form. Plus, we got some more hints to whatever happened in Eden, which is bound to be important for the story as a whole.

Ready for this

This is Charlie's big moment this season. It is when she realizes she can do this. She has within herself the strength to inspire people with her voice, just like Lilith. Rosie and Alastor encouraging her is great, as well. And the whole set-up with a town full of kind and cheerful cannibals is hilarious.

The Show Must Go On - The Finale

The final song is perfect as a conclusion to Charlie's journey this first season. She starts it by singing alone, with everybody dismissing her. She ends it surrounded by her loved ones, with everyone "singing her song". Lucifer and the whole Hotel Crew encourage her not to give up and help her re-build her dream. The hints to future plot-lines (like the Vees and Alastor) are also great.

[ml-nolan]

Kick's 2023 Fic Roundup (YEEEHA!)

[Please use the Kayne Malevolent voice for that title]

SOOOOOO all domains included—fics, original fiction, nonfiction, and copywriting—I wrote over 300k words this year. Of that, fic was 132,449 words! 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 I'm pretty proud of it, honestly, so I thought I'd hop on the rundown bandwagon.

Thanks to everyone who read my stuff, kudos-d it, commented on it, and yelled with me about it on Tumblr and Discord (Honk-Honk to all my honkos!!! 💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤). Y'all have made my life so much more fun this year.

The Sandman - Dreamling

Music When You Speak [Rated E | 72,075 words]

When incognito rock star Dream of the Endless drifts into Hob Gadling's record store, it's instant attraction. Neither of them expected things to get this serious.

This started out as an experiment in "taking time to enjoy the scenery," so naturally I had to [SPOILER ALERT] add a kidnapping subplot that ends with Dream naked and covered in blood.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Oops.

I'm so glad so many people loved it. I loved it too. Still do.

Playlist here

Aaaaand complimentary ficlet, Piece by Piece [Rated T | 610 words].

I'll Make You Sorry [Rated E | 12,035 words]

Things from Hob's past are making Hob's hookups run screaming into the night, and it's really freaking him out. Dream is very concerned (both that other people are dreaming Hob's dreams and that Hob takes so many lovers).

This is my only canon-adjacent fic (so far) that isn't ficlet or pure smut, and I enjoyed making both of them so deeply uncomfortable. Also I need to write more Corinthian because I found his voice disturbingly easy to emulate. 😂😂😂

On Sex Dreams and Anachronisms [Rated E | 1,818 words]: Two embarrassing times Dream dropped in on Hob's sexy dreams and one much nicer one. Second silliest thing I wrote this year.

(Not) Spellbound [Rated E | 1,192]: This is just bondage smut. You're welcome. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

How to Extract Your Boyfriend from Toxic Internet Culture [Rated G | 704 words]: By far the silliest thing I wrote this year. Features retired Dream's stint as a True Crime Wine Mom.

One Tall Dark Stranger [Rated G | 565 words]: From the prompt "Accidental Hand Touching."

You Will Not Be Bothered [Rated G | 420 words]: From the prompt "picking a leaf/flower petal out of their hair, or brushing dirt off of their face."

I'll Be a Better Man Than My Father Ever Was - Chapter 4 by @chaosclimber | for the Dreamling for Ukraine fundraiser.

[PODFIC] Inappropriate Uses of the Dewey Decimal System and Coworkers by Hob Gadling, no PhD (Chapter 2) by @chaosheadspace | for the Dreamling for Ukraine fundraiser.

Metaphysics by @quillingwords

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The Sandman - Femslash Weekend!

This was so fun, and I have at least one more femslash idea I really hope to have the spoons to finish in January. 💜🖤💜🖤

You're Gonna Catch Hell [Johanna/Mazikeen | Rated E | 2,116 Words]

Johanna Constantine, a gun for hire, is meeting a very dangerous new client at Club Hell. A mysterious woman who spots her right when she enters the club might pose some complications.

Pure smut, although I have an enormous hc around this AU that I'm not sure will ever see the light of day.

Obliterate All Prior Things [Lucienne/Gault | Rated E | Words 3,421]

Whatever horrible thing Lucienne says is happening to The Dreaming is certainly happening. But the other part—the bit where Lucienne thinks she is the reason for it—cannot be allowed to stand. Run away with me, Gault wants to say. We'll find our own way. Be whoever we want. And you can finally rest.

I have huge feelings about Gaulcienne, which will become extremely clear if you read this.

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The Magnus Archives — Goof Troop (aka., TimGerry)

Just an Animal Looking for a Home [Rated E | 33,349 words | Love and Nonsense AU - WIP]

When Tim Stoker came to Pinhole Books, it was like someone jammed a foot on the accelerator of Gerry's life. After a health scare, a wedding to his (let's be honest) soul mate, and the exponential growth of the shop, it's showing no signs of slowing down. Now, Pinhole is opening a second location, their beloved Fiona Law is retiring, and Tim and Gerry are bringing a new canine member into their family. But even good changes can be overwhelming, and Gerry finds himself dealing with old trauma he thought he'd left far behind him. Plus, Tim is unexpectedly forced to face old conflicts, which takes him places where Gerry can't follow. With all these stressors on top of the typical growing pains that come with a still-new marriage, Tim and Gerry have to learn to work through their issues together. It's either that or fall apart.

