#i imagine dave with curly hair but not like CURLY curly

[kazzastark]

Dave doing a sick trick on a skateboard (he fell on his ass right after)

Bad quality gif + karkat under

[lucky-draws]

mirror image (transcription under the cut:)

It’s a pretty lonely thing - for both parties - when all someone sees in another person is the reflection of someone else. You remember Master mentioning, once, offhand, something about Big Boss and Ocelot, and how the latter was the son of - the spitting image of - your father’s “beloved mentor”. Well, you don’t give a damn about your father’s personal history, but it’s not hard to imagine how things might have played out between those two, because Master was the same way with you. It was there at the start - faintly, well-concealed at first, and not something you understood yet. A tiny flinch at the sound of your voice around a particular phrase; a flicker of a grimace when the glow of your cigarette - a celebratory smoke, in his office, your latest blood money well earned - cast your face in the wrong light. And later, away from it all, when you became David, just David, it was still there, although now it wasn’t always a grimace. Sometimes it was a whispered, feverish command to “keep talking - want to hear you”; other times it was a near-slip of the tongue, lips forming a ‘b’ for Boss, hastily changed to “boy” at the last second.

Sometimes it was eyes closed, a mouth against your week-old stubble, a hand curling too tightly into your hair - dark, curly, no longer military short - and you’d know that his mind was elsewhere, and that “you” were just a wanted reminder of a man thousands of miles and three decades away, in the jungle. So - now, it’s sort of a relief such as you never knew you were craving to be with Hal. Hal who can only see you for who you are - Hal who saw what you are and stayed anyway, God help him. He has his own ghosts, of course; his father and our father lurk side by side, two constant, flickering shadows - but when you look at each other, there aren’t any reflections of anyone else. He calls you David and means it; you call him Hal, not because that’s what his father named him, but because that’s who he is. Maybe you really are like the Hal and Dave from A Space Odyssey - the whole cosmic beings thing, the two of you rising up above everything else, transcendental. It certainly feels like that sometimes. He’d probably laugh if you said this out loud, of course, make the usual remark about you being far too romantic for a soldier. Maybe you are. All you know is, it makes you feel alive in a way you’re unfamiliar with to finally be seen, to be known - to know yourself - and to feel like neither of you will ever be lonely again. And sometimes, secretly, against the will of the soldier in you, who lives from one minute to the next and doesn’t dare think of his tomorrows, you’ve even caught yourself thinking: long may this last.

- 2nd image speech bubbles: BB: You still look like her, you know. Even now. (It’s that damn ponytail...) Ocelot: Mm. And is that a good thing? BB: ... 4th image text on the photo: Otacon’s writing: Even though Dave was the one taking the photo, he still blinked at the wrong moment... Snake’s writing: Yeah well at least I don’t look like a huge weeb. <3

[trashmouth-richie]

RUN (one shot)

summary: just a little one shot taking place in 1995 a/u where Eddie and reader graduated in 1988

w.c <1k

Pairing: Eddie Munson x female!reader

A/n this is something that happened to me in real life and @b-irock and i laughed very hard about the other day so here ya go

———————————————————————————

“Look mommy! A firefuck!”

“Yes angel, a fire TRUCK TRRR-UCK” you repeat to the small curly haired boy who looks like a small carbon copy of his dad.

Snickering is heard from behind you as a red faced Eddie is holding his breath, “don’t you dare laugh Eddie!” you utter through tight lips, a small smile spreading against your lips.

It’s Sunday, and Munson party of 4 is at the local grocery store stocking up on the weekly essentials. Diapers, formula, milk, bread, spaghetti-o’s and bananas— who knew a twenty-five year old metalhead could eat almost a dozen bananas in a week?

Even though he was scared shitless when you told him you were pregnant all those years ago, Eddie is the best dad. He always insisted on carrying the diaper bag and never wanted to put the baby down. “What? I just want them to know that I love them,” he would say with a shrug.

Normally a shopping trip with a baby and a toddler would scare away a normal family, but Eddie always made it fun. Down the aisles he would sing and dance swaying the baby along with him, her little piggy tails bobbing along with Eddie’s every move. Her giggle is infectious just like his.

You smile along putting back some of the things Eddie thinks are essentials: cinnamon bread, 8 separate cans of spaghetti o’s, and always the “oh, babe remember this!?”

After meeting Eddie at the Hideout after a bad breakup, you were hooked, he was so charismatic, so uniquely and unapologetically himself, and the sex? Wow.

Mind blowing. It wasn’t long before you found out you were pregnant and were terrified to tell him. His dream of singing and playing with his band would be over. You suggested that he could leave, take the easy way out. But he wouldn’t have it.

And now five years later, two kids and a ring on your finger, here you are grocery shopping with your little family. It was everything you imagined and more.

Eddie is humming to the baby and blowing raspberries on her cheeks as you push the cart with the little foul mouthed four year old. Holding your grocery list in one hand and a pen in your mouth, you strain your eyes to look down the aisle for the spaghetti sauce that Eddie loves so much. A familiar face is walking with a cart, holding the hand of a very pregnant woman. You can’t place where you’ve seen this man before, but working mornings at the local diner always made you think you knew someone when in reality they were at the diner months ago. You’re furrowing your brows when it clicks.

Justin.

Your boyfriend, from sophomore year. The relationship was short lived and ended after he had switched schools.

He seemed to recognize who you were too, because he screeched to a halt, grabbed his wife’s hand, and did a 180 degree turn and ran the opposite way.

You blink your eyes rapidly trying to figure out if you saw that correctly. Did he just? What the hell?

Eddie must have also seen the theatrics, “babe, who was that?” He says with a chuckle and a look of amusement on his face.

“One of my high school boyfriends” you reply, still stunned that a grown ass man would run away from you like you were a leper.

“Dave? No way, I thought Mike said he was in prison for another 10 years.” Eddie asks, eyes wide still swaying the baby back and forth gently.

“Yeah he is, that was Justin, my boyfriend from sophomore year he switched schools during the summer.”

“Wait wait, so that was 10 years ago?! Jesus sweetheart, what did you do to that poor guy?” Eddie says, chuckling loudly as he throws a box of cartoon Mac n Cheese into the cart.

You lightly slap his arm, “I didn’t do anything! We didn’t even have sex!” You say laughing along with Eddie, “and he dumped me!”

“What the hell?!” Eddie is all but doubled over laughing at the situation. It is pretty funny. Why would he run? There is zero explanation as to why. He had broken up with you because you weren’t ready to have sex and he was switching schools. No biggie, life clearly moved on for the two of you. It’s a mystery only Sherlock Holmes could solve.

Eddie, you, and the kids keep grocery shopping and have a cart full heading towards the check out. The baby fell asleep in Eddie’s arms and he is whispering lullabies to her, as he hands her off to you. He starts to unpack the groceries onto the conveyor belt when his eyes go wide. Justin and his wife are ahead of you and haven’t seen you yet.

Waltzing over to them in the typical Eddie Munson fashion, he leans over and asks, “hey uh do you get royalties?”

Justin looks from his wife to the cashier and back to Eddie, “what?” He asks, a hardened expression on your face.

”royalties, you know… for your starring role as Tom Hanks’ running double in Forrest Gump.”

Justin’s face and ears turn bright red, his wife is every bit confused and highly annoyed by Eddie. Justin peeks around Eddie and sees you, he drops his cash into the cashier's hands and bolts out the door.

“RUN FORREST RUUUUUUN!” Eddie laughs, shouting after them. The cashier glares at him and Eddie looks at her with a blank expression, “what? Not a Tom Hanks fan?”

—————————————————————————-

[aqua2fana]

Homestuck race/ethnicity nationality headcanons

Since the beta/alpha kids are like pure white in the comics my brain immediately envisioned them as white and unfortunately it’s still the first place my mind goes but I do like to think most of them aren’t totally white

The trolls are based mostly on canon references, vibes, their lands in sburb, and their dancestors

John and Jane: white | polish/dutch | american (washington)

They’re white and nerdy sorry

Rose and Roxy: white/middle eastern | french/egyptian | american (new york)

I’m all for french lalondes but I also remembered Roxy’s planet had pyramids and decided they were Egyptian too

Dave and Dirk: white/east asian | spanish/japanese | american (texas)

The striders live in Texas so they’re most likely Spanish descent but they also reference Japanese culture so often that I just had to include it

Jade and Jake: white/pacific islander | english/tongan | american (phoenix islands)

The Britishness is from Jake and the polynesian part is from jade, they’re tan af

Aradia: latina/east asian | mexican/japanese | japanese

I know that canonically she’s supposed to be Japanese so she is part japanese but the dark curly hair, desert climate, obsession with death (day of the dead) made me assume she was Latina the first time I read the comic 🤷‍♀️

Tavros: latino/southeast asian | mexican/filipino | mexican

Man’s obviously latino and I made him Filipino because the actor rufioh is based off is filipino

Sollux: white/east asian | french/korean | canadian (quebec)

French because I immediately decided he was Canadian so french is statistically likely but he also has some Asian vibes so I chose the one country that’s split in two, obviously

Karkat: white | romanian/jewish | american (maine)

Karkat is super pale in such a way that his eye bags are extremely noticeable. He’s Romanian as a reference to vlad the impaler and all the castle ruins in Romania which remind me of his land. He’s Jewish for vibe reasons. Maine for lobsters and and crabs 🦀

Nepeta: white | english/german | american (tennessee)

Because I picture her with blonde hair (like a lions mane). She lives near the Smokey mountains where there are a small population of mountain lions and she’s a crazy wilderness explorer. Think of how cute she’d be with a Tennessee accent

Kanaya: south asian/middle eastern | indian/iranian | american (pennsylvania)

Vibes, imagine her in a sari or any other traditional Indian clothes, she’d be stunning

Terezi: white | greek/irish | greek

The scales, democracy, hello? Also she’s absolutely a red head

Vriska: white | greek/turkish | cypriot

Vriska is definitely white and she’s a pirate so instead of Caribbean (which is mostly black) she’s Mediterranean.

Equius: black | sudanese | american (kentucky)

He’s definitely black and he has locs like you wouldn’t believe. Kentucky because of mammoth cave as a reference to his land and also because of the horse derby

Gamzee: black/white | beninese/portuguese | brazilian

Hes definitely black coded in some ways but the icp are white sooo he’s both. I made him Brazilian for carnival

Eridan: white | scottish/english | american (california)

It’s giving imperialism and Silicon Valley simultaneously

Feferi: white/black | italian/trinidadian | italian

The only reason she’s half white is because I picture her with this light red strawberry blonde hair and it’s also a reference to the Roman Empire. She’s Trinidadian because I headcanon meenah as having a voice like nicki minaj

[kittyundercover1]

Shall we Dance? (Imagination Movers x Reader Oneshot)

Warnings: None

Words: 770

Based on “The Greatest Dance” by “Imagination Movers”

You stand to the side as you observe your peers chatting and dancing the night away. You were reluctant to receive an invite to this upper-class last minute, but because of the short amount of time you had to get your hair done and find fancy clothing, finding a date didn’t even come to mind.

Nevertheless, you always found your way to enjoy your surroundings whether you were with others or not. However, you do wish you had someone to talk with to fulfill your time.

To snap you out of your thoughts, classical-sounding music began playing. Other guests found a dancing partner to waltz with. You stood in the center of the floor observing the others. You were about to return to your standing area until a rather handsome man with semi-curly hair wearing a tuxedo with a red and yellow name tag on the right side of his chest spelling out ‘Rich’ slightly bowed and extended one hand to you and placed the other behind his back.

“Shall we dance, shall we dance? Step in time, you and I. We could fly straight to the stars.”

He glides his hand in the air, slowly waving as if stars were actually in your face. The moment the piano hit a strong note for a brief second, he reached his hand in front of you again.

“Take my hand, take my hand,” you held his hand, accepting his gesture.

