#going home in a box

[silverxcristal]

Yeaaah I think this is a year old by now, unleashing it now

This is from @mable-stitchpunk's Home series, mostly "Cant Go Home Again"

I found the fic, gave it to girlfriend to read because she likes Puppet, she liked it and drag me and more friends to read a few chapters every week, we are almost caught up with the current flow (adulting is hard we can only do one chapter per week now)

During the reading nights the friend group have draw scenes and memes based on the fic's universe, I mostly did for the first and some of the second one. I wanted to draw a lot and then post it- I did drew a lot but most of it are paper sketches and eventually I slow down and died.

We are on chapter 76 of Going home in a box, so yeah now is a good time to post this. Is mostly memes from my side and TWO legit "scene redraw" thing

Also this thing

[mable-stitchpunk]

AO3 Link Here!

"Mike and Mari find out the terrible secret of the Pizzaplex. Along with a terrible truth from a diner long forgotten..."

[neverfearforiamhere]

Ringerleader Lizzie and Lottie collab 💕

I CAN’T BELIEVE THEY DUETTED!! they’re soo gay for each other. I’m dying for more from our girlies

[xurkitry]

Pizzaplex bad, Freddy Okay.

Been rereading Going Home in a Box by @mable-stitchpunk cause its been a second since I refreshed myself on the events in that one

A bit at the end of one of the earlier chapters, where Foxy is just going on about how he hates the pizzaplex stuff but thinks Freddy is plenty okay made me want to just animate foxy going from upset to happy, so i did!

[marisol-000]

@mable-stitchpunk

@quilna

I literally started writing beacuse of you two (mostlymablesorryquil) love yall❤️

Do y'all ever read a fic so good that it makes you want to elevate your own craft and also befriend the writer? It's almost like, "Hi! You write so well that you've inspired me to embark on a creative training arc. Also, can I yell about the character in your dms because you get it?"

[calamity-triquetra]

So while AO3 is down, I'm going to give my predictions for Going Home in a Box, just in case Chapter 94 is the one to confirm or disprove them.

Spoilers for those not caught up.

So the story is very clearly telegraphing "Bunny" to be William Afton, especially with the references to the Red Lake, but that would seem to completely undercut his earlier defeat.

But, Going Home has also started getting into Agony lore, and the idea that something can be haunted (even to sentience) without being haunted by someone.

So, my final theory before I read chapter 94, and the one I will stick with until it's either proven or disproven. Is that Bunny is only an Agony entity caused by William Afton, not actually Mr Fazman himself.

Don't really have any theories about Talbert/Taggart, there's something weird going on with him, but idk what.

Anyway, I'm excited for the endgame of GHIAB.

[bluerosefox]

Always Favors You

Another Sibling Danny and Jason idea!!

"Are you Jason Peter Todd?!" demanded a deep and commanding tone from the strange glowing being in front of them.

All the Bats stiffened and tensed, no doubt gearing up for a fight against the being that somehow knew Red Hood's full name.

Jason, Red Hood, decided to put on a brave front despite no doubt cursing in his head and wondering how the heck did this thing know his full freaking name.

"Whose asking." he snarled out, his hands twitching for his gun when the huge glowing knight with purple flames coming out of his helmet and cape, who was riding on a nightmare looking horse while they all had been in the cave going over tonight's patrol.

The Knight didn't seemed bothered by his response nor did he even seem to care or flinch when Batman made his own demand on 'Why was he there and who was he' or when Damian unsheathed his sword and pointed it towards him. Instead the strange glowing Knight reached to it side and pulled out... A glowing scroll? Huh. (Also he completely unnerved everyone in the room when the Knight didn't even react when Batman had tossed a Baterang when he reached for his side)

The Knight opened the scroll and spoke clearly with purpose.

"Jason Peter Todd,

You are hereby invited as a special guest of honor to the crowning of our future King of the Infinite Realms.

Daniel Phantom, once Daniel Jackson Fenton, and once Daniel Austen Todd.

