#this story means a lot to me point blank

[sharkieboi]

okay okay I know how we all talk about like light vs dark and good vs evil and the very very VERY cool concept of like dark being good and light being evil.

rewatching Nimona movie and IT LITERALLY DOES THAT.

currently on the scene of the first time Balistar gets arrested. and like the light shining on her and the shadows he’s in. but he’s also surrounded by light (the electronics) and she’s surrounded by darkness (the empty cells)

idk i’m always having many feelings

[chooey]

just finished breaking bad

[isaacathom]

shaking my two ocs in the scifi story like dolls. they should kiss.

[aquickstart]

i need to talk to you guys about the colors of the Cattons (Felix specifically) and Oliver. the clothes they are wearing are telling the story of Oliver taking over and leaving his mark throughout the whole movie, with Oliver's failures and successes and a final triumph. holy shit. get in. this is long and ends in ancient greek culture trivia. let;s talk please.

disclaimer: am starting from Oliver's arrival at Saltburn. before that the outfits are also very intentional, but it's a lot more complicated and it has been discussed before. the world distorts once we are at Saltburn and the story gets truly gothic there, and every detail—including color!—is enhanced in meaning. also, special thanks to @kivlaro for doing this with me, the thoughts on this specifically and the Saltburn craze on the whole. pics and detailed analysis under the cut!

let's start from the beginning. here is Oliver at the door. simple, blue shirt.

the shirt is sort of its own character. logically it makes sense as Oliver's suitcase is small and he spends the whole summer there, of course he'll rewear stuff a bunch. but it is blue.

in contrast to Felix, in yellow. yellow is one of Felix's colors (he is the sun, which i've talked about here btw, so this makes sense).

same to Pamela, in blue. first time we see her, she is next to Elspeth, wearing the color that is Oliver's, taking the place that he takes right away, in this very scene. the only other time she is physically present on screen is at dinner, in black and white, and black and white are a blank slate. she is stripped of color and gone very fast.

a bit of crucial data for later: Oliver, in blue, and Felix in pink. pink is very important on Felix. this is their first morning together. they are separate and opposite, solid, contained.

where it starts to get good is the morning after the vampire strike.

Venetia is a Felix extension, just as everyone in the house is to Oliver. i will eventually rant about Saltburn as a whole entity and Cattons as aspects of one self, and Oliver as psychosis, but not here. so, yes, Venetia is a pink riot, a euphoria of self-containment because Oliver gave her a piece of something she felt she lacked to feel whole (validation, attention, care), not a piece of blue, of himself. Oliver is expectedly solid blue. Felix is incredibly interesting and something i didn't pay much attention to at first: predominantly blue, incredibly upset at Oliver for ditching him, with a tile of bright red (on the left! close to heart! over-reaching here but like still!), which still tracks. i mean, really, if i had so much foreign color bleed into me and then abandoned, i'd be pissed, too. nice little touch is sir James' beloved hydrangeas, behind Felix, also pink, very pink, always pink; i don't think i've seen them blue in the movie, although the sort exists.

Farleigh. sweet baby Farleigh i love you. I'm not dead-set on my interpretation of this specifically but i think multiple things are happening with Oliver and Farleigh here. like Rent, which is their song, blue is their color of outsiders and the triers to fit in. Farleigh points out the favoritism and preference of Oliver to him and his mother here, so it may also be appropriation of color to draw attention to Farleigh as almost (but never quite) Oliver. it may also be as simple as that Farleigh, as much as he denies and resists, still retains Oliver's influence, which bleeds into him very slowly.

a nice little moment of Felix wearing blue swim shorts with just tiny specks of a pink pattern. Oliver's shorts also have a bit of pink, but less than Felix's. Oliver is pretty good at remaining unaffected and uninfluenced overall.

and we're getting to where it all clicked and started for me. the Quick family house, the failed reconciliation, and the immediate aftermath. oh it's so good.

on the drive there, Oliver is blue, Felix has a pink polo shirt with a solid blue pullover over it. this is the most blue Felix has ever been (this is the most blue he will ever be!), this is trust. however shaky and toxic it is, Felix loves Oliver and accepts him into his world. as a side note, Oliver's parents are also very blue, mom more so than dad. nice!

and then it crashes. immediately after, it's the evening of the same day, but Felix is not wearing the blue pullover anymore. this is very, very important. this is rejection. it's the end for Oliver in Felix's world and with his trust. Felix, again, in solid pink, Oliver in solid blue. Felix successfully rips him out with the roots and everything. ouch.

daddy. sorry. is that highlighter? sweat? fuck. let me- daddy. SORRY

no i actually have a point about this.

the clothes are replaced by the lights, but we roll with it. Oliver basks in the blue-green light, while Felix is on the other side, in pink and purple and red. sure, blue shines through, and Oliver also walks through the slashes of pink, but it is mostly pretty separate, Oliver watching Felix's pink in his own blue from a distance.

the morning after palette is deep. the wine color that is so prominent in these scenes is fascinating to me. if i were to over-reach again i'd say it's the Oliver in Felix's attributes and in his place that requires the robe to be so dark, not usual definite pink, because deep blue has leaked into the color itself, mixed with it, made itself integral to the shade. but it's also just a nice color, and it is pink in its core. the flowers (with sir James in the background) i think are also this specific shade for the same reason. you look at what remains of Felix everywhere here, and it is his color.

and finally oh the lunch scene. the last supper. the judgement day. the who's afraid of virginia woolf madness.

i think we've established what's up with Oliver, but i also think it's important that he is his own color at lunch but in Felix's pink/wine right before and after. lunch is where he attacks, whereas before and after is where he grieves and enjoys. Farleigh is almost completely blue save for a strip of the same deep pink, and he is soon cast out, and Venetia is striped, blue and pink/salmon, affected deeply by Oliver yet still clinging on to the Catton pink with grief, probably, but also love for Felix.

and after all this, Oliver leaves himself.

no, like, actually, literally himself. sure, he'd got a taste of the Cattons and the pink, but he is a monolith, a solid blue when he leaves Saltburn. he has not been affected by the house, he has taken what he wanted but stayed true and whole. what a power move, honestly.

but it's an even bigger deal that 16 years later, Elspeth runs into Oliver wearing all white and a blue scarf. oh, she's not let this go, alright; it was a long time ago, "but not to me," she says. What Oliver has been up to in that time is a great question, without a doubt he's been keeping tabs on the remaining family as much as he could; but Elspeth has never moved on, either. She has held on to Oliver's blue and the pink is not important at all now. Oliver, of course, is invariably, unwaveringly blue. welcome back to his show.

and welcome back to his triumph.

the only color (except for, again, white and black) we see him wear in the flashback about Saltburn inheritance is the all-too familiar deep pink. wine. bright pink mixed with deep blue.

now i will take a liberty and step back, over-reach, over-interpret and go insane. here's a fun bit on ancient greek culture trivia for you.

this is an interesting and complicated historiographical and linguistic debate that i will not even attempt to relay here, but the essence of it is this: for us, the sea is conventionally deep blue. historically, one of the most prominent civilizations considered "deep wine" to be the descriptor for it (not necessarily the color but the property. highly rec to look this up it's so fascinating). what it gives me here is that Oliver has changed color, but not his self. he has integrated, mixed, but persisted, completely winning over, triumphing. long live the king!

in conclusion, i would just like to propose "colors" by halsey as the next cattonquick anthem. thank you for your attention, please let me know your thoughts. yours, yes, you. cheers. god. peace out

[harufluff]

asking them to marry you on over the phone (unironically)

warnings - cursing, but that should be it.

genre - crack, fluff, bf!enhypen x fem!reader, established relationship au

wc - 1.1k

inspired by ‘you’re here that’s the thing’ by beabadoobee

yang jungwon

was stunned

actually thought he was having a heart attack for a second

he was doing something as simple as eating his gummies when you suddenly blurted out

"oh god- marry me."

man nearly choked on his gummy

more under the cut :))

"EXCUSE ME??"

if you were joking that was a bad idea cause he is fully prepared to marry you right that second >:(

either way, he's flattered

he thinks its honoring that you feel comfortable enough to say that

eventually you convince him to stop freaking out (it took way too long)

but even then, it still makes the heat rush to his face

thankfully it was just on facetime, so you couldn't see the red at the tips of his ears too much

he knows he's down bad fr 😋😋

lee heeseung

on the other hand mr i'm so confident on stage was like a little puddle

genuinely thought he heard you wrong at first

he was just sitting there zoning out for like two minutes and finally snapped out of it when he heard you say

"just marry me, you dork."

you thought it was funny lol 😎😎

probably should have thought that through cause you just messed up his heart with two words

"w-wait did you just- what did you say?!"

poor hee was so confused

"idk what did i say..."

"YOU SAID MARRY ME IDIOT"

"oh yea lol"

"FUCK YOU YOU CANT JUST SAY THAT"

he was a tad bit mad

just a little

literally walked over to your place so he could give you hugs and kisses 😤

park jay

he's been ready for this moment his entire life

literally got mad cause he wanted to say it

it ended with you having to beg him to stop talking

jay was cooking for the boys with you on facetime cause he was bored and everyone else would get in his way

so he gave you a call and you ended up staying on a call with him for over two hours

but the second he started tasting his food like the gourmet chef he is👌👌

suddenly he heard some of the best words he'll ever hear in his life

"ughhh- when we get married will you cook for me?"

poor baby whipped his head around so fast he almost broke it

"WHAT?? NOW?? BUT WERE ON THE PHONE AND- HEY YOU TOOK MY JOB I WAS SUPPOSED TO ASK YOU!!"

at this point you were staring at your phone with a blank stare

"what."

"you said marriage. you're stuck with me you can't leave me haha sucks for you."

"its ok i didnt want to anyway." 😊

whoops you just killed him with a smushy heart

sim jaehyun

he screamed

long story short, he almost fainted and quite literally did that "mrs rabbit has fainted" thing

the two of you were folding your own laundry together on facetime because, well, he gets lonely

obviously you said yes, because why wouldn't you??

"you look so cute and domestic, i love it. i could marry you this second if i could."

took him a couple of seconds

but eventually your words processed through his head and he SCREAMED

"THIS SECOND??"

"mhm!! you look cute." 😚

another puddle guess what you're the mop. come wipe up your jake puddle babe

he laid on the floor for a solid five minutes just processing.

anyway now hes at your house still a little jake puddle and he's making you watch movies with him on the couch.

park sunghoon

he was ready 🫡🫡

hoon got the phone and everything. he was ready to make the call to all the family

but obviously before that he took it a TINI TINY bit seriously

a tini tiny bit

basically it was morning and he was on tour so he was sad and alone (besides sunoo who was just offended that he even said that)

babe started drinking water until he heard

"i miss you a lot. when we get married, you're not aloud to do this to me."

spit water out of his mouth

it was kinda gross but did he care? no.

"MARRIED?? WHO SAID I WAS GETTING MARRIED TO YOU??"

he's a little mean when he's flustered ok?

"PARK SUNGHOON I'LL-"

"wait, you wanna get married to me? really??"

if you could slap him in the face you would, but truth is he was flattered.

he would marry you any day 💘💘

kim sunoo

also went along with it

you were going through all the snacks you found at the market with sunoo over facetime

to say the least he was just excited you were excited

"i got this thingy, and im not really sure what it is but it looks good."

the call went on with you eating the snacks and reviewing

"WAIT THIS IS SO GOOD SUN YOU HAVE TO TRY THIS SOMETIME."

"ill try it sometime then."

"we have to get it together and maybeeee you can buy it??"

"ill buy you any snacks you want, my love." 😋

"ugh marry me already."

SELF DESTRUCTION

"ANYTIME"

next time you go over to his place he had a little toilet paper boquet for you 😊😊

STOP I LOVE HIM

nishimura riki

my babe fr

another one who was a little too confident

you were on a ft with him late at night just for funsies

honestly the two of you were just messing around while eating snacks and making little crafts

anyway he was like quite literally about to fall asleep and he looked SO DAMN CUTE

like his eyes about to close and his lip is getting all pouty and UGH-

"night, ki"

"nooo i'm not asleep don't leave meeeee"

"lol you're so cute just marry me"

EYES ARE SHOT WIDE OPEN MAN HAS NEVER BEEN MORE AWAKE IN HIS LIFE

"married huh?? you're really that obsessed with me"

huh- OH WAIT THAT WAS A JOKE THO"

"NOT ANYMORE BABE IT'S REAL NOW"

aaaaaaand again you're stuck 😋😊

i literally love him sm

©harufluff 2023

[vax-merstappen]

feelings (ln4)

my fist lando fic! lmk if you enjoy!

summary: in which lando clearly has feelings for you but will not confess, no matter how many plans you and your friends come up with.

warning: some swearing, lando being an idiot

Ever since you had been invited to join Quadrant by your best friend Ria, you had become increasingly close with the rest of the group. Niran was the first one you got close to, him welcoming you into the group with open arms and listening to all your content ideas. Soon after, you got close to Max, Aarav, and Steve, the boys always making sure you felt like a part of the group. Lando, with his busy schedule, took longer for you to get to know and have in your life.

But when you and Lando finally hit it off, you couldn't imagine what your life had been like before him. You found yourself watching Formula 1 races more often and wearing various pieces of merch sent to you by Lando himself. Occasionally, you would find yourself with a text from him, asking how your day had been or wondering if you would be free to grab dinner while he was in town for a few days.

But soon the tone began to change. You spent many late nights at his apartment, laughing over inside jokes. The random gifts from countries around the world kept appearing more often. Your phone calls got longer and longer until neither of you wanted to hang up.

It seemed like Lando Norris was into you.

You decided to ask Ria about it one day. After all, she had known the man longer than you.

"Hey, do you think Lando is into me?"

Ria gave you a shocked look. "Did you only now just pick up on it?"

"Yeah...?"

"He thought you were hot before you even joined Quadrant. He was avoiding getting to know you because he was intimidated by you at the start. But clearly that has changed."

"Yeah, now he's made it obvious."

"Has he confessed to liking you?"

"Not yet. But i really don't feel like he will any time soon. I mean, there have been so many opportunities when I've been alone with him at his house. And when we've gotten dinner. Or when he's driven me home."

Ria smiled. "Then we'll have to make him confess. Give him an opportunity he can't pass up."

"And how do you suppose we do that?"

---

You had asked Lando to a fancy restaurant in London and reserved a private table with help from Ria, whose family knew the owners. Lando had picked you up in his McLaren, dressed up in a suit. If you hadn't found him attractive before, this would have done the trick.

Dinner was delicious and you enjoyed the flavors while having casual conversation. You laughed over stories from his previous race weekend while you caught him up on the antics going on with the Quadrant group.

"This sure is a nice restaurant, what made you want to dine somewhere special tonight?" he asked.

You could have told him, but you wanted him to confess first.

"Oh, you know. To celebrate someone very special to me being home for once."

"Am I special to you?"

"Yes, Lando. You mean a lot to me."

You held eye contact in the awkward silence that followed. "Stop getting all sentimental on me!" he exclaimed. "You gonna start crying?"

"I might if I have to put up with you for too much longer, let's get the check," you replied, rolling your eyes before laughing.

It seemed like this plan wasn't going to work.

---

Niran sighed dramatically. "So you told him he meant a lot to you and he told you to stop being sentimental? That man is an idiot!"

"I know, right? Any ideas on how we can get him to confess?"

"Easy. Quadrant truth or drink hot sauce video. We ask him point blank if he likes you and he has to answer."

You agreed to Niran's idea and you both got to work writing the questions. A few days later, when Lando was available for the shoot, you had set up in the studio with you three and Ria. The questions started simple.

"So do you watch all of Lando's races?" Ria asked you.

"Of course I do! Wouldn't want to miss one."

You saw Lando smile at your response out of the corner of your eye. Just more evidence the man had fallen for you. You looked at your next question for Niran.

"Have you ever ghosted someone?"

"I have. She wasn't too happy about that one," Niran said.

Niran looked at you for a few seconds as he picked up the next question card. You gave a barely perceptible smile and nod to indicate that you wanted to go along with the plan.

"Lando, do you like y/n?"

Lando's gaze flicked to you before he burst out into laughter. "What kind of question is that? Of course I like y/n! They are a great friend."

