#and also a tiny bit of pips!

[nkhluu]

hellpark in cas van de pol style *runs away*

Edit: finally found out who was the inspo for my tweek and Pip designs, it's @tervoreddie!!! Please check out their own sp Cas van de pol style art, it's amazing!!

[elodieunderglass]

(Killie the jockey OC and his coworkers)

(Killie is absurdly strong! but also - this is important, listen up, Rossa - the instructions are written on the cap)

(As a dual champion flat and jump jockey, Killie is capable of opening jars and also immune to the lure of the single grape)

[ghost-kitty-cat]

it's time for wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff! (Aka it's time for Roman Headcanons!)

First Headcanon, (I don't know if this really counts as a headcanon... but..) despite how mischievous he appears to be typically... i think Roman definitely has had moments where he is very sweet (and possibly romantic... though that just depends on how you picture Roman & Pip's "Friendship"/"Relationship"... ...personally i ship them...)

Second Headcanon, (It's not completely confirmed where Roman and possibly Pip are staying currently (since in the recent experiment log all we heard about the location was the word "Abandoned" I think...) soo...) I like to imagine they'll staying in a Abandoned warehouse of some kind (because come on.. you can't tell Roman and Pip aren't the type who would totally stay in Abandoned warehouse...)

Third Headcanon, (I've never really personally watched it... but..) I don't know why but I can totally picture Roman watching Doctor Who... (either he really likes it or he just watches it to make fun of it... that I will leave up to you...)

Fourth Headcanon, (more to do with my mental image of Roman... but..) I like to imagine Roman's hair has grown quite a bit longer since he hasn't been able to properly cut it... (then again... some do say hair carries memories soo maybe Roman is holding on to something from the past...)

Fifth Headcanon, (slightly inspired by the events of the first experiment log also slightly a Pip Headcanon... but..) I imagine Roman now gets slightly anxiety/panic attacks at times due to past events... and Pip does try to help him (though they aren't really good at these types of situations, they've definitely gotten better at helping...)

Sixth Headcanon, Roman definitely gives me the vibes of someone who can't choose if he likes cats or dogs.. (or even birds... he would rather just take the whole zoo then choose...)

Seventh Headcanon, (slightly also a Cyril Headcanon... but..) I definitely think Roman has at least once did the classic whoopee cushion or glitter bomb prank on Mr elfy boy...

Eighth Headcanon, (more of a funny one... but..) I like to imagine Roman really liked learning about history back when he was growing up... (which is ironic because of his name and how his life is now... XD)

Ninth Headcanon, I like to imagine Roman is the type of person where if you know him good enough he is very much a hug person/a cuddle bug (I just imagine there was a time where Roman tried to hug Cyril and learned the hard way of why not to do that again....never underestimate the elfy boy....)

Tenth Headcanon, Don't know why but Roman just gives the vibes of that kind of person who carries around gum with him... (I like to imagine that he occasionally chews some gum to help him either think or relax but besides that he just has gum...)

Bonus Headcanon, Roman definitely was the kind of kid growing up who would take a bunch of different things (for example, soap, shampoo and etc) and would mix it all up like they were making a potion of some kind...

[fayehartz]

DIP WEEK DAY 2

extras bc i really liked how I drew damien here,,,,

[waylamia]

All Bark

hey so this one is a doozy. and a significant departure from my previous work so just be mindful. of that.

recommended listening: Bite The Hand by boygenius, Crybaby by Nanna

You have to be equal. You need control. You don't know how to have both. You pull out your phone, open your messages. You hear his chime through the door, pulled from his pocket when he saw you typing. Pips 🧡: ur sleeping outside. He glances up at you, then back at his phone, expressionless. Yours vibrates in your hands. Cay ✈️: D: Cay ✈️: y?

-> You begged Grandma for a dog, growing up. You've always had one.

reader experience notes: reader is mc, reader is gender neutral and not physically described in this fic

MDNI - minors do not interact with this work

content: emetophobia. nonsexual petplay with sexual implications. a teeny tiny bit of NSFW content. I don't know what else to say about that. post homecoming wings, post lucid dream myth and painful signal, pre relationship. spoilers for most of his cards probably but its all pretty vague (lucid dreams myth, painful signal, and hidden waves off of the top of my head) completely unnegotiated kink that isn't like. engaged with AS a kink... YET. uh. strange and peculiar d/s coded dynamics?? theologyless catholic style guilt. heavy usage of pip-squeak. pip-squeak nation RISE. MC and Caleb are just both freakazoid weirdos there's no getting around it. some. nonsexual feet stuff. at the very end. not a lot. my bad. mc/reader is trying to process big, conflicting feelings and is having a not great time about it. Caleb and MC were raised as siblings and we are in the nuance mud about it. get messy or get gone my friend. mc/reader needs an attitude adjustment and TRUST 🙏 they are not going to get it JGDJSGJKDFJSJFJFS. very cool and fun finally writing grown up Calebmc. I heart them. they have issues. in the wise words of Saucy Santana... walk em like a dog <3 LMAOOOO

approx. 11k words

also on AO3 (available to registered users only)

The thing about Caleb is he's annoying. This fact is made worse by another: no one, in the lifetime you've spent together, has ever sided with or believed you on this. Not even Gideon, who has suffered the only experience remotely similar to yours-shared space, the closeness that comes from it-could be coaxed into saying a word against him. God knows you'd tried, back in their DAA days.

Catching his eye while yours twitched, in the brief moments when Caleb would leave the room. 'Did you-' and Gideon's gaze would drift to the window without a word. Rude, but in these moments you'd always be too irked to care. 'He just- He is so-' and every time you'd be met with pursed lips and silence, a clear indication that one way or the other, he had no desire to be involved. So you'd huff and cross your arms over your chest. Wouldn't stomp your foot like you'd really have liked to, lest you be accused of throwing a tantrum at the fine age of 18 and 1/2. The fraction included for accuracy and not any arbitrary attempt to make yourself seem more grown up.

Now, if you're being honest with yourself, you can admit the obvious lie in that. In your mid-to-late teens and early adulthood everything had been about proving yourself. Caleb has always been bigger than you, and back then, for a long time, you worried you'd never graduate from his shadow. Worried no one would be able to see you in it. Worried that, if you weren't careful, if you weren't loud, he'd forget to look for you in the dark too.

He never did, of course, always smiling a little too knowingly when you'd remind him or yourself how old you are, how strong you are. At the time, you'd thought he was mocking you when he'd only respond with a laugh, messing up your hair and carrying on. Only when you look back on it now, can you see it for what it was. Cherishing, endearment, warmth. Maybe that's part of it. The annoyance, you mean. The gap in your understanding. He's always known more than you. More than you about you. And though you know him better than anyone-always have-you've never been able to boast the same ability to know exactly what he's thinking, like hes always seemed able to with you. You suppose it actually makes perfect sense that that gap in comprehension has only grown, since you helped bury the idea of him. Your perfect brother, in an empty grave in the ground. Your perfect brother, and you left behind.

'Always left behind.' You brood to yourself. And maybe that's not fair. But Caleb has never asked or expected 'fair' from you. Instead, you've spent a lifetime encouraged to take and take and take from him. You don't know that you could do anything else, after all these years of programming, think that a part of you is always going to be his spoiled little sister, forever. The thought sits in you like rot. Stuck in his shadow, still small. Afraid that that's how he will always see you, too.

Maybe being brought up together actually made all the difference in the world. Maybe that was another thing you had to be honest about.

About the fact that he came back, from the dead-not-dead, after you'd mourned and surrendered yourself to a life without him, and told you he was never your brother. About how it had hurt. Wounded you, left you reeling like the blast. Sent immediately back, standing in the wake of it not knowing what to make of yourself, what you felt, what was real.

Really annoying.

Caleb is just a really annoying person. You don't know how else to explain it.

And honestly? You would never allow anyone else to agree with you. 'Annoyed with Caleb' a secret emotion only applicable and accessible to you. You think upon hearing it said-after that brief, beautiful moment of feeling finally vindicated-your mouth or fists would start flying. Because how dare some hypothetical whoever think that they know him, could speak ill of him? What could anyone say to you about the man you have trusted intrinsically since before you could even spell the word 'codependency'? Not a thing.

And then, of course, who would be the one to pull you from the word or hand or both fight?

Ugh.

Then, it's the principle. That maddening, planted seed that never sprouts but stays ever stuck in you, dug into you. Caleb is incredibly fucking annoying. And, if you are being honest with yourself-it's something you've both been working on, since he came back-dying made him way way worse.

There is a tenseness between you, something that was simply not allowed to exist before he disappeared. The security you felt in each other, the closeness that never left room for anything else to take root. When he'd been dug up, taken half of your root and soil with him, room was all that was left. Now every day it is harder for you to make a distinction one way or the other. What you were and what you are and what you may be, may be in want of, all coagulating into something phlegmy and stomach-turning. It is a change you don't know how to swallow. It chokes you, like the look on his face, the sound of his voice, back in the interrogation room. Sometimes, it feels like you're still there, taking turns strapping each other down for questioning. You still feel the weight of that collar on your throat. It feels how his necklace felt, in the year you were left with it, and so you know he feels it too. There is an ache and comfort in that thought that grounds you. It's always the same, you cling to what makes you equal.

And so, there is another thing you must admit to yourself.

The thing about you is you're annoying.

It is a fact that has never been stated to you directly, and yet you have always known. Needy and bratty and emotional and demanding and kept all to yourself for all but one pair of eyes to see. One pair of ears to be chewed off. Everything that's about him is about you too. And you're both working on being honest, but only to each other. And you've always favored actions over words. Or maybe, you just find it's easier to be honest when you don't have the chance to open your mouth and fuck it all up. You think maybe you aren't any good at this. You wonder if he thinks the same thing too. And that's the problem isn't it? You wonder. You don't know.

You don't know that you ever did.

The point. Is. You're in Skyhaven. You'd gone to the Fleet HQ first, tracked down Liam-knowing that The Colonel was in a meeting-and had him escort you to Caleb's home. Now, you're standing outside of his front door. All that expended effort, for an unplanned visit, because you're mad at him. And when you're mad at him you want to be close to him. You don't know who to attribute that quirk to. Him, for refusing to give you any goddamn space all of your growing years. Or yourself, for getting into the habit of screaming into his shirts pulled over your pillow in the one he was gone. Whatever did or didn't do it, its done now, and the pattern has been established. One of many, for the two of you.

And so, even without Liam immediately reporting back, you know you won't have much time between pressing your finger to the lock on his door and him calling out to you while he peels off his boots, irritatingly unbothered by your uncommunicated arrival.

But that's fine. You'd had time to think on the ride over, as long as you work quickly you'll get done what you need to do.

A press of your finger, a soft chime and a click, and you push your way into the quiet of his home. Almost immediately distracted from your mission by the hairs on the back of your neck raising, the thought that you need to open a window. Even with the adjustments you've both made since he first brought you here, the atmosphere is stifling. The air is stagnant and oppressive, the walls are cold, the space occupied by an emptiness no amount of furniture or plant life or plushies could overcome. That's the problem. His arm that can't feel you and his home you fear you'll never fit into. There are parts of your lives that aren't shared. More now than ever, more every day. You shake your head, efforting to evict the thought and focus.

You force yourself into action, marching like a good soldier straight to his bedroom. Ignoring, along the way, the pristine kitchen and its empty sink, the layer of dust on the shelves, the closed curtains, the way even your breath seems to echo. You are completely certain that without the falling of your feet, you'd hear your heartbeat bouncing off of the walls. You don't know how he can stand it. The silence. You'd leave your beating heart here to fill it if you could. You'd feel better, you think, knowing he had it.

Maybe you could trade. Matching pulled open ribs for matching beating heart homes. The finger you'd pressed to his door lock tingles. You know that everything that's his is yours. You know that everything that's yours is his. So when you feel yourself suffocating in this empty fucking house...

Empty house like his empty grave. It's funny, you had wanted to follow him there too.

His bedroom is the closest this place comes to not feeling like a morgue to you. You hadn't put together, until you came back to Linkon, after that first eventful visit, why that is.

It was set up just like your old room, back at Grandma's. Bigger, differently-lifelessly-styled before your interference, but with all the furnishings in the same locations, facing the same ways. You wonder if that was intentional. You wonder who it was all for. If what he said to you was true, and he really had planned never to reenter your life, then-

He's annoying. You're angry. You have to be close to him because the distance has been killing you. It's an excuse you can use to explain your being here, but not what you're about to do.

You run your hand over each of the pillows on the bed, searching for traces of warmth, looking for fallen strands of hair. You are unsurprised when all evidence points you to the one on the far left, closest to the door. You've seen the way he sleeps, like even unconscious he was ready to fight, poised for it, tense. You snarl as you pluck his pillow up, along with the comforter, and stomp out of the room.

There isn't a yard at his house but there is a balcony, and it'll have to do. Your brow furrows as you slide the glass door aside, stepping out and unceremoniously dropping the pillow and bed cover onto the ground. You stand over them, attempt to make some sense of your actions to yourself.

Stepping outside hadn't helped you ease the dread and discomfort that came with being alone in his house. The sun is starting to set. It's still warm, and the breeze is soft, just like it was at his funeral.

And the bone deep cold you feel in you now is the same as you felt then.

You think maybe the problem isn't the house, maybe it's always just been you. You, all needy and bratty emotional and demanding. The thought festers as you stare at the bedding at your feet, and finally you have your answer.

More than closeness, what you need is control.

Your stomach drops. You don't get time to process it.

There's a chime and a click, and the front door opens. He never gives you enough time. He always gives you too much.

Can two things be true at once?

"You here, Pips?" He's unzipping his boots. You don't feel the need to respond, he'll find his way to you. You're expecting him to.

Big feet pad through the house, purposeful, with a distinct lack of wandering. Like he knew exactly where he'd find you. Though you think he should have no reason to expect you out here. He's still in uniform-obviously, since he'd come straight from work to you-and he looks tired. You are surprised, ashamed of yourself, to find that doesn't deter you.