Prince of the Infinite Realms, the Keeper of Balance, The Peacekeeping Halfa, the Defeater of the Tyrant King Pariah Dark, The Great One, Youngest of the Ancients, Ancient of Space, The Bridge between Life and Death.

You, the half-brother of our King, have been given the highest of honors for your past actions and will be given housing and food in the Realms and Phantom's Keep, for the week long event. Personal servants and attendants will be at your disposal and a seamstress will be on hand to tailor make your attire for the Coronation.

Signed: Clockwork. Ancient of Time. Watcher of the Infinite Timeline. Kronos. Mentor and Adviser.

PS: I shall have Fright Knight ("Me" the Knight bluntly said for a second) leave this scroll along with a personal one for you from Daniel to read over and once you make up your mind sign the bottom of the scroll.

I do hope in time you will pick the right choice Jason Todd, we of the Infinite Realms would like to reward you for your actions. After all, if you hadn't gotten young Daniel away from your father that night all those years ago, we would never had gained our Prince nor be free from our once Tyrant King.

Ah, one more thing.

The Infinite Realms will always favor you Jason."

Jason felt like he couldn't breath as Fright Knight? Rolled up the scroll, pulled a letter from his side, and held out the two items for him to take.

[acuar-io]

noodles & tv

[l3v5ha]

#SEVERANCE: [ i'm a busy woman ... ]

[ily-ilysfm]

Daily reminder that Jon and Damian have their own fortress built by Batman and Superman. Jon called it the Fortress of Attitude and Damian let him.

[pigeon-behavior]

Please, don't pick birds up off the street if you do not have a plan to get them medical care. Hell, just don't. So many people grab birds that are young and simply waiting for mom and dad to come home. It's so easy to be wrong.

And if you don't have a plan to get a seriously ill bird medical treatment by a professional, please know what that means. Do not apply an anthropomorphic lens. Extending the life of a bird that is going to die, no matter what you do, doesn't give it some extra meaning or enrich the memory of the bird or make it poetic or however you might be viewing it with rose-colored glasses.

It's an extension of suffering. It's not beautiful. It's wrong. Don't pick up a bird you are not prepared to deal with paying a vet to euthanize. Or a rehabber, if you're lucky. You HAVE to have access to a humane end for these poor things before you pick them up and drag their pain out another 3 days.

I know people just want to help. I beg you to recognize when that is possible and ethical, in the best interests of the creature you want to help.

This is just a general plea. I see a lot of picked up pigeons and a similarly large quantity of poor decisions surrounding those pickups.

Have a plan, a plan that is RIGHT FOR THE BIRD, or keep moving.

Sometimes decisions aren't easy.

[mable-stitchpunk]

Going Home in a Box: Chapter 89 Teaser

This was a huge mistake. She knew it, she knew it was a bad idea, and yet here it was. Here she stood in the dark with a flimsy flashlight in her hand that barely lit the pile of junk laying in front of her.

The dump. The junkyard. The so-called prowling grounds of the Hurricane Clown.

But she wasn’t alone. Thankfully, elsewise she would be incredibly nervous standing in the middle of this dump.

Back when the clown and bear incident happened, Millie didn’t have a friend in the world. Now she had three.

First was Abigail, called Abby by her friends. Abby was as smart as a whip and the type who’d do extra credit work without the extra credit. The typical ‘nerd’ stereotype perhaps but she had a good heart, she was very outspoken, and she had an interest in the environment that Millie could get behind. She was a skeptic, a realist, but otherwise was much more optimistic than Millie tended to be.

Abby had neat braids that went to her shoulders and wore gold frames glasses. She was currently wearing an oversized dark grey jacket with the hood up in an attempt to disguise herself in case someone caught them. Though Millie didn’t know why. Sure, wandering around the dump in the middle of the night was sketchy, but she didn’t remember it being illegal. Maybe she was worried her parents would find out.