Clearly, the question hadn't been worded correctly. Or Lando was finding a way out of admitting his feelings. When you watched the video back before it went out to the internet, you noticed that Lando blushed when Niran asked the question. He fidgeted with his shirt sleeve while he answered, unlike in any of the other questions. He knew the implications and what Niran was getting at. Clearly you would have to try something else.

---

"So you think he does like me?"

Max Fewtrell turned in his chair to face you. "I don't think he likes you. I know he likes you. The man has been down bad ever since he met you. I've never seen him look at anybody else the way he looks at you, like you're the only person he can see."

"But how do I get him to say so?"

Max sat there in silence for a few seconds.

"We're going to make you into Lando Norris' dream girl. He won't be able to resist you."

"What exactly does that entail?"

Apparently, it entailed a full day of spending time with Lando. The day would start with you taking him on a trip to Top Golf, where you would show off that you knew how to hit a golf ball. Next was inviting Lando over to your house for dinner. It would be a home cooked meal of microwave chicken nuggets and mac and cheese, two foods Lando adored but did not eat often. For dessert, it would be ice cream sundaes, a notorious favorite of Lando's. Activities for the night included Mario Kart and sitting together on the couch and watch episodes of Money Heist, one of his favorite shows.

Max said that if he didn't confess his feelings by the end of this night, the man truly was beyond hope.

It was a long day full of activities Lando loved, but surely this would do the trick that nothing else had. You started by going to Top Golf as planned. Little did Lando know, but you had practiced a bit before the trip so that your golfing skills would be attractive to Lando.

"Woah, you can really hit a golf ball!" Lando exclaimed, watching as you swung.

"What, you thought I would be bad?"

"Of course not, I just hoped I might be able to impress you."

You smiled, sensing that you were one step closer to getting Lando to ask you out. Even though golfing may not have been your favorite thing in the world, it was having the intended effect.

Next of course was the dinner. You drove Lando back to your place and led him inside. Of course he had been over a few times before, but this time felt different somehow.

"So what's for dinner?" he asked, interrupting your thoughts.

"I thought we could do something easy, like chicken nuggets and mac and cheese."

"Oh my god! Are you a picky eater too? I never noticed before."

You nodded. "Yeah, I mean I like a lot of foods but there are many I don't like as well."

"How were we not friends sooner?"

You tried not to let any emotions show that he had again called you his friend, but the night was not beyond saving yet. There were still four more stages to the grand plan Max had made.

When you brought out the ice cream sundaes, you could sense his heart starting to melt just like the treat in the bowls. The looks he gave you were different now, like he couldn't take his gaze away from you. And to be fair, you couldn't stop looking at his freckles and his blueish eyes.

"Want to play Mario Kart?" you asked nonchalantly, as if the night hadn't been planned from the start.

"You know I love beating you at video games."

You rolled your eyes. "You say that like I didn't win 5-0 last time we played."

"Oh you're in for it now!"

The competition was close, you winning the first two rounds and Lando winning the next two. In a close battle for victory, you got a red shell that sent Lando spinning and you passing him to claim first place.

"So who's beating who at video games now?" you asked tauntingly.

"It wasn't fair, I got distracted," he whined.

"By what?"

"You."

You couldn't help but blush. "What did I do to distract you?"

"You were shouting at me the whole race, how could I tune that out?" he laughed. A slight wave of disappointment passed through you.

"Want to watch TV?" you asked.

"What show?"

"Money heist? I've been watching that lately."

"Oh my god that's one of my favorite shows! How did you not tell me that you were watching it?"

"I guess it slipped my mind."

You sat next to each other on your small couch, legs pressed up against each other due to how close together you were sitting. It seemed like the night was a waste. You had done all of Lando's favorite things and still he couldn't bring himself to tell you his feelings. Maybe he just wasn't into you? Even though his friends had all reassured you that the signs were there, doubt started to creep in.

You were three episodes in and all of your hope was gone.

"I think I'm going to head home after this one," Lando said. "But thanks for having me over, I had a real good time."

"I did too, Lando."

The credits rolled and you turned off the TV. Lando got up from the couch and you felt cold where the physical contact with him had disappeared. The opportunity was closing fast.

"Lando, can I ask you something?"

"Of course, what is it?"

"I...do yo...have you..."

"Just spit it out."

"Do you have feelings for me? Like more than friends kind of feelings?"

Lando was silent for a moment. "Yeah. I have for a long time and I just didn't know how to let you know. Didn't want to ruin our friendship."

You sighed dramatically. "Are you fucking kidding me, Lando Norris? I took you on a date at a fancy restaurant?"

"Oh my god, that's what that was all about?"

"And then I had Niran ask you if you liked me? And you called me a great friend?"

"Well I couldn't just say it to Niran could I?"

"I was right there! And then this whole night I've been waiting for you to ask me out. You were just going to leave!"

"Ok maybe that one is my fault."

"Lando Norris you are completely oblivious!"

"I know I'm so sorry I didn't-"

You silence him with a kiss on his lips. "It doesn't matter. What matters is that I love you. Even if you can be oblivious."

Lando looked at you before pulling you in for another kiss. "I'll see you tomorrow. Let me take you on a proper date for once, one that I'll actually realize is a date."

"I can't wait."

---

"So you had to confess to him?" Max asked incredulously. "That man is worse than I ever thought."

"Yeah, he was just going to leave without saying anything."

"Jesus Christ."

You laughed. "But at least it's over now, you don't have to watch us pine for each other anymore."

Max rolled his eyes. "But now I have to deal with you being all sappy together. I don't know what's worse."

"Well I can tell you which option I prefer."

[pinkroseblooms]

Boy Toy

Sugar baby!Toji Fushiguro x Sugar mama!f!Reader

Summary: You try to break things off with Toji; needless to say, he does not take it well. wc: 5.1 Warnings and tags: this story contains smut, dirty talk, cursing, rough sex, begging, emotional manipulation, toxic behavior/relationships, some soft!dom/bratty!sub elements, a clingyyandere!toji, possessive behavior, obsessive love, some angst, some fluff, all twisted af.

a/n: I see a lot of Sugar daddy!Toji content and wanted to switch things up a bit with some emotional feels. I also ended up listening to Rick Montgomery's "Boy Toy" on repeat and got ideas. Personally I headcanon that if Toji ever did somehow develop genuine love for another person it wouldn't necessarily help him chill out this time around, he'd just become more unhinged.

His things are in a pile, close to the solid red oak door; they’ve been packed away in brand new luggage carriers and on top is the duffle bag Toji had initially used to carry his stuff in for overnight stays.

If it were anyone else, Toji would have expected the various articles of clothing and personal items that had steadily accumulated inside your spacious home to be thrown out carelessly like trash on your equally spacious lawn. That or burning in the firepit. 

If it was anyone else but you, it’s what Toji would have expected, but you weren’t petty that way; even now as you stand before him, arms crossed, gaze almost blank, you radiate a certain measure of dignity. It’s one of those things Toji’s come to admire about you over the past year. It’s effortless, that magnetizing charm you exude; he liked it right away.

“You can keep the bags, sell them if you want.” Your lips form a small but rueful smile. “I sent you a check; call it a severance fee.”

“I thought I didn’t work for you anymore.”

Toji hasn’t considered you a client in months, though really, a mark was more accurate. You were disgustingly wealthy with a cute face and that was all he needed to pounce on the offer to be your bodyguard and occasional companion to the odd social events. Even cleaned up and polished, Toji was able to keep others away in droves, exactly what you were aiming for; you found social obligations tedious and his handsome yet intimidating presence kept everyone around you from lingering too long and insisting on taking up too much of your time and attention. Toji spent the first three or so months in your company essentially as an employee and he was satisfied with the arrangement. It would have been so easy and simple, it should have been, had you not burrowed your way into his head, like a bullet piercing bone. 

Dammit he never should have fucked you. Toji had every intention of keeping things professional. He should have kept his distance, he certainly shouldn’t have let his fingers trace your skin after zipping up your dress, and damn you by the way for looking over your shoulder at him with those pretty doe eyes and not telling him off when the second you caught Toji leaning in, almost like he wasn’t realizing he was doing it, to get a whiff of your scent mixed with the perfume he had said was his favorite. 

“You don’t have to keep the charade up anymore; it’s insulting at this point. I won’t force you to stay here.”

“You’re dumping me.”

“No. That would mean we were actually dating. Toji…Fushiguro-san, I made a mistake.” You’re almost talking to yourself as you look over Toji’s tensed shoulders to the entrance of your home. “I was fooling myself, thinking you could open your heart to me. But, I knew what I signed up for. So, no, I won’t leave you without any job security until you find your next meal ticket.”

“You’re not-”

“I heard you. Please, it’s not like you to back track on your words, so don’t start on my account.”

Toji was bragging over the phone, giving a verbal middle finger to an asshole of a former employer who demanded Toji’s services for a hit. You overheard him refer to you as a “piggy bank” with a pretty face, among other things. Shortly after ending the call, Toji left to work out (he couldn’t get too lazy, got to keep in shape to protect his favorite girl) and grab some food (on your card) only to return to this. You didn't even give Toji a chance to greet you with the usual flurry of kisses and a bear hug before telling him point blank he was leaving and now.

Even as Toji struggles to wrap his mind around your abrupt change in demeanor, with that practiced look of almost serene impassivity, you look so good to him, wearing an oversized sweatshirt and tiny bike shorts. You always dress down at home, in comfy, baggy things. Toji supposes you packed away all the sweatshirts you’ve collected from him with everything else of his. 

“You won’t even let me apologize?” Toji stands stiffly in the foyer, next to the bags; behind him is the front door, still open, as if waiting for him to step outside. “It was all shit talking. I didn’t mean how it sounded.”

“That doesn’t make it better and it’s not just that. You’ve been hot and cold lately. Admit it: you can’t bring yourself to acknowledge me as anything but an obligation.” You exhale slowly, rubbing your temple. “I’ve tried to be understanding; you lost your wife and I realized it would be hard. I knew that, I knew there was a chance that no matter how close we became, I was never going to be enough for you.”

You put up a good front, but Toji can recognize the faint tremble in your voice, see how your jaw locks slightly, as though you’re holding back curses. He’s hurt you. 

“Baby, c’mere?” Toji opens his arms with a pleading half smile. “You’ve been stressed lately, that’s all. You’ve been working hard and I haven’t been showing my appreciation properly, is that it?”

“Oh spare me. Listen, I won’t swear revenge or sick henchmen on your trail.” You go on, calm as can be, not budging an inch. “The check won’t bounce and all your things are there; if I missed anything, I’ll send it to you. You’re free to go.”

Toji stares at you in disbelief, arms dropping to his sides. You could have just as easily said "you're dismissed" with that cutting tone of yours.

“Are you fucking serious?” 

When you fail to respond, he suddenly turns from you, but not to storm off. Instead, Toji slams the front door closed so hard, it’s a wonder the whole structure didn’t come crashing down. You don’t so much as flinch when Toji strides up to get in your face.

“I want my stuff out of these bags.” he snarls. "Now."

“There’s no need to make a scene. It’s not like you’ll be without a benefactor for long; I bet you could find another meal ticket just walking down my driveway. The whole neighborhood is full of lonely rich women, you can have your pick.”

“You’re not a meal ticket. You know that, you know I didn’t mean it dammit!”

“Enough.” You raise a hand up, your voice clipped. “Fushiguro-san, you have your things, plenty of money, and my own promise to leave you in peace. What more could you possibly want? What exactly is it that you’re holding out for? You don’t expect me to fund you indefinitely, I’m sure.”

"Why are you acting like this? Like you don't even give a shit?"

Toji’s hands clenched into fists; he’s radiating power and murderous intent, but you don’t look swayed or even scared. You know he wouldn’t strike you. Just the idea sickens him; no, it’s not you he’s actually angry with. 

“I’m a fucking idiot who wanted to show off, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? Fine. Now we’re gonna talk this out like adults, I’ll put this shit back-"

“No, you will not. I want it gone. I want you gone. Don’t you understand?” You tell him firmly, eyes finally averting to the pile of bags. Toji’s puffed chest deflates at the sadness that finally touches your inflection. “I’m disappointed enough as it is; can’t you do this one thing for my sake? Why are you insisting on dragging this out?”

“I want to put it all back.” Toji blurts out stubbornly, so loud his voice echoes in the high ceilings. “You can’t do this to me, I want to stay.”

“Excuse me?” You snap. “What exactly am I ‘doing to you’?”

“Come on, this is so silly, kicking me out over a misunderstanding.” Toji lowers his voice, a smile coming to his lips as he attempts to charm you once again, hands coming up to gently grasp your shoulders. “You’re breakin’ my heart here. You said it yourself, it’s a been over a year, you know me-”

“Do I?”

“Yes!” Toji steps forward, a strained grin on his lips. “You do. You know me and you know you’re my best girl.”

“Out of all the others?”

“Best and only; I haven’t been with anyone else in months.” Toji rubs his hands over your arms but you only give him a look of derision. “I’m not lying; tell you the truth, ever since we went out to the beach, it’s only been you. Remember that trip?” he grins softly, nuzzles your temple; he knows you want to lean into him, you’re just being stubborn. How adorable. He loves when you get grumpy and need his help relaxing. “I showed you how to make a fire and we fell asleep outside on the hammock. That night was something else...you’ve been the only one ever since. Baby, I swear, there haven't been any other women.” 

Toji inches closer, hands shaking slightly where they grip your shoulders; his love bites are still visible, some more faint than others; his arms ache to hold you. You’re so close, so what’s with this wall you’re putting up? 

"I want to believe that."

"It's the truth."

Toji isn’t sure how or when it began, but before he knew it, you were calling just to talk and ask how he was doing, if he needed anything. You requested he join you not just for meetings as extra muscle or posing as a date, but on walks and meals, having conversations about the weather to debates about the nature of man to whether toast was better with jelly or jam. You’d take Toji out randomly on shopping trips and end up buying him pretty much anything that caught his eye. Anything Toji wanted, he got, and along with it you increasingly showered him with praise and affection. 

When the sex began Toji thought he got you out of his system the first time, only to end up not just repeating these trysts, but staying longer and longer after he fucked your brains out. It was borderline embarrassing, how quickly Toji found himself lulled in by your pillowtalk as you encouraged him to sleep in, promising you’d have breakfast ready for him in the morning. Sometimes, Toji would come over when you weren’t even home with the spare keys you gifted him and promptly burrow himself in your bed until you were due home. The whole room smelled sweet and it was so cozy being wrapped in the down blankets. Toji's eyelids would get heavier as he wallowed in your scented sheets ike a pig rolling in mud until the combined aromas of your perfumes, lotions, and natural scent clung to his nostrils, soothing and oddly familiar; within minutes Toji would be out like a light. After some of the best rest he had ever gotten, Toji would wake up to you stroking his head, petting him like a dog, and asking him what he would like for dinner. 

Eventually, inevitably, came the point of no return. During that beach trip Toji told you about his past; he didn’t go into too much detail, mainly that he had loved someone and he was pretty sure lightning only struck once. You didn’t get jealous or angry; you simply kissed his knuckles and put your hand over his, not saying much of anything while Toji spoke. That night on the beach you held his hand and allowed him to reminisce at his own pace into the early hours of the morning, until he was too exhausted to do anything else but hold you and the two of you stayed that way until noon.

That peaceful, almost unreal night, Toji realized you actually gave a shit about him and he didn’t know what to do with that. Regardless, you made it clear you didn’t expect to own his heart and soul. You only promised to take care of him. 

“I was being stubborn, you know how I get sometimes. You’re my one and only, baby, can’t we just forget about it?”

“I want you to leave.”

“No.”

“It wasn’t a request.”

“No!”

Toji’s hands cup your cheeks and he winces at the disgust in your eyes; why are you looking at him like that? 

“Okay, okay, let me make it up.” Toji’s voice is sweet as pie; he leans in, practically purring in your ear. “Let’s go upstairs. I’ll show you how sorry I am.”

“Get. Off. I knew you were shameless, but this is...”

You might as well have slapped him across the face; Toji’s smile falls as you glare like he’s some repulsive insect, a leech, like the thought of him touching you is making your skin crawl.

Toji’s hands retract from your face, expression blank. “You’re really serious.”

“Don’t give me that kicked puppy look. As if you don’t have women on speed dial to call up. Why don’t you make up with one of your other meal tickets? I’m sure they’ll have forgiven you by now for however you wronged them-”

“I told you there isn’t anyone else. Don’t do this.” Toji mutters, head hanging; his chest throbs, he can feel sweat trickle down his temple. “Don’t make me go.”

