#* / it’s just a spark but it’s enough to keep me going ( memes )

[not-neverland06]

How About a Nuke?

Part VIII / Part IX

(Completed) Series Masterlist

Cooper Howard x fem!reader, The ghoul x fem!reader A/N: PLEASE READ, we have reached the end of their journey and I am so sad/happy/excited about it. I don’t even know how to feel honestly. I just want to thank everyone who has commented, messaged or reblogged this story. Your kind words and funny little depressed memes have been really uplifting for me. I was actually considering just giving up on this blog when I posted the first chapter. I haven’t had much inspiration lately or interaction I feel like, and you all have helped reignite that spark within me. Summary: There’s something keeping you tied to Cooper Howard, an invisible string wrapped around you both. You’ve fought against it as long as you could but he’s not gonna let you fight for much longer.

It’s been a month and the bounty on her head gets bigger everyday. Normally the compound hires privately, they don’t like going through the agencies. He figures with Sylvie dead they’re struggling to find a new leader and they’re falling apart. Or they’re just desperate for her head on a stick. 

He sees her face everywhere, crudely drawn images of her varying in their accuracy. In some she has a hat like his on, in others her nose is the wrong shape, or her eyes are all wrong. No one seems to have a good grasp on who she is. Out of curiosity and a strange need to know she’s still alive, he’s asked around. 

There are different rumors as to where she’s hiding out. Some think she’s taken to hiding out in the caves near Filly. Anyone with half a brain knows that the area’s overrun by irradiated bears and other mutated freaks. 

There are those that say they’ve seen her wandering through the sands. Following that lead had led him nowhere. He doesn’t know where she is and it’s driving him insane. She’s like a constant itch in the back of his mind that he just can’t scratch. Days and nights are spent thinking about her and he hates it. 

He’s not sure what he’d do when he does find her. Whether he’d shoot her to repay the favor or just tie her up to keep her from leaving again. He’s conflicted on how he feels about her. He’s bothered that he feels anything towards her at all. And he knows that when she shot him, she was shooting to kill. 

She had no way of knowing that he would heal from that bullet. She’d watched him bleed out on the ground and left him for dead. He was impressed, as much as he wanted to be mad, he was almost proud in a way. 

Throughout their tumultuous lives and times together she’d always had to be guided by him. He’d shown her the ways of whatever world they were living in. She’d relied on him and he enjoyed it. The time had to come when eventually she wouldn’t need him anymore. 

It’s outside of Filly that he finds the most accurate poster of her so far. She looks like she did in their first movie together. A proper outlaw, wanted all across the Wastelands for her crimes against a bunch of sick fucks. If he could kill Sylvie again, he would. He’d kill all of them. 

Not that he’s condemning them because of what the compound’s doing. He’s dabbled in organ trade before, eaten people, he’s done a lot of fucked up shit. But he draws the line at trying to hurt her. He’s the only one who should be allowed to fuck with her.

He takes the poster down and whistles softly at the price under her name. It’s enough to keep him happy for a longtime. If he never wanted to take on another bounty he wouldn’t have to. Course, he was never in this for the money. A man’s gotta have something to entertain himself with at the end of the world. 

He wonders if she’s even still alive. Maybe a Deathclaw got her a day after she left him behind. He could have walked past her corpse and never even known it. He folds the poster up and slips it in his bag. He doesn’t know why he bothers keeping it. Possibly because it’s the closest thing to her that he’s got, but he doesn’t feel like lingering on that thought for long. 

He tugs his hat lower on his head and heads through the tunnel leading to Filly. He’s caused a lot of issues here over the years. Usually he kills most of the people who could identify him as an instigator, but he doesn’t feel like pushing his luck today. He needs more supplies and he knows Ma June won’t sell to him if he causes a fight beforehand. 

It’s louder than normal today, more people rushing around. They’re all congregating around something in the center of the marketplace. He turns to the left, heading up the stairs to try and get a better look at what’s got everyone so excited. 

“They found her!” A boy shouts, fidgeting in his spot next to him. He glances at him from under his hat and the boy pales before scurrying away from him. His lips turn up in a cruel grin and he finally gets a good look at what’s happening. 

She’s kneeling in the middle of the marketplace, two Knights on either side of her. He’s more surprised by the fact that she actually has picked up a hat in her time away from him. 

She seems to be playing into the outlaw routine more than he thought she would. 

You’re embarrassed, honestly, that you let these two idiots capture you. Them and their useless little squires. 

You’ve found odd jobs through the Brotherhood when they need assistance looking for relics of the old world. Though, you’re really not sure how much use a toaster oven can be to them, but they pay good money for it. 

Once your bounty was posted and they figured out who you were, though, that stopped being useful. You can’t even hunt bounties because the agencies would just grab you and turn you over to the compound.

They clearly didn’t give a shit about women, you don’t get why they’re making this whole Sylvie situation such a big deal. 

You had to bribe Ma June by buying some of her junk, but eventually she’d helped you find some work in Filly. The people here are stupid enough that they don’t recognize you when they see you. Most of them are high or drunk so the only thing you have to worry about is wandering hands and not stepping in the middle of their brawls. 

From the patrons of the bar you hear stories about yourself. How you slaughtered the entire compound, even the children, which is so far from the truth you can’t help but scoff. Or how you apparently slept with a ghoul and you're carrying his mutant baby. 

You don’t even know where they got that one from. 

They also seem to think you wander through the sands, shooting anyone who gets in your way. It’s a comfort that no one seems to have caught onto you yet. But it’s also disheartening to know that all that’s left of civilization is a bunch of psychopathic idiots. 

What happened to natural selection?

You know your stint in Filly is up when two Knights walk in, their squires struggling to carry their bags behind them. You pull your hat further over your head and duck behind the bar. You try to keep your back to them and let the old man, Marley, who runs the bar deal with them. 

His shaky voice is cautious as he greets them, “What are Knights doing so far out here?”

One of their distorted voices rings out through the, now quiet, bar. “We got bored. Wanted to shoot some shit.”

You roll your eyes and focus on cleaning the cup in front of you. You spit into it, not enough water to properly clean it, and scrub at it with a stained towel. Marley hums, clearly displeased with the answer. You can hear his tottering steps approaching you and wince, praying he’s not going to do what you think he is. 

He tugs on your shirt with a shaky hand and you slump forward in defeat. “Deal with these jackasses,” he mutters, taking drinks over to a different table. 

You pour the only alcohol the bar has into two cups and keep your head down as you approach. “Heard that a woman took over for Knight Damien.”

One of them scoffs and shakes his armored head, “What the fuck is this world coming to?” You don’t know how they’re planning on drinking their liquor with the helmets on but you’re not going to ask stupid questions. You drop the cups in front of them, but your hand slips and one of them tips over into a Knight’s lap. 

“I’ve got it, sire.” Their squire lunges forward and begins vigorously scrubbing their armor. Your face curls up in distaste and you’re about to walk away when a metal hand grips your wrist. 

“Holy shit, it’s her!” Oh, you’re so screwed. 

They’ve got a fucking leash on you, it’s humiliating. The scarred and dirt-covered faces of the citizens of Filly surround you. They’re all leering, shouting at you and begging the Knight’s to share in the bounty. But the Knight’s aren’t listening, they’re just congratulating each other. 

“What do you think they’ll give us?”

One of them shoves their squire and he goes toppling into his large bag, feet flailing in the air. “Hopefully better fucking squires. I’m getting sick of this one’s stupid face.” 

The squire kneels down and shouts in a shaking voice, “I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you, sire!” God, you really hate these people. You wished they would just shoot you. Having to sit here and listen to them talk was making your brain go numb. 

The Knight’s distorted laugh rings out through his helmet. The other one glances over at you, “What do you think she did? I’ve never seen the compound this pissed off.”

“I dunno. Hey!” You know he’s talking to you, that they want an answer, you really don’t care to give them one. “What’d you do?” They stare at you for a moment and then he sighs when you don’t respond. He shoves his squire towards you and the kid goes stumbling over his feet. “Make her talk.”

He nods rapidly, head bobbing up and down. “Of course, sire.” Your hands twitch to your side and you give him a wicked grin as he approaches. 

He’s debating going down there and trying to help her when the first shot goes off. He doesn’t even see it happen, he just watches as one of the squires drops to the ground. 

Those who don’t want to get caught in the crossfire are quick to move away from the area, hiding in their shops or shoving past him to get through the tunnel. He heads down the stairs, taking his time and trying to figure out where the shot came from. 

The second squire moves towards her and his head flies back, a hole between his eyes and his brains splattering across the ground. One Knight shoves the other one and points at their dead squire’s, “Did you not take her fucking gun?”

He’s been in those suits. He remembers how it felt, the power you get from being in them. How they make you feel like a big man. He also remembers how fucking slow they could be. She’s on her feet and running for cover before they can even start to grab her. 

She dives behind a stall and tugs a knife out of her boot, sawing at the ropes around her wrists. He can’t reach her before the fighting starts. Someone in the remaining crowd shouts, “Grab her! Get the bounty!” And all hell breaks loose. 

Someone runs at him and he shoots them before they can grab him. Shots start going off, the Knight’s mowing down anyone who tries to swoop in on their bounty. Everyone else is shooting blindly, just trying to get rid of the competition so they can claim her bounty as their own. 

He ducks under the hail fire and slides next to her as she’s reloading her gun. She glances over at him and frowns, “Didn’t I kill you?”

He hears a shout and watches as some half-feral woman charges at them. She shoots her dead and turns back to him. He gives her a wry smile, “You want to do this now, sweetheart?”

She peers over her cover and surveys the chaos going on around them. She sighs and glances back at him, “Why aren’t you dead?” 

He tugs one of his specially made bullets out of his bag and loads it into his gun. He lifts himself to his knees and aims at the weak spot on the Knight’s chest plate. They both watch as blood explodes out of the neck of the power armor, the Knight’s friend cussing as he watches him die. 

“Next time,” she turns to look at him, “aim for the head,” he instructs. She glares at him before making her way to Ma June’s shop. He follows, not willing to let her out of his sight again, and she ducks behind the barrels of supplies in front of the shop. 

“Clearly,” she winces as the Knight’s gun starts firing off again, “I’m not making it out of here on my own.” They dive to the side as bullets rip through the barrels they’re leaning against. They’re not gonna have cover for much longer.

He grins at her, “Sounds like you’re asking me for a favor, darling.”

The sounds of screams and bodies dropping is nearly deafening. A few feet away a bullet catches a man in the throat and he drops to the ground. They watch as he chokes on his blood and tries to claw his way to safety. Steps rapidly approach them and she turns to shoot a different man, his body dropping an inch away from them. 

He turns back to her and his lips turn down, “After you tried to kill me? You want my help,” he laughs at her and she glares. 

Before she can speak a voice rings out above them, “I got her!” He shoots at the woman on the upper level above them, half of her leg gets blown off and she tumbles over the railing, narrowly missing the pair. 

He turns back to her, “You’re asking a lot, darling.”

“You’ve fucking shot me, twice. I’m not asking you for anything.” Her lips turn down in a sneer and she looks at him like the very sight of him disgusts her. “I don't need your help. I don't need you.” She glances back over her shoulder, surveying the gore and the bullets flying around them. She checks her gun and he sees just how little ammo she has left. “I’ll handle this myself.” She snaps the chamber of her gun closed and moves to get up. He grabs her wrist and yanks her back down, ignoring the angry expression on her face. 

“Look, you might not want my help, but you need it, sweetheart. Just stay here.” 

You watch as Cooper runs off, his guns firing before he’s even fully standing. You only wait a second before you’re running into Ma June’s and out her back door. She shouts at you as you barrel through her shop, knocking over her displays and shelves, but you can’t waste any time getting the hell out of dodge. 

You’re surprised Cooper was stupid enough to think you would actually wait for him. The Knight’s had called for an air evac out of Filly and if you stay there any longer you’ll be back in the compound before you can blink. 

You’ve spent a month evading them, you’re not about to let yourself get caught because of Cooper. 

You can’t believe he’s not dead. It’s not like you’ve been losing sleep over killing him, but it’s been hard to cope with the fact that you killed the man that was once the love of your life. Seeing him again, though, you wished you had shot him in his smug face. 

You’d forgotten, in the time apart, just how condescending he could be. He seemed to think you needed him to survive. You didn’t. 

At best, he provided the comfort of company. Poorly. 

Despite how much he undervalued you, you were perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. You didn’t need him to save you. You would have figured your way out of there on your own, eventually. You’ve handled yourself a month in the Wastelands without him. You learned how to carve an existence for yourself out here and you did it without help. 

You race into the woods beyond Filly, putting as much distance between you and the sounds of fighting as quickly as you can. The trees around you begin to shake, the ground vibrating and a swirl of dirt and leaves rises into the air and whips you in the face. 

You look up and begin pushing yourself faster. One of the Brotherhood’s Vertibird’s is circling Filly. “This is not a hostile landing! Please remain calm!” You blame your distraction on the announcement. 

You would have heard him coming up behind you if you hadn’t been listening to whatever the Brotherhood was saying. Rope loops around your arms and you’re yanked backwards. Your head thumps painfully hard against the forest floor, rocks scraping you as you’re dragged across the ground. 

Cooper’s face appears over yours, a cruel smile on his lips. “Now, this seems awfully familiar.” He walks around you, boots straddling your waist and grabs you by the front of your shirt, yanking you back to your feet. “I thought I told you to stay put, sweetheart.”

You frown at him, shoving your leg up between his. He groans, doubling over while you shimmy out of the loose rope. “Honestly, after all the shit that’s happened you think I’m gonna listen to anything you say?” You step back from him, brushing the dirt off your clothes as best you can. 

You sigh in frustration when you realize that when the Knight’s had grabbed you, you’d lost your supplies. Cooper looks up at you and scoffs, “Missing something?” You eye his bag on the ground and start to go for it. He pulls the hammer of his gun back and you glance towards him. You’d forgotten what a quick draw he could be.

He’s fully recovered now, eyes narrowed in on you and gun pointed right at your chest. “See, a bullet to the chest might not kill me, but I reckon it’ll do a hell of a lot of damage to you. Why don’t you back up for me, sweetheart?”

You let go of his bag and slowly back away from him. He keeps his gun trained on you and stoops down, throwing his bag back over his shoulder. Your eyes dart to the hat on his head and your lips curl up when you spot the hole you’d put in it. 

Two hundred years and he’s kept that hat nearly pristine, you take no small amount of pride in being the one to ruin it. 

“The Brotherhood will be swarming these woods in a few minutes. They’re not gonna be too happy about one of their Knight’s being dead. Come with me, I can help you out.”

You scoff, “Like I’ll ever trust you again. You’ve shot me, sold me, and left me for dead, Cooper.”

He huffs, eyes narrowing and lips curled in a sardonic grin. You can tell he’s getting pissed off. “The choice is yours,” he tucks his gun back in his holster and turns on his heels. You watch in surprise as he stalks away from you. You had fully expected him to put up more of a fight, it almost hurts that he left so easily again. 

Then you hear the sounds of orders being shouted behind you. Metal creaking and stomping through the underbrush and you realize he hadn’t left but forced you between a rock and a hard place. You could follow him or let yourself get captured by the Brotherhood. 

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. You risk a glance over your shoulder and spot a rapidly approaching party of squires. You run in the direction Cooper went and find him leaning casually against a tree, a satisfied look on his face when he spots you. “Don’t say a word,” you warn, shoving past him. 

He glances at her from across the fire and finds himself feeling almost at ease for the first time in a month. It’s been a while since he’s looked up to actually find her staring back at him. She might look like she wants to kill him, but she’s here. 

“You have to admit, we make a pretty good team, darling.”

She gives him an unimpressed look, “Yeah, Cooper, we’re so great at murdering people.” She looks over to the dead bodies of the raiders they’d stolen this camp from and shakes her head. “I forgot how much death you surround yourself with.”