Then there was Sarah. Sarah was nice but a little quiet and withdrawn. Largely because she was so self-conscious of herself. Anyone could see it, with how often she was attempting various beauty techniques or spouting off things she read from magazines. She was the sort of person the old Millie would’ve found shallow and self-absorbed, but now she saw past that. She saw someone who was lonely and wanted friends.

Millie understood that feeling well. She wasn’t going to let either of them fall into that same trap. All it did was help get you alone, and then people would take advantage of you.

Sarah was also wearing a hoodie, but instead of for a disguise it was a hoodie she usually wore. It was a baggy dark fuchsia one that she often wore to hide herself in. Along with a pair of baggy jeans. Her hair was shoulder-length brown and unremarkable, as per Sarah’s own words on it.

Finally, there was Mandy. Many was the oldest of the group and only just became part of it. She was new to their high school and because of that she didn’t know anyone or have any friends, and that wasn’t helped by her colorful personality.

Apparently, Mandy had come from some sort of stifling preparatory school, one of those kinds with uniforms and strict decorum. Somehow, she got away with dying her hair and even now still dyed it. She was excitable, outspoken- the type to walk around with a three-ring binder with a tie dye alien throwing a piece sign and not caring when people told her it looked tacky.

Her hair was currently dyed a somewhat uneven turquoise color and was pulled up into a high ponytail before they left the car. She was wearing a simple red t-shirt and jean shorts over plaid leggings along with a thick pair of brown boots. She was definitely not dressed to be out here.

Millie looked down at her t-shirt of a logo for a rock band she had never heard of that just happened to have a disturbing grinning clown on the front of it. That made two of them.

Now, it was Mandy who spearheaded coming down here, not Millie. She aspired to be a would-be journalist and the idea of catching video footage of this supposed Hurricane Clown was too good to pass up. Even if they were all sort of sure it was a hoax.

Abby thought it was a rumor meant to creep people out, Sarah thought it was a running joke, and Mandy was convinced that there was a guy actually dressing like a clown who was running around freaking people out.

Millie was the only one who knew the clown was real, that he was the one she saw at the fair, that he was the one who pulled her from the bear, and that it had to be him that was said to crawl around the junkyard.

She also knew it was a stupid idea to look for him, but she found herself a little too eager to agree.

She hadn’t told many people about her experience with the clown and even her closest friends got an abridged version.

Days trapped inside of a tight coffin with a snide voice laughing at her suffering, telling her about all the things he could’ve done to her. What was her favorite method of execution? She looked like the type of girl who died a long time ago, he said. Up until she got inside that bear, she believed that too. That was part of the reason she was dumb enough to climb into that thing in the first place.

The hunger, the thirst, the humiliation of it all. The thought that she would die there, alone, with nobody the wiser to where she had gone. She was sure of it.

And then the clown came.

This clown- this clown who sort of sounded like the bear and then ripped it apart and pulled her out. She had been so out of it, but she remembered that clown, she remembered his face and his voice. It was like a robot, it had a white mask with a red nose, and glowing blue and yellow eyes.

In that moment it was like seeing a real-life Leprechaun, and then having it drop a pot of gold in her lap.

She had been frightened and confused. It wasn’t until the days following in the hospital that she really processed what had happened and who had helped her. It was crazy, she should’ve been even more traumatized, but she wasn’t. She was curious, intrigued.

Then she heard the rumors of the Hurricane Clown. It had to be him. She had been rescued by Utah’s version of Bigfoot apparently.

Since then, things had changed. She had attempted a new lease on life. Which really meant to stop shoving people away. So, when she returned to school, overshadowed by the rumors swirling about what happened to her, and it was Abby and Sarah- two virtual strangers- who approached her with concern and care, she didn’t shrug them off. Then when Abby suggested the offer a hand to Mandy, she didn’t shrug that off either.

How insane that it almost took dying to get to that point.

She wanted to see him again, to prove it wasn’t a hallucination from dehydration. To prove to herself that something so unexplained existed somewhere out there.

“Ugh, this place is gross,” Sarah mumbled.