He's just looking at you, like always, and you know he's waiting for you to say something, to over-explain yourself like you tend to when you're nervous or caught off guard or just caught. All you can bring yourself to do is stare back, face blank. The sliding door is open, with you on opposite sides of it. You're gaze darts to the threshold and back up and you almost want to look away again. Coming up against the resistance you usually do when he wears his old face with his new uniform, head at a slight tilt, eyes wide and relaxed. Like he's smiling even though his expression is neutral.

"Yooou okay?" He looks you over, gaze falling to your feet, to the bedding beside them. You tense up, immediately drawing the conclusion that what you were about to do was crazy, and you absolutely needed to rein it in and back down. You sniff, shaking your head like a dog trying to shake off water, your face heating as you open your mouth to do the usual song and dance of rambling and excusing. The sooner you start it, the sooner it will be over. If you tell him to forget it happened, he will. Or, he'll pretend he will, for you. It's been enough before. Maybe pretending is enough.

You're interrupted before you can start.

"...if you're doing laundry, generally speaking you want to take the pillow out of the case first-" He steps beyond the threshold, outside, kneels before you to reach for the pillow. "-and nothing is gonna get dry all bunched up on the ground." He thumbs at the comforter with his glove, looking at you with raised brows and that too-aware-too-familiar smile that makes you feel like he can see inside you. To the meat and marrow, all raw and ugly. You're brain catches up to his words and an indignant laugh is choked out of you. Obviously you know how to do fucking laundry. Obviously the blanket is completely dry. Obviously he knows all of this. Why is he always so-

Oh.

He's giving you an out. A chance to undo what you've done, whatever you've done. To pretend, if pretending is enough for you.

He sees you. It's comforting, familiar. He tilts his head curiously, angled away from you, exposing his throat.

'I've always held myself back and endured day, after day, after day. It was suffocating.'

Annoying.

You see red. Meat and marrow. No. You won't play pretend anymore. You need to know who he is. You need to know who you are.

You've been working on being honest.

You step around and over him, back into the house. He watches you as you go, smile dropping with your continued silence. As he moves to stand, you slide shut and lock the door. He blinks at you from the other side of the glass. Mouth parting in confusion.

"Okayyy. Are we.. gonna talk about it?" It. He says, muffled by the glass. Implication being: he doesn't know whats going on. Good. You almost smile. A sick thrill running through you, followed quickly by the sorrow, the guilt. That he doesn't know what you're thinking, that you've made it so.

You realize you haven't spoken to him since his return. You open your mouth, only to close it again. You don't have the words. You don't know how to say them. The collar tightens. You want him to choke too.

"Pip-squeak." His garbled voice is firm, but not stern. Anchor to your brewing storm. You realize you've been looking just past him, and let him pull you back. When your eyes drift to his its still his face, not the Colonel's, that you're looking at. The funhouse mirror that is your Caleb in the Colonel's uniform. This is good. This is the right way for this to happen.

You have to be equal. You need control. You don't know how to have both.

You pull out your phone, open your messages. You hear his chime through the door, pulled from his pocket when he saw you typing.

Pips 🧡: ur sleeping outside.

He glances up at you, then back at his phone, expressionless.

Yours vibrates in your hands.

Cay ✈️: D:

Cay ✈️: y?

And. Well.

...It is at this point that you realize you cannot remember what made you so angry at him in the first place. There had been a specific something, but in the time it took you to get from your place to his you'd gotten a bit distracted by everything else about the both of you. Together and separate. Meat and marrow. You know too much about each other, you don't know enough anymore, you can't think about him too long without all that you've ever swallowed trying to come up. Bring the bile with it. All of the ugliness in you.

It's his. He's the only one who gets to see it, to hold it.

You'd gotten sick on the ride home from the orphanage. It was your first time in a car, and you'd been watching the world speed by through the backseat window. Caleb was holding your hand, watching you. That had ended up being a good thing, when the wave of nausea came. As it often went when you were little, he noticed before you did. He'd shouted something at Grandma, and she'd responded in the calm, even manner she always did. None of their exchange made it to you, discomfort in your body quick to turn to gagging, heaving, vain attempts to swallow it down. Caleb was quick to turn your body to face him, away from the window, and cup his hands.

Grandma did pull over, just not fast enough. By the time she made it around the side and opened the door it was already over. Her eyes scanning from your exhausted, shaky body, to the spared interior of her car, to the bile pooled in Caleb's hands. She'd sighed, rubbed steady, gentle circles into your back as she reached for a bottle of water that had been left rolling around at your feet.

She made her way around to the opposite door, poured water over Caleb's outstretched hands until they were clean, and told him not touch anything until he could wash them properly at home. He'd nodded and kept his word.

Even though you spent the rest of that trip with your head in his lap, eyes closed to keep you from getting sick again, he didn't touch you even once.

You'd thought it was silly. What did it matter? All he had on him was you.

...You don't know how to say any of that to him. You stare, untyping, at your phone. Will yourself to respond. Honestly.

Cay ✈️: ...because I canceled our plans yesterday?

He beats you to it. Rather, he beats you to saying anything, because you're sure that wasn't the thing that set you off. He'd already apologized for it and you'd ended up having to work late anyways.

...But it would have to do.

Pips 🧡: ding ding ding!

The embarrassment has set in, total awareness that you are being ridiculous. But the noxious cocktail of shame and frustration and anger-always, these days, the anger-are at the wheel. You've done it and it's been done. You can't take it back. You won't.

You are so. Goddamn. Annoying.

You turn to walk away before you can second or fifth guess yourself when your phone vibrates again.

Cay ✈️: if i'm out here who's gonna make dinner?

---

It is decided that you will make dinner. Mostly because you know if he gets you to unlock that door and let him back in you won't have it in you to shut him out again, which is not an option when you've already committed to... whatever this is. You're fine enough at cooking, you've had plenty of practice since Caleb first left for the Aerospace Academy, though you don't think you'll ever be able to match his skill. You're clumsy with a knife, more prone to over-seasoning. Everything is a reflection. You, ever careless and dramatic.

You're still trying to figure out what you were mad about as you stare into the empty fridge.

Empty, again,like his stupid grave. Which you cannot stop fucking thinking about today. Standing here in his house, kicking him out, trying not to lose him. What are you even doing? What do you hope to achieve here? Do you want him mad at you like you're mad at him? Whatever you're mad at him for? Has it always been like this? You lashing out for something you're making up as you go? And him, always just-

"Stop." It comes out with your voice, from your mouth, but it's not your thought. Caleb used to be the only one who could cut off your endless rumination, coax you into sitting still and staying your hands and 'copy my breathing Pip. In-one, two, three, four-good. now slower.' It had been one of the harder things to teach yourself, when he left you. Harder than the braised chicken recipe, which you still can't get right. "Stop." You're talking to yourself, but your gaze turns to the sliding door anyway. Where Caleb is standing at an informal sort of attention. Arms folded and head cocked, observing, smile rising to his face when you catch his eye. You turn back to the fridge.

It isn't a difficult puzzle for you to solve. He doesn't cook much when your not around, you've talked about this. But even still the state of the thing is dire. Three protein shakes, two eggs, and an apple. What does he even eat? You know he's meticulous about his diet, so there's no way he's just eating out. You pull open the freezer, not even a frozen chicken breast. Is he just inbetween grocery trips? With his salary there's no excuse to let it get this bad. You're pulling open and checking cupboards when your phone vibrates on the counter.

Cay ✈️: I've moved some stuff around since you were here last. If you let me back in I can show you?

Cay ✈️: ...and then you can scold me for doing a bad job taking care of myself >x<

...As enticing as the idea of reprimanding him is, you aren't a fool, and you aren't falling for it. All he's done is confirm to you that he knows you know you won't be able to push him away again if you let him through that door. Just like you know he knows you know he could come in whenever he wanted, lock be damned. They've hardly stopped him before. You can't suppress the smile that thought brings to your face. Truly, it should worry you more how giddy it makes you. You're older, the game is different, but one thing remains ever unchanged: Caleb will always play with you. Always. Even when you shut him out.

Food. Dinner. The fridge.

Grandma didn't raise a quitter, but she did raise someone with solid deductive reasoning. The situation is hopeless, and you are fucked. By the time you find the half empty box of cereal-the processed-to-hell sweet crap that was only here because of you in the first place-tucked high, hiiigh up in one of the cupboards, you are already resigned to your fate.

Caleb is distinctly unpleased when you approach the glass door with two bowls of stale cereal. No milk. Milk is for Caleb's that don't die-not-die and for You's that don't go on weird ends-to-the-means-unclear power trips. Also there wasn't any. You stand opposite each other, separated by the door, you with your cereal bowls in hand, actively trying not to laugh at Caleb. Whose still crossed arms are now accompanied by a single rhythmically tapping finger and an impressively unimpressed scowl.

"'s not dinner, Pip." He's speaking low enough that you almost can't make it out through the barrier. You sigh, aggrieved, like someone who didn't start this.

"I'm not the one with the empty fridge." You make an attempt to balance both bowls in one arm with little success before deciding against it, sighing once more, at your unending trials. You move to lower one of the bowls, yours, to the floor, to free a hand. "'m gonna open the door but you better stay-" Caleb undoes the lock, slides the door open with his evol, stands back, still, and stays.

Not without sort of glowering, mind you.

"That's not dinner." His voice is clear, with the door open, so you know he's just choosing to annunciate like you can't hear him. You have to fight not to roll your eyes.

"If you wanted food you should have had food in your house." You set the bowl down just beyond the threshold, ceramic making an aggressive clink that you feel appropriately conveys your annoyance to him. "Bon appetit." You gesture at the dish, sitting down on your side of the door, already spooning the sugary, grainy, nutritionless pellets into your mouth. Caleb huffs, moving to sit as well, to be level with you. You mistake the movement for an advance into the house.

"Uh uh. Stay." His arm freezes midair, where he was reaching for the joke of a meal you prepared. A single finger twitches, a shaky breath is exhaled.

"'m not goin anywhere Pips..." It's difficult to tell, with the sunset glare at his back, but you'd swear his pupils are dilated.

"Okay." You release him, he doesn't move. "Caleb, eat." You reach a hand beyond the threshold, push the bowl towards him. Finally, he stirs. The way his fingers brush over yours as he grabs the dish is familiar, so much so, that the complete innecessity of the action doesn't even occur to you. Instead, your focus falls on his continued avoidance of the sugared cardboard crap, even with the bowl now in his hands, even with your command. He stares at the bowl in a daze. "Dude. You will survive one cheat meal, I promise you."

"I don't care about me." He shakes his head, raises the offending dish, glaring at the cereal like it was was responsible for all the evil in the world. "You need to eat something with substance." He raises a spoonful only to pour it back into the bowl in distaste. You bite down on your own spoon, teeth clinking against the metal gratingly. That is the problem. That is always the fucking problem.

You could actually strangle him.

"Caleb." You say, stern.

"Yup." He pops the 'P', like an asshole. Annoying.

"Shut up. And eat your food." You reach up to pull the door back shut, flipping the lock.

He sighs, but doesn't say a word more. Just picks up his spoon and eats, like a good boy.

---

Beyond dinner arrangements, Caleb doesn't complain. When you've both finished your bowls he pushes his right to the door, to the place where it opens. Sits, leaned back and relaxed, when you unlock it to take the bowl. He doesn't scold you, or shout at you, or call you ridiculous even though he probably should. He doesn't even try to bargain again. Just looks up at you smiling as the lock slides back into place.

You think that's the end of it, that the night will pass like this and you will both wake up tomorrow, pretending it never happened. You think that, until you're washing the dishes and hear a knock at the door. The main door, not the glass one Caleb is standing, watching you from behind. You checked, to be sure he wasn't messing with you.

Your brows furrow, because you're on a fucking private floating sky island with some sort of forcefield disguise mechanism wrapped around it, who the hell could possibly-

Your phone vibrates.

Cay ✈️: its okay.

Cay ✈️: you can open it :-)

You scoff, head darting to look at him incredulously. Locked out of his own damn house and still acting like he's in charge here. Annoying annoying annoying. You march over to the front door, throwing it open like you own the place. Because you can, not because he told you to.

It's Liam. With takeout.

"When did he even-?" You head whips to the balcony door before turning back to your unexpected guest, stunned. You move yourself to block his line of sight to the glass door as you try to recall Caleb pulling out his phone even once. You come up empty.

"Have a good night, miss." Liam says flatly, extending the bag of food to you. Paper, which you interpret to mean posh. All of the little places you frequent still use plastic. And it would certainly track for Caleb to pick something needlessly high-end. Like his stupid, expensive car and his stupid, dreary house. You take a deep breath, recognize that you are being kind of a dick.

To Liam, of course. Not Caleb, who you don't even have a last nerve for, right now.

You relieve him of the bag.

"I- thank you! I'm sorry you had to come all the way out to-" You speak up, frantic and embarrassed.

"It's no trouble. Goodnight." Mission completed, he turns to leave without ceremony. You stand still in the doorway. Your attempt to process the interaction interrupted by muffled laughter.

"Motherfucker."

Your phone vibrates.

Cay ✈️: shut up and eat your food xP

---

Back in the kitchen, your assumption is proven right. Needlessly fancy food from a restaurant you aren't even going to attempt to sound out the name of. With the logo embossed, not stamped, onto the side of the paper bag. A single serving, you note, with great irritation. You're convinced now, he is actively efforting to dig himself a second grave. You grumble obscenities to yourself as you pluck the same two bowls off of the drying rack. Distributing the to-go box's contents equally between them. You, pointedly, do not look towards the balcony, as you know exactly what you will see if you do.

How can he possibly be so smug, locked out on the balcony at his own home?

You know, have known, have been saying it all night, have been saying it for years.

Caleb. Is. Annoying.

And, as you make your way over to the door, bowls in hand, a perfect replication of only an hour before, you know you can't let him get away with it.

He's grinning as you approach the door. You reflect his earlier glower back at him, and then the idea strikes you. You look into his eyes, focused and intense, and will him to guess your next move. You drop the bowls in your hands, and they fall no more than an inch through the air before being stabilized. Floating gently beside you, as you unlock the door. Something stirs in you and you swallow it down, along with the satisfied smile you don't want him to see.

"'Sposed to be for you Pip." He hovers the bowls towards your face, as if to clarify the point of discussion. Again, he is so-

"Well if you'd gotten two I wouldn't have to share." You huff out, with a roll of your eyes. Annoying.