It’s doubtful you could forcibly remove Toji from your presence, but that’s beside the point. It doesn’t mean anything if you don’t want him. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.”

“No, I’m really sorry.” Toji falls to his knees. “Don’t make me go.”

“Hey, wait, what are you…?”

Toji wraps his arms around your thighs, face pressed into your waist; you stiffen but he hangs on tighter, fingers digging into your hips almost painfully.

“Please, don’t make me. I wanna go upstairs, back to our bed. Listen, I,” Toji pries himself away from you just enough so he can look at you with glassy eyes. He’s panicking now, babbling and frantic as you try to pry off his arms. “Stop that! Baby, I got all messed up about getting too attached and I-I didn’t mean anything I said, you gotta believe me.”

“Toji, let go!” 

A cold sweat makes Toji’s already tight shirt stick to his tensed back muscles; he feels like he’s being choked. How could you do this to him? All he wants is to stay with you, whether it’s as a bodyguard, a hired companion, a fuck toy, hell, he’ll settle for being your pet if that’s what it takes to get you to take him back. 

"You promised you'd take care of me." he mutters, ignoring your vain attempts at freeing yourself from his unyielding hold. "I don't...want it to be anyone else."

Toji won’t let you go. You’ve made him lazy and spoiled with your pampering; he doesn’t have to work if he doesn’t want to, never has to worry about money or food or rent, and he never has to wake up alone anymore. Whether Toji’s angry, tired, bored, or as of late, happy, you’re the first person he thinks of. You give him everything and now you’re trying to cut him off.

"You let me go right now!" You slap at his shoulders, try to pull back his head from where it's pressed into your midsection. "Are you even listening?!"

With a distressed moan, Toji nuzzles your tummy, kisses the skin peeking out from your sweatshirt riding up under his forearms; his rough hands relax their grasp a fraction to caress your hips. 

“Let me stay. I won’t answer calls from my old bosses, I’ll quit betting. If I look at another woman, gouge my eyes out. All you have to do is tell me how to fix things.” Toji smiles at you, one he knows makes women weak in the knees. “Don’t be mad at me anymore. I’ll make it up, I swear. I’ll do anything you want.” he promises between kisses and nips to your skin. “Why are we wasting time arguing? You know, I can make you feel so good. My poor baby, spending all day working so damn hard; you deserve better. I'll help take the edge off...you’d like that, wouldn’t you? I can help, just-”

“Toji, stop-”

“Just let me dammit!” 

Toji feels you freeze up; you’re looking back at him with wide eyes. His stomach drops like a rock.

“Sorry…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

No. Now you look scared, maybe a bit concerned; is that for him? Toji can feel some warmth creeping into his chest in spite of everything; you’re so good to him. You went to so much trouble for him and he has no idea why. 

You can’t do this. You can’t treat him like a thing to be cherished and then take it all away. Toji just wants things to go back to how they were that morning, with you feeding him berries and syrup drenched pieces of fluffy pancakes, giving him teasing kisses in between each bite, asking what his plans were for the day as he lounges in your lap, wondering what he did to deserve to be so content and full and happy. You made him so happy.

“Shit.” Toji sniffs; he can feel them coming but can’t stop the tears leaking from his eyes. “Shit.” he curses again, bowing his head until it’s resting against your tummy again. “You can’t…you can’t leave me. I won’t let you. I won’t let you abandon me. I can’t-”

“Toji, calm down.” Your voice softens considerably. “Look, do you understand why I’m upset with you?”

“I know, I know I fucked up okay?” Toji croaks, still clinging to your legs. “So what the fuck am I supposed to do, huh? I already said I would do anything you want, so just tell me!”

“Sh, come on, breathe. I need you to calm down, alright?” You bend at the waist slightly, to card your fingers through his damp hair. “Okay, I believe you. I do. I believe you, Toji.”

“Are you gonna kick me out still?”

“No, I won’t for the time being. We can sit down and talk about-whoa!”

Toji wastes no time; he has you lifted off the ground in his arms. You quickly wrap your arms around his shoulders as he makes a beeline for the stairs.

“Slow down!” You glance backward in disbelief at how easily he bounds up the carpet steps. “How are you so strong? Don’t drop me, okay?”

But Toji doesn’t answer; he practically bolts, finally reaching the next level, races down the hallway until he’s at the door to your-the bedroom he and you share. Toji’s heavy boot easily kicks the door open, somehow without breaking it off the hinges; in record time you’re on the bed, but shockingly, Toji doesn’t start stripping you down.

“Toji?” You ask tentatively; he seems fairly out of it and you can’t help feel worried. “Toji, what are you doing?”

“Baby, I’m tired. Let’s just go to bed, huh?” 

Toji kicks off his boots, gently sits you down in the middle of the mattress among the fluffy pillows and the cheap plush bunny he won for you at a crane machine. Nearly hyperventilating, Toji climbs into bed after you, snatches the sheets and comforter to wrap around the two of you in a soft cocoon. Toji grabs you, cradling you in close as he tries to even out his breathing; for a fleeting second you wonder if this is what stuffed animals felt, if they could become sentient, when children held them tight for comfort. Your attention is brought back by the man rubbing his face into your hair insistently, as if he could tell your mind had briefly wandered.

“Hey, are you-?”

“Don’t make me go.” Toji cuts you off hoarsely. “You love me, right?”

“I do.”

“Say it.”

“I do love you.” You confess sincerely, words muffled slightly due to your face being squished into his chest; his heart is beating a mile and minute. “I was hurt, alright? I want to be good to you, Toji. You have to let me though; you’re not the type to dance around an issue. I just want you to be honest with me and yourself.”

“Yes, yes, I want that. You’re so good to me, baby, thank you.” Toji wraps his legs around yours; if there was a way for you to mold into him he’d make it happen. “Can I move my stuff back in?”

“I…” You hesitate. “Maybe we’re moving too fast.”

“What? No we aren’t. If anything, we're not moving fast enough. Are you still thinking of leaving?” Toji grabs your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him; his eyes look crazed. “You’re not right? You just fucking said you loved me-!”

“Hey, hey.” You put your hands over his gently. “If you really meant what you said before, you have to listen and be good. Can you do that for me?”

Toji nods quickly. You smile for him, finally, and it's a sight for sore eyes. How do you always look so pretty? Toji’s chest throbs and he hugs you, making your ear press against his heart; you can hear it, right? It almost stopped dead when you were glowering at him, Toji still can't believe he was so close to losing this. It's not going to happen again.

“I wanna touch you.”

Toji separates from you as abruptly as he had squeezed you to him; he hovers above you, tugging on the band of your shorts, your panties. He groans pitifully when you still look unsure. Toji hikes your legs up until your ass is pressed to his chest and he’s face to face with your pussy, still covered up. That won’t do: wordlessly, he rips the seams of your shorts apart and pulls your panties to the side. Gently spreading your pussy lips with his fingers, Toji makes sure to look you in the eyes while he lets a long trail of spit trickle from his tongue to your exposed clit. 

“See?” he licks a long strip over your slit, salivating at the taste. “I’m drooling for it, just like a dog….heh, I can be your dog. Is that what you want? I’ll fetch and roll over and beg.” he traces his tongue around your swollen clit. “All you gotta do is ask.”

You can barely form words, forget making requests, as Toji slobbers, licking and sucking until you’re dripping wet. Your hands grip the pillows and your head rolls back and forth; you can hardly speak and you’re more squealing than moaning when Toji starts using his fingers to fuck your soaked pussy.

“I’m loyal too. You’re not ever getting rid of me.” 

Toji pulls back, kisses and nips the inside of your thigh as he watches his fingers disappear inside you over and over again. He’s smiling down at you, dumbly, in a daze as you let out soft cries with every pump of his wrist, every time his thumb rubs a touch too hard on your clit. He’s the only one who gets to see you like this, composure gone, face flushed, eyes wide, hardly able to do more than moan and whine at his touches. Toji’s smile turns devilish; he purposefully pulls his fingers out and shoves them back in to draw out the squelch sounds from how wet he’s made you. He slowly drags his fingers out all the way and you inhale sharply from the sensation.

“It’s my turn to spoil you.”

Toji lowers your hips down on the sheets and quickly shrugs off his sweatpants and underwear; his cock bobs when it’s released and you’re a bit shocked at how hard he is despite not touching himself.

“Let me fuck you.” Toji rocks his hips, cock over the inside of your thigh. “You still want me, right?”

And if you think he’s going to stop at one round, if you think for a second one time is going to be enough and you somehow still plan to have him out on his ass, maybe you don’t know him. Toji’s fingers dig into your ass; he’s rutting now, throbbing and dripping precum all over you and the bedspread. It brings a twisted grin to his face, like he’s marking his territory. After all, this is where he belongs. If you won’t be persuaded by his touch and words alone, Toji has other ways, he just doesn't want to resort to making you afraid of him. 

Because he meant exactly what he said: you're not getting rid of him. If you try to, Toji will just come back. If you run, he'll chase, if you hide, he'll come looking. You've made him into this.

“’M being good, yeah?” Toji lowers his head to your chest to slobber over your nipples next, barely able to speak with his lips sucking and his tongue flicking over them. “I can keep making you feel good, just let me fuck you, let me put in in, let me wreck you-”

“Toji, I want to ride your cock tonight.” You play with his hair and kiss his jaw. “Can I?”

Toji doesn’t hesitate; he throws himself back to lie on your pillows, getting even harder as your scent hits him. He licks his lips in anticipation as you straddle him, stroking him once before lining the tip up with your pussy. Toji’s eyes roll in the back of his head as you slowly sink down, clenching tight; he has to grab at the sheets and force himself to be still, has to keep telling himself this is for you, he’s going to go at your pace and show you how good he can be, obedient and careful. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger and he loves it-

“It almost hurts. You're so hard.” You gasp when you’re fully seated on his cock. “Oh, Toji…are you going to cum soon?”

“Nah, don’t worry about that baby.” Toji grins up at you, face flushed and hands shaking as they cling to the pillowcase. “So good…it feels so fucking good when I’m all the way inside. Go on, use my cock to cum, ride me until your pussy can’t take it.”

You tilt your hips so the tip of Toji’s cock rubs against that spot that makes you see stars and your clit gets rubbed against him with every thrust. At first you have your hands over his chest, but when Toji tries to slide his hands up to grab at your tits, you stop him.

“Huh?”

“No, you don’t get to touch me.” You pant out, gently but firmly holding Toji’’s hands above his head. “Tha-that’s your punishment.”

Toji’s brow furrows; he’s practically pouting. He knows he said "anything", but he wants to touch you so badly. Your tits look good enough to eat, nipples slick and begging to be played with, and your skin feels like silk on his fingers. Toji watches, biting the inside of his cheek, tasting blood when you start bouncing, thighs taut and face contorted in pleasure as you get closer and closer to making a mess on his lap.

“Baby,” Toji groans. “Come on, let me, you’re close right? It’ll feel better.”

“I can cum like this.” You say playfully as you tap his pursed lips with one finger. “You said you'd be good.”

“Just wanna touch you....” Toji’s hands twitch but he doesn’t shake off your grip; he raises his hips and you let out a whine. “Please?"

You stop moving and Toji grits his teeth, staring at you with wide eyes. 

“Hey…why did you stop?” 

“Sorry,” You smile in genuine delight. “You’re really adorable, you know that?”

“Fuck, keep goin’,” Toji nibbles the tip of your finger before you pull it away. “Come on, keep making my dick wet,”

“So cute.” You cup his face and press a long, loving kiss to his forehead. “I love you, Toji, I really do.”

Toji can’t stop himself; he yanks you down, traps you in his arms and thrusts up. 

“Ah!” 

“Sorry, ‘m sorry baby. I gotta,” Toji slurs. “Ah fuck it.”

You shriek as Toji flips you over; he has your legs spread and lowers his face down to suck and kiss and bite at your breasts, slamming his cock as deep inside your pussy as he can go. He briefly touches your hair, patting your head as you scream and writhe, smiling down at you so warmly even as his cock splits you open.

“Can’t help it. Need it, need this so fucking bad.” 

Toji latches onto your neck, sucking so hard you think he might tear the skin; you cry out and your nails accidentally scratch long, red lines down his back and shoulders. You’re clawing and sobbing, completely overwhelmed underneath him. He’s fucking you like an animal with no regard for pacing or rhythm, holding you down and open for him to slam his cock inside your swollen little pussy. Toji straightens up to grind himself into you just the way he knows you like best, gently rubbing away at your clit, smirking at the way you gush around his cock. You’re so pretty like this, flushed and messy for him.

“Tell me again. Tell me you love me and I’ll make you cum so hard your legs shake.”

“Love you,” You gasp, arms wrapping around Toji’s bulging neck, drawing him in closer; you press kisses over his cheeks, nose, chin. “I love you, I-ah!”

Toji is done being patient; he keeps his thumb pressed down on your clit, rubbing it harshly as he grinds his cock right into that spot, deep and hard; you’re never going to forget how his cock feels. Toji kisses you none too gently, lips prying your mouth open as he shoves his tongue down your throat; he really doesn’t even mean to be rough this time. The desire to devour you is overtaking him. 

He’s so close. Your pussy’s soaking, his head’s spinning; just before Toji’s about to cum, you muster up enough energy to hold him back tightly and pet his hair, moaning softly into the kiss, wrapping your legs around his waist. Toji wanted to last longer, but it’s too much. Abruptly, he breaks the kiss and his mouth goes to your jugular; Toji swears he can feel your pulse under his teeth.

“Cum inside me.” You plead, whimpering into his ear. “I want it…want you, Toji, no one else.”

“Shit.” Toji presses his forehead to yours, hiking up your thighs; the bed is creaking and shaking with the force of his thrusts. “I love you so fuckin’ much.”

Toji goes rigid and still as he cums, cock suddenly painfully sensitive; when you smile tiredly and kiss the palm of his hand, actual tears well up in the corners of his eyes. It’s all too much. He didn’t know he could even still feel like this, feel much of anything anymore. You shudder from his hot cum gushing inside you, but Toji doesn’t pull out just yet and you don’t seem in a hurry to move him anyway.

“I think you broke my dick.”

“...pardon me?”

“Pretty sure your pussy drained me dry…fuck.” Toji chuckles tiredly, very slowly pulling himself out, smiling in satisfaction as his cum seeps out of you and onto the sheets. “Did you like that?”

“I loved it.” You tell him softly, just beginning to catch your own breath as Toji uses his shirt to gently wipe you clean between your legs. “Toji?”

“Yeah?” Toji tosses his shirt somewhere and lays over you. “You want me to get you something? I bet you’re real tired after that.”

You pause; you look very serious all of a sudden, all business once more. “Toji, we really should talk about ‘us’. I don’t think we can just return to what we were.”

“What? But you said you loved me.” Toji raises his head to glare at you. “You’re not seeing other men, so put that idea out of your fucking head.”

“That is not what I meant!” 

“Okay…what is it then?”

“I was going to say, are you sure this is what you want?” You ask carefully, looking into his eyes. “Is this really what you want?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” Toji can’t believe you even have to ask; he frowns and clicks his tongue impatiently. “Fair warning, I’ll find you if you try to leave before I wake up.”

“I don’t doubt it, you’re an excellent tracker.”

“I mean it.” Toji mumbles into the crook of your neck, his heavy arm over your stomach. “You run, I’m hunting you down.”

“I wasn’t planning on making a grand escape; I was thinking something more along the lines of breakfast in bed.” You suggest and smile at the way Toji’s visibly perks up. “Oh, have you had dinner yet?”

“No, I came straight here from the gym.” he lies, eager to have you fuss over him. "I'm really hungry..."

“I’ll order in something; what do you want?” 

“Anything, just get lots of it.” Toji squeezes you. “But don’t go yet though. Wanna stay like this a little longer.”

“Whatever you want.”

In minutes, Toji is snoring and curled up in your sheets like a tuckered out puppy; his leg even kicks randomly. When he wakes up to the smell of warm food and your nails gently scratching his scalp, Toji yawns with a groggy smile and opens his mouth for you to feed him, licking crumbs off your fingers greedily. You really do spoil him. 

[art]

Creator Spotlight: @66sharkteeth

66 is a comic artist and the creator of City of Blank, a WEBTOON original series. They worked in the game industry at companies such as 2K Games before entering the field of comics. They began their career in comics at Tapas, where they worked as an editor and lead typesetter, before being signed to create their own original series on WEBTOON.