“I’ll spin you around the room,” he lifts your hand above your head, giving you room to twirl on your toes. “Then twirl you up to the moon,” you feel yourself getting taller and taller, or rather slowly floating from the ground.

It’s as if invisible steps appeared as this Rich fellow gracefully stepped up to reach for your hand again. He gives it a comforting squeeze, indicating that everything’s going to be okay and even more magical.

“Can you see, this could be, the greatest dance.”

It feels like the scene changed. It felt like you were dancing on a platform that looked and felt like clouds. Hovering from above, four more smaller cloud stages appear with three other guys with similar name tags waltzing with alternate versions of you while a mouse was…playing the piano? You had to admit, he was pretty good. The name tags on those guys spelled out ‘Scott’, ‘Smitty’, and ‘Dave’. You had to admit again, those three also looked cute.

“Birds of a feather flock together rising high above the swaying purple heather. Swirling, whirling, gliding, moving by, like a dancing ballet in the starry sky.”

“Spinning, soaring, swirling, whirling, a tapestry.”

Scott and Dave’s vocals intertwined with one another. Those identical versions of you were smiling ear to ear. The six of you from those platforms were having a ball. Literally!

A sudden shift as the scene changes again. The focus was back on the main version of you and Rich. You both held microphones. Scott repeats himself while Dave sings something new.

“Now we sing, now we sing. I’ll be the melody, you’ll be the harmony tune,” Rich continues dancing with you, leaning back in a striking pose as you do the same.

“Birds of a feather flock together rising high above the swaying purple heather. Swirling, whirling, gliding, moving by, like a dancing ballet in the starry sky.”

“Lifting, swaying, join me, and dance with the symphony.”

The way the three vocalize is blissfully harmonious.

“Can you see, this could be, the greatest dance. You and me, we could be, the greatest dance,” Scott and Dave briefly join for the last few notes of the song as it finishes.

For the final move, Rich dips you. Just like that, you two back at the ballroom. You realize a crowd formed around the two of you, engulfed in the performance. The audience cheers and applauds you and your dance partner.

Rich raises you back up on your feet as both of you hold hands and take a bow. There was something about these four men you were drawn to. You wondered if you would ever see them again after tonight. Even if you didn’t, they transformed this night into something you’ll never forget. He kisses the back of your hand before gazing into your eyes, smiling once more.

“If you ever have a situation that needs imagination, visit the Idea Warehouse,” he winks before returning to the trio and rodent with brown and orange fur—er, hair?

You heard of the Idea Warehouse before, but you never had a problem that big. Perhaps you’ll take up his offer when you do.

[fazgoo-connoiseur-1987]

HOW COME when I listen to new songs where I can imagine bill I imagine YOUR version of him GAHHHHH I HAVE A DESIGN FOR HIM MYSELFFFFFF

I think this is my sign to change up my design so I actually like it 😭

(he’s been through many different renditions: first knockoff Dave miller William from the books, then I kinda made his hair more curly, then I added a PURPLE STRAND OF HAIR WHAT?!?! and my current design kinda is a mix of both the curly hair one and the purple one but without purple??? idk???)

LMAO im in ur headd call me uhhhhh maaalhare

[diorgirl444]

ahh im so excited for the gg matchups omg <3 i actually cannot wait - my latest obsession fr

my name is eva rose - eva's fine though lol - and i'm straight with she/her pronouns. i'm a sagittarius with a virgo moon and an enfp. (i think im an ambivert tho)

i'm 5''3 with auburn curly hair and a pretty petite hourglass figure. i have freckles pretty much all year round - but only on my cheeks and the tip of my nose. my eyes are blue but look green in certain lighting. ever since i was abt 5 or 6 ive always wanted to get a couple of tattoos but im not old enough yet 😭 i love the idea that your body can be art, and i think tattoos can express that so beautifully

i would describe myself as observant, fun, genuine, intuitive and witty. i like to get to know people & ask them questions, im pretty open personally. how much i talk changes massively depending on my mood although i do end up rambling about nothing once i get invested in the conversation lol.

im pretty ambitious which can sometimes cause severe burnout, but i hate pushing myself further than i can and i am learning to set good boundaries. i am a relatively anxious person, but im rlly getting better at managing that. i'm also a massive hopeless romantic and my love language is quality time - and sometimes physical touch.

my dream is to become a music journalist or to run a bookshop when i'm older, although i love psychology & history <33 i've been described as jo march & lizzie bennett & i agree, but i also think im a bit like meg tbh.

i feel most at home during autumn & during starry nights. i like adventures but at the end of the day i prefer being at home. i love art galleries, astronomy, late night conversations, biking and listening to music - i like the beatles, fleetwood mac, abba, lily allen, lana del rey, bowie.

my favourite things in the world are my cd collection & my family <3 (cd collection comes first ofc lol)

your perfect matchup is 𝐝𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐲𝐠𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐤𝐢 💌

𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 <𝟑

𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝟐 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 <𝟑

because stars hollow is such a small town the chances are you’d bump into dave pretty quickly but i think you wouldn’t properly speak to him till his band was  established.

in my mind you would write for the stars hollow news as their music journalist.. 

so when a new band, which goes by the name of Hep Alien, appears on the scene you know you have to go write an article on them.

what you don’t imagine happening is finding the love of your life there!!!

you invite all the band for coffee at luke’s to talk to them about the band and the minute dave sees you he’s smitten.

he thinks your ever so pretty with your curly auburn hair and sweet smile.

then you speak and he’s blown away because not only are you super pretty but also clever and love music.

your literally his dream girl ok???

(his friends notice this immediately and tease him for it after)

the interview goes super well and let’s be real you think he’s pretty cute too so you share contacts ya know just in case you need to talk again!!!

the pair of you spend the whole night on the phone chatting…

which makes it extra special when he turns up at your house next day with your favourite flowers and tickets to go see a gig in hartford together and could you really say anything but yes???

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 <𝟑

i think you two are real creatives like your energies just bounce off one another perfectly.

dave is always writing songs about you to the point where if he released an album it would have to be called eva rose!!!

he remembers everything about you!!!

 be that the outfit you were wearing the day the pair of you met, your favourite book or even what lipstick shade matches your skin tone the best.

also you and lane; besties!!!!

your parents love him, he’s literally the perfect son in law.

your mom is already planning your wedding.

dave is also like constantly staring at you!!!

you’ll be like “what!?!” and he’ll just be like “you are really pretty, you know that right…”

it always flusters you, to be honest though like he’s always flustering you by how perfect he is.

he definitely tries to teach you guitar, like you’ll be sitting in front of him both your arms wrapped around the guitar with him just constantly kissing your cheek!!!

i feel like you’d call him davey as well and he’s have a super cute nickname for you like angel.

his friends tease him about you but really they’re just happy that he’s found someone who loves him so much.

you two when your old enough definitely get tattoos together.

move along rory and dean because you two are the cutest possible stars hollow couple and i’m not taking criticism on that!!!

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐚𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 <𝟑

hugs and kisses, flo <3

[septembersghost]

There's a photo of M*tty wearing merch from The red scare podcast and apparently he's friends with one of the hosts, and they're literally fascist and prop up abusers, rac*sm etc

oh i know, i saw the tweet from this comment thread, including the mention that they mocked his ex-partner's (twigs) abuse. are we really surprised though, given that one of the co-hosts from the podcast he himself was on is associated with literal n*zis?

he's complete scum. it's not a character, it's not a bit, he's not being a pretentious artiste (even though he's deluded and egocentric enough to think that of himself). he admits in the article that he's given up caring about others, that he's aware he's doing the wrong thing (saying you're doing something wrong to prove what's right is beyond idiotic, he's using "performance" as an excuse to be open with his bigotry), he's not some poor little misunderstood lad who wants to love and be loved (repulsive excuse btw. jack, what the hell is wrong with you?), this is who he is. an immature, unempathetic asshole who thinks he deserves to be the center of the universe and that other peoples' pain is funny. and it reflects on everyone around him and everyone willing to excuse, ignore, and enable it. this includes his band, his buddies (like jack and phoebe), his defensive fans, and his girlfriend. no amount of PR scrubbing will clean up the reality of who he is.

someone wrote a comment summing it up on reddit:

"Matty is someone who believes that most people are just being “woke” like it’s a costume and actually have the same racist/misogynist thoughts that he has. That’s why he thinks people who are angry about the things he has said are just pretending/lying or “mental.”

He doesn’t have a sense of self. I have enjoyed some of the 1975’s music, but his whole image is what pale British rock guy with curly brown hair he can emulate (Michael Hutchence, Dave Gahan). He’s wants to be respected like those guys, resents his teeny-bopper audience, and said stuff he knew would get a rise out of people at a pathetic attempt to be “edgy.”"

"I can't imagine the absolute lack of empathy required to truly believe that racist and misogynistic commentary has no real impact on people. And that if it does, it means they're mental and deluded? Like what the actual fuck."

[deepest-dope]

slightly more in depth info about dave my great khan oc

his full name is David Davidson Jr. but not even Papa knows this. not because hes hiding it out of embarrassment or anything it just totally slipped his mind to introduce himself with his full name. reflexively said “you can call me Dave”. so hes just dave to the khans, if anybody ever showed up asking for him by his full name theyd probably get turned away without much thought because they dont know that guy.

anyway aside from his eventful initiation into the khans hes mostly chill. spends like the first month getting used to the open wasteland and its beautiful wildlife. the first time they ever let him do a patrol on his own he got distracted observing a gecko for so long papa sent someone to check on him. the person who found him watching the gecko immediately identified it as a fire gecko so he basically got off scott free for that. geckos are still his favorite wasteland animal to this day.

appearance wise hes basically your modern metalhead in a leather jacket. top heavy but still all around thick. his hair used to be uniform dark brown but the sun has started bleaching it, though its still thick and curly. hes not so much pasty but he is pale, for some reason instead of tanning he just develops constellations of moles. at first the great khans found him to be somewhat unnerving to look at for reasons most couldnt explain but got used to it eventually but as the author here i can tell you its because his teeth were unnervingly perfect to them. it fixed itself after about 2 years in the great khans because his teeth started yellowing by then. he has 3 total gecko tattoos of varying art quality, which were drawn by his kids and then transalted faithfully by one of the khans tattooo artists.

his specials are strength 10 perception 4 endurance 10 charisma 6 intelligence 4 agility 6 luck 7 and his tag skills are melee unarmed and survival. yeah he is not a crack shot despite being former enclave hes more of “weapons you point in a general direction to fire” kind of dude. he still has his old ripper though and he definitely still knows how to use it. fun fact he learned to drive in the enclave! i imagine his role in the great khans is mostly oddjobs but one of his more permanent jobs is driving the babies and small children while the great khans travel. otherwise hes mainly for heavy lifting and guard duty.

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

@sajdd

Ok since one singular person asked for this the Big Explanation for Everything In My C!Tommy Design.

General:

c!Tommy, in general, I always try and find a balance between my really soft style and c!Tommy's rougher personality. I draw him with soft features but very sharp eyes, both to make his facial features distinct from cc!Tommy and a contrast to c!Tubbo who I draw with less rounded features but much softer eyes. I try and keep his usual expressions slightly smug and self-assured, to get across c!Tommy's bravado.

I generally draw him with tanned skin, as I imagine he’d spend a lot of time outdoors. This does vary on the arc I’m drawing him in, though, for example he’s much less tan in Pogtopia because he has less access to natural light whereas he’s more tan in exile due to not having much shelter from the sun. This is also done to make the pale scar on his nose bridge more noticeable- it’s one of the two scars I draw Tommy as having from the beginning, as I feel it shows c!Tommy's scrappy, determined personality very well. The other scar is a long jagged vivisection scar which is there to show my labinnit headcanon lol.