“And a breeding ground for tetanus and dysentery,” Abby agreed.

“We should come here more often,” Millie added sardonically.

“Hey, is this your clown?” Mandy called.

Millie shined her light around to look for her and spotted the top of her head, then carefully walked around the trash to reach her. Sarah and Abby following in a single file line to make sure it was safe.

They came around the corner of an old car to see Mandy shining her flashlight down on what looked to be a body. Millie’s eyes widened and she hastily rushed over, only to quickly be disappointed.

It wasn’t even really a clown, but some kind of old mannequin looking thing. The material of it was plasticky and sort of slick, likely having picked up oil or grease from the garbage around it. Its ‘skin’ was stark white, if a little dirty, and it had faded round pink cheeks and a delicately painted but faded pink lips.

It had red hair pulled up into two pigtails. What was odd was that while the body looked old, paint worn, and even the plastic rubbed down along the joints, the hair looked to be in pristine condition. Almost like it had gotten a new wig just before getting tossed into the dumpster.

It had a long neck that led to a slender body that was rigidly straight. Its only clothing was a pink tutu around its waist- one that looked small for even it, like a child would wear. Its feet were shaped like wide wedge heels and the pink on them too was scuffed and fading.

The only thing of value on it seemed to be a silver heart shaped pendant resting on its chest. There was a shiny blue jewel on it, but the design made it look like it could be costume jewelry, and it probably was.

Sarah stared at it with wide eyes. Millie looked on with disappointment.

“No.”

Mandy pulled it up onto its feet with a heave. It was heavier than it looked, but she managed to balance it on the uneven ground. She hooked an arm around it to hold it up and popped a hand on her hip.

“You know what this looks like? Have you ever seen those life-sized dolls that kids dress up and do their hair and stuff?” Mandy asked.

Abby and Sarah both agreed. It certainly looked like that. If a little tall, being taller than even Mandy, the tallest one there.

Millie had another idea. She took one look at those pigtails and knew who it reminded her of.

“I think that’s Circus Baby.”

“Who?”

“There used to be a place like Freddy’s called Circus Baby’s Pizza World that closed down like Freddy’s did. Circus Baby had pigtails just like that, except she was small and looked like a kid,” Millie explained. She sized up the doll. “On second thought, never mind.”

“You might want to put that down,” Abby pointed out.

Mandy was about to when Sarah stepped forward and, seeing her interest, she let her take a closer look.

“It’s actually kinda pretty in a weird way,” Sarah said. “…You know what? I think I’m going to take it home.”

“No, really?” Abby said with aghast instead of sarcasm. “A big doll? No, scratch that. Some kind of… animatronic, maybe?”

“Animatronic, eh?” Mandy said thoughtfully.

“I don’t know, I kind of like it. Maybe we could clean it up and make her look good again. It seems like a major waste just leaving it here.”

Millie gave a derogatory sound and nudged its leg with her foot. It wasn’t responding to any of their movements, though the bear hadn’t either until she was in it.

“You know who’d probably know about how to fix her up?” Mandy declared. “Shelly’s brother.”

“Who?” Millie asked flatly.

“Pickle,” Abigail replied just as flatly.

Oh, Pickle.

Pickle was one of the smartest kids at their high school. That is, book smarts. He could read a dozen books and understand every word, but he couldn’t read a room if his life depended on it. Of course they’d get stuck hanging with Pickle.

But Sarah was determined. It just had such a pretty face. It was a shame to see it go to waste.

So, with that resolve, they took the doll with them. Sarah and Mandy having to work together to carry it to the car. Millie stayed behind to keep looking around for a little while, with Abby following at her heels.

There was no clown.

Disappointed but unsurprised, Millie eventually decided it was time to leave. But she knew she would be back.

[neverfearforiamhere]

It’s been ages since I got to make art for funsies!! These two deserve to have their romantic rendezvous, so I just had to give it to them!

Thank you to @mechieonu for the flower meaning inspo!!! I had SO much fun making this piece. I felt a bit rusty, I’ve been working a lot in 3D this semester.