"Didn't know if I'd earned it." Something in you stirs, at the acknowledgment of your roles in this, heat in your stomach immediately beaten down by shame, and the part of you that wants him to fight back. But he won't. You don't know if there is anything you could do to him that he'd protest to. It frustrates you. It scares you.

"You wanna come back in the house? Then you'll eat it." And you're at the door again. Not the one between you, to the balcony, but the one in your heart. You have your fingers on the lock, you've been trying to be honest. "And you couldn't have had it delivered before I went through the effort of washing the dishes?" You fail.

"Fair is fair." He shrugs his shoulders, you don't need him to elaborate. He's spent years cleaning up your messes only for you to make them again. You're only just beginning to take your turn.

You eat your second dinner in silence. This time, you don't shut and lock the door between you. You take turns pretending not to watch each other. Cornered animals waiting for the other to bite or fawn, in your view. You don't know how Caleb sees it. Sees you. You worry that he thinks of you as something other. Something lesser or more, and either way, different from him. Not his sister, not a woman, not-

"You're anxious." Any other voice, cutting through the quiet like that, would make you jump. Not his. Not with the way he says it, all low and certain.

"When did I say that?"

"You don't have to say something for me to know." That thing stirs in you again. A rumble of satisfaction at being known. And then a prey animal, seen. Ready to run. You tense, looking away from him, eyes landing on his pillow. Remember your role.

You scoff, voice mocking, a challenge. "Okay. Then why are you outside?"

He pauses, hand raising to his chin in thought. "...don't know. Haven't decided yet." Not he doesn't know, and not he hasn't decided yet. Which leaves... which means-

"I'm not doing the dishes again." You don't have an answer for him.

"I'll do em." He grabs his bowl and chopsticks, leans in, arm over the threshold, to take yours too.

"No, sit down. Stay." Your hand raises in a stopping motion between you, just nearly touching his chest.

"You said if I ate I could come inside." He grumbles, whines, leans into you, closes the distance between his body and your hand. You can feel his heart, the beat of it thunderous. You pull away as though burned.

"I said you'd eat if you wanted to come inside. That's not the same as an invitation."

A disbelieving laugh escapes him as he pulls back. "Yeah?" His grin is wide and manic. "You're being particularly cruel tonight, did I really upset you that much?"

"Yup." You nod, slowly. Pop the P, like an asshole. And suddenly you know that he knows this isn't about whatever made you mad, not anymore.

"Okay, okay. Colonel Pip-squeak, I'm staying." And an old thing is made new again, he speaks to you like he knows something you don't. Caleb is older than you, a distance of only a few years that he has never let you forget. It had mattered more to you, when you were small. One of the first ways you learned to be annoyed with him. You remember struggling after him, to climb as high on the orphanage garden tree and every tree you could find after, with him teasing all the while. He was older, his hands were bigger, that was just how it was. An insurmountable distance, established between you from day one. It was easy, in your agitation, to forget that he'd always pulled you up to meet him, in the end. There's a symbol in that, you think.

"Where'd you go Pip?" Your drawn back to the present moment.

"The playground." You don't have to say which, though you've been to many, over the years. He just knows. The way that he always knows, when it comes to you.

"You should get some sleep." 'We can talk in the morning, we can talk when you're ready.' Goes unspoken. He removes his hat, sets it at his side. Yawning, but still sitting tall. Still, somehow, accepting of this. Of you. "Be sure to lock the door."

In lieu of a goodnight, you do as told. Sliding the door shut, letting the lock click solidly into place, while he watches your hand, dazed in a way you refuse to attribute to anything but exhaustion from his work day.

You turn away from him without a word, making your way through his house to get yourself ready for bed.

---

You're in his bathroom, glaring at his toothbrush laid flat on the counter. Yours, which had been stood up nicely, in the cup by the sink, is now being used to scrub much too aggressively at your mouth. Brush and bristles catching on your cheeks and teeth like you find yourself caught on his brush's needless separation. If you didn't know better, you'd think he wanted to be apart from you. Your heart stutters. Because maybe he did. Maybe that was the thing you were missing, in your desperation to be close and close and closer still. He wasn't going to find you, that's what he'd said, if you hadn't stormed the Fleet yourself you'd never-

Your phone buzzes on the bathroom counter.

Cay ✈️: Goodnight Pips, sleep well.

Cay ✈️: [Sunny Apple: G'nite]

You exhale. No. No. He'd wanted to protect you, you know that. You spit into the sink, rinse your toothbrush clean and place it back in the cup. You wipe the toothpaste at the corners of your mouth onto the shirt you'd pulled over your head to sleep in. One of his, now stained by you, like many others before. You creep out into the hall, peak around a corner toward the balcony, where you can only make out the vague shape of him, faced away from the door, toward the rest of the world, either asleep or pretending at it. You turn off the house lights and make to retreat into his room, stopping briefly again at the bathroom, to place his toothbrush in the cup with yours.

In his bedroom, you pull a pillow over to the far left side of the bed. You take his place in it, pull the sheet over you. It's a warm night, even for Skyhaven. You tense and untense your body, rhythmically, try not to dwell on the too quiet of his home. On how you were right, earlier, when you thought your footfalls were the only thing stopping you from hearing your heart. It kicks up now as you shift around under the thin cover. You find yourself briefly worried that Caleb will get cold. You pluck your phone from the nightstand to check the weather. Your punishment of him not without its limits. You hum dismissively at the readout. He'll be just fine. You close the weather app and unconsciously open your messenger, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

Pips 🧡: Night.

Pips 🧡: [Sunny Apple: Bye]

The walls in his house are thick, and his bedroom isn't all that close to the balcony, but still you'd swear you hear him laughing softly from outside.

Whether it is a hallucination on your part or not, the sound of it soothes you to slumber.

You are at a dog park. The one nearby Grandma's old house. Its larger, in the dream, the trees at the far end less human planted embellishment and more organic forest. The fence lining it is a sturdy iron, and not the feeble, beat up, wired one that exists in reality. You are playing fetch with a dog, your dog. Which you both cannot see and have also, in your waking life, never had. You toss the ball and assumedly the dog catches it and brings it back, as it keeps reappearing in your hand. Your voice echoes through the eerily empty park "Yes, good catch. Good boy!" You coo at it. Each time it barks out a reply. You hear its feet hitting the ground as it runs, kicking up grass and dirt as it goes, your laughter is light and giddy, as you continue to play with the unseen thing.

Until eventually it makes its way back to you-"good boy! yes, yes so good!"-and its bark is warped. Less dog, more... human.

"Woof." You look down and finally you see it, him. Caleb is there, all big and broad, sat at your feet. His eyes are dark and focused. He's panting. Red apple, like a ball, between his teeth.

You wake with a start. Breathing ragged, stuck between confusion and mute horror. You stay completely still for a long while. Playing it back, feeling more and more sick each time. Knots coiling in your stomach. What the fuck is wrong with you? What the fuck is wrong with you?

You have to let him back in the house.

You throw the covers off of you, move to stand, before freezing entirely. Your shifting weight, the movement of your legs, draws your attention to the wetness between them. You exhale shakily, tears building unbidden behind your eyes. Your brain short circuits, scrambling to explain it away as just a fucked up dream. Challenging, with the subject of it currently locked outside like an animal. Your body's reaction could be written off as just that, a reaction of the body. Totally isolated from you. You will yourself to believe, in your half-sleep state, that you've not felt the knot all night long, the coil in your stomach.

The sensation now given a name, one you can't bear to repeat.

It's fucked. You're fucked. And even still, as always, you want to run to him. To have him soothe you the way only he knows how. If you went to him, now, would he be disgusted with you? All night all he'd done is listen to you. If you told him again to sit, to stay, to eat-

You gasp aloud, invisible collar tightening as if tugged. The thought is banished, and you lay back down, stock-still. No, actually. You need to go back to sleep. You need to not be near him. You need to rewrite this moment, too, as part of the bad, bad dream. Not real. Not your drowsy-but-still-very-much-awake thoughts. Not yours. Not really.

It will be like the theme park, like those days consumed by the chip. You'll forget. You'll pretend to forget.

It's the only way to ensure you both survive it.

In sleep, you are drawn back to the dog park. You know he is still there, can hear him panting and whining in your ear. You refuse to look at him. The apple, that you think now may have never been a ball, is held loosely in your palm. You stare off into the grassy field ahead, to where the horizon hides behind the treeline. From there, you wouldn't be able to see the park fence. Even within the dream, you untense. Caleb barks at you. You stare into the trees, the fullness of them, the cover. You throw the apple into them, as far as you can.

And, without even looking to see if he's given chase, you take off running after it.

It's morning, when you wake next, the sun cresting over the horizon. You paw at your sleep crusted eyes, instinctively sniff at the air for the scent of Caleb making breakfast. You'd figured, sometime in the night or early morning, he'd find his way back inside. Whatever game you were playing abandoned, in favor of play pretending none of it had happened. One game for another. Something put up on a high shelf, where you wouldn't have to look at it, where only Caleb could reach.

But there's nothing, not the smell of coffee, not the sound of sizzling, no spatula scraping at the stove. All is quiet. You frown, move to rise from the bed. Your nose scrunching in distaste when shifting your legs unsticks yourself from your underwear. Great. Gross. Before anything else, you need to change.

You try and fail not to remember the dream, as you dig through his drawers for some boxers. So lost in the catastrophic mess of your own head that you don't think much of anything when you come across three pairs of your own underwear. It's easy to ignore, you leave stuff here all the time, and his underwear drawer was a pretty logical place for them to end up, all things considered. Just because you don't remember it doesn't mean it didn't happen.

And again, you're kind of more worried about your dog problem.

You'd pleaded for one desperately, a few years after Grandma adopted you. You'd spent some time with a friend and her dog, watched her do tricks on command, follow your friend around all open-mouthed and bright-eyed, seen how she'd sat, her back facing the pair of you as you played, keeping silent vigil. You'd been awed, you'd been envious. But Grandma was adamant about maintaining a pet free household. And so your dreams were dashed.

Mostly. Except for the part you'd forgotten, until now.

You'd been moping about the house all day. Grandma's continued rejection of your wishes putting you in a sour mood. One Caleb had been incessantly trying to lift for the last hour at least, as you both sat on the living room floor, sat in front of the big fan, trying to keep cool in the sticky summer heat.

"Piiiips. C'mon. Let's go on a walk or something." He tosses the paper plane he just finished folding at you. It flies in circles around your head, courtesy of his evol, until you swat it out of your orbit. He makes a big show of crash landing it in front of you, making explosion noises and everything. Apparently three people need immediate medical attention. It's all very tragic. You kind of don't care at all.

You're at tough ages now, 13 and 15. You don't know if he's gotten worse at comforting you, or you've gotten worse at being comforted. There's no time to ponder it, as he has succeeded in folding the rescue helicopter, which is also just a paper plane.

"Dispatcher Pip, we need coordinates, these people are not going to make it."

You sigh dramatically, half-heartedly pointing to the crash site. "They're over there."

"Copy that, dispatcher Pip, sending in the rescue team now." The plane is thrust into the air, gently floating its way to you, just as the first did. "Oh no, we seem to have encountered an obstacle in our flight path. There is no clear path around it." Ugh! Yes there is!

You duck, raising your hands over your head defensively. "Are you saying I have a big head?"

"Negative. Gravity seems to have warped around you, the rescue copter can't escape the pull." The paper plane-copter circles your head, just like the first, the only thing keeping you from swatting it down is your desire to keep him from introducing a third.

"Well I'm not the one with gravity powers-"

"Do you wanna go get ice cream?" The suddenness of the question takes you off guard. Caleb's always been really good at that, making distractions. You blink at him three times before remembering that you're super upset. You sigh, for probably the 100th time in the last 25 minutes.

"I don't want ice cream. I want a dog." You pout at the floor, knees pulled into your chest. A finger tracing at the wood grain absently.

"Then lets go to the park." Caleb says with a shrug. You perk up. "To... get a dog?" You ask, equally hopeful and confused.

"Nnno..." He starts, and you deflate immediately. "Gran would probably send us packing if we pulled something like that. Buuut I bet there will be at least one nice doggie there for you to play with." He shuffles across the floor to you, ruffles your hair. "You're small and cute, I'm willing to bet their owners will let you." You bat at his hand.

"'m not that small..." you grumble, but don't reject the idea.

"Okay. Are we goin or not?"

---

There aren't any dogs at the park. Mid-afternoon heat keeping visitors away from the sun soaked field. You are devastated of course, and kind of annoyed, since you bothered to peel yourself off the floor and away from the fan for this. But it wouldn't be Caleb if he didn't have a backup plan.

"I'll be the dog." He says, easily.

"You'll huh?" Your head whips to him, brow raised and mouth agape.

"I'll be the dog." He shrugs, like whats he's saying makes any sense. "How did your friend and her dog play?"

You hesitate, feeling that somehow this is wrong, but not finding any real reason to say no. Find it incredibly hard to want to, when you've spent all day really really wanting a dog."...She would hold one of her rope toys and run around the field. And Buttons, that's her dogs name, would chase her. And tug at it when she'd catch her." You hold up your empty hands to him. "I don't have a rope toy though."

Caleb thinks it over. "I can still chase you? If you want?"

You nod without hesitation. Eyes widening excitedly.

He chases you around the field, barking and yipping playfully as you laugh and run away. He tugs gently at the hem of your shirt when he catches you, lets you go again when you squeal. It isn't long before you're sweaty and breathing heavy, exhausted from running around in the heat. Caleb all but drags you to the water fountain, demands that you drink and then drink some more. The breeze has picked up, to your relief. A soothing balm on your overly warm skin.

"We should head back." His breathing is still leveling out. You push away from the fountain and nudge him to take your place. When he raises his head, after a drink, he catches your frown.

"Do we have to?" Your tired, yes, but you were also having so much fun. Even if it was just pretend.

"We don't have to..." He cups your sweaty face in his equally sweaty hands. "...but anymore sun and you might start cooking." He says, patting your cheeks.

"Just a little longer. We can play a different dog game." You're eyes are big and pleading, something you know always works with him.

"...okay, okay. 10 minutes. One more dog game."