This is the sequel to Hiding in Plain Sight, which I actually started this in 2022 and took a hiatus while I was writing Music When You Speak (so the word count includes 2022 chapters, don't @ me 😂). It's pretty heavy but I think the break will make the story that much better for it, honestly.

Playlist here.

Also in this AU, a couple ficlets set before TimGerry got together.

What's His Deal? [Rated T | 608 words]: Gerry tries to find out what Tim's deal is. Jon is completely unhelpful. From "Blossoming Romance" Tumblr prompt: "Attempting to find out if they are single/available"

Scoop [Rated E | 682 words]: Gerry has just hired a new employee at Pinhole books, and it may just cost him his sanity. Involves ice cream.

Ad Libitum [Rated E | 1,861 words - WIP]

It's Tim Stoker's first week at The Magnus Conservatory, and his piano accompanist hasn't shown up for auditions. An imposing goth swoops out of the shadows to save him, but Tim worries his instant attraction to the man may make it hard to control himself.

I just started this one! Music conservatory AU where Tim is studying voice and Gerry is a pianist. Excited to see where it goes (honestly, your guess is as good as mine at the moment).

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And of course I've got a book and a Patreon with two serials in progress if you're interested.😉😉😉 But I hope to write a LOT more fic in 2024! Love y'all. 💜🖤💜🖤💜💜🖤💜🖤💜💜🖤💜🖤💜

[writingquestionsanswered]

Can you tell me basics of how to write surrealism please ? I tried to search for any similiar questions - but sadly I found none :(

Thank you so much

Surrealist Fiction

I wish that I could help you, but surrealist fiction is not in my wheelhouse. All I know about it is how it differs from magical realism, which is that surrealist fiction is set in a dream-like world that combines elements of the conscious and subconscious, whereas magical realism is set in the everyday world, but the fantastic and impossible are framed as real and normal.

Outside of that, I don't know anything about it and have only read a little bit of it. What I can tell you, though, is there is actually a TON of information available online about how to write surrealist fiction. A Google search for "how to write surrealism" brought up endless results including a guide on how to write Surrealist Fiction at Liminal Pages, A Brief Guide to Writing Surrealism at Globe Soup, Surrealism – What Every Writer Should Know at Writers Write, and a 12-minute YouTube video called 7 Tips for Writing Surreal Stories - Writing Today with Matthew Dewey. So, I think if you look again, you'll find that there are some really great resources out there to help you on this journey. Best wishes to you... I think it will be a fun adventure!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[mrbensonmum]

TV Show - Dr. House | House M.D. XII

Even though I'm almost at the end of the seventh season, today's post will be relatively short compared to the others; I am incredibly tired! (Don't worry, it's not from watching Dr. House, it was just a very long day.)

(YES, I miss Thirteen a lot!)

Season seven is a bit like a prelude because it prepares us for a spectacular end to the season (and the whole show!). But the things House does in this season can no longer be summed up as "he's a great doctor, just unfortunately a jerk." Just the way he puts Masters through the wringer when it comes to Cuddy's mother is pretty intense, not to mention the fact that he tricked her with the coma patient. But that's just the tip of the iceberg; there are a lot of things on that "that's not okay at all" list.

Cuddy has now found out that he's back on Vicodin, broke up with him, and even though from a distance it looks like House is living it up, he's actually in free fall! Apparently, there are no limits anymore. Chase, Taub, and Masters are in his hotel room like Huey, Dewey, and Louie, waiting for him to look at X-rays while the prostitute is hiding under the covers next to him. You don't even want to imagine what drugs or Vicodin he's taken.

I want to highlight two things in particular:

I really like Masters' style of dressing! She's always smartly dressed, it rarely seems too overdone, yet she still stands out from the crowd. I don't know if this can be attributed to the actress or the team behind the camera, but they did a really good job here.

Episode 15 of season 7 is an absolutely wild ride! I love it when the team is just told to portray dreams about abandonment fears however they creatively feel like doing it. Then it turns out great and is really genius. Comedy, musical, zombies, and sitcom, a dream (pun not intended)!

Tomorrow (Sunday) I'll continue watching, I'll just finish the episode and then fall into bed. Then there's still the eighth season, and we've made it. This was a really smooth rewatch, and writing about it was really fun. But I also think that afterwards I'll watch a few episodes of other series for a bit instead of another 8-season behemoth like Dr. House; that really messes with your head!

[writtcninthestars]

@champagneprblms // starter for della

it hadn't been long since dewey had gotten his memories back. he finally remembered his mother getting back from the moon and everything that happened since. he wasn't sure if she remembered though, so he didn't want to pester her about all of that. instead, he was just planning to spend time with her as much as he could. he hoped that his winning personality would help her to remember everything that came after her return home. right now, she'd been over at dewey's to help decorate for christmas. "did you know that one time i accidentally went back in time and got to hang out with you and donald? i didn't know he was such an angsty teen until then." he wished that he'd had his phone at that time, he could have used that for blackmail toward his uncle. lovingly, of course.