While I draw c!Tommy with varying hairstyles and lengths, I always draw him with curly textured hair that’s a very pale blond. I also draw his hair as leaning to one side and partially covering his eye, similar to how I draw c!Wilbur's hair, to show their closeness. I also draw c!Tommy with similar wings to c!Wilbur and c!Philza- specifically, I draw them with the same starry night sky pattern I do with c!Philza, but a lot smaller and atrophied.

I really like putting lots of fun design elements in characters eyes because drawing eyes is fun and c!Tommy is no exception! I draw his eyes a very bright electric blue, and I use a small brush and very light varied colours to make them look like they’re filled with little stars. I also give him red pupils to match his main colour association in either the shape of a full or broken heart depending on the arc. I went with a heart design to show his hidden kindness and loyalty.

There’s also a lot of design elements that are admittedly there primarily because I enjoy drawing them, and less for any specific reason. The fangs do have the most reason, to help show c!Tommy's rougher personality, but I also just like drawing fangs lol. (I also draw him with braces in every arc, since I imagine he couldn’t get them removed in exile and he didn’t have the time to care afterwards). I also draw him with bioluminescent, starlike freckles and a strange blood colour which is also used to help texture the skin (well, slightly, it’s not super noticeable but it’s pink instead of red) which are both just things I like to draw.

Also, this is a small detail, but I always draw c!Tommy with a Church Prime necklace (unless I forget it which I do sometimes lol). It’s a good way of showing his faith through a quick look.

Fun fact, what’s probably most noticeable about my c!Tommy design is that as soon as Tommy made the joke about his character being made in a lab I picked it up and ran with it, specifically the idea of him potentially being a clone of c!Philza. I draw them with identical facial features and hair colour/texture, though a lot of the more supernatural features of c!Philza are toned down on him. That’s specifically because due to my hc that c!Philza is an angel and angels as ageless it’d be impossible to clone them exactly so c!Tommy has some random human/hybrid dna thrown in haphazardly (which also makes him a mess of instincts from pretty much every animal ever lol)

Disc War:

I really like the headcanon that c!Tommy was nine during the L'Manburg war entirely because its really funny to imagine c!Wilbur looking at this literal nine year old and being “yes, my right hand man, responsible enough to help manage a nation in my stead,” so c!Tommy is roughly 9ish around this time in my design.

During the early Disc War is probably the only time I actually draw c!Tommy as close to his actual Minecraft skin lmao. It helps show that, despite the fact I don’t hc him as human he is mostly just a normal kid. I don’t draw c!Tommy in the traditional red and white t-shirt entirely just because I want to make sure he’s not mistakable for Dave Strider though. I have him in a white button-up shirt, a red and white hoodie, cargo pants, and trainers.

During this arc, I draw c!Tommy's hair as fairly short and very similar to how I draw c!Wilbur, as this was back when he idolised his brother and I think drawing their hair so similar shows that well.

L'Manburg:

This covers the time from the beginning of the L'Manburg war up to c!Tommy's second exile to Pogtopia, so this design covers a period of years from when I hc c!Tommy was nine up until about thirteen.

During the war, c!Tommy wears his uniform without modification, except for of course wearing his Prime necklace, but afterwards he and the rest of the residents of L'Manburg (except c!Wilbur) slightly modified their uniforms to better fit their own tastes. Specifically, he wears his trainers instead of combat boots, loose trousers instead of shorts, and a slightly shorter and short-sleeved revolutionary jacket, for easier mobility.

During the war, his two canon deaths left him permanent injuries and scars. His death in the final control room, where he broke his leg during his desperate attempt to escape, left that leg permanently weakened (along with being badly scarred) and requiring a leg brace to help him stand and walk properly. The arrow through his skull during his duel with c!Dream left him with a large scar on his temple, covering his brows in crack-like scars which also leave him with frequent migraines.

During the L'Manburg arc, c!Tommy's hair in my design still looks like c!Wilburs as they were still close during this arc.

Pogtopia:

Since Pogtopia apparently lasted two years (which is probably from Cursed Timeline Lore but I love cursed lore it’s hilarious,) c!Tommy would be around 13 to 15 here.

In Pogtopia, I draw c!Tommy as wearing similar clothes to during the Disc War arc, however, I also add on a loose belt holding knives, to show c!Tommy's increased need for self defence along with his fondness for knives lol. I actually don’t do the bandanna design with c!Tommy and c!Tubbo a lot of people do mostly because I couldn’t figure out how to get it to work with c!Tommy's hoodie. They have an equivalent but it’s later on alas.

As c!Tommy and c!Wilbur get more distant, c!Tommy grows out his hair slightly, and wears it tied in the back in a short ponytail.

Exile:

Oh I have a lot of things to talk about here >:). As a quick note to my messed up timeline, c!Tommy would be 15 here.

During exile, c!Tommy wears the same clothes as he did in Pogtopia initially, though due to lack of care and supplies, they eventually of course fray and rip. He also wears c!Wilbur's old ragged longcoat, even though it barely keeps out the cold, the smell of alcohol and cigarettes weirdly comforting. Over time, he rips up his shirt for bandages to the point he’s not wearing anything under his hoodie. His leg brace breaks and he makes a new one out of branches and leaves. (He could ask c!Dream, but he doesn’t want to be fucking reliant on him, relying on pity handouts like a child, so he won’t.)

Eventually, since c!Dream doesn’t exactly want c!Tommy to get hypothermia and die anticlimactically, he gives c!Tommy one of his capes. This is one of my favourite character design decisions I’ve made lmao. I specifically draw it looking too-big, despite the fact that doesn’t make much sense because they’re the same height, so it looks almost like he’s getting enveloped in c!Dream's green shades, and it also hides c!Tommy's wings which helps reinforce the loss of freedom.

c!Tommy gains… a lot of scars over exile. I mean he was literally hit by an axe multiple times. Specifically they’re primarily around the shoulders or the torso. I also draw him with a Glasgow grin, specifically curved to resemble Dream's mask, along with smaller, self inflicted, scratch and bite marks covering his arms. In addition, due to him barely eating I draw c!Tommy from this point onwards looking very scrawny. This is also where c!Tommy's pupils change from hearts to broken hearts! They never turn back :)

During exile, Tommy's hair grows out a lot, down to just past his shoulders, in a matted mess. c!Dream used to braid it at the back, like how I draw c!Dream's own hair, but it very quickly grew too matted with saltwater, mud, and blood to style :) :) :)

Bedrock Bros:

c!Tommy turns sixteen here during my scuffed timeline.

c!Tommy patches up the rips and tears in his clothes. He can’t fully salvage his cargo trousers, so he turns them into shorts. He makes his own shoes out of leather to replace the ones he lost. There’s a gaping hole in his hoodie pocket that couldn’t be stitched up. He'll patch it up later. c!Techno gives him one of his capes to keep him warm, fur lined and arctic blue with silvery snowflakes embroidered on. c!Tommy has to be reminded, or he puts on the green cape, turned a dull viridian from the sun, that makes him feel both safe and so, so afraid.

Scars heal, but never fully fade. Still, his eyes brighten again, somewhat, even if the bags under his eyes less disappear and more just turn a strange gold. He finally has the time to clean out his hair, and c!Techno ties it into a short, loose braid at the back. With the cape, he almost looks like c!Techno like that. Obviously, the visual implication here is to show that even though it’s obviously not exile, c!Techno is still suppressing c!Tommy's identity, albeit unknowingly (and the gold is from his constant eating of golden apples).

Final Disc War:

By this point, c!Tommy's back to just wearing his old clothes, tattered and frail as they might be. He finds his old sneakers, and day by day he sees himself in the mirror a bit more than the gunpowder on a battered trenchcoat, blood on a smiley face mask, wither rot on the edges of an elaborate snowy cape. He patches the hole in his hoodie with a piece of the fabric from one of c!Tubbo's old shirts. He lends him one of his too-small hoodies so he can do the same.

He still braids his hair, but in his own way, in a tightly woven ratstail braid more for convenience than for aesthetics. Character design wise, it’s another way to show c!Tommy's openly rougher personality than say, c!Dream or c!Techno, and so’s the patchwork clothes and rough shorts and scars. Like I said, maintaining a mix of rough and soft is very important to me in how I draw c!Tommy, and I’m very satisfied with how I pull it off here and in the next entry.

Revival:

the story has handed me the opportunity to make my favourite boy undead. i will not pass up the opportunity to make my favourite boy undead.

After revival, c!Tommy stops aging, at least in appearance. His skin… less pale, more colourless and almost grey. One of his eyes glows a pure, empty white now, like ghosts do, and the white messy streak in his hair doesn’t glow but it’s white enough it might as well.

The injuries of his death bear apparent on his form. His limbs can bend at impossible angles, his entire body covered head to toe in bruises. Two black eyes cover his face like a raccoon mask, and the ugly mottled marks of strangulation on his throat stand out like a sore thumb. You cannot look at him anymore and not see that he hasn’t died. He avoids mirrors again.

There’s stranger things, too, like how he doesn’t bleed anymore, any cuts just revealing an impossibly dark void beneath his marble-cold skin. Sometimes he goes weeks without eating, the hunger only hitting once he realises. He feels so tired, so cold, in a way not even the touch of fire can stem at all. He doesn’t have a heartbeat, or breathe.

Initially, he was too tired, too out of it to even consider cutting off or dying the white streak. When he wasn’t, he’d soon learn any attempts were futile, dye fading in mere days, cut off hair half regrown in a week. It should bother him more, but he just feels numb.

[lovelylogans]

spring cleaning

there’s a pack rat in the family. who it is will not surprise you.

part of the wyliwf verse.

warnings: food mentions, alcohol mentions, general messiness, jokes about hoarding

pairings: patton/virgil, offscreen logan/roman

word count: 2,412

notes: hi! this is just a quick little fic as i beta and finish off the next chapter of debutante. this is based off the gilmore girls season three episode twelve “lorelai out of water” cold open. takes place the spring after the main storyline, after alliance but before debutante.

⁂

virgil’s phone buzzes at 10:13 am on a sunny spring sunday. he pauses just after he drops off the brunch plates for mrs. torres, babette, and east side tilly, digging around in his back pocket to squint at his recent texts.

logan sanders: Please help.

any other time, this kind of text would probably send anxiety flooding his veins like ice water. as he’s been warned, sure, he’s a little anxious that he’s misreading the situation, but he shakes that aside and snorts.

“called it,” he mutters under his breath, before he wipes his hands on his apron and types out christ, you’re folding easy this year. is that a new record?

a brief pause. then, No, the record was twenty-four minutes. To be fair, that took place when I was ten years old, we were moving into the house, and you were already going to be involved, so I perhaps I should propose that does not count against my spring cleaning record.

ah, that’s right. god, helping patton move had kind of been a nightmare. helping anyone move is a bit of a nightmare, but with patton there’s a whole new layer of shenanigans.

Another buzz. Also, I need this to be hastened along. I have a Socratic seminar in English tomorrow, and though we have settled on a tentative truce I refuse to let Dee achieve the highest grade in the class.

he shoots back i’ll be there asap.

“jean,” he calls to the counter, but jean, having been warned as well, waves him off.

“i got it, at least he waited till the we hit the between-masses lull.”

“you’re the best,” he says, hanging up his apron and ignoring mrs. torres’ hoots about his arms—he's like ninety percent sure she’s spiking her own orange juice so she can have a screwdriver with her pancakes but he hasn’t caught her with a flask in hand yet—and heads out the door.

the citizens of sideshire are fully soaking in the pleasure of a sunny spring day—it’s one of those days, where the weather’s warming up slowly, but there’s sure to be more cold snaps before they fully settle into spring, so lots of people are taking advantage of it. families are sprawled with picnic blankets in the grassy town square. the “long-haired freak” (taylor’s nickname, not his. virgil’s pretty sure his name is dave, but also, he’s not totally sure his name is dave, and as such usually avoids any complications by saying “hey, man,” whenever virgil sees him) is out hawking fruits and vegetables from his garden. lots of people are out on walks, some with earbuds or headphones on, some calling out jolly greetings to other people taking advantage of a blue sky and temperatures that are soaring above freezing.