Check out our interview with 66 below!

Have you ever had an art block? If so, how did you overcome it?

The short answer is yeah, I’ve definitely had one. Overall, I feel like doing a lot of style studies during that time and trying to use new brushes helps a lot. In addition, because I’m a comic artist, I feel like writer’s block is in the same field, and with that, I’m really fortunate that I have an editor that I can work with, who helps me a lot there. Whenever I am stuck at a plot point in my comic, I can always go to my editor, who helps me hammer things out.

What medium have you always been intrigued by but would never use yourself?

Animation. Of course, everyone loves animation. I went to school for game art and design and even did some animation courses, and I am just not cut out for it. I don’t enjoy the process, and I am not good at it. Animation is beautiful, and I admire people who can do it. I’d love for my work to be animated some day, I’m just not capable of being the one to do it haha.

Warm tones or cool tones?

It really depends on the scene! Especially in my comic, I really go with both of them, just depending on the moment in the comic. There was a major character death, and that scene was almost black and white. But normally, the comic is very vibrant, and people really like it, so when I switch it to a more cold tone, it makes the scene that much more impactful.

What is a recent creative project that you are proud of?

Honestly, my current comic, City of Blank, takes up 100% of my time. But recently, I did a plushie campaign where I worked with Makeship through Webtoon to design the plushies and do a little bit of marketing for them. So that’s fun and different from what I normally do!

When planning a comic or a story, what do you do first, character design or character outline?

Normally, I have a design, and I fall in love with the character design, and then I find a role for them. That’s how a lot of my characters have started. Also, that’s how I’ve been tackling new projects that I want to work on after City of Blank. I just came up with a character, and I’m trying to make a story around them.

What is a convention experience that has stuck with you?

Meeting readers and realizing how much my work means to some of them. Some of them have started their own comics, having been inspired by mine. Learning that I’m part of the reason they started their own comic journey, the same way I looked to other inspiring comic artists to start mine—it means the world that I’m in that position now.

Top tips on setting up an Artist Alley booth?

Let’s see…bright, sparkly colors! I think just trying to make sure that the booth is eye-catching. I ended up making a big shiny banner for New York Comic Con, and I know many people stopped by because it caught their eye and they’re curious about what it is. I know a lot of people are selling merchandise of popular media. Even just a banner of your brand to get them curious about who you are and maybe interested in seeing what you make and taking a business card so they can look you up later. It’s better than someone just buying a pin and forgetting you exist. Lastly, put out a tip jar. You never know just how generous your fans are feeling.

Who on Tumblr inspires you and why?

I’m mostly involved in the webtoon sphere! I am definitely inspired by my fellow Webtoon creators, @lark-wren, who created the series Woven. I love their work and seeing them interact with their readers on Tumblr. Same with fellow Webtoon creators, @miranda-mundt-art and @astrobleme-enterprises, who created Lovebot.

Thank you so much for stopping by and sharing, 66! Be sure to check out their Tumblr blog over at @66sharkteeth and follow their webcomic, City of Blank, over at WEBTOON.

[misshugs]

Desperate || snc

[req by @venusisaligned ] Another investigation, another scary night... well, maybe not so scary after all. They just can't seem to stop teasing you.

contains: SMUT +18, oral (m&w), cursing, pet names and all the good stuff

word count: 2.5k

[u n e d i t e d]

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"So this is the place?" You ask, looking at the Victorian-Styled house right infront of you. "Doesn't look half bad for like a 500 year old house."

"It looks great, right?" Sam smiled at you, opening up the door to the place. "Tour guide already told me where the key was so we can have a look before they get here."

"So we're having the place to ourselves for a couple of minutes?" Colby asked, walking inside after you.

"Yep, what do you guys wanna do?" Sam asked, closing the door.

"Well, we can do a lot of things in just a few minutes." Colby smirked while looking at you, making you chuckle.

"Ouf, don't threaten me with a good time." You answered to his obvious question.

"I never said anything, you dirty mind filled in the blanks."

"And how did you know I was thinking about that?" You raised a brow, leading him to think about it.

"Touché. You got me there." He laughed. "But hey. It really is an option. Just sayin'."

"You're hearing this guy right now?" You look at Sam while pointing at Colby, making them both smile.

"I mean, he does have a point..." Sam crept just a slight bit closer to you, making your heart skip a beat for a second, his intentions unsure, yet clear.

"Ah, you see? I'm not the only one." Colby proudly spoke up, making you roll your eyes.

"Oh, shut up."

"Make me." He quickly responded, gaining a giddy smile from him.

"I'll make you shut up alright." You said, your tone quickly shifting to a more flirtatious one, turning a switch on their system.

As you were slowly walking closer to Colby, Sam getting ready to join quickly after, a sound made you stop in the midst of cupping Colby's face on your hands and his hands quickly finding their way to your waist.

A knock.

"Hello?" Someone from outside asked. The tourguide.

You pouted, sighing as you separated from Colby's embrace. "Way to ruin the mood. Thought we had more time." You whispered, looking at Sam who was clearly bit annoyed by the timing.

"I did say minutes. Sorry." He apologized while quickly walking towards the door.

It gave Colby some time to grab your wrist and hold you closer, quickly giving you a peck on the lips. "Might be leaving me hanging now, but this isn't over." He whispered in your ear.

"Oh, I know." You smirked, walking towards the newly arrived people.

The tour wasn't long. The house had quite a few rooms, but most of them weren't really as interesting as the two main ones, where most of the activity was.

You were hugging yourself while listening to the guide talk about the story of the place and the people that have misteriously died.

"It is said that she killed herself, but there are speculations that say she was killed in her room while she was sleeping. Nothing quite confirmed, though. Since every time someone tries to talk to her she seems to avoid the topic."

"But she's able to answer any other question?" Colby asked the guide, gaining his attention for the meantime.

Leading him to not see Sam's hand slowly caressing your lower back, putting his hand underneath your shirt without anybody noticing.

You didn't respond to his touch to let him play it off, but your heart was palpitating at a higher rate the moment you felt his touch on your skin. You gulped, barely listening to the story as you kept on dozing off due to your attention being kept on... other things.

Although your vision was kept on Colby and the guide, your mind was vividly thinking, and feeling, Sam's touch. How he slowly descended his fingers to the waistband of your panties, softly playing with them before you could feel his hands getting deeper into your pants.

His hand holding onto one of your soft cheeks, squeezing them, making you sigh at the feeling. You looked up at him slightly. He seemed concentrated in the story, unlike you. If it weren't for the fact that you could no longer think straight due to your sex quickly heating up, you'd think he was just extremely curious about the story.

It would've been the case for anyone else looking at him.

Before his fingers could descend closer to where you needed him to be, he pulled away. Putting his hand on your shoulder, he answered a question the guide had asked him.

Looking at him, you almost wanted to whine about losing his touch, but you couldn't. There were others around, you couldn't.

And that's what made it worse. Or better. You could feel the adrenaline, your heat quickly turning sticky and getting caught on your underwear due to the sudden dampness.

Quickly, the questions were over and so was the tour.

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It was almost 12 in the morning, you guys were back from a lunch break whilst waiting for it to get late. The house in the daylight didn't seem too scary. In fact, it actually seemed quite vivid and beautiful.

But you couldn't say the same about it at nighttime. It was frightening, it had a different vibe to it that you just couldn't put your finger on.

Almost as if it were alive, but not in a good way like before. It felt as if it was desperately trying to pull you in, only for you to never walk back out.

Your easy going nature almost jumped out of the window when you walked inside. It felt cold, dead.

How ironic.

"Wow, it really does feel different at night." You said, remembering some of the few words you could remember the guide telling you about. This was... normal.

"It really does... it makes it spookier." Sam smirked. "Hopefully we get some good activity tonight." He gave you a quick glimpse before walking around.

As they began recording and walking around with you, your instinct cracked through and you held onto Colby's arm for some feeling of protection, which he didn't argue about.

"Alright, I think it's time to get the equipment, I'll be right back." Sam gestured to the outside, walking away.

Colby, on the other hand, didn't waste a second to get his hands on you. Quickly pinning you towards a wall, his lips interlocked with yours. A slow, wet and messy kiss.

His leg finding its way in the middle of yours, inducing pressure on your heat, letting out a moan that was drowned by the makeout session.

A hand slowly descended towards your hip, his thumb making circles around the slit where your skin was visible. When the both of you pulled away from the kiss, he didn't waste any time and slid his hand inside your pants and right in between your legs, touching your clothed cunt and making you whine in response.

"Such a tease you are. You're already wet for me, for us." He whispered in your ear, making circles on your clit. You panted at the feeling, your legs almost giving up.

"Colby..." You sighed.

"Desperate already? I can feel it." He kissed your burning cheek, giving you even more pressure with a mere finger.

If this is how one of his fingers made you feel, imagine everything else.

"Alright," You could hear Sam coming back, which made Colby smirk and pull away from you, making you whine at the sudden loss of touch. "Here's everything."

"Then let us begin, brother." Colby said, walking away from you. Sighing, you followed close behind.

It was absurd, you could simply fuck right there without an issue, but they knew you liked this. They knew you loved to be teased, to be on the edge at all times.

And they were right, you fucking loved it.

And it went like that for the whole night. Not even when the both of them were in the room you were... 'safe'. One of them was always closer to you than the other, therefore, more chances of him to touch you softly without the other noticing.

Or, at least, that's what you though. Both of them knew what they were doing alright, but they were acting as oblivious as possible to make it more entertaining.

It was going to be a bit complicated to edit out, though.

Whenever they started using some sort of method to communicate, they started to get touchy with you in the most discrete way possible.

Even whilst asking questions while doing the estes method. Somehow, they always seemed to find a way of holding you closer, getting more intimate without the camera on strict view of you.

A whole hour of teasing passed and you just couldn't handle it anymore. When Sam walked out of one of the main rooms, you held onto Colby's hand and got him closer to you, kissing him once again like before.

He smiled in the middle of the kiss, holding you by the hips while you cupped his face. Stepping away from the kiss, he chuckled.

"Babe, we need to keep going."

"Oh, fuck the investigation. I can't hold it anymore Colby, please." You whined, desperation on your words. "I need you."

He couldn't help but smile brighter. "You don't know how much I've been waiting for you to say that." He whispered before holding you up to walk you towards the bed.

He hurriedly got to taking off your shirt, trying not to separate his lips from you as much as he could. Kissing your neck whilst taking off your bralet, you tried to take off his shirt, successfully throwing it away.

Going back to your lips, his rough kisses were as desperate as you were. You grabbed the back of his neck, intensifying it and playing with his hair. You could feel his hands on your waistband, quickly pulling down your pants and leaving you with the last piece of clothing that was covering your cunt.

Before he could even remove it, you heard a noise, a knock. The both of you looked at the door, at Sam. He was with his hands crossed across his chest and his body resting on the door.

"So we're finally doing it?" He raised a brow and walked in looking at the both of you.

"Finally?" You panted, still with a shaky breath and looking at him confused.

"Yeah, well, when I said 'activity' I didn't just mean paranormal. We're not that oblivious as to what both of us were doing all this time, sweetheart." He responded, holding onto your cheek and kissing you softly. "I just wasn't expecting it to be so soon."

"She got desperate." Colby said, which made Sam chuckle.

"As always. Can't handle some teasing, hm?"

"Just... just... please." You begged, already feeling drunk by their mere touch.

"Please what, baby?" He asked, crawling on top of the bed. Colby made you lie on your chest, giving you a slap on the ass when he got the oportunity, making you whine.

"Please, take it off..." You mewled, feeling another slap before moving your hand towards his crotch.

"Then pull it out if you need it so badly, sweetheart." Colby whispered in your ear, biting it slightly. You could feel his fingers rubbing against your aching cunt, slowly pressing against the fabric.

You gulped and did as told, holding onto Sam's pants and taking off his belt, unzipping his pants. Your panties were slowly being pulled down while you kept on paying attention to the bulge underneath Sam's pants.

On the other hand, Colby's eyes darkened at the view he was receiving. Your dripping wet cunt made his own mouth water. He held onto your ass cheeks tightly before moving his thumbs towards your lips and spreading them apart.

Such a lewd site to admire. Licking his lips, he got on his knees and gave you a long, wet, lick. A moan escaped your lips, gripping onto the clothed dick you were rubbing against your palm, making him grunt a soft "Fuck."

Your legs shuddered at the feeling of his tongue against your heat. It almost made you lose consciousness right there due to your neediness.

"Come on, love. Don't leave me hanging." Sam snapped you from your dream world. You obliged, taking out his growing friend and admiring the view, trying to surpress some moans before holding his length and stroaking it a few times with the precum that was already dripping from his tip.

It made him sigh in response, touching your hair and softly caressing it in the meanwhile. "That's it. Mh." He bit his lower lip while looking at your panting face. Colby, on the other hand, started sucking aggressively. Thrusting his tongue deep inside of you, touching as much as he could.

Moaning whilst savouring your taste, trying to memorize every single inch of you with his tongue. It made you moan in response, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Trying not to wait any longer, you put Sam's dick inside of your warm mouth. Sucking onto his tip, trying to regain a bit of the consciousness You've been seemingly getting away from.

Bobbing your head up and down his length, you couldn't help but moan around it, giving him vibrations that made him see the stars for a few seconds. He helped you out, pushing himself deeper inside of you, almost making you gag at how filled your mouth was.

A few tears falling from your eyes while the pleasure from both sides was noticeable. You could feel the quick knot on your stomach unravelling, making you unconsciously close your legs around Colby's face, only for him to slap your ass one more time, making you moan once again.

It didn't take long until you released yourself. Him, helping you ride out your orgasm while Sam started thrusting harder against your throat, releasing himself inside it. Pulling away, he smirked at the face you were making. He couldn't hold himself, switching you around so that you could look at Colby.

"Look at this pretty little face, so needy for us." Sam said, cleaning a bit of his cum that was dripping out of your mouth. You gulped it down while looking at Colby's smile. Before he could even respond, you all heard a beep.

It was a REM-POD.

"Almost forgot this was a haunted house." Colby chuckled and stood up. It seems he fisted himself whilst he was busy eating you up. "So, let's continue that video, shall we? We definitely gave the ghosts a show just now." He laughed and fixed himself. As you looked at him confused, Sam stood up and fixed his pants as well.

You were in disbelief. Were they really going to just continue on like that?

"I'm sorry, but... fuck the video." You said, trying to regain your breath before completely sitting down. "Come here and fuck me instead."

Needless to say, you guys weren't able to finish the video.

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sorry that it took me a while (i had writers block for a while) but i finally found a good concept to go with to make it more interesting! hope you like it!

reblogs, comments and likes are appreciated <3

~nikkõ

[nostalgebraist]

the light, and the glass

So there's this particular quality I have, as a fiction writer, and I have very little sense of how common or rare it is.

The quality is closely related to that famous Michaelangelo quip, about his sculptures being "already complete within the marble block":

The sculpture is already complete within the marble block, before I start my work. It is already there, I just have to chisel away the superfluous material.

This is how I feel, too, about my works of fiction. They feel like "real things" that "already exist," in some important sense, before I write them down -- or, indeed, before I even fully know what they contain.

So, for instance, if I haven't yet thought of an ending for a story I'm playing with in my mind, I nonetheless have a vivid sense that this particular story has an ending, and that this ending already is whatever it happens to be. It's only that I haven't managed to "see" it yet.

To clarify the point, consider the contrast between this thing, and two relatively familiar ways of thinking about how fiction gets made:

Conscious, goal-directed craft/artifice. Intending to write a Satisfying Plot in which each character has an Arc, the Story Beats follow logically from one another and are arranged with what is called Good Pacing, the proverbial Cat is Saved, etc., and "solving for" these desiderata in a conscious manner. Or, intending to create something much more outré and unsettling than all that -- but having some specific set of (outre, unsettling) intentions in mind, at the outset, and concocting/arranging the elements of your work in a conscious way guided by these intentions.

Free-wheeling, self-expressive "creativity." Just do whatever, man! Follow your bliss. The canvas is blank and anything is possible. Whatever you feel like putting into that empty space, go ahead and put it there. (The key thing being that, after "putting something there," you'll look and recognize something with origins in you, and your own whims and feelings at a particular moment.)