“I surround myself with? Might I remind you, you fired the first shot, sweetheart.” Granted, he had shoved her out of her hiding spot and given her no choice about it. 

Her head shoots up and she glares at him, “You made me!” She opens her mouth and he grins. He enjoys provoking her like this. Even if the last time he had she’d shot him because of it, but it’s fun to rile her up. She always gets so pissed off, it entertains him to no end. 

To his disappointment, she closes her mouth and shakes her head, choosing not to engage with him. He sighs and rips off a piece of jerky. “When did you turn into such a wet fucking blanket?”

Her eyes flare with anger, despite that, he can hear how hurt she really is. “Maybe when you sold me!”

He tilts his head and runs his tongue over his teeth, “You ever gonna let that go? I told you it was a mistake. How was I supposed to know they were gonna breed you like a prize pig?”

She scoffs, the noise high pitched and shocked. She shakes her head and stares at him with wide eyes, “You are unbelievable.” He shrugs and takes a swig from the flask he’d stolen off one of the raiders. He’s not sure how they make their alcohol, or if they trade for it, but it’s fucking disgusting. He frowns at the flask and drains the rest of it before tossing it into the woods behind him. 

She sighs and runs a hand over her face, her voice tired as she asks, “What’s the plan here, Cooper?” 

He picks at his teeth and shakes his head, “With what?”

She leans against the log behind her and gestures at herself. “With me. What, are you going to wait for me to pass out so you can tie me up and send me back to the compound? I’ve seen the price on my head. I know how valuable I am to everyone in the Wastelands.”

He doesn’t know why what she’s saying bothers him so much but it does. “You really think I’d send you back there?”

Her face is devoid of anything as she responds, “Why wouldn’t you?”

It’s the bluntness with which she asks that, that bugs him. Like there’s no other possibility but him betraying her. Taking advantage of her while she was vulnerable and weak and then handing her over to the people who want her dead. He wouldn’t do that to her. 

He didn’t go through all this fucking trouble to find her just to lose her again. He wants to tell her as much but she’s on her feet and grabbing her bag before he can. “Look, I appreciate the help today, but I’m not interested in starting this partnership back up again. I think it’s better if we just part ways.”

He whips his gun out before he can think about what he’s doing. She freezes, still bent over and eyes his gun warily. “I’m afraid that’s not an option, darling.” He can’t let her leave again. And maybe this isn’t the best way to go about it, but he doesn’t know how else to stop her. 

“You gonna shoot me, Cooper?” She whispers, her own hand twitching for the revolver at her side. He stands up and grabs her wrists, ignoring the way she struggles against him. He binds her hands with his rope and he sits back down, 

“I’m not gonna turn you in and I’m not gonna shoot you. But you’re not getting out of here that easy, sweetheart.”

Her eyes narrow in on his, her fists clenched tightly in anger. “I killed two men with my hands bound today. What’s stopping me from killing you?”

He shrugs, “Nothing. There’s nothing stopping you, just like there’s nothing stopping me. But I’m not killing you, am I? See,” he leans forward, “I’ve fought too hard and spent too much time looking after you to just let you go now. We’re in this together, whether you want it or not.”

Her lips split in a sneer and she throws herself down on the log. “You’re all the fucking same. You treat me like a goddamn dog that needs to be beat into submission. I’m not some misbehaving pet, Cooper!” Her eyes well up and her voice breaks, “You don’t get to just leash me and expect me to be okay with it.”

“I’m under no illusions that you’re happy here, sweetheart.” He runs a hand down his face and she shakes her head in disbelief. 

“Then just let me go,” she’s bordering on begging now and his chest squeezes the longer she stares at him with those pleading eyes of hers. It’s not something he’s familiar with, this feeling, this longing for her to just shut the fuck up and stop making this so damn difficult for him. 

“I can’t,” he mutters, wanting her to just drop it. 

“Why not?” She snaps, dropping any pretenses of trying to get him to sympathize with her.

He surges forward and grabs her by the jaw. Her eyes widen in shock and he smashes their lips together, teeth clashing painfully. There’s nothing gentle or sweet about this kiss. Her teeth are ripping into his scarred lips until the taste of copper is spreading on his tongue. He groans, digging his fingers into her cheeks until her lips part. 

His tongue probes against hers, the taste of his blood spreading into her mouth as well. She whimpers, the noise stirring something in him he’d forgotten about. There’s an old desire bubbling in him that’s making him blind to the rest of the world. He wants her, more than he ever wants to admit. 

He’s wanted her for a long time before this and they both know it. How hard he’s fought against it, against moments like these. He didn’t think he was still capable of this feeling, this desire for her. But it’s consuming. She’s ruining him, running him in circles until he thinks he’s going insane. 

But it’s not the same gentle passion it once was. It’s as twisted as he’s become. The desire to possess, consume, covet until she’s his and only his to do with what he wants. His teeth dig into her, letting her blood overcome the taste of his own. He groans, his free hand grabbing her waist and yanking her closer. 

She tastes so much sweeter than he does, he wants to rip a chunk of her off and eat her whole. He’s so distracted he doesn't even notice her pulling out her gun until he’s shooting back from her. He lands roughly on the forest floor and groans, hands clutched over the bleeding hole in his gut. Pain radiates through his abdomen and he rolls onto his side.

He looks up at her in shock. She’s spitting their blood onto the ground, her bound hands wiping at her lips. “Asshole,” she mutters. She tucks her gun back in her holster and looks over at him. 

His eyes are wide in disbelief as he struggles to sit back up. The movement causes another wave of pain and he hisses through gritted teeth, “You shot me!”

She rolls her eyes and gives him a blank look, “You’ll live.” He limps back to his own seat and lifts his shirt, watching as the hole closes over slowly and the blood stops leaking. She watches as he heals and sighs, “Unfortunately.” He tugs it back down and sighs at the state of his shirt. 

“My shirt won’t.” He digs a finger into the hole and tugs on it, watching as it rips wider. Two hundred years he’s kept these clothes, she ruins them in a month. Un-fucking-believable. 

“Sew it,” she gripes, still wiping at her mouth. “I can’t believe you just fucking kissed me,” she frowns and spits again, bits of crimson lingering on her lips. 

He sighs and leans back against the tree. “Felt right in the moment.” It did, he wants to do it again. They’re even now, they’ve both shot each other twice. No reason for her to shoot again. 

He wants to feel the way she shivers against him and moans into his mouth. She can be pissed all she wants but she kissed back, she can’t deny that. He’s sure if she wasn’t tied up she’d be a bit more receptive to him. Or maybe she just needs time to cool off after the whole compound incident, a month seems like a reasonable amount of time. Then again, women are so damn unreasonable. 

She tugs a knife out of her boot and positions it between her knees. She places it between her wrists and saws at the rope until it falls free. She slides the knife back in her boot and tosses the ruined rope at him. 

He catches it with a sigh and glances up at her. “Why didn’t you do that earlier?”

Her eyes are alight with a challenge, “I wanted to see if you would let me go yourself.” Well, clearly, he had failed her little test. “I wanted to see if there was even a possibility I could ever trust you again.”

He gives her an unimpressed look, slightly pissed off about his shirt. He never should have taught her how to shoot. If he’d known it would come back to bite him in the ass he wouldn’t have. “And?”

She gives him a disbelieving look and shakes her head. “And instead of letting me go, you kissed me.“ She throws her hands up in astonishment and glares at him. “Why the hell would you think that was a good idea?”

He smirks and revels in the way she shivers at the sight. “Well, darling, I’ve always been better with actions not words.”

“Yeah,” her voice is a challenge, eyes hard and jaw clenched tightly in frustration. He loves the sight of her all riled up. He loves it even more knowing he’s the one getting her like this. “What were you trying to tell me with that little display?”

He doesn’t answer her question, not wanting to just yet. “You liked it, didn’t you?” Her mouth snaps shut and she looks away from him. He laughs, leaning back and giving her a smug look. “You can be pissed off at me as much as you want, sweetheart,” the nickname rolls off his tongue like a taunt and she sneers at him. “But you want me just the same as you used to.”

“Do you like hurting me? Is that why you keep me around? You’ve been alone for two hundred years, Cooper. And for the majority of them you’ve harbored this hatred for me because you thought I had abandoned you just like everyone else.” 

Her words strike a place deep inside him that has him on edge. She knows what she’s doing. He’s forgotten, in his time with her, that in the same way he can get under her skin, she can do it too. She knows him just as well, she’s just always been the better half of their duo. She never feels the need to stoop to the level he does. But she’s doing it now and it feels like a kick in the teeth. 

“And I’m the only one that’s actually stuck by you.” She laughs, but there’s an underlying pain to it. She looks away from him and wipes at her cheeks and his fists clench within his gloves. “Is this your revenge? You think by torturing me you get back at everyone whose ever fucked you over. I’m sick of it, Cooper. I’m not gonna let you use me anymore.”

“I feel for you,” he forces the words out. He doesn’t want to tell her this. He shouldn’t have to tell her this. She should just stick with him, it’s what they’d always done, it’s how it always should be. Them, together. But she’s fighting against that, against him, so much that he doesn’t have a choice. 

She’s backed him into a corner he doesn’t know how to get out of. “In a way I haven’t in a very long time. I can’t let you go. Don’t you get that, sweetheart? We’re in this together.”

She shakes her head and he sighs. “No,” she looks at him and just shakes her head again. “No, you don’t love me, Cooper, or you don’t want me at least. I’m not the same girl I was, that’s what you’re after. That idea in your head, of us together, that’s who I was. You were right, the Wastelands changes you. I can’t be her for you and I don’t want to be.”

He chuckles and she shrinks away from the sound in suspicion. “Newsflash, darling, I’m not the same man. I loved you a long time ago, sweetheart, but I’m not capable of that anymore. Not for the girl you were, anyway.”

She nodded, her arms wrapped around herself. She looked like she accepted the answer, but he could see beyond that, could see that she thought he was rejecting her. It hurt, she could hate him as much as she wanted, but that still hurt her. “Good,” she muttered, “she’s gone.”

“Well, good.” She shrank further into herself and he grinned.  “You. You as you are now. That’s what I want. I don’t give a shit about who we were, the only person I’ve wanted since I’ve been out here has been you. You’re the only person I’ve met who can actually keep up with me. I don’t give a shit if anyone in this godforsaken Wasteland lives or dies, but I give a shit about you. You’re also the only one who can knock me on my ass.”

Her eyes darted to the hole in his shirt and a small grin came over her lips. “Haven’t been shot a lot, have you, cowboy?”

“No,” he chuckles again and grins at her, “I haven’t. Though, I am still pretty pissed about the hole in my hat.”

Her tone loses a bit of her playfulness and she glares at him, “You more than earned that.”

He acquiesces and holds up his hands in surrender, “Maybe.” She scoffs at that and rolls her eyes. “But I think we’re even now.”

“Barely,” she mutters, rubbing at the bruises on her wrists. She glances up at him and sighs, a surrender in her eyes. “But, it’s close enough now.”

He stands up and she eyes him warily as he throws himself down on the log next to her. He holds out a hand, “What do you say, darling, partners?”

She sighs and stares at his hand for a long time. He doesn’t mind, he leaves it there, hovering between them. He knows she’ll take it. “Deny it as much as you want but this is how it’s meant to be. You can keep fighting it or save us both some time.”

She reaches forward and tentatively wraps a hand around his, she uses it to yank him forward, their faces separated by an inch. “Shoot me again,” she whispers, “and I won’t miss the next time I knock you on your ass.”

“Oh shit,” you jump at the kickback on the rifle and nearly drop it to the ground. Cooper laughs and reaches around you, taking it from you. 

“Maybe I should have started you off with something with a little less kick to it.” He props the rifle against the tree and glances over to the cans you’d been shooting at. Well, you’d gotten one out of five at least. 

In all fairness this was the first time you’d ever handled a gun, you’re sure you’re doing fine for a beginner. He sucks on his teeth and looks at your targets. The serious look on his face cracks and he’s clearly trying to fight off laughing. 

You shove at his shoulder, smiling, “Shut up. I’ve never used one of these things before.”

He picks the rifle back up and starts laughing now, “You mean a gun?” 

You throw your arms in the air in defeat and slump into the patio chairs he’s dragged to the back of the cabin. “This is pointless, anyway.” He cocks the rifle and lifts it up to aim properly. In quick succession he knocks the remaining four cans off the fence. You roll your eyes at him, “Show off.”

He smiles and takes a seat next to you. You remain silent for a while, gazing across the yard and to the towering mountains across from his cabin. You appreciate him inviting you here. When you’d told him how overwhelmed you’d been feeling with all the new publicity you hadn’t expected him to drag you all the way out to his mountain home. 

You wouldn’t have accepted if you’d known it was just going to be you and him. You’d thought he was bringing his wife and kid, too. Spending a long weekend playing house with Cooper wasn’t going to do anything in getting rid of your crush. It was just getting worse the longer you were around him.

Waking up everyday and having him be the first person to greet you was going to send you into an early grave. You swear your heart’s never beat this fast around anyone else. He seems to be the only man who's ever had you feeling this head over heels. 

“I think it’s important you learn.”

You glance over at him, surprised at how serious he sounds. He’s still staring out at the mountains, but his gaze is distant. His mind is some place else. “Why?” You ask, voice quiet, afraid to spoil the moment.

He finally blinks, gaze darting down to his hands and the rifle still in them. “It’s easy for people to dismiss the war nowadays. They weren’t there, they didn’t watch as hundreds of good men and women died for them.” You frown, sometimes it’s easy to forget that he’d been fighting on the frontlines. He’s so good at being a socialite, you feel guilty that even you sometimes forget he was a soldier before he was Cooper Howard. 

His voice is heavy, the tension thick around the both of you. “They seem to think the war is over. I know it’s not, it’s just going to get worse. People can bury their heads in the sand as long as they want, but when the fighting is at their front door, what are they going to do?”

You reach out, hand covering his own. He finally looks up at you and you smile. “I appreciate it, Cooper.”

His eyes quickly look at your hand before looking back at you. “For what?”

You shrug, moving closer to him and lacing your fingers with his. You shouldn’t indulge yourself like this, but you can’t help it. He seems so sad and you only want to make him feel better. You just want to take care of him, the way he takes care of you. 

“For always looking out for me. You’re always there, I appreciate it. I appreciate you.”

The sad cast over his face finally breaks and he smiles at you. His hand squeezes yours once, then again and he looks back out at the mountains without saying anything else. You don’t think he needs to, that either of you needs to. Sometimes you understand each other better without words. 

You’ll always be there for one another.

You eye him warily and he holds the jerky out further. “Aren’t you a little curious?” He taunts, waving the jerky around in front of your face. You know he thinks you won’t take it. That he’s just screwing with you. He’s been doing this ever since you agreed to tag along with him. Teasing you at every given opportunity. 

You snatch it from his hands and rip a piece of it off. It kind of tastes like beef, if not a little sweeter. There’s also that metallic radiated tang to it. You chew it slowly, savoring the slightly caught off guard look on his face. You swallow it down, forcing your face to stay straight and not give away how disgusted you feel right now. 

He chuckles, leaning back and looking at you with something that seems like appreciation. “I hope you know that was ass jerky.”

You gag now, glaring at him and tossing the rest of the jerky at his smug face. “You’re such a dick.” You take a swig from your canteen and swirl the water around your mouth. It gets rid of the taste well enough but you’re never going to get over the fact that you swallowed a part of someone’s ass. 

He suddenly gets serious, swatting at your arm and motioning to the front of the store. You crouch beside him, watching as a raider walks out of the front doors. You don’t get why they chose an old movie store for their hideout, but Cooper had it on good authority that they had a decent cache of supplies inside. 