“hey, virgil.”

“hey, felix,” virgil says, craning his neck to catch sight of—well, he guesses felix and riley are technically his tenants? but that always feels weird to say—his neighboring business owners. felix is busy making sure a promotional poster’s taped to the window. “how’re things?”

“ah, y’know, y’know,” felix says, waving their hands around. “weather’s warming up, so we’re getting into busy season. guess people want to be able to flaunt new ink in the warmer weather, y’know?”

“hey, speaking of—” virgil says.

“oh, yeah,” felix says, scratching at the half of their head that was once shaved bald but is now growing in stubbly. “you wanna have riley do one this time? they can draw up some sketches for you, if you want. or i can, if you want, but it might be a minute ‘cause i’m all hands on deck for this massive full-back piece.”

“nah, riley’ll be cool, it’s been a minute since they’ve done one for me,” virgil says. “i’ll drop by later with some reference photos, ideas and stuff.”

“i’ll make sure they’re refreshed on what your style is before the consultation,” felix says. “appreciate the business.”

“appreciate you and your spouse taking over this empty shop so taylor didn’t get a chance to,” virgil returns, as he usually does whenever felix or their riley thanks him for something. he’s really awkward about accepting gratitude, he’s working on that with emile and patton.

“god, could you imagine taylor next door,” felix says with a theatric shudder. “bad enough he runs half the town.”

“i’ll call tomorrow to make the appointment?”

felix flashes him a thumbs up, and virgil raises a hand in farewell as he continues on his way.

he ends up pushing his sleeves up to his elbows as he walks to the sanders’ house, occasionally saying hey to other residents of sideshire, or tilting his face up to the sun. 

this winter’s been brutal, even worse than it usually is for the northeast, with absurd amounts of blizzards and ice. on the days where it wasn’t shoveling ridiculous amounts of snow on the whole town, the sky had been gray and overcast, and what little sun there was could barely stream weakly through the clouds. 

but now, the sun sinks softly into his exposed skin, warming him without overheating him thanks to the breeze, carrying the sweet scent of tentatively blooming flowers planted by particularly audacious gardeners.

it is a perfect, lovely spring day. 

by the time he gets to the cheerful yellow clapboard house, he’s taken enough deep, calming breaths to ensure that he is a calming presence. he ascends the stairs of the wraparound porch—oh, huh, looks like patton or logan’s making an attempt at being a gardener, that looks like mountain mint—and knocks lightly on the front door.

“please come in,” logan shouts, sounding exasperated, and virgil obligingly pushes the door open.

he toes off his shoes, even as he overhears patton’s voice, cajoling.

“hug-a-world! c’mon, you’ve gotta remember your hug-a-world!”

hug-a-world, virgil mouths to himself, before it comes back to him in sudden, vivid technicolor and he rounds the corner.

and, sure enough, surrounded by the detritus of the sanders home, patton and logan sit in a hastily-cleared space in the middle of their living room, patton holding a stuffed ball tight to his chest.

“of course i remember the hug-a-world,” logan says, still with that tone of exasperation, but lessened now at the sight of a beloved childhood toy. 

“you can’t make me throw away your hug-a-world,” patton declares viciously, which would almost be believably threatening if he were not clutching a stuffed ball made to look like a globe to his chest, and if his curly hair was not sticking up in a configuration that virgil thinks of as chaotically unruly, and if he were not wearing a pink-and-blue sweater he usually busts out around easter, and if someone did not know patton as a person. “you learned all seven of your continents on hug-a-world!”

see, without fail, almost every year patton gets suckered into the whole concept of the spring clean. and, without fail, logan or virgil will try to point out that he does this every year, and patton insists no, really, this time for sure he’ll get rid of some of the clutter around this house, it’s about time!, and then he gets sidetracked getting attached to objects he finds that he suddenly cannot bear to get rid of, despite the fact that said objects have typically been buried away in a dark closet all the rest of the year.

which means that logan and virgil sit with him and try to point that out, and patton wavers, before he decides to keep or donate or trash it, and it seems like it’s going okay, until the next thing he touches turns out to be another thing that he suddenly cannot bear to give up.

it’s gotten a little better since that time they introduced the marie kondo method, but also, that much worse, because of course he insists that everything sparks joy! 

but this is way more mess than usual. there are cardboard boxes and piles of clothes and bits and bobs that are in piles that come up to his ribs. virgil squints it at it suspiciously.

“attic,” logan says wearily, in explanation. “he got boxes out of the attic.”

oh, shit, the attic. god, that thing is stuffed to the brim with boxes, no wonder the living room looks like someone upended the odds-and-ends drawer for a giant into the house.

“but—c’mon,” patton says, in that same sweetly coaxing tone that usually makes them all throw up their hands and leave the rest of this spring cleaning mess for next year’s spring clean. he holds out the hug-a-world to logan. “hold it. marie says so.”

“marie does not realize that she has a special case with my hoarder of a father and therefore should customize the approach of sparks joy, because you have too wide a definition,” logan says, but he reaches out and takes the hug-a-world with both hands anyways.

virgil examines logan holding it, thinking suddenly of a much tinier logan with a gap in his front teeth holding the same toy in the same way, though the fabric had been much more vibrant shades of blue and green then. there had been a solid stretch of time that the hug-a-world had been the toy that logan had hugged falling asleep, back in the poolhouse. he’d taken the hug-a-world to the diner and to school and all around the inn and to the princes’ apartment and back again.

a side of logan’s mouth twitches up, and then, as if suddenly conscious of it, he forces the corners of his mouth to turn down as he stares at it.

“remember?” patton repeats, staring at logan and the hug-a-world fondly. “we used to take turns to squeeze it as tight as we could and then wherever our pinkies would end up, that’s where we were going to go together when you grew up.”

“yes,” logan says, and then loses the fight against his mouth, because it twitches up into a smile again. “many a trip to uzbekistan was planned that way.”

“look!” patton says, pointing and tilting his head. “that’s canada, then, where’d your other one get you?”

logan moves his other pinky in order to squint at the faded fabric. “i believe that’s cambodia. possibly vietnam, i was rather splitting the border.” 

“why not both?” patton says pragmatically, or as pragmatically as he can sound planning a potential trip based off hugging a ball. 

logan hesitates, holding the ball.

“look,” patton says. “hey, how about virgil helps clean it up, and the hug-a-world can live in your room?”

logan chews at the inside of his lip.

“if it sparks joy,” patton sing-songs.

logan heaves a sigh.

“the hug-a-world will live in my room, then,” he says, before looking to virgil. “we’ve started a pile for you right here,” and pats a pile of what mostly looks like clothes that can be either repaired, repurposed, or sneakily donated.

virgil takes a breath, and says, “i’ll crack open a window and put on some music, then. patton, you take your allergy medicine today?”

patton tilts his head to think about it.

“that’s a no,” virgil says. “i’ll grab it on the way. water, snacks? we’re gonna be here for a while.”

“are we?” logan says doubtfully, twisting to look at him.

“we are finishing spring clean this year!” patton insists. “i mean it this time!”

logan arches his eyebrows at virgil, and virgil mouths play along, and logan sighs before he turns back to the pile, pulling out an old jacket at random.

“i have never seen you wear this. it should be donated.”

“that was from raf, we can’t just toss it!” patton cries out in dismay, and virgil heads for the kitchen.

he fills up three glasses of water, chops up some celery and apples, fills up three mini ramekins with peanut butter, and sets it all on a tray, along with the round white pill that patton takes for his allergies. 

he plugs in his phone and scrolls to a roman-made playlist, lowering the volume so that they’ll be able to hear each other, and proceeds to make his meandering way around the piles of Stuff as best he can without knocking anything over.

on his way, he moves to crack open the windows of the living room, allowing the floral-scented air to waft into the messy room, to hear the chirping of the birds under patton and logan’s debating.

he pushes aside a pile of old books on the coffee table and sets the tray down, mostly ignored as logan manages to triumph and tosses the jacket into a box labeled DONATE.

virgil settles down next to his pile, sitting in criss-cross-applesauce, and gosh all of the clutter of patton and logan’s lives looms over them like a mountain at this angle. 

“okay,” virgil says encouragingly. “good, that’s good! raf’s old jacket will probably make some other teenager very happy to have it.”

patton sighs, staring after the jacket. “yeah, i guess.”

“this is good,” virgil says stubbornly, before tugging at a piece of fabric sticking out at random and unearthing a blanket.

“oh, i was wondering where that got off to!” patton says, delighted. 

“i thought that got lost in the moving shuffle,” virgil agrees, because the last time he saw this he was pretty sure it was tossed over the back of their rented apartment couch.

“so this blanket has not been washed in at least six years,” logan says.

“well, that can be fixed!” patton points out. “i say keep.”

“we’re never going to finish,” logan groans.

“of course we’re gonna finish!” patton says.

“yeah, logan,” virgil says unconvincingly. “listen to your dad.” 

patton beams at him, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek; logan rolls his eyes, before he turns his attention to the blanket.

“so, you claim keep for your room,” logan says. “you already have so many blankets.”

“well, we can always use more blankets!” patton points out. “worse comes to worse, we’ll put it in the linen closet.”

logan tilts his head, before he sighs, and places it in a pile of other fabrics that they seem to have decided to keep.

“all right, fine,” he says, then fishes out another piece of fabric. “next item—”

“look how fast we settled that!” patton says brightly.

“pretty fast,” virgil agrees dutifully.

“we’ll totally finish spring clean this year,” patton says confidently.

(they do not finish spring clean this year.)

[queenofbrooklyn]

Holding Hands and Blue Flowers 

“Jack Kelly might not be an expert of love, but he is an expert at almost missing it. Or Valentine's Day mishaps that somehow work out in the end.“

        Jack felt the need to look over his shoulder while selling the last of his papers on February 14th. Like most holidays, Valentine’s Day had somehow become a day for pranks amongst the newsies, and Jack had already been the butt of more of them than he’d like to admit. He’d nearly gotten tripped by a bouquet of raggedy flowers dropped in front of him by Swifty. He’d gotten more than his fair share of funny, and offensive, Valentine’s Day cards by the guys, and had even turned down a chocolate in case Racetrack had stuck something nasty inside.

           So, he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised when he nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He was surprised though when he turned about found David, shy smile on his face.

           “Jack, hi. Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, holding tighter to his stack of books. He was back in school now, as promised, so they didn’t see each other much except for after the school day ended.

           “Heya Dave, sorry, the guys’ have been a pain today, so what’s new?” he said with a laugh, slinging his arm about David’s shoulders in greeting, steering him back the way Jack had been walking.

           “I was wondering if you were still planning on coming to dinner tonight,” David said as they got on their way, Jack stopping to sell his last paper. He looked sharply over his shoulder at David as he did.

           “’Course, why wouldn’t I be?”

           “Well, I don’t know, I wasn’t sure if you had…other plans or not?” He said, the sentence coming out like a question. Jack fell back into formation with David now, thinking. He always came to dinner at the Jacobs’ on Thursday nights, he didn’t know what David could be getting at. Then he realized again what day it was and looked up at David’s face. He was looking off in the distance, like something was on his mind.

           “Oh uh. Well, I don’t know. Do you have other plans?” He asked, suddenly imagining that Dave had asked someone from school to do something for the holiday. He didn’t talk much about classmates but -he looked at David again, all curly hair and blue eyes- it wasn’t out of the question that people would be interested.

           David looked at him, caught Jack looking, and just as quickly looked away again.

           “Well, I’ve got some homework, but that’s all.”