You tell him about your friend and her dog playing catch. How she'd throw the rubber ball and Buttons would chase it down and bring it back. You don't have a rubber ball, and so you improvise with a stick you find by the tree Caleb made you sit under. Compromising about play time only when you promised to stay in the shade. You throw the stick, he runs to catch it, and when he picks it up in his hands you tell him no. He's a dog, he has to use his mouth. And so he does. Runs back and forth under the sun, picking up the stick with his teeth, while you sit in the shade. He's panting again, all sweaty and beat red. You wonder how long he'll keep going, if you keep throwing it, before he tells you to stop.

He doesn't. Not until you tell him you're ready to go home.

The memory leaves you horrified with yourself all over again. God. You were spoiled. And cruel. And over all these years nothing seems to have changed, not for the better anyways. Now, on top of it all, you're a pervert too. Your list of objectionable traits only growing.

You'd managed to get changed, while you reflected-soiled underwear tucked into your bag to be dealt with whenever you got back home-and now are making your way back to the main room in the house. Expecting still, to find Caleb either in the kitchen or living area, busying himself while waiting for you to wake.

But he's not in either location. When you turn the corner, finally in clear view of the balcony, you see him there. Sat right outside the door, in uniform. One arm propped up on a raised knee, the other extended behind him, supporting him. Relaxed. Patient. Waiting. 'Stay.'

Oh.

It's worse. He's making it so much worse.

You walk to the door, open it with a shaky hand that you try desperately to control. You search yourself for words. For anything to say at all.

Your rumbling stomach cuts through the tension for you. Startles you out of your stupor.

"...Ok, you can come in. We're going to the grocery store." You give your best performance of passivity, only look at him when you recognize your avoidance of eye contact will do just as much to give you away.

When your eyes finally land on his face, his smile knocks the breath out of you.

---

From there, the day passes with frightening normalcy. The both of you get ready, make it to and from the grocery store with little drama, and Caleb, graciously, doesn't bat an eye at your sudden awkwardness. Falling easily back into step like everything is completely normal and you didn't totally overstep in pretty much every conceivable way just hours ago. You return home and he makes breakfast. You eat together at the table, the silence companionable. You, stealing glances at him all the while. Searching for any anger, or upset, or discontent. Something that says he's sick of you, because he should be.

There's nothing.

You spend the rest of the day working on one of his models. Mostly he works and you scroll on your phone, still keyed up about... pretty much everything, unable to meaningfully focus. You'd been so angry yesterday, and you'd lashed out at him, disrupted his whole day like you had any right to. Had the audacity to be annoyed with him about it. You still can't even remember what had gotten you so worked up in the first place.

"Hey, we should watch that new episode, while your here." He says offhandedly, still focused on the model in front of him.

Oh.

My fucking.

God.

You remember. You remember why you were so angry. Which sucks, because its completely stupid. You fight through the embarrassment, through the heat rising to your face, to respond. "Yeah. Sounds good." You know he hears it, but he says nothing about the way your voice cracks.

---

The sun is long past setting and Caleb is still chipping away at the model. You, for your part, have pretty much given up on assisting. Drifting in and out of consciousness from where you are sprawled out on the couch. He says something to you, a request for another piece, probably, but you miss it in your drowsy state. You rapidly blink your eyes, try and compel them into staying open.

"...huh?" you hum groggily. He turns his attention to you. Face and voice soft.

"...Said can you hand me the-" He cuts himself off, gives you a once over. Huffs out a laugh. "Coulda told me you were fading, Pips." He smiles, leans over to pinch your thigh. Startling you just slightly more alert.

"Ow!" It hadn't hurt. "Rude-"

"You can't go down yet. You gotta tell me where I'm sleeping." He says coolly. Your eyes narrow in confusion. He hums, raising himself up from his place behind the coffee table with a little 'hup'. And disappears from your line of sight.

You hear the opening of the sliding glass door.

Shit. Shit.

Your stomach drops. Heart thundering with every step his feet take back to you.

He's in front of you, pillow and comforter in hand, still smiling, all teeth.

"So, Pips, have I been good?"

Your entire body lurches, breath catching, heat rolling through you.

Everything stops moving. Like his evol is active, even though you know it isn't.

You don't know what to say. Every wire is crossed, every weapon you have, misfiring. He's still... why is he entertaining this? Why would he start it again? Is he just... messing with you? Is it a test? What are you supposed to say?

"Pips." He kneels, makes himself level with your position on the couch, looks at you, all big-eyed and focused. "Where do you want me?" He brings a hand to your ankle, rubs circles into it.

You look away from his face, to the dirty bedding in his other hand, and say the only thing that comes to mind.

"You can sleep at the foot of the bed, but those aren't coming with you."

---

He had been quick to mask his surprise. Just not quick enough for you to miss it entirely. Besides the night he was sick, its been years since you've shared a bed.

You needed a minute. To recover from what he'd said, what it had done to you. And so excused yourself to throw the pillow and comforter into the laundry, telling him as you hastened away, to wash up before bed. The fact that he'd let you go, do the deed yourself, without protest, tells you he needed that minute to. You're leaning over the running washing machine, arms braced at the front edges of it, trying to get yourself through and over the thought of 'What the fuck? What the fuck do I do?' and onto something more productive.

A part of you, the selfish, spoiled part you don't think you're allowed to deny anymore, hopes that Caleb's already solved it. That he has returned from his time outside enlightened and will, like every other time before, pick up all your troubles for you, and carry them like they weighed nothing. The other part of you, the bigger part, the one that has spent a decade trying to be his equal. Hopes that whatever truth he saw he'd tell to you.

That's the hard part. Getting him to tell you. It's the one thing Caleb won't give you without first taking. Truth, confessions. You groan to yourself. Your either gonna have to tell him about the dream, or the reason you made him sleep outside.

Frankly, the choice is obvious.

You make your way out of the laundry room and into the bathroom, where you see Caleb brushing his teeth. By the time you start on yours he's rinsing his mouth out.

"Gonna grab an extra blanket from the hall closet..." He sets his toothbrush down on the counter. You make a displeased noise through a mouth full of foam and spit. Glance at him, brows furrowed, only to find he's already watching you. His mouth turns up, slow. Grinning wide enough to make his eyes squint, as he picks the brush back up, and places it in the cup. He looks to you, you hum, nod your approval. His nose wrinkles with a giddy little huff. He pats your shoulder, lets his hand rest there, as he makes his way around you and out of the bathroom. You roll your eyes, when he's gone. 'And what are you supposed to make of that?' Annoying. The same annoying Caleb. No amount of canine roleplay or psychosexual wet dreams will ever take that from you.

He's changed into his pjs and draped the blanket by the time you finish up and make for his room. Already laying at the foot of the bed, eyes closed, with the pillow you'd used tucked under his head. You don't know if he chose it because it was in his place, on the far left, or because he'd known you used it.

"I don't remember saying you could have that." You give your best effort to sound firm. Though you can tell from the way he smiles, not bothering to open his eyes, that he knows there's no bite in it.

"You've let me come this far. Is this really where you're gonna draw the line?"

You're not sure there is a line, anymore. But you don't say that. The silence, you crawling under the covers, into the bed, is answer enough. You reach for the light, pausing for a moment with your hand on the pullstring. You'll have to be honest with him, if you want any shot of him being honest with you.

...doesn't mean you can't do it in the dark, though.

You yank the light off.

"Night Pips." He wraps a hand around your ankle from over the covers, just to hold it, you think. It settles something in you that he wants to know you're there.

"I remembered why I was mad at you." You blurt out, the cover of dark doing very little to make you brave.

"Yeah?" he squeezes once, then rubs circles into the bone.

"It was the canceled plans. Kinda. But it wasn't that part." You pause, take a breath, he hums for you to continue. "...We were gonna watch the new episode of that show together. You couldn't make it and that's fine, we're adults with jobs and we get busy. I didn't care about that." Another pause, another breath, this time he just waits. "But you told me I could watch it by myself, if I wanted." You shrink in on yourself, unconsciously. "...Aaand it bothered me." You pull the blanket up over your face, despite the fact that he couldn't see your expression in the dark if he tried.

You feel him shift, rise up onto his elbows, know without seeing yourself, that he is looking at you.

"...You made me sleep outside, at my own house... because I was too considerate of your excitement and desire to not see spoilers?" And you can't even entertain the idea that he's irritated with you, because you can hear him smiling stupid big.

You always manage to forget. He's not just annoying. He's a big annoying weirdo.

"I mean. Kinda. Yeah." You sigh, lowering the blanket back down, so your mumbling can be heard more clearly. "It wasn't about the show. Or it was, at first. But then it was more than that?" You were still working out the details yourself, you don't know how to explain it to him. But this is Caleb. If you just... say exactly what you're thinking. He'll figure it out like he always does. At least you hope he will.

"I want to be the same as you. I don't like that we have our own heads... sometimes." You lose steam with each word, end of the sentence leaving you as barely a whisper.

There's a beat of quiet. Then another. "Only sometimes?"

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. But say nothing beyond it.

You did your part, now it's his turn to talk.

"...I don't want you to be the same as me Pip." His hand has reached under the covers now, wraps itself back around your ankle. Like he knows it's not what you want to hear. "You deserve more than- ow, let me finish." You'd kicked at his chest, which he should have anticipated, he knows you hate it when he does that. As he speaks, he pulls you closer, not away. Presses your foot to his ribs, shows you where to hit him next, if he upsets you again. "I'm yours. Always have been, always will be. And if it were up to me you'd have everything, it wouldn't even be a question." After that, his voice dips low.

"Everything good. And none of the bad. That's all me." More circles rubbed into you, tracing further up, on your calf now. "I'd let you crawl under my ribs though, if that's what you wanted. Use me like a jungle gym. Give you something to cut your teeth on...." You push your foot into his ribs, toes pressing into the spaces between the bones. He grips your leg tighter.

"If you're mine I'm yours."

"Pips, listen-" His hold loosens as he sighs, the first hint of frustration you've seen from him over the last two days. You pull away from his grip entirely, throwing the covers away from you. "If you're mine I'm yours. It's not a question. It's the end of the discussion." You crawl to the end of the bed, movement quick and clumsy. You lay facing him, close enough to see his eyes even in the dark.

He chokes out a bitter little laugh, wraps his arms around you, nudges a leg between yours. "You still don't get it. Even after the stunt you pulled?"

"Don't get what Caleb?" You curl into him, head tucked into the peak of his arm, breathing deep. "Don't make me guess. Just tell me, for once." And that's rich, coming from you. But you don't really care about your own hypocrisy at the moment.

"You always wanted a dog, didn't you?" you tense, freeze, and then try to pull away.

He doesn't let you.

"Ah, so you do get it." You can feel him smiling against you. "Good. That's good."

"Caleb..." You whine, pout, squirm. All the sudden feeling entirely too seen. Worried he somehow knows. About the dream, about the knot. He's laughing at you, now, strong enough to shake with it. But the way he moves against you, the boyish lilt of his voice... you can't bring yourself to feel embarrassed over it. He squeezes you tight, secure and warm, even without a blanket over you.

"Don't worry about it. Same rule as always. We'll put it up on the high shelf. Til your ready to face it."

It's enough, for now. Not quite pretend and not quite honest.

You're working on it.

---

This was supposed to be a 500 word drabble. btw.

[despairat6oclock]

Espresso Hearts

Synopsis: an artist and musician who finds comfort in a stranger's silence.

fem! Reader x James Marriott

Word Count: 890~

Contains: Fluff

Warnings: none really

[m.list]

The soft settle glow of the sun painted a perfect picturesque scene as it fluttered through the coffee shop windows.

The golden light casting perfectly across the wooden floors of the shop. The shop was less crowded than usual at this hour, giving the chance to actually acquire a seat and get some work done.

On his daily coffee run, James took his time walking down the path to his favorite coffee shop. The sky had just the perfect amount of clouds that painted the perfect backdrop without it being too chilly.

A soft hum of amusement evaporated against James’ vocal cords at the sight of a not so clustered shop at this hour.

With his laptop, and small pocket book, James was now grateful he had packed the two mediums; maybe he could find some inspiration.

And maybe that inspiration was perched inside a corner also searching for the same.

Ordering his usual, fingers tapping against the counter top as he waits for his drink, James takes a look around.

Majority of the shop's tiny booths were filled, with a few empty scattered around James would have to settle with. Unless.

Lounging beside the window, the sun perfectly highlighting her like she was a beacon he was always meant to find.

Mindlessly sketching inside a leather bound notebook, hair pulled back into a loose ponytail with a few strands hanging out and a sweater the color of green leafs in springs.

With his iced coffee in hand, James makes his way over to the enticing women in the far corner.

“Excuse me... I was wondering if I could sit here? Just for a few minutes.” James pips up, nerves igniting within him.

“Go ahead” was just a soft mutter from between her lips, nothing more and nothing less. Not even a glance at him.

The chair screeching against the floor it's dragged upon, James sat directly across from her. Eyes not so secretly appearing down onto the pages of abstract lines and void of color. Besides her was a half drinking plastic cup of matcha and a barely touched espresso glass that had a perfect peachy lipstick stain.

Pulling out his own notebook and laptop, James took this opportunity to revise some lyrics that had been racking his brain.

Minutes tick by so quickly, that half an hour had gone and both barely moved a muscle or breathed a word. The music of a pencil rough against parchment led James' eyes to the women's notebook once again.

The lines that had seemed to lead nowhere was now a perfect contracted top-half of a person. With an oddly familiar pair of glasses and disheveled hair, and the same tuff on the collar of the jacket as James wore.

She must have felt James staring, as her eyes worked their way up to his as they gazed down at her work.

Her hand spreads out across the paper, each digit attempting to hide what was already seen.

“I'm James”

His smile held a charismatic charm he was unaware he had.

“Y/N”

She answered with a simple nod, her voice the same soft pitch as before.

James' smile never flatters as he presses save on his document and focuses back onto her.

“You come here often?”

“Some mornings after a run,” Chewing her bottom lip as her eyes don't know where to land. “And you?”

“Most days, it's a part of my little morning routine.”

Gesturing towards the scene of the notebook and laptop laid before him with her chin, “What are you working on?”

“A song”

“You're a musician?”

“Mhm.”

Seeming to take it in with a nod, “Can I hear something of yours?”