The last time you’d followed him into one of these things, you’d nearly died, and then he’d sold you. You’re still not fully trusting of him. The only reason you’re with him now is because you need extra security from bounty hunters after getting booted out of Filly. 

If he wasn’t such a good shot, you would have never given him a second glance. Despite how much he insists the compound was an honest mistake, you find the trust slow to come. You’ll let him take the lead on this one, you’re not confident in him having your back if things take a turn. 

He moves forward and you hang back, keeping watch while he slits the guard’s throat. He lowers the body quietly to the ground and you creep behind him, following him through the doors of the store. 

This group is smaller than the last one you dealt with. Only five of them with no extra guards outside. Cooper ducks behind a dust covered shelf before they can spot either of you. You go to the other side of the store, moving slowly along the edge until you have a good shot. 

You take out one man and Cooper manages to hit two more before they start firing off their own guns. You dart back behind the shelf, willing to let Cooper handle the last two. But one of them dives behind the shelf and grabs at you. 

Another shot goes off and his friend’s body hits the ground while he rounds the corner with you. He’s got an arm wrapped around your throat and the barrel of his gun pushing so hard into your skull you can feel an indent forming. 

It wouldn’t be hard to shoot this guy, you still have your gun in your hand. Cooper seems to realize that, too, from the questioning look he gives you. You drop your gun to the floor, you want to see what he’ll do. 

Maybe you’re stupid, gambling with your life like this. But you don’t feel any fear, not from the guy holding you hostage at least. You just keep your eyes locked on Cooper’s. They’re so familiar to you, yet so distant. Like a stranger you’ve known all your life. 

He slowly rises from the floor, hands raised in the air in surrender. “Alright, let’s just see if we can’t talk this out like gentlemen.”

The guy holding you jerks you roughly, gun banging painfully against your temple. You wince but remain quiet. “Stay back or I’ll blow her goddamn brains out!”

Cooper’s eyes dart from your face to the guy. He huffs, frowning and pursing his lips like he’s trying to think of a way to talk himself out of this. He could leave, he’s got enough time to make it through the door before he fires at him. 

Or he could help you. 

It’s the only reason you let yourself get caught. If he wants your trust he’s going to have to prove it. Cooper looks at you and a grin splits across his face. It’s like he’s read your mind, from the knowing look on his face you think he might’ve. 

Then again, you never really needed words to talk to each other. 

With a speed that never fails to catch you off guard his hand darts under his jacket and he draws his gun. He’s shooting the man before you even get a chance to brace yourself. Your body gets dragged back slightly by the dead weight but Cooper moves forward and wraps a hand around your shirt, tugging you into him. 

Your hands shoot out, bracing yourself against his chest. He peers at you from under his hat and grins, “You didn’t really think I was gonna let you go that easy did you, darling?” Your eyes dart down to his lips, you feel like you can still taste him. 

The timing of his kiss might not have been appropriate, but he certainly hadn’t made it forgettable. Nothing about him was forgettable. As much as you wished he could be. You hated yourself for still letting yourself fall into his trap. 

Hollywood might have once labeled you as the most seductive actress of your generation, but Cooper had you beat. He kept you coming back even when you knew you shouldn’t. He had you wrapped around him and all you wanted to do was squeeze until he let you go. 

You push off of him, ignoring how much you want to pull him closer. You move towards their pile of supplies, “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

There are a few different posters set up in the old movie store that intrigue him. But the one that’s caught his attention the most is set up directly behind her. Her back is to it, so she hasn’t gotten a chance to see it yet, but it’s all he can focus on. 

The Outlaw and The Sheriff

Their first movie together. 

He looks at her and huffs out a laugh, she glances up at him for a moment before she begins rifling through her bag again. She looks like she walked right off the fucking poster, hat and all. She’s the spitting image of herself, but she seems so different. 

Maybe it’s the eyes. The light there has changed, dimmed slightly from how it used to be. She used to seem so naive to the world, like a little lamb that just needed some guidance. Now, he wonders just how much of the world she’d seen before he found her. If maybe she had never been as innocent to it’s cruelties as he’d once assumed. 

She stepped into this new role of hers just as quickly as he had. You didn’t just change that quickly without knowing already just how awful people could be. 

“Sweetheart,” she looks up and he points behind her. She turns around and looks up to the poster.

She scoffs, moving to stand beside him, “I always hated how I looked in that.”

He glances over at her and shakes his head, “Probably shouldn’t show you a mirror anytime soon, then.” Her hands reach up to fiddle with the brim of her hat and she smiles, a real smile for once. 

“No, I suppose not.” Her hands trace over her lips, he glances back at the poster. At that old signature of hers. She always had to have those red lips. “It’s so different,” she whispers and he knows she didn’t mean for him to hear. Her eyes glisten and he frowns. 

He shouldn’t have shown her. It’s not like he enjoyed seeing those fucking Vault-Boy posters, he sure as hell hated seeing clips of himself. Why would she enjoy seeing who she used to be? Who they used to be?

Things used to be so simple. He loved her, she loved him. Now he’d fucked up so much he wasn’t sure she could ever look at him the way she used to. He didn’t want who she was before, he couldn’t handle that. This new her, well, he didn’t give her near enough credit. 

But he wouldn’t hate seeing someone look at him like that again. Endless adoration and unflinching loyalty. He knew he would follow her anywhere, he’d realized that a while ago. He didn’t have anything in the Wastelands, nothing but hate and spite to keep him going all this time.

Now, he had her. He just needed her to realize that she had him just the same. She had him wrapped around her and he hated it and loved it at the same time. Hated her and loved her for it all the same. 

He tugs his glove off before he reaches for her. He cups her cheek, thumb tracing over her lips before she turns towards him. His eyes meet hers and he smiles slightly at the familiarity and mystery to them. So much of her he recognizes and then there are these new parts he’s yet to discover. 

He wants to discover all of her. Learn everything he can about her all over again, feed his desire to consume her entirely. 

She pulls him in this time, her lips chapped and cracked. Her arms wind around his neck, yanking him closer and he tugs at her. She tastes as sweet as he remembers and it only makes him crave more. More of her, more of anything she’ll let him have. 

She pulls back from him, pressing her hand against his chest, slowly backing him against the wall. He lets her ease him to the floor and she throws a leg over his lap. She settles herself above him, both her hands tightly grasping his neck, crushing their bodies together, eyes gazing intently into his own. He doesn’t know what she’s looking for in him but she seems to find it when she leans in once more. 

She isn’t giving him a chance at control, she’s got a leash on him, pulling back anytime he tries to lead. He relents, following her as she slowly explores him. 

He’s not sure how long this peace between them will last before one of them inevitably fucks up. But they’re stuck together now. It doesn’t matter what happens, he’s not letting her get away from him again. 

She’s his, always has been, always will be. It’s been that way since before the fallout. He’s led her, guided her.

He had loved her as a different man. History always seems to repeat itself with them. As twisted as the world is, as twisted as they’ve become, they always seem to drift back together. No matter how much the both of them fight against it. 

He’s giving in now, giving into her. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the game/show Fallout, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[neiptune]

best case scenario

cw: 1.6k wc, female reader, friends with benefits, angst, hurt no comfort, you will not find any joy here my friends your girl is going through it and is trying to heal lmfao

Suna is staring at you.

It happens frequently as of late, the feeling of his eyes on you always teasing your spine with a telltale shudder while you pretend to occupy yourself with something entirely different. The thing is, you need things to ground you when you’re with Suna. After you’ve been with him or right before you’re about to be. Distractions to keep you sane, to prevent your heart from freeing itself from your chest cavity.

These quiet moments are not rare anymore, his sorcerous gaze a distraction too dangerous unless he speaks, voice like an enchantment freeing you from the quiescent bubble you intentionally lock yourself in. Today, the bubble is his rubik’s cube. You try very hard to remember at least part of the instructions you once looked up on the internet: think of each face as a layer, start by making a cross, don’t forget to pay attention to the color of the side center pieces, arrange the corner pieces-

“Twist the bottom layer so that one of the white corners is directly under the spot where it’s supposed to go on the top layer”, Suna’s voice is calm yet you sense the amusement it’s coated in. The snark. Ugh.

“Shut up” you grumble, stubbornly doing anything but following his instructions. The white corner piece is where it belongs but turned wrong and you have no idea how to fix that.

“Sure. I always like it better when you’re in charge anyway” he murmurs, too close. Like a cat, his chin suddenly rests on your shoulder and infuriatingly soft hair tickles your cheek as he presses a kiss behind your ear.

“I’m trying to focus here” your hold grows rigid, fingers moving layers of the cube randomly.

“And I’m just watching” he coos, voice a gentle murmur against your skin.

“You’re sabotaging. First by staring, now with this”.

“Should’ve been less pretty if you didn’t want me to stare”.

You shut your eyes for a second, let a deep breath fill your lungs with oxygen and your heart with little sparks of hope, crimson and golden and oh so fickle.

He doesn’t need to say these things. You’ve been sleeping together for enough time for him to know you’ll gladly welcome him back into your bed, day and night, no additional convincing needed. Why does he bother?

Suna is like one of those beautifully crafted russian tea dolls, only backwards. He starts as the smallest figure, blunt and perpetually unbothered, seemingly uninterested in anyone or anything. Then, if he feels safe enough to allow layers to be carefully exposed, the figure starts getting bigger: each crevice comes to light and contains way more than what one would expect from someone so stoic.

He’s a dog person, doesn’t like his morning coffee to be too hot, rewatches his favorite movies when he needs a good cry, sucks with plants, can’t get on a plane without taking an anxiolytic first. More than anything, Suna’s affection is hard to earn but runs deep. He loves his family, adores his friends. He’s in love with someone who isn’t you.

Suna is a one night stand enjoyer and doesn’t disdain dates or conversations that stretch out for days on dating apps. Worst case scenario, he’s entertained. Good case scenario, he also gets a good fuck out of it. Best case scenario, he finds relief and a friend. You suppose you’re his best case scenario.

It’s not like it was entirely unanticipated. He’s good looking, charming in his own stoic way, polite. First, it was attraction. Then, it was nothing but the cruel irony of a fate that came as doom. You just kept texting each other, taste and humor matching curiously, memes exchanged in the middle of the night and laughter muffled in pillows until he just had to ask for your number and smoothly text if he could come over one more time. Two times. A million times too many. For months, until Suna started sleeping in at your apartment and you started to fix breakfast for the both of you, until you walked his dog together, until you accidentally met one of his ex schoolmates and he introduced you calmly, by your name and as a friend. Until sleeping together wasn’t the only motive to see each other anymore, nights spent on his couch watching movies and afternoons devoted to driving around the city, exploring new bakeries and vinyl record stores.

Suna’s been honest since the beginning. Not when you started hooking up, rather when you became friends. I’m in love with someone I’m unable to forget. That’s alright, you replied. You were friends who were attracted to each other, simple as that: nothing was supposed to change.

And then, because life is a never ending sequence of sadistic developments, you ended up falling for him. Not only that: you started harboring hope, which is even worse than desire or delusion. Hope doesn’t keep you grounded. It makes you hang on every word Suna says, each unnecessary compliment, the way he sometimes takes you by the hand while strolling around shops, that one time he got so drunk you had to collect him from a bar. Then he fell asleep in your bed, arms around your body keeping you pressed against him all night. He was drunk enough to giggle (a rare occurrence), to ask you a question your mind still conjures word by word on nights you feel like you’re about to go insane, brain delirious with fabricated scenarios that could never be real. They couldn’t, right?

If we end up falling in love at last, will you stay and never leave?

For the longest time you refused to allow your heart to believe there could be some hidden meaning behind all those criptic words and uncharacteristic gestures. But then treacherous hope infiltrated your thoughts and the throb in your chest, arrangement now seemingly exclusive, dating apps no longer on his phone, ex schoolmates crowding his apartment and chatting with you like old friends. It must’ve meant something. It must mean something. And you’re sure you’ll end up going crazy if you don’t take a goddamn shot. 

“Wanna do something tomorrow? There’s a new cafe I wanted to take you to”.

Suna nods, cheek pressed to your bare shoulder.

“Sure, sounds good”.

“It’s a date, then?”.

“Yeah, I don’t have anything else planned. We can spend the day exploring”.

You pause your ministrations for a moment, then attentively place the cube on his nightstand once more.

“Can it be a real date?”.

You feel it before he can speak. It’s in the way he stiffens against your body, embedded all over his features as he straightens up to stare back. It’s in his parted lips, in the regret tucked into the corners of his mouth.

Suna just says your name and it’s mortifying, humiliating. 

“It’s okay” you take a shaky breath, nod once “forget about it. I’m so stupid”.

“No” he’s quick to interrupt “let’s talk about it”.

“Why? I already got my answer”.

“I didn’t say anything yet”.

You finally look at him, heart sinking to your stomach. It’s not like you’ve known Suna for years but you’ve known him long enough to recognize that stare, the watchfulness in his tone. You’ve already heard him turn down other women before.

“Let me say something first” you attempt to swallow the lump in your throat “I like you, Rin. I like you way more than I should and that's on me but I was starting to believe that, I don’t know, you liked me back”.

He takes your hands in his and holds them tight, conflict laced into his upset features.

“I do like you. I like you a lot”.

You smile a sad smile.

“Just not enough to date me?”.

“I would fucking love to date you. I’d be the luckiest man on earth. If I could decide to fall in love with you, if that choice belonged to me, I wouldn’t waste a single other second”.

“But you don’t see that ever happening so why waste your time, right?”.

Suna’s hold on your hands grows stronger, brows furrowed in anguish.

“I wouldn’t ever let you date someone who’s in love with someone else. You deserve so much better than that”.

As you pull your hands free from his grasp, you dazedly wonder how many times a heart can break and if it’s truly shattered if the person causing that agony doesn’t even seem to hear a sound so clear. The pain is unbearable, it makes you petty and it makes you cruel. You hope she’ll never want him. You beg that a gut-wrenching void swallows him whole. You pray that he’ll have to spend the rest of his life torturing himself, thinking about what could’ve been over and over again.

She’s not here, I am. She doesn’t want you, I do. She didn’t even remember your birthday, I memorized it a year go. Fuck you. Fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou.

Suna tries to stop you from leaving, runs nervous hands through his disheveled hair. He doesn’t want to lose you as a friend, you’re important to him, he’s sorry. He doesn’t know what to do, wishes something could make this right.

“I would’ve made you happy” you aggressively wipe the tears running down your cheeks, humiliation still burning in the pit of your stomach.

“I would’ve wanted it to be you” he doesn’t cry, he never cries. You’re sure he’s going to miss you for a week or two, then he’ll easily fall back into his usual routine, download his apps once more, find other women to fill his time with. His friends are going to stop asking about you, your name won’t be mentioned over beer and board games anymore. His absence is always going to weigh more in your life, just as his presence.

“Good luck, Suna” his last name sounds weird, so weird the sound makes him flinch.

It’ll pass.

[lloydfrontera]

You know, regarding Lloyd's achievement in history and whether ordinary citizens know him or not made me crave post canon modern au.

Imagine seeing an in universe fanfic authors notes in ao3 or twitter crying about how they simply wanted to write a story set in Lloys time but they just keep diving into rabbit holes.

Kinda like

"So i was writing an historical au set in Alician era where the MC had a detour in Cremo and he was admiring a statue by the sea with a local explaining its history. Of course, I needed to do some research only to found out that Lloyd Frontera, YES, THAT Lloyd Frontera who made the Pantara railroad defeated some sea monster, nearly died and got statue for it"

Maybe someone from Beneto Kingdom being so confused because all he learned from history in school (Beneto history) is that Lloyd is just some brilliant engineer so he got specially confused on why in the movie he was watching set in Alician era is Lloyd fighting a goddamn bone dragon.