           Jack nodded, stuck his hands in his pockets. He didn’t know what to say now. Was David trying to tell him not to come over? They passed a card shop, the windows done up in elaborate displays of paper hearts and cards, a section of sentimental and lavishly decorated cards next to the ones he had been receiving all day, the cheap, colorful, comical ones, that show exactly what the giver would like to be doing instead of being your valentine.

           They both involuntarily slowed down as they passed the shop.

           “So, did you get any of those today?” David asked, inclining his head over at the window.

Jack rolled his eyes, boy did he. He huffed out a laugh, wishing he had kept them to show David, “Yeah a few, they were pretty creative this year.”

David shifted next to him, didn’t say anything. The silence hung between them a second and Jack ran a hand through his hair in frustration and confusion. What was up with him today?

“Did you? Get any valentines I mean?”

“No, they discourage it in school, some people gave them after class I think though,” he said, his voice quiet, not looking over at him.

           “Okay, well. Um, tell your folks I’ll be by for dinner like usual I guess, if that’s still okay,” he said as they reached the corner they usually parted on. David nodded. They stood there for a second, looking anywhere but at each other.

           “Well, goodbye, see you at dinner I guess,” David muttered, looking anything but excited to see him later and turning away. Jack reached out and grabbed his arm before he thought better of it. David turned back to him in surprise.

           “Listen, if you don’t want me to come to dinner, just say so.”

           David’s eyes burned. “Fine, don’t come. You’re clearly looking for a reason not to,” he said, pulling from Jack’s grasp and stomping off down the sidewalk, eyes locked on the bricks in the front of him. Jack watched him walk away. What had just happened? He looked around behind him like he could pick up the pieces of that conversation and fit them back together in a way that made more sense.

           He finally shook his head and turned back towards the lodge house. Maybe David did have a date, some girl from school with her books. A Jewish girl that would understand his traditions and his parents would approve of.

           By the time he got back to the lodge house, Jack had worked himself into a foul mood. The lobby was loud and boisterous. Blink and Mush were laughing, half wrestling, and dragged Bumlets into the fray, who had been running around trying to get ready for a date. Jack nodded hello to them and the others, nearly by passing the front desk before Kloppman reached out for him.

           “Jack, this came for you this morning, I was going to give it to you at lunch but I didn’t see you,” he said, holding out a purple envelope. Jack barely looked up as he took it.

           “Thanks, Kloppman, I’ll be in for dinner tonight,” he said and pretended to not notice as he saw Kloppman double check the day of the week on his wall calendar. Jack climbed the stairs morosely, still lost in thought. He slumped in his bed, dropped the card on his table and fiddled with his cigarette case.

           “Hey Jack, where’s the Mouth? I thought he’d come by after school.” Skittery said, inviting himself to lean against the bunk frame and look up at him. Jack shrugged.

           “How should I know? Do I look like David’s keeper?” He asked rolling his eyes. Skittery bristled.

           “Well you’ve got a card from him so I figured you’d seen ‘im today, sheesh,” he said, pushing off the bunk and walking away. Jack looked up at that. A card from David? He looked down at the purple envelope on his table and scrambled out of his bed, picking it up so fast he dropped it on the floor and had to stoop to fish it out from below the bottom bunk.

           There, clear as day on the other side of the envelope read, “To Jack, From David” God. How had he been so stupid to not even look at the envelope?! He had figured it was another gag valentine from one of the guys.

           He ripped open the paper and dumped the little card into this hand. It was flowery and blue and purple and when he opened it, the pages seemed to expand outward to reveal two hands holding each other from opposite sides of the card, surrounded by flowers. He examined the little card for a while, closing and opening it and peering between the folded bits of paper. You could only see the hands of the people, not the rest of their bodies, not even a scrap of clothing on their wrists to determine what they were wearing. It had no note, only the hands and flowers. He wasn’t sure exactly what it meant. It wasn’t some great declaration of love. Or… was it? Were the genderless hands holding on to one another supposed to signal something?

           Jack paced a little, wishing the image would divulge its secrets. He hadn’t ever received a serious valentine. Last year a girl he had seen a few times sent him a paper flower but that was all. This was… different. This had meaning, even if he couldn’t distinguish it or exactly why he thought so.

           And God, he felt like an idiot! Kloppman said it had been waiting for him before lunch. Jack always came back to the lodge house in the middle of the day and David knew that. The only reason he hadn’t come back today was to avoid more stupid pranks from his friends. David had probably assumed he had seen the card and was rejecting him. Jack mentally kicked himself, running a hand agitatedly through his hair. What. An. Idiot.

           He quickly scooped up the card and ran back down the stairs.

           “Sorry, Kloppman, change of plans!” he said, waving the card at him as he raced out the door and into the cold February evening. He had to fix things.

           A half an hour later he sucked a breath in as he ran up to David’s fifth floor apartment, the dark hallway giving way to light as people moved in and out of the rooms, cheery talk filtering between the walls in different languages, mostly what Jack had come to recognize as Yiddish. He wished he had thought to comb his hair, or even to put on his good jacket before racing out of the lodge house like he had, but it was too late for all of that now.

He knocked on the Jacobs’ door at a quarter past six, fifteen minutes earlier than he normally showed up to dinner. Esther answered, just as he hoped she would. He beamed a smile at her despite his nerves.

“Happy Valentine’s Day Mrs. Jacobs,” he said as she smiled at him in surprise.

“Jack! I didn’t think we’d be expecting you tonight, David said you had other plans,” she said smiling with no ill will, clearly not having heard the venom that must have been in David’s voice when he relayed that news.

“Nah, I’d never make plans over your dinner Mrs. Jacobs, you know you’re the best cook I know. Is David ‘round?” He asked, careening his head around the corner of the apartment door.

“He’s on the fire escape, I’ll call for him.”

“No, no that’s okay, I’ll get ‘im.”

Jack walked through the Jacobs’ familiar apartment and said hello to the rest of the family. Sarah was a little cool towards him which made Jack think David had already told her about the valentine incident. He tried to put it out of his mind as he walked to the window, closed against the cold.            

There though, was David. He leaned, arms braced against the railing, looking out over the city. He didn’t move and Jack didn’t open the window. He just stood there for a second, watching him. If David didn’t mean what Jack had thought, he could screw up their friendship forever. Things would be different after tonight, one way or another and Jack wanted to stand there for another few seconds, when him and David were just friends, before Jack tried to bridge this seemingly impassable divide.

He pushed up the window, ducked through it as he saw David turn towards him. David’s face was confused and guarded and now that Jack knew why, he couldn’t blame him. He thought about everything he wanted to say.

“I didn’t go back for lunch today.” That wasn’t it. He rang the back of his neck with his palm. Okay. Start over.

“I mean, I didn’t go back to the lodge house until after we talked.” He held up the now messy valentine, its blue ribbon out of its perfect bow.

If anything, David was looking more confused. Shoot, what if it wasn’t from him after all?  He looked down at the card again.

“What I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry about when we talked earlier. I shoulda sent you a valentine. I was caught up in the guys’ stupid games an I forgot people actually do things today,” He looked up at David’s face, wary now, but not as upset or confused.

“There’s a Valentine’s Dance at one of the halls by Newsies Square.” Jack said. David still didn’t say anything.

“Your nickname’s Mouth, you wanna live up to it now please?” He asked, throwing his hands up exasperated. David smiled at his joke, looking out over the fire escape for another second.

“Are you asking me to go to a dance with you on Valentine’s Day?” He asked finally. Jack relished in the sound of his voice.

“If you’re interested. Blink and Mush will be there though, and probably a few other of the guys so this wouldn’t be no secret,” he said, suddenly worried the publicness of it would make David change his mind. David smiled, a grin that crept up his face and lit up his eyes in a way that made Jack smile back, without even meaning to.

“I’d never want to keep you a secret, Jack Kelly.”

[boys-from-santacarla]

so i've never seen any fic or really anything for dwayne + paul so like maybe that idk--

Notes: Thank you so much for your request. 💛 And sorry if I made you wait too long. I have never read anything like this either, but I hope you like it. It was fun writing it tbh, so feel free to write a positive or negative feedback.

Warnings: Homophobia, homophobic language, cursing, a bit of explicitness in an attempt to lead to sex.

The Moralist (Dwayne x Paul)

Word Count: 1563.

The fourth night at stakeout waiting at the boardwalk was going just as usual; with David waiting at the corner for Star and Laddie to hopefully come back with a third individual, and Paul and Marko playing a stupid game to win a stuffed animal, with Dwayne as a keen spectator next to them.

When the game was over, both players started fighting.

"You cheating bitch! Everyone saw I was winning until you step on my foot!" Paul yelled.

"Maybe I did, but you started it by pushing me every five seconds!" Marko snapped back. Paul half-closed his eyes in anger and began to yell again when Dwayne got between the two.

"Ok, we get it. You both assholes are losers that need to cheat to win something." He laughed and the blondes protested with a loud "hey". He rolled his eyes and said "Move on."

Paul pointed a finger towards Marko and warned "You gon' pay, buddy." Marko gave him the finger and started walking backwards to play some more while showing off his brand new item.

"Hey, man, c'mon. Let's get a drink or something." Dwayne suggested still laughing.

After getting a tasteless six for the evening, both moved to a calmer side at the end of the boardwalk to sit down at some stairs. After all, when Michael appeared they'd hear David's bike.

"Dave's really into this guy." Dwayne said after taking the first sip of his beer.

Paul giggled "Who would've known his weakness were young and closeted curly brunettes."

Dwayne hummed his agreement. "I mean, he's kinda cute." He said and giggled, earning a funny look from his company.

"Don't tell me you have the hots for him too" Paul pleaded incredulous.

Dwayne shook his head "Nah, it's just..." He stopped for a moment to think about it. Michael was dumb, that was for sure, but he had this exciting... aura around him. And he was good looking too.

"I don't know" He finally stated and shrugged. "He's cute. That's all."

"Oh, Lord..." Paul shook his head in disappointment "We got us another fairy vamp."

Dwayne punched his shoulder. "You're such a homophobe. As if you and Marko didn't looked like fags." He teased and took another sip.

"Hey, man! He's the one who seems to like to get annoying just for me to be all over him!" Paul defended himself and was about to get another sip too when he processed Dwayne's whole saying "And I'm no homophobe!" He declared offended.

Dwayne gave him a skeptical look "You know..." he shrugged "they say all homophobes are closeted gays, so..." He unfinished the sentence suggestively.

Paul rolled his eyes and continued advocating his reputation. "I'm as liberal as the next guy. I could even kiss a guy and don't give any fucks." Dwayne almost spitted his drink with that last one.

"Yeah, sure." He murmured.

"I'm serious!"

Dwayne raised his head unconvinced "I don't think so. Your ego's far too sensible for that."

"It is not." Paul snorted.

That made Dwayne wonder, ok, so macho drama queen was liberal and respectful? Why not test the veracity of this?

"Fine. Then kiss me."

Paul turned to look at him disbelieving "I'm a lot of man for you, sweetheart." He said with smugness, but there was a slight quiver in his voice to denote his awkwardness.

Dwayne laughed "I knew it."

"Just because I won't kiss you doesn't mean I'm a damn homophobe. It's just that you're not my type."

"Because I'm a man." Dwayne persisted.

"No, because you're disgusting and ugly." Paul corrected.

But maybe it wasn't a bad idea.

Maybe it would be good to prove Dwayne, the big moralistic guru, that no sloppy kiss could hurt his masculinity. Cause that was the truth, wasn't it?

Paul sighed "You know what? Fine." He decided.

Dwayne shoot up his eyebrows.

Paul smirked "Come here and have a taste." He sensually invited and loudly smacked his lips.

Dwayne remained still for a moment, shocked that Paul was actually up for it. The hotshot couldn't let anyone patronize him, uh.

"Ok." He simply accepted and moved to accommodate his legs with Paul to get closer with each other.

Making eye contact, Dwayne, still a little unsure, put his big hand on Paul's waist while Paul placed with a bit of extra force his palm on Dwayne's cheek.