Trying to play off the heat that rises onto his cheeks, pulling out some earbuds before offering one to her.

“Here uh…”

Palms clammy as he pulls up an audio file that starts playing a bit too loud. Causing both to wince as James hurried to lower the volume.

“Sorry sorry!”

Awkwardly chuckling while he intensely observed her. Each small head movement and quite hum a criticism he mentally wrote down.

“You're really good”

“Really?” Stumbling over his syllables as he quickly takes back the earbuds she was gesturing over.

A nod as she folds over a ribbon onto her sketch and closes its cover, “Do you release it on anything?”

“Just the normal platforms” he coughed, fingers tracing the lines and indents of his cup’s lid.

Looking out the window, the sun intensified the shine of her eyes as she watched the traffic go by.

“Would you like to do this again?” With a tilt of her head as she glanced over James’ face.

With a gulp of nerves and a flutter in his chest, “Y-yeah, love to.”

Tearing off a piece of napkin her now empty espresso sat upon, scribbling down an array of numbers.

“Call me” she smiled, her tone an octave louder with a dose of confidence.

Sliding the corner of paper to the man across from her, before settling her belongings into a small drawstring bag.

“See you.” James forced out as she moved out of her seat.

Walking by, hand delicately ghosting against his shoulder as she walked past towards the door. Nothing more than a fantom of a touch, one that closely mimics the growing feeling within his chest.

[kiplex]

☆.｡.:*　Miscommunication .｡.:*☆

Caleb x F! MC SFW , a tad suggestive Word count: 1423 Tags: A tiny bit of angst, a lil fighting, Caleb being insensitive, resolved angst, Tara is a good friend, breaking and entering???, some smooches, use of "pips" A/N: OMG not me writing more Caleb stuff, and still no smut what are we doing!? I promise I have some smut in the works for Caleb as well as something cute and maybe smutty for Sylus's birthday! My requests are open if you feel like giving me something to write about!!

Caleb doesn’t have the best record for time management for someone who literally commands a fleet for a living. The two of you haven't had much time for each other recently so you took a long weekend off of work to go be in Skyhaven with him, he knew you were coming. So imagine your shock when you get to his apartment expecting to see your overly excited boyfriend, but instead are met with the quiet stillness of his empty apartment. You poke your head into the kitchen, and spot the hastily written note on the counter.

“ Got called in to be Captain Caleb today, sorry Pips. I’ll be home by tomorrow night, Sunday morning at the very latest! Made some braised chicken wings for my favorite chicken wing <3 “

-Caleb

You pinch the bridge of your nose letting out a frustrated sigh. He could’ve had the decency to at least text you, at the very bare minimum… You took planned time off, you assumed he did the same but of course, he’s the Captain of the Fleet, those rules don’t really apply to him. Regardless you’re just upset, you now; at the most, have a full day with your boyfriend who you barely get time with. You whip out your phone to call him.

…

…

…

No answer. 

Fine, that's to be expected. He’s working after all. You’re about to dial him again but he texts you first.

Caleb: Hey pretty girl! I’m assuming you made it safe and sound?

Y/N: Yep. Made it to Skyhaven, a little pissed you didn’t text me or call me to tell me you wont be here for the majority of a weekend we were supposed to be together…

Caleb: I’m sorry!!! Hopefully those chicken wings make up for it :p I won’t be gone all weekend though! 

Y/N: I know, I would’ve left Linkon tomorrow if I knew you weren’t gonna be here tonight. I wanted to see you.

…

It's kinda lonely without you.

Caleb: It’s not like you’ve never been left alone before lol, just chill out and I'll see you hopefully tomorrow night! 

“Chill and I'll see you tomorrow”!? He isn’t here to see his girlfriend and his response is “Chill I’ll see you tomorrow”??? Maybe he had an apple core where his stupid brain should be because he didn’t just tell you to chill. 

Y/N: I take time out of my schedule which is also very busy to come see you, you don’t get to tell me to chill. I’m going home. I’lll see you when your brain starts working again Caleb.

 Your phone pings a couple times in a row, a few “I'm sorries” and “don’t leaves”, but you don’t respond, you'll only have mean things to say back and neither of you needed right now. You grab your stuff which is still conveniently located at the front of the entrance and head back to Linkon. All you want is to sleep in your own bed.

You arrive at the train station in Linkon late, luckily Tara was able to come pick you up. 

“Hey girl!! Do you want me to ask or do you not want to talk about it?” She asks helping you with your bags. “I really.. I just don’t wanna talk about it.” You say, shaking your head with a small sigh. Tara pats you on the back gently. “That’s fine, I won’t push. Buuut if you need him killed just know I got your back.” She smiles, sometimes you forget how truly terrifying the bonds of friendship are. 

Tara drops you off at your apartment and you give her a hug. “ I owe you one, lunch on me next week!” “ I’ll never turn down a free lunch hehe, I’ll see you next week, text me if you need me!” Tara waves to you as she drives away.

You flick on the lights of your apartment, sighing as you drag your bags into the entryway. When you look up into your living room, you  nearly jump out of your skin when you see Caleb sitting on your couch. He doesn’t even look up at you when you let out something in between a scream and a “Huh?” he just sits there, thumbing the page of some catalog you got in the mail that afternoon. You quickly compose yourself. “So what you’re just gunna show up in my fucking living room like a psychopath?” His grip on the pages tighten along with the furrow in his brows. “I’m the psychopath!? My girlfriend who was supposed to be safe at my apartment, leaves abruptly while I'm away and isn’t responding to my texts. God forbid I'm a good boyfriend who worries!” He stands up from the couch tossing the magazine aggressively on your coffee table. “Also you need to strengthen the security on this place, I broke in through the window.” He folds his arms sulking, not entirely grasping the situation at hand.

You rub your temples. “You have the passcode to my apartment- you know what that isn’t the point right now. Caleb why are you even here? Are you supposed to be working?? That’s the whole reason we’re fighting in the first place.” Caleb scoffs. “As soon as you stopped answering my texts I took one of the ships and came over here. I’m technically supposed to be overseeing operations right now but I physically couldn’t focus because someone decided to go awol.” Caleb walks over to the entryway, his fists clenching and unclenching, a nervous tick he's had since you guys were young.  “I don’t think you understand how worried I was about you. You can’t just leave suddenly like that!” He says, grasping your shoulders. “No, I don't think you’re understanding the situation! I left because you were being a dick! I took time off of work to spend time with you, and I’m really disappointed you aren’t getting that this was a big deal to me, and when I expressed that to you, you acted like you didn't care!” You shout at tears welling in the corner of your eyes. 

Caleb recoils a bit at your tone of voice, his grip stuttering on your shoulders. “Pips… I didn’t mean to brush off your feelings like that. Believe me, this is the last thing I wanted to be doing. Working and fighting with you… This wasn't how it was supposed to go this weekend.” He removes his hands from your shoulders and wraps you into a hug, breathing in your scent deeply when you reluctantly wrap your arms around him too. “I was being a dick, but we both know work isn't something i can just say no to, however i should’ve let you know I'll admit that wasn’t the brightest idea I've had.” You sigh, nuzzling your face into his chest. “I’m sorry too, I was just upset because I couldn't spend time with you. If you ever speak to me like that again though, you better count your days.” He chuckles both of your bodies moving with the vibration from it. “Right right, I’ll be more considerate next time.” 

He pulls back just enough to look in your eyes. “Can I kiss you, or are you gunna bite my head off…?” His eyes flick to your lips. “Because, I really wanna kiss you.” You roll your eyes, pulling him down to your lips giving him a gentle kiss. “I already forgave you idiot.” He cracks a small smile before kissing you again. His hands sliding against the curve of your back, pulling you in a little deeper. “Good because I think if you yelled at me anymore I would've tackled you and you would’ve been more upset with me.” “You’re a freak you know that?” You kiss him again. “Mmm but I'm your freak.” He smiles smugly into the kiss.

Eventually you pull apart. “I’m guessing you have to dash off back to work now, right Colonel?” He shoots you a guilty look, before bringing on your hands to his mouth, kissing the back tenderly. “Unfortunately yes, however I promise I'll make it up to you tomorrow, when you and I are both in Skyhaven.” You roll your eyes, the faintest smirk on your lips. “Oh yeah? How do you plan on making it up to me, hmm?” He grins. “You’ll just have to see, won’t you princess?” He pulls you in one last time kissing the junction where your ear meets your neck. “I guess I will.” 

[lemurianeggs]

Genderbend Caleb x Meimei HC

You know whats the best about Caleb?

Even as his genderbend version, Jiejie would still happily fuck her little Meimei

TW: Pseudoincest - Siscon - Piss mentioned

Young MC cuddling with jiejie and nuzzling her face against Jiejies plump breasts.

"So soft.... I hope I'll have big boobs like you when I'm older too, jiejie" she pouts and jiejie makes it a daily good night ritual to massage and squeeze her tiny mounds telling her that it's the best way to make them grow. MC might complain that it's ticklish or weird when her nipples get stiff, but jiejie just reassures her that it's just the feeling of them growing. "Wait let me help you. I know a way how they won't hurt anymore, meimei" she purrs, as she kisses her tiny nips and sucks softly on them, enjoying every single whimper of her meimei. And when meimei complains that she has to pee or that she feels like she did, jiejie gets so proud about making her little sister wet without touching her soft lips. "Don't worry, meimei. Let me help you get clean" - kissing downwards to lick up all her slick, enjoying every single drop of it.

MC is also soooo jealous of her big sisters breasts and jiejie loves egging her on about it.

"What Pip-squeak? You want to be grown up so badly already? Come here.... Maybe your big sister can show you something grown ups like to do a lot. Your tiny tits might juuuust grow from it too" and she just devours her, fingerbanging her while sucking on her mouthful of tiny breasts.

MC is so overwhelmed by it, but loves it and often demands it from her big sis because she firmly believes her breast did grow a bit from it before!!

Jiejie also doesn't care what warm liquid sprays out against her hand and face as she fucks her through her orgasms. She cleans her up diligently afterwards, even if meimei complains that she shouldn't do it cause pee is icky!

This builds up the curiosity of meimei to try it on jiejie too... But her hands are too small to reach anything inside of jiejie so she gets all pouty and sad but jiejie tells her to just lick against that hooded nub instead and that it will make jiejie feel real good. But since meimei likes suckling on her big sis tits way more than sucking on this nub, she gets tired fast and pouty and jiejie cannot say no to her... So she just lets her have her tits again, rubbing against meimeis thigh instead to get off.

Also something about jiejie putting a strapon on meimei and fucking herself on it while lil sis just lays down under her, still happily playing with her breasts.

Jiejie keeps praising her, that she is such a good girl. Completely breathless as she fucks herself over the edge on her and the way her sister looks up at her curiously as she plays so innocently with her breasts just short circuits her.

MC also really wants to try getting fucked with the strapon by her big sis but her sister is very adamant about not doing it until she is loose enough for it to fit. She might even catch her trying to push it in, reminding her, that she is not ready yet:

"Pips! I told you to wait with this.... How many of my fingers can you take so far? Right. Only the pinky and my ring finger.... So how many until you can take the big girl toy? Right. Still two more to go! Now come here and let me cuddle you, my sneaky little menace"

She never scolds her for that tho. She is just worried that she will hurt herself with it and tells her that she just should come to her if she feels tingly down there.

Cause Jiejie makes it go away in a safe way, pinky promise.

[starryeyed-apple]

my handsome, handsome cowboy

★pairing: caleb x fem!reader (1 use of "cowgirl") ★wc: 1.6k ★content: fluff & humor, childhood memories, cowboy era, rdr2 mention, general cuteness, caleb's present day birthday at the end that gets a bit suggestive. ★a/n: this one is SILLY! easily the most unserious thing I've ever written lol but it was fun. even though I'm more nervous about sharing this than smut HELP ! but HAPPY BIRTHDAY CALEBBBB!!!! also this one is dedicated to my wife @frostbitten-cherry forever in our red dead era. ILY WIFE!! based off this hc

It started with the movies.

And it was so many movies. Whichever Westerns you could get your hands on through streaming were easily binged, and older films in DVD cases were precariously stacked in the living room.

"How many times have we watched this one, again?" Caleb sighs as he settles besides you on the couch with the bowl of popcorn he'd made, fresh out of the microwave and right into your greedy hands.

(It was your favorite of the movies, and it was thirteen times just this month.)

"Shh," is all you say, smacking at his shoulder as your eyes fixate on the opening credits.

"Do you need to hear it?" he continues to tease, just so you would shoot him a glare, the only time you'll look at him all night before getting absorbed into the movie. He could be just a little bit selfish for once, just to get that scrap of attention. "You can recite the whole script in your sleep at this point."

"Shhh!" you hush him again, throwing a few pieces of popcorn right at his face, rolling your eyes when he opens his mouth too late to try and catch them.

He just grins at you, throwing a couple pieces up into the air to catch them in his mouth for real this time, but you're already zoning into the movie once it starts up.

The Western film buff phase quickly derailed into a new obsession with all things cowboy, and you wanted something more. You wanted to be a cowboy.

So Caleb found the next best thing.

It was a video game, critically acclaimed and a few decades old. He had to snag an old console off the archives of the internet just so you could even play it.

And, god, you loved it. You were glued to that game at any free chance you could get to play it, with Caleb at your side, watching along with your wild west journey. He got as invested as you, even with your giggly crush on the main cowboy.

It would be stupid to say he was jealous (he was. he was very jealous).

One of your absolute favorite things to do in the game was to take care of the dirty (not so dirty, really, considering how much you bathed him. it was a lot. he was not jealous) outlaw. You took a lot of time and careful consideration to make him outfits, making sure to get his hair cut and beard trimmed just the way you liked it.

It made a 15 year old Caleb start running his hand over his chin in the mirror each morning, glaring at the tiny bits of stubble that stubbornly refused to grow.

He was fine. Totally normal.

But Caleb truly found joy in just how much joy you felt while experiencing the game.

And your other favorite thing to do in it? Well…

The living room is silent as you stare at all the winnings you had lost in the fictional poker game, and he could practically see the steam coming out of your ears.

"Pipsqueak…" Caleb says slowly, eyes nervously darting between your glare and the screen it was leveled at, right at the moment your beloved pixelated outlaw pulled out the double revolvers.