I'm interested on how scholars and political figures bemoan and analyse Lloyd's action and achievement but ordinary people's Internet discourse could be so much fun as well.

Javier and Lloyd getting the Alexander and Haphaestion treatment on whether they were lovers or not. The discourse would be so toxic lol.

oh my god forget changing the history of civil engineering forever, sparking the nastiest discourse ever on history/fandom internet forums is lloyd's true greatest achievement akshfksdg

he's the go to historical domain character used to set the time period for a historical movie/book/series. he's the guy writers insert to give their work a more period accurate vibe. everyone knows just enough about him to make really passionate history nerds very angry about all the inaccuracies and made up facts that are taken as common knowledge.

i'm thinking people of completely different online circles all knowing about lloyd in some capacity but regarding completely separate facets of his life and work and being so surprised when they accidentally find yet another whole field lloyd revolutionized. like.

a sword nerd who's really into the concept of the asrahan core technique and knows perfectly well that lloyd helped invent it getting gobsmacked about the fact that's the same guy that laid the ground for modern sewer systems.

a fan of historical romance stories who is used to seeing lloyd as a fun cameo in the background of stories set in the alician period being really confused when they open their book on thermodynamics and see there's a whole chapter dedicated to a method lloyd figured out to create ice without the need of magic.

a train enthusiast who is really fascinated by the rudimentary switchback system lloyd frontera implemented when the concept of a train wasn't even known in the empire being completely dumbfounded when their friends invite them to see a movie about that one time lloyd frontera and his knight defeated a knight of hell in namaran.

i think it's definitely a meme to post "so i was doing research for my asfahan au and went on a rabbit hole and guess who fucking built the qanat that's widely regarded as the only reason the kingdom didn't fall into civil war. take a wild fucking guess" "was it lloyd frontera" "IT WAS FUCKING LLOYD FRONTERA OF COURSE IT WAS"

i'm also certain there would be some guys who think he's overrated and people should really stop talking so much about him when there's so many other historical figures who are just as interesting and not as recognized 🙄. to which people immediately go "mad cause your history blorbo didn't defeat a bone dragon aren't you" at them

Javier and Lloyd getting the Alexander and Haphaestion treatment on whether they were lovers or not. The discourse would be so toxic lol.

they definitely get the alexander and hephaestion treatment you are so correct. they're also the achilles and patroclus of the modern magentano girlies. there's a bunch of 'queer retellings' of their lives. they're the go to example for homoerotic friendships. there's a bunch of edits that mix historical paintings of them with ship fanart with that 'history hates lovers' song playing over them. dudebros get really angry about it. llojavi truthers pull out their 20 pages long annotations that start with "they fucking slept in the same bedroom for years" and it only gets worse.

there's one poor person online who just really fucking wants to know how and why lloyd frontera changed faces one day out of the blue with no one ever explaining it. there's no official records. no member of the royal family ever made a statement about it. why is everyone acting like the frontera family didn't have one eldest son for 25-29 years and one day suddenly had a completely different one. what the fuck is going on.

so. yeah. i'm a little obsessed with this concept actually ajkshdksa

[hxlcyon]

❥ ❥ ❝ miss me already? ❞

ace trappola x gn!reader | wc: 6.8k~

summary: your boyfriend (of now approximately a minute and 47 seconds) makes a bet with you: “those idiots”—your best friends of first-years—won’t even notice a thing even if we weren’t dating.” and the funniest part? he’s probably right.

warnings: pure fluff! shenanigans! lots of cursing! friends (idiots) to lovers. one joke gendered term of milady but i think that meme is gender universal lol (coming from a masc nb)

a/n: this is for @dulcesiabits's “who is the prefect dating?!” collaboration on tumblr! thank you so so much for allowing me to write for ace, the little man, the stinky guy. also MAJOR shoutouts to lily and ct for wading through this mess, i appreciate you more than you know

“Thanks for covering me.” Your sigh is accompanied by a satisfying crunch beneath your shoes, a stray leaf the unfortunate target of your latest frustrations. “Even if you were late to class.” It wasn’t like being caught on your phone by Trein was the worst of your worries, but a death sentence of papers and reprimands was, in fact, preferably avoided if you could help it.

“You owe me one.” Ace replies airily, slowing his stride to bump your side with his bag. “What’re you going to do without me?” Like he wasn’t the asshole who made you check your phone because of his sudden impromptu reenactment of an earthquake via spam text.

08:30 [ ace ]: fuck im late

08:30 [ ace ]: HELP

08:31 [ ace ]: distract him

08:31 [ ace ]: catch something on fire idc

08:33 [ ace ]: i cant believe ur gonna make me take the L

“Have an easier life, that’s for sure.” He makes a vague noise between a squeaky trumpet and a chicken, looking as if you’ve insulted generations upon generations of the Trappola bloodline with a single throwaway comment. “What was I even supposed to do?” Several expressions cycle on his face—focused, thinking, trouble—before he makes a decision and steps closer to you to ‘accidentally’ swing his bag into you again... only to eat shit as you retaliate and shove it back.

“Told you, catch something on fire.” However, the movement is enough to make you lose your footing and free fall to the ground; about to meet miserable, sweet, concrete Death before Ace grabs your arm and catches your face with his chest. “Not that.” Whatever you say next comes out muffled, noise and mind distorted by the smell of cherries?

But, the peace doesn’t last long, especially with Ace, as he pulls back enough for you to catch his lips twitching with another one-liner. “Oooh, can’t take your hands off of me.” He instantly catches your next fist, “if you like me this much, just say so.”

“Oh, Ace.” Time to switch tactics. You latch onto the front of his shirt, tightening your fists with enough force to wrinkle both his blazer and vest. “You’re totally sooo cool and don’t pick your nose and I am sooooo deeply in love with you that I just,” he begins cackling as you shake him, “can’t-help-but-choke-you-out!”

“What happened to boundaries? No safe word?” It doesn’t matter that he’s practically being rag-dolled for all of NRC to see, no matter how much you try to shake and activate that one brain cell of his, giggles continue to keep spewing out, taunting and delighted.

“I hate you—just! Shut! Up!!” You’re gonna throttle him. No one’s gonna find his body, not if you can help it.

“Wow, love you too.”

“Sure don't act like it!”

“What? I do!” You let up and he doubles over, gasping as he breaks into another fit of giggles. “How can I not?” He rubs his hand over his face, winded as he looks up at you, red eyes shining.

“What? Say that again? One more time for the audience in the back.” It’s meant to be an innocent tease, but for some reason, it sparks a knee-jerk wide-eyed reaction from him as a simple word slips from the depths of his very soul.

“Shit.”

“What?” You repeat, squinting at him. “What you just said, right? Going on about how I’m so lova—”

He begins to bounce restlessly in place, words coming out harsh and forced. “I didn’t say that.”

“Are you seriously trying to gaslight me? In broad daylight?”

“No. That was just a normal thing, you’re making it weird. Geez.” His iconic smirk warbles and it almost seems as if the heart over his eye begins to grow runny.

“What does that even mean?”

“Definitely not what you’re thinking.”

“Ace.” His whole body is flushing. It’s enough that you can make it out from his ears to the sliver of skin at his wrist. “Look at me.” He refuses, half a second from booking it. “Do you—”

Then, suddenly filled with resolve, he faces you properly... only to cup your cheeks and squish them together between his palms. “Ooooh we’re never going to talk about this! Let’s move on~” The voiceover is the worst that you’ve ever heard, high and lilted with fear and cheap falsettos.

The sound of your palms practically patty-caking Ace’s face into a sandwich bounces against the statues of the Seven surrounding you (what a familiar place). He winces but doesn’t let go as you two proceed to stand in an awkward, competitive deadlock. “I’m not letting go until you tell me what’s up.” You manage through squished lips.

“You’re annoying.” He grits his teeth in irritation, staring straight at your forehead like he was weighing the outcome of embarrassment and pain if he head-banged you and ran.

“No, you.”

“You’re such a kid.” Ace wiggles under your grip, attempting to escape only to fail to your stubbornness. “It took you this long to notice my feelings? Sevens, how dense can you get?”

You roll your eyes. “If you want to actually go out, the offer is about to expire in approximately three seconds.”

“Wait.” His grip slackens.

“Three...” You begin counting. “You’re kidding me.” His lips twitch, throat bobbing as panic begins to settle in.

“You’re not going to really make me—” You finish off in a singular breath. “Twoone.” 

“Wait, that’s cheating—hold up!”

“Should’ve confessed your undying love for me.”

“You’re the worst. You’re literally the absolute worst.” His thumb traces hearts on your cheekbones, words coming out breathless as the tension finally drops from his body. “Is this what you do? Play with a poor man’s feelings? Heart breaker much?”

“Yeah yeah, let me go and hold my hand already.” He obliges, shaking his head disbelievingly as his fingers come down to intertwine with your own. His grip is tight, assured this time as his pulse drums loud and steady against your wrist. Without a word, he squeezes your hand, just once, unabashed affection making itself fully apparent with your permission.

Though, you only get four steps ahead before Ace interrupts, “You had a crush on me? That’s embarrassing.”

“Oh my God. I can’t believe I’m going to break up with you already.”

“Too late. You signed the contract, breaking it involves a fee of seven million madols by tomorrow.” 

“Did I? Did I really? You didn’t even ask me out yet.”

With his free hand, he crosses his thumb and pointer, winking at you as he brings your interlocked hands up and presses a kiss to them. “Milad—”

“No.” He snorts, dropping it to swing your hands.

You see his mouth move, and the possibility occurs to you that maybe, for once in this lifetime, he’s about to say something profound. What comes out instead is: “Wouldn’t it be funny if we pretended we weren’t? Dating, I mean. Just for a week.” The grip on your hand gets tighter as he quickly backtracks, bothered. ”We’re still going to date afterward—no it’s non-negotiable—but I bet the guys wouldn’t notice a thing out of place.”

“Why?” Wasn’t Ace the type to hold it over their heads? Or, at the least, take the opportunity to be obnoxious about it?

“They’re the types who won’t notice even if you write it on their foreheads.” Reward of the year for I-Love-My-Friends goes to Ace Trappola, without a doubt. “Wanna see if they have a chance of noticing if we don’t tell them outright.”

You think about it for a moment, “Bet you’re gonna be the first one to expose yourself.”

“Says you.” He takes the opportunity to lean into you, lanky arms taking up space at your sides. “I’ll even bet Deuce on it.”

Not very far off in the distance, Deuce sneezes into his arm (properly! just like his mom had told him). “Ah, am I getting sick...?”

14:30 [ ace ]: “miss me?”

"What? Need me to say I do?” There’s an airy sort of tease to your tone, feather-light as it drifts down the empty halls. ”Down bad much?"

It’s entirely by accident that Jack—of all people—manages to overhear you as he scrambles to adjust his hold on a stack of boxes dangling precariously off of his arms. Did he just hear that correctly? The Ramshackle Prefect having a private conversation with... family (well, that doesn't make any sense considering your circumstances)? A long-distance friend...? Possibly?

“That’s not a no.” A lover?

“Loser, why wouldn’t I miss you?" His ears flatten with embarrassment, mentally cursing himself for having such good hearing as he presses his shoulder flat into the wall—a feeble attempt to stabilize the boxes. It worked, only temporarily, to slightly balance the cardboard already determined to give him several concussions.

After all, it’s not as if he could help the size of his ears or what they just happen to catch. It wasn’t like he meant to eavesdrop, especially on what seemed like such a private conversation. If he wasn't pressed for time or currently violating OSHA regulations, he would’ve absolutely upped and turned around to leave you to your privacy. You know... to be a good friend. But life (whoever said it was lemons didn’t consider it could be entire box fulls) was working against him. Dorm meetings, teacher favors, and the weight of the world practically rested in the room beyond—with you being the unintentional final boss blocking his way.

Whoever is on the other end seems to mirror his embarrassment, although for entirely different reasons. "Wow. It's almost like you like like me." The voice cracks, tinged pink as it trails off into a pathetic warble of a comeback.

"I mean... yeah? Isn't that obvious?"

The poor person on the other end starts to choke, "That's fucking cheesy." To each their own, but that sentiment was sweeter than it was cringe... at least, it was in Jack’s opinion.

Suddenly, something tips from a box and lands squarely on his head—right between his ears. The jarring sensation sends a jolt through him, lightning quick, and makes all his brain cells freeze to one singular thought: Wait. Like? Like... like? Can’t be. You literally said otherwise yesterday at lunch.

It was unclear how it exactly got from point “quit that, give my food back” to point “you ever think you’ll find someone here?” He really didn’t have any intentions, it was an absent-minded question. Really. But to say he wasn’t actually curious of your thoughts would be a complete lie.

“Relationships? At our NRC? Less likely than you think.” A fork hung from your mouth, suspended in your sarcasm. He distinctly remembers you squinting at him, huffing as your arms come out to gesture to the rest of the students surrounding you.

The fireplaces have exploded. A torrent of magic, roof high and smoldering, blazes unmercifully across students unfortunate enough to be close. There’s screaming. An entire portion of a half-eaten (and now charred) pastry lands directly on your lap. Someone breaks a window.

...All because a stray fire fairy in the kitchen got slop thrown on it. 

Your brow goes even higher as if to further contest his comment.

Fair enough. Jack had thought, handing you a napkin and ending the conversation at exactly that.

Did you suddenly change your stance? Was romance blossoming right under his nose?

And... doesn't that voice sound kind of familiar?

“Like you don’t like it.” He hears you laugh sweetly, “You gonna break my poor heart and pretend otherwise?” He can hear something akin to muffled cursing on the other end of the phone, rising in pitch, denial, and excuses. ”Eh? Did he hang up...?” 

There’s absolutely no way for him to prepare for the sequence of knob to hand to sheer, unadulterated pain as the door slams wide open and straight into your eavesdropper. "Jack?!"

Despite all his mental prayers to the Seven and a desperate grip, the boxes are knocked straight onto him and the floor, scattering an assortment of odd trinkets all over the ground. "Tsk—!" A broken bottle filled with some type of odd oil quickly spreads across the floors, making you both slip around and tumble until your knees pathetically hit the floor "Ow!"

“Jack... what the hell is this?”

Given up, no longer thriving, and lying face-down in the middle of the hall, Jack huffs out, “potion materials for Crewel.” His words come out loopy and muffled with a bit of a haze to them as his arm reaches forward and attempts to grab an orb spinning its way down the hall. He misses by just a hair and grunts in frustration as he begins to push himself up.  “Were you...” He starts before abruptly stopping himself, that’s none of my business.

You snatch up a stray pen rolling away on the floor and toss it into a box. “What were you saying?”

“Nothing.” He dismisses you with a shake of his head, clearing away some of the earlier haze. ”I just need to get into that room.”

“...Oh!” You have to avoid grimacing or slipping as the oil seeps into your clothes, but gingerly the two of you slowly manage to become upright once again. “Here, let me help then.” He beams at you in appreciation as the both of you make quick work of the scattered materials. Recovering what you can of several broken bottles, everything gets put back into place and Jack is sent back on his merry way to his dorm—only a minute pressed for time.

When he arrives, out of breath and with shirt sleeves stained olive oil yellow, Jack groans, unable to hold back his immense disappointment. Was the whole catastrophe earlier for nothing? Were they really having a dorm meeting about someone making “snowmen” out of people’s shedding?

Pause. Wait. That is really weird.

Several Savanaclaw students squabble, pointing fingers at each other while Leona lazily watches on uninterested. Jack begins to astrally ascend out of sheer disbelief, scuffing his foot into the floor as someone attempts to sneak away—only to have multiple shoes thrown at their head. Loud conversation floats vaguely in and out of his head, but something much more pressing catches his attention. The Prefect dating someone... couldn’t be, I’m overthinking it.