[quiverwingquack]

now trouble's at the line

Louie and his brothers take their kayak out for a little adventure. It doesn't go very well.

Alternatively, the secret origins of Captain Lost.

(AO3 link in reblogs!!!) Requested by @violetganache42. Feel free to submit a prompt of your own.

-----

The boat sways on the water, gently rocking the boys as they sail along. Or… drift along? Row along? Louie’s never sure what the right boat words are, no matter how many times Uncle Donald’s told them. Huey knows, ‘cause there’s probably like ten different entries in his nerd book about boats, and Dewey probably does, ‘cause he’s a way better listener than Louie. He pays attention and fills Louie in later, most times, while Louie takes naps or plays games on his phone or dreams up his newest scheme under the table.

It doesn’t really matter, anyway. They’re out of the houseboat today, and Huey’s babbling away about some fish he saw and Dewey’s excitedly rowing thru the water, steering them further and further from shore. Uncle Donald said not to go too far, but he’s not here now, and Louie’s holding the map.

They might even find treasure this time.

Louie reclines against the back of the boat, cozy under their umbrella. There’s just enough space for him to chill, glancing lazily at the map every so often. It’s one of Huey’s nerd projects, a careful sketch of the shore and the docks, all places they’ve explored so far. All the boring, familiar, safe places they’ve been. Not much of an adventure, really.

They go out all the time anyway. Louie doesn’t know why—what kind of adventure is it, rowing along the same stretch of water dozens of times?—but he comes along. He’s supporting his brothers, in his own kind of way, and besides, it’s a great spot for a nap. No nagging Uncle Donald telling him he’s messing up his sleep rhythm or whatever, and just enough warmth from the sun overhead to be cozy, but not uncomfortable.

He looks at the map again, matching the rough stretch of shore they’re rowing past to Huey’s doodles. “There’s the uh… Puddle Beach? Peddle Beach? You gotta write bigger, Hue.”

“It’s Pebble Beach,” Huey corrects, gesturing to the stones on the sand as they pass. “I don’t think it really has a name, so I gave it one. Because of all the rocks!”

“Sure, yeah,” Louie stifles a yawn. “Turn left past here, Dewey. We’re almost to the Money Bin.”

“Ooh, the Bin!” Dewey perks up, rowing faster. “Maybe we can stop for lunch when we get there?”

“It is almost noon,” Huey approves. He looks up at the bright, yet cloudy sky, studying it for a moment. “But we should head back afterward. It looks like it’s going to rain!”

“Aw, c’mon,” Louie groans. “We just barely left! Besides, we’re nearly to the end of your map.”

“All the more reason to turn back! Junior Woodchuck rule 727—”

“Louie rule 727: if we go out on an adventure, we should actually do some adventuring. Don’t you wanna add more to this thing? I’m sure there’s a badge for something like that.”

“Well… I suppose we could keep going for a little while,” he decides. “But only another hour, and if we hear thunder, we’ll have to head to shore and call Uncle Donald.”

Louie begins to grumble, but Dewey cheers a little louder. “Yes! Let’s go exploring!”

They reach the Money Bin not too long later. Huey lays out a blanket, and Dewey unpacks their sandwiches and drinks. Louie stretches and yawns before plopping down on the blanket, smoothing out some wrinkles. There, he helped. Huey likes it when the blanket’s smooth and even.

Dewey hands him a sandwich, and he unwraps the plastic with one hand, not even bothering to sit up. Peanut butter again? It’s nice of Uncle Donald to pack them a lunch and all, but Louie wishes there’d be some variety sometime. It’s always the same sea they sail and the same sandwiches at lunch.

“Someday, I’m gonna make the biggest, fanciest sandwiches for lunch,” he muses, gesturing across the bay to the huge building on the sea. “I’m gonna have a big bin like that, full of treasure, and I’m gonna be the richest duck in the world.”

“Yeah?” Dewey prompts, looking up at the Bin. “What kind of sandwich?”

“Hmm… something fancy, like salted ham and pickles. And I’d get one of those little press things, so I could make it toasty.”

“I bet Scrooge McDuck eats like that every day,” Dewey’s voice is full of wonder. “And I bet he’s taken a boat through the coolest places. Like the Amazon! Or the moon!”

“I don’t think Scrooge McDuck has been to the moon. We would’ve heard about it on the news,” Huey scoffs. But when Louie looks over to him, his eyes are looking up too, with the same curious wonder. “But I bet he’s been on a lot of cool adventures.”

“We should go on an adventure,” Dewey declares. “A real one! We can take the boat all the way to the edge of Duckburg, and Uncle Donald doesn’t even have to know. We could map it all and explore somewhere new and maybe even find something nobody’s ever found before!”

“That does sound fun,” Huey agrees. “I might even get my own entry into the JWG!”

“We might even find a treasure and get stupid rich too!” Louie’s eyes are focused fully on the dollar signs in the windows. He’d never eat peanut butter again.

“Let’s go!” Dewey yells. “To adventure!”