Then they brought their faces together and left nothing between their lips but an inch apart. So close that each could notice the other's dusty but fresh masculine scent.

"I still don't think you can handle this, bud" Paul whispered, lightly brushing his lips with Dwayne's with the movement.

Dwayne smirked with arrogance "Quitting?"

The blonde gave his negative with a low sound and moved his head to a side to fit his marginally parted lips with Dwayne's.

Both were taking this as a dare to press the other past his limits and make him step back, to leave clear who was the homophobe here. So why think of this wrong? It was just a kiss to prove who had the best manners. No more.

They stayed still for a moment, like a pair of kids having their first kiss. Not moving, just innocently touching lips. But none would step back and give up.

So, if a simple smash of lips was something both could stand, then they would have to take it farther. And it felt surprisingly easy.

Both moved their lips to taste better the other's flavor, and Paul moved his palm from Dwayne's cheek to his nape, slowly, caressing his soft skin, and feeling the light brush of his strands between his fingers. All this while Dwayne moved his hand from his friend's waist to his lower back, intently pressing them closer together and feeling Paul muscles flexing.

The kiss got sensual when feeling silly both opened their mouths and crashed together their tongues. The stubble definitely felt weird, both thought, and even though the hair could help imagine it was a girl, they could not forget it was a pal whom their were kissing.

But that didn't stopped them. Telling themselves it was because it was their job to make the other uncomfortable, they didn't broke the kiss. Just continued to move in a hot syntony sharing saliva.

So the sudden jolt Dwayne felt was justifiable, just as Paul's low moan was too.

It got rapidly heated. Both moving with more confidence, as if already knowing how to move in harmony with the contrary. Their lips began making smacking noises when one decided to venture and nibble a little.

Panting, their hands wandered more and traveled exposed spots of skin and leather.

Paul placed his free hand on his friend's thigh, caressing it while still moving his exploring tongue inside Dwayne's mouth. The hand on his back sent a cold chill on his spine and he felt his cock twitch. Dwayne's response was to moan a little and keep one hand on the wooden stairs to press Paul harder against him.

Lost in the track of time, the dare got out of control and they were both half-hard.

And both felt good.

Fuck, both felt good.

Paul's conscious abruptly came into play and he jumped as if burned, breaking the kiss in cold. Dwayne stayed in position until he reopened and focused his dark eyes on the blonde's. His puzzled expression was enough for him to react too.

In unison their heads turned to the side, trying to hide their dark red faces.

Dwayne cleared his throat "Uhm... that was... That was..."

Paul hesitantly wiped his mouth with the back of his wobbly hand, then glanced at Dwayne still looking anywhere else but at him and repeated his previous action, now with deliberated disgust.

"Repugnant. Nauseating. Ugh, I wanna puke." He stuck out his tongue.

Dwayne agreed "You're such a lousy kisser, man." He copied Paul's action and pretended to clean his lips.

There was an uncomfortable silence while they tried to recover and regain their prides. Dwayne was about to say something when unexpectedly Marko appeared from behind calling them. They turned their heads.

"Hey, guys! Michael's here. Let's go." He seemed oblivious, so he walked back to where he came from and didn't gave them a chance to respond.

Turning back at each other, they wanted to utter something, but just made eye contact, saying... what? "Don't worry, it was good, but I'm not telling, not even myself cause that makes me gay. Thanks for making my dick twitch, tho"?

Dwayne jumped to his feet.

"Well, now it's a fact that you're a homophobe." He teased, in an attempt to dissolve his odd feeling, but it didn't work. "So, I'll, uh, I'll get going, bro." He adjusted his jeans, climbed the stairs and resumed his natural cocky strut as casually as he could.

"Yeah." Was all Paul could say, almost inaudible. But that didn't matter.

He adjusted his pants too and got up.

Yeah, he liked kissing Dwayne, so what? It got a little out of hand and provoked a natural sexual response, right? He wasn't attracted or anything, right? He knew the guy was hot, but everyone with eyes could acknowledge that. It was no big deal. Cause he wasn't a fag.

Paul wasn't a fag.

He wasn't.

Damn.

[livesincerely]

dress you up, dress you down ch. 3 - business casual

aka the Tie Fic. Chapter two here.

Also on Ao3

00000

“Wait, wait, go back,” Katherine says, barely holding back a laugh. “Jack keeps doing what?”

“So, he’ll start getting ready, right?” Davey explains, gesturing with his free hand. “And then, right in the middle, he’ll get distracted or start telling a story or ask me a question, and end up just standing there for ages with his pants half buttoned or his shirt hanging open, like it’s totally fine, no big deal.”

Davey glances left and right to make sure the road is clear, then continues on, Katherine’s hand tucked companionably in the crook of his arm as they walk along.

“It’s driving me crazy, Kath, I am this close to losing my mind,” Davey says, thoroughly caught up in getting this all off his chest. “It’s a miracle I’ve gotten through these last few weeks without throwing myself off the fire escape; no one should be expected to withstand the full force of Jack Kelly first thing in the morning, it’s too much to ask of any one person. And I can’t even just try to avoid looking at him, because if Jack notices he always starts asking me if I’m okay or if anything’s wrong and I can’t say, ‘oh, no, Jack, I’m fine, it’s just that you’re too pretty for this mortal plane and I’m kind of struggling to exist in your presence’ because obviously, so then I have to make something up—“

“You aren’t a good liar,” Katherine comments.

“—And I’m not a good liar!” Davey exclaims. “And I’m definitely not a good liar when Jack is looking at me with his stupid, soft brown, puppy dog eyes and his dumb, messy, adorable hair, or when he says ‘Dave’ in that voice and I just— I cannot express enough how difficult it is to convince Jack that there’s nothing wrong with me when I can barely look him in the face.”

Katherine doesn’t even attempt to stifle her next snort of laughter, the sound bursting out of her.

“It’s not funny, Katherine!” Davey says. “I had to start using Les as a human shield just to get through the morning!”

“No, it’s pretty funny,” Katherine disagrees, shoulders shaking.

Davey huffs out a breath.

“I don’t feel like you’re appreciating the gravity of the situation,” he grumbles.

“Oh, boo hoo, a pretty boy likes to stand around your bedroom half naked, giving you plenty of opportunity to ogle at him uninterrupted,” Katherine says, rolling her eyes at him. “What an incredible hardship you’re facing.”

Davey flushes.

“...I don’t ogle at him,” he mutters.

Katherine raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t!” Davey insists. “I can barely keep from embarrassing myself when I’m doing my best not to look at him—I’d have spontaneously combusted by now, otherwise.”

“Uh huh,” Katherine hums, pinning him with a knowing look. “Right.”

“This is your fault, you know,” Davey continues quickly before Katherine can press any further. “I was perfectly content with my life as it was, but no, you wanted him to have nice work clothes and now I’m the one that has to deal with how painfully good Jack looks in a tie on a regular basis.”

“He’s actually wearing it?” Katherine says, surprised. “Given the stink he put up while we were picking it out, I figured we’d hardly ever see him in it unless one of us made him wear it.”

“Well, I wish I could make him stop wearing it,” Davey grouses. “I swear he does it just to torture me—the damn thing is practically haunting my dreams at this point. I’m pretty sure I could fix him up with one hand behind my back, he wears it so often.”

“Wait,” Katherine starts slowly, her expression caught somewhere between judgement and glee. “Have you been.... tying Jack’s tie for him?”

“He doesn’t know how!” Davey protests, face flushing a touch deeper. “He doesn’t know how and I haven’t had time to teach him yet, so I always have to— Stop laughing!” Davey sputters, swatting at Katherine’s shoulder when she devolves into a flurry of giggles. “It’s nothing, it’s not a big deal.”

He decides not to mention the fact that, whenever he goes to fix Jack’s tie, he swears he can feel the weight of Jack’s gaze like a physical presence—almost thrilling in its intimacy, like the warmth of a hand on his cheek or the feeling of fingers carding gently through his hair—except that whenever he works up the nerve to check, Jack’s always looking somewhere else, casual as can be.

How he can’t tell if it’s actually happening or if it’s a figment of his imagination, the sparking tension that seems to flash and flare between them, how he has no idea what he’d do if he actually caught Jack’s gaze in these moments, but that just wondering about it sends his heart beating a few paces faster.

Even if he wanted to try to explain it, he’s not sure if he could put it all into words.

Thankfully, Katherine doesn’t seem to have picked up on his sudden bout of introspection; she nudges Davey playfully in the ribs.

“Sure it isn’t,” she says, clearly delighting in his embarrassment. “Please, tell me more about how you and Jack have built an entire morning routine together—“

“Oh, look, we’re here,” Davey hurriedly interrupts.

The doors to The World stand as tall and imposing as ever, though the effect is softened somewhat by the flood of workers rushing out of them, heading out into the city for their lunch break.

Davey and Katherine linger on the sidewalk, waiting for Jack to come out and meet them, but he never appears.

“He should be here by now, shouldn’t he?” Davey asks, after a few minutes pass by with no sign of Jack.

“Lunch started ten minutes ago,” Katherine confirms. “If he doesn’t hurry, he’s not going to have time to eat.”

“He probably got caught up in one of his art inspirations,” Davey says with a shrug. “I bet he didn’t even notice the bell ringing.”

“Then let’s go fetch him, shall we?” Katherine says, stepping confidently into the building, tugging Davey along behind her.

Davey’s been to The World several times by now, but he still isn’t all that comfortable being inside the building, always feeling distinctly out of place. Katherine, of course, walks right in like she owns the place, which she sort of does, leading the way through the lobby and up the main staircase until they reach the floor for the Art Department.

They find Jack right where they thought he would be, seated at his desk with a pen in hand, deeply engrossed in his latest series of sketches and totally unaware of the world around him... including the small gaggle of his coworkers standing just off to the side, whispering and giggling amongst themselves as they watch him work.

A small part of Davey’s brain can’t blame them for staring: Jack makes for quite the sight in his dark slacks and matching vest, a crisp white button up tucked underneath. He’s become a bit disheveled in the hours since Davey last saw him—his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his tie loosened slightly, exposing the line of his forearms and a hint of skin at his collar—and he wears it incredibly well, looking far more handsome than he has any right to after half a day’s work.

The rest of his brain, however, stands at attention—a fierce, heated sort of irritation prickling just under his skin. Davey feels himself slow to an uneasy stop, a frown pulling at his features.

He happens to catch the eye of one of them: a young woman who appears to be about his age, with blue eyes and dark, curly hair, stepping out of the crowd as if about to approach Jack at his desk. Davey’s not sure what his expression does in this moment, but when their gazes meet she freezes, her cheeks flushing a touch pink as she ducks her head, and she quickly returns to the safety of the crowd.

“Typical Jack,” Katherine says with a soft shake of her head. She doesn’t seem to have noticed the flock of admirers waiting in the wings. “Okay, let’s grab him and get out of here—“

“I’ve got it,” Davey says abruptly, stepping forward.

Jack doesn’t acknowledge his approach, utterly focused on adding a few precise bits of shading to the cartoon he’s hunched over. His fingers are dotted with ink stains, his hair a little ruffled from where he’s been running his hands through it, and Davey feels himself soften at the sight of him, that sharp edge of annoyance fading as quickly as it appeared.

Mindful of not startling Jack while he has a pen in his hand, Davey carefully calls out, “Jackie?”

Jack glances up, distracted, and then does a double take, his expression quickly turning sheepish.

“Aw, hell, is it lunch already?” Jack asks, setting his pen down.

“At the same time as always,” Davey confirms, leaning against the corner of Jack’s desk. “Figures you’d get so caught up in a project that you ignore your stomach.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack says with a grin, pushing his chair back. “I know, don’t start.”

He stands up and stretches—full bodied, with both arms over his head—giving Davey a long, generous look at just how well everything he’s wearing is tailored to him.