📞 [ call ended ]

Somewhere, on the other end of a phone, a certain someone throws an arm over his face now burned crimson—his thumb still hovering right where the screen blinks your name. "Fuck, didn’t mean to hang up but...” He slumps down further over his desk, wanting to melt in shame. “At least it's over phone, but argh—! This is lame." He drags his hand down his face, internally debating if he should jump out the window or just call you back.

“Ace. Your phone. Now.” Trein’s voice echoed from the front of the detention classroom.

Shit.

Epel makes a face like he's swallowed an entire handful of sour cherries. "What's got you looking at your phone so much?"

Your fingers stop over the keyboard, "Uh." With a very deep gravity, as if the answer was something he couldn't afford to hear, you reply in the gravest tone possible, "Your mom."

You practically have to throw your body out of the way to avoid the round-house kick Epel aims at your head.

You're out shopping together, juggling the assortments that you've gotten from Sage Island’s most popular tourist spots. With your hands full and mouth muffled by a snack, you order, "Camf fu sorch up wheof the fefenal," yeah, he has no clue what you're saying, "onmf phon?"

Phone. Got it. He digs your phone from your pocket and, with much difficulty, swipes it open after nearly butchering your passcode to lock point. "For Seven's sake, put yer snack down already and properly speak!" He grumbles, grabbing your thumb and pressing it to your phone to open the damn thing up and search the location for... fefenal?

Though, as he types it up, your past searches float and bubble up.

> why does my cat keep drooling on me

> if i boil an egg in gatorade does it taste like gatorade

> date spots

Cause yer cat loves ya dumbass... why in the Sevens would you even think about that... wait. Wait. Date spots? He looks at you, then at himself in a shop mirror, then back at you. No... you wouldn't force someone to spend hours debating fruit freshness for a date... right? Though, to be very fair, he was good at telling which fruit was ripe and the tastiest. But you'd do better than that for a date, right?

"What were you looking for again?"

Finally, you answer him with a clear mouth. "General store." He gives you a weird look when you return a "what?"

"...Wouldja go on a date for fruit?"

"...Huh?"

"Nevermind." 

"I mean—" Suddenly, a notification flashes across your screen. "tomorrow at noon, right?"

"Huh?" You repeat.

Epel simply shakes his head, "Clown emoji... second place emoji? Just texted you that and n’ a bunch of flame emojis." You look at him confused. "...One of the hearts is on fire?"

"Oh... Oh! Can you send back an image from my gallery?" He obliges and looks through the first five images.

"What the fuck is this."

"Don't worry."

"Whose mouth is this? Why do you have 15 photos of the inside of someone's mouth?!"

"Floyd."

"Ah."  Makes sense. He sends the grossest one. A ping later and he instantly sees... a chin photo of Vil? Epel snorts, barreling down as he chuckles louder. "Pfta! Haha! Like this? Serves 'em right to look ugly for a change!"

"Hold up, lemme see." You lean over and start to snort too, "What do you mean? He looks really good right there."

"Don't kid! He’d kill ya if he saw this!"

"Never!" As the two of you absolutely rag on Vil (lovingly... probably) and proceed with your day, the thought that had begun worming its way into Epel's mind lingers even as the both of you miserably pile crates of apples into a carriage: could’ve sworn the number under that stupid nickname seemed familiar... and what’s with that search history?

It’s horrible that such a nice sort of day was spent preparing for the next interim level of Hell that Trein deemed fit to sentence everyone to during a lovely week that truly didn’t deserve such misery. After all, there was really only one way to make any possible preparations for the upcoming onslaught...

Studying. Oh, the… horror.

It was the three of you in preparation for Magical Analysis. Sure, Sebek and Ace seemed to have a knack for it, but it was a different matter altogether to apply it in practical form with a group.

Squabbling amongst yourselves, Ace, out of air from arguing, falls back onto you with a grumble. “Sheesh, it’d be so much easier if you just did it this way y’know.”

“And stoop to rewriting the work of an upperclassman’s past project? Of course, humans wouldn’t have any understanding of what dignity might mean.” His prattling continues as he sweeps his pencil over a scrap piece of paper in frustration. “Nevertheless, integrity.” Wow, he was really taking it out on that miserable little pencil—the eraser gone to the metal line.

Ace rolls his eyes and looks at you. Knowing him better than anyone, you can tell he wants to ditch or at least shovel more work unto Sebek in unwarranted revenge. Without even bothering to hide it, he mouths to you, “C’mon, if he wants to be so righteous, he can do this damn project himself.” You kick him under the table, but he easily defends himself with the flat of his shoe. “Loser.” He taunts, low enough for you to barely catch it.

Oh? So, it’s like that today.

By the time Sebek actually notices is when you finally go silent. He turns his head up in confusion to see your face fluster and Ace looking at you with smug victory that Sebek mistakes for rivalry. "Hmph! Children! Are you so dependent on one another that you can't separate?" Sebek grunts, peering under the table to where Ace's hand rests squarely on your calf, dipping under the fabric to firmly stop your attacks against his stomach as your legs—practically in his lap—kick at him to let you go.

Your voices reach him in almost perfect sync,

"Something like that."

"I’m twice the man he could ever be...!"

Sebek only scoffs and tears another sheet of blank paper out. “That simply proves my point. Two idiots make a pair.”

Ace snorts, pressing deeper into your leg to tip you slightly onto the ground. On instinct, you reach out, grabbing onto his neck in what would seem like a romantic interaction if it didn’t jerk his head and cause him to nose dive down straight onto the table. “Fuck!”

“Sorry! Shit, you okay?” You fuss over him, patting his face and forehead despite his wincing.

“If you really felt bad, you wouldn’t be smirking.”

“Oops, was I?”

He sulks and leans closer to you, reveling in the pampered treatment for a minute more... until he pulls out your chair and unceremoniously nearly drops you to the floor before childishly catching you last minute. “Ace!”

Sebek, exasperated, watches this all with a sigh, he wasn’t ever going to get anything done with you two, huh?

....But to his surprise, you guys do make timely work somehow and manage to finish everything with time to spare. Sebek doesn’t even give a second thought to your shenanigans nor how close the two of you were, opting to think: Seven, they’re idiots, completely unaware of Ace sneaking a kiss to your forehead in cheeky revenge.

Deuce pauses, sniffing the air. "What smells like cherries?" Unconsciously, he brings his shirt up to his nose, double-checking himself as he sniffs the collar of his shirt. “Do you smell it too?”

"We're in the middle of the Gym, there’s a lot more smells than that,” you reply absent-mindedly. A ball idly rolls by your foot, remnants of the game only a couple minutes prior before the two of you were forcefully assigned cleanup duty. ”Maybe you smell something from the cafeteria?"

"It's not that." His hands squeeze around a basketball, confidence assured in his words as he spins it around in his hands. "The cafeteria doesn't serve cherries on Wednesday. That’s a Friday thing."

"Huh, really? Is that why Ace always drags us to eat there then?"

"Yeah, you never noticed?" He turns back, genuinely curious as he watches your reaction. "That's why he always gets so excited."

"I mean, we always eat cherry stuff every other Unbirthday though? Which is like, literally, almost every other day of the week. Don't know why he'd get so amped at the cafe."

"Maybe it tastes better...?"

"Better than Trey's?"

"Hmm..."

As the two of you ponder, Deuce's eyes settle on your jacket. “Huh? Where’d you get a Heartslabyul varsity from?”

“Stole it,” you say simply, much to the baffled—near horrified—expression that dawns on Deuce’s face. “C’mon, you think I stole it from Riddle or something?” He looks so stressed that you’d even suggest something so terrifying that he almost stops breathing. “Deuce! No! Think.”

“...Diamond-senpai...? He’s nice enough?”

“I mean, I do have some clips he’s given me. But no.”

“Clover-senpai? Maybe?”

“Wouldn’t it be bigger?” He squeezes his eyes shut, using all of the power in his singular brain cell to come up with answers—but to no avail, even as you walk away to grab a broom. It takes him until another class change that, when you finally leave the locker room and you’re bending down to retie your shoes, Deuce rushes to you to boldly and confidently announce, “ACE!”

“Took you long enough,” you sigh, rolling up your sleeves as the sun beats down hard. “Speaking of, lemme text him that we’re done.” You pull out your phone to go into your recents, a long log of clown emojis filling it. Eh...? It seemed like you called a... clown a lot? Did you get something with the circus? Before he can ask, a clown emoji pops up on the screen. “Speak of the devil.”

“Wait. Am I a clown on your phone?”

“Maybe.”

“Hey!” He looks to you, pleading for confirmation. “I am? Really?”

“I would never...! Probably.” You maneuver the phone to your ear where inaudible sounds from the phone continue, vaguely the cadence of ranting. “Oh, hold up, he’s asking me to meet him. I’ll see you later, Deuce.”

"The clown...?" He watches you go in confusion, mind spinning as he thinks about clowns and, weirdly enough, a recent complaint Ace had about missing clothes. He remembers a wry, affectionate smile on his face as he shut his closet doors and sighed. It wasn’t like him to lose things and he seemed to know who took them. So... really, that guy relented enough to let you borrow something from him? He grimaced at the memory of Ace letting him walk around with his bright pink leopard print jacket, jabbing him without mercy.

Well, whatever. You guys were all best friends after all. It wasn’t a big deal anyway. Maybe you’d ask to borrow Deuce’s leopard print soon.

It is of the utmost importance that the highest council come together... for a sleepover to watch the latest horror movie that had appeared in home theaters. But, more than that, there was an immediate emergency of the highest level that needed to be addressed: drama. The tea needed to be prepped, served and spilled.

Or so Epel spits out (albeit in a much rougher manner), lifting his shoulders high in the air like he was ready to start his villain marketing monologue. "Is it just me or has the Prefect been weird lately? Not weird weird or nothin’, just that... ugh!" He shifts his eyes around, getting quieter with each frustrated syllable. Despite the fact that you were gone for a quick snack run, it still felt wrong to gossip in your house... place… dilapidated building. But he desperately needed to know he wasn’t going crazy.

"Really? They seem the same as ever to me.” Deuce chimes in, balancing a bowl of popcorn on his leg as he mindlessly picks off burnt pieces lining the top.

"They were searching some weird stuff—" Unconvinced, Epel spins toward Jack, gesturing to him and waiting like he knew the answer. "Ya think they're... fancying someone?"

“It’s their private business.” Jack settles firmly, replying with what he deemed as a solid, mature, and impartial response. “I’m sure that the Prefect isn’t interested anyway. Night Raven College is far too chaotic for romance.”

“Well, if that’s the case, then why’d the Prefect search up somethin' like date spots? Huh? What’d ya got to say about that?”

“If you’re on Sage Island, date spots are practically the equivalent to tourist spots. Maybe they’re looking for nice places. Don’t overthink it, Epel.”

Epel, more worked up than ever, smashes his hand into a bowl of gummies, stuffs them all in his mouth, and viciously proclaims in one go: “Then why’re they texting so much! Huh? Huh?!”

“...That’s just texting?”

“I think they made a clown friend,” Deuce unhelpfully adds. “I saw them calling a clown emoji a lot.”

“It was a clown emoji...” A lightbulb goes off in Epel’s head as he slams the table in front of him, shaking off bits of popcorn onto the floor that causes Sebek to promptly scowl. “Don’t do that to the popcorn!”

“Oh, shut yer trap. Big talk from someone who’s not helpin’ anyway.” Epel huffs, but leans down and scoops the pieces off of the floor, popping them into his mouth without a second thought. The jab works well enough though as Sebek straightens up, a twitch on his forehead.

“On the contrary,” he begins, voice loud and booming at a decibel that makes everyone wince, “they’re too focused on playing to be dating. When I worked with them and Ace, they were lolly-gagging around without a care! If they’re going to bother dating someone, it’d be Ace and we’d all know already.”

Everyone but Jack nods in agreement. Imagining the Prefect and Ace, of all people, dating? Nah. They’d seen you fill his shoes with spaghetti sauce once because he used up all your salt and left the container. It just... didn’t seem like you had that kind of relationship. "True, I really only see 'em with Ace all the time, maybe he’d know something?"

On the other side of the couch, Jack frowns, opens his mouth, and then promptly decides to close it as he quietly surveys the scene with a pensive, furrowed brow.

There’s a clue now, a distinct, visible connection: Clowns. Of course, it had to either be a potential relationship or your career plans. “But about that clown emoji... I think I remember the number.” It’s gotta be the former, Epel decides. If it was the latter, wouldn’t you have tried honking your nose or something? "I’m gonna call it." 

Jack puts his face into his hands, having a moral crisis as he mumbles, “...wouldn’t they think that you’re a spam number?”

“Doesn’t hurt to try,” Epel pops another kernel into his mouth as he chews it in thought. “Think it had a triple seven in it somewhere...” He slowly mashes a key string of numbers together, erases, retypes, cusses.

Peering over Epel’s shoulder, unable to hide his curiosity, Deuce points out, "Isn’t the first bit the Kingdom of Hearts area code? Are you sure you remember the right code?"

“How would the Prefect know someone from the Kingdom of Roses outside of NRC?” Sebek muses aloud, unable to help himself either.

"Shouldn't we respect the Prefect's privacy?" Jack attempts once more, seeming as if he was shrinking with every busy tone Epel got stopped at. Yet, he continues to be ignored as Epel only calls the number again... and again... and again. "Hey... it's not our business."

"I got it damn it!" Stronger than any military man, Epel, the lone soldier, continues to push forward in his self-made journey. "Just give me a bit!" He keeps typing away, accidentally calling up a pizza place that makes everyone collectively groan. "C’mon, I’ve just about got it."

"Even if the Prefect were hypothetically in a relationship. Okay. Courting takes much time and requires a substantial amount of effort and persistence. I have not seen hair nor signs of lovestruck gooey eyes. Trust me, my parents are disgustingly in love. I would know." The scowl on Sebek’s face deepens, "we would've caught the Prefect by now!"

Deuce startles up, wide-eyed and mouth gaping as he blankly stares at everyone in pure shock, “WAIT... what? The Prefect is dating someone?"

"It took you this long?"

"WHO?!" Sevens help him, Jack was going to come home with premature wrinkles at the age of 16.

After about ten minutes of furious tapping, Epel’s thumb slips over the worn keypad and lands on one. His eyes, hazed over in delirium, border madness as he maniacally shakes his phone in victory. "Got it! This is it! Didja see that one?!"

"You sure? Pretty sure your thumb just..."

"I swear if you try sayin’ somethin’ silly, I’m gonna take my—"

"Then... why's Ace coming up on the screen?"

"Huh?" He erases, squeezes his eyes really hard, and types in the number that he sees in his head again.

 It's Ace.

“Nah, that doesn't make sense.” Epel sounds nearly hysterical at this point. He calls again and goes straight to a cheery-toned voicemail that mocks everything Epel had ever known. 

Unaware of the literal red swirling in Epel’s eyes, Deuce, having calmed down, happily nods with complete confidence, "Oh, it's probably auto-corrected to his number.”

“Phones do that?”

“...Maybe?”

Epel furiously spams the number anyway, not caring even if it was Ace. His frustrations were immeasurable, reaching an all-time new high. The levels were exceedingly dangerous, beyond over blotting with only one possible outlet it could vent to: Ace’s phone (and his dumb voicemail). In an effort to somehow abate Epel’s rage, Deuce gently puts his phone down and makes his own attempts at calling the number. "Maybe your phone is wrong, let me try from mine." Sebek, who looks very lost, does so too.

Through very pointed, timed coughs, Jack taps the table to get everyone's attention. “...ack. The Prefect should—uheum—return any minute now.” However, being the group of idiots that they are, it only brings about a different change, somehow switching to the topic of who it could possibly be. 