For me, though, the process of writing, and even of "ideating" (plotting, etc.), feels like a kind of transcription or channeling, as opposed to either of the above.

When I say "channeling," here, I don't mean that I have some actual, mystical belief in a supernatural object revealing itself through me. Not in the woo-woo sense anyway; whatever is really going on here, I am sure it "merely" involves the mechanics of the human mind, as implemented in the physical human brain and body.

But I do mean that it feels a lot like that. Like the story -- and not just the story part of the stories, but the whole thing, the "art object" -- has some real prior existence outside of me, first.

Like I am merely doing my best to "get it right," to be a perfect transmitter for the radio signal. To "do justice" to the "real thing," in the secondary act of writing words onto a page.

To be a courier who transports a valuable object from some originary otherworld into a place which happens to be called "existence" -- and to ensure, as much as possible, that it suffers no disfiguring scrapes during the journey.

----

I should say, though, that there's a lot of the "#1" above in my process too, the conscious-artifice thing.

Except... when I do that kind of thing, the intentions all come from the "real object," and my goal is to fill in whatever I can't see of that object so that everything I can see is preserved.

So: I will come to know, surely and indefeasibly, that the story must have some particular feature. (An event, a little moment, a character feeling a certain way at a certain time, even a specific turn of phrase.) Better to say: I know the story does have this feature. I see it in the marble.

But I can't see everything that's there, already, in the marble. And sometimes these glimpses-from-the-beyond are strange, inconvenient, difficult to "fit" into the current story (or perhaps into any story) in a natural-seeming manner.

And that's my task, when I'm doing the conscious-artifice thing: to take this collection of axiomatically-present glimpses, and build a structure around them into which they can "fit," naturally and even logically, just as if they were ordinary story-building-blocks like their neighbors, being placed here and there for ordinary story-reasons.

----

This has various implications. For one, it determines which kinds of writerly anxieties I suffer from, and which types leave me alone.

Like, I have virtually no self-doubt about my "ideas." About the overall, large-scale goodness-or-badness of the thing I'm creating. At least, not when considered "in principle," in an idealized sense that abstracts away from my actual capabilities as a guy who puts words on pages.

"Was this story, as a whole, a good idea?" is a question I find difficult to ask myself. Even when applied to smaller units, like specific plot points, this kind of question simply goes nowhere when I attempt to think about it. Insofar as my mind can cough up any answer, that answer looks like:

Yes

(after a moment, with mounting bewilderment) Yes, obviously -- how strange even to ask!

(after another moment, and as an afterthought) ...but if it weren't any good, is that really my business? It's not like I came up with it. I was asked to keep it safe and bring it into reality, and I take that duty seriously, but once it has reached its destination I wipe my hands of the matter. Don't shoot the messenger!

It's not, just, that I feel like the "real thing" "already exists." I also feel, always, that the real thing is... really good.

I deeply, thoroughly trust the Muse / Higher Power responsible for originally "making" this stuff. (To speak in relatively woo-woo terms, for ease and clarity.)

The Muse / Higher Power is a seriously skilled artist, much more so than little-old-me; if She makes any errors at all, they are not really mistakes, but "are volitional and are the portals of discovery."

And what's more, there is a sacred, unearthly gleam to the artifacts She makes, perhaps having something to do with that Fairyland, that place-other-than-"existence," in which they are originally made.

It feels like an honor to be designated as a courier for these enchanted things. Perhaps not a deserved honor -- on which more below -- but it's never the nature and value of the transported goods that I doubt.

(There is a definite sense of ritual to the thing that I do, here; a sense of connecting with some other place, definitively apart from our mundane here-and-now, and likewise more important/primary/etc. than the latter. Hence, perhaps, my tendency to not-write for long stretches, and then write in long sustained bursts for many hours at a time, which need a good deal of preliminary building-up-steam before they fully get going; it takes time to pierce, and then fully cross, the veil between worlds. And the various imprints of this stuff on the works themselves are not hard to see, once you're looking for them; they are of course especially transparent in TNC.)

All that being said, I do suffer persistently from a different anxiety.

When Michaelangelo said the thing about the sculpture "already complete within the marble block," he said it as... Michaelangelo.

As a famous, incontrovertibly masterful craftsman. Not a guy likely to suffer from doubts about his ability to put the chisel to the marble block, and reveal precisely that shape which was already there, inside.

But I'm not Michaelangelo. I'm not even sure I'm a good craftsman, much less a great one.

Certainly I've never conceived of myself in this way, even aspirationally. (Well, maybe I did in childhood and adolescence, but that was a very different thing from what I'm talking about now.)

I don't do what a person would do, if they wanted to be a Writer, and strove to be the best one they could. I don't, for the most part, practice my craft. I write because there's a Real Thing that only I can see, and it's not going to make into Existence any other way.

And since I don't write by habit or as practice -- since I only write at times when a Real Thing is in need of some incarnating-work, and I'm the only one around to do it -- I'm not exactly an ideal candidate for the job.

I am like a man who never especially wanted to be a sculptor, never practiced the trade, and was never more-than-ordinarily good with his hands, even... who is then, suddenly, struck with a very literal version of the experience Michaelangelo described.

Who, suddenly and inexplicably, begins to actually see a sculptural masterpiece lurking inside, whenever he looks at a faceless marble block.

What is our protagonist to do? Naturally, he will find a chisel, and begin chipping away. He will feel that these things need to be freed from their prisons, released and revealed to all the world, so that all the world can delight in them as he already does.

But he will be very aware of the unfamiliar way the chisel sits in his hand; of the way that hand trembles, and fails to meet the mark, and sometimes shaves off precious bits of what was really and originally a beautifully formed hand -- so that the hand, in the realized artwork, forever bears some oddity of shape which was not a part of what he saw inside the block, but only a consequence of his own shameful incompetence.

He will feel that his works, such as they are, are an odd mixture of amateurish craft and direct, divine inspiration. Insofar as he is Great, it will be because he has had Greatness thrust upon him, from without. He will feel, sometimes, that his successes have been obtained through a kind of cheating, not won fair-and-square.

And he will feel, always, a particular kind of (justified) impostor syndrome: an awareness that what he is doing, when he sits down before the marble block with the chisel in hand, is a very different sort of thing than what is usually called "sculpting," and what is being practiced by careful, hard-working aspirants just down the road, at the local workshop. The students there call themselves "sculptors," and our protagonist supposes he must call himself a "sculptor" too -- but he knows that behind this coincidence of language, a vast and strange chasm is hidden.

(I worry that this metaphor sounds flattering to me -- I am divinely inspired, they are merely toiling away and following the rules -- when I don't mean it that way at all.

In particular, note that there is nothing in our story to rule out some of the "real" sculptors down the road from also being visionaries who see the finished work in the block. Indeed, I got the metaphor from Michaelangelo, who was precisely this way.

I am only saying that all the conceivable configurations of craft/inspiration are in fact possible: just as it is possible to be skilled but uninspired, it's possible for inspiration to strike someone who lacks the capacity to fully realize its content. And that is how I feel, about my own attempts to create.)

----

When I was getting near the end of Almost Nowhere, and struggling with this kind of feeling, Esther would often reassure me by saying: "you are the light, and you are the glass it shines through."

In other words: you are a transmitter, and you are the source of the transmitted signal. Remember that in actual fact, the "real thing in the marble" came from your own little brain, just as much as the rest of it did. In actual fact, if there is a Muse and a Higher Power, it is really just an additional part of the same creature that holds the chisel, and worries over its trembling hand.

I did, indeed, find this very reassuring. And that's a funny thought, in a way! I imagine that for some people -- and indeed for me, in many other endeavours -- the same sentiment could easily have the opposite effect.

"It's all on you. It's all your responsibility. If any of it is bad, there's no one else to blame. If there is any 'Higher Power' at all, it is only the one inside you at all times, and not able to save you through unexpected intervention, from some true outside."

But I already believed, thoroughly, in the magical potency of the goods I was charged with transporting. If I was (somehow!) their maker, too, then (somehow!) the root of that glimpsed, alien magic was in me.

And so, perhaps, I could trust myself to ferry them into Existence without ruining, without even much dimming, the fairy-gleam from elsewhere that made them what they were.

[evermoresqueiswriting]

enchanted

"This is me praying that This was the very first page Not where the story line ends My thoughts will echo your name, until I see you again These are the words I held back, as I was leaving too soon I was enchanted to meet you"

summary: the start of your friendship with clarisse la rue

pairing: clarisse la rue x f!reader

word count: 3k

tags: fluff, i also just matched clarisse’s age with dior’s

series masterlist 1/?

When your mother took you on a hiking trip in America, in Long Island, you were confused and reluctant. And you knew you were right when she stopped in the middle of nowhere on a hill. She told you she’d be leaving you there for the summer, and that Chiron would explain everything to you. 

“Who?”

Someone cleared their throat and you turned around.

“Close your mouth young lady,” your mother punched you in the arm. “That’s not polite.”

You shut your mouth, and stood straight. And you smiled. 

“Hi.”

“Hello,” the person standing in front of you smiled back. “Come. We have a lot to discuss.”

“Soo. Chiron huh,” you frowned, “as in Achilles and Patroclus’ Chiron?” 

Your eyes were glued to his face, expecting him to deny it. Chiron's serious face softened, and a smile appeared. It had been a while since he had heard these names. He sighed. Feeling uneasy towards his silence, you decided to keep talking to fill in the blanks. 

“I mean, I only read The Song of Achilles – very famous book, and also a very, very good book. Heartbreaking really, I cried for days. And you have the same name and–” you pointed at his other half of the body, “aaand same other… half? I mean if gods are real–.”

He stared at you before clearing his throat to stop you and started to lead you to elsewhere. You gladly followed him silently, and let yourself stare around. Everything looked amazing, from the cabin to the greenery to the people. They were all wearing matching t-shirts and bead necklaces. You wondered if you had to buy one or if they would provide you with one. Hopefully it was the second option because all your allowance was at home, hidden within the pages your favourite books. 

“I am.” Chiron suddenly said, making you stop in your tracks.

“You are… what?” you hesitated. 

“The same Chiron who taught Achilles and Patroclus.”

“Oh,” you nodded, staring straight at him. “Oh.”

Well, that wasn’t what you expected. Out of nowhere, you could feel all the sadness and heartbreak you experienced while reading the book rushing back at you all at once. The tears that prevented you from finishing the book, the yelling at your mom from interrupting you while crying because she just had to know if you wanted to eat dumplings that night. You kept your eyes high to prevent tears from falling. 

“Oh,” your voice trembled. “Well that’s great to–,” you took a deep breath, “great to know the only comfort I had after reading it was to know it wasn’t real and they didn’t really spend a decade separated after Achilles died and no one wanted to bury Patroclus with him, ha,” you let a shaky laugh. “Great. Just… great to know it was all real, you know.”

You covered your face with your hands. You heard Chiron approaching you, and felt a hand on your shoulder – an attempt at comfort. 

“I’m fine,” you added. “I just think there’s a lot of dust at camp and it got into my eye!” you sobbed, using your sleeve to wipe off your tears and snot. 

“A hero’s fate is not meant to have a ‘happy ever after’. It is unfair, I will give you that. But–.”

Suddenly, a horde of people came in, walking where you stood. People in combat gear and weapons. Your tears stopped and instinctively, you stood behind Chiron, trying to hide – maybe shield – yourself. 

“What’s happening?” you whispered. 

“Introducing you to everyone.” 

“Please don’t.”

Too late.

“Campers!”

The crowd instantly stopped talking altogether. Everyone was now staring at you. You didn’t know where to look and your gaze landed on a girl standing at the front of the crowd.

She had dark, long, luxurious curly hair that landed all the way back to her waist. How can someone’s hair look so pretty? She was wearing that orange tee, just like everyone else, and somehow it only looked good on her. She also had the necklace with beads like everyone here, and she had five beads. You couldn’t look at anyone else, and she could see that. She raised an eyebrow, and mouthed a ‘what?’ and you only smiled before looking back at Chiron. Your smile immediately dropped because Chiron was already looking at you, expectantly. 

“What?” you whispered. 

“I said what I had to, now it’s your turn. Introduce yourself.”

“You mean in front of everyone?” your heartbeat started to speed up. “Here?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t,” you took a step back.

“Why is that?”

“Uh, something called anxiety? Ever heard of that?” you whispered-yelled. 

Chiron pleaded with his eyes. You could hear his thoughts loud and clear – only because every teacher you ever had told you this before – ‘oh don’t be shy, they’re all nice, they won’t mock you.’ Right. 

“Fine,” you turned back to the crowd.  Staring at the sky, far away from their eyes, ignoring your quickening heartbeat, even though it’s all you could hear. “I’m y/n, and– I’m seventeenth, almost eighteen. I live with my mom, she went back home—.”

“Louder we can’t hear a thing!” someone yelled, and laughter ensued. 

Great. Exactly like at school, and now you wanted to cry again. A record – usually it only happens once a week because of school induced stress. 

“Well. I’m done,” you turned back to Chiron, forcing a smile. 

He nodded, and dismissed the campers, and most of them went back to what they were doing. Chiron did call someone – a guy named Luke – to stay behind. 

“Hey,” Luke smiled at you. 

“Hi.”

Something about Luke showing you around as he always does with new campers. You listened politely, and nodded along, but really all you could think about that disastrous introduction. And then your mind went back to that pretty girl you saw earlier. Where did she go? Your gaze wandered around, and saw her standing there with who you supposed were her friends. With her spear in hand, standing tall and proud – definitely a pretty girl. 

“That’s Clarisse,” Luke said.

Chiron was gone, you noticed. 

“Who?” your attention went back to Luke. 

“The girl you were staring at,” he nodded towards her, “that’s Clarisse, Ares head counsellor.” 

“Ares’ kid,” you nodded. “Are you two friends?”

“We’re… friendly enough. I’ll introduce you to her later if you want.”

“Yes,” you answered too quickly. “I do.”

Luke showed you around camp, explaining to you how things worked. Which were things you were supposed to know already if your mother hadn’t been trying to hide this from you since your birth. 

He showed you his cabin and told you you’d stay there until your father claimed you.

“What if he never does?” you asked him curious. “Are there even kids that are unclaimed?”

“Lots,” his shoulder tensed. “The gods, they just do as they please and if you’re an inconvenience to them, they’ll just ignore you until they need you.”

“Well, at least you’re—.’

Luke did not want to continue this conversation, and saw an escape when she noticed Clarisse walking by. He grabbed her arm, and let go immediately when she whirled around sending him a deathly stare. 

“Clarisse,” Luke smiled. “You remember y/n, from this morning.”

She looked at you, and smirked.

“How could I forget? Though I didn’t quite catch your name. Couldn’t hear a thing from where I was.”

Harsh. Moving on.

“Well,” you smiled at her, “I’m y/n.”

“Okay.”

Awkward was the perfect word to describe the silence that followed. Luke shifted uncomfortably before leading you both to the dining pavilion. You did your offering and ate in silence with Luke and his siblings. Luke tried to make conversation with you, but you were too exhausted after the whole day to be invested. After dinner, he showed you the top bunk bed you’d stay in. You thanked him, and went to sleep immediately. 

Luke quickly became your worst enemy at camp. He absolutely wanted to find what you were excellent at. He trained you and spared you for far too long, and you had let him injure you to spend some time at the infirmary with the Apollo kids. 

“I’m just saying it’d be great to change things and not only have one person show me around,” you told Chiron and Luke. 

“You did send her to the infirmary,” Chiron agreed. 

“She did it on purpose! She’s great at fighting, I was just trying to—,” Luke started before getting interrupted.

“If she wants someone else, she can. I’m sure someone from the Athena cabin can finish showing you around.”

“Or,” you jumped in, “someone who’s good at fighting and who wouldn’t injure me,” you grimaced, knowing it wasn’t true at all, “like…say, the Ares cabin? Clarisse maybe.”

They both turned their heads to stare at you confusedly, eyebrows arched. 

“Sure,” Chiron said slowly, “I’ll ask Clarisse.” 

“I don’t think Clarisse fits your description. I mean, only half,” Luke added. 

That same afternoon, there was an empty slot on the training grounds so Chiron thought it’d be great for you to meet up there. You sat on the grass, letting the sun kiss your skin when you heard footsteps behind you. You turned around and there she was, hair loose, blowing in the wind. Her arms crossed, and her eyes on you. 