"Anyways, I started blastin'—"

"Pips, no!"

"It'll be fine, Caleb," you groan as you drop the dynamite inside the saloon before running out, Caleb's hands tearing through his hair.

"But our honor!" he cries, the dreadful ring of the decreasing honor sound effect playing again and again as you ride through the town on your trusty pixel steed, cackling your little heart out.

God have mercy on any poor souls in any lifetime you really were a cowboy in.

And when playing cowboy video games wasn't enough, Caleb did something even better.

It took a whole summer's worth of work to be able to afford, but the happiness in your eyes when you unwrapped the prop gun from the set of that old favorite movie made it all worth it in an instant.

Caleb's own toy cowboy guns were from a garage sale down the street, lackluster in comparison to your shiny prized possession, but he was a worthy adversary all the same during your living room showdowns.

"Put 'em up, pips," Caleb drawls in an exaggerated accent, fingers dancing above the toy guns strapped to his hips, and you giggle, even as your eyes playfully narrow to match his own pretend glare.

They were deadly battles, truly. You'd both end up with minor bumps and bruises and the biggest smiles on your faces.

He'd place little horseshoe decorated band-aids over every bruise, even when you complained, but those complaints always died down when he'd press a little peck of his lips over the band-aid each time.

"Gotta keep my most dangerous outlaw in tip-top shape, hm?" He'd grin, ruffling your hair, and his heart sang when you smiled up at him like he made the whole world turn just for you.

God, he missed those days.

"Oh, I remember this year!" you say as you point at the picture.

Caleb pauses in flipping through the album, a smile growing across his face at the photo of you both in those old, matching cowboy hats you'd always wear when watching those Western films.

"That was your 16th birthday, right?"

"Yup," Caleb pops the p, smiling as your face melts into a happy look of nostalgia. "Did it just for you."

"You didn't have to do that," you huff, looking up at him through your lashes, and he just about melts on the spot. "It was your birthday."

"Yeah, but I wanted to," he counters, tucking your hair behind your ear when he would've once just ruffled it to mess it up more. "Whatever makes you happy makes me happy."

You pout. "I want you to be happy for you, Caleb."

You lean forward, head tilted to the side as you smile at him, and his breath catches.

"Your birthday is going to be all about you," you whisper, eyes lingering on his lips before darting back up. "Whatever you...want."

His heart thuds in his chest when your voice drops low at want, and he clears his throat, quickly looking back down at the photos.

Truth be told, he missed that damn hat as much as he missed those simpler times with you. Even though you were both moving into something...more, now (and fuck, he was more than ready for that), there was happiness in remembering how you'd gotten here.

And...well, if you looked at him with those same infatuated eyes you used to look at that goddamn pixel cowboy with...

"Well, I—" he stutters, losing his words a few times before he finds them again. He mumbles, half-hoping you don't hear his confession, "I did like that hat, actually."

You smirk at his hushed admission, admiring the little flush to the apples of his cheeks and tips of his ears.

"Hmm," you hum, and he already knows just from the tone that he's in for it now.

"Ta-daaa!"

Caleb blinks, pushing the brim of the dark brown, fake leather hat up from his eyes so he can see your giddy grin, greedily drinking in your happiness at yet another surprise you'd prepared for his birthday.

"What's this for?" he laughs gently, tilting the brim back more with his forefinger as you settle into his lap.

He thought the hat had gotten destroyed in the explosion, but maybe you'd found a replica. It would've taken some time to find such a perfect look-alike, like how he had spent hours and days combing the web for every model airplane he'd lost from his childhood.

And this was a piece of your shared childhood, reclaimed. You did it just because he wanted it, no questions asked, and damn if that didn't make him just a little bit emotional.

"You're a cowboy!" you giggle, arms wrapped around his neck, nose nuzzling against his, and Caleb thinks if he died right now and went to heaven it would be nothing compared to this. "My handsome, handsome cowboy. The prettiest outlaw this town has ever seen."

"Hmm," Caleb hums, nose brushing along your cheek, pressing quick smooches to your cheek and down your neck. He can't help but mutter a little bitterly, that sly possessive streak he'd admitted to acting up again, "More handsome than Arthur Morgan?"

You pat him on the back, leaning away to adjust the brim of the hat until it covers his eyes.

"Don't push your luck, mister," you tease, and he huffs, then laughs, pulling you down into more kisses.

He leans back into the couch cushions, swapping the hat from his head onto yours in one effortless motion, an easy smile dancing lazily across his lips. Your eyes slowly widen, thighs tensing in his lap.

"Remember what that means?" Caleb asks slyly, the arch of his eyebrows turning into wiggles when you smack his chest playfully.

"Caleb!" you whine, pouting at his rumble of happy laughter with how easily the subtle insinuation had flustered you.

That pout turned into a knowing smile, one that made you bite your lip and god, want looked so damn pretty on you.

Your head tilts, a knowing look in your eyes, eagerness tangible in how pliant you are under the grip of his hands on your waist.

And the way you lean into him? The way you look to him with a desperation for more? For him?

Fucking breathtaking.

It sent a thrill through him, that you wanted what he did just as badly.

"Well, cowgirl?" he hums, leaning up to kiss at the crook of your neck again, biting gently and sucking until your keen whimper makes him smirk into your skin. His voice is quieter, husky when he asks you, "You gonna ride, or what?"

[jpitha]

Color Me Surprised.

Human vision is hacks upon hacks upon hacks. Forget about how our brains just make wild guesses about things we see, or how there are whole parts of your vision that your brain can't see and just does "content aware fill" on it, or how your peripheral vision isn't nearly as good as you think it is.

Our brains just make up colors because we don't like to see two colors next to each other.

Magenta doesn't exist.

****

“Ugh, what is going on?” The Gren moved to cover their eyes as they staggered back, their reverse articulated legs unsteady.

“What? What is it? What’s wrong Peni’tam?” Jalisa stared at her friend as they moved back, their 2 pairs of eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“That… that thing. It hurts to look at!“ Peni’tam finall turned away and with their back to it, opened their eyes. They looked down at Jalisa. “It doesn’t hurt for you to look at? Is it some kind of human weapon?”

Jalisa peered around Pani’tam. Behind her, on the landing platform was a starship. It was small as starships go, likely only holding 4 or 5 people. With a Flip drive, you didn’t really need a large spacecraft for anything. Most destinations were no more than two or three days away, but humans tended to build large anyway. No reason not to when space is nearly limitless. Interdiction ship probably. Military, or at least formerly military.

It was small and sleek, with very few protrusions. Currently sitting on spindly landing legs, it almost looked like an insect.

It was also bright magenta.

“It’s just a ship Peni’tam. The color is a little unusual, but humans tend to paint their ships wild colors anyway. It’s got a bit of a dazzle camo pattern, made up in two or three shades of magenta.”

“Magenta? What’s that?” Now that Peni’tam wasn’t facing the ship they were much more steady on their feet.

“It’s just a color. Like, a really bright pinky purple?” Jalisa looked down at her pad. “Here, let me see if it’s emitting something.” She touched a few points and ran a scan. “Pani’tam, it’s cold. Even the reactor is off. It must be here for a refit.”

Pani’tam turned again and immediately winced. “Ow! No, something is up. That ship hurts to look at. I don’t mean like figuratively, I mean, literally it is painful. It is doing something.”

“Well, let’s step away from it then. We can find another way to the cafe. I just wanted to pass by the pads because I like to look at the ships.” Jalisa said, wistfully.

They went to the cafe by circling around the station past the gymnasium. Inside, Jalisa saw people running and lifting weights that seemed almost comically tiny until she looked over at the sign over the entrance.

OPERATING AT THREE GEE TODAY. EXERCISE CAUTIOUSLY.

She rolled her eyes. Of course the gym nuts would find a way to use the gravity generators to make the workouts more intense.

At the cafe, Jalisa and Peni’tam got their drinks and sat down at a wide, long table. “I just can’t believe that color doesn’t hurt you.” Pani’tam took a sip of their tea. “Your vision must be completely different than ours.”

Another human at the table heard their conversation and turned. ��Oh, you saw the Variegated Elegy?”

“The little magenta ship? Yeah, Peni’tam here-“ Jalisa gestured at her friend “-got a massive headache when she tried to look at it.”

The human nodded. “I’m not surprised. It’s an old interdiction ship, originally designed to strike deep into Gren territory during the war. Now that the war is over, it’s here to be refitted into a yacht, and probably repainted too.”

“Oh really? That’s too bad. The magenta dazzle camo is so interesting.” Jalisa sipped her coffee and looked at the human. She was tall, with close cropped hair on one side, and the rest was swept up almost into a dark asymmetric pompadour. She was wearing a tailored uniform without any indicators of rank and just two silver pips on her left breast. She had a scar along her right cheek as well. She looked very rakish, and Jalisa had to look away quickly.

The human laughed. “It’s pretty neat isn’t it? Unfortunately, the Confederation races can’t process magenta. For some it just looks like a very odd blue, others see a very odd red. A few races like the Gren with very accurate color reproduction get headaches and it causes them pain. The color was chosen on purpose for that particular ship.”

“A color… hurts? Also I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

The woman winks. “I didn’t throw it. You can call me Tyler.”

Jalisa blushes just a bit. “Hi Tyler, I’m Jalisa.”

Tyler nods. “Works over in HVAC with Pam and Lan’urian? Nice to meetcha.”

How did she know that? Tyler continues. “Anyway. Yeah, for the Gren, when they see magenta they try and process it, but since the wavelength for blue will never be with the wavelength for red, the color can’t really exist.”

“But we see it?” Her coffee forgotten, Jalisa leans forward.

Tyler laughs. “That’s because our eyes are hacks upon hacks upon hacks. Half the things we ‘see’ aren’t real. Our brains just invent magenta when we put red and blue next to each other. We learned early in the war about Gren vision processing and were able to use it to our advantage. Now that the war’s over, we’re retiring the pain job. Gotta be good members of the Confederation after all.” Tyler rips off a sharp - though sarcastic - salute.

“So, the color of the ship itself is a weapon?” Peni’tam said, with a note of amazement in their voice.

“Yup! Pretty neat right? A weapon with no power and no ammunition and still causes nearly incapacitating pain if a Gren doesn’t look away.”

Jalisa looks at Tyler more closely. She seems so effortlessly confident. “How do you know so much about this, Tyler?”

Tyler shrugs. “Oh, it’s my ship. In the war I was an Intelligence Collection Agent and I ran the Variegated with a small tight crew.”

Jalisa nearly chokes on her tea. “You’re a spy?”

“Was a spy. War’s over, so we don’t need spy’s anymore, right?” Tyler winked again. Jalisa wasn’t sure if Peni’tam caught the gesture or knew what it meant. A wink was very situational and could mean lots of things. Tyler tossed back the rest of her coffee. “Anyway, I’m here for a few more weeks while the refit takes place.” She stands and looks down at Jalisa. “I’m free tonight. Call me, we’ll get dinner.” And without another word, she turns and walks out of the cafe.

After she left, Peni’tam stares at Jalisa. “You aren’t going to go to dinner with her are you?”

“And why not, Peni’tam?”

“She’s a spy! She spied on us during the war!” Peni’tam’s grey fur ripples and her mouthparts clack with stress.

“The war is over Peni’tam. Everyone on both sides fought it. I’m sure you had plenty of your own spies.”

Peni’tam shakes their head. The fur whooshes back and forth while they do it. “She’s so… cocky and self-assured. She practically made your date invitation a command.”

Jalisa blushed again. “I know. It was pretty cool.”

[rivendell-poet]

Hellooo!!! I see yo are open for requests so i thought I'd give it a try, ONLY if you feel like writing it.

I see you write about LOTR (i love you for that!)

So here is a request, could you write a romantic one-shot with Pippin, where he is intrigued by the reader and he's trying he's best to impress her but it always ends up as a disaster? In the end of the day when reader comforts him about his clumsyness, maybe pippin ends up singing a slow song with his beautiful voice (like he sang to Faramir's father in the second movie) and the reader is mesmerized by it.

It's totally okay if you don't feel like writing it, have a WONDERFUL day :) !!!

･༓˚✧❝𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐬 & 𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲❞‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « one-shot »

Pairing : Pippin X Reader

Wordcount : 1.9k

Gender-neutral reader | TWs : Very mild, non-dangerous injuries/clumsiness

Summary : In which Pippin, completely enamoured by you, decides it's finally time to try and show his love for you. His one problem? Everything seems to be going wrong.

A/N : Thank you so, so much for the request! It's a great storyline and I hope I did it justice. Thanks so much for the request <3

Pippin hadn’t joined the Fellowship for love, or for renown and glory - he’d joined for Frodo, and to help protect his friend. And it was going to stay that way, until the very end. Although he would be lying if he said that was the only reason he was trying so hard. It wasn’t a big deal, or something incredibly major. He just happened to have… an incredibly large crush on you. A rather reasonable amount of crush and intrigue - in Pippin’s opinion - but not to everyone else.

Merry had been pretty understanding, and then made fun of Pippin tremendously. In fact, he’d been rather annoyed at not seeing it before - anyone who looked at the two of you for more than five minutes could tell that there was something going on between you two. The young hobbit looked at you like you’d created the stars, with a shine in his eyes that tracked your every move and only brightened further when you smiled or looked in his direction. He’d shuffle lightly closer, eagerly listening to every word you said; he was completely enthralled by you.

Eventually, Pippin decided he needed to do something as a romantic gesture for you that wasn’t just pining while admiring your presence. His first idea was when you were in Rivendell together, sitting in one of its many meadows - and he decided to make flower crowns. Looking at the flowers in the field, he decided on a pattern of three daisies and one small, red flower. The daisies had come together quickly, and he reached for the red flower before immediately letting out a hiss of pain.

Looking at it closely, he notices all the little thorns on its stem - some of which were sticking into him. At the outcry of pain you immediately look over, taking his hand. “Are you ok, Pip?”

“Dandy!” Not feeling much pain, he holds up his finger to show you - only then realising some of the thorns are still embedded in it, and there are a few tiny bits of blood. “Oh. Well, it doesn’t really hurt - if that’s what you're concerned about.”