"Grim?" The little guy wasn’t around, somehow off meandering for the day or sleeping the evening away somewhere else in the dorm. "Maybe the Prefect's upped their pet pampering. Something like he’s being a grouch and they're having to give him more attention than usual."

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the Prefect succumbed to giving Grim a phone.” Would paw pads work on a phone screen though?

The answers quickly devolve, becoming more ludicrous as Epel casually brushes away Grim's possibility. "Think about it seriously won’t ya? If the Prefect is in love... No, Jack’s right—that wouldn’t make a lick of sense with...” He waves his hand vaguely around at the comfortable but still dilapidated state of Ramshackle. “What if the Prefect’s possessed? Having to step through life fulfilling the sad, unrequited love of a ghost..." It wasn’t as if the events of the whole ghost bride shenanigans were all that far away anymore—quite literally living in the walls of NRC. It was just yesterday that Idia, out of all people, was, for once, the most eligible bachelor of all the lands.

“Wasn’t that whole deal done and over with already?”

“Hm. Probably.” Epel concedes, still vaguely worried.

Sebek leaned forward on his knees, a perfect replica of The Thinker as he genuinely considered the possibilities. "I think... If we haven’t caught them, then it has to be someone who doesn’t go to the NRC. Perhaps it’s someone from RSA?”

“Like Neige?”

“Or, do you think it could—”

"Or maybe... you guys need to learn to quit it!" Ace, missing from the scene, all but tackles Epel as he shoves his phone directly into his face.

"It's important!" Despite his face mushed into a phone screen, Epel doesn’t hesitate to immediately throw fists as he scrabbles to knee the intruder. "We think the Prefect is datin’ someone and keeping it a secret!"

A look of complete incredulity passes over Ace's face. He momentarily stops squishing his phone into Epel’s forehead, twists his eyebrows, and then smoothly says with a shit-eating grin, "Yeah, you notice it too?

"SEE, I wasn’t goin’ crazy!" All is forgiven. Friendship? Restored. Epel, more than happy to present the evidence, drops his fists to recount the facts index to pinky. “They’ve been on the phone non-stop with someone.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s super suspicious. I bet they’re giggling and kicking their feet too.” Ace, grabbing a handful of Deuce’s popcorn with his other hand, pops it into his mouth and blinks doeishly while twirling his hair. “What else? Catch them making lovestruck eyes? Swooning? Are they writing love letters?”

“No. That’s the weird part.” Epel gets to his pinky, souring as he recollects your latest actions. “Searching up date spots...”

“Hm, really?” Ace, no remorse, continues to be a complete asshole, liar, and gaslighter. "Look, I think the cards are all on the table. The Prefect is head over heels no doubt. Sound agreement. Completely agree." He grounds his feet and pushes forward, back to his phone-spam vengeance mission, but Epel doesn’t budge. His resolve is only strengthened by sheer willpower and probably far too much adrenaline as he attempts to sock Ace directly in the throat.

Much to his chagrin, Ace dances out of the way snickering “sucker!” But the bated breaths of stars and divine karma decide, hey this guy’s a little too full of himself, and shake loose the grip on his phone.

“Oh shit.” It happens in slow motion, the cherry-colored phone spinning round and round until it slots perfectly in the middle of the table for all to see two perfectly immaculate coincidences appear. Ace’s phone opens—a beacon of undeniable guilt—to a sweet, innocent lock screen of him pressing a kiss to your cheek... in his varsity. Then, if that wasn’t enough, your conveniently timed texts appear, rendering Ace to repeat solemnly to himself, “Oh shit.”

18:16 [ y/n ]: hey can you open the door my hands are full

18:22 [ y/n ]: like. right now

18:22 [ y/n ]: you LEAVE prefect? you leave me in the cold? oh! oh! jail for boyfriend! jail for the worst boyfriend for One Thousand Years!

18:22 [ y/n ]: wait i didn’t mean it

18:28 [ y/n ]: babygirl please

Deuce can scarcely believe his eyes, barely registering the texts or the lock screen as he utters out a single, profound word torn out from the deepest depths of his soul. "WHAT."

Sebek, not registering the picture, reacts point-blank. "Did the Prefect call you babygirl?"

The most ardently passionate Epel stares and processes the new evidence quietly, “wait...” It clicks. “IT WAS YOU.”

"It was obvious guys..." From the very start, Sebek had even accidentally guessed it.

"YOU'RE DATING THE PREFECT?!" Et Tu, Ace? Just like this? Deuce had never felt such betrayal, never like this before. Such... deception!

"WHAT," Sebek’s voice steadily gets louder to match everyone else, baffled by the turn of events. “WHAT DOES BABYGIRL MEAN?”

Not knowing what to do with his hands or rage, Epel begins to put Ace into a headlock.

Jack leaves the room in second-hand embarrassment.

Ace, tongue in cheek and barely able to hold in his laughter, allows himself to be manhandled—but not without chaos. "Um? You didn't know? Wasn't it obvious?" He gives Sebek a smug smile in particular, "Didn't you catch my hands literally under their clothes?"

Sebek gawks, turning bright red as he flails, "ISN'T THAT NORMAL FOR YOU GUYS?"

The pieces all come together. It was the footsies in your study session, the recognizable jacket during gym, an eavesdropped conversation, a much-too-revealing search history.

It’s you finally coming in with the snacks—carefree as ever—opening the door with an "I'm back!" to only be blasted by a chorus of "YOU'RE DATING ACE?" 

You blink. The snacks drop. You’re out the door.

Jack reappears to pick up the snacks while Deuce knocks over the table and falls to the floor as Epel flies over his head to give chase—barraging you with questions of “Since when?!” and ”Why are you running?!”

"It's only been a week!" This little man is chasing you so fast oh my God how is he so fast. “Stop chasing me!”

Deuce finally breaks out of his stupor to go, "Now, wait just a minute...!" and slams his head up into Sebek’s stomach where he chokes on the popcorn. The two first-years groan, rolling around on the ground and couch as Ace makes eye contact with Jack, shrugs, and runs to catch up to the distant screaming (you) and threats that most certainly break the Geneva Convention (Epel).

Well, more like a light, easy jog as he arrives to Epel finding a spare branch and full-on frisbeeing it at your head, fully intent on taking you down without care of any possible casualties. It was war. If this was how you went, death via a guy whose parents really thought it was a good idea to name their son Apple™, then you mentally decided all of your meager earnings as a janitor and de facto therapist at this cursed college would go to Jamil. Sevens knows he deserves it.

“Epel!” So worked up on adrenaline, Epel’s head instantly whips around to face Ace... only to realize his mistake a second later as you kick his knees in and run, Ace close behind as he passes by and tussles his hair for good measure.

“This isn’t over yet!” Epel hollars, cussing you two out with every name under the sun. “Y'all ain’t seen nothing yet, I swear when I get to you—”

Ace’s lips curl with mocking delight as he throws his head back and laughs from the rush of your moonlit escapade. “Yada yada, he’ll calm down eventually... probably.” He was this excited to dupe his friends? "Pfft... haha! Sheesh, took 'em long enough!" Ridiculous. 

What a stupid, endearing idiot (your idiot). "Took you long enough. Where were you?" Ace’s hand is warm as it finds yours.

His timing is off by only a second before he replies, a little bit hopeful, “What? Miss me already?”

(Yes.)

You think, for a long moment, before reaching up and pressing a kiss underneath his jaw. “No.”

In response, Ace's hand squeezes your shoulder as he pulls you closer with a wide, genuine smile. “Liar.” Keeping you close as the two of you escape into the night, hand in hand.

♥♥

end a/n: hello! happy holidays!! i am also so late to the collab: i am so sorry—but i hope that this being longer makes up for it lmao. a lot has happened this year (not necessarily bad things!) but definitely. exhausting ones haha—so it made this piece really difficult to get out. BUT I DID IT. MA YA SEE THAT? I DID IT—so with all my heart, i sincerely hope that you enjoy this piece and maybe laughed a little. because ! that makes it all the more worth it! so, again, thank you for reading about this little foolish lil guy

[exitvelocities]

yes, two ficlets in one day, oops. this one isn't a real fic meme tho, it's just me going this gifset but dihua at dihua server until i talked myself into writing it lol. slightly spicy.

*

li lianhua lets di feisheng pull him closer by the hips, close enough to ease his way between di feisheng's knees, until li lianhua is pressed flush against his chest. it's novel being so much taller than di feisheng, who is sitting on li lianhua's bed like he owns it. he has to look up at li lianhua like this, head tilted back far enough to expose the line of his throat. li lianhua slides a hand into di feisheng's hair, gathers a handful of the silky strands and pulls.

di feisheng raises an eyebrow but doesn't resist, lets li lianhua tug his head back as far as it will go, eyes smoldering from beneath his long lashes. li lianhua strokes down the sharp angle of his jaw with his free hand, traces a finger along the contour of his neck, the prominent bump of his adam's apple. he lingers in the hollow of the throat, presses just hard enough for his nail to leave a mark. he can feel the faint rumble of the low sound di feisheng makes, and li lianhua smiles.

his hand drops to di feisheng's shoulder as di feisheng starts to stand, just resting there without trying to keep him down. li lianhua's grip on di feisheng's hair stays steady as he rises up, pulling hard enough to keep di feisheng from kissing him, even as he bends li lianhua backwards. di feisheng's growl is louder this time, and li lianhua's smile widens.

"what are you playing at," di feisheng says, resisting the pull on his hair hard enough for li lianhua to feel it, but not so hard as to overcome it. he's still trying to lean in, and lianhua slips his other hand down to di feisheng's chest to help keep him back. his eyes are almost black in the mellow light filtering in from the lotus tower's windows.

li lianhua hums instead of replying, enjoying himself. he's fully aware that di feisheng is playing along, allowing his recalcitrance rather than overpowering him, and the knowledge sparks something deep and hot low in his belly. he loosens the hand in in di feisheng's hair a fraction, lets him lean in close enough for li lianhua to kiss him lightly on the nose.

di feisheng bares his teeth at that, and li lianhua laughs, delighted. he finally lets go, meeting di feisheng's lips with his own, trading quick open-mouthed kisses, arms sliding up to wrap around di feisheng's neck. di feisheng's grip on his waist is nearly bruising now, but li lianhua likes that too, likes the power of his hands. di feisheng isn't careful with him, but he never goes too far. the level of control he has is a little intoxicating.

li lianhua slows the kisses down with his teeth, biting at di feisheng's lips and then soothing them with his tongue until di feisheng chases it back into his mouth. he's starting to get a crick in his neck from being bent backwards, but the pressure lets up without him saying anything, di feisheng sitting back down on the bed and pulling li lianhua into his lap. li lianhua goes easily, kissing until they're both breathing fast.

his eyes are twinkling once he finally pulls away, lips wet and kiss-swollen. "why, lao di," he says, sifting a hand through di feisheng's hair, stroking rather than pulling this time, "i rather think you liked that." di feisheng rolls his eyes.

"you talk too much," he says, and li lianhua laughs until di feisheng stops him with his mouth.

[alovesongshewrote]

Kitten | The Lost Boys x Reader HCs

Plot: david calls you "kitten." you have an interesting response. [The Lost Boys x GN!Reader]

Word count:  809

Warnings: none

A/N: i have nothing against david calling his s/o kitten, but i mean,,, it opens the door for some interesting interactions if said s/o is a teensy bit unhinged

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a vampiric David in possession of a s/o, must want to call them kitten

I mean, it has to be

It’s a trope so common that the lost boys fandom low-key memes about it

Which is fair

I have nothing against the trope, but

I mean, the last time i saw the pet name “kitten,” it was in one of those discord mod and their kitten memes

So, dear readers, i offer you this scenario:

You’re relatively new to santa carla

One night you run into the vampires

Aaand you make a good enough impression that 1) they let you live, at least for the time being

And 2) they bring you back to the cave for a lil visit

It’s neat, it’s cool, you’re having a good time

And this goes on for about a week or so

And the whole time, everything is fine

Everything is chill

And you don’t get murdered, so that’s a good sign

(it’s because they find you interesting)

In fact

They’re actually chatting a bit about turning you

It’s a possibility for the moment, a suggestion that’s barely taken seriously

But y’know

One day you’re visiting the cave and they end up talking about it

Quietly

While you’re distracted

And eventually, a question pops up that only you can answer

Whatever the question is, it doesn’t get answered

Because david

Makes the brilliant decision (/s)

To call you over like this:

“C’mere for a second, kitten.”

And he does it in his low, seductive 

(“Seductive”) 

Kinda gravely 

“Where ya goin’, star?” voice that usually gets people going

But you?

You aren’t moved

You just stare at him for a second

Tilt your head one way

Tilt it the other way

And you go

In a voice that betrays your confusion and amusement 

“What did you just say?”

And he says again

Still with this

Overflowing confidence 

“C’mere, kitten.”

You blink a few times

Eyes open

Eyes closed 

And then 

Your face splits into a grin

And you say

“Meow.”

NOW KEEP IN MIND

You do not say this in a coquettish or sexy manner- you say it in the way one would say it to an actual cat, or perhaps to a child learning about animal sounds

And he like

Raises an eyebrow

And you say it again

You just

“Meow.”

And he opens his mouth to speak and you say

“Meow.”

And he finally gets the words out

Kind of

He says, “What-”

And you cut him off with another, “Meow.”

And he manages to say, “What are you doing?”

To which you respond

Say it with me now

“Meow.”

He continues to try to speak

And eventually he says

“Why are you saying meow, you’re not a- oh.”

Yeah, he cuts himself off that time

And that’s when the rest of the boys either catch on, or take their cue to be thorns in david’s sides

Or both

Because marko starts laughing, and then

Straight from the mouth of the vampire the Frogs dubbed “the little one”

“Meow.”

This

Sparks

Hellfire 

Because once marko starts meowing, paul starts meowing

And once they’re meowing (and once david starts getting irritated, which is instantly)

Dwayne starts meowing

And you’re still meowing 

So everyone is meowing but david

He is lost in a cacophony of “Meow”

Drowning in a sea of nya

He can’t get a word in, he’s just looking at all of you like you’re idiots

Which, like

You are

A little bit, at least

But you know how to have fun, so

Anyway, the meows begin to crescendo 

The moment nears its peak, and you kind of assume it’ll die down in a minute

But then laddie wakes up

And in a brilliant moment of sleepy word association 

The kid starts barking 

And you go

“Yes!  Woof!”

And now you’re all barking

And david has his head in his hands, silently promising himself to never use the pet name “kitten” on you ever again

It’s at this point that star appears

Playing David’s saviour for once

She simply says, in a very tired voice

“It’s 7 a.m.”

Ofc, the boys react as they usually do

Specifically paul, who goes all, “Chill out, girl”

But it is, in fact, 7 a.m.

So the subject is dropped as everyone fucks off to go to bed

And that’s that 

Or at least you think it is

But david has been thinking on this

He’s been plotting his revenge 

So a week later

You’re reading a book, or something

And david calls you

Tilts your head up with two fingers and says

“What are you reading, angel?”

And yeah, that one gets you

“Angel”

You hear the word again and again in your head

Your cheeks heat up and a chill goes through your body

And david just smiles

Finally satisfied 

[kidd-commander]

Hey! I'm subscribed on the highest tier on ko-fi and patreon. Hopefully that doesn't cause any problems for things, so I figured I'd give a heads up. Sidebar, is there any other way for me to help support? Kidd Commander is one of my favorite webcomics, and I'm reading over 300 at this point, so I've got a good reference for what does and does not spark joy. I'd be terribly sad to see it go away!