You stood up quickly, and brushed off your pants. You waved and smiled at her, to which she only rolled her eyes and walked towards you. 

“Hi,” you smiled.

“Chiron told me you asked for me to replace Luke.”

“I did! I mean I saw you fight when Luke dragged me to the sword fighting arena and you were there. And I was just in awe.” Clarisse smiled at that. “And I thought it’s be great to have you teach me.” 

Clarisse sighed, and stared at you without saying anything. 

“I’m not hearing a no.”

“I can’t say no when Chiron requested me to be there,” she argued.

“Oh,” your smile wavered. “Well… it’d be a great way to show off your amazing combat skills, right?” you were met with silence. “Or you could leave, because I’m clearly forcing you to be here,” you backed away, “it’s fine, I’m sure… Luke would love to take back his job for the last few days.”

You sighed and turned away ready to leave when you heard a whoosh sound. You turned around and saw Clarisse with her spear in hand, clearly ready to fight. You put your hands up to put some distance between the two of you. 

“Wait! I’m sorry I dragged you into this, please don’t kill me,” you knew she wouldn’t, but still wanted her to confirm she didn’t. 

“Don’t worry, sunshine,” she smirked, “I’ll try not to aim at that pretty face of yours,” she positioned herself for combat. “Now, why don’t you show me these skills Luke was telling me about?”

Regret. Instant regret washed over you when Clarisse started to fight like she was facing a Drakon. You parried as best as you could, and aimed at her when you had the chance to, but she was better – obviously – and she was not going easy on you. When you finally fell to the ground, with her spear touching your neck, you threw your sword to the ground, panting, admitting defeat. 

“Please can we have a break?” your voice came out hoarse. 

“Sure,” she retracted her spear, and walked away.

You closed your eyes and tried to catch your breath. The sun was still high at this hour, it was a pretty hot summer day which made you feel just slightly worse than usual. When suddenly, a shadow hid the sun from your face. You opened your eyes, and Clarisse was back with two fresh and cool bottles of water. She tossed one at you, catching it eagerly.

“Slow down,” she said, “you don’t want to drink too much after that much effort.”

“But it’s hot,” you laid back down on the grass.

“Stand up, your lungs are going to bring in more oxygen. You’re still panting – we’ll work on that in the future. You can’t be this tired after only one short fight.”

“Short?” you stood up. “It felt like it lasted an hour!”

“Yes, short.”

“Wait–, did you say ‘we’ as in you and me?”

“I don’t know any other definition for the word ‘we’.” 

“Were you impressed by my amazing–.”

“Decent.”

“– skills?” you frowned.

“Luke was right, you do have a lot of potential,” she added. “You just have to have a bit of training to perfect these skills.”

“Well, if you’re teaching me personally, I’m sure I’ll be great in no time.”

Clarisse smiled again, turning her face away. Yes, you definitely enjoyed making her smile. 

“What else haven’t you tried?”

“I think I did everything,” you paused for a moment. “Well, he didn’t show me the archery field.”

“I’ll show you. The Apollo kids are teaching a lesson soon. I’m sure they won’t mind us crashing their class.”

You two had the time to clean off before going to the archery field. Clarisse kept talking about the way things worked around there during the summer, and how excited she was for Capture the Flag. She’d won a pretty fair amount of times, and she loved the price it came with winning – extra dessert for a week. Which is something campers came up with since there wasn’t any price at the start. But overall, what she loved most was the pride that came with it. Especially if it was her plan that made her team win. 

“Well, I hope I'm on your team then.”

“Mmh, you wouldn’t be the worst teammate I had.”

You smiled, enjoying the compliment. 

“Here we are,” she showed you the group of campers in front of you. “The three in front are Apollo kids.”

“Are you good at it? Archery I mean.”

“I’m good,” she confirmed, then looked at you. “Really good.”

Lee Fletcher, Apollo head counsellor, was one of the teachers. The class lasted about an hour, and everyone learned new techniques about how to shoot an arrow in a fast and accurate way. At the end of the class, there was this game they all liked to play. Who could shoot their arrow as close as Lee’s. He’d shoot anywhere on the field and the winner would get all his chores of the day done by the loser. Or if the winner wanted, they could choose to curse — ask the Apollo cabin to curse — the rest of the class to talk in rhymes. It happened way too often but it was fun, and everyone – almost – loved it. Clarisse especially because she was always winning. The one time she didn’t laugh was when the Hermes cabin and the Ares cabin had this class together, and Luke won. 

“Should we make this even more interesting,” she turned toward you.

“Pray tell.”

“If my arrow is closer, you’ll do my kitchen chores for the rest of the week.” It was a Monday. 

“You just told me you never lose at this game, it doesn’t seem fair,” you chuckled. “But fine. What if I win?” 

“What do you want?”

She was confident which was her first mistake. You could ask the moon and she’d grant your wish because there was no way you could beat her at this. 

“Barbie is coming out July 21st, which is next week. If I win, we should go and see it.”

A bold move. She was looking at you, silently. Then her smile returned, and she nodded.

“Okay.”

Everyone gathered around Lee to see where he would aim. One of the oldest trees was at least 100 metres tall (328 feet), and the top tree branch was his choice. The branches were all surprisingly very steady, and not fraile and moving at the slightest sign of wind. Clarisse and you were last to build in more suspens. 

Clarisse shoots first. It was close, really close compared to the others. Her proud smile reappeared, and she handed you the bow she used with an arrow. You stood ready, bow arched, staring at Lee’s arrow. You didn’t let go yet. 

“I should tell you,” you turned slightly toward Clarisse. “I lied. Luke didn’t show me the archery field for a reason. I’m great at archery. Great as in I never miss my target kind of great.”

Your head turned back to the arrow and you let go in an instant. Everyone stared at it. Echoes of gaspings came from everyone present – your arrow had hit Lee’s arrow and it stood right where it was. His arrow was torn apart with now yours replacing it – easy trick. You tried to hide your smile, but couldn’t and turned around.

“I won!” you faced Clarisse.

She was speechless, staring at where your arrow had hit. And when she turned to face you again, she pointed at something above your head. The Apollo symbol, a lyre. On top of your head. Cheers from the Apollo kids – your siblings – and Lee came to welcome you and your skills home. 

Then Clarisse approached you, and with one look, Lee, James and Cornelia left you alone. 

“Did you know?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“About me being an archer goddess?” you joked. “Kinda. I had suspicions about Apollo being my father. I mean you can’t be born that good right? My teachers were always praising my natural talent,” you air quoted, “but I knew it was weird. And now it all makes sense now.”

“So, you knew you were going to win?” she put her hands on her hip.

“Yes?” you admitted. “I mean no. I haven’t practised in a while, I could’ve lost my touch and– are you mad?” you worried.

“No. I’m impressed.”

The stomach ache from anxiety disappeared. You could breathe again. This was great. 

“So, Barbie next week is still happening?” you needed her confirmation. 

“You won,” she agreed. “So yes,” and smiled.

[morganski-19]

The One with Sleeping

Steve wakes up with someone’s arm wrapped around his stomach. Which is odd considering he didn’t have anyone over last night. And he’s on his couch with beer bottles on the coffee table and what looks like two crushed ends of a joint in the ash tray.

But he’s too groggy to figure it all out, and it’s probably just Robin anyway, so he leans his head back down and starts to fall back asleep. Until the other person stirs and sits up rapidly, causing him to fall off of his couch.

“What the fuck,” he grunts, slowly getting up from the ground. At least he’s awake now. “Why did you throw me off the couch Rob-.” Steve stops as he sees who’s on the couch. “You’re not Robin.”

Jonathan stares at Steve with a mix of concern and fear. “No, I’m not.”

“Why were you sleeping on my couch?”

“Why were we cuddling?” Jonathan asks, acting as if it was the more pressing question of the two.

Steve collects himself off the ground. “I don’t know. I tend to sleep cuddle people.”

“You sleep cuddle people. That’s a thing?” Jonathan sits up, running a hand through his tangled hair.

“Yeah. Ask Robin, she has a lot of stories about it.” Steve fixes his shirt, it having twisted weird when he fell off the couch. “Thanks for throwing me off the couch by the way.”

Jonathan makes a sheepish face. “Sorry. You scared me when I woke up.”

Steve sits down next to him. “It’s fine. So, why were you sleeping on my couch.”

“I don’t know,” Jonathan scratches at his chin. “I remember coming over last night for some drinks, and then we got high. We must have just dozed off.”

“Together, on the couch,” Steve reasons.

“You don’t think we, you know. Did anything, right?” Jonathan asks cautiously.

Steve laughs. “No, no we’re good. Even cross faded me knows not to flirt with my friends.”

“Does sober you know not to do that?” Jonathan deadpans. Having witnessed Steve play flirt with Eddie multiple times.

Steve clears his throat, avoiding answering that. “The point is, I wouldn’t have tried anything. Not with you, so we probably just fell asleep and somehow ended up in this position.”

“What do you mean not with me?”

“Oh my god,” Steve rolls his eyes. “Now you’re offended? You don’t even like me like that.”

Jonathan scoffs. “And neither do you.”

“Exactly, which is why I wouldn’t have tried anything.”

“But if it was Eddie, would you have tried something.”

“I’m not answering that.” Steve gets up to clear away the old bottles, carrying them over to the recycling can. “If it was Argyle, would you have?” he finally counters.

Jonathan’s face breaks out in a flush that he tries to hide with a cough. “Can we agree not to mention this is anyone?” he changes the subject. “Say I just stayed over and slept on your couch, alone.”

Steve shrugs. “I guess. What, you ashamed that we cuddled on my couch or something?” Jonathan looks away. “Oh my god, you are. How fucking dare you?”

“What do you mean? This isn’t exactly normal for the two of us.” Jonathan stands.

“Sure. But you wanting to hide it means you’re ashamed. Are you ashamed that you slept with me.”

Jonathan gives him a blank expression. “Please don’t call it that.”

“I am calling it that, because it was true. The two of us, slept on the same couch, together, also while cuddling a little bit. It happens, it was an accident. We use it as a funny story and move on.”

“Or we don’t mention it at all.”

Steve crosses his arms. “Alright, under one condition. You admit that was the best sleep you’ve gotten in a while.”

Jonathan huffs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you know exactly what I’m talking about. Chronic insomniac Jonathan, falling asleep for what looks to be about, oh I don’t know,” Steve looks at the clock on the oven. “Six or so hours, undisturbed. That had to have been a good night’s sleep.”

Jonathan scrunches up his face before giving in. “Fine, ok.”

Steve laughs in victory.

“It was the best night I’ve gotten in a while, you’re right.”

“For me too, actually.”

“Wait. Wasn’t Robin here last night?” Jonathan remembers.

Steve’s eyes widen. “Yeah, she was. Where is she?” He lightly taps on her door before opening it, finding an empty, unmade bed. “Shit, she’s gone.”

“So, she saw us,” Jonathan accepts defeat. “Great. Where do we think she is?”

There is suddenly a loud burst of laughter from across the hall. “Oh no,” Steve groans.

“We’re never going to live this down, are we?” Jonathan asks with a wince.

“Nope,” Steve says defeated. “We go in together?” He turns to Jonathan.

Jonathan nods. “Only way to do it at this point.”

Steve heads across the hall to Nancy and Eddie’s apartment. He nods at Jonathan before opening the door to ruckus laughter.

“There are the sleepy heads,” Robin teases on the couch. Waving her phone in the air. “Hope we didn’t wake you up,” she fake pouts.

Eddie comes out of his room with a picture in his hand, holding it close to his chest when he realized Steve and Jonathan are there. “Oh, hey guys,” he says with a knowing smile.

Nancy starts laughing. “How’d you guys sleep?” she asks innocently.

Argyle sits on the armchair with crossed arms. “Terribly, I hope.”

“I thought this would happen,” Jonathan whispers while pinching the bridge of his nose. “We slept as good as two people sharing a couch do.”

“You admitted it so fast,” Robin barks. Cackling.

“You all already know,” Steve defends. “Also, what the hell is in your hands?”

Eddie tries to cover the picture with his hands. “Nothing.”

Steve walks toward Eddie. “So, I can see it then?”

Eddie runs to the other side of the room, Steve chasing after him. They do a whole back and forth at the kitchen table, Eddie almost running into the counter when he gets away. Steve fails to catch up with him as Eddie does another lap.

Jonathan moves out of the way before he gets run into, walking over to a still upset Argyle. “It really wasn’t that great,” he lies.

“Don’t lie to me,” Argyle says, avoiding Jonathan’s gaze.

Eddie runs into his bedroom, unable to lock the door before Steve gets it open, following him in. There’s a crash, causing Nancy to perk up with concern. But when yelling and sounds of wrestling continue, she sits back on the couch, sipping her coffee.

“Fine, it was the best sleep I’ve had for a few weeks. But it doesn’t mean anything, it was an accident I promise.”

“Are you weirded out by this,” Robin whispers to Nancy.

She just shrugs. “Not really.”

“It was really an accident?” Argyle asks.

“Yes, I really didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

Argyle finally looks at him, his face softening. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

“No,” Eddie yells from the bedroom. “Don’t rip it.” Followed by a “Ha, got it,” from Steve. He walks out victoriously with the picture.

“Neither of you are bleeding, right?” Nancy confirms, not really caring anymore. Steve shakes his head.

Eddie comes out of the room, leaning on his doorway, panting. “Please don’t tear it up. It was my last piece of picture paper.”

“Out of all of us, why is it you that has a printer?” Robin asks. Eddie just shrugs.

“What is it?” Jonathan asks, wincing.

Steve walks over to show him. “What you think. Why did you print it out anyway?”

“To put on the wall of many shames,” Eddie says, pointing to the wall covered in pictures of the group scattered along the back wall. Some with pictures drawn on their faces and other various situations they’ve gotten themselves into.

Steve looks at Jonathan, who just shrugs. With a roll of his eyes, Steve walks over and tapes it to the wall.

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added or taken off) @slowandsteddie, @annieofhearts, @cacdyke, @ubpd, @captain--low, @thespaceantwhowrites, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @anne-bennett-cosplayer, @lunaticparisianlady, @apomaro-mellow, @dolphincliffs, @dragonmama76, @maggiebug417, @stevesbipanic, @fearieshadow, @mentallyundone, @eightpackdiaz, @au79burger @bookworm0690 , @practicallybegging, @potato-of-the-lord

[bebewrites]

I promise I searched your blog, but how do you (specifically) zero draft? The post that showed up in a search of your blog was like, bullet point writing whatever is in your head for the.wip, which I think is v cool and would help me finish lofm! So I'm curious how you do it!

Oh yes, okay! I don't think I've actually explained it anywhere, but I love talking about this.

what is a zero draft?

The great thing about a zero draft is that you can pretty much make it whatever you need it to be. For me, I was having a hard time with the middle of my story. I've started and stopped this wip so many times, always getting hung up at the same part as I approach the middle. I've always had a very clear picture of the beginning and the end, but never how to get all the way through from point A to point B. My original outline had things in brackets like [character growth] and [plot stuff], but what does that mean!?

My goal was to get all the way through. So I opened a blank document, started at the beginning, and literally rambled and talked my way through the entire story. I didn't write real prose. It was all stream of consciousness. It was me describing what happens in the story as if I was telling it to a friend. The zero draft was my rubber duck. This was my brainstorming document. I used common vernacular and slang and abbreviations. There are bullet points, numbered lists, sidebars where I rambled about a scene I completely forgot to mention in a previous section. Lots of comments about things I need to include in the next draft. Literally anything and everything I thought of went into the zero draft.

A zero draft can be as long or short as you need it to be. Mine ended up being around 40k words. But I've seen other people say a zero draft is 10k to 20k words. It's really up to you! And when you feel like you've covered enough of the story to move on to the next draft.

And you don't have to go about a zero draft the way I did! Recently, an author I love and follow on instagram (Casey McQuiston) shared in their stories that when they were writing their most recent book, they zero drafted each chapter before they wrote it out. Casey said that because of this, it was first time they didn't have major edits and rewrites afterwards. So if you find yourself needing a little more structure and sense of where you're going, I think a zero draft could be super helpful!

Of course you don't have to have a zero draft, and if you've got a good sense of the plot and character arcs, you might not need one. But it can be a great way to brainstorm and figure out those things if you need to!

[big-gay-bird]

As someone who also has interacting with people as a special interest in the same way that Kabru does, I think his character is so important for autistic representation.