“Still.” Gently, you take his hand and brush the rest of the thorns off - and he winces when you get a few droplets of blood onto your clothes. He apologises as much as he can for them, but you assure him that it’s truly no big deal and you can simply wash them out later; it’s more important he’s not hurt.

Later, as Pippin thinks back to the feeling of your hand on his, he knows he’s blushing slightly. It was the first time the two of you had actually held hands, and of course he had to ruin the intimate moment by having it be while he was injured. He tries not to let that, or the fact his flower crowns were a failure, bother him - and he’s touched when you teasingly ask about his finger the next day. (His plan to clean your robes for you also fails after he finds out some of the Rivendell elves have already done that).

Deciding that what he’s doing isn’t exactly working, he instead decides to outsource his ideas - by going to the library and hoping they have books on that sort of thing. It’s fairly obvious as to where the library is, and to his pleasant surprise he can actually read a lot of the books in there, even if they don’t look as good as the elvish ones. He picks out a small, pocket-sized book on elvish courting before looking around for something more substantial - and perhaps something more detailed, that could properly give him ideas.

To his surprise, tucked away on a high shelf is ‘A young, respectable hobbits guide to courtship - etiquette and ideas’. It’s probably the best book he’ll be able to get, and he immediately goes for it before cursing elves for their ridiculous height. He’s not quite confident enough to ask the elf who's in there with him for help on picking up the book, so instead he decides to simply grab a chair and use it as a stepping stool for him. It works well, and he’s on level with the books so tries to reach out and pull it.

The book is more stuck than he expects, and when Pippin finally tugs it out he pulls more than he should. The momentum continues with him, pushing backwards and tipping him off the chair. There’s a brief moment as he wonders if this is how he’ll die, before he’s even left Rivendell, before his fall is cushioned by something soft and there’s a gasp of pain from behind him.

Immediately, he realises he’s fallen onto someone and scrambles to get off, pushing himself onto the floor before turning around. Next to him, he sees you - sitting there and taking a few deep breaths to get the air back into your lungs. Noticing your eye contact, you smile at him. “You okay?”

“Yes - of course. Are you?” He goes over immediately, trying to assess the damages while offering you a hand up, “I’m so sorry, I really didn’t mean for you to get hurt. I mean, I didn’t exactly mean to fall over at all - not a huge fan of bodily harm - but I especially didn’t mean to go into you. I’d have fallen differently if I knew you were behind me, I think-”

“Pippin.” You interrupt, softly but firmly, “Are you hurt?”

“Oh no.” He gestures to himself, “You truly did save me.”

“Glad to be of service.” You laugh, and he immediately lightens up again. “What were you trying to get?”

Picking up the book, he sees your eyes gaze over it and read the title before looking back to him. He might only be seeing things, but he swears you don’t look quite as happy as you did a second ago. Before he can ask you, you hand the book back to him, brushing the dust off its cover. “So, you’ve got a love waiting in the Shire for you?”

“Well, no. I mean, not exactly. I mean-”

“I’m not going to judge you if you have, Pippin.” You put on a small smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Good luck with your love, Pip. I’m sure they’re honoured to have you.”

Pippin knows he should say something, reassure you that the only person he has his eyes on - he has his heart set on - is standing right in front of him, but for some reason he freezes. He awkwardly gives a nod, and then stands there and watches you leave while internally berating himself. Not only has he now missed yet another opportunity to confess, he’s now almost confirmed he’s in love with an entirely fake hobbit instead of you. After eating supper, he’s sitting next to Merry and complaining again.

“And now they think I’m in love with some hobbit from the Shire, Merry!”

“I know, Pippin.”

“But I’m not - I’m in love with them.”

“I know, Pippin. It’s very obvious.” Taking a deep breath, Merry turns to face his friend. “Is there anything else you could try, some of their interests perhaps?”

“They play an instrument, they’re very good at it, I heard them-”

“Maybe you could try and play that, see if the elves have spare instruments around. They seem the sort.”

“You, my friend, are incredible.” Getting up, Pippin thinks about running straight to the music room before deciding to try tomorrow, rather than almost at midnight. He can hardly get to sleep, instead thinking back to the songs he’s heard you play and trying to hum them to himself - getting a likeness but never quite getting to your quality. He goes to sleep with your music in his mind, and wakes up thinking about it as well, trying to remember how you had played it.

Following where he normally hears music, he checks with an elf that he can use instruments there and they assure him he can. Sitting inside the room, Pippin can’t help but reflect that it's not half as magic without you - or at least without the music. Practising, Pippin hums the opening lines to your song again before trying to play the instrument, or at least learning what sounds are made and how.

He gets as far as the first two notes when he feels eyes on him, looking up to see you watching. He can feel himself blush in embarrassment, too busy looking away from you to notice the blush on your cheeks. “I was just practising. You sound so beautiful, I wanted to see if I could as well.”

“That was played just by ear? You have musical talent.” Walking over, you sit next to him, guiding his fingers into the position they need to be. “Try like this.”

It takes ten minutes of the two of you sitting together, you showing him the positions and where he needs to go, before Pippin is able to play the first bar. As he finishes you clap, grinning at him while he looks proud of himself. “It’s still not half as good as yours.”

“And I’ve practised much more than double the time you have.” You respond, “Do you want to try again?”

“Actually, I was hoping I could hear your music again.” Pippin can feel the blush coming back, but when he holds it out to you he’s still smiling.

“Hmm, can you play any other instruments?” You look around, “We could play something together.”

“Oh, no. The only musicality I have is singing inside of taverns, nothing suitable for you and Rivendell.”

“Who cares?” You position the instrument, ready to start playing. “This is about us and the music, not the setting. You can sing and I’ll play.”

Taking a deep breath, Pippin nods and tries to think back to all the songs he’s learnt - and any songs that would be fit for you. His mind instinctively goes to what he’s heard Mr. Bilbo sing in Elvish, although he doesn’t fully trust himself not to mess up the words. His mind is almost completely blank, save for one of the hobbits traditional love songs. He looks back to you, waiting for him, takes a deep breath and begins to sing.

You’re immediately entranced, the singing is perfect - filling the room and finding the exact correct pitch, echoing softly and melodiously. You spend so long admiring it you forget to play, suddenly remembering and quickly putting a musical score under his voice. As the song continues, you finally allow yourself to really listen to the music and to realise what the song is about.

Pippin is singing a love confession, directly to you as he’s staring into your eyes. The both of you know exactly when you realise what’s going on, and he almost stops singing in relief when you blush and smile at him. His voice wavers on the next line, but you nod for him to go - staring at each other until he’s finished and waiting for you.

You take a deep breath this time, looking into his eyes before clearly giving an answer. “Yes. I love you too.”

Thanks for reading, and again thank you so, so much for the request! There's really not enough love for Pippin in here, so hopefully I could help. (Requests currently are open, if you're interested).

thank you for reading *･༓˚✧ wish to be tagged?

[lyliux]

My rescue corps design and lineup!!!! 10+ hours later,,,,

Below the cut are some notes pointing out details I added or some of my thoughts while drawing each of them!

I’ve put what I think their (equivalent) ages are also (which doesn’t matter as much but I’ve been using it for backstory stuff lol)

Shepard (28)

- spaceship sleeve tattoo!!! It wraps around her right arm

- Mad resting bitch face + toned af she’s a bit scary

Collin (28)

- was going for strong body with a bit of a baby face

- Carries his grandfathers transceiver on a carabiner

Russ (27)

- skinny tall ass beanpole

- Shepard mentions he wears a lab coat under his suit

Pip (Rookie) (22)

- absolutely tiny, so so small

- Is surprised at basically everything, even things they already know

Dingo (31)

- has a body type similar to that of a swimmer

- Dorky so he wears a vest for “utility” but he sorta pulls it off

Yonny (34)

- he/they androgyny hiiiii

- Undisclosed liquid stains, needs those gum boots

Bernard (40)

- He’s very hot middle aged man vibes to me lol

- Got that 5 o’clock shadow, yes the purple is natural

More general notes

- All wearing what I consider their mission uniform when they aren’t in their full suit. The bottom half is part of that suit and connects up with the rest. Under shirts are chosen by each officer individually

- everyone has different ears! I varied them by length and angle

- Also tried my best to vary facial features and body types (quite new to me, trying my best)

- Also different shoes, it’s like a rescue corps BYO thing lol

[silver--scar]

hello can you show me how to draw pips and his boyfriends hair :3 I can't draw hair ;-;

Sure thing! I'm not good with guides, but I'd still love to help!

I don't make guides often so this is very messy. Also, I am assuming by 'boyfriend' you meant Damien, as they are paired together the most from what I've seen, but my apologies if I'm wrong!

The guides themselves are pretty self explanatory, but I can add bonus stuff here!

To keep things short, think of Pip's hair like he has a hair care routine. His bob cut is smooth and bouncy, so there isn't much shape aside from the bunched up hair under his cap and the ends, as well as making his hair sort of lumpy or curvy. Also, I've added bangs as he has a tiny fringe under his hat, as seen in newer model like this one!

As for Damien, his hair in the show is rather smooth as well, as seen here.

But he has some spikes like in the bangs or the top of his head! I just added a few more because it's fun, while still trying to keep his original shape (sort of (⁠;⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠)). Like keeping most of the hair flat against his head until it juts out in low spikes. I also took the liberty in making his sideburns sharp too!

In 3/4ths, the only differences really are some bits of hair that hides behind the head, or other parts that shift along with the face as it turns. Overall, it stays the same. And since it's a cartoon art style, you can just flip which way the hair is facing when a character turns.

In side profiling, the hair either drastically changes or stays the same.

For example, Pip's bangs are always swooped over his eyes, no matter which way he's facing. But with Damien, the bangs do not change a direction. They simply phase through the top chunks of his hair and become a bit like one piece. All in all, the only thing you have to worry about is not putting the sides of the hair too far back. Always try to keep it in the middle or ahead of the middle. Otherwise, it looks like they're balding or have a mullet/swooped back hair. Just draw your shape, make some adjustments, and erase the head lines that hides behind/under the hair!

And there's not really much else! My art style is pretty simplistic, but always keep in mind that MY WORD IS NOT GOSPEL. Obviously, you don't have to draw this way! Art is a progressive element, and the way you create will always change and morph. Even I will change the way I draw over time, including characters' hair, clothing, etc. Do what you think works for your art or makes you happy! Search up some helpful guides or videos on YouTube to help you get a better understanding of what you want to draw. It takes a whole lot of practice to get used to the different elements in art, but it pays off, I can assure you! My art certainly didn't look the way it does now back when I was a teen.

Regardless, if this guide has left you confused, don't be afraid to ask any more questions! I would love to help out any way I can!

[daddyboyhalo]

HIII GUYS!!! a lot of you probably already know it’s me because of my url but hey here’s my lil introduction post too.

hi hello yes i was nightmare and squash (and a little bit of eclipse)!!! i was the tiny little fox kid who was valibell’s first child, and the og fox along with pip, my side bro!! i got sued and went to court because i brought my gay brother tremorsaurus to a baby fighting ring >:D i was oh so very loved and won’t ever be able to stop calling qtubbo and disfrutalakia mom and dad. god help me. as eclipse i got to be the moon to my mom’s stars, and that was very special to me.

i was also the wolfdog nightmare who went through like 4 different color changes (rgb wolf grindset i guess), survived multiple assassination attempts and, dear fucking god, probably had a worse reputation than most people on the server on account of killing lim liminal sewiders (and killing teal tealotl) (and sending the worst hatemail known to man) (and having this whole weird romance thing with vex vexinoux) (among other things). a friend asked me once if i had a personality beyond being a dad, being divorced, and committing homicide, and i couldn’t think of a good answer.

i’m so glad we all got to play touys together. qblrsmp was one of the best things to ever happen to me. i treasure every second of it (which is um a lot. around 950+ hours on the server). and huge shoutout to the admins, they made this a great experience!! thank you, to everyone i met there. i’ll love you all forever and cherished every minute of it, no matter where life takes us now. <3 (takes a lil bow and exits stage right)

[totallyboatless]

It is time, friends, for another Pip's Weed Essay game. The rules: I'm about to take an edible and start writing a mini-essay in one sitting. I edit a tiny bit as I go, but for the most part this is on the fly. I've thought about this topic a lot, but haven't outlined it. I'll let you know when the edible hits, but there's a chance you'll realize it before I do. (PIRATE FRIENDS STICK AROUND - this is Pip from the future, I get pretty high in this, but anyway I'm here to tell you that this goes in a very unintended OFMD direction that i'm still reeling from. Anyway back to Past Pip)

Edible ingestion commencing, time: 7:37pm Mountain Time

I polled my followers for the topic, so today we're going to talk about:

Fixing the Puck Problem

I've read and seen A Midsummer Night's Dream more than any other Shakespeare play. At this point I don't know if I've seen it so much because it's my favorite, or enough opportunities for me to see it have lined up that it's become my favorite by default. It's easily the Shakespeare play I know best. I haven't seen a staging that I fully disliked, but there are two elements of this show that I feel like are rarely handled the way I want them to be.

Problem one:

Puck will never be as funny as Bottom

It's common to consider Puck to be the main character of A Midsummer Night's Dream. He's at the very least the most famous character in the play. Puck is a dream role, and obviously with his being a fairy, he's usually directed to be weird and whimsical--and a lot of the time, playing for laughs. It makes sense, he's a trickster, it's built into his nature.

But in modern day, his lines and actions don't translate as well as Bottom's. In all of the times that I've seen A Midsummer Night's Dream, I've *never* seen a production where Bottom fails to steal the entire show away from Puck. I've had multiple experiences where I could feel the director wanting me to laugh at Puck; I could see the reasons for the direction, but it just wouldn't hit. In those same productions, I've laughed so hard at the Bottom scenes that I cried.

I'm thinking particularly of the 2010 production with Judy Dench reprising Titania (honestly still in shock over seeing that lolol) and the 2019 Bridge Theatre production (which you can find streaming, it's *incredible*).

In the 2010 show, the Puck actor kept doing what honestly felt like a Woody the Woodpecker impression lol. He would pause for laughs and they just...wouldn't happen. Meanwhile, Bottom was set up with the kind of success that let him steal at least one scene from fucking Judy Dench.