Hey thanks so much!! I noticed that, I was gonna contact you about it before the next billing cycle just in case it was unintentional hehe. No problems here, that's insanely generous of you thank you so much <3

HONESTLY financial support is like, obviously a pretty big priority, but I've also been trying to emphasize lately that outreach by the audience is the thing that's gonna make or break us here! The real issue with Kidd Commander is that there's always been very little growth. The folks who read it have always been super enthusiastic, and they DO tend to go on to do things like set up pledges and such which is wonderful! I am extremely thankful anybody cares in any capacity haha. But for some reason kc readers don't really talk about it to others or post fandom Stuff in fandom spaces, so there's no significant presence to help new folks find it. We've never been able to get the snowball going so it's been like the same handful of readers trying to keep the comic afloat, which isn't fair to them and also just isn't enough to keep the lights on.

A lot of this is my own fault hehe, I've always run this thing pretty old school (things like refusing to bend around Webtoon, or running a longform comic at all as opposed to a simpler humor/romance strip or something) and the way I'm wired makes me really resistant to treating my audience in ways I don't like to be treated. It's not a lack of confidence in the work, I just can't stand trying to market it with clickbait or buzzwords or booktok stuff or any of the cheap tricks that devalue my audience, which is all fine until you're ten years in with less than 200 followers on this blog lmaooo

So I guess! All that is to say, while financial support is definitely the end goal here and in the end that's what's going to make the decision, the way we're gonna find that is by existing readers building a cool fandom for new folks to see and want to be part of. People are really resistant to creators promoting their own work, but readers recommending something is like a superpower. I've actually talked about this exact thing in another post and I think my joke about just straight up making time loop memes with toulouse or your own softer world edits or whatever being extremely helpful is the best suggestion I have right now haha

Regardless of whatever you decide to do, thank you very much for reaching out and wanting to help, and for all the support you're already throwing my way; every tiny bit really does help!!

[delta-pavonis]

Your answer for pet names in the drummer/dancer dreamling was so sweet I loved it. How about slow dancing in the same universe, or any other wip too

FIVE people, including you Nonny, have asked for this pairing with slow dancing. So, @likephysics, @honeyteacakes, @iprefertheterminsane, and @charlottemairi this is also for you (with bonus hand kisses for @honeyteacakes and singing/humming for @likephysics)

Prompt meme is here.

The fire in the large, low metal bowl (a precaution against any of the flora catching and igniting with how dry it has gotten the further the caravan travels) has faded to all but embers and the rest of the clan has gone to bed when Morpheus drags Hob over to the open space.

Yes, quite literally drags as the drummer has dropped his center of mass and is trying to dig his heels in like a petulant child. Morpheus rolls his eyes and lets go so that Hob falls with a yelp onto his ass, causing a small plume of dust to puff up around him.

Only adding to his childish sulk, Hob crosses his arms and looks up to his lover with a grimace. "I do not dance." He snaps but seems to immediately realize that he sounds quite harsh and looks away.

Undeterred, Morpheus steps forward so that his feet are between Hob's. With a gentle touch he turns his lover's face up to him. "And before you first tapped your fingers on something you did not drum." Hob's eyes narrow at him for he knows that there is no suitable argument to counter that. So, when Morpheus opens his hands to Hob, palms up, the drummer can do naught but take them.

The sword dancer has far more strength in his lithe frame than most anyone gives him credit for and it is a small task to pull Hob up to standing by his own power alone. They end up almost chest-to-chest and Hob leans in to place a peck of a kiss to Morpheus' lips.

"You cannot convince me to stop this with your lips, Hob."

Morpheus regrets it the moment the sentence leaves his mouth because Hob's eyes blaze to life like they have stolen the last sparks from the campfire. His eyebrows move in what someone has no doubt told him is a flirtatious wiggle and he crowds into Morpheus' space. "Wanna bet?"

The dancer should have stretched properly before this endeavor because he is going to pull a damned muscle if he rolls his eyes any harder.

Actually, wait, this could work. Morpheus smirks. "Yes. Yes I do want to bet." He has to bite down on a laugh as Hob looks a little startled - he has yet to realize how a wager can pique Morpheus' interests. "I will make you enjoy a bit of dancing before you can distract me away from it with your lips." Hob goes to speak and is interrupted. "But our pants must stay on and you must keep both your feet on the ground."

Hob's lips form a thin line and Morpheus feels a little swell of pride for himself for catching both of the loopholes that Hob was clearly thinking of. Then Hob actually takes a moment to think, which Morpheus honestly does find a bit impressive, as impulsive as his lover can be. "Alright, pants on, feet down. But no dancing that involves grinding your pretty cock or pert little ass up against me. If I am going to do this, I want real dancing."

Morpheus can tell his own smile has gone from happy to predatory by the glint in Hob's eyes and the slightest waver in his cocksure grin. The bard steps back and bows low, all courtly grace, bringing one of Hob's hands close to his lips. He looks up at Hob through his lashes and drops his voice low. "I would never dream of engaging in such lewd behavior with you, Sirrah." Holding Hob's gaze, Morpheus opens his mouth and lets the tip of his tongue touch Hob's knuckles before pressing a rather obscene kiss there.

"Oh," Hob's voice is a little breathless and he blushes bright enough that Morpheus can see the ruddy color even in the low light. "Just so we're on the same page here, we are playing for a favor yes?"

Morpheus nods. This is the default custom amongst the caravan cultures, for services are worth far more than gold out here. "Do we have a wager?" He asks, lips brushing Hob's skin with each word.

Hob shakes his head vigorously before replying. "Yeah. Yes. I believe we do."

He knows he is showing too many teeth when he smiles. "Excellent." Morpheus stands up straight while still holding Hob's hand. "One question, does the dancing I perform count as real dancing to you?"

The drummer blinks as he realizes that he is caught in a trap: he either belittles the entirety of Morpheus' art or he allows Morpheus to proceed knowing how suggestive some of his dancing can be. "Yes. It is real."

"Good answer." Morpheus purrs as he turns his back to Hob, leaving a good eighteen inches between them. He shrugs out of his tunic and drops it to the side. He can hear Hob start to protest. "Not my pants. And you will need to be able to see my torso and hips in order to mimic what I am doing." Hob's teeth clack when his mouth shuts.

Morpheus reaches back, grabbing one of Hob's hands and placing the palm on the crest of his hip, splaying his fingers wide and pointing towards Morpheus' center, his thumb curved around his back. He repeats with Hob's other hand.

The sword dancer raises his own arms above his head, elongating the whole of his body, and Hob curses behind him. "This is cheating. Somehow, this is cheating."

He ignores his lover's mutterings. "Now, feet close together, you want to move your hips like this. One... Two... Three." He slowly rocks his hips side-to-side with each number and he can hear Hob panting. "Your knees should glide diagonally across, so right knee to the left, left to the right. One... Two... Three. One... Two... Three." Morpheus spins in Hob's grasp, lowers his arms to rest his wrists on Hob's shoulders now that they are facing each other. "One... Two... Three." He repeats, keeping it slow.

Hob is staring at the movement of Morpheus' hips and hot-cold lightning burns through the dancer's veins at how entranced Hob is after just this. It feels far too good to be the subject of this man's regard.

"Do it with me. One... Two... Three." He bites down on a giggle as Hob stutters through it. "Alright, here," Morpheus moves his hands to Hob's hips in a mirror of his own grip. "One... Two... Three." With each number he presses on Hob's hips to move him further left and right than before. "Good. One... Two... Three." Now his uses his hands to smooth the movement. "One... Two... Three. One... Two... Three. You keep going."

Morpheus starts humming a gentle beat and Hob, to his credit, keeps moving his hips to it, even when Morpheus starts weaving forwards and back in addition to side to side. Hob does not, however, look up.

"So," He tangles his fingers in Hob's hair as he hums. "You were going to distract me with your lips?"

Hob growls and pulls Morpheus against him, flush from thighs to chest, hips still moving. "I made a deal with a devil, didn't I?" Morpheus laughs into Hob's neck, holding on as they slowly grind against each other, range of motion limited now that their hips are so perfectly slotted together. "Fine. You win, you damned incubus."

[blushydiorrb]

blushydior

digital minimalism: free yourself from the traps of electronic devices and start living a fulfilled life

“A philosophy of technology use in which you focus your online time on a small number of carefully selected and optimized activities that strongly support things you value, and then happily miss out on everything else.”

— Cal Newport, Digital Minimalism

as always, i recommend reading Digital Minimalism and Deep Work by Cal Newport. digital minimalism and introducing it’s importance to others is what i am passionate about. this post is simply to branch off from what i learned, what resonates with me and my perspective from his books while interconnecting it with posts from my blog. i can’t thank cal enough for his impact.

so you’re interested in being a digital minimalist. 

ask yourself these questions: 

what are your deepest values in life? 

where do you currently stand in your journey of self improvement? what have you done so far that has led you to this moment and what are some things that you can do better? 

do the apps in your phone bring you continuous spark and joy? in what ways does your daily phone usage support these deepest values?

be in the know: the continuous growth of phone usage is, to say the least, detrimental. as of 2022, the average person picks up their phone 344 times and uses their phone for 5 hours per day (excluding work related usage)

if your deepest values are work, continuous self improvement, friends, traveling, family, and school, how does being on your phone for the majority of your days, scrolling on social media/texting support these values?

you say you want to try new hobbies, travel more, and meet new people then look back and notice you really haven’t done most of the things you said you wanted to do. you take a closer look and notice you are on your device, pressing like button after like button, constantly watching what everyone else is doing rather than living the life in front of you. you end up disappointed. 

imagine yourself looking back at your life as whole at this moment. would you see all the times you spent going on adventures, having the best time of your life or would you see moments of endless scrolling on your feed flashing before your eyes?

which one do you want?

just imagine the massive improvement you’d see if you reduced your screen time and used it to your advantage by doing meaningful things like:

learning new skills everyday, executing that plan for a trip you made, cooking, dance, working out, reading more books, learning about extensive topics like business and psychology, volunteering, getting more sleep.

to be able to create a beautiful life for yourself, it all stems from you— your will and desire to have a beautiful, lived life, your plan, the execution, and the endless enjoyment.

these are so much more fulfilling than seeing tweets or keeping up with celebrities and influencers. trust me when i say you won’t miss much and have a breakdown if you missed a celebrity’s newest selfie or didnt retweet that recycled joke you saw on your timeline 3 months ago. 

there will ALWAYS be something new and entertaining to learn and experience in life. you just have to put yourself out there.

you crave genuine bonds? high bandwidth connections come from meeting up with people, having face to face interactions, not sharing memes and meaningless texts (no, emojis do not help)

you want to be a high achiever and reach your goals? you can’t do that when social media takes up half of your time.

you want real experiences? look up from the digital screen and use your five senses to bask in the sunlight, hear the real-life chatter, focus and interact with the people around you, smell the fresh air and taste the food. do you really need to record and document everything for a 24h story?

weren’t you supposed to study for that exam? did you schedule your routine appointments? when was the last time you hung out with a loved one? when was the last time you picked up a hobby and spent time alone? did you finish that book you were reading? didn’t you say you had a goal to go to the gym a few times a week? have you been easy on yourself like you said you would? 

i thought you said you were sick of not living the life of your dreams yet… i don’t see you taking any action to achieve that goal? 

break the habit and start living your best life. let’s get into the how!

Keep reading

[queenofhearts7378]

Hi there! Any new SQ content? Been down a rabbit hole of then again haha and I always love your work!

I wrote this just for you because it's been ages since I wrote these boys and turns out I have really missed it.

(Do not ask me anything about Miraculous, I have not watched it since season mid-season 3 and have no plans to. I get all my info from tumblr memes and a single person in the SQ discord who doesn't mind giving loose spark notes.)

.....

"So that's what's been up with me lately, how about you guys?"

Adrien gave a bright grin.

The other three boys stared at him in concern and confused horror for a few moments.

"Dude." Randy said empathetically.

Adrien let his head thunk on the table, "I know."

"And I thought my thing was a lot." Danny said, mostly to himself.

Jake leaned towards him, "Yeah, I actually got to talk to you about your thing. Cause it's starting to affect my whole deal."

Danny waved him off, "Later, we're helping Adrien deal with his mental breakdown right now."

"I'm not having a mental breakdown," Adrien mumbled into the wood.

"Buttercup, I think you need to have one." Randy said.

Adrien tilted to the side until he was laying more on Randy than the table, "I don't want to talk about my thing anymore. Let's talk about Danny and Jake's thing."

Jake threw his hands in the air, "It's Danny’s thing that's affecting me!"

"Look it's not the first time all of reality had to get rewritten so that everybody would forget my secret so I don't know why it's affecting you this time."

Now Jake looked like the one who should be having a mental breakdown. "I was talking about your self-appointed Title!"

"My what?"

"You heard the capitals in that too, right?" Randy whispered to Adrien, who just nodded his head.

"What do you mean reality got rewritten?! Danny did you BREAK REALITY?!?!?!"

"No! Vlad did! I fixed it! Can we go back to the titles thing cause that sounded kinda important. Like proper capitalization important."

"Danny I swear on my ancestors-"

"So like chapter titles or movie titles?" Randy asked.

Jake turned to stare at him incredulously and Randy could feel Adrien shaking from giggling.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times in response, before waving his hands in front of him like he was trying to ward off all of Randy's General personality. "Randy please, I can't deal with you and Danny at the same time."

"Hey!" Danny said in offense. Randy just nodded in understanding.

Jake groaned into his hands for a moment, before straightening up and pointing at Danny. "Phantom has been officially Titled as the Liminal Bridge. No one knows how that happened and are miffed about it. And now I have a bunch of restless spirits that keep bothering me because they somehow figured out I actually know you and they don't know how to reach you."

Danny looked confused, "No one has ever called me that. Why are you saying it like it's a big deal?"

"Because it is a big deal." Jake stressed. "In the magical community, things like that are big deals. I don't just call myself the American Dragon for fun. It's an official Title. And it comes with responsibilities only I can do, problems that only I have the authority to solve. These aren't things you can just give yourself either. It's usually done by someone with higher authority over you, it's passed down from previous holders, some very old and powerful mythical beings can bestow one on you, and sometimes the right magical artifact can if it's sentient and impressed enough. You can't just call yourself a bridge and be like "That's a thing that everybody has to call me now!"."

Danny was looking at him wide-eyed, "I uh….I mean that's kinda what happened?"

Jake's head hit the table with a 'thunk'.

"Man I've just been fighting McFist bots this entire time, y’all’s lives are wonk." "Thanks Randy." The other three chorused.

[doctorbrown]

Interview with the writer meme #1-4 & 9

1. What color do you associate with your muse?

Answered here!

2. Is there a song that reminds you of your muse?

Plenty! One of them is Journey on the Waves of Time by Arjen Lucassen.

3. How do you get yourself out of a writing funk?

Reading helps, as does listening to music that often sparks my muse/creativity. Sometimes I'll go for a ride or a drive or maybe try going to the gym. Video games. Basically anything that isn't trying to force out the words; usually with enough time/distractions I'll come back like hell yeah let's write!!

4. Do you have any advice for other writers?

Hmmmm. I hardly consider me a writer myself so what can I think about giving advice I make everything up as I go fjl;sdkj

Honestly, I'd say keep at it. Don't be afraid to change up your writing style to find what works for you. Experiment with everything! Take inspiration from writers/roleplayers whose style you like and craft something that's all your own. My writing style/language is very weird across my blogs but hey, it works for me and the words flow and I like it. The confidence will come in time.

And as for advice for 'writers' as in roleplayers, best advice is to keep at it. Don't be afraid to immediately reach out to someone you've become mutuals with because most likely, they'll be ecstatic to see you in their messages and to chat. Have an idea in mind when it comes to plotting, even if it's just a vague one/vibes, and be active in plotting with partners because it goes a long way.

9. Best scene featuring your muse? (chapter, film, episode)

Main/original answer here! But like I said, every one of these I get you get me talking about a Doc scene that I love oops.