1) just point blank we need more autistic BIPOC in popular media.

But 2) it took so long for me to realize I was autistic because there is just no representation of autistic people who not only like being social, they’re GOOD at being social, like charisma is a genuine skill they have and rely regularly on.

And 3) idk how phrase this exactly but Kabru had what a lot of people would code as “girl” autism. Meaning he’s representation of a kind of unique thing I’ve seen from others in the neurodivergent community who are gender non-conforming in large part because of the ways they are neurodivergent. This is true of me too, I have “boy” ADHD and my brother had “girl” ADHD and we were bullied for this gender nonconformity despite the fact that my brother is completely cishet.

So like, yeah, the story centering women and a wlw love story, Fallin being consistently shown as attractive for her neurodiversity not in spite of it, Laois thriving and being the hero in a way no one else can because of his autism not in spite of it, these are all really really important to focus on in the fandom! I agree as an autistic sapphic myself!

However I hope no one is brushing away Kabru fans because he’s unique and really important!

I <3 this blorbo big time and I hope you can appreciate him too!

[gittetj]

You've mentioned that you hc Reigen as ace, can you elaborate?

I agree w/ that but can't sort my thoughts out well enough to make a coherent analysis ;w;

Yeah, that's the vibe he gives me. No concrete "evidence" and I don't care all that much about the sexual orientations of fictional characters, but I guess for me, the headcanon comes down to three things:

1) Reigen is super disinterested in other people being attracted to each other. I feel like there are several small examples of this, but first one that comes to mind is that case with the esper who can astral project and uses it to stalk his neighbor. When they discover this, Reigen has such a non-reaction. I've seen a lot of people bring up these panels

which, yeah, but when they find the culprit, Reigen also doesn't express much of an opinion. It's just "it's a stalker, stalking is bad and illegal, this is a job for the police." No more introspection from him, he immediately moves on, it doesn't interest him. Mob is the one doing all the reacting.

2) Reigen never resorts to flirting despite how he's known for bullshitting his way through anything else to complete a job. Like, no matter how horny Studio Bones is for the guy, they can't change this. He could deliberately capitalize on the fact that a considerable amount of his income comes from massaging middle-aged ladies who find him attractive, but he doesn't. It's accidental. It does not even seem like something Reigen thinks about.

3) Reigen's a self-conscious person, yet doesn't act like it bothers him that he's seemingly never been in a relationship before. He explicitly has a crisis over being lonely in the confession arc, but it's about friends and connections and doing something meaningful with his life. Romantic relationships don't factor into it, even though it easily could, considering it has great thematic relevance for Mob who spends the entire story being in love. Not that you can't fall in love with someone if you're ace, this goes a little bit into aro territory I guess, but either way.. it just gives me that vibe. The indifference. I mean, even in chapter 99 when Mob point-blank asks Reigen for advice about Tsubomi, Reigen first asks Serizawa, then looks it up on his phone, exactly like he would with any other topic he doesn't know jack shit about.

Also, at the end of the scene, he muses about what's important in a relationship, and his conclusions just.. don't sound like he's talking about romance? To me?

I don't know, that entire scene gives me flashbacks to being younger and not yet knowing what asexuality (or aromanticism) is and having to navigate conversations like that without giving away that you fundamentally can't relate to this thing everyone else is so preoccupied with.

Them's my takes, I don't have much else to say about it.

[auteurdelabre]

Something to Fight For (part 2) Dad!Joel x f!reader

Word Count: 6.2K

Pairing: Dad!Joel Miller x f!reader (no use of y/n, no physical descriptions)

Warnings: This is saccharine slice of life with smut and a Soft!Joel. You have been warned. There is swearing, there is smut, but when it gets to those chapters you will have plenty of warning. (That is if there is interest in my story!)

A/N: This is part of a sweeter series (lots of angst, pining and smut ahead) Also despite Sarah's young age Joel is early 40's in this because slightly grey babygirl DILF Joel is the best Joel.

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

Ever since the most uncomfortable blind date in the history of your life, your feelings on Joel Miller aren’t exactly positive ones.

What started as a casual irritation has swiftly morphed quickly into a full blown dislike. The way he'd rushed off that night, the way he'd barely looked at you during the meal, the way he'd made it uncomfortable for everyone. The way he'd never apologized.  

You know it's not fair, that after your outburst in the parking lot you left little room for him to be pleasant. And yet the irrational part that recalls the humiliation of him saying that the date was a 'waste of time' clouds this. 

The worst part is now that Tommy and Maria are even more officially an item, which means you crossing paths with Joel is inevitable. 

Maria is renovating the kitchen of course, which is how she met Tommy in the first place. But now that one of the larger projects are finishing up for 'Miller Construction', she tells you Joel will be dropping by to help speed her own renovations along.

She tells you this as a courtesy you think. And because this isn't your house and you don't pay rent you force a smile a nod when she tells you. 

So you decide to suffer through it. 

You get very good at not interacting with Joel. If you both happen to be arriving at the house at same time you quicken your pace and go through the back door to your suite. 

Maria tries her best to be understanding but you know it hurts her to see you isolating when he's around. 

"I know you don't like Joel," Maria says to you over drinks over night. "But I promise he's not always like new was that first night. He's actually really funny."

"I find that impossibly hard to believe."

"It's true!" Maria insists, her eyes luminous from the wine. "He apologized to me for how rude he was that night. Said he was just anxious about Sarah."

You'd wanted to ask her why Joel didn't apologize to you if he was such a fine, upstanding citizen but had decided there was little point. First impressions were everything and you'd both shown your worst. 

But your days aren't all Joel focused. In fact today you make your way home with a huge smile on your face and Joel Miller isn't even in the peripherals of your thoughts.  

You rush into the house without knocking, as you have always done. Only instead of cooking or reading, Maria is entwined with Tommy on the sofa kissing feverishly. 

"I got the grant!"

They break apart like guilty schoolchildren and you pause at the door suddenly feeling wrong footed. 

"I'm s-so sorry," you stammer a laugh feeling both embarrassed and amused. 

"Did you just say you got the grant?" Maria says, throwing herself from the sofa into your surprised arms. She squeezes you tightly, bouncing excitedly.

"I'm so sorry," you say hugging her. "I didn't know Tommy was here. Hey Tommy."

Tommy gives an awkward wave and smile from the sofa.  

"Oh he's fine," Maria assures you. "When do you get the money?"

"They're making it a bit tricky," you admit. "Instead of just giving me a blank check I need to submit the official work orders on the office renovations. Ya know, to prove I'm not lying."

"Annoying," Maria scowls. "So I guess the new kennels are a no-go."

You join her as she sits back at the sofa next to Tommy. You take the seat opposite them in the dark green wing back chair Maria has had since her first apartment. 

"There must be a work around," you insist, letting your purse fall to the ground at your feet. "I spoke to James and he said he would think on what we can do."

James is your co-worker extraordinaire, a whiz with money and grant writing. He's the real reason you got this one. The two of you make a very good team. You're good with people, getting donations that way. You easily make human connections whereas James is pure analytical focus. 

"Why don't you just get a company to do the Reno's but ask them to keep it vague on details when it comes to receipts?"

You both look at Tommy who is seated at the edge of the couch, his elbows on his knees. He's looking at you both as if his reply is the most obvious thing in the world. 

"The things an office Reno would need like lumber, nails, etc are things you could use for making kennels," he continues when he sees both you and Maria looking at him with rapt focus. "Just get the builders not to be specific when it comes to what the structure or structures are when it comes to the invoice you need for the grant." 

It's genius. Perfectly simple and yet inspired. And the way Tommy is raising his brows at you makes you think he may just be offering his services. 

"Do you know of any such construction company that would do this?" You ask with a sly smile that Tommy returns.

"I might."

Maria looks at Tommy with a gaze of such open devotion that you find yourself blushing. He returns it, and you know that if you weren't here they'd be kissing like mad. 

"Alright then," you say standing abruptly. "You're hired."

Tommy does an exaggerated fist pump in the air that has you and Maria giggling. You decide on going over details at your office next week. You're amazed at how well this came together and how quickly. 

"Let's go out to dinner to celebrate!" Maria insists with a wide grin. You're about to agree when there's a knock at the door. You watch as your friend goes to the door, because unlike with you they were obviously expecting this guest.

"Good timing," Maria says as she opens the door to a tired looking Joel. He's got a

Carpentry belt slung around his narrow hips. His grey t-shirt is damp at the collar; he's obviously come right from another job. 

"Sorry I'm late," Joel says gruffly. "Couldn't get Marko to stop talking and finish the fencing properly."

"No worries," Maria assures him. "We were just chatting about renos."

"My favorite subject," Joel smirks. He's looking at Maria but his eyes eventually swim over to you. You make sure not to be glancing in his direction when they do.

Irritation is overtaking the good mood you'd been savouring, like a bucket of cold water to the face. Joel Miller's mere presence has you agitated. 

"Were you still needing me to finish up the cabinet knobs today?" He asks.

"Nah, those can wait," Maria insists. "We've just had good news that needs celebrating!"

Maria explains about your grant and Joel forces out a barely audible congrats. You give a tight smile and equally quiet thanks. 

Ugh, this fucking guy. 

"Figure we can celebrate down at the Tipsy Bison," Tommy suggests, pulling on his jean jacket. "I think they have live music on Thursdays."

Joel is just standing there by the door, obviously itching to escape. He doesn't seem to know how to respond so he ends up shrugging and nodding. 

"You guys have fun," you blurt as the trio of eyes fall on you. Tommy looks confusedly between you and Maria as if he's missed something. 

"But we're celebrating your good news," Maria says with a voice full of confusion and hurt. 

"I'd love to," you lie, slowly making your way to the door that leads down into your basement suite. "It's just I have so much prep to do this week. We have a ton of adoptions going through this month and I really need to get started."

You whirl around, opening the door and bounding down the wooden steps. You're halfway down when you hear the door above you close.

Maria is standing there, arms crossed. It's the look that you always associate with her: serious and focused. 

"What?" You ask defensively even though you know exactly why she's here. 

Maria gives you a serious look as she makes her way down the steps. She drops her voice to conspiratorial whisper, clearly not wanting the men upstairs to hear.  

"You need to give Joel a chance."

"I am," you insist even though you both know it's a lie. You're frustrated that just by showing up he's ruined your good mood. 

"I really like Tommy," Maria sighs. "And I love you. Please make an effort with Joel. For me."

"I will," you promise even though you have no intention of following it through. "I just can't tonight."

You go the rest of the way downstairs, shame rouging your cheeks. A buzzing sounds in your pocket and you bring out the phone,  flipping it open to check the text that just came through.

hey how r u? Just checking in.

You give a disgusted scoff and throw your phone onto the bed. 

/// /// /// /// /// /// /// ///

Frank proves to be no help at all in the Joel situation once he sees him. 

One afternoon you're over there waiting to eat Bill's famous lemon cake when it all goes pear shaped. 

"You can't tell its sugar free," Frank is saying from the kitchen, the sound of clattering dishes. "It's just that delicious."

Bill is seated across from you looking miserable. He's already got himself a slice and is holding it in his lap. You notice that Bill never starts eating until after Frank has. 

"Sugar is the silent killer," Bill murmurs. 

You hold in a smile. This isn't the first time Bill has given you the 'sugar is evil' talk. 

Frank is rolling his eyes good-naturedly as he enters the room with two plates.  

"They start 'em young," Bill continues as Frank makes his way towards you. "They put brightly colored cartoons on the front of sugary cereal boxes for Christ sake. It's insidious." 

Frank hands the plate to you, the fork clattering on the porcelain. You take it gratefully, looking at the pale yellow cake with its white swirling icing. You almost don't want to eat it, it looks so beautiful. 

"This is gorgeous."

Bill gives the smallest smile in your direction and a slight nod of thanks. His bright eyes move to Frank who is taking his first bite. You know that for Bill this is the only review he cares about. 

"Amazing," Frank promises Bill. "Even better than your last one."

Bill is very pleased at this and about to say something when the sound of Joel's truck comes rambling up the street. The windows are open so you tilt your head at the noise, giving an exaggerated sigh when you realize who it is.

Frank and Bill exchange an inscrutable look before Frank launches himself off the sofa to come stand next to the window you're glaring out of. 

Joel pulls himself out of the cab of the truck to grab lumber out of the back. He carries a two by four over his shoulder and heads towards Maria's. His jeans are dusty and the t-shirt he's wearing clings to him with sweat. 

"That's the grey sprinkle?" Frank gapes looking out the window. It's almost comical how his blue eyes are blown so wide. 

"Yeah," you frown looking out at his frame loping across the grass. "The one and only Joel Miller."

"He's sex on legs," Frank informs you, pulling back the curtain with a forefinger. He cranes his neck so he can follow Joel's form moving over the lawn. 

You think you must be missing something here. Joel attractive? Pffft. Stone-faced, sad-eyed, moping bastard. Your judgment clouds any attraction you might feel. 

Bill shuffles over with his piece of cake balanced on his plate. He glances at Frank's open mouthed stare and then out the window at Joel. He squints as he watches Joel enter Maria's house with the wood and toolbox. 

"I don't see what all the fuss is about," Bill frowns after he takes in Joel's form. 

"Exactly," you say victoriously. Finally, someone who isn't drawn into whatever spell Joel Miller is casting. 

But then you watch as Bill digs into his cake, aggressively popping it into his down turned mouth as Frank looks over with a disbelieving smile.  

"Bill are you jealous?"

"No." 

/// /// /// /// /// /// /// ///

A month later you have officially hired Miller Construction to renovate your "office". Tommy tells you he needs to come by and do an official estimate and you happily agree. 

You trip over one of the jutting floorboards as you head for your desk that morning, giving a soft grunt of irritation before stamping it back into place. 

Your office is a cramped thing, built a hundred years ago in what is a converted church. It's simple with wood floors and walls and you spent the better part of the month cleaning the backyard of the space in anticipation of building the kennels out there. 

It's exciting to think that you'll actually be seeing animals more regularly at your job. Usually you're just grant writing or travelling off - site for donation requests. You muse that for a job all about animals, you rarely get to see them. 

James is out of the office today, you've both started on sourcing a new area for a sanctuary. You're hoping to go to the city with the idea and James is out there today seeing if the land you want will be appropriate. 

You look at the big yellow board in the center wall and give a smile. On it are a variety of photos collected over the years of the animals your office has saved. Your favorite photo is that of a little redheaded boy holding a turtle and smiling widely. It was the first adoption you'd ever overseen yourself. 

There is a knock at the door and you move quickly, excited to show Tommy what you're going to have him build. 

Your body physically starts in surprise when it's Joel that appears behind the door looking none too pleased. 

Fuck no.

Up this close he's taller than you realized his shoulders broad. He's wearing a green flannel and he looks tired. 

"I thought Tommy was the one handling this," you say trying not to sound accusatory. 

"He asked me give him a hand with the estimate."

"Oh." 

You move back from the door, opening it so he can enter. You look around him to see empty space. "Where is Tommy?"

"He's bringing my daughter from school," Joel says stepping into the space and glancing around before looking at his watch. "Should be here quick."

"She's coming here?" You can't hide the surprise in your voice at that. 

"Yeah?" He gives you with a challenging look. 

"Should I --- I don't have crayons but I have some highlighters I think and I guess she can use printer paper to draw on?"

"She'll be fine. You don't need to do that."

"Oh. Okay."

You want to ignore him but you keep thinking of Maria. 

I really like Tommy. And I love you. Please make an effort with Joel.

The words roll around in your head as you go back to stand behind your desk. Joel is sauntering around your office, looking at the flooring with a frown. 

"Does Sarah always come with you to work?" You broach trying to sound interested even if you couldn't care less. Joel glances over at you shaking his head. 

"No. Teacher called to say she had a stomachache. Tommy was closer to the school so he said he'd pick her up for

Sometimes Joel sounds as if he's trying to conserve words, using as few as possible.  

You nod and not really wishing to extend the conversation any further, you turn back the email you'd be writing earlier. 

A few minutes pass of you typing away on the keyboard, your eyes focusing on the email you're composing. 

"You always worked with animals?"

"Huh?" You glance up from your computer, surprised. Joel is standing across the room from you near the yellow board and its photographs.

"Have you always worked with animals?" Joel repeats. 

It takes you a minute to register that he's actually asked you a question about yourself. 