In the 2019 Bridge Theatre production, I genuinely like the direction they gave Puck--he's a weird little twitchy Irish punk doing fucking aerial silk shit. But even with a unique vibe and a fun performance, it's still not enough to outshine Bottom.

Basically my thing is that I want to get to the end of A Midsummer Night's Dream and feel more connected to Puck. I *want* him to be my favorite. And there's just absolutely no way to make him my favorite if his core purpose is to be funny. Puck is supposed to be a larger-than-life being--the audience is never going to buy that when he's not even the largest character on the stage.

The second problem is smaller, and in fixing it there's also a fun chance to fix the Puck problem:

Problem two:

The audience usually doesn't understand why Titania and Oberon are fighting.

If you've gotten this far you're probably already a nerd who knows this, but gonna pose the question like I've done for other people I've seen the show with: Why are Titania and Oberon fighting? What's the core reason?

Bc you're a fucking nerd you probably yelled CHANGELING! Which yes, good for you, if I had become the Shakespeare professor I wanted to be but didn't have the money to become, you would be in my class and I would throw a snickers at you for a reward.

But the thing is, a *lot* of people who only know the play casually don't know. And most productions don't assist them in knowing.

Elaboration for non-nerds: Titania had a "and they were roommates" totally not at all lesbian relationship with a human women who was pregnant. The women dies in childbirth and Titania takes the child to raise, and she cherishes him more than anything, which is an extremely straight thing to do. In the play, the character is only referred to as the changeling. Oberon gets super jealous of this kid and wants to steal him away and make him join the Wild Hunt so that he can have Titania's full attention back, because he's got that issue creepy men get when they have kids and then are like "I'm jealous of my son because he's making it less likely for me to fuck my wife" and it's like "dude calm down with this projection of an Oedipal complex."

If you're not a coward and read Titania as in love with the changeling's mom, then Oberon's issues are maybe slightly less creepy, but like not really

So that's it really. Titania loves this kid of her sapphic lover that died. Oberon is jealous about it. He decides to play a trick on Titania both as a way to get revenge, and also as a distraction so he can steal the kid.

But the issue is that 1.) all of this is communicated in a long and kind of boring speech, and 2.) the changeling literally never has a line and also no stage directions

The 2010 production had a hot dude chained up and writhing on stage in a kind of hot dance snake movement thing when Titania talks about him, but most productions never even have an actor cast as the changeling. I was really shocked they didn't have anyone for the 2019 production, given how much I love most of the rest of their choices.

OKAY SO. We now have the two problems: Puck isn't the fan favorite even though he should be; and most people in the audience have no fucking idea about the changeling.

(THIS IS HIGH PIP FROM THE FUTURE I FORGOT SOMETHING VERY IMPORTANT TO THIS PROBLEM: If you do know about the changeling/follow along with that plot, it's *very* hard to root for Titania and Oberon when they reconcile. Which can be fun and cool and a little hot even maybe if you're going all dark, but thIS IS A PLAY ABOUT HORNY FAERIES HAVING A GOOD TIME so I won't be having that. I want this play to make me like that Titania forgives Oberon so easily. Okay Past Pip, take it away)

lol okay yeah weed friend has landed, I just wandered away for a minute with a desperate need to put taquitos in the air fryer. Time stamp: 8:16.

OKAY FOR REAL NOW LET'S GET INTO:

Pip's Most Ideal Staging of A Midsummer Night's Dream Which Fixes the Problems in Theory

The Staging:

First off I want the production to be in the middle of the literal woods where there's pretty lights in all the trees and people are sitting on blankets and have snacks and drinks and drugs and whatever they want, and the whole staging has the actors weaving through the audience. Not just theatre in the round, full immersion

I also want people to not fully know where the production is, just that it's on the outskirts of the forest, and then the actors emerge from the woods at a designated time and bring the audience to the secret stage section. And ideally this would be like a park on the outskirts of woods so that there would also be people there who wouldn't know what the fuck was going on. And ideally some of the fairy actors convince them to come along and the people go having no idea what they're about to get into. That's how A Midsummer Night's Dream is meant to be experienced in its purest form: with actors dressed as fairies trying to seduce unsuspecting strangers to follow them into the woods to an unknown location where they'll probably be offered drugs.

TAQUITO TIME

Taquitos acquired.

Puck's direction and motivation:

When Puck is first introduced, it's by a fairy called Peasblossom who's otherwise not a big part. Peasblossom lets the audience know who Puck/Robin Goodfellow is by basically going stan-mode and being like "holy shit you're famous." PB literally starts listing his greatest hits.

So picture with me: instead of an extremely fairy-like whimsical Puck, I want a Puck that wanders on-stage like a burnt-out rockstar. Cigarette in one hand, beer in another. Probably on a cocktail for faerie super magic mushrooms. Just fully numbed out. In this moment, Puck feels way more human than faerie--and I want the performance to be in a way where that feels off. To have it be communicated in manner and clothing, and the juxtaposition of PB recounting Puck's glory days, that Puck hasn't always been like this. This isn't a faerie trickster in his prime. This is a man who's lost all sense of fun and is going through the motions.

That's what happens, right, when you become just a little too famous?

Puck is the only one of the main characters who gets to the end of the show and is entirely alone.

(my favorite thing about being high is how *good* it makes food taste, these taquitos are not fancy but with the power of the devil's lettuce it's so good--oh my god I have Dr. Pepper)

(I'm back with the Dr. Pepper. I'm having fun, are you guys having fun? If you've made it this far i kiss u)

So Puck is alone at the end of the play while everyone else of import is either with their lover or with their theatre-kid-found-family. And it's largely because Puck lives between worlds. He's not powerful enough to be fey royalty; he's Oberon's right-hand man, but he's not Oberon's peer. But the lower fey court are also not his peers -- they treat him like a celebrity, he can't actually connect with them. He's not allowed to frolic and play with them anymore, not really.

With this interpretation and direction, we now have a Puck whose action in the plot can lead to a happy ending (keep with me), and whose existence isn't just to be quirky and whimsical for the audience. Instead it's a Puck with a motivation: he's lost all joy in his job, he's disconnected from him community, and Oberon only treats him like a fuckbuddy so he's sexually frustrated. (Oh right yeah I was supposed to write about how Puck is in love with Oberon. He is.) That's all fucking sad, bro! And you know from the Pip that traveled into the past that this play is fun and should be fun!

Now for the final part, where we put in the special ingredient to tie this particular Puck direction into the happy ending:

LET'S 👏 GET 👏 GAY 👏

Do you guys (gn) remember the changeling? It was like possibly an hour ago, the time-warp this particular edible always sets me on has fully set in. It's possible this essay is like 5k words long. It's also possible it's only 500 words long. I wish I was lying when I told you I don't know.

Anyway, the changeling. Let's make him a fuller character and let's give him to Puck wrapped up in a sexy, charming bow.

Picture this: The Changeling, from now on capitalized as a character, shown on stage in Titania's court. Locked up like a princess in a tower because Titania is desperate to protect him. And the Changeling is all *sigh and flutter big beautiful princess man eyes* because he wants to explore what's out there. Because he's a man who's grown up and been forced to live between two worlds. He's not fey royalty, he's not Titania's actual kid and she kind of honestly treats him more like a momento of her lesbian lover than an actual adopted kid. He can't be one of the fey court, because he's not fey, and also he's not allowed to frolic and play with them.

That should sound familiar to you if I did it right.

Puck and the Changeling, both feeling the same sort of empty spot. So let's smush them together.

Give the Changeling all of Peasblossom's lines. It makes more sense for a detail I left out before, too--Peasblossom doesn't recognize Puck they see him for the first few lines. Once they do they're all like "omg you're the dude that makes people horny for each other and also some other trickster things." They know all of Puck's stunts, but they don't know what he looks like? It's clearly an exposition device, but it's a weak one (sorry, Shakesy). He's the rockstar of the fey world. You'd have to be living under a rock or, I dunno, locked away like a beautiful man-princess --

(Okay you know where I'm going and I have to stop there because I'm cry laughing, I swear to you -- I swear to fucking god, guys, I wish I was joking -- I thought I was being cute and clever saying "man-princess". Not because of irony. IT'S BECAUSE I FORGOT THERE IS A WORD FOR A PRINCESS WHO IS A MAN AND THAT IS A PRINCE. Okay i should clearly wrap this up lol)

In this staging, the Changeling clearly doesn't want to be locked up. So...he finally finds a way to sneak out. He goes on a romp through the forest and that's when he runs into Puck (this is the scene where we first meet Puck). The Changeling wouldn't recognize Puck, though he's have heard of him. He probably loves stories because what the fuck else does he have to do, so he's asked the fairies to tell him about Puck's adventures over and over. Meanwhile, Puck wouldn't recognize the Changeling because Titania has been keeping him so under lock and key. It allows an opportunity for them to connect on more of a peer basis as they--

Holy fuck. Wait. Hold on. Is the Changeling Stede. Is Puck Ed. What the fuck. Did I write an AU on accident. I don't even like AUs very much (sorry AU writers it's not personal it's just not my thing).n ANYWAY sorry for the pirate aside. God this is properly off the rails now.

They like each other, you get it. And now Puck has someone he wants to impress. There's not a lot of opportunities to give the Changeling more lines, but that doesn't mean he can't appear on stage. He can stay with Puck (hiding from Oberon whenever he's there, leading to some good chances for physical comedy) and go on the nighttime adventure of his dreams.

This leads to a fun, unique choice: having Puck fuck up the love flower juice plan on purpose. So that he can show this hot dude following him around with wide enthusiastic eyes the kind of things he's capable of OH MY GOD THIS IS ED AND STEDE I SWEAR THIS IS NOT ON PURPOSE I AM JUST NOW SEEING THE PARALLEL

Okay we're nearly at the end I promise. We just have one more problem to solve: How are we supposed to root for Titania and Oberon to get together when Oberon literally publicly humiliates her and then steals her adopted son and forces him to join the Wild Hunt even tho Titania REALLY doesn't want him to? Well, the first one is easy, Titania and Oberon are so fucking kinky, and Oberon likes getting cucked (remember he's only jealous of the Changeling, never the lesbian).

The second one is also easy. Make it the Changeling's choice. Leaving Titania and joining Oberon's court means two things: He gets to be with Puck, and joining the Wild Hunt allows him to go on exciting adventures. If Titania saw that the Changeling wanted this with the staging that both Titania and Oberon look over and see Puck and the Changeling making out right after Titania's spell is broken. Then Oberon can jokingly delivers the line about having stolen the Changeling, realizing that the plan worked but in the most ridiculous way possible. And how could Titania not find joy in all of that?

It makes me so much more glad to see them get back together.

Puck's closing soliloquy is his most famous, but I like his last big monologue right before it better. There's a very important line he says that communicates an important shift within the context of his particular staging:

And we fairies, that do run

We.

Puck isn't a lonely, washed-up rockstar anymore. He's part of a "we." Not just the Changeling, but the other fairies, too. Puck and the Changeling act as bridges for each other, to be part of each other's worlds in a way that feels like a whole -- OH MY GOD IT IS ED AND STEDE

Puck being alone on stage isn't so sad anymore, after all that. Because Puck, who starts off the play with so little sense of belonging, now has so much to go back to.

And that's it, that's my ideal staging of this play. Honestly, I really, really want to direct it. I have no experience directing but I have the audacity to think I could do it lol. No resources, tho

OH ONE LAST THING HELENA NEEDS TO BE INTO PUP PLAY

also the lovers are all in a polycule, that's just a given, any other staging is cowardly

alright bbye

[exit]

final time stamp: 9:25 PM, not rereading, just hitting post. We die like Mercutio.

[kattozilla-blog]

time to yap on the main blog instead of @cyrilrambleswhatasurprise once more

about baby dragons AGAIN 🗣️

mostly earthdrakes because those are the most fleshed out species i have atm [because wood man is one of my favorite dragons in this au lmao,,, poster child]

in THE DRAGON AU [all caps ], earthdrakes are known for being large but mostly docile. gentle giants unless provoked, if you will. even caring

and this extends to their hatchlings, too. they tend to hatch asynchronously, and so the firstborn baby will protect its siblings with all its tiny might [despite being just as helpless as the rest of the clutch], laying on the eggs, warming them, etc. and when another egg starts to pip, the firstborn will begin peeping out again to call for its parents, like "HEY MY SIBLING IS HERE PLEASE TAKE CARE OF THEM". this sounds dangerous as it could attract evildoers, but earthdrake parents RARELY stray far from the nest, so they will more times than not be there faster than any predators or hunters would be

even after the clutch is hatched, the oldest will continue to "protect" them as best it can, often trying to stay on top of them in order to keep them warm and "hidden". fine if the entire clutch is hardy earthdrake babies, a bit alarming if it's a mismatched clutch [just like Wily's dragons- Wood squished many siblings when he first hatched. not to death obviously, but it did discomfort them somewhat]... thankfully earthdrake pups are not that heavy and most newborn dragons gain eyesight soon. but it was extremely amusing to Wily to see Wood trample the others in a misguided attempt to keep them warm and safe, meanwhile they were squeaking like "what is this heavy thing on me and why cant i move :("

i also thought a bit about steel dragons [there are a few different kinds, Metal and Cut's dragon form are two different types of steels], less fleshed out, but sort of tragic lore,

steel babies have good noses like many blind and deaf babies do, and one thing they can smell is metal. because their parents have metal parts [like spikes], they view the smell of metal as "parent is home, i am calm and happy now", obviously because they can't see yet

and many hunters have exploited this trick with their metal swords...

steel dragons have learned a similar tactic as earthdrakes and that is "DO NOT TAKE YOUR EYES OFF THE NEST" because of this, becoming a learned behavior over an evolved instinct. steels have become more cautious and violently protective of their nests because of this, and tend to have an even more intense wariness of swords and metal weapons than other dragons. it's sort of ironic that the metal dragons would hate other metal things, but many hunter attacks really traumatized the generations afterwards. truly a tragedy

thankfully, dragon awareness is much more common, and attacks are less frequent due to dragons being recognized as simply creatures trying to live as opposed to monsters. like real life animals and awareness. neat!

yeah there some more sweet dragon lore for my fucking. mega man the robot game au