He’s halfway back to the boat before Louie even realizes he’s hopped up, and he scrambles with Huey to pick up their stuff. They hurry back to the boat together, and set off in the water. Louie directs them toward the edge of their map, and Huey pulls out a telescope to scout ahead. Or… magnifier? Spy glass? Whatever it is, it makes him look like a pirate. And Dewey’s enthusiastically steering them ahead now, barely bothering with directions.

Seems like the perfect time for a nap, Louie reasons. They’re swaying gently on the water, and it’s nice and warm. It doesn’t feel like rain at all! He’ll just close his eyes for a few minutes, and his… his brothers will wake him wh… when they need the map….

“Louie!” Huey yells, and Louie shoots straight up. “Huh?”

“You fell asleep? I can’t believe you,” he scolds. “Do you even know where we are?”

“In the boat, duh,” Louie retorts. Dewey snatches the map from his hand, frowning at it, and Louie looks around. There’s an unfamiliar bridge ahead, with spooky, tall skyscrapers beyond, and the sky looks a lot gloomier and darker now. Maybe Huey was right, not that he’d admit it out loud.

“Please don’t tell me we’re lost,” Dewey’s face goes pale, like he’s just seen a ghost, or maybe like Uncle Donald’s just caught them in the middle of making trouble. “I don’t—I don’t recognize any of this stuff.”

“Uh oh,” Louie mumbles, looking all around them. He doesn’t recognize any of this either. Huey shakes his head, mumbling too, and Louie quickly realizes he’s starting to panic. “What is it?”

“My phone’s not getting service. I was gonna call Uncle Donald, but—”

“Mine was dead a while ago,” Louie mutters. “I wrote out a new scheme before lunch and drained it.”

“I left mine on the houseboat. I thought if we were going on a real adventure I wouldn’t need it.” Dewey looks like he’s about to panic too, looking around at the unfamiliar city. “Um… what do we do now?”

Huey takes a deep breath. “I’m the oldest, I can figure this out. Next time, we’ll bring more supplies. And for now, hm… let’s get to shore, and try to find a payphone, or ask someone if we can borrow their phone. We can call—”

A huge clap of thunder rocks the boat, and the boys all yell, reaching to hold onto each other. And almost immediately, rain begins to drizzle down, quickly drenching them. And they’re nowhere near the safety of the shore.

“Thanks, Captain Lost,” Dewey grumbles, reaching for the umbrella. “Some adventure.”

Huey laughs, scooting closer. “Captain Lost! Captain Lost!”

“Hey!” Louie squishes himself between his brothers, already freezing. “At least call me Captain Lost, sir. Have some respect.”

“Hmm… nah,” Dewey giggles, and they row the boat toward the shore. “Captain Lost! Captain Lost!”

By the time they’ve tied the kayak up, the rain has turned from a drizzle to a downpour. Louie’s hoodie is soaked all the through, and his brothers both look as cold as he feels. They’re all miserable, and he regrets even getting out of bed this morning.

Huey leads them down the first street they find, looking for a payphone, but none of them want to go too far from their kayak. And though it’s barely dinnertime now, there seems to be no one around. It’s almost like a haunted house, but everywhere. A haunted city.

“I wanna go home,” he mutters, kicking a rock into the gutter. “I’m wet and cold and hungry.”

“Me too,” Dewey agrees. “All these shadows are giving me the creeps, too.”

“I know. But I’m sure we’ll find a phone soon,” Huey reassures them, reaching to hug them both. “We just need to give Uncle Donald a call, and we’ll be home before bedtime. We didn’t go that far.”

“If we can find a phone,” Louie grumbles. If they can’t, they’ll be stranded, and it’ll be all his fault. Some brother he is! He’s—

“Did you say you needed a phone? You, uh, you can borrow mine if you want!”

The boys turn, in unison, to a figure on a doorstep they’re walking past. A young man, wearing a purple plaid button-up with sunglasses tucked into the collar. He’s holding a paper bag of groceries in one arm, clearly just gotten home, but he tosses his keys into the bag and fishes a cell phone out of his pocket. Then, he holds it out to Huey without a word.

“Thank you!” Huey takes it, and quickly dials Uncle Donald’s number. “We got stranded, we just need to call our uncle to come pick us up.”

“That’s okay,” he tells them. “Here, let me—let me put these inside while you do that.”

He drops his keys as Uncle Donald picks up, then hurries to unlock his door. Louie wonders why he’s so nervous—usually, kids are the ones scared of strangers—but keeps an eye on him as he unlocks his door. He sticks the bag on a table just inside, then grabs an umbrella leaning up against it. As Huey explains how they’ve ended up here, he pops the umbrella open and offers it to Louie.

“You can borrow this too, if—if you want. I’d invite you inside, but they always taught us not to go into strangers’ houses in the Junior Woodchucks.”

“Hey, he’s a Woodchuck too!” Dewey chirps, taking the umbrella and leaving Huey and Louie to share theirs. Huey nods, and Dewey continues, “Uncle Donald would have a fit anyway. He’s kinda… paranoid like that.”

The stranger laughs, his bright yellow beak turning up in a smile. “Yeah, adults can be like that sometimes. I can talk to him too, if you want?”

“We’re fine, I promise,” Huey says through the phone, then looks up at their newfound friend. “Hey, he says he can talk to you, if you want.”

There’s a pause, then Huey holds out the phone. The stranger takes it, quickly greeting Uncle Donald. “Hello? Oh, it’s you! I thought these boys looked familiar.”

The boys exchange a look. Louie’s suspicions ease a little, because Uncle Donald doesn’t have many friends, so if he knows this guy, it’s probably okay to stand here with him. He doesn’t seem mad, either, which is always a good sign. Uncle Donald’s lost more jobs than he’s kept and the boys get into trouble everywhere they go, so it’s… not often that they meet someone friendly who knows them.

Besides, Uncle Donald’s told them a dozen times to stay where they are if they ever get lost. Louie figures this will turn out okay.

“It’s okay, really! Kids will be kids.” The stranger is still smiling, but looking down the street now. “We can meet up at the Hamburger Hippo just off the bridge, and I’ll—I’ll buy their dinner tonight, if that’s okay with you!”

“Ooh, Hamburger Hippo!” Dewey says excitedly, and the stranger winks at him. He gestures down the street to a neon hippo sign, nodding as Uncle Donald tells him something.

“Hey, it’ll be my treat.” They start walking, and Dewey holds the second umbrella to cover himself and their newfound friend. “Don’t worry about it. We can just call it—we can call it free babysitting, okay? Take your time.”

“Wow, this guy’s kinda cool,” Louie whispers to Huey. “I can’t believe they know each other.”

“Yeah,” Huey grins. “Uncle Donald doesn’t know anybody that’s cool.”

It’s not a long walk to the Hamburger Hippo, and by the time they get there, the rain eases up. The boys sit together on one side of a booth, and their new friend takes the other. He buys them whatever they want for dinner and even—after making them promise to keep it a secret—ice cream afterward, while they wait for Uncle Donald.

He tells them how they met in school, how Donald used to play guitar and sing terribly but he still went to every show. How he used to talk about music the way Huey talks about woodchuck stuff and how he always had something witty to say the way Louie does. He tells them how they took acting and singing lessons together, and how he’s become an actor and Donald was once in a band. He tells them stories and makes them laugh for what feels like hours, and they soon forget being worried about their adventure-gone-awry.

By the time Uncle Donald arrives, they’re all in a better mood, and they hurry out to give him hugs and pile in the car giggling as if they’ve just spent a day at Funzo’s. Louie watches Uncle Donald thank their newfound friend, and though he can’t hear what they’ve said, he can see the gratefulness from his seat in the car. Donald’s hands shake and he wipes at his eyes as if trying to keep from crying, but the young man just reaches for his hands to hold them steady, nodding and saying something clearly helpful. And If Louie notices the way Uncle Donald hugs him goodbye, tight and close as if they’ll never speak again, he doesn’t say anything. He knows some things are best left unsaid.

Besides, as Uncle Donald climbs back in the car, Huey and Dewey start chanting “Captain Lost, Captain Lost!” again, and Louie has more important things to focus on.

[caibagender]

Good Morning/Night!

So, as a Ducktales fan, I wanted to provide some of my own headcanons!

DELLA DUCK

• In all honesty, I think she would be the type to have gotten a sperm donor instead of having a one night stand or settling down with a male duck.

• She is a terrible mother and I wish the show provided more of a growth episode than her neglecting and abusing Louie. I mean, locking him in a room with no food or bathroom, then leaving him alone with a ghost and robot that attacks him based on his thoughts, and finally, who go's on a kids dream trip to teach them a lesson and tells them they can't be apart of the family (that she only just rejoined after years) for being themselves? That's just messed up.

• She gives me bisexual aromantic/demiromantic vibes.

DONALD DUCK

• He definitely knows about Louie's Kids, he isn't an idiot.

• I bet he taught HDL not to call him by parental titles because he didn't want to steal that from Della even with her betrayal.

• He strikes me as the kind of parent who is overprotective and gets exasperated easily but will answer any question and strives to let HDL achieve all their dreams within reason.

• He sent the triplets to school while he worked but would randomly call said school at Recess/Lunch to check that they were okay and behaving because HDL are trouble makers and he's worried about Scrooge's enemies.

• He got help from Goofy a lot as he has parenting experience with Max and is good with young kids.

• Mickey and Minnie would provide him free medical care for HDL and himself as they knew about his money struggles and are certified medical practitioners. (Mickey = Docter | Minnie = Child Psychologist).

HUEY DUCK

• Definitely has autism and butes/chews things/himself/his brothers as a stim

• I feel like he would actually be the second messiest next to Dewey of the three but tries to keep everything clean.

• JWG book and hat are comfort items.

• His favourite genres are fantasy, historical fiction and romance.

• He has small scars on his hands from JWC stuff.

• He likes to read in his spare time.

• He learnt first aid because of the disaster that is Dewey and Donald, but also because Louie gets injured the most

• He is a bisexual mess that falls for Violet when their 14.

• In highschool he joins the student council, dance committee and is Dungeon Master.

• He tutors Dewey and others during Recess.

• Is a good drawer.

• Becomes a chemical engineer and JWC leader.

DEWEY DUCK

• ADHD disaster.

• Is the best of the three at sports.

• Musical theatre kid that takes up drama, basketball and yearbook committee in highschool.

• Did you say dare! I'll do it!

• Becomes a pilot and actor as an adult after serving in the army like Donald (Navy pilot).

• Is an aroace. No time for love when danger is out there.

• Will do any dare that doesn't go against his moral code.

• If you hurt his brothers, be prepared to be beaten.

• Adventures the most as an adult.

• His fashion sense doesn't change much from punk jock at all. Varsity jacket and fingerless gloves forever.

• Ends up with a sneaker addiction.

• Gets a pet Labrador or hawk or both at some point to help him know when to stop and eat.

• Forgets to eat or drink and has to be reminded too by his brothers.

LOUIE DUCK

• Saves the Money from Louie's Kids in case of an emergency and for education necause he knows Donald wouldn't otherwise.

• I an anxiety and depression ridden mess.

• Goes to Mickey and Minnie the most due to all the injuries and trauma he receives from adventuring and his struggle with Della's return.

• Has a large online following.

• Is a technology, mathematical and social sciences prodigy.

• Enjoys writing in his spare time.

• Is the only triplet that knows how to cook.

• Is good at arts and crafts (Did you see his board). Specifically fashion and interior design but can draw well.

• Kepps stim toys, pens and notepads in his pockets for his brothers and himself.

• Would end up with a cat one day.

• Goldie taught him how to be a better conartist and to escape any situation.

• Is a sharpshooter and secretly does gymnastics.

• Would join debate and band (drums but can play violin and piano) so he can walk home with his brothers after their own clubs.

• Has a bad relationship with Della so goes to Donald or Goldie if he needs anything.

• Would go through law school but owns charities that he let's Dewey be the spokes person for while he runs side businesses that Huey oversees as he becomes an underground boss to catch criminals for cops/Scrooge. (He's got the reputation, why not use it?).

• He is the Duck family go to when they need a lawyer.

• Funds his brothers, the girls and Donald's lives unlike Scrooge did when Donald moved away to raise HDL.

• Does heists with Goldie for the fun of it more than profit.

• He so learnt magic and became immortal somehow.

WEBBY VANDERQUACK

• Marries Lena (they are cute together even if only platonically).

• Inherits Scrooge's fortune and buisness but Louie has already become immortal and the richest Duck in the world when she does.

• Becomes a spy like Beakley and gets info from Louie.

• Settles into the role of adventurer and buisness owner but adopts children she meets on her adventures.

• I feel like she would renovate the Mansion to be more pink and provides safer storage for stuff. (Seriously Scrooge, a gold hunting dragon in a garage when LP as your driver?).

• Is so the fun aunt/mum

That is all, thank ye for reading!

[fantasticenthusiasttale]

Sooo, I had been watched something here and there and this made me have an idea to write my first one-shot here. Enjoy :)

(Episode: Nothing can stop Della Duck!)

Warning: angst

* * *

"Huey, Dewey, Louie, meet Della Duck." Scrooge said while Della falls to her knees with surprised tears in her eyes. How much time she lost? These kids are really her eggs? She's finally feeling the moment she always dreamed about, the moment she waited anxiously for 10 years, and now she's feeling how heavy this is in her shoulders. Start to be a real mother after almost the entire childhood of them with her uncle and her twin wouldn't be easy, but that's her biggest dream coming true.

The triplets are scared. They don't know how to react to this, today should be just a normal day of adventure with uncle Scrooge while uncle Donald is traveling in a cruise and now, their real mother is... here?! Alive?! After 10 years away from them? She isn't dead, so... She just abandonated them? Why?

"No." Louie said. He's happy to discover his mother is alive? Sure, but he's also poisoness. "You're not our mother! You're just a bad woman who left us to go into a ROCKET while we were only three eggs! You are heartless!"

"Louie!" Dewey scolded his brother. He searched about his mom and he discovered she's absolutely AWESOME. Everything he wants to do now is learn how to be like her with her, he wants a hug from her and wants to show the entire world that he finally have a mom, but... She left them 10 years ago...

"Dewey! You'll defend her, after everything she did to us? She abandonated us!" You can see the hurt in Louie's eyes while he was talking.

"But--"

"Boys, I can explain everything! Please, listen me." Della said with tears trying to get out of her eyes, getting up off the ground and approaching them. This is going bad, bad, bad...

"You can say and do everything you want to, but we doesn't want to hear you, anyway."

"Louie..." Scrooge begin, he never thought of reaction of them being in that way.

"NO!" Huey finally said something, he always wanted to have a mother, but he's the oldest triplet, and he'll do everything to protect the youngers while uncle Donald isn't here, and he already lost his patience.

Huey take his phone and opened a selfie with uncle Donald and them. He show it to Della and Scrooge pointing to Donald. "Are you looking at him? HE IS, IN THE TRUE, OUR DAD, OUR MOM, OUR UNCLE AND BEST FRIEND, HE NEVER LEFT US ALONE AND NEVER WILL DO THAT! "

"Maybe you two are right..." Dewey realized sadily "You choosed the rocket than us, you never loved us and will never be our mom. And I dreamed to be like you. I'm ashamed." With this, they left the room.