“Where’s Kath?” Jack says, oblivious to the way Davey’s eyes are riveted to the subtle flex of his shoulders and chest as he shakes the stiffness out of his hands. “Is she meetin’ us there or...?”

“No, we walked here together,” Davey says, clearing his throat. “We’re just waiting on you, Jackie, love.”

The endearment slips past his lips of its own accord, far too affectionate and far too honest.

Jack stills, blinking at him in open surprise, clearly catching his mistake. Then his expression shifts, a bright flicker of warmth lighting up his face.

“So, let’s get a move on,” Jack says with a soft smile, blessedly allowing the moment to pass without comment; Davey lets out the breath he’d been holding, relieved. “At this rate, I’m not gonna have any time to eat.”

“And whose fault is that, hmm?” Davey says, trying for something casual, hoping his face isn’t as red as it feels. “What, you didn’t notice everyone else leaving all of the sudden?”

“Shuddup,” Jack says. “You know I don’t mean’ta get distracted. An’, hey, everybody ain’t left yet.”

Jack gestures to where a few of his coworkers are still standing, who try to seem as though they haven’t been watching when they realize Jack is looking at them. Davey’s earlier frown returns with a vengeance.

“See, it ain’t just me,” Jack says.

“I thought we were getting a move on,” Davey says lightly, hooking two fingers under the front of Jack’s vest and tugging slightly to get his attention. Jack’s eyes snap back to his with a speed Davey can only describe as gratifying. “Lunch isn’t going to buy itself.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jack murmurs, allowing himself to be steered back towards the staircase. “Where’re we goin’?”

“It’s Kath’s turn to pick,” Davey says.

“So uptown, somewhere weird and expensive that she won’t let us help pay for,” Jack surmises.

“She promised not to pick anything too strange anymore after last time,” Davey offers, though he’s a bit apprehensive himself. “It won’t be that bad... probably.”

Jack snorts. “It’s the probably that I’m worried about.”

“Buck up, Jackie,” Davey says, curling his hand around Jack’s forearm. “If I have to eat it, you have to eat it.”

“Hey, Jack,” Katherine says once they’re close enough, hitting Davey with another knowing look when Jack steps forward to hug her. Davey bites his lip, gaze falling guiltily to the floor. “Ready to go?”

“You mean, am I ready for your latest poisonin’ attempt?” Jack asks. “Sure, if that’s what’cha wanna call it.”

“I was not poisoning you!” Katherine volleys back. “Those were a delicacy⁠—”

“They was disgustin’, that’s what they was,” Jack replies. “So what’s on the table today, O’ Queen of The World? Sautéed rose petals? A single black bean roasted over an open flame? The left claw of the rare Chesapeake lobster?”

“Why do I even bother?” Katherine dramatically laments, a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “You uncouth swine.”

“You’re the one that dated me.”

“A momentary lapse in judgement, I assure you.”

“Hey!”

As they head back downstairs, Davey can’t help but throw one last parting glance over his shoulder⁠⁠—Jack’s crowd of admirers has mostly dispersed, the various workers going back to their desks to eat or sulk now that there’s no one to gawk at⁠—and surge of satisfaction rushes through him, unbidden, yet undeniable. 

“Dave!” Jack calls, he and Katherine having made it most of the way down the staircase in the meantime. “What’re you doin’? C’mon!” 

“Sorry,” Davey says, hurrying after them.

“What, there somethin’ interestin’ goin’ on up there?” Jack asks, raising an eyebrow. “Somethin’ caught your eye?”

“No, Jackie” Davey says simply, not quite able to resist a smile. “Nothing at all.”

00000

Chapter four here

Tags!

@yahfancyclamwiththepurlinside @corbinthecowboy

[itslocsdiggs]

sunlight and pleasure

A/N: a drabble request passed on to me from @daveeddiggsit ’s blog. It was too good to keep it short and sweet, so here we are. Anon, I sure hope I did your imagine justice. This was way fun to write.

TW: nudity, cursing, smut, slight breeding kink, cotton candy fluffiness(i think…)

You stepped out of the shower refreshed and exhausted from the hot summer day. Drying off quickly, you get into bed, pleasantly comfortable, and pull up the duvet. It would be another long night without your boyfriend’s warmth and comfort since he often traveled for work.

 When you wake up, there’s a familiar hand splayed across your stomach, and the sunlight is in your eyes. You turn your body away and yawn stretching out in the bed. You smack someone in the face.

He startles awake.

“I’m sorry- Wait, what? Why? Next week-”

He smiled sleepily and pulled you against him interrupting your incomplete utterances. The sheets fall of off your chest.

Feeling secured, you regain your syntax, somewhat, “What happened? Did you run away from your interviews? When did you get in?”

“Yep, I’m home, and no pajamas is a good look for you,” he says, eyes adoring, seemingly ignoring all your questions. Daveed traced the curve of your hip. He hummed and kissed your shoulder.

Daveed chuckles heartily remembering your pep talk about ignoring those banal reporters.

“One a.m. You were peaceful, and I just wanted to sleep, I figured I’d wake you in the morning. Nah, everything’s done. Though this time wasn’t much different. But then I come home to a gorgeous surprise, it’s all worth it.” He murmurs in your ear, “Did you have fun last night?”

“Sleeping”? you cocked your head in confusion, “Yeah, not the same without you, though.”

“That’s all? Hmm, i’m here now.” Daveed loosens his hold on you.

“I don’t wanna go back to sleep. You say breezily. I’ve been dying to try out that new wafflemak- Ah”!

Daveed rolls you onto your back tossing one leg over your hip and kissing your cheek. “I think that food can wait. Don’t you”? He brings a hand up to knead your breasts.

“Yeah,” you sigh, arching up to meet him.

“If you like this, I should have the same pleasure, no”? You tug at his t-shirt and briefs, and he eagerly took them off. He gasped as you reached for his cock stroking him until he was fully hard. As you teased your thumb over the crown, Daveed moved closer to you.

And he thought that you looked good. 

Daveed kissed and marked your neck whilst trailing his hand across your belly. He wasted no time dipping his fingers into your warmth and pinching your clit. He groaned, keeping you close, thrusting and scissoring his fingers inside you. Two, then three and then four at once all while keeping his thumb on your swollen clit

He leans back, “You’re so wet this morning, baby. What have you been doing?” Daveed pinched the inside of your thigh.

You groaned, a combination of the cotton sheets, and his touch had you feeling sensitive.

You’re shaking and clamping your legs around his hand, moaning loudly. He loved when you got louder than a soft scream in the morning, a change from your usually quiet, frantic breaths.

Daveed felt your familiar movements when you’re about to cum, so he withdrew his fingers sucking them clean. He moans happily and sets his weight onto his forearms.

“I… mmm, I was gonna, you always…” you continue to whine incoherently. You’re pliant as he turned you on your side gently.

“What, I always tease you? Makes the reward sweeter, kitten.”

Daveed lifts your leg up to his hip, and pushes in as you sigh together. He began with slow lazy thrusts.

“Fuck, can you imagine how much I missed you? How sweet it felt to come home and wake up to find my baby clothed only in my sheets?” He mutters in your ear, voice rough with lack of sleep. Daveed punctuated each word with a kiss and a tighter grip on your flesh.

Your curly haired lover kissed a path from your earlobe to your lips and captured them in a domineering kiss. Your fingers clutched the underside of the pillow, your heels dug into the small of his back.

Daveed pressed his stomach to yours hard muscle and familiar love. Needing him to be in control, you roll onto your back. His hands find yours lacing them together as he lengthens his pace. You’re clutching him underneath his shoulder blades as his hips move a little faster.

Something softly thwacks you in the nose, “wha?”

“Hmm” Daveed’s chest reverberates with heavy laughter.

You twist your lips into a teasing smile. “Hey, that hurt.” Reaching for the source, you realize that his gold chain was the culprit. Instead of resting it on his back, you tug it like a harness watching for his reaction. Daveed responds by fucking you deeper. 

He is breathless and smiling down at you, sweat beading at his temple and at the base of his throat. Daveed changed his angle so that he could provide much needed friction on your clit.

All of a sudden, you meet your release, warm and happy underneath your lover. Your legs flail and suddenly you’re tense. 

Breathlessly, you tremble in Daveed’s comfortable, firm embrace as you come down. Daveed followed soon after with his throbbing thick cock pulsing warm streams of cum inside you. He pumped his hips a few more times to make sure you kept it all inside. Neither of you were ready to give up your alone time, but you’d just have to wait and see.

“You’re getting kinky on me now”? He kept himself flush against you.

Still waking up, you shut your eyes for a moment, listening to him breathe. You allow him to kiss you, teasing tongue and soft pecks all over your neck and chest. His full beard tickles your skin and you squirm, sighing blissfully.

“I’m gonna keep on, in this spot right here til you tell me”! You continue to pointedly ignore his question.

“Please, babe, take your chain off before bed. I could’ve gotten a bloody nose! A black eye!” you finally protest, sleepily waving your free arm in the air. Daveed can’t stop kissing your skin.

His fingers play against your face, caressing your cheek.

“I’m so sorry, kitten. I was just so tired, I could barely kick my shoes off.”

“I forgive you, honey. You do stumble like a newly walking baby when you’re exhausted. I doubt that your brain works,” you tease lightly.

“Hey! I don’t stumble. I just didn’t turn the lights on,” he protested.

You look around and notice that he knocked the clothes stand over, and the little bedside table clock was tilted, and both of your glasses were on the floor, your eyebrow raised. You smile, “I rest my case.”

Daveed opened and closed his mouth again. You already knew. He wrapped you in his arms again.

“It’s your day off, right? We should get some more sleep.” You spoke low and suggestively.

“Excellent idea. What do I have to do to have this, again?” His hands roamed over your backside.

“Be home with me every night,” you kiss his nose.

“Well I can’t promise that honeybun, but I’ll be home for the whole week.”

“I guess I’ll dress like this all week, and we can make up for lost time,” you say flirtatiously.

Then Daveed spoke a promise so low and true in your ear, that nothing mattered from that point on: “I’m not letting you outta my sight.”

[justatiredghost]

Living for the Moment Ch20 A series of glimpses at Klaus’ life if he’d met Dave in his mid 20s. His life isn’t magically transformed, love can’t fix either of them when they’re both homeless and in a bad place. They’re not even really ready for a relationship yet. But maybe a supportive friendship can set them on a better path, the two of them inspiring each other to take care of themselves. It’s going to be a long and bumpy ride, and the question is, when will they actually admit to themselves that they have feelings for each other? Read More AO3

Klaus paced back and forth, chewing on his nails, feeling sick to his stomach with anxiety. He knew this was a bad idea, of course it was. He should just go. But he couldn’t help but pause when he peaked back around the corner to where Dave was currently waiting for him. He was leaning casually back against the wall, hands in his pocket, with a serene look on his face as he gazed up at the sky, enjoying the sunlight.

He ducked back around the corner, pulling at his own hair in frustration, trying to ignore the fondness welling up inside him. What was he even supposed to do? Go along with Dave and see how things turned out, as if he didn’t already know it would end in disaster?

But it just seemed too cruel to ditch him. Maybe he owed him an explanation. Why couldn’t Dave see that he was too fucked up to care about anyone else? That his very survival was dependent on that selfishness?

“What are you going to do?” Ben asked, sitting on a dumpster, swinging his legs. He was anxious too, he could tell.

“I don’t know,” Klaus snapped. He knew he needed to make up his mind soon, or Dave would just go and he’d miss his chance.

“It’s not fair to take advantage of him,” Ben said. “And being around him might just make him relapse.”

“He seems perfectly fine with that arrangement,” Klaus pointed out. So why was he having so much trouble with this?