Click ‘keep reading’ to learn the flower meanings!!

sweet williams: gallantry, courage

honeysuckle: bonds of love

holly: defense, domestic happiness

peonies: shame, bashful, happy life

edelweiss: courage, devotion

yellow lilies: gay, happy

red columbines: foolishness

The placement of each of the flowers is meaningful as well!! Somewhat, at least.

I had SO MUCH FUN drawing the flowers and having a reason to learn how to draw so many flowers! ^^ Might have to do another one like this.

[heartshckle]

you know, I've been thinking about the scene where crowley gives the prefect a smartphone and it made me realize something. technically he's not just conjuring up a smartphone, isn't he summoning one? and deuce once said that when he summons cauldrons then it belongs to someone else

so. doesn't that mean crowley stole a phone? just imagine some guy is at the store picking out a brand new phone and it's just been poofed out of his hand and into the prefect's

[eternalstrigoii]

You know you don't gotta pretend, baby, now and then

Remmick x F! Reader x Joan x Bert Fluff-adjacent? Vampire-kissing bisexuality with no real plot.

You rolled up to the street fair on your bicycle. You weren't supposed to go. It was late, and you'd had work; you'd passed through when the sun was still high in the sky and the vendors were freshly assembled. You knew it would be back tomorrow. That you should go tomorrow, instead, but you hadn't. The sun was a gilt orange streak in a watercolor sky. Globe lights cast a welcome warmth over the throngs of party-goers, and you were just gonna stop real quick. Just for dinner. Nobody wanted to cook on a Friday, least of all after work. But they were playing good music in the big, white tent. It had been a long time since you let music get to you. Music made people honest, and, shit, you weren't ready to be honest with yourself again. You wandered a little up and down the repurposed road. Didn't look at anything beyond the edible offerings -- not yet. Didn't have the money; didn't have the time. There was only supposed to be an hour left when you'd left work, so you foot-tapped to the band while a woman about your mother's age made you a burger over hot coals that you devoured a little too quickly. They were playing songs you knew. Songs you sang in the bath this morning. Your friend's house had just gone onto market almost nine months to the day after she died. (She wasn't the nice old woman she pretended to be, and you resented that when she was alive. But she used to ask you to go dancing. Don't you ever have fun?

No, you'd said, and you'd tried to sound like you hadn't meant it.)

Music made people honest, and, tonight, you were being honest with yourself.

It took you a minute to get closer to the stage. To work your way from parking your bike at the sidelines to lingering on the fringes. A girl you knew from school all those years ago was dancing with her parents. She was engaged, now; led a damn successful life in your eyes. A beautiful, dark-skinned woman in a floral dress kept smiling over, inviting you to join the group of dancers in front of the stage.

You didn't even notice them, at first.

Card tables dotted the occupied street, docked with folding chairs. They weren't out of place at one, but there was still something about them that drew your eyes. Maybe it was her, her knowing smile a familiar twist upon scarlet lips. Maybe it was the man whose knee she sat upon; he looked at her like the sun rose and set because of her, like the thunder of the music was all her doing. Maybe it was him. The one alone. The way he looked at you, as if he had never laid eyes upon so divine a splendor.

You smiled to yourself as you looked away. The bright, brassy horns had you swaying. If you'd had a place to lock your bike, maybe you would’ve gone closer. You had to keep an eye on the small things left in your basket, didn't you?

They didn’t say a word to one another. She just stood, taking her man’s hand in one of hers, and led him through the narrow pathway between tables to where everyone gathered to dance to a song you’d never heard.

You’d decided that you liked it before they ever reached you. Their friend hadn’t gotten up, yet; he watched them make a bee-line for you, her hand outstretched to take one of yours. She had two, after all. One to hold on to her man, and one to welcome you.

Oh, hell, you had your money on you. You could be brave for a couple minutes.

You shifted away from the poorly managed park tree you’d been standing under in order to take her hand – and, almost automatically, offer your own to her man.