[sophieswundergarten]

@nobody33333333 LISTEN UP

I just read through all of "S.O.S" today (I've been meaning to for a bit now but I didn't want to commit to it until I knew I could sit down and read straight through). And May I Just Say.

OhmywordyouareageniusandIloveitandIreallywanttoseewhathappensnextinthemostlowpressurewaypossiblebecauseIwilljustmakethingsupinmyheadforthenextforevernowohgoodnessgraciousIhadtostopmyselffromaudiblyfreakingoutsomanytimesandI'mrealgladIwasbymyselfbecauseIdidsomanylittlewigglesandfacialexpressionsofjoythatIthinkanoutsideobserverwouldbeworriedaboutmemyheavensthatwasanexperience

I loved so many parts about it!!! How it starts with Rhonda and Number Two's skepticism, the way that Constance just stares at him and how much it unnerves him, "I see", said Curtain, understanding nothing, Number Two locks him in the most uncomfortable room she can find, and then doesn't let him out until she's good and ready (and he was up for hours! did he just get dressed and then pace like he was in a little fish bowl? did he stand facing the door the whole time so he'd be prepared when they let him out?), his opinions about Kate taking the alpaca (like he could do anything about it), poor Jeffers, the sad truth that everyone went "The Emergency? The Blue Beret Incident? The Happiness Revolution? Mass hysteria, I'm sure of it. Barely even happened", poor Jeffers, the way they decide to ask the children (and how you had them call Boatwright Academy, that was such a subtle and clever continuity detail that included Sticky but showed that he was doing alright and enjoying his education), "it was becoming harder and harder to compartmentalize now, ... the lines he had drawn between Nathaniel Benedict and Ledroptha Curtain began feeling fainter and fainter. As if he was becoming whole. Visible. Vulnerable." one of the best descriptions ever, his surprise when hearing about Garrison, the way the kids make up their minds and how Kate talks about her dad (she loves him so much!!!), Constance's demands, the photographs in his wallet!!!!

And that's just the first chapter of framing narrative

I'm going to try to contain myself so I don't just point out every minute thing about your own writing back to you, but I wanted to mention some of my favorites:

> You call him Pedalian!! I don't know why, but that feels as though it is just the most quintessentially perfect name. It captures everything I needed to know and love about this man.

> DEWEY SR. Didn't know I needed to hate this guy, but I almost burst out laughing at the narrative aside to assure us that, no, Dewey never amounted to anything worth mentioning besides raising a terrible child to experience well-deserved ironic failure.

> The way you described the library was so inviting, and the fact that Garrison was lying down when we first "see" her says a lot about her attitude and how much lighter (albeit not totally) she was.

> Milligan being captain of the rowing team and Curtain being like "Why is the popular jock here?"

> "The Society of Orphan Scientists" is just exquisitely beautiful on so many levels I'm crying

> (It also reminds me of Sticky's literal naming theme!)

> Curtain being so protective of Pedalian!!! And Milligan watching like "You aren't as sneaky and cool as you think you are, buddy"

> The way he just drops "By the way, guys, I bought an island. No it isn't so we can have secret society meetings and all live together like best friends. It is a way for me to do very Lucrative Science (and I guess you can come work on your dream projects too). It's not like I have a plan to include you or take care of you or anything.

> I really love how they all get so excited about science together!! Even if he doesn't want to acknowledge it, it is such an incredible relief to be able say something outright and not have to dumb it down or explain yourself. The academic comradery is killing me!

> How they all love him but know that, just like with everyone else, he needs someone to hold him accountable! The way that was written from Milligan's perspective lends it the most tenderly caring and observant kind of credibility

> "We’ll see about that Nicky,” I'm dead. My heart collapsed and in my last moment I was sobbing tears of emotional devastation and joy. And then Milligan's response of "Garrison's not drinking?? AND Curtain's sharing a personal story??? Who ARE these people and WHAT is going ON?? Is it the end of the world???"

> THE SYMBOLISM OF "NO ONE AT THE WHEEL"

> And throughout the chapter! The metaphor about a bus full of children, I—

> He expects to feel jealous but he doesn't!!

> I know it's about to get sad but Garrison ratting Pedalian out in the most loving and caringly sibling-esque way

> Curtain is trying so hard to protect him!! Aw, he loves his brother so much and is so desperately trying to look out for him while also letting go and not obsessively controlling him there's no way the author would have this backlash in an incredibly traumatizing yet narratively satisfying way OH WAIT

> The soul crushing way that Pedalian's "hallucinations" are revealed to be him spending his last moments with his wife— afsdj ajlksg dsds

> Curtain trying his best to take care of Garrison as if he isn't also grieving intensely and falling back into extremely unhealthy coping mechanisms my word—

> The paradox of him wanting so badly to shut down so that he doesn't have to feel this way ever again but being unable to completely because of S. Q., that is just the most heart-wrenching thing

> He immediately shuts down that lady about how children, especially "sensitive"/"inattentive, hyperactive, socially awkward, strange, and unpleasant children" (goodness I don't think I've ever wanted to strangle someone so bad), should be treated!

> Hilldegard Billingsley foreshadowing?

> Curatin's inability to do baby-talk (but he calls him "Shep"!!!)

> He really is trying to be a good dad, but even in the midst of that and his grief he can't shut the logical and science part of his brain off (even if it's being severely impaired at the moment) and he's still trying fix things and keep the people he loves (although at the moment that is mostly S. Q.) safe

I know I said I wouldn't go overboard and then I just bullet pointed the fic, but I want you to know how much I love it and how well it is written!! I can think an idea is genius, but I will struggle to get through two paragraphs if it's written poorly and has bad grammar; you mentioned that you are trying to practice your writing and I am here to say that you are doing incredible! Not to mention that I walked into it only having seen a tiny bit of your theory and am now fully sold on whatever emotionally devastating and yet so, so enjoyable ride you're going to take us on.

Also!!! Pedalian's love of birds and how Curtain both considers it and supports it and the fact that Nicholas started hiding his excitement and joy because he didn't want to fall asleep oh goodness.

At any rate, I hope you know you've wrecked me and I am going to be losing sleep over this idea for the next who knows how long. Thank you.

[curestardust]

Dust Watched: Eureka Seven Hi-Evolution 3: Eureka

Genres: Mecha, Sci-fi, Drama // 1 movie (2h) // Orig (x) M1 (x) M2 (x)

So, umm... this was definitely a movie.

✧  story  ✧

I’m just going to cut to the chase, I’ve no fucking idea what happened in this trilogy. The first movie was to set-up this new timeline, the second one was to establish the new Anemone’s character and show us what Eureka has been doing and this one is uuuuuhhhhh... 

????????

So there are 2 halves to this movie. The first one is a road trip with Eureka and Iris, who is a baby EUREKA so she can’t control her powers yet. They’re being chased by Dewey who can uhhhh astral project to anywhere in the world? I guess? And yeah, that’s pretty much it. I don’t know what to say. They are just driving, getting attacked, survive, then drive again and this goes on til the 2nd arc begins.

I also have no idea what’s going on in the 2nd arc however. Dewey reveals that his grand plan for kidnapping Iris was to make her use her power to... erase reality or something? Because they’re from one of Eureka’s alternate realities, so they are not “real”, so they want to die???

Listen, I’m not gonna lie, I don’t remember much from the original E7, nor was I the biggest fan of it. So I can’t really tell what’s just blatant bad writing and what is something that is just being referenced and I just don’t remember it. But even then, as a movie, it’s just not particularly interesting to watch.

I starts off with a cool ass mecha fight, then it goes into a slow pace character building section, then it goes into an absolute “????” with events that make no sense and then it’s over. 

To me, one of the most telling factors of a show being unsure of itself, is when they have someone narrate what we could easily deduce from visual cues. And that’s the entire movie. To mention one example. after Dewey’s first astral projection, when he comes back, one of his 6 earrings turns into dust. An obvious visual cue that his earrings serve as a countdown for how many times he can do this again. But instead of leaving it at that, one of the characters is made to explain this to the viewer out loud. Infuriating.

✧  characters  ✧

I don’t think the writer really understands why people love the characters of the original anime so much. It’s not just “Eureka” who they love; it’s all the hardship they went through alongside her in the original series that made people feel so much for the character. And it’s true for all of them; Renton, Anemone, Holland... 

This is an alternative universe. You can push as many of the original characters into my face but I won’t feel anything for THESE characters. What I feel is simply nostalgia from the original. These are people who I don’t know, simply walking around with the faces and names of people I know from somewhere else. 

There were only 2 times I felt something and one of them was heartache for Eureka in one scene where she reveals her scars. The other was absolute befuddlement turned into rage. <Spoilers> This movie brings back Holland, gives him the dream life and then fucking kills him. And for what? Why, How, Who? None of it made sense! His pals from the Gekko join him on this mission and then they let him sacrifice himself (for something that doesn’t even work!!!) at the end DESPITE knowing that his wife is pregnant! When he goes off, the rest of the crew is floating on something and just waving at him?? What are you doing?? Fight him, punch him, shoot him in the fucking arm, and do it yourselves! Are you seriously telling me that his friends just let him kill himself like that? Just like that? OOOOOHHH my god wtf.<Spoilers>

✧  art  ✧

Oh my good lord, do I not like the character designs?? Like, none of them. Anemone gets offended for being called an “Oba-sama” but who can blame the kid? She looks 40! And Eureka looks like she hasn’t been to a hairdresser in 10 years and has just been cutting it for herself which... actually, that would fit her character in the movie. Still looks ugly though. 

I also deeply dislike the colours. It’s so washed out. It just looks lifeless. The only thing I can commend the staff for is the background designs and the animation. The BGs and set-designs look gorgeous and are insanely detailed. The animation is fluid, although it suffers a drop in quality alongside the actual art itself in the latter half of the movie.

✧  sound ✧

Honestly, all BONES projects I’ve watched had fantastic music and this one is no exception.

✧  overview ✧

All in all, I’ve no idea what the purpose of these movies were. None of them were particularly good tbh. Maybe the Anemone one is worth watching just for how much of a fever dream it is.

My Rating: 4/10