"Uh yeah. My mom's a vet tech, my dad raised horses. Can't remember a time I wasn't around them."

Joel doesn't seem to know how to reply to this so he shrugs and looks down at his boots, shoving his hands in his pockets and moving to look around the office. He goes to the shelving holding up years of old adoption records. 

You watch this and wonder why he bothered asking you a question if he had no intention of actually listening to your reply? 

The answer suddenly becomes obvious: because Tommy probably told him the same thing Maria told you. Make an effort. Be nice. 

The whole thing seems a bit silly to you. You're not children for Christ's sake. And the idea strikes you that you don't have to pretend.

"Joel?"

He turns from where he is at the window, his brows quirked. 

"Let's be honest here for a minute. I know you don't enjoy my company and I don't enjoy yours," you say officiously. "But Maria and Tommy are very happy together and I have no intention of ruining that. Since I assume you care for your brother, I think you probably feel the same way."

Joel is staring at you without saying anything. It's one of his party tricks, you decide; being so quiet the other person feels the need to fill the silence. After a beat he nods. 

"So I propose that we act like we don't despise one another when we're in their company. Other than that, I see no need for us to act like friends," you explain diplomatically. "You don't have to pretend to be interested in my life and I don't have to pretend to be interested in yours."

Joel is quiet for the length of this speech, seeming to take the information in and digesting it. For a horrible moment there is a paranoia that your suggestion was too blunt. 

"So we'll just dislike each other in secret," Joel eventually says with what looks like a slight quirking of his lips. 

"Exactly," you nod. "After the kennels are done here and Maria's kitchen is finished we'll see even less of each other. Holidays, dinners, the occasional pub night. It's manageable, don't you think?"

"I do."

"Great."

With that settled you go back to your email, typing rapidly and feeling accomplished. 

"So since we're not friends and I don't have to pretend to be nice, I'm just gonna point out that spending all that grant money on kennels is insane."

Your fingers abruptly pull back from the keys and you dart a look up at him. "What?"

"This office is falling apart. These shelves have maybe a few months left in them, maybe." He presses on one and you can hear it creak under his palm. "The flooring is fucked, you're gonna break your neck walking on it if you don't fix it quick."

You stare at Joel, flabbergasted. Not just because this is the longest you've heard him talk, but because after the weeks of planning he thinks he can waltz into your workplace and completely up-end your idea? 

"You can't save animals if your whole office is trashed," Joel continues. "You ever hear the expression 'you can't pour from an empty cup'?"

The fucking gall of Joel Miller of all people trying to give you self help advice. Pot meet kettle. 

"Well, I only take advice from friends, so... "

You let the meaning sink in as you turn back to your work. He gives a look that clearly says 'it's your funeral' You glance up from under your hair as Joel goes to the far side of your office, pulling out his measuring tape and marking something in the little notepad he's pulled from his back pocket. 

You scowl at his back, irritated once more by his arrogance. He just came in here and totally shit all over your plans! What does he even know? The kennels are a necessity! Yeah your office isn't great, but you've always gotten by haven't you? 

You hear the sound of a truck outside and know it must be Tommy and Joel's daughter, Sarah. 

You look at Joel and muse about what kind of child a man like Joel would raise. You think she must be a feral nightmare if she has Joel for a father. Hopefully she takes after her mother. 

You go to the door of the office and pull it open before Tommy even has to knock. 

A small girl with large hazel eyes and a shock of light brown curls bursts into your office, her hand dropping Tommy's.

"Daddy!" 

Joel's face breaks into a large grin. He drops to one knee, his arms widening as a squealing girl leaps into his embrace. He squeezes her tightly before pulling back, his face serious. 

"How's the tummy?"

"Real bad," Sarah says, sighing in that way all precocious children seem to do. As if the world is so exhausting when you have no responsibilities. 

"Oh yeah? That's a shame." Joel looks terribly upset. "I thought we'd go to McDonald's on the way home, but since you're so sick-"

Sarah immediately changes tack. 

"I'm actually feeling better, Daddy." Her eyes are large and unblinking. She fiddles with the zipper on Joel's coat. "I think I'm better enough for McDonald's."

"Mhmmm," Joel says sending a smirk in Tommy's direction as he stands.

Who the fuck is this guy? The one with the charming, boyish smile? The one with soft eyes and a sweet warmth to his voice? It can't be Joel Miller.. You've met that bastard. This guy is new. This guy is almost.... Attractive.

Tommy follows you to your desk, a beat up Longhorns cap over his glossy locks. 

"The big day is here"

"It is indeed," you say with a grin. "I'm really excited to show you the back -"

You stop talking because Tommy is frowning and looking around the office. He moves over the creaking floorboards, taking in the poorly sealed windows before putting his hands on his hips in quiet contemplation.

"Hmmm."

"What?"

You walk over to where Tommy is now standing beside Joel, surveying the space by the window. The Brothers exchange a silent look that makes your stomach wobble. 

"I know you wanted to put the money towards kennels," Tommy says wincing. "But I think you might actually have to put it into this office."

Your cheeks flare pink as you actively ignore the smug look Joel is undoubtedly shooting you. 

"I don't think that's necessary," you say tightly. 

"I mean it's your money," Tommy shrugs. "But in my opinion this is where you should put it. This place is barely holding on. No real point in kennels out back if the office is closed, right?" 

You feel like you've been punched in the gut. And you're upset because this is exactly what your coworker James said when you first told him about your plan for the grant. You just put that down to him being financially conservative. 

"Well this is just fuc-" you stop yourself from swearing when you remember that Sarah is there. 

Sarah takes one long look at you before going to hide behind Joel's legs, her hazel eyes staring out at you from behind him balefully as the men talk above her.

She's definitely Joel's kid.

"Maybe we do the repairs in here and see if we have any money left over for the kennels," Tommy suggests. "We can get a good discount on materials."

"But we're not being underpaid on labor," Joel quickly cuts in. "So there's a good chance there won't be much left."

Tommy gives Joel a warning look. You know he'd been hoping to swoop in and save the day for his girlfriend's best friend. He can tell you're disappointed and you know that he feels guilty about it. 

But that doesn't stop you from feeling deflated. The vision you had is gone, replaced with renovations you don't even want. 

"Sure. Whatever you think is best, Tommy. I trust your judgment."

You go back to your desk and slump into the chair feeling defeated. You pretend to write something on a piece of paper but instead you're doodling, trying not to feel too devastated. 

Tommy and Joel are murmuring to one another, making marks on the wall, tapping gently with their knuckles to find the studs. 

"I got the tape," Sarah's squeaky voice calls out to Joel as she races over to him, the measuring tape large in her small hands.  

"Don't run babygirl," Joel says with a soft smile in her direction as he takes the tape from her and Tommy writes something down in his notebook. 

It's clear that despite her young age, Sarah desperately wants to help her father with the job. It makes your throat tighten. 

You have such little experience with children. You're an only child yourself, most of your friends are childless and you've never really seemed to understand kids. They're loud and emotional and messy. This one seems especially troublesome if she has Joel Miller as an influence, so you go back to your work trying to see if there are other financial avenues for the kennels.  

As you with you can hear Joel and Tommy discussing lumber costs and which yard is best for the type of work you need. 

"Hi. I'm Sarah."

You start at the sudden appearance of Sarah at your elbow. She's tiny for her age, her eyes taking up such a large portion of her face. You furrow your brows at her. 

She puts on a smile, a small dimple appearing in her cheek, the same side as her dad's. She pats the ends of your hair gently. 

"I like your hair. It's pretty."

You're surprised by this. "Uh, thanks."

She steps closer. "I like your desk. It's pretty."

"Thank you." 

"Is that candy?"

She points to the clear jar on the left side of your desk. It's filled with brightly colored jellybeans. You look towards the tower of confectionery and realize her motivation for buttering you up. You hide a smile. 

"It is." 

You turn your attention back to your work and continue writing, feeling her serious gaze on you.

"I really like candy," she tells you.

"Oh yeah," you reply trying not to smirk. 

It's obvious she is waiting for you to offer her one. But can kids this young even have candy? She shuffles a bit closer to you. 

"Can I have one candy? Please?"

Your eyes dart over to see Joel and Tommy measuring something in the corner. Your gaze flicks back to the expectant child at your elbow. For some reason Bill's recent rant creeps into your brain. 

"Sugar is really bad for you especially at this age," you offer helpfully. "But it's no wonder you're obsessed with it. I bet your favorite cereal has a fun cartoon character on the front."

Sarah takes a longing look at the jellybeans on your desk before turning her attention back to you and nodding. 

"It's all a marketing strategy," you explain patiently. "They attract you with colorful images and happy music in the commercials and make it seem like sugar isn't really a silent killer. It's pretty insidious when you think about it, targeting kids."

Sarah's face is pinched into a look of confusion. "Huh?"

You feel the dual gazes of Tommy and Joel on you from the side of the room. They've stopped what they're doing and are staring at you with bemusement. Tommy's lips are twitching. 

"Have you ever spoken to a child before?" Tommy broaches, trying not to sound insulting but failing miserably. 

"'Course I have," you lie, even as you feel your cheeks reddening. "Lots of times."

The Miller men exchange a look of barely suppressed amusement before Tommy turns back to the shelves. Joel is still staring at you with what looks like a mixture of pity and humor. You don't appreciate either. 

"So can she have a few?"

Joel nods and turns back to speak to Tommy. You open the lid to the jar, pulling out a handful of jellybeans and placing them into Sarah's cupped hands. She decides that there are too many for her to hold so stretching her arms up she puts the small pile on the edge of your desk before she pops one into her mouth, chewing. 

"Are they okay? They've been sitting there a while."

Sarah nods, offering a gummy "thank you."

You go back to making notes for James and she begins moving her eyes over your desk as she eats her jellybeans one by one. 

'Who's that?" 

You look up from your notes to see her pointing at one of the few framed photos on your desk. 

"That's my dog from when I was a kid," you answer with a fond smile. "Pongo."

"Like the Dalmatians," Sarah says popping another jellybean into her mouth. "Pongo and 'Gita."

"Yeah," you smile. "I loved that movie so much I wanted a puppy of my own. Christmas morning there he was."

"He's not a Dalmatian," Sarah tells you as if you weren't already aware. 

"No he was a rescue," you explain patiently. "He's one of the reasons I started this job. I wanted to help other animals like Pongo."

"I have a pet," Sarah tells you with a serious countenance. 

"Oh really?"

She nods, reaching into her pocket and producing a small toad stuffy. He's obviously been carried with her from place to place, well loved with parts of his spotted back rubbed off. 

"This must be toad," you say with a grin. "I've heard about him."

She gives you a surprised look but then smiles. "Do you wanna hold him?"

"Sure." You hold your palm out expectantly, watching her serious little face as she places the creature in the center of your hand. "Oh he's very handsome."

Sarah giggles at this, looking at you with amusement. "He's not handsome. He's a toad."

"Well sometimes a toad can look handsome," you reason. "I have a few ex boyfriends that prove that point."

Sarah doesn't know what to make of that joke. So she takes toad back, pocketing him and going back to her jelly beans on your desk. She takes a pink one and before it reaches her mouth she's pointing to another photo.

"Who's that?"

You glance over to see the photo she's referencing. It's you and your mom and dad on your birthday. Judging by the candles you were about Sarah's age. Your arms are hooked around both their necks and the three of you look like you were laughing when it was taken. 

"That's a photo of me," you tap the young image of yourself gently before tapping the faces of the other figures in the photograph. "And my mom and dad." 

Sarah stares at the photo a long time, her head tilting as she regards it. You find yourself intrigued by her reaction. Her small dark fingers trace the frame. Finally she swallows her candy and looks to you curiously. 

"You have a picture of your mommy? I don't."

You're surprised by this. You knew Joel was divorced, but to not have any photos of Sarah's mom around the house seems kind of strange. 

You stare down at Sarah and wonder how much hurt hides behind those large eyes of hers. 

"Sarah," Joel calls sharply from across the room. "Leave the lady alone, she's workin'"

You don't really mind Sarah as much as you thought you would. She's inquisitive and sweet tempered.  

Perhaps this is an opportunity to extend an olive branch towards Joel, especially since you'll be seeing a lot of him. 

"It's alright," you say, shooting a friendly smile his way. "I don't mind -"

"Well I do mind," Joel interrupts. The familiar chill is back in his gaze and you feel your own irritation rising, the smile dropping from your face. Why do you bother trying to be nice to this guy? 

Joel holds a hand out in his daughter's direction, his face softening. "C'mon babygirl, we're goin' home."

Sarah takes the remainder of her jellybeans and shoves them into her dungaree pockets before toddling over to her dad who picks her up. 

She's in his arms, looking over his shoulder at you. She gives you a brief wave that you return before the two of them disappear out the door. 

/// /// /// /// /// /// /// ///

"Can you do me a huge favor?"

You never enjoy mornings that start like that. You're still in your sleeping clothes, the coffee Maria brought you still warm in your hands. 

"Depends what it is."

Maria and you are sitting on your sofa, a striped pillow behind your neck. 

It's been two days since Tommy and Joel dropped the bomb that you'll need to spend your grant money on the office repairs. It's only Wednesday but it feels like years since you had your dreams shattered. 

Tommy is starting the work on your office next week. That means you'll have a solid three days of off-site work while he does that and you'll come back to an office you never wanted refurbished in the first place.

Great. 

"It's me and Tommy's four month anniversary," Maria is blushing shyly. "He wants to take me away for the weekend." 

You don't point out that celebrating monthly anniversaries is asinine and borderline juvenile. Mostly because those thoughts usually only occur when you're under-caffinated. And you know it's partially because you're still in a terrible mood about the office. 

"Sounds fun," you say between sips of your coffee. "You need me to water your plants or something while you're gone?"

"Not exactly."

You don't like the way Maria isn't meeting your eyes. 

"Maria?"

"Well, Joel has a meeting with Kathleen for that construction job on Saturday night. A big one. If they win the bid that's huge."

You nod, not really understanding where you come in.

"Sarah needs a babysitter. Tommy is usually the go-to but he's got this really good deal on a weekend away for us."

"Okay."

You sit staring at her a while before the other shoe drops and you see her bracing herself for your response. 

"You want me to willingly enter that man's home and babysit his child?" You put your mug down on the coffee table so harshly it splashes. 

You remember the pact you made with Joel. To act like you don't despise each other for the sake of Maria and Tommy. But this is asking too much. 

"Why can't he just reschedule the meeting for the following week?" You suggest, desperate to find a solution that doesn't involve you in Joel Miller's home. 

"I asked Tommy that but the bids open Monday. Saturday is Joel's only opportunity. She's busy all the other nights." 

"Why can't he just get a sitter from the newspaper? Or an agency?" 

You don't love the plaintive edge your voice has taken on. 

"You saw what happened with Connie," Maria says with a roll of her eyes. "You've met Joel. He's particular."

Understatement of the century.

"Grandparents?"

"Dead."

Well, that's one thing you have in common. 

"Sarah is his life," Maria continues. "He wouldn't let just anyone take care of her."

"Exactly. What makes you think he'd want me of all people to sit Sarah?" You figure this will solidify why you're a poor choice. 

"Because when Tommy suggested you be the one to babysit, Joel said yes." 

That surprises you enough to choke on your coffee. Joel Miller approves of you babysitting his daughter? This is unexpected.

Then another thought occurs to you, pushing this thought entirely to the back of your mind. Your eyes immediately narrow on Maria's suddenly very bashful face. 

"Tommy's already talked to Joel about this?"

Maria is looking everywhere but your face as you raise a questioning brow. 

"The tickets were non-refundable," Maria finally explains with a guilty laugh. "And there's a couple's massage!"

"Maria!" 

"You'd barely have to interact with him," Maria promises. "He leaves when you get there and you leave when he gets home. In between that you get to hang out with Sarah."

Hanging out with a five year old you barely know is not the compelling selling point Maria seems to think it is. 

"Plus I'll pay you for your time," Maria continues, going to pull the wallet from her purse. "It's the least I can do."

You inwardly groan. You know for a fact that you're going to say yes because when it comes to Maria you always do. 

"Put it away," you say with a dismissive wave of your hand. "Think of it as an anniversary gift."

Maria nearly tackles you into a hug whispering words of thanks over and over before squeaking happily that she's going to call Tommy to give him the good news. 

You shake your head watching her rush up the stairs before going back to your coffee and drinking deeply. 

So much for a relaxing weekend.