He caught it as tenderly as he held hers. Brought your knuckles to his lips. You liked the way it felt – the kiss for a greeting and the still-rough callouses that told you he was good with his hands. Some evil little part of you wanted to file that away for later, like it was something you should come back to. Like there was gonna be an after.

Maybe there was. They sure were pretty enough.

You stepped off the curb and practically into her arms. She was just a little taller than you, and the way her eyes caught the light reminded you of the way fireflies danced at midsummer. That close, you had to blink to try to corral your thoughts – pretty didn’t cut it. Not face to face.

“Come dance with us, sugar.” Her thumb traced your knuckles on the opposite hand. “We’ll let’cha go when you’re ready.”

You let them both guide you into the throng, maybe intentionally avoiding the part of you that knew you weren’t ever gonna be ready to leave.

You knew the next song. So did they. Steps morphed into swaying, and then into dancing, as easily as the music carried you. Her man used your interlaced hands for an excuse to loop his arm over your head, to guide your body in between theirs. You gave yourself over to how it felt to be against another person, your head tipping back against his chest as you ran your thumb over her gold wedding band.

His teeth looked sharp when he smiled down at you. Oh, if your feet weren’t occupied, it would’ve curled your toes.

Remmick got up while you were dancing, finally leaving the fringes for the refuge of the party. He liked the way your voice lilted when you sang back to them. It fit into their harmony. He stood nearby just a little longer, perpetually waiting. Perpetually hopeful that, despite the lack of liquor in your system and knowing that you had not meant to stay, that you would. That you might linger, still, after the band was done.

The song ended. The band took a minute to absorb cheers – including the rowdy white boy whoo! from over your head that made your laughter sound like bells against it. You had to let go of one another to clap for them.

You looked back toward the card tables when you did. But you didn’t see him.

Remmick avoided acknowledging the pleasure he derived from your momentary disappointment. He wasn’t ready to break the seal, to let himself have that temporary freedom you, and they, were already reveling in.

Not when another song started and Joan’s sweet-cream laughter bubbled into the still-warm night. They sounded different when he wasn’t holding them back. Everyone did.

It was easy to dance like you were the only two people in the room when she had a hand on your waist. When dancing with her became dancing with him, and you had to laugh at your newfound ability to avoid stepping on his toes by staying light and bouncy on your own. You twirled back around to her, your arm draped around her shoulders. Her skirt fanned out around both of your legs as you roped her into the spin.

You weren’t thinking. Granted, you’d made a point of it thus far, but you really weren’t thinking when you were that close, and she was that beautiful, and her red lips were parted in the most ecstatic smile you’d ever seen.

You kissed her. If you didn’t do it then, you never would. You kissed her in front of her husband, in front of who knew how many strangers in however many degrees of sobriety, and you couldn’t even blame anything but yourself. You kissed her, and she sighed against your lips like she’d been waiting for you to do it all night, and the whole world let out its breath. Because she kissed you back. Because her hand stayed at your waist to keep you close to her while she did, and her fingers pressed ever so tenderly into the baby hair at the back of your neck, and the part of you that should’ve been asking questions and voicing doubts had gone completely silent.

She kissed you the way love builds, letting you have the lead until she was ready to take it from you. Until you remembered, with a quiet hitch of your breath and the sudden jerk of your head upward at the hands that settled on your waist – one over hers, their wedding bands overlapping – that you weren’t, in fact, alone.

“Don’t quit on accoun’a me,” he drawled, so low and inviting that what was left of your good sense dropped right out of reach. He moved in when your wide eyes and parted lips uttered no objections, and you found yourself straightening to meet him. Kissing him was deeper, somehow; his teeth were as sharp as they looked, and you couldn’t help but run your tongue along them as he drew your back against his chest. If she kissed you like how it felt to fall in love, then he kissed you the way it felt to be wanted – so hot it was heavy, so slow that the taste of him, whiskey smooth, lingered in your mouth afterward. Her fingers trailed sweetly down the front of your throat while you kissed him, and your insides came alight the way a spark starts a wildfire. Her stroking thumb became a kiss along your pulse. Another, a little lower. Again just above your collarbone.

He withdrew slowly. A string of saliva connected your mouth to his. It might’ve been the hottest thing you’d ever experienced.

“You wanna see them out, baby?” he asked. Maybe you, maybe her, maybe both of you. “Or you wanna head out before they’re done?”

You didn’t have the words to answer. You didn’t have the words for much of anything. Your eyes dropped from him to her, and that darling, doe-eyed look made her smile as she brushed her lipstick and his spit into your lower lip with her thumb.

Your insides quivered.

“Couple more songs won’t hurt.” She sounded satisfied with the way your breath trembled against her skin. She withdrew her red-stained thumb and, almost like your eyes weren’t locked on her, popped it into her mouth to taste you both.

You could’ve swooned. Might’ve, a little. His hands never strayed from your waist, though his low, warm laughter sounded an awful lot like agreement.

“I’m Joan, by the way. This’s Bert. Remmick’s around here somewhere.” She reminded you of their third so casually that you couldn’t restrain the urge to look for him again – at the packed card tables, first. Then along the tree-lined fringes. You could feel the guitar in your chest, all of a sudden, and the thrum of it felt like celestial relief when you finally met his eyes.

He smiled. Raised a hand to wave like they weren’t both just kissing you for anyone in the world to see.

And you, you dumbass, you waved back.

At least they didn’t laugh. Even if they smiled at one another like you couldn’t see them in your periphery.

He moved more easily through the crowd than you’d imagined. He was a lot better built than you realized, up close. The warm light made his eyes shine. They were beautiful. He was beautiful, and you might’ve been the luckiest person in the world for bein’ the one he looked at like he did.

“Can I cut in?” he called over the song. He extended his hand to you, not that there was much in the way of room to do so.

 “Yeah. Yeah, ‘course you can!” You gave him your hand.

Maybe some part of you expected to dance with him the way you danced with them, but, no – his eyes softened when he touched you. He drew you close like you were old lovers in a polished dance hall, his free hand coming to settle at your lower back. Yours rose instinctively to rest on his thick bicep. (You had to stop yourself from flexing your fingers around it – dear lord, had Aphrodite ever made a man, it would’ve been this one.)

“I hope you don’t mind,” his accent seemed to shift with his steps – a little southern here, a little foreign there – “I know you were havin’ fun.”

“I’m havin’ fun now,” you admitted. “I don’t usually do things like this.”

“Dance with strangers?” he asked, like he hadn’t seen you kiss both halves of a married couple. His married couple friends, no doubt.

“Any of it.”

No, the kind of dancing you did had no rhythm or time with the music. Being in his arms was being in another world. He danced with you like there was no one else on the street.

“This might sound sad, but this is the most fun I’ve had in a very long time.” You always understood why people did things they shouldn’t do, but never quite like this. The rush of it was supposed to feel good, it wasn’t supposed to feel clean. Honest.

He gave you a close little twirl, like he couldn’t dare let you get far. He might’ve been thinking of what to say to you so it didn’t sound like he was put off by that. Maybe he was. Maybe he was put off by all of it and that was why it took him so long to join the three of you.

You draped an arm over his broad shoulders. Brought his finely muscled chest closer to yours. There was a flicker of surprise in his face that he had a hard time keeping hidden.

“I’m not like this usually. I think a lot. About everything. Maybe too much.” You usually articulated yourself better, too. “I just wanted to let go for one night, you know? Not even a night, an hour. I just got off work, and life’s been hitting below the belt, and I’m just…”

He knew. That was the kind of person who gravitated to him, in the end. The ones he gravitated toward. People called it a radar, nowadays, didn’t they? Birds of a feather and everything associated.

“Doubt you wanna hear me preach about the ails of society on a night like this,” he teased.

You laughed, but gods did it feel nice to hear someone else say it. To know, just for one night, that you weren’t alone.

“Not tonight,” you admitted. “But maybe some other.”

Remmick looked at you like he didn’t understand, at first. You weren’t quite sure how to interpret that. You were worried, all of a sudden, that the look on his face was not one of surprise that you were asking him to see you again, but that you would ask him to see you again. And maybe it was the borderline self-destructive urge to do something with your life before you completely lost control of it rearing its ugly head, maybe it was the candied taste of Joan’s lipstick on your mouth reminding you of your ability to do brave and brazen things even when you felt insignificant, but you leaned in one more time, and you hoped to whatever god might hear you that he didn’t think that being kissed meant less because you’d already kissed someone else.

He didn’t.

He didn’t know what to do with his hands. The one that had been at your lower back while you danced stayed there. The other came up to cup your face. He started kissing you back, then, as the wonderful callouses on his fingers brushed over your skin.

Turns out you liked kissing him. You liked the way his touch shifted from tenderly exploratory to settling at your jaw with his fingers splayed around your earlobe. You liked the pressure of his mouth and how it steadily increased; the way his lips parted against yours just enough for your teeth to catch on his lower lip. You sure liked the sound he made when they did.

Some part of you noticed the off things. You could feel your heart drumming on your ribcage, but not his, not even with him this close to you. Come to think of it, you hadn’t felt it from Joan or Bert, either. Maybe you just weren’t paying close enough attention. Maybe there was nothin’ off about the consistency of his spit when he slipped you tongue – it was viscous, like plasma. Like a big dog’s post-drink drool. And it tasted raw.

Didn’t stop you from letting him draw as close as your covered bodies would allow. He tipped your head back a little, his fingers knotting in the fabric of your shirt like he wanted something he didn’t have the words to ask for.

Your hands ran down his arms, praising and appreciating at the same time. You would’ve kept going if he didn’t pull back just a bit to let you breathe – to let the sweet night air whisper for you to gather your senses.

“Alright, everyone, there’s two songs left. Let’s give it up for the band,” the lead singer called, and you could hear them cheering, still close to you.

“I’m not ready for this to be over,” you told him. You weren’t ready to hop back on your bike and ride home. Pretend that you hadn’t eaten until your mother went back to bed and you could sit around without making yourself something else. You didn’t want this magic to fade.

“Doesn’t have to,” he replied. Each section of the band took their turns getting cheers – the horns, the drums, the guitar.

“You wanna come home with me tonight?” You shouldn’t offer, but you shouldn’t have done a lotta things. That was the problem with breaking seals, you could never get them back on again.

He searched your face like he was looking for something in those words. Some insincerity, maybe. The idea that it wasn’t him you were inviting home. Or that you weren’t inviting him home at all – that, somehow, in the flicker of a second, you’d changed your mind.

“I’d like you all to come back with me, if you’d like. If you don’t have somewhere else to be.”

Joan leaned back so you could see her all wrapped up in her husband’s arms. “We’d love to.” The look she gave Remmick was a little pointed, a little more on the loving side of chastising than you should’ve been familiar with.

“Let’s let ‘em play us out.” You shouldn’t be making that decision for everyone, but, “You owe me a couple more dances.”

He had that look on his face again, like you were the most divine of splendors. Like there was something about you that he simply couldn’t put into words. Maybe into song, if he was lucky. Maybe one day.

Half the town knew you got home safe, that night. Between you and Joan climbing on your bicycle together to try to outrun your boys to the clamor of your voices as the four of you walked along singing. At least you were in harmony. At least, at last, you were finally having fun.

© eternalstrigoii 2025, no part of this shall be fed into AI devices or reproduced without author's permission. Thank you! edit: Because so many people have asked

[nostalgicfun]

one of the hardest parts of donating portions of my toy collection is that they won't "be together" anymore. like, of course they're not real, I know that, (nervous laugh) but someone might see GI Joe in the store and not know that the 1980s swimsuit Ken doll just a shelf away is actually his boyfriend and they'll be separated forever ???? they're in love ??? excuse you