Another of Doc's best scenes isn't one you'd probably think about when recalling the films, but I really love it—it's a scene (well a small series of them) from pt2, beginning with the moment Doc goes to meet Marty on the roof of the school: he ends up catching the DeLorean on a string of pennants and taking them with him, then on the roof you see him pulling them free of the car, balling them up, and rather than just tossing them away and leaving them on the roof where nobody would ever notice and if they did, their presence could probably be blamed on the huge storm they're gonna get that night, he tosses them in the car and takes them with him.

Now while he obviously couldn't've foreseen that they'd be useful, it's the fact that he bothered to toss them in the car in the first place and then, in the heat of the moment, when Marty's poised to be hit by Biff during the whole car/stealing back the Almanac event, he has the brilliant idea to lower them like a rope and pull him to safety. I just love that scene, the quick/creative thinking, Doc's obvious show of cleverness, his willing to make whatever he can work to help Marty. I also just love his expression when it does work.

[eternitas]

Hi 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻 Questions time!! For Ava and Lorenzo

Are there any tropes fandom would put upon your character, for better or for worse?

What headcanons/theories do you believe fandom would invent about your character?

By contrast, what would their haters dislike about your character? Is it a petty complaint? A mischaracterization of the character or their intentions? Are they just a woman in a largely male-centric series?

Ask Meme

Hi hi hi there! Thank you for sending this in Mel! I'm so honored that you have interest in my dudes!

Are there any tropes fandom would put upon your character, for better or for worse?

Ava is definitely one of the biggest yandere providers. The way he clings to his brother would spark many many yandere scenarios. I also think he is someone who is put a lot through unhealthy relationships or one sided loves. Another thing I could see with him is going through the entire shipping bingo (only one bed, hanahaki, fake boyfriends, arranged marriage, snowed in together-)

Lorenzo weirdly enough I could see as being made the reluctant team mom? Also def seen as being a witty one liner machine. Biggest enemies to lovers candidate tbh, he gets instantly paired with whoever he has beef with and that's half the cast.

LorAva as a ship would def be a fave for the tragedy enjoyers, because despite them working it out in canon they just have such high angst potential. Lots of "there was only one bed" stories.

What headcanons/theories do you believe fandom would invent about your character?

For Ava they'd definitely do a lot of HCs about how much he is like their mother and what that says about their mother and Ava in return. Lot's of fluffy headcanons about him being pure and wholesome, letting out his box animal to play, holding tea parties. There is definitely a long running theory that all officers and especially Xanxus have "adopted" Ava as their princess because it's Squalos cute younger brother? Many many "Xanxus is actually soft to Ava" headcanons.

Don't ask me how but i believe there'd be people who believe Lorenzo is secretly related to Belphegor or even Gokudera. Def a candidate of moe gap headcanons about him secretly being really into stuff like stuffed animals??? definitely a lot of "he is just misunderstood :c" posts and a strangely wide accepted AU of Lorenzo and Dera being brothers??? It's all good fun though

By contrast, what would their haters dislike about your character? Is it a petty complaint? A mischaracterization of the character or their intentions? Are they just a woman in a largely male-centric series?

The amount of hate for Ava, because there are a good few that ship him with his brother. In general I think most Ava hate would come through how he is depicted by fandom as this uwu shota bean too pure for this world, which makes him seem so unnecesarily childish. With the uwu baby bean comes also the "he has never done anything wrong in his life" which some find extremely annoying because Ava is ALSO violent and hotheaded and can say insanely stupid things. Also lots of hate because of his relationship with Takeshi and the Yama x someone else shippers don't like that.

Lorenzo is definitely just hated because he is a meanie. Or rather it's the whole "they are so unhealthy for each other" debate. One specific thing he is hated for by some is that [SPOILER ALERT] during the fights that break out to determine if Tsuna keeps listening to Squad 4 or if he refuses their teachings, Lorenzo actually wins his fight against Hibari through a technicallity and myyyy god there are enough Hibari fans who hate that so much, and therefore just can't forgive Lorenzo.

[taggedmemes]

SENTENCE MEME THE WOMBATS / FIX YOURSELF, NOT THE WORLD

spare me the drone of your conversation.

spare me my lack of sophistication.

i don't wanna sit around and just get high.

i'm all dressed up.

you walk in the room and my tongue gets tied.

it's such a heavenly sight.

i just hope i don't ruin this.

i just hope i don't ruin this, getting too fucked up to remember this.

you flip me upside down.

you take me out of my head.

i'm kind of getting into it.

you pull me out of my lows.

let's see where this shit goes.

i can't recall all the things you said.

i'm feeling pretty good about the two of us.

i've got a couple secrets.

dwelling on the past just kills the vibe.

one last slide down the rabbit hole.

there's still no room in paradise.

the kids aren't wrong.

i'm looking for a spark in the heart.

you can drag the years behind you, or you can let them go.

i see a tunnel at the end of the light.

i'm always a mess come the end of the night.

i'm forever locking myself in the glass of your rearview.

if you ever leave, i'm coming with you.

you know i'll do whatever you want me to.

i'll get out of bed.

i'm your reluctant optimist.

i'm stuck to the gum that's stuck on your shoe.

am i losing you in the dark?

no more breaking stuff.

no more acting up.

you only ever catch me out.

if you ever leave me, i'm coming with you.

you can scream like a banshee and still nothing comes.

i am ready for the high.

nothing works worse than the weekend fix.

i'm ready for the high life.

a kiss without a fist fight.

a bang without the dynamite.

i always think in extremes.

i should be pulling you close to me.

maybe generation x are the chosen ones.

they've got everything they need beneath their aching thumbs.

underneath the low there's a lower part.

no hotel guaranteed.

a professional learns from all their rookie moves.

there must be some method to the madness.

just one more smile and then i'll go.

this could be a holiday or an intersection where two roads fuse.

stop. i don't need to know.

fuck my sadness.

fuck our options.

fuck the life plan.

no more worry, i've killed it with both hands.

just give me something to light the fuse.

she was dreaming of her big break.

she constructed the right attitude.

the universe has got plans.

competition can dry you up.

people don't change people, time does.

we're all trying to get better.

we've all had quite enough of this pleasant displeasure.

i'd love to help you out.

i'd love to get us off this swing, this roundabout.

today i had a big idea.

there's no room for mistakes out here.

everybody wants to be the man.

everything i love is going to die.

keep your big mouth shut.

stop wasting my time.

icarus was my best friend.

i'm going to make him proud in the end.

there's no experimenting here.

no threesomes like we talked about when we were blacking out.

what a crazy pranged out year.

we spent most of it kissing teeth.

the moment starts to pass.

i start reverting back.

sell my spine to save my neck.

i'm starting to forget.

howl into the void again.

why don't you chop my tongue out and put my insides inside a jar.

you shake me up, you shake me down.

work's easy, but life's getting hard.

you don't speak for me.

could use some peer pressure.

you're so well put together.

tell me, sugar.

is there something i need to know?

pull the trigger.

pull me back from the edge.

pull me out of my head.

she is wildfire.

i could live in here forever.

let's find a drug to fix me.

guess i'm always blinded by the emperor's new clothes.

there's always something lurking down the rabbit hole.

in the back of your mind there's a crosshair.

don't wanna cause any trouble.

don't wanna poke the bear in the zoo.

drama becomes elastic then snaps back into place.

i saw your temperament running out the gate.

don't wanna stand in your way.

i'm pretty much worried about everything.

i worry that i'm worrying so much.

i worry too much.

multiples of three keep me warm, keep me stable.

superstition's a wasp at your picnic.

i'll say it again but without feeling.

i'll get what i think if i keep on thinking.

it's not paranoia if it's really there.

i'm not sure how much milk is enough milk.

bang my head against a wall.

i let the smallest of things ruin my day.

i'm the voicemail that you coulda shoulda checked sooner.

i'm the only obstruction in the way.

i don't wanna lose myself in someone else's game.

[pancakesprince]

oc meme

i was tagged by @broodwolf221 for this oc meme and whiiiile i couldn't decide which OC i wanted to do this for, i just recently drew this but hadn't posted it up so I might as well♥

NAME: Arvel Mahariel

NICKNAME: twink. jk his name is short enough.

GENDER: Agender, he/him

TAROT/ZODIAC: Ace of wands

HEIGHT: 4'11

ORIENTATION: Bi/pan

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Dalish (Dragon Age) - Wood elf (D&D)

FAVORITE FRUIT: Probably blueberries? Man this threw me for a loop for some reason

FAVORITE SEASON: Spring!

FAVORITE FLOWER: All the nice smelling ones :x

FAVORITE SCENT: Rosemary

COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: Milk tea, probably!

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: around 7? less if he gets the Spark to create

DOGS OR CATS: Both are good! in Dragon Age he does have a mabari, so there's that tho.

DREAM TRIP: He's always on the go already- a dream trip would probably be staying somewhere lmao

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: two is ideal :3 he doesn't really need more than one though because he's so small.

RANDOM FACT: extremely into all sorts of crafting, handiwork. wood, metals, etc- he likes to work with them all. he's really not a fighter at heart even if in DA he's required to have knowledge of combat.

++ he keeps getting smaller the more i talk about him. he says he's 5'. he's not.

[radfemistry]

Do you think it would be possible to accept trans-identified people’s pronouns and the like if they accepted the reality of biological sex? Like a “born in the wrong body” idea. Is that what “”transmedicalism” is? Because anyways like. For me, I know I’ve tried to argue that the reality of sex (+ sex-based oppression) disproves trans identity and claims, but TRAs who I’m friends with still claim sex exists. And it’s difficult because the axis of sex can change how their arguments work entirely, whether they believe in biological sex or “it’s a spectrum/not real/etc.” And… it (no sexual dimorphism) seems a more recent, online development than in real life, or is that just me? Sorry if this doesn’t make sense and I’m just rambling. It’s hard to put it into words if that makes sense, it gets so confusing sometimes!

Hi hi! I’m sorry, I’m sure this has been sitting in my inbox for months and I simply didn’t see it! I’ve been thinking a lot about this, and I’m afraid the answer I’m going to give you is imperfect.

People are not born in the wrong bodies. The arguement I continuously saw was that people have male or female brains, and sometimes those brains don’t correspond with the right bodies, hence the existence of trans people. This concept has been disproven again and again, which I believe is why it’s not seen as often as it had been previously. After that came the ‘biological sex is a spectrum’ nonsense.. I have no idea how to begin having a conversation about that one, honestly.

Trans-ness is a social construct. It is the result of conditioning, intentionally or not. We are affected by the way we were brought up as children, how we learn to view men and women, what content we were exposed to and interact with. You know that shitty Garfield meme “You are not immune to propoganda”? It’s true. Our psyches are formed by positive and negative feedback, and we don’t even realize it.

There are situations when I can’t blame an individual for feeling what they feel. It is difficult to overcome that conditioning. As someone that was raised in an orthodox church, I still feel the urge to pray when I am in a tough situation. That doesn’t mean that behavior is logical, only that it was enforced. We must be concious of how we rationalize our behaviors. Thoughts, actions, etc. I do think, if your friends are open to it, that it would be wise to have a conversation to get to the bare bones of what they believe and why. Often times, that is enough to spark genuine change.

Personally, I have two requirements for respecting pronouns. The first is that the individual must know and acknowledge their biological sex. The second is the individual must pass. I base my usage of pronouns on observation, and sometimes trans-identified people do pass. Am I morally just for doing so? I don’t know. This is something I think about more than I would like. I think it is up to you to decide what pronouns you use, why, and with who. You are allowed to cherry pick. Life is not made of homogenous situations.

It is easier to use your friends’ pronouns. It’s easier to conceed. You avoid argument, you keep your friends. Speaking from experience, this option is not worth it. Have those talks. Listen to understand where they are coming from, and speak with the intent that they are also making that effort. Don’t start this conversation with the goal of responding. Neither party will get anywhere. If you find that you disagree and there is no chance that either of you will change your opinions on the matter, that’s fine too. I won’t say it’ll always end well, because it doesn’t. Sometimes you remain friends anyway.

The last thing I’ll say, and forgive me for rambling, is that saying a person can change their biological sex is immoral. It is an immense disservice. While I use preferred pronouns on a case by case basis, I will never say a biological woman can become male, or vis versa. Ultimately, it is up to you to decide how you want to approach this situation. My advice to you is to keep learning, keep reading, keep having these hard conversations. I hope it goes well :)

[youcalledmebabe]

POV for the ask game <333

no excuses writing meme

thanks rie!! here’s the beginning of visions made of flesh and light (Joe’s Version).

Joe’s nervous. He can’t believe that he’s nervous about seeing Web again, but here he is, at the back of a book signing line, clutching Web’s old copy of North of Boston and feeling a bit like he might throw up.

He’d been late, only catching the tail end of Web’s reading, and unable to secure a spot near the front. But it had been better that way; getting to hear Web’s voice first, like a familiar radio show that hadn’t been broadcast in ages. Dipping his toes into the sea that was Web instead of plunging in headfirst and drowning. This gave him time to come up with his opening line. Figured you might want this back. I know it’s six years overdue.

Six years without Web. Six years without teasing and bickering. It had been six years since he saw Web’s smile, since he heard him laugh, since he kissed that beautiful mouth. Six years, and it was all his fault, but he’s here now, isn’t he? He’s going to make it right. Whatever Web wants, he’ll do. He knows Web is stingier with his forgiveness than Joe is but that’s fine with him. Joe’s worked hard every day of his life and Web is a prize worth winning.

The line moves slowly—who knew this many people cared about Web’s book about the two of them? Joe is torn between wanting to tease him about it and feeling unabashed pride. All that scribbling had amounted to something after all. The fact that he’d been the muse for it made it all the better.

He floats on the feeling of smugness before he catches a glimpse of Web, just three people away now, and has to duck behind a bookshelf. Web looks…well, Web looks fucking gorgeous, even though his hair is too long, and messy, and he has stubble. He looks like a real writer, in a blue sweater that probably costs more than Joe earns in a month, and Joe suddenly feels like an idiot. What is he thinking, coming here? Web’s built a life for himself, one Joe has no part of.

He peers out at Web, finally finished with his scores of fans. Web stares down at the pen in his hands, mouth agape, the way it always was when he was lost in thought. The familiarity of the expression is enough to pull Joe forward. He drops North of Boston on the table in front of him.

“I’m not just signing autographs,” Web snaps. 

It irritates Joe and then the irritation fractures into delight at Web’s attitude, the bitch lurking below his polished rich boy surface.

“Yeah, because people are lining up to buy David fucking Webster’s autograph,” he scoffs.

Web keeps his eyes down and Joe’s stomach drops. Look at me, look at me, he wants to beg. My life hasn’t felt real without you seeing me. It’s the longest second of his life.

And then Web’s gaze snaps up to him. Joe watches his eyes widen and basks in his gaze. God, they really are that blue. There were times when he thought he must have made them up, slapped a technicolor filter on his memories.

“This isn’t California,” Web says, almost breathless.

Joe can’t stop the grin. “I thought you were finishing Harvard. Figured you might want this back. I know it’s like…six years overdue.”

Web flips the book over, eyes dancing over the title, still quiet. His silence makes Joe feel a little uneasy, but can he blame him for being surprised? Joe probably would’ve had a heart attack if Web had opened his cab door or waltzed into the shop asking for a haircut. A haircut he badly needed.

“You gonna charge me a fine or what, Web?” Joe prods.

The spark returns to Web’s eyes. “Sure. Buy me a drink.”

Joe would buy him a hundred drinks. What was that line from that stupid movie? You want the moon, Mary? Just say the word and I’ll throw a lasso around it and pull it down. Screw Mary, he thinks, it’s David Webster who deserves that. And he wishes he could say it, and six years ago he might’ve been able to, but he was braver then. Younger, more reckless, less fragile.

So instead he says, “at eleven a.m.? On a Wednesday?”