His mind kept going back to the one time he actually tried to date someone. It was for selfish reasons, of course it was, but he’d realized very quickly that he hated it. He hated living off of someone else, having them provide for him, to take care of everything. Sure, Klaus was useless, and he took advantage of people all the time, but somehow, this was different.

Klaus wasn’t proud of much, but he was proud of how self-sufficient he was. He didn’t need anyone, he could survive on his own just fine. And as long as he relied only on himself, he couldn’t be abandoned. He couldn’t disappoint someone so much that they finally realized he wasn’t worth all that trouble. And, he was surprised when the thought came to him that he didn’t want to do that to Dave.

“You could always get sober—“ Ben began.

“Not helping,” Klaus snapped. “And it’s pretty low, using this to get me to do what you want.”

“Hey, I had to try,” Ben shrugged, unrepentant.

“You always were a weird one, always talking to yourself.”

Klaus spun around at the voice, his heart sinking. Somehow, Dick had found him.

“This is a really bad time for me,” Klaus said earnestly. ��Any chance we can do this later?”

“What do you think?” Dick said, pulling out a switchblade.

So it was going to be like that, then. Usually, it was enough for most dealers to rough him up a bit, maybe make some sort of deal of exchange to placate them, or Klaus could just suck them off or something. But Dick had always been, well, a dick. Klaus hated fighting. He could do it, of course, he’d trained all through his entire childhood. But why do that when running was a perfectly good option?

He kicked up dirt into Dick’s face and ran. When his plan to lose him in the maze of backstreets failed, he changed tactic. Maybe he could lose him in a crowd if he could get to the main street nearby. When he came around the corner, though, he immediately ran into someone, feeling arms grab him and he started to panic, thrashing out.

“Klaus?”

He looked up at the voice to see Diego in his police uniform. Fuck. Somehow, that as even worse than Dick or one of his lackies. Dick came around the corner, then, also running into them. As he staggered back, Diego’s partner grabbed him too, twisting his hand behind his back to disarm him.

“Nice,” Klaus told her.

“You know this guy?” she asked Diego.

“My brother,” Diego said, with more contempt than he thought necessary.

“It’s lovely to see you too,” Klaus said.

“What the hell is going on here?” Diego asked, keeping a hold of the back of his jacket at the neck, clearly ready to strong arm him if he tried to make a break for it.

“Dick, here, just jumped me,” Klaus exclaimed, because for once he hadn’t actually been doing anything wrong.

“I have a name, you know,” Dick said.

“What, is it not Richard?”

“No! It’s Joe!”

“Whoops.”

“Shut up,” Diego sneered. “If we search you both, are we gonna find drugs?”

Both Dick, er, Joe, and Klaus side-eyed each other. They would definitely find drugs.

“Okay, we’re gonna take you both down to the station,” the partner said as she launched into reading them their rights.

“Diego, come on, you gotta let me go,” Klaus begged as he was handcuffed and led over to the patrol car.

“And why would I do a thing like that?” Diego asked, barely looking at him as he guided him inside.

“I gotta go meet up with a— a friend,” Klaus said, practically falling into the back seat, stumbling over his words as he tried to figure out what he was even supposed to call Dave, and if he’d even still want to be his friend if he didn’t make it in time. “Please, he won’t wait forever.”

“Yeah, you’re not going to meet up with your dealer,” Diego rolled his eyes and slammed the door closed.

“For once, it’s not a dealer,” Klaus yelled through the glass, knowing Diego wasn’t even listening to him anymore. He kicked the back of the seat in front of him in frustration. “Fuck.”

-

“Come on,” Klaus groaned, banging his forehead lightly against the bars.

He’d been generally irritating since he got here. Either it would make them want to get rid of him sooner, or start a fight. At least then something would happen. It was better than sitting there with the gnawing feeling of guilt at inadvertently standing Dave up. Again.

“Shut up,” one of the other guys in the cell with him muttered. Fight it was, then.

“All right,” Diego said, appearing around the corner, holding up the key. “I guess you’re free to go. They’re letting you off with a warning, for some reason.”

“Yes!”

One of the other guys in the cell sighed in relief.

“I’m going to be out on the streets tonight,” Diego said, moving closer and keeping his voice low, threatening. “I better not catch you with any dealers. I won’t go easy on you next time.”

“I know you’ll never believe me,” Klaus said, patting Diego’s face, earning him an annoyed look as he shoved his hand away. “But, for once, it really isn’t what you think. In fact, I doubt you’d even be able to guess.”

Diego made a face like he was imagining all sorts of terrible things. “Just get out of here before I change my mind.”

“I didn’t think it was even up to you?” Klaus said, cackling as he dodged away from his angry brother.

-

Klaus wasn’t really sure what he was expecting 6 hours after the meeting time. He sprinted almost the entire way to the alley from the police station, stumbling to a stop when he arrived. It was after dark, now, but it was still easy enough to see that it was completely deserted.

Frustration and disappointment bubbled up and he cursed, kicking over a trash can. Sure, he hadn’t made up his mind if he was even coming here, but the choice had been taken away and now Dave was probably out there, thinking he hated him. Klaus dropped to the ground and leaned back against the wall, scrubbing at his face.

Maybe he could still hunt Dave down, but even if he did, would he even want to talk to him? To him, it would look like he’d sent a clear message that he wasn’t interested in having anything to do with him. Why did the idea of never seeing Dave again suddenly make him feel so frantic? He thought it would be satisfying to have it all over and done with, he could move on and go back to the way things were supposed to be. But suddenly, all he wanted was to see Dave again.

Light from the nearby street lamp reflected off of something on the ground, catching his eye. He wasn’t really sure why he latched onto it, he had no reason to believe it had anything to do with, well, anything. Maybe he just wanted a distraction. With nothing else to do, he dragged himself to his feet and stumbled towards it.

“Klaus,” Ben said. He was standing down the alley, looking towards a side street.

Klaus waved a hand at him with a hiss, his attention completely on the ground. He knelt down for a closer look and his breath caught in his throat. Dark drops and smears. Blood? And when he looked back over towards Ben, he saw part of a handprint on the wall leading to that same alleyway he was still staring down.

He wasn’t sure why a cold dread was suddenly settling in his gut. He told himself that there was no reason to believe the blood could belong to anyone he knew, but he still had to force himself to keep moving. As he turned the corner, moving to stand next to Ben, he saw a figure sprawled on the ground, unmoving. And even at this distance, he could recognize the curly hair, even if his face was turned away.

“No, no, no, no, Dave,” Klaus exclaimed, running forward and dropping to the ground on his knees.

He was pretty sure he stopped breathing himself as he rolled Dave over. But Dave gasped out in pain, looking up at him blearily. He was alive. But he was not in good shape at all. He had a split lip, bruises on his cheekbone and forehead, and Klaus was pretty sure he had blood caked in the hair at the back of his head.

“Klaus?” Dave said. “You always did have impressive timing.”

“Damn, what the hell happened to you?” Klaus said, looking him over. He noticed he had a hand clamped over his side, blood seeping through his fingers.

“Nothing, really,” Dave said, waving a hand dismissively, trying to muster up a smile. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Dave, you’re literally bleeding everywhere,” he said. He pulled his jacket off quickly and did what he could to get it under control..

“It’s okay,” Dave said. “You don’t have to—“

“Shut up, it’s not okay,” Klaus snapped. “We need to get you help.”

“I’d rather avoid the hospitals.”

“Normally I’m always the one saying that,” Klaus said. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know if they’ll try again.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Klaus exclaimed. “You know what? Nevermind. We can deal with that after we stop you from dying.”

“You could take him to Diego’s?” Ben suggested.

“Not unless I want to get stabbed too,” Klaus countered, checking Dave for any other major injuries.

“He wouldn’t stab you,” Ben rolled his eyes.

“What?” Dave asked, looking confused, like he wasn’t sure if Klaus was the one acting weird, or if it was his head wound.

“Are we still on good terms with that veterinarian?” Klaus asked. “I can’t remember what happened the last time we all got high together.”

“You stole his pants and left him unconscious in a public park,” Ben said, deadpan.

“Ah. Hilarious, but probably not him, then.”

“You could always go back to the academy,” Ben said.

“Only if I want to get thrown out a window,” Klaus rolled his eyes. What a stupid suggestion.

“Luther wouldn’t do that in front of mom. Right?” Ben said doubtfully. “Besides, what other choice do you have?”

“Fine,” Klaus said with a groan, realizing they really were out of options. He turned back to Dave. “Shit, I think I know a place we can go, but we have to sneak in.”

“What was that about getting thrown out a window?” Dave asked, alarmed. “Maybe the hospital would be safer.”

“No, no, it’s fine. Probably,” Klaus said, helping him sit up.

Klaus hadn’t been home since he’d been thrown out years ago. Honestly, if he never saw his father again, that would be great, but he needed to find Mom if Dave was going to make it through this alive. Surely even that bastard wouldn’t throw them out before he’d been patched up. Well, then again, he wouldn’t put it past him, but they had to at least try. And Dave was fading fast, leaning heavily against him.

“Don’t you die on me,” Klaus muttered as he did his best to support him along. “I don’t need anymore ghosts haunting me.”

The back window was easy enough to jimmy open, he’d been doing it since he was a kid, running off almost every night. As soon as he had it open, he scrambled inside, practically falling on his face as he did so.

“Be more careful,” Ben scolded him, looking around nervously, like he was worried about being caught too..

Klaus hissed at him to be quiet which just made Ben roll his eyes. He turned to the door, unlocking it so Dave wouldn’t have to risk falling through the window too. Klaus kept stealing concerned glances at him, checking to make sure he was still breathing as he slumped against him, which was probably why he almost immediately ran into someone as they headed into the hall.

“Klaus,” Grace exclaimed when she saw him, looking genuinely pleased to see him. “I thought I heard someone moving about in here. It’s so good to see you.”

“Yeah, you too,” Klaus said in relief, ignoring Dave’s look of confusion. “Is Dad home? Luther?”

“No, they’re out on a mission,” she said, completely unconcerned. “But who’s your friend? And can I get you boys some tea?”

“Good,” Klaus said, practically deflating in relief before remembering why they’d come here in the first place. “Actually, Dave here got himself stabbed. Think you can take a look?”

“Of course,” she said, turning to look at Dave properly. “Oh my, what happened to you, my dear? Let’s go get you all patched up, shall we?” She looked concerned at his state, and honestly that made Klaus even more worried.

“Yes ma’am,” Dave said, still confused and probably a little dazed from the blood loss. He looked even more confused still when she took his arm and was able to support him with seemingly no effort at all.

“How bad do you think it is?” Klaus asked.

“I won’t know until I take a look,” she said kindly. “Wait here, won’t you?”

Klaus didn’t want to, but Mom always did insist they wait elsewhere when she had to tend to one of them after a mission so he’d been expecting it. The problem was, he hated waiting. He’d never been a patient person, but this was just too much. He turned away and started pacing anxiously, ignoring Ben’s sympathetic look. He wiped at his sweaty brow, running a trembling hand through his hair before remembering it was still covered in Dave’s blood.

“You look like a crime scene,” Ben said, finally breaking the silence. “You should probably do something about that. If you go back out there looking like that, you’ll probably get arrested.

Klaus caught sight of himself in a mirror and Ben was right, he was covered in blood. Dave’s blood. He went to the nearest bathroom and dunked his entire head under the faucet, not bothering to let it warm up first, and he scrubbed more roughly than was necessary at the blood now matting his hair.

When he was done, he caught sight of the blood smeared across his shirt, and he thought he was going to be sick. He ripped it off and threw it into the sink as well. He rubbed his face against his arm as he washed his hands and arms, trying not to think, trying to ignore the burning in his eyes and the way his throat tightened. Dave was going to be fine. Mom was made for this kind of thing. He had to be fine. That’s when Klaus realized that, even if he wasn’t in his life anymore, even if he never got to see him again, Dave needed to be alive. That was all that mattered.

Shit.