#whew finally a new page | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

macfrog · 8 months

Text

sweet child o' mine | pt. iii

now taking name suggestions for my joel's duck doodle. must rhyme with a curse word. most creative wins.

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: as your pregnancy progresses, you and joel are getting closer. dangerously closer.

warnings: reader is literally pregnant so typical pregnancy symptoms & descriptions of stuff like extreme nausea and gagging (reader throws up off-page, no graphic description past sore throat/esophagus afterward), body changing, nerves around birth/becoming mom, another sonogram (gender reveal...?), baby kicks felt, labor pains shhh, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), joel is dating someone who isn't reader, our girl hates nye (she's valid), tommy uses colors to represent gender (he is Wrong), joel is for sure emotionally cheating at this point and reader knows it, joel kisses someone who is not his partner again, f masturbation, memories of the hot dirty sex they had whew, a SPRINKLING of breeding kink, praise kink, size kink, another parent dies (i love parents i promise ????), jealous!reader, protective!joel, alcohol consumption, cursing, a LOT of angst, lots of fluff, lil bit of smut, and duckie has the best comedic timing of any character in this entire series. :) DISCLAIMER: this series covers some issues which i know may be sensitive and possibly triggering to some. warnings will always be as thorough as possible, but if there’s ever anything you feel i’ve missed, please let me know. feel free to drop by my inbox anytime.

word count: 11.4k (sorry. lots to cover lots to do.)

pt. i / series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🩵

December.

The days are funneled by a quick pinch of dark, the breeze heavy in its sail. Houses lined with twinkling lights and windows pierced by pointed trees. Crooning from every radio station, teary-eyed movies on TV, and spiced apple everything.

You hate every fucking minute of it.

“Wait a second,” Tommy sits forward, leaning in, “you never do nothin’ for New Years?”

You shrug, lifting your eyebrows. “Nope. Just don’t like it much. That a crime?”

He considers it as he hands his empty tumbler up to Joel, his head lolling some. He’s on his…fourth drink of the night, right? Though, if you take into account his earlier argument – I’m eatin’ as I go. It don’t count. – it’s probably more like two. But it’s whiskey, so –

Never mind.

“Yeah,” Tommy finally decides, “kinda. The hell’s wrong with you, girl?”

“Tommy.”

Joel’s voice is a warning, edged by the sharp clink of three glasses pinched in his fingers.

His brother laughs amiably in response, though, nodding to your mock-offended expression. “At least you’re spendin’ it right this year. Last one before lil’ Dickie comes along, huh?”

Maria slaps his shoulder, rolling her eyes. “It’s Duckie,” she hisses, glancing over to you.

“Shoot,” he says, chuckling. “I knew that. My mistake.” And then, hand out towards you in an apology which makes your shoulders jerk with laughter, “I did know that, I swear.”

Tommy and Maria flew in a few days ago; the younger Miller adamant that he’d spend one last New Years with his big brother before he became a father. The night they arrived, they showed up on your doorstep – a hamper filled with diapers and muslins and baby socks hanging from Maria’s arm. They’ve asked to hang out with you every day since.

They’re good fun. Tommy likes you, at least, enough to tease you as much as you figure a brother might. He’s definitely the louder of the two – sometimes you swear you notice Joel cringing at him, something caught between a laugh and a frown on his face. And Maria’s sweet; she’s asked probably six times every hour since she first saw you if you’re feeling okay, if you’re tired, if you’re hungry.

Joel text you yesterday morning. Tommy and Maria wondering if you feel like coming over for NYE. No pressure, he added, I lie pretty good.

A smile snuck its way across your lips before you had the chance to tame it. Sure, you typed, I’ll bring the newspaper.

What Joel’s told them, about the wedding and the baby and everything since, you’ve no idea. You guys almost talked about it when he told you they were flying down after Christmas, but before you got the chance to ask him, Vanessa pulled up out front.

Not exactly a conversation you felt like having with the dude’s girlfriend hooked around his right arm.

She smiles at you, now, as you shuffle to the edge of the armchair you’re curled up in. Joel’s armchair – the plaid blanket cradling you, the leather soft and crinkled beneath. Your eyes quickly drop from hers when his hand reaches for your mug, your fingers crossing as you pass it up. “Let me come help,” you say, pushing from the chair.

He holds up a palm, shaking his head once. “Stay. I got it.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, settling back. Vanessa resumes smiling. You wish she’d fucking quit it. You wish you’d fucking quit focusing on her.

Joel knocks the mug gently against your shoulder with a small, almost sympathetic smile, and heads for the kitchen – leaving you sat between Tommy and Maria on one couch, and Vanessa on the other. You tuck your heels under your thighs, picking at a hangnail as you wait for the conversation to thaw.

Maria makes some comment about Austin in the winter: how different it is to Jackson, and the three of you nod and hum in agreement before the chatter fizzles to nothing again. You glance over to the clock, watching the hands chase one another to twelve.

This isn’t what you imagined a get-together with Joel’s family would feel like. Tight, tense. So tense that you can feel the weight on your chest, closing your lungs. Talking about the weather and the holiday traffic, talking about nothing to avoid talking about everything.

Tommy’s chin lifts, after a second too long of silence. “Hey, Joel!” he barks. “You ain’t shown me this nursery yet!”

Joel leans around the doorframe, half-distracted. “Barely even started it, little brother. Crib only got delivered yesterday.”

“Sheesh,” Maria’s eyes widen, “you sure are prepared.”

Vanessa laughs when Joel rolls his eyes and vanishes again. “You got no idea,” she says, “I have never seen him so…pedantic, right?” She looks to you, still smiling. So sweet, you worry your lips are pursing at the sight of it. Your neck tensing. Your eyes watering.

“Yeah,” you reply, nodding shyly and swallowing back the saccharine. “I think he’s more nervous than he’s letting on.”

Joel’s voice calls from the kitchen again: your name. When you answer, he says, “Why don’t you take Tommy up, show ‘im what we got so far?” and then, leaning back around the door, “She picked the color ‘n whatnot.”

“Ah,” Tommy says, palms pushing down on his knees, “so you’re the brains, then?”

You mirror him, accepting Joel’s request. As though you had any choice in the first place. Standing beside the younger Miller, you mutter, “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

He holds a hand out to usher you ahead, following you upstairs. Past the tousle-haired boy in grayscale, past the German shepherd, past the Christmas Day portrait. Wandering like you know the house inside out, like you might’ve picked the exact coordinates of each nail the picture frames hang on yourself.

Like the photographs pinned to the walls aren’t still as alien to you as they’d been that day you first set foot in here, the dress Joel would come to tear from your body slung over your arm.

You twist the gold handle and unveil a homely little room, painted by you and Joel just last week. The soft blue drying into his knuckles, random splatters on your palms and your jeans. The giggles drawn from your chest; the thief either the chemicals from the paint, or the man rolling it over the walls – and you’ve a pretty good idea of which.

Tommy sniffs roughly, nodding. Taps the toe of his boot against one of the two bulky boxes leant against the wall, a crib printed on one and a rocking chair on the other. His tipsy head bob bob bobbing. “Alright. ‘s nice, ain’t it?”

You settle against the window, the glass cold at your back. “Real nice, yeah. Be even better once it’s done.”

“What’s yours look like?”

“Mine?”

“Nursery at your place. Your one pink, ‘case it’s a girl?”

You snort. “Mine is a little greener. More…I guess it’s duck egg. Had some leftover paint.”

He clicks his fingers and points to you. “See what you did there. Duck egg. Duckie.”

“Hm. Wish I were that poetic. I just like the color.”

Tommy stuffs his hands in his pockets, wanders around the bare room. The faint lingering of whiskey putting up its best fight against the clean bite of fresh paint, the sweet scent shaking from him when he nods some more at the blank walls and naked windows. He clicks his teeth and asks, “How you holdin’ up, anyways?”

“How am I holding up?”

“Yep. With, uh…” he nods to the door, eyes wide, “…Vanessa,” he whispers. Louder than he must think – probably echoed, if anything, by the palm he curves around his mouth.

You cross your arms protectively, shoulders bunching. “She’s fine,” you say, voice deliberately low. You both ignore the crack in it when you add, “I like her. She’s – she’s taken this all like a champ.”

Tommy leans on the window ledge, a rugged hand you reckon you’d know was a Miller’s just by looking at it. Same rough-cut quality as Joel’s, like they’re torn from the same sheet of sandpaper. He props the other on his hip. “But, boy – it’s gotta be complicated, right?”

“I guess. But she’s real sweet about it. And Joel’s been great, too.” You sniff, the memory of your kiss flashing behind your eyes. The steady drum of Duck’s heartbeat, the gleam in Joel’s eye when he looked down at you. The guilt seeping from your skin like beads of sweat, prickling along your spine and fizzling against the cold windowpane.

Tommy blinks at you, liquor-glazed eyes scanning. His shoulders jerk, a loud huh propelling from his throat. When your head cocks in confusion, startled from your daydream, he spills. “He ‘n I had a mighty long talk when he told me.”

You feel yourself leaning in, magnetized to him – body hunched as though you’re gossiping in the corner of a house party. Inhaling secrets with the tinge of alcohol on Tommy’s breath. “Oh, yeah?”

Tommy hums. “Just wanted to make sure he’d thought it all through. Not you – I always knew he’d take care a’ you and Duck. But…involving Vanessa,” he lowers his voice again, glancing over to the warm light spilling in from the hallway, “I just wanted him to be sure.”

Your blood begins to warm, heat flooding through your body as you step closer, murmuring, “What’d he say?”

He flicks his head, seeming to toss his initial response to the wind. “You know Joel. He is his own man.”

Your face screws, head jerking back. “What’s that mean? He is his own man?”

A voice from the doorway interrupts. A shadow swimming in the golden light. “Who is?”

Tommy steps away from you, loosening his arms as his big brother drifts into the shadowy room. Dusting the conversation under the rug. The smell of whiskey backs off. “Speak of the devil. Nice paint job, Joel. Missed a couple spots, but – I’ll let you off.”

“Uhuh.” Joel’s eyes thin, his body slanted against the wall. Arms crossed, bottle of beer hanging from his fingers.

Tommy swaggers forward when Joel holds the bottle out, taking it with a wary glance at the tall figure. A dog meandering back to his owner, tail between his legs and ears flat. It takes his gritty voice to jolt you back to the room, splintering your gaze from Joel’s toned arms and huge chest. “Looks real good, you two. ‘s one lucky kid.”

Joel’s jaw lifts, his eyes landing on you. Dogs are terrible liars. “He talkin’ your ear off?”

You smile; recognizing the softer Joel you’ve grown used to over the last three months replacing the stern, cold version you once knew so well. “Only a little.”

“Tommy,” he says then, “Maria needs you for somethin’.”

The denim-donned Miller nods knowingly and heads out of the room, thud of his boots receding downstairs.

“Maria okay?” you ask, making space for Joel as he settles beside you.

He shrugs. “Only said that to get him outta your hair.”

You frown. “You sent me up here with him in the first place.”

“So I could come up ‘n check on you. Know this must be a lot – the two of them, tonight.”

“I’m fine. Promise. I’m a big girl.”

You both sigh, turning to look out at the dark street. Your arms cross, sitting somewhere above the tiny slope of your bump – a new development you’re still getting used to. Your stomach feels tighter, a little more solid than usual when you touch it. A little more…real. There’s someone in there, right? Like, actually there. They’re changing the way you look, the way you feel.

“This is it, right?” you say, staring at the white lanterns illuminating Alice Brown’s rose bushes. “This is the year.”

“The year,” Joel agrees.

“Mhm. Become a mom. Become a dad.”

He purses his lips. “Yeah, I don’t know. I’ve had bigger years, kid.”

“Let’s hear it, old man. Let’s hear about your biggest year. God knows you’ve had plenty to choose from.”

He sucks a deep breath in, eyes tracing the silhouette of the houses across the street as he thinks. “Senior year, nineteen ninety-three. Asked Stacy Moore as my date to the prom ‘n she said yes. I was so nervous that I forgot my bow tie. Was a pretty good year.”

You hum, agreeing, and then, “I see your ninety-three, and I raise you: two thousand and one. There was this bike I wanted for-fucking-ever; it had, like, little beads on the spokes – would make this ratatatat sound whenever it moved. Tassels hanging from the handlebars, all iridescent. I begged my mom the entire year for it, and on Christmas morning I woke up, and…” You lift your hands, air puffing from between your lips. “Santa Claus delivered that year, dude.”

“Well,” Joel clicks his teeth, shell hardening only a little, “thanks for making me feel old as hell.”

“You’re welcome.” You beam back at him, breaking into a laugh when he does.

The two of you stand a little distance apart, denying yourselves the innocent brushing of shoulder against shoulder, the nudging of elbows and swaying of hips. Admiring the empty sky and emptier street, bathing between the cold moonlight of outside and the warm lamplight in.

And from somewhere deep in your belly, somewhere tucked behind your ribs, beneath your slow-growing womb: an urge to ask about her. To bring her up. To tend to the curiosity that Tommy poked a clumsy, drunken finger straight into, tearing it apart at the seams.

Like pressing on a new bruise, satiating the hungry need to know where you were hurt, how you were hurt, when you were hurt. A bent fingertip, pushing heavily into a sensitive splatter of dark purple; the burst blood vessels hissing in response, whispering, You don’t know, and you don’t want to know.

But you defy them. You do want to know. Want to satisfy the disturbed thrill you felt, leaning into Joel’s brother. Hands turning over one another, wet bottom lip trembling as he rounded the corner on some sort of…what was it, a secret? Some sort of truth, a long-buried revelation about the other woman. She’s a witch, have you spotted her crooked nose? She’s plotting something, I swear. She’s up to no good.

Your eyes lift again, focusing back on the dull color of the outside world. The bland canvas of reality. She’s not a witch, nor some genius mastermind. She’s a boring, relatively normal woman. Kind, thoughtful. Naïve and a little too eager to please; too willing to forgive a situation which warrants no such kindness or empathy.

She’s just…fine. Lukewarm. And you’ve no idea why that pisses you off so much.

Which, incidentally, makes the bruise sting all the more.

“Maria, Maria,” Tommy’s voice claws its way upstairs, “turn it on, turn it – Joel? Joel! It’s midnight, Joel, you two better come on down, now! Have we missed it –? Have we –?”

The sound of cheering slowly bubbles to life behind his drawl as the TV volume picks up, the tittering of Maria and Vanessa chiming in.

“…five, four, three, two, one…Happy New Year!”

Joel’s looking over his shoulder, waiting for footsteps or voices or a girlfriend who never shows. And he ignores his brother, for he is his own man, and turns to you instead. Bracing himself on the ledge, he blinks down with a plain grin on his lips. “Happy New Year, Mom,” he whispers.

You return his smile, taking his hand when he reaches out to you. “Happy New Year, Dad,” you reply, squeezing his palm.

He pulls you in for a hug, kissing your cheek briskly as you hook your arms over his shoulders. His beard scratches your cheek, grazes the curve of your shoulder, and you don’t mind. Your small, swollen belly presses against his; the tiny curve safe in the midst of your embrace.

Outside, the sky crackles to life with the distant spatter of fireworks, color shattering across the black canvas – red, blue, green and gold, dissolving as quickly as they explode into the now-January night. A burst of purple light washes between the two of you, and you turn your head on Joel’s shoulder to watch as the sparks rain over your neighbors’ roofs.

“I should get goin’,” you whisper, feeling his heartbeat a little too strongly against your own. Becoming suddenly aware of the weight of your frames locked together.

“Glad you came,” he says as he leans away. “I know this ain’t…I know we’re all tryin’, but you’re tryin’ the most, and I appreciate it. I hope you know that.”

“I know it,” you tell him, rolling your eyes. “Now, go. Go kiss your girlfriend.”

He chuckles, making for the door. “You want me to walk you home?”

Your eyes close serenely, the image of him doused in flickers of gold burning behind your eyelids. “I’ll survive the walk across the hedgerow, Miller.”

Joel nods once and leaves, plodding downstairs to be greeted by his open-armed girlfriend, a peck between them, arms crossed behind his neck. The lyrics of Auld Lang Syne slurred against his lips.

And you think – You know what? If it’ll rip you apart from her, if it’ll keep her bright red lips and her shining curtain of hair away from you, if it’ll stop her sucking in your air and your smell and your attention for thirty fucking seconds –

Then, yeah. Walk me home. Stay for a drink. Sleep in the goddamn guestroom.

Walk me home.

You slip out of the front door when the two couples are in the kitchen, missing Joel’s calling your name – or perhaps just ignoring it altogether.

“Spread the love at St. David’s this Valentine’s Day…”

Joel slows alongside a wall of cerise hearts, each one fluttering like wings whenever the hospital doors slide open and the breeze sneaks inside. Slips scrawled with names and messages: Love you M! and J + A, crude drawings of stick figures holding hands. Your lips curl into a smirk, watching him flick through each one as you palm your round stomach.

You just saw Duck for the second time. The last time, Freya was kind enough to mention, before they’re tearing you in two. Sorry, she mouthed when your expression dropped, and went back to twisting the probe over your stomach. Silently.

You’re getting better at it, you think. Playing Mom. Like some little game of make-believe, which is only real for as long as you’re looking it square in the eye – attending doctor’s appointments, updating the neighbors on your newest list of symptoms en route to your mailbox.

A little surer on your feet, now that you’ve found a balance to it: taking it as seriously as it warrants, a dry little pill stuck on the cliff of your throat, and making it easier to swallow with humor like water, a huge gulp anytime the fear claws its way up your spine.

And no more panic, since at least before Christmas. Only a little flustered this afternoon when Freya asked if you wanted to know the sex.

It felt too big a thing to hear, too real. You’re only just getting used to the backache and the bleeding gums. (And why didn’t you know that your gums would bleed? Isn’t that something they should fucking warn you about? Congrats, you’re pregnant: prepare for blood seeping from your jaw.)

No. No, thanks. Your head shot around to Joel. No, right?

He shrugged. Makes no difference to me.

Are you sure?

I’m sure, kid. Promise.

‘cause we can find out. I mean – if you want to.

He rocked forward on the balls of his feet, tapping you amiably on the shoulder. I don’t. You’re good.

You don’t?

No, I – He sighed, a hand dragging through his hair. If you want to, I want to. If you don’t, I don’t. Alright?

Freya bit back a laugh, the closed fist over her lips doing little to hide it. You guys should write a book on co-parenting.

But then she left the room again, closed the door on that same old little bubble – the three of you perched on the bed, you and Joel blinking up at the grains of your child onscreen – and you cried. Again. More.

Everything clearer, everything even more human than before: the globe of their skull, the tiny slope of their nose. All glowing in the dark waves of your womb, twinkling like the most beautiful constellation you could ever come across. Their ankles were crossed, feet forming a tiny heart shape in the top corner of the sonogram. Your hand lifted to point it out to Joel, and before the words found voice, you choked and broke down again.

He held you, lips to your hair, body solid as a rock as you melted into him in waves of salty tears. Smiled that honey-glazed smile and said he was so proud of you, said, look what your body’s doin’, darlin’, look what you’re growin’ – which only made you weep more.

And you pretended not to wait for it – for the moment when you might tilt your head up and your lips might line with his, and he might close the achy space between you again, might shush your cries by stealing the air from your lungs and the beat from your heart.

But he didn’t.

Which is fine.

Right?

“Somethin’ on your mind, kid?” he asks now, eyes still glued to the sea of hearts.

Your stare snaps from him instantly, unaware it was even held there. You tug on the hem of your sweater and pull the sleeves over your hands, mumbling, “Fine, I’m – I’m just…Come on, man. I’m hungry. I didn’t eat lunch today.”

“’n whose fault is that?”

You glower at him. “How considerate,” you seethe, “Vanessa’s a fucking lucky woman, you know that?”

He ignores you, a dumb smile on his face. The usual. “Let’s leave one for ‘em.”

A hot temper begins to boil below the surface of your skin, squeezing between your teeth in a fist-swinging breath. Also the usual these days, apparently. “For who?”

“Duckie. Somethin’ to mark the second scan. Last time we see them, before –”

Your hand flies up, eyes closing with a wince. Shut the fuck up. “Enough. I know.”

Joel hms, still smiling to himself. His beard has grown out a little: thicker, darker, gray sewn through like little whip stitches lining his jaw. He fishes a heart shape from the tub along with a pen, which he twirls annoyingly around his fingers as he thinks.

You sink back against the clinical white wall, an offensively bright color, holding your cheeks up in something of a smile when a nurse wanders past, nodding to both of you. Your face drops back to a scowl as soon as she’s over Joel’s shoulder, and your eyes meet his again – his brows raised, expectant.

“What?” you ask, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

He holds the slip up. “What we gonna write?”

And whatever charm the moment may have held, withers instantly. You throw your arms up petulantly. “You wanted to do it! Pick something. See you soon, or something, I don’t fucking know.”

“I don’t fucking know,” Joel muses, creases by his eyes when he smirks. “Poignant.”

“That’s what you should write,” you step closer, shoving your shoulder into his as you study the trembling hearts on the board, “if you can spell poignant, write that.”

“Hilarious,” he mutters, bending to scribble onto the shape, shielding his work from your view when you hang around his shoulder to pry. Cupping over the message until he’s straightening up, tossing the pen back to the desk, stealing a pin from the tub.

“Let me read,” you protest, tugging on his flannel sleeve.

“I will,” he says, shaking you off. “Patience, darlin’.”

Joel turns to the wall and pins the heart higher than the rest, in a spot clear of its own on the corkboard – thick arms stretching higher higher higher and pulling your gaze with them. As he steps back, he takes you gently by the waist and positions you in front of his body, your shoulders brushing against his chest. Your ribs hold your heart back from hammering into his.

You push up onto your tiptoes and squint at the note, which quivers when the hospital doors pull open again. “Mom and…Mom and Dad f…You fucking…”

Joel dodges your batting arm, snickering with you as he turns to make for the exit. “You don’t like it?” he tosses over his shoulder.

The heart stares down at you, black ink carved into the paper, watching as you turn and hurry after him, giggling. “Mom and Dad fuckin love you? So much for my potty mouth. And the –” another wheezing laugh you’d otherwise be ashamed to let him hear, “– the drawing? It looks – it looks more like a giraffe than a duck. Or, like, you know those long-necked dinosaurs?”

Joel’s head tips back, his own laughter caught up by the breeze when you wander outside, slipping your wrist around the crook of his elbow. Something infectious about it, something which stirs your own laughter until you’re walking arm in arm to the truck with a man who, six months ago, you’d barely look at twice over the fence.

The blind rage bubbling from your empty stomach seems to dissipate, dwindled to nothing in the face of that same man – his swollen cheeks and crows-feet eyes. And you say, “You’re disgustingly sentimental, you know that? Like, sickening.”

And Joel smirks, the way he always fucking does, and says, “You love it. Can’t lie to me.”

“I love it,” you concede, nudging into him as he opens the door for you.

The drive home is quiet, but not uncomfortable. There’s another thing you’re getting good at: being around Joel without need for snide remarks, without feeling your tongue curl under the weight of some snappy quip, loaded and aimed. Being around him and talking about Duck, asking how Tommy and Maria are. Forcing your teeth and tongue to carve out words which ask how Vanessa is, what she’s up to, when he’s seeing her next.

None of this is ideal, that’s for sure. Joel’s girlfriend aside, you’ve spent the last five months cohabiting your body with a stranger who lives most peacefully in the eye of a raging tornado of hormones – flitting between fits of giggles and pulsating joy in your veins, to waves of tears and an anger so hot beneath your skin that you wonder if your emotions might dry up completely by the time this is all through.

It's tough. It’s scary. And some nights you lie in bed, alone, wet eyes fixed on nothing, waiting for someone to burst into the room and announce that it’s all a prank. Just a silly joke. You and Joel can go back to tossing newspapers and casting glowers.

But for now, sat in the passenger seat of his truck – the seatbelt warped around the curve of your belly, the Eagles lilting softly from the radio – it feels like you’re making a home out of that tornado, too. Feeling the swirling walls of wind toss your hair like the breeze through the truck window; the chilled caress of the evening around your outstretched arm, soaring down the highway.

Yeah, you think. I can make something outta this.

“You know what I’m craving?”

Joel’s watching the light, waiting for green. “What’s that?”

“A fucking bagel. Cream cheese, pastrami,” you groan.

He snorts, cringing when he adds, “Pickles?”

A moan tears from the base of your throat, head lolling against your seat. “I could orgasm just thinking about it.”

The light turns, and Joel swings right. “I’d rather you didn’t,” he mutters, turning the wheel with one palm. “I got bagels back at the house, if you want one.”

You stare at him, jaw loose, saliva pooling behind your bottom lip. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He smiles, shaking his head. “Let me make you one, ‘fore you go home. Big day, ‘n all.”

And you hate it – hate the way your cheeks fill with a genuine happiness, something swollen and achy, impossible to ignore when it lifts your eyes and hurts your teeth. Appreciation, or admiration, perhaps, that you figure you’ll only ever have for him. You don’t know what the fuck to call it.

So you sum it up into three words. “That’d be nice,” you whisper, and Joel places his hand over your knee, shaking it lightly as he drives on.

It stays there, until he’s pulling into his driveway.

He pushes the front door open and steps back, an arm extended to let you by first. An after you, ma’am, between his lips. And you turn to make some mocking joke, the beginnings of some comment about how gentlemanly he is, when you’re socked square on the nose by a heavy-fisted, bitter scent.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, stumbling backwards across the threshold and onto the porch again. Your throat constricting around nothing, your tongue twisting, your stomach lurching.

Joel catches you just in time to stop you from falling on your ass. “The hell’s the m–? Oh.”

“Hi!” Vanessa calls from the kitchen, leaning around the doorframe to wave you both in. “Almost ready! Take a seat.”

“V–? Hey, sweetheart?” Joel calls back, one hand around your wrist and the other between your shoulders. “What – what’s cookin’?”

She pauses, glancing back at the stove. Pulls the dish towel between her hands taut. “I…I made pasta.”

“Yeah, what kind, sweet?”

“…Bolognese.”

He can’t cover his own sigh quick enough. Thick with something which feels like anger. “Shit,” he turns back to you, “I am so sorry.”

You pull in a deep, unsteady breath, your lungs struggling to separate night air from tomato juice. A weight rolling at the bottom of your stomach, your entire body beginning to tremble with it. “I feel like I’m gonna – Joel, I’m gonna –”

“Breathe,” he whispers, voice urgent, palm slipping to cup your jaw. “Just breathe for me.”

But your throat’s tightening, swallowing hard around gags which come stronger and quicker the more you try to fight them down. “I can still fucking smell it –”

Her shadow blocks the stretch of light from the house. A nervous little thing, a timid creature’s shadow stretched wide across the porch floor. “Is…everything okay?”

“It’s – it’s fine,” Joel sighs again, torn between comforting you and letting Vanessa down gently, “it’s just – tomato is one of her…her aversions.” He’s unable to pull his eyes from you, privately asking, “Are you okay?” when Vanessa turns back to the kitchen.

“I didn’t – I didn’t know,” she mumbles, thumbnail between her teeth. “I am so sorry.”

Suddenly, your will not to throw up is overpowered by your will to tell her, “It’s fine,” sucking in a deep, sickly breath before adding, “I’m just gonna – I should go.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Joel says, his teeth guarding the words from his girlfriend.

“I’m gonna clean up in here,” Vanessa points over her shoulder, and you think she must’ve heard him, “get outta your hair. I’m so sorry, again. I would’ve never…”

Joel lets go of you as you stagger backwards, the cold air tearing down your throat to meet the burning acid tickling up your esophagus. “Please don’t apologize,” you lift a weak hand, “how could you have known? I’ll –” another sharp gasp, “– I’ll see you guys around.”

He must say your name, must try once more to pull you back to his side, but the blood’s rushing through your ears, and your heart’s pounding at the back of your tongue, and your stomach’s notching its way up your spine. You make it to your kitchen sink just in time.

He keeps you waiting all of one hour before he’s calling you. Your arm reaches over to your nightstand, fumbling in the dark for your heavy phone, the screen cold against your cheek.

“Mhm?”

“Are you okay?”

Your lungs pull a deep, slow breath. The acid painted across your throat tickles as the air passes by it, an uncomfortable, scratchy feeling.“Mhm.”

“That a lie?”

“Only a little. Is Vanessa okay?”

He takes a second to answer. Lets go of whatever he was going to say with a sigh, replacing it with, “She just left.”

“Is she mad at us?”

Another second. “Just me. Not you.”

You massage the slope below your breasts, the ache in your esophagus throbbing when you move. “Why just you?”

Ruffling, like he’s settling back into his couch. Sinking into the cushion, his body as heavy as yours feels on your mattress. “I should’ve told her you didn’t like tomatoes. ‘cause now I’m a goddamn mind reader. I mean, why the hell wouldn’t my girlfriend be in my house cookin’ a damn pasta dish while I’m out, y’know? Jesus Christ.”

“Joel,” you turn slowly onto your back, bravely waiting for the waves of nausea still lapping around your stomach to turn with you, “it was a nice thing, what she did. She didn’t mean to…She probably thought she was helping.”

“Naw, I know,” he replies, the sharp bite of his words softening again, shrinking under yours. “I don’t care about her and her helping, though, darlin’, I care about y –” He barely catches it in time. “I care about you carrying my child, and I care about making sure you don’t spend your nights fuckin’…throwing up tomato sauce.”

You gulp, neck convulsing. The backwash of bile swallowed back. Your chest floods with a heat of quick panic. “Can we…maybe…not use the word? I just –”

“Sorry, baby. Sorry. This is just – it’s a lot easier if she would just…”

Your eyes close over, a salty sting sweeping behind them. If she would just lay off. Back off. Fuck off. “…but she won’t, Joel. She loves you. ‘n you…”

The words drift off, taken by the tide, swept off into silence. And neither of you bother with trying to retrieve them – you just watch, stood safe on the shoreline, as they fold under the waves of something too big for either of you to acknowledge. Too dark, too dangerous.

So, you say, “I get it,” instead; say, “I get why you’re mad. Just – let’s forget about it, okay? Sorry for…ruining dinner.”

Joel scoffs, that old, pissed-off Joel scoff. You can see his deadened expression on the back of your eyelids. You may as well have just thrown his newspaper to the end of the earth. “You know damn well that you didn’t ruin anything. How you feelin’?”

“Tired. Throat kinda hurts.”

“Still feel like that pastrami bagel?”

“Not really. Sorry. Appetite’s gone.”

“How about a water?”

“I got some here. Thanks.”

“Okay,” Joel sniffs, “how about: you take the hint and let me come over there to see you?”

You giggle, hand over your eyes to mask your expression from the dark. “I hate you. Yeah, come over. Door’s unlocked.”

Date night – six month anniversary or whatever. Call me if you need anything.

And I mean anything. OK?

Your thumbs hover over the two gray messages, an awkward jig as your brain scrambles to offer words back. Where are you guys going? Too interested. Too weird. OK, what if I’m bored? Delete delete delete. Trying too hard. Sure, have a good n–

The ellipsis pops up and you freeze. A stupidly polite swish delivers Joel’s third text.

Boredom counts as anything, by the way.

And the fucker steals another smile from you. You notice it when you look up, clocking yourself in the mirror. Accompanied by a warmth which drips down your spine, swirls around your tummy; a fluttering you’re not sure is Duckie or something else.

Have a good night, Dad, you type back, tossing the phone to the end of your bed when you hit send. Swiping for a pillow, holding it firm to your face. Pressing so deep into the plush that even the linen won’t be able to see your grin.

Joel told you about this six-month anniversary last week. He wasn’t too thrilled about it then, either. Dinner to celebrate six months? A year, fair enough. But six months?

You swallowed your pride, swallowed the same throttling ecstasy which seeped through your pores on New Year’s Eve, on that February evening she cooked– never mind; a desperate desire to tear apart the very notion of Vanessa and her cutesy little date nights and candlelit dinners. I think it’s a fun idea, you said. Y’all should do it.

And Joel listened. Because he always fucking listens to you, these days. Listens when you tell him that you like the watermelon Sour Patch Kids best, and picks them up anytime he’s at the store. Listens to you when you tell him he should move the crib away from the window, in case the streetlights shine on Duck while they sleep.

Listens when you ramble about how sore your feet are, how heavy your belly feels, how there’s a clammy heat lingering under your skin at all times, bubbling and bubbling and never rising to anything more than steam collecting on the underside of your flesh.

Listens when you tell him to go spend time with his girlfriend. And neither of you pay attention to the jealous shadow behind your words, the hesitant quiver behind his.

He replies almost instantly, the ping like a gunshot at the beginning of a race. Pillow slammed into the mattress, body lunging forward.

You too, Mom. Don’t have too much fun without me.

You lock the phone and slide it back under your covers, smiling dumbly.

There’s still a small part of you waiting for the big reveal: none of this is really happening. A dream, maybe, something you’ll wake from with a tiny throbbing headache, a dry mouth and a new reason to avoid your neighbor at all costs.

But it seems that, each time that thought crosses your mind, you’re quicker and quicker to quash it. Realizing each time that what lies ahead – Joel, your baby, this future version of yourself that you’re yet to meet, still just a little out of reach – fills you with more excitement and wonder, than it does fear.

Mom.

It’s not something you ever imagined for yourself. Not someone you ever thought you’d be. And yet, each time you say it out loud, each time you look in the mirror and picture a baby in the crook of your arm, a toddler perched on your hip, a kid stood by your side, tugging on the hem of your shirt – she feels a little closer. A little clearer. She just has to look over her shoulder, notice you waiting. I’m right here, she says. Come find me.

Mom. Mom and Dad.

You imagine Joel right now, sat in some ritzy restaurant with jazz music and stained-glass lamps on every table, ordering Vanessa some glorified lentil soup and slapping his card over the bill before the waiter has a chance to reveal the damage to him. Your lips twist at the thought – her jewels and her long hair and her sweet little smile laced with a smug possession.

And then you slap your own wrists, hissing to yourself to shut the fuck up.

“She’s nice,” you argue out loud, thin air holding no debate. “She’s kind, and I like her. She’s good for him.”

And then the air replies. Good for him, it swirls, but you could do it better.

Your arm lifts, lingering for a beat before batting the thought away.

Three weeks. Three fucking weeks, between pushing yourself out of his embrace in bed, and pulling yourself back into it – armed with a pregnancy test and a chest full of fear. Three weeks of dodging him, of your cheeks bubbling with embarrassment and regret anytime you thought of it; of hoping to God that Alice or Diane or Steve and Kris across the street wouldn’t clairvoyantly know what had transpired that night and corner you on your own front lawn.

A one-night stand. That’s all it was. Two lonely bodies, excitement enough to convince you both that it was a good idea; a fitted suit and a backless dress crumpled together on the floor. Liquid courage lacing it all together.

Three weeks, then, of reminding yourself how it felt: how amazing you were together. Your hand between your legs and Joel’s name between your teeth.

Fuck. If only he knew. Goodforhimgoodforhim she’s so good for him but I’m better.

You did it better. You know you did. The sun was cresting the horizon by the time the two of you stopped. You hauled yourselves down to breakfast and sat at least three people apart, made forced conversation with Maria about the DJ stumbling off with one of her cousins, while the ghostly ache of Joel’s body churned somewhere deep inside you.

It travels through your veins the way that everything does right now: urgent and unforgiving. A need to be dealt with, immediately. Coursing through your body, an arrowhead pointing somewhere you know it shouldn’t. But your hands lift anyway – following it, loosening the waist of your sweatpants and skimming beneath your underwear.

Your body lights at the first touch. The first dip of your middle finger against the plush over your clit. Knees bend, thighs part. You push your underwear down your hips, settling your bottoms loose on your legs. You’re already wet. You’re already there.

Good fucking girl. She’s good but I’m better, right? Take it, baby. Does she take it like I take it? Take it. Can she take you like I did?

Quicker and quicker and quicker, your fingers heavy on your clit. The other hand sifting between your folds, dipping to collect a glimmer of wet. Yeah. Just like that. Do you fuck her like you fucked me? You feel what you do to me? Fuck no, you don’t. You’ve never fucked anyone like you fucked me.

Head back, eyes fluttering closed, lips parting to breathe answers to a man who isn’t here. To a man who, as he dips sourdough into an overpriced soup, sure as hell isn’t thinking about that time he fucked you so good he got you fucking pregnant.

Well. Maybe he is. You are, right?

Voice without body, drawl etched in your memory. Think she can take it all? You hum in amusement, waiting for him to answer his own question. Yeah, she can.

Attagirl. Your legs spread further, knee lifting as you insert two slick-coated fingers. His hands are on your thighs, following the dip of your hips, holding your waist as you guide him back inside. Attagirl. That’s my – Fuck, Joel, you’re so b– That’s my fuckin’ girl. Take it. Touch it. His thumb on your clit – his, not yours. You like that? Yeah, that’s nice, ain’t it?

The flesh of your breasts filling his palms, squeezing and nipping and rolling between. The warmth leaking between your legs: his and yours and fuck, he’s so deep and he’s filling you again and he’s groaning as more dribbles from where he splits your body around his own, holding you still until he’s done. Until he’s empty.

“Joel,” you whine, a third finger pushing in.

Between your hips. Headboard hammering against the wall. The sun hanging loose at the bottom of the sky. Gonna make me come again, baby. Do it. Do something irreversible. Change me forever. Fuck me fuck me fill me and then pull out, push back in with the wet squelch of your come mixing with mine and changing me forever. Making me brand new. Making me yours.

Another moan. Louder. Sharper.

Yours yours yours. All mine? All yours. We’re good at this. I know we are. Who fucks you like this? No one – No one – just you – just me. It’s so big, fuck, but I can take it. Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day, baby. All I do is think about you. All I fucking do – You gonna come for me? – is think about you.

Know you need it. Let ‘em hear you, downstairs.

Fuck, I’m thinking about you. Come home. I need you to come home, need you to –

Fuck me, Joel, I’m –

Good girl.

– fuck me.

Atta fuckin’ girl.

She’s good but I do it so much better.

We’re good at this. ‘s do it again.

She’s not as good as me.

Again? Again.

She’s not as good. She’s no fucking good.

Your walls clamp around your fist, entire body shuddering to a stop. Breath held by something shaped like the hook of his accent, two fingers either side of your throat. The same smirk on his lips that convinced you in the first place. Fuck, baby, fuck me.

“Joel,” you cry out, the sound ripping between your vocal cords, punching against the ceiling and reverberating in your ears. Your body convulses on the mattress, back arching and slackening again. “Fuck, I’m – oh, my –”

Just feel it, baby. Feel me. You got it.

Let go.

Your lungs lurch open again, breath flooding in like waves spilling over the gunwale and rushing down to pool at your feet. A lulling rock to your movements, chest rising and falling like the steady tide. Soothing, coming down. Foam and salt carrying the flotsam away, the jagged glass of his name disappearing to sea again.

And then he’s gone.

And you’re just alone in your bedroom.

Last you checked your phone, now face-down on the carpet at your hip, it was eight p.m. Streetlights on, the sky painted by the pale dregs of daytime.

Now, you lie in near-darkness, blinking up at the ceiling. Hand sifting through a bag of glow-in-the-dark stars, comparing the different sizes, considering where to stick them, and then tossing them back in frustration.

Your front door clicks open, a pause between the sound and his voice.

“Anyone home?” Joel calls, and you lift your wrist as though he can see it from the bottom of the fucking stairs.

“Up here,” you eventually announce, knuckles rubbing your tired eyes until Catherine wheels spatter across your eyelids.

His shadow splits the light from the hallway, the long rectangle crossing over your swollen belly. “The hell are you doin’?” he asks, wandering in.

You lift the bag. “Decorating. The hell are you doin’?”

He pulls your nursing pillow from its temporary home in the crib and tosses it down on the carpet, bending to lift your shoulders and slot it underneath. “Scooch,” he says, groaning as he lays back beside you. He smells like whiskey and cologne. All woody, pine and spice.

“You got a bad back,” you warn him. “You shouldn’t be all the way down here.”

“You’re seven months pregnant,” Joel clicks his teeth, “neither should you.”

“What if you get stuck ‘n can’t get back up?”

Offense pulls his brows together. “What if you do?”

You smile in response, feeling the heat of his shoulder against yours. Sucking the scent of him through your nose. The pair of you exchanging smirks and batting eyelashes, wrapped in the cool darkness of the room. It’s juvenile and intimate.

You’re trying not to think too much about it.

“I can’t fucking figure this out. I put two of the big stars over there,” you point to the far corner of the room, streetlight splintered by the shades on the ceiling, “but it looks stupid having two so close. So, then I thought,” moving your arm to the right, “a cluster of smaller ones, right over the crib. But I couldn’t move the damn thing to climb up, so…I’ve been down here ever since.”

Joel lifts his hand, stopping your train of thought. “Please do not climb on anything, bein’ that you are…with child.” And then, when your eyes roll to meet his, he grins, adding, “Nesting got you good, huh?”

“You should see my kitchen cupboards. Never been tidier.” Your expression dissolves, voice quietens – your most desperate plea since that morning you shook hands on his doorstep. Your broken wardrobes and his lonely wedding invite. “Will you help me?” you ask.

He thinks it over less than once, dragging his gaze from the twirling star in your fingers. A quick shake of his head, like it’s obvious. “’course I will. ‘s what I’m here for.” And then he yawns, lowering a hand absentmindedly to settle on the curve of your stomach; a gentle pat in greeting to Duck.

“How was dinner?”

“Good,” Joel lies.

“Vanessa okay?”

“Good,” again.

“Sorry.”

Joel’s eyes roll, fingers pausing. “Why do you always gotta be sorry for som’?”

You shrug when you realize it’s not a rhetorical question. He’s genuinely asking. “I don’t know. Just tryna be polite. I know you’d probably rather be at home right now, not…deciding where some plastic fuckin’ stars should go.”

“For my kid’s bedroom? For you?” He huffs something shaped like disapproval. “Do me a favor – stop with the sorrys, alright?”

“I’m not even done with the last fucking favor I said I’d do you.” Your eyes flit down to your bump.

He stares blankly. You know there’s a laugh gathering like hot air on a windowpane behind his eyes, threatening to shatter the glass.

“Fine,” you concede, “dickhead.”

“Better.”

You sigh, looking back down at the phosphorescent shape in your hands. Turning it over and over and over, matching the rhythm of his fingers tensing and then untensing on your belly. His fingers, matching the rhythm of your chest rising and falling with breath. The room quiet. The night’s eyes averted, even just for this moment.

“If it’s anything,” Joel says, “I think the stars look alright.”

Another stolen smile. Another defiant show of teeth. You place your hand on top of his: a thankful gesture, an invitation. Something in between.

Joel blinks back at you, his eyes flitting from yours to your lips. The dim light in the room swallowing the two of you whole, secluded in the upstairs of your home. And you think, Kiss me, kiss me kiss me kiss me, and you will the words over your tongue in a ragged breath – hoping that Joel might breathe them in and feel their sharp edges as they absorb into his bloodstream, each cell flipping like the star in your hand and whispering the same two words to him: Kiss her kiss her kiss her.

But right then –

There’s a burst of movement. Under your fingertips. A fluttering, like bubbles popping right below the surface of your skin.

Your eyes snap down at the same time Joel’s do; your fingers separating and hovering over your tummy.

“Did you – did you feel –?”

“Yeah. Did you?”

“Uhuh. Was that –?”

“I don’t know. Was it?”

He takes your hand, pressing it back against your stomach with his on top. Your knuckles safe in the canopy of his palm. Both staring into space as you hold your breath.

“They’re not…they’re not doin’ it, now…”

“Maybe it was just –”

“Wait! Did you feel that?”

A second burst on your womb, a tiny beat on the other side of your bump. A wide grin breaks across your cheeks, a disbelieving laugh escaping.

Joel laughs, too. “Is that – is that the first time they’ve ever –?”

“Yeah,” you sniff, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, “that’s the first I’ve ever felt ‘em, anyways.”

“Wait,” Joel says, lifting his hand and holding a finger up. Just yours on your belly. “They doin’ it?”

Your head shakes.

When he lowers his hand, Duckie kicks again. The two of you lean in to one another, exchanging laughter. You lift your own hand, watching his expression as he waits patiently.

But then his head shakes, too. “Nothing. They’re only doin’ it when it’s both of us.”

“What the fuck?” you laugh, replacing your hand and waiting for the baby drum. “How can they even tell? What the f–?”

You shift your hands around the globe of your bump, pausing every so often to feel for Duck’s movements. A tiny fist punching, or a heel kicking, or an elbow shoving right above your navel in a way that’s bordering on painful, but numbed by the sheer thrill of it.

And for a while, it’s all you do: play tag with your unborn baby, giggling when they respond to your tapping fingers and cooing voices.

Joel sits up, leaning on his elbow to talk to his kid; runs two fingers across your shirt like a pair of legs scaling a cotton covered hill. And he laughs, and you laugh at his laugh, as if he’s a kid himself again – tearing apart gifts on his birthday, gasping and throwing his head back with glee at whatever he uncovers.

“It feel weird?” he asks, glancing up at you.

“So fucking weird,” you tell him.

“Does it hurt?”

“More…ticklish, if anything. Might get kinda annoying, if they start doing it when I’m tryna sleep, or somethin’…”

Joel lowers his jaw to your stomach, whispering, “You know what to do, Duckie. Make your daddy proud.”

You slap his shoulder, muttering, “Asshole.”

“Alright,” he says, splintered by a laugh. He pushes himself to his feet, swiping the bag of stars from your side. “Let’s get these up so you two can get some sleep.”

You groan as he pulls you upright, one last pat on your stomach, looking at you a second too long and a touch too meaningful. Too warm, too inviting.

It’s the calm before the storm, though you’re still stood motionless. Still trying to work out whether the tornado is moving away, or headed directly for you.

At five in the morning, Vanessa’s sister calls her.

“Heart attack,” Joel tells you a few hours later, the rustle of paper crinkling in your ear. The truck hums in the background. He speaks through a mouthful of sandwich. “Her dad always had a condition, but they thought they were managin’ it with medication,” another crinkle, and then, voice even more obscured, “but he got rushed to hospital durin’ the night, and…”

“Poor Vanessa,” you reply, nail drawing shapes on the curve of your bump in attempt to lull Duck into a more relaxed state than the sharp kicks they’re throwing at your ribs. Now big and strong enough to do considerable damage, your voice falters each time they swing. “Is she – son of a bitch – is she okay?”

“Shaken up,” he says, turn signal ticking over his voice. “She’ll be alright. She’s pragmatic like that. Problem is – they’re in Houston. Her whole family. So I guess that’s where the funeral’s gonna be.”

You swing your legs off the couch, heaving your awkward, nine-months-pregnant body to your feet – the irritating scratch of hunger suddenly gnawing at your stomach. “Yeah?” you say, waddling through to the kitchen. “So?”

“So,” Joel takes another bite of sandwich, “she has to – I mean, we have to…go. To Houston.”

“We?” You slot the phone between your cheek and shoulder as you fish out a couple slices of bread.

“Me ‘n Vanessa.”

“Uhuh,” you carve a knife around a jar of peanut butter, “you gotta be there for her.”

Joel sounds a little defensive. “I know. And I am. I’m goin’ to be. ‘s just – I gotta be there for you, too. For – for Duck.”

Your stomach swirls, a fire catching which lights your chest in a trickle of flame.

“You are. You will be. Houston’s only, like, three hours away.”

He sighs.

The turn signal fills the silence between you, between Joel and an appropriate answer. Clicking like the sound of a tennis match, his head spinning between his grief-stricken girlfriend, and the third-trimester mother of his child.

“I’m here,” he says, and you hear the squeal of brakes out front. “Give me a sec.”

The door pushes open as you sink back into the couch, balancing the plate on the planet beneath your breasts. Joel crumples his sandwich paper in his fist and lowers his hand over the back of the couch, scrunching his fingers over your belly as he passes.

“Thought you hated that stuff,” he calls over his shoulder, disappearing into your kitchen.

“I had a craving,” you say, ripping the first bite from your sandwich. “You made me hungry.”

He returns a minute later with a glass of water which he sets down on the coffee table in front of you. He lifts your legs, letting them fall gently in his lap when he collapses into the opposite end of the couch, heels of his palms pressing against his eyes.

You tap his thigh with the ball of your foot and he turns to you, placing a hand over your ankles. A sticky paste of peanut butter and bread between your molars, you ask, “What’shup?”

Joel holds back a smirk at your chipmunk cheeks. “Just – just worried that you…you know, while I’m gone, is all.”

You scoff, gulping. “Come on. I am not gonna go into labor in the, what – two days? How long would you even be gone?”

He seems to wince at the thought, fingers sifting through his hair – a gray sweep sat casually over his left eyebrow; flicks following the curve of his ear towards the hinge of his jaw. “Less than that, if I can help it.”

“Joel.”

He turns to you, saying your name just as deflated in response.

“You have to go.”

He rolls his eyes, thumb and middle finger massaging his temples. Crosses his arms and huffs like a teenager. “Well, I ain’t happy about it.”

You snort, unable to hold it in as you take another bite. “I ‘on’t think Vanesha’sh too happy about it, either, to be honesh wih ya.”

Joel’s jaw slackens, a choked laugh bursting from the back of his throat. He lifts a cushion and swings it in your direction. “Heartless. That’s heartless, you know that? Jesus, baby.”

He leaves on Saturday morning.

You stand on your porch, watching him shove a suitcase into the backseat of his truck, squinting in the sunlight as he stalks across your front yard. Joining you in the shade, he leans into you, shoving you lightly.

“Quit it.” Your hand locking with his, steadying yourself. Something in the back of your mind begging him not to let go.

And as if he can hear the thought: “I can stay. You know I can stay, right?”

“I don’t want you to stay,” you tell him, sweeping the hair from his forehead. “We will be fine. We’ll stay up late, eat junk food and watch TV; I’ll do audio description for Duck…”

He scoffs, glancing across the street.

“…and then you’ll be back home, back to buggin’ the hell out of us. It’ll be Monday before you know it.”

Joel’s jaw tightens. “And what if…?”

“You really think that’s gonna happen? You think your kid’s that much of an asshole?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah,” he shrugs, tongue in his cheek, “they’re half you.”

“Alright,” you click your teeth, turning away from the simper on his lips, “why don’t you just fuck off to Houston now, asshole?”

“I’ll fuck off, that’s what I’ll do.”

“Uhuh. Here’s hoping you don’t break down, or get a flat, or get struck by lightning, or anything.”

“You’re so funny,” he whispers, leaning closer.

“Hm. Now go.”

His jaw turns, beard grazing your skin. And then his lips; soft and warm, damp when he kisses your cheek. A moment too long. And he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t lean back the way you both know he should. No, he lingers – his lips by your ear, eyes flitting up to the street to make sure nobody sees.

“Joel –”

“I know.”

“We shouldn’t –”

“I know.”

But your arm is hooking around his neck, asking him to do it anyway, and his lips are lowering to yours, submitting to your request, and what’s supposed to be a goodbye kiss lasts at least a few seconds too long for it to mean anything less than a don’t go kiss.

You pull away when you feel the wet dab of his tongue against yours, realizing with an ice-cold shock where you are, and who he is, and what’s happening. Realizing how fucking stupid it’d be for both of you, how catastrophic and terrible the outcome.

A one-night stand.

A one-night –

He leans his forehead against yours, nose nuzzling your cheek. “I’ll call you when we get there.”

Your arm loosens, letting him go.

Just – letting him go.

Saturday Night Live ends just after midnight.

You arch your back into the couch, your swollen belly pushing forward. It’s an effort to get to your feet, what with the steady ache in your back all day, the weight on your front, and the fucking human being smushed into every vital organ inside you.

A deep breath feels like it inflates your lungs only halfway, Duck using the bottom half as a fucking ass cushion, and scaling the stairs takes another ten minutes – by the end of which, you’re slumped against the handrail, pausing before making off for your room.

You sink into the mattress, creasing the cool, smooth sheets. Duck stirs inside you, stretches out and throws a right hook against your bladder. You curse under your breath, hoisting yourself back to your feet.

“We gotta sleep, baby,” you hum, swaying back and forth with a hand under your belly. “Shh, ‘s okay. Take your fuckin’ fist outta my bladder, you little asshole.”

Whichever traits of yours and Joel’s have blended into the human cocktail growing in your uterus, you know one thing for certain: this kid has your stubbornness. The weight remains on your bladder, regardless of how much swaying, or pacing, or rubbing, or threatening you do.

You growl, wandering through the upper floor of your house in attempt to shift Duckie, or distract yourself, or, at the very least, tire the two of you out enough to fall asleep.

From the nursery door handle hangs a little wooden star, a tauntingly sleepy smile painted on it. You push the door open with two hesitant fingers, stepping into the still bedroom, the weak wash of streetlight meeting moonlight on the greenish walls.

You suck in a deep breath, floorboards squealing as you take your first step. Over the crib hangs a plastic mobile, soft plush shapes twirling slowly. The matching changing table slotted alongside it, a rocking chair over by the window.

You pad across a fluffy rug and lower yourself into the chair, tilting back and forth on your toes as you glance around one of the two rooms you and Joel have spent the most time in since that October morning bonded you forever. A baby duck ornament perched on a shelf above the dresser, its orange legs dangling. A multi-photo frame Joel’s mom bought you, both scans in the first two slots and the third empty, lying in wait.

Your breathing fragments, struggles, eyes slipping over to the baby clothes hanging in the closet. “You know, little Duckie,” you whisper, rubbing your bump and thinking back to Tommy’s words six months ago, “you are a pretty lucky kid.”

The hooded towel robe on the back of the door, the perfect size for a newborn. The framed prints sat atop the chest of drawers, waiting to be nailed to the wall: a rainbow, a frog, a starry sky.

“You got two houses. Two bedrooms, all to yourself. You got two parents who already love you more ‘n the whole world. And,” you gulp, “you got Vanessa. And she loves you, too.”

You glance down, watching the tiny pulse of movement when the baby stretches in your womb. Your hands scoop them up, as if holding them closer than they already are. As if already cradling them, forcing yourself to feel less alone.

Duck seems to quieten, to still; seems to consider what you’re avoiding. Reads between the lines, hears the words you’re not speaking.

Two of everything, you think, and I barely even had one.

The most evidence you have of being loved by anyone in your life is the house you live in. Four brick walls and three decades’ worth of belongings, more inheritance than memories. But they roll around like marbles – they echo against the walls when they hit them. There’s nothing binding them, no thread of love, or family, or anything real enough to hold it all together.

You’re the only living organ inside a skeleton’s cage. A lonely little heartbeat, making noise for no one to hear.

And that’s the way it has been, at least since you were eight. The absence of warmth and safety isn’t anything new to you – it left the second your parents did. The last scrunch of your mom’s nails on your head, the last kiss of her lips to your plump little cheeks. The passing over to your grandma, like you were cargo, like you were a box to be checked.

Maybe you found some distant flicker of heat in the way Joel looked at you, the day you told him you were pregnant. Maybe you saw the same glimmer of a flame that you used to see in your mom’s eye. The rosy smell of her perfume, the feel of her finger inside five of yours. Maybe, for the first time since you were a kid, you felt safe.

We’re gonna work it out, he said. I’m here. We’re in this together, alright? I am not running out on you.

Together. And yet, now, sat in your child’s nursery – a room built from scratch by Joel’s two hands and strung together by every beat of your heart – you’ve never felt more alone. The same two hands that are wrapped around Vanessa right now, consoling her, wiping her tears away, massaging her shoulders and sweeping her hair from her eyes.

And the same heartbeat which quickens now, fueled by an angry desire, an impulse scratching deep into your flesh to march all the damn way to Houston and tear the pair of them apart. Like he’s yours; like the way he touches you and looks at you and talks to you means anything more than his child growing inside you.

Like it’s you he’s touching and looking at and talking to, and not Duck. Like his attention won’t cease to shine on you, the second this little baby leaves your body.

And then, washing over the scorching hot sand of anger: a foam-lined wave of guilt. Of shame, for wishing for the breakdown of something that clearly makes the two of them happy. That makes Joel…happy.

He doesn’t owe you anything – he was never yours to begin with. Just one drunken night, a mistake until you noticed the two pale lines on the pregnancy test. And by that point, he was already hers again. You had missed him without even knowing it.

You sigh, pushing up from the rocking chair and reaching for a tissue from the changing table. Turning back, giving the room one last teary glance before closing the door, you sniff.

“You’re just…the luckiest little kid who’s ever gonna live.”

At one twenty a.m., cicadas chirping and trees rustling, the low breeze carrying the sounds through your half-open window – your back begins to ache. A blunt, gnawing pain. Feels like your period, and in your doze, you stuff a pillow between your legs and pray you don’t stain the sheets with a show of blood.

The realization comes over you as if that stifling breeze flips to freezing. You slowly come around, eyes peeling open as you think it over twice, then three times, then four. Duck shifts somewhere deep inside you, somewhere you’ve never felt them shift before.

“…No. Not right now, Duck. You gotta give me, like, twenty-four hours. Just – wait until your dad gets ho–”

A blinding pain interrupts you, the moonlit-blue room fading out of focus for half a second before you’re wide awake, clutching the bottom of your spine where you’re sure the kid just tore a fucking hole straight through your uterus.

“You’re a fucking dick,” you whimper, fingers clenching in tight fists around the bedsheets. “You’re a fucking – dick.”

One twenty-three. You go into labor.

#i think duckie is my favorite character i've ever written. that fetus has more personality than vanessa icl #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #macfrog #neighbor!joel #neighbor!joel miller #babydaddy!joel #tw pregnancy

2K notes · View notes

kathaynesart · 2 years

Photo

Bye Shelldon (as well as digital form Omega)! Back to the real world now.

Little head canon time, I see Donnie using toothpicks often after running out of cigarettes. Particularly because he was actually making a “self-cleaning” toothpick in the show so it seems he already had the need for it. Plus that means he wouldn’t run out since he could continually clean and recycle just the one! Convenient. Sorry the Donnie sneak peek was not actually his final video as many had hoped. I promise that we will be seeing it in the next update... though it might not be as cheery as some may want. It will probably need to wait until the new year though. Going to be doing a hefty Christmas special for my next update and I also need to get to work for a double page spread on the Rise Fashion Zine and an episode pitch for the fan-made season 3. Whew, wish me luck!

BEGINNING || PREVIOUS || NEXT MASTER POST

#Replica #rottmnt replica #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #unpause rise of the tmnt #unpause rottmnt #rottmnt #kathaynesart #shelldon #omega #future donnie #Future Bootyyy Shaker #futurebootyyshaker

4K notes · View notes

imtrashraccoon · 8 months

Text

Whew! It's over...don't mind me but I'll probably be taking a few days off writing again. Thank you so much for coming along on this journey with me! I learned so much and had so much fun! It's definitely given me so many ideas for future projects...

There will probably be an announcement post coming soon... (ﾟ⁠οﾟ⁠人⁠)⁠)

@owl-bones

First Day & Previous Day.

Bad Sansuary: Free Space - Snuggle

Word Count: 3,301

Feat. Everyone!

You were relaxing in your room with a book you'd borrowed from the library after dinner. This high fantasy series Nightmare recommended was seriously good and once you'd started, it was incredibly hard to put down. Well, unless someone interrupted you that is...

There was a playful knock at your door, pulling you out of the story and back to reality. You knew exactly who had chosen to bother you and a part of you wanted to just pretend you had gone to bed early so he'd leave you alone. But...that wouldn't be very nice and you could always read later on before you did actually go to sleep.

With a sigh, you slipped a book mark made from laminating the pressed flowers Axe had given you between the pages and hauled yourself off the comfortable couch to go answer the door. The knocking grew more insistent until you finally threw it open and fixed Killer with your most exaggerated grumpy face.

"What's so important that you would drag me from the realm of Middle Earth just to see you?" you grumbled.

Killer shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and smirked. "hm? oh i was just bored out of my mind, angel face~"

You sighed and ran your hand down your face. "So, you want me to help you?"

"nope."

"What? Then...why did you come see me?" Now you were really confused and you stared at him for a few seconds, waiting for him to break and claim he was just messing with you.

"i wanna have a movie night and almost everyone else has already agreed. so...?" He wiggled his bonebrows in a playful way until you finally relented.

"Alright, I guess that sounds like it could be fun."

No sooner had you agreed did Killer take your hand and nearly drag you into the common area. You protested from the suddenness, but he only laughed and barely slowed down at all. It seemed you'd have to revisit Middle Earth another time.

"she said yes!" he announced to the other three skeletons.

Axe and Dust seemed to have been trying to figure out which movie to watch, but by the looks of things, they hadn't been able to come to a decision. Nightmare was casually lounging on one of the couches watching the two of them. All three looked up at the news and Axe smiled at you.

"guess i could whip up some snacks. do ya wanna help, lil' chip?" he asked.

You shrugged and glanced over at the tv to see what they had narrowed the choices down to. "Sure, but what movie were we going to watch anyways?"

Dust, Axe, and Killer glanced at each other before saying different titles at the same time, none of which you'd ever heard of before. They then proceeded to start arguing over which was the better movie.

Nightmare sighed and shot you a look that seemed to say "See what I deal with?" You gave him a sympathetic smile before clapping your hands to get the other's attention.

"Why don't we watch all of them and just turn this into a movie marathon night?" you suggested.

Thankfully, your idea seemed acceptable and they nodded in agreement. Even Nightmare seemed suitably impressed which made you quite happy to have solved the argument.

"guess we should start on those snacks then," Axe hummed and started for the kitchen.

"dusty and i could go pick up some pizzas and pop if you're fine with that?" Killer suggested and glanced at the aforementioned individual, who merely shrugged.

"sure, do what ya want," Axe rumbled, not even bothering to stop and look at them.

The two disappeared to presumably go get the food and you went to follow Axe into the kitchen, although not before glancing back at Nightmare. He gave you a bit of a disinterested look before getting up and leaving the common area.

You frowned and started to go after him to figure out if something was wrong, when Axe called out for you.

"ya comin' lil' chip?"

"Yeah, I'll be right there." You hesitated for a moment before hurrying to the kitchen. It seemed you'd have to check in on him later.

You helped make some buttered popcorn, cut up some fresh fruit, and arrange some cookies that Axe had made earlier on a plate. By the time you were done, the other two skeletons had returned with a couple of still hot pizzas and two bottles of pop. You didn't question where they'd likely pilfered them from and neither did Axe, as the answer would likely be either unpleasant or exactly what you suspected they'd done instead of paying like proper monsters.

Just as you were helping to arrange the food where it would be easily accessible, Nightmare reappeared with his arms and tentacles full of various cushions and blankets. While you were a little surprised, you were also glad to see that he was interested in participating in the fun afterall.

It didn't take long to make the floor by the tv extra comfy and get situated. Axe was content to lean against the couch where his large frame wouldn't be blocking anyone. Dust claimed a beanbag chair, which practically swallowed him up, and you were pretty sure he wasn't planning on moving anytime soon. Killer, being the absolute gremlin that he was, went about stealing as many pillows as he could to make a makeshift pillow nest for himself. At first, Nightmare chose the couch, but when you all but insisted that he should join everyone else, he relented and eventually chose to copy Axe, leaning against the couch instead.

Two problems quickly became apparent though. Problem one was that no one could agree on whose movie choice to watch first. Problem two was that you could tell each of the boys wanted you to sit with them.

You really didn't want what was supposed to be a fun evening devolving into a jealous fight. So before anyone could actually get upset, you decided to try and take charge.

"How about this... To keep things fair, I'll just swap places for each movie so that I can sit with all of you in turn," you suggested. Unfortunately, your attempt at a solution wasn't nearly as effective as you'd hoped.

"sooo...who gets to have the cutie to themselves first?" Killer asked. He had a dangerous look on his skull as he spoke and while his tone sounded light, even like he was almost teasing, you knew him well enough by now to know that he wasn't playing around.

"definitely not you," Dust growled and sat up a bit, his gloved hands digging into the bean bag.

Even Axe seemed to stiffen up and his good eye socket narrowed into a harsh glare at his loud-mouthed colleague. His clawed phalanges twitched slightly, as if aching to wringe a certain someone's neck or curl around the handle of the weapon of his namesake.

While Nightmare remained silent, you could tell by the way his tentacles were twitching restlessly, that he was at the very least mildly annoyed by this situation. His cyan eyelight flicked to you and the intensity of his gaze was almost enough to make you want to shrink into yourself. His expression held something else though; a look that you couldn't quite place but one that seemed to suggest he was scheming about something.

You swallowed and managed to tear your eyes away from his piercing gaze. Raising your voice again, you cried out, "No fighting! I have another idea...you should all play rock, paper, scissors to determine the order."

They glanced at each other but no one protested. After playing a few rounds, an order was established, minus Nightmare, who claimed he didn't care when his turn was. Killer won each time making him first, Axe was second, and Dust was third, much to his frustration. Nightmare was content to go last, which of course nobody protested over.

Killer was all too happy to welcome you into his nest. His arms fit snugly around your waist, teasingly close to your pelvis, although he otherwise kept his hands to himself and just continued spooning you during the first movie.

Speaking of, the movie was one of those corny horror movies. It was full of gratuitous violence with plenty of obviously fake gore. Still, you couldn't help but cringe whenever the monster attacked the very doomed side characters. Killer was quick to soothe your nerves with soft whispers of encouragement and occasionally making fun of the many cliches present in the film. Overall, the experience left a sort of thrill coursing through your veins and you were admittedly a little disappointed when the movie was over, a sentiment Killer seemed to mirror, although he attempted to hide it.

Axe had picked a tamer movie, although that wasn't saying much as there were more jump scares than the previous one that never failed to startle you. Still, Axe was also very good at comforting you and multiple times throughout the movie, you felt his eyelight watching your reactions just to make sure you were okay.

You ended up snuggled up against his left side with his hand around your back and resting on your left hand which was on your thigh. You wrapped your right arm around his broad back and laid your head against his ribcage, which inadvertently meant you could listen to the soothing hum of his magic that emanated from his soul.

At some point during the second movie, you glanced over at Nightmare and were a little surprised to find that he seemed a bit bored. It was odd because you had assumed he'd actually get some sort of satisfaction from witnessing how terrified the protagonists of the film were.

He sensed your gaze and glanced over, tilting his skull in a silent question.

"Are you okay?" you mouthed.

His eyelight flicked back to the screen and he shrugged. "It's manufactured fear... I can't gain any benefits from attempting to absorb it," he murmured. When he glanced back at you though, a subtle smirk formed across his skull and he went to say something but stopped himself when Axe took notice of the conversation.

You were momentarily fascinated that there was that much of a difference. Would it be any different if it was a live broadcast and the actors didn't know what was going to happen? You'd have to ask him about it sometime.

You glanced at Nightmare a few more times throughout the movie and occasionally caught him looking a little amused. The boys weren't easily spooked but the rare times one of them was seemed to coincide with those little moments. You figured he was the one who hadn't exactly wanted to have a movie night, however he'd seemingly decided to go along with it anyways. Probably under the guise of this being a group bonding activity like any good boss would host. The thought was actually kind of funny to you now that you knew them all a lot better.

Dust's movie of choice was definitely a thriller, and while you didn't mind the change, it made you feel really anxious, which you hated. It was about an old cop trying to solve a series of murders apparently perpetrated by the one criminal he had failed to bring to justice years prior. The plot was certainly intriguing at points and you could see why he had picked it.

You'd been right on the money earlier when you'd assumed he wasn't planning on budging from the comfortable beanbag for a long while. That was fine of course since he didn't really need to move in order to actually cuddle with you. His idea was for you to sit in his lap so you'd be as close as possible, which you'd expanded on and chosen to sit side saddle. It meant you could both hold each other and he'd get to watch your face, so he didn't protest at all. You wrapped one of your arms around his shoulders and he sort of mimicked the gesture, except he supported your back, leaving your other hand free to hold his other one.

By the time of the fourth movie, which was a classic monster movie about a mad scientist and his creation, you noticed something strange. Save for yourself and Nightmare, everyone else seemed to doze off, almost at the same time too.

Turning to the only possible perpetrator, you narrowed your eyes suspiciously. "Did you...put them to sleep?" you hissed under your breath.

His grin seemed only to grow more smug and even without him saying anything, you knew your suspicions were correct.

"Indeed~" he purred. "It is said that good things come to those who wait. They had their fun, so now I get to have mine..."

Your heart skipped a beat at the deliciously dark tone of voice he'd used. It was at that moment that a flock of butterflies decided to assault your insides with their delicate wings. You'd managed to control yourself with the others but now that you were technically alone with him...well, you weren't sure if that was possible anymore.

He pressed his skull against your hair and growled low in his throat. "I had to watch them hold you so close all this time... Have some empathy, dear..."

A chill went down your spine from the possessive tone of his voice and your tongue felt heavy like it was made of lead. Even if you could complain, he probably wouldn't even listen to you.

Nightmare pulled you into his lap yet again, which seemed to be his preferred method of holding you for whatever reason. Maybe it was because he could cage you in with his arms and tentacles so you couldn't escape. Or maybe he just liked the feeling of having you so intimately close to him. You tried not to dwell on it, partially because you liked it too.

Neither of you said much of anything for a little while, being content to enjoy the closeness and intimacy of this rare moment in time.

He was the one to break the silence first. He seemed to grow restless the longer you went without saying anything and his tentacles twitched with pent up energy, leaving you wondering what was really on his mind today. Then his clawed phalanges hooked under your chin, gently turning it so he could make eye contact and ensure he had your full attention before he even attempted to say anything.

"My dear, I cannot see into what the future holds, but I believe with all my soul that you'll fit in here. You've won over each of my boys in your own way and they've come to care a great deal for you in return."

He paused to take a breath before continuing. "I'm not normally a very...romantic person... But, even I can admit that I care a lot for you. No matter what you think, you matter to us and you've made a difference in our lives...for the better. I hesitate to use the word 'love' as I don't, and maybe can't, exactly feel that...but you will always be safe under my care."

He drew closer to you, his touch growing more tender now, and his tendrils slowly undulating against your clothing. "I promise, dear..." he murmured, almost against your lips, before closing that final distance.

For a moment, you were frozen in place as your brain tried to process what all he'd said. You caught on quickly though and wrapped your arms around his cerebral vertebrae so he wouldn't pull away too soon. You felt him stiffen ever so slightly but he soon relaxed into your embrace and actually deepened the kiss further.

It was over much too soon. You had to separate to catch your breath, although he didn't seem winded in the slightest. There was a soft cyan glow colouring his otherwise dark cheekbones and you could also see a small spark of what you thought might be true happiness in his eyelight.

Neither of you said anything for the short remainder of the film and you snuggled up against him as close as you possibly could get. Your soul was practically leaping for joy in your chest at the implications of what he'd said. You'd been assured by the others, but now you had definitive proof that he really did like you afterall.

Whatever magic he'd used to put everyone else to sleep seemed to fade as the end credits began to roll. One by one, the boys stirred before waking up, although you could see they were still a bit drowsy from the effects of the spell.

"Nice of you all to join us," Nightmare remarked with a chuckle and lightly squeezed your body against himself one last time.

They could only seem to respond with a cacophony of various tired grumbles, which even you had to admit was a little amusing.

Dust was the first to move and his mismatched eyelights scanned the room before locking onto you. The intensity in his tired gaze was nearly breathtaking but you couldn't read what could possibly be going through his mind right now. He dragged himself to his feet and managed to shamble his way over to you like a dead man walking. He ended up collapsing half on top of you so that his skull was resting just above your knees.

As soon as Killer realized what he'd done, he dragged himself over to you as well, plopping himself down on your shins with his skull resting on one of his arms so he could still look up at you. Interestingly, the black ooze that always leaked from his eye sockets had slowed to a meer trickle now, possibly from sleeping?

You were slightly flustered by all this contact at once but there was still one skeleton missing. Glancing over at Axe, you saw that he seemed to be conflicted. His eyelight flicked from his two colleagues to you and back again, while his large hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.

You couldn't exactly reach for him but you motioned with your chin to try and reassure him that you didn't mind if he wanted to join in. That little push was all he needed to scoot over and wrap both you and Nightmare in a big hug.

The aforementioned god let out a low growl of annoyance at basically being smothered and his claws pressed into your waist in a vain attempt to keep you to himself. Yet, he didn't shove any of them away, even though he was plenty strong enough to, as demonstrated when he used his tentacles to move some of the boys and yourself into more comfortable positions.

You couldn't move even if you wanted to and definitely wouldn't be able to for a while. Your eyes were finally starting to grow heavy, but still, you resisted the tempting allure of sleep to enjoy what had turned into a snuggle pile.

It was obvious that all four of them felt strongly about you and if the events leading up to the movie marathon were anything to go by, this wouldn't be the last time you'd need to intervene. Each of them were equally stubborn and also quite dangerous when provoked, which could quickly lead to hurt feelings or injuries.

You would have to either get good at breaking up future arguments or simply pick one of them and stick with your decision. Unfortunately, you didn't want to pick one over the others as you liked each of them equally. You'd have to give this matter a lot of thought.

You were confident you'd make the right choice though...

201 notes · View notes

encyclopediacr · 9 months

Text

Last month at the wiki — December 2023

Every month, we highlight significant work done in the previous month by our editing community at Encyclopedia Exandria. As we move into 2024, we take a second-to-last look at 2023—and it's a long one, folks. We'll take a look at 2023 as a whole year on Monday!

As always, to start, here's a selection of ten articles created in December. You can find more of our newest articles at the 50 newest pages report.

Circle of Tide & Bone, circle of Candela Obscura investigators

Potion of climbing, grants a climbing speed

Dancing sword, magical weapon that attacks on its own

The Glorious Ones, adventuring party in Athova-Rae

Calloway hideaway, hideout in Bassuras

Janet Varney, voice actor of Vilya in The Legend of Vox Machina

Ruidium armor, armor enchanced with ruidium

Wild's guide, tobacco-like plant

Scuttling serpentmaw, crab-like aberrations

Gibbering mouther, aberrations formed of the mouths and eyes of victims

December saw a lot of article creation in themed groups! The rival adventuring party in Call of the Netherdeep—Ayo Jabe, Dermot Wurder, Galsariad Ardyth, Irvan Wastewalker, and Maggie Keeneyes—all now have articles. We're also starting some forays into subpages dedicated to stat changes over time. We've been mulling that project over for some time, and with the sunsetting of @critrolestats, we've been thinking about it again. Alongside the new pages for the rivals, we've also got some tier subpages: Ayo's tiers for an example.

In other theme article creations, our Midst coverage has expanded! Following the three protagonists earlier in the year and Tzila in November, the major secondary characters now have articles: Saskia Del Norma, Jonas Spahr, Sherman Guthrie, and Imelda Goldfinch. There's also a dedicated article to all things geography and cosmology, Midst locations.

There was also a one-shot drive over the channel's winter break to write plot summaries for one-shots that are lacking them. Through this, we've got some new editors contributing plot summaries to "Cinderbrush: A Monsterhearts Story", "Crash Pandas: Too Trashed, Too Curious", and "DOOM Eternal One-Shot". You can check out details about the push at our post here on Tumblr. If you ever want to contribute a plot summary yourself, or any other content updates or edits of any other type, we encourage you! You can do so at any time.

If you've want to know what the Circle of Needle & Thread carries around, we've got updates completing those sections on each character's article. Check out Jean Basar for an example.

In backend stuff, all character articles finally have verified "Appearances and mentions" sections! Well over a year ago, character articles had these sections collated using a script from a list that used to live in the infoboxes and from episode "Featured character" sections. These lists were being slowly checked manually to ensure that they they were properly formatted, organized, and correct. They've finally all been verified!

Whew! A long-winded update, but it is the end of the year after all. Join us on Monday for our final look at 2023 where we look again not just at December but the year as whole.

#Might even seen some of these items in the year round-up!#We're just really excited about some of these okay?#Critical Role #Critical Role wiki #last month at the wiki

60 notes · View notes

herotome · 11 months

Text

Devlog #120

Hi-ho, Wudge here. Early devlog...!

This week I drew a blush just for Warden and nobody else. There are two very specific ways to see it, and only in this office location. So... good luck!

I playtested the game enough to get allllllll 26 achievements. I actually... had to reference my own walkthrough to get one of them. ;;; But I was able to do it!!

I also had a small.. incident where Griffin promised he'd talk to everyone to help fix their negative opinions of me (aka, reset the approval points to a more neutral zone after I thoroughly antagonized everybody).... and then he didn't. It's fixed now ;;;;;; But woo that would have been an awful lil mistake hahaha.

I finished the 'updating ur mc pfp' tutorial - seems to be intuitive and working seamlessly enough!

I converted converted alllll the pngs into webps, and converted alllllllllll the mp3s and wavs into oggs...

...and deleted all unnecessary files and notes from the development process. This is usually the stage where I'll end up breaking something from accidentally nuking an important file... but so far so good.

I put in a cute, special lil sfx for the reward you get after the credits.

Finish designing and coding my SECRET NG+ screen, and wrote a personalized dev note to put in it.

And - we've finally updated Mr Whidden! Wahoo!!!! Remnantation did an amazing job as always!

I thought about putting in some animated smoke coming out of his cannon arm but I had to tell myself No... No Wudge....stop.. ......I did add a lil ember and smoke at the very edge of the gun but THATS IT I restrained myself there and did not animate!!!

So, what else is left?

Thanks I'm glad you asked.

Test my email subscription service to see how much I can customize those emails.

Film and upload the Griffin CG video.

Finish and import a few final pieces of in-game art (1 bird sprite, 1 background, some food art).

Review some sound effects in a final, final dev playtest.

Schedule out some social media release posts; wherein I might do like, a week of counting down until the game's release.

Finish updating my itch page (adding the final few lil graphics, putting up the new Content Warning, linking to the new video, then finally, uploading the game files and walkthrough).

Decide how I'm gonna update my pinned post. I should save a link to the old one bc most of its information should be quite relevant, but I'll want a temporary, shorter pinned post for new players who aren't familiar with this blog and are looking to troubleshoot or say hi or something.. Should still have fun attention-grabbing gifs and stuff from the itch page though. <_<

.... So yeah, mostly like - social media promo stuff. That should be it. Fingies crossed. Whew.

By the way?

Super Demo comes out December 2nd. Mark your calendars <3

Stay safe and keep warm,

Wudge.

#herotome update #amareteabreak #oelvn #visual novel #superheroes #otome game #otome #interactive fiction #english otome #fiction #indie dev #indie otome #indie game #indie games

80 notes · View notes

agirlandherquill · 1 month

Text

the first "official" snippet

it has been a whirlwind for the last few days, so much has happened, so much needs to be done, and working on the next stage of Ruin's Reprisal is so nerve-racking and so, so exciting that i thought - why not share the very first ten pages, in what i am fairly certain is their final form?

at this stage i'm gradually doing a read through of my draft as an ePub on my kindle (it is insane to be reading this as though it's an actual book) and chapter by chapter, after reading it, i go back through and make any finer adjustments, such as grammatical changes etc - and since i've just done that for the prologue (almost 30 something pages, counting off the top of my head- whew!) i can share these first ten pages with you all!

so, without further ado, here they are!

At first, the world was ours.

Created by the truest being of all, the mother of everything sacred, Mutja-Har, my people were divine blessings upon the land, people bestowed with gifts unlike any other. But we grew idle - over time, we became greedy. Every story that I have read tells of a great voyage to a vast continent - I believe it was no voyage, but a retreat, after Mutja-Har’s scorn blighted the land and forced us out in shame for an act history has long since forgotten. But it turns out that this continent was not for the taking. The land was already inhabited by non-blessed folk, who have had many names over the years, but in my lifetime, they were Alirians.

And because of this strange newfound need to coexist, the Haelish had to learn to share. They had to change their ways, their language. They were forced to adapt, they were forced to change, almost completely.

The blessed became humble - well, humbler. They established themselves, due to their riches, as an aristocracy, founded themselves a Noble Court and claimed territory, even if the country was not their own.

The Haelish were rulers once more. And so they remained, for many years. Preserving their ways, their lives, their bloodlines, everything was sacred. Everything was perfect.

Until one day, a day meant for the union of powerful families set to rule Aliria forevermore. But instead of unity, there was calamity. There was murder.

And for the first time in history, the Haelish found themselves bidding farewell to peace. In its place, they welcomed the title of Exilza.

Exile.

Me.

I believed I was the first. To break the rules. To go against tradition - Even if I was innocent of my crime - But it turns out that I was wrong. Instead of one, there were three.

But for now, for the start of this tale, let us focus on me.

The morning of my doom, and the eve of who I used to be.

After all, who doesn’t enjoy a wedding?

~ ~ ~

How far would it take for me to fall to my death? To escape? All I want is for things to be different. For things to change.

Change. Now that is something I have never understood at all.

What does it take for a life to change? A moment? A day? A choice? Or perhaps, does it come down to having no choice at all?

This wedding was to usher in a new era for the country, for the people. Both Alirian and Haelish. But choice had never factored into it, not for her at least. She did not decide the path her life would take. She did not choose to wake up before the dawn. She had not chosen to be shuttered away in her room, biding her time. Her only saving grace was the window.

And she had it wide open.

Sunlight flickered through, bathing the room in warm light. Pale blue drapes floated in the wind, wrapping around her as she leaned against the window frame, deep in thought. In the light, visible specks of dust floated without a care, moving freely - they were free.

Free, the word sounded like nothing more than a listless dream, it was a concept utterly unknown to her. Edeva stretched out her hand to touch a speck, driven by curiosity. Once it brushed past her fingers she grew bored, breathed out a tired sigh and returned her attention to the open window, a faint smile on her face.

At least if this morning is my final one of normality, it’s a pretty one.

The rising sun painted the Palace in a flattering light. The walls glistened, the perfectly carved stone reflected the sunlight whilst towering over the landscape. Down below, she could see the silhouettes of servants rushing to and from the courtyard, resembling very lost children. A sweet-smelling gust of wind drifted in through the window. Taking a delicate sniff, her body relaxed. Lavender. Its pleasantly distinct scent in the air comforted her. As the start of the day drew on, she found herself savouring every small comfort possible, even if it was something so simple as a scent. I have to enjoy what I can before I’m too busy to do otherwise. Life’ll be unbearable without my memories, as Mama always tells me.

“Conteis Edeva?” A small voice echoed at the door, making her jump. Edeva decided to delay answering, wanting to savour her moment by the window once more. Her back was to the door, favouring the view of the window’s panorama to that of the furniture indoors, so she was unable to see the face of the speaker as they opened the door. “Conteis?” The voice spoke a second time, along with a few gentle knocks. Giving up protecting her peaceful daydream, Edeva tore herself from the window, tilting her body to the door. Is it time already? It feels too soon. Far, far too soon. She let out a slow exhale to steady her mind before answering. “Come in.” Do not. Stay away. Let me have these last few moments to myself. But it was too late. The words had been said.

Weddings. The word rotted in her mouth. Pompous events acknowledging what? A transaction? An exchange of words? They have nothing to do with love. Nothing to do with me. And here I am, the bride to be. She grimaced. High-Mother, Mutja-Har, give me strength. Praying in Alirian was not enough, she needed the High-Mother, the Haelish faithful touch, to give her the strength to get through the day.

The door opened further, granting the person access to the room. A petite maid entered, brandishing a joyful smile on her face - one Edeva wished to bottle up and express herself because she lacked the energy to form one of her own - she recognised the girl as one of her mother’s personal servants. Maidens, I believe she calls them. Though I fail to recall this one’s name, it’s a pity. She could not even bring herself to try to remember. No sense in making any friends that I’ll have to leave behind.

The girl was soon followed by five others, of varying ages and appearances, each carrying an extravagant bundle or box of something she did not care to see. “It’s time my lady.” The first girl offered her a kind smile, holding out a hand as she gestured to the chair at the nearby vanity. With a slightly exaggerated sigh, Edeva took a seat. Time for what? The last moments of my freedom? Or to fulfil my duty? She struggled to find the courage to make polite conversation, settling on smiling occasionally as the women hurried around the room. Through the mirror’s reflection, she watched them curiously, taking in their excited smiles as they looked at her every so often. They’re far more excited about this than I will ever be. It’s a shame, really.

She settled into the chair, deciding to let them get to work.

A short while later, she was covered in fine powder, the dust cloud made her cringe. Are they trying to offer me the small mercy of death by choking me beforehand? She laughed silently to herself. As a Maiden brushed her hair through, Edeva wondered over what the day would bring. She continued to wonder, squirming involuntarily as her locks were twisted and tugged into order, secured by a few glistening pins.

She tilted her chin up, taking a second to examine their handiwork. She had expected more but the powder was all that sat on her face. The fine dusting had hidden the sickly pallor of her cheeks, but in her mind, it was nothing more than a clever trick to hide her unease and enhance the one thing people always adored the most: beauty. Not that the powder contained any magical properties as she had expected, no cheating ways to alter her appearance. It doesn’t matter, she thought dryly, What I think doesn’t mean a thing. She forced a smile onto her face, testing the legitimacy of its appearance in her reflection. She had to hide her horror at seeing the smile appear all too natural. Edeva glanced over her shoulder to the women who were occupied with smoothing out a dress on her bed.

“May I have a moment to myself?”

The Maidens looked at her, flashing encouraging and knowing smiles before they scattered.

They think I’m nervous. That’s ridiculous, She sighed heavily at the thought, I’ve never been nervous a day in my life. I’m just exhausted with all of this, and the main part of the day hasn’t even begun. High-Mother give me strength, I need time to get my head together.

She turned back to the vanity, raising a lazy hand to her temple as she studied herself in the mirror. If this is my last day as myself, I want to look my best. Besides, Mama wouldn’t reprimand me, she reminded herself, I do need to take some pride in my appearance, even today. She reached for an old friend, a case of brushes, paints, and powders set by purposefully on the side of the vanity. With careful concentration, she got to work.

Once she was done, she gave herself a final once-over in the mirror. The lids of her eyes were now slightly smudged in silver, a nod to her family’s colours. Her cheeks were slightly pinker, giving a more dramatic effect against her skin. She let her gaze abandon the blueness of her eyes, moving up to see the work her hair had undergone.

The stark, unmissable whiteness of her hair contrasted everything in the room, as it always did. Most of her hair had been braided into a bun, while other stray strands hung loosely by her face. It looks nice, she thought. She smiled again, though it failed to quite reach her eyes. Today has to happen. I have to go through with this, for everyone’s sake. The words felt like a lie even as she thought them. She slumped back in her chair with a sigh. If Mama walked in now… She pinched the bridge of her nose.

Why am I here? Really? Simply because I have no other choice? The thought pained her. She struggled to answer her own questions. Edeva stood, dragging herself to the bed where her outfit for the ceremony had been draped out. The Maidens would still be absent for a few more minutes, which relieved her, because she enjoyed changing in peace. She discarded her robe on the floor and slipped into the dress, not forgetting to slip her feet into the shoes waiting at the foot of the bed.

Without a second thought, she moved herself over to the full-length mirror that stood proudly beside the window. I might as well take a look at the monstrosity I’m being forced to wear as I seal my fate, she thought bitterly, taking in her outfit. The dress was made of white silk, the finest that money could buy, covered in blue ruffles, lace bows and long skirts, ones that weighed down her body in an uncomfortable manner. The accents of the dress bothered her. They’re blue, not silver.

The dress honoured a family, but not hers.

Blue was the Alirian Court’s signature colour - those of the royal family.

The gown was a stranger, and certainly not the one she had dreamt of. It was not the one she had chosen. But then again, every choice she had made about the wedding so far had been ignored, why should her own attire be any different? She sighed at herself, the smile she wore matched the dress. Lies. Masks. All to please everyone but her.

She buried her hands in her skirts, lifting them enough to catch a glimpse of the shoes that threatened to cut off her circulation. She could not help but grimace. Her slippers were made of glass. If I’m lucky, they’ll shatter and stop me from walking.As much as she fancied the idea, something else broke instead. Her peaceful isolation. The Maidens returned. They strained to see over one another, hovering in the doorway. A chorus of “Oohs” and “Aahs” gave her a strong urge to rip out her hair. She did not feel like herself, but deep down she already knew she would never feel like that again. Not if she went through with the wedding.

The Maidens’ attention broke away from her, looking down the corridor as though they were being summoned, and Edeva did not doubt it. It’s a busy day for everyone. With a chorus of gasps, they rushed off, leaving the door to close on its own.

She studied her face once more in the mirror. The blue of her eyes seemed different, she suspected that they were darker because of the clouded turmoil stirring in her veins with each passing moment. This day was not her dream, it was a nightmare.

Briefly, the turmoil was surpassed by relief.

If the Maidens were rushing off, it meant she still had time. Time to see Mama, she will know what to do about all of this, about me. Edeva hesitated, glaring at her slippers. The moment that she returned, she planned to get rid of them, but for now, she had to go.

She hovered in front of the door, thinking of a plan.

Two guards would be stationed outside, as usual. She needed to get past them without a fuss. It was only a matter of how. Edeva opened the door, sticking her head out to smile at the two gentlemen assigned to her protection. They wore embroidered blue suits, a much more regal look than that of a typical Guardsman uniform. They’re going to be front and centre at the ceremony, it seems I’m not the only one who needs to look my best.

“Good day gentlemen, I’m just going to visit my mother,” She pressed a hand to her throat, laughing nervously, “It’s bridal nerves you see. I won’t be long.” She put on a girlish giggle as she stepped out of her room, even if doing so made her internally retch.

“My lady, you really should stay inside until it’s time.” The guard to her left sounded uncertain, looking at his counterpart with caution. The other guard remained silent, the only sign of his annoyance remained in the narrowing of his eyes as he looked her over, almost as if he was searching for an ulterior motive. Edeva held the sweet smile on her face, engaging in further conversation with the more social of the two. “I won’t leave the Palace, don’t worry. But I think I’d like to see my mother now, and as I said, I won’t be long.”

She moved past them, hitching up her dress to give herself further room to walk, whilst ensuring that she kept her strides quick and steady, hastening along the corridor. Behind her, the guards spluttered their objections, all of which she ignored. They can’t follow me. They’ve been ordered to remain right there. No-one else needs to know that I ever left my room. It seems getting past them wasn’t so difficult after all. She sighed in relief as she rounded the corner from her room’s more private corridor, moving into a longer one adjoining the rest of the Palace. Now, Mama ought to be in the West Wing, which isn’t far away, thank the High-Mother. Edeva set off, determined to have a talk with her before the time came for her life to change, and for her opinions to die alongside it.

* * * * *

The Palace staircases were as grand as they were tall. A chandelier watched over the stairs, coating each step with a slither of light that made the marble appear less straining on the eyes, and almost welcoming. The gentle feel very nearly tricked her body into thinking the Palace was just as warm, but the sharp pain in her feet made her know better. Each step sent minuscule daggers of pain tearing at her skin. The first chance I get, I am shattering these blasted things.She found a moment of respite on a landing.

“Who in their right mind would create something like these?” Edeva spoke aloud, mumbling to herself. She had had enough. The slippers came off with ease, to her relief, as she freed her feet from the confines of the glass cage. The coldness of the floor numbed her soles, rendering them immune to further pain as she continued her trek to the upper floor of the Palace’s Western Wing.

The stairs seemed to melt into the carpeted floor, giving way to a familiar corridor. Edeva approached the first door on the right, letting herself in.

Mama’s quarters feel larger than I remember. She noted, taking in the rooms. The parlour was a respectable size, furnished with the typical necessities - the only thing that stuck out to Edeva was the blue chaise that took up the centre of everything. And lounging upon it was the woman Edeva had come to see.

Mama.

The smell of lavender greeted her. Aldora Vitaire held a powerful and yet gentle countenance about her, and it made Edeva wonder, How did a woman like her manage to ensnare the great Conteir Cordell, who lowers himself to no-one? He’s fearless. Except when he’s around her. You would think the titles were the other way around - she has none by birthright and he does. As do I.

The thought of titles saddened her with the reminder of her ancestral home. I wish I was back there again, but I can’t be. I’m here, She cleared her head of nostalgic thoughts and returned her attention to her mother. She looked lost in a dream, gazing at the ceiling with a distant smile on her face. Edeva could see so much of herself in her, the eyes, the posture, many parts of her and her father made up who she was. Except for the hair. Neither her mother or father had hair quite like it. No-one had ever been able to explain it, but Edeva accepted her hair just as she did every other part of herself.

Studying her mother’s dreamy gaze, sadness tugged at her heartstrings. The dreamily distant gaze had grown more visible with the passing weeks. As powerful as she is, it isn’t enough. Her mind’s slipping away, slowly. And lately, it’s been getting worse. None of the healers have been able to help.

“Mama?” Edeva spoke softly, kneeling down by the chaise.

“Is it time already?” Aldora slowly turned her head, letting out a sigh.

Edeva placed a hand on her mother’s arm, smiling. “Not quite yet, I just needed to see you.”

“Edeva, is that you?” Her blue eyes examined every inch of her face, gently questioning with a single look.

“Yes, it’s me, Mama.” She stared at her mother’s eyes patiently, watching recognition gradually lighten her irises. Her eyes crinkled at the edges as she smiled. “Edeva. My sweet, sweet girl.” Aldora reached for an item resting in her lap, a necklace, one Edeva recognised. White chain, silver jewels adorning a crystal pendant - this is her most treasured piece of jewellery. She glanced at her mother, brows furrowed in confusion. “Mama?”

“This will look lovely on you my dear.” Aldora patted her hand, sitting up on the chaise. Edeva held still as she clasped the necklace around her neck. She reached up to touch the pendant, clutching it gently. “Mama, I couldn’t, this is yours.”

Aldora tutted, giving her shoulder a fond pat. “And now it is yours. It suits you.” She could see the small twinkle in her mother’s blue eyes. She had inherited them from her, and the crystal pendant very nearly presented an identical colour when it caught the light just right, sitting at the base of her throat. She stared at the crystal, inhaling slowly to gather herself.

The time has come. I can’t put this off any longer. “I need to ask you something.”

Her mother’s gaze had changed, subtly, but Edeva knew enough by now to notice the difference. She’s gone again.

“It’s not just a necklace, you know. Crystals know things.” Her words were so quiet that Edeva only just caught them.

“Not just a necklace?” She repeated carefully, lifting the necklace from her neck. She rubbed her thumb over the crystal. “It’s only a crystal Mama, nothing more, though it is lovely.” Aldora’s hand suddenly touched her cheek, cupping it with gentle fingers. “Edeva. Everything will be all right, this is for the best my dear. For you. For everyone.”

“But what if I don’t…” Her weak protest trailed off, her throat choking up. I never wanted this day. I’ve been putting it off for so long, praying against it, and it’s here. All too soon. Edeva cleared her throat. “What if I don’t want to marry him?”

Aldora gave her a knowing smile, tipping her chin up with her index finger. “You are a Vitaire. You will know what to do when the time is right. You can do whatever you set your mind to. Vitaires do not fall. We stand. And we stay standing. As will you.” Edeva threw her arms around her mother, swallowing a sob. The older woman patted her back affectionately. “Thank you.” She took a shaking deep breath. “I know I should want this… But I don’t.” She pulled away from her mother’s warm embrace. “I-I can’t do this.”

Aldora took Edeva’s hand, putting it against the pendant, her fingers making her hold it.“In all the eighteen years of your life, I knew there would never again be someone as strong as you. You need to use that strength now my child. You can do this. Let the High-Mother guide you.” Edeva’s fingers tightened around the pendant with such force a part of her feared it would break.

“Come along Edeva, it’s time now.” Her mother offered her a gentle smile, though Edeva did not miss the way it failed to reach her eyes, as her own so often did.

Reluctantly, Edeva pulled on her slippers, once more the glass threatened to crush her feet. Fearful of her legs buckling beneath her, she found herself taking her mother’s arm.

It’s time then, time for the ceremony, time to say goodbye to myself, and to life as I know it.

~ ~ ~

now for the tag list!

(p.s if you'd like to be included/notified too, interact with this post :))

@humbly-a-doppelganger @imawholeassmood @frostedlemonwriter @yrndrgn @abditorywriting

@riveriafalll @lead-to-code @casualsuitturtle @floweryprosegarden @joeys-piano

@catwingsathena @godsmostfuckedupgoblin @nothoughtsjustmhaandotherthings @anaisbebe

@drchenquill @leahnardo-da-veggie @tiredpapergirl @pastelpinkhobbies

#writeblr #writing #writer #novel #fiction #spilled ink #spilled words #spilled writing

16 notes · View notes

moonchildreads · 1 year

Text

small town

Chapter 19 - We Built This City

IN THIS CHAPTER: Finals week, a friendly invitation, and the Hellfire Class of 86' takes a bow [7.6k]

WARNINGS: vague foreshadowing, mentions of fantasy violence? they play dnd, it's not real (again, taking the liberty of making them play 5e because i wasn't about to learn advanced dnd for this when i already play 5e)

A/N: whew! didn't think i'd ever get to finish this one lol. huge HUGE shout out to @gutterratt, who not only is a wonderful friend i was hugging and sharing the same air with just a few days ago, but also my dm (the best dm in the world, don't @ me). this chapter would have been impossible without your guidance, knowledge, and support. thank you for teaching me to dm through eddie. also shout out to brian murphy and NADDPOD for the inspiration for this chapter! check them out on spotify if you like dnd podcasts, they deserve all the love they get. onto the update!

masterlist - prev - next | playlist

We just want to dance here Someone stole the stage They call us irresponsible Write us off the page

Wednesday, May 28th - 1986

Finals week in Hawkins High was going pretty well or terribly wrong depending on who you asked. On Monday, freshman Cindy Jackson had come out of her Geography classroom sobbing, claiming that she had flunked the entire test and her GPA was going to fall drastically below average. Dustin and Mike had simply stepped around her in the hallway and headed to the parking lot to get their bikes without sparing a single thought for her. Eddie couldn’t believe how calm he felt whenever he sat down at his desk and a new test was placed in front of him. By the time Wednesday lunch period was upon them, he had already taken four of his six final exams, Dottie had taken five of her nine, and band practice had been suspended so everyone could study for tomorrow’s new round of tests, or in Eddie’s case, put the finishing touches to their upcoming D&D Friday session.

So far, their plan to stick to each other and not walk around the school alone like sitting ducks for the bullies had been working. Dottie only shared one class with Andy Humphrey, and it seemed that her threat to rat him out to their teacher had worked because no one in the basketball team had bothered them since then. At least, not any more than the usual jeers and disgusted glances they so often directed to her friends in Hellfire. Eddie had been keeping a low profile for the past couple of months, his entire thought process having been claimed by his ever growing crush on a certain short curly-haired girl; his frequent tirades in the cafeteria had been reduced to only one loud proclamation in the hallways every couple of weeks, and to be completely honest, no one cared about him or his unconventional opinions so close to the end of the school year, so him suddenly turning into a wallflower hadn’t really been noteworthy to his peers. Everyone just simply assumed that he was stressed about failing senior year for the third time in a row and left him alone to his devices.

When the group compared schedules on Monday and saw that Dottie was going to be headed to the same lecture as Andy three times that week, it was quickly decided that Donny would be her guardian since his Italian lessons were at the same time she’d be taking AP Spanish in the classroom opposite of his. Dustin and Mike were to be inseparable, and when they had different schedules, Mike was supposed to shadow Nancy as much as he could while Dustin stuck to Jeff on their way to the east wing for their respective classes. Eddie watched over Dottie like a hawk during their shared free periods, going so far as to stand outside the girls’ bathroom while she went about her private business in case any idiot got strange ideas about cornering her in a place where she was supposed to be safe. Ms. Kelly had looked very surprised to see all six boys waiting for Dottie to come out of their latest check-in session; it was strange to see how subdued they had all gotten in recent months and she knew it had everything to do with the sunshine girl that happily linked arms with the freshmen, Dustin excitedly skipping alongside her down the hallway while Mike dragged his feet next to them in protest.

It was, perhaps, that false sense of security that had her approaching the basketball team’s table after students had begun trickling out of the cafeteria, surely headed to their last classes of the day. Donny was supposed to safeguard her on their way to her second AP Spanish class of the week, but he had asked her to please wait for him near the teachers while he excused himself to the bathroom and promptly left her alone. When Dottie realized Andy wasn’t seated at the jock-filled table but one Lucas Sinclair was, she quickly forgot about her friends’ insistent requests to “lay low” until the school year was over and headed towards him without a second thought entering her mind. She stopped right in front of the freshman who eyed her curiously, brows raised in an unspoken question.

“Hi! You’re Lucas, right?” Dottie said, smiling brightly.

“Uh, yeah, I’m Lucas.”

“Nice to meet you! Would you mind giving these to Erica for me, please?” she extended her closed fist towards him and he instinctively held his palm open for her. Two pieces of shiny plastic hit his skin softly; he recognized them as part of his old dice set, the one he assumed had been gathering dust tucked away in his bedroom. “I must have accidentally taken them with me a couple of weeks ago - I would give them to her myself but I won’t see her until Friday and it’d suck if she bought a new set because she thought she lost these.”

“Yeah, that would really suck,” he chuckled uncomfortably, shifting in his seat knowing his new friends were watching the uncommon interaction unfold. “I’ll give them to her for you, don’t worry about it.”

“Thank you so much! Here, for your troubles,” she gave him a pack of Smarties as payment in kind. “See you around!”

“Thanks,” he managed to mutter before she bolted out of the room and into the hallway in search of Donny.

Lucas stared at the candy bag in his hand next to one d20 and one d4 that had belonged to him a couple of months before. They were black with gold numbers that he’d repainted himself with one of Will’s thinnest brushes, trying his hardest to cover the tacky white underneath. He hadn’t opened his D&D box in a while, the hard plastic container hidden away underneath his bed and pushed all the way back until it touched the wall. He’d yell at Erica for touching and stealing his things, but that would have meant admitting that he still cared about the part of him he’d been trying so hard to deny lately and he couldn’t allow himself to fail like that. Lucas was tired of being the bigger man; let his former friends apologize to him for once. Though, as days went on, he was starting to realize that maybe they would never come back at all.

“How do you know that chick?” asked Chance, one of his seniors.

“I don’t,” Lucas replied quickly. “I don’t have classes with her.”

“She’s a senior,” Patrick said. “I’m with her in English. She always sits with that Munson freak.”

“What does she want with you? Who’s Erica?”

“Erica, she’s my little sister. She wanted to return some dice to her, I think they are in a club together, I don’t know,” Lucas said, but he did know. He’d noticed Dottie sitting at lunch with his club members, he’d seen her wearing the same Hellfire shirt he owned, he’d heard Erica talk about her to their Mom. Lucas Sinclair knew exactly who Dorothy Burke was.

“Isn’t your sister like… eight?” Chance laughed.

“Eleven,” the freshman corrected him, but that seemed to peak Jason Carver, the basketball team’s captain’s attention.

“Your little sister is hanging out with those… freaks?” Jason asked, eyebrows bunching together.

“They play board games together, it’s so dumb-”

“She shouldn’t be around them, she’s just a kid. Who knows what they could do to her if… They aren’t good people, they- they could hurt her,” the captain said, tone stern.

“She’ll be fine, they’re just a bunch of nerds-”

“Lucas,” Jason insisted. “You’re a good friend and a good teammate to us. I’m sure you’re a good son to your parents too, but you have to be good to her as well. That’s your duty as her older brother.”

“Yeah, I-” he quickly put away the dice and Smarties in his pocket and nodded. “You’re right, I’ll talk to her about it.”

“You make sure you do that, okay? Take care of her,” the senior said, patting his shoulder in a friendly way and getting up. “Come on, guys, let’s go to class.”

Lucas walked behind his teammates until he reached his classroom and unassumingly disappeared from the group. He took his seat at the back and noticed Mike and Dustin sitting at the front, bickering with one another as usual. Bitterly, he recalled switching seats with the girl who now sat next to Dustin after Spring Break. Jason wasn’t being mean with his warning, he knew that. His captain had siblings too, he knew what being a big brother meant and he extended that same level of protectiveness towards his friends and younger members of the team. Lucas felt grateful that Jason, the current King of Hawkins High, was so willing to look out for not only him, but Erica too, if only because she was related to him. But when Mike snorted loudly at something Dustin had said, he couldn’t help but think that there weren’t people on Earth he would trust more to take care of Erica when he couldn’t watch her than Mike Wheeler and Dustin Henderson. And perhaps Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley too, but they didn’t have to know that, lest their egos got even bigger than they already were.

Friday, May 30th - 1986

The last day of finals week came towards them at neck breaking speed, causing Eddie and Dottie to stick to each other like velcro during the final three hours of the day. During third period, he’d had his Latin exam and she sat with him during every available second prior to it quizzing him on his vocab. After that, they both had had their Calc final, where they sat side by side suffering through it all together. He’d finished before her and quickly returned to his seat, noticing how her nerves seemed to be heightened every time someone got up and was granted permission to head to the cafeteria early. He slipped one of his rings off and slid it across the table until it bumped with her eraser; she smiled, thankful, and put it on her index finger to twirl with her left thumb while she concentrated on the numbers in front of her. After that came lunch and everyone was positively buzzing. Most of the student body had already finished all their exams and there was a sense of freedom in the air, a shared joy that couldn’t enter Dottie’s brain yet as she frantically reviewed her AP Spanish notes for her ninth final exam of the week. One look at her tired, wet eyes after someone had shouted a little bit too loud, and Eddie pulled her out of the room and into the back of his van where she could finally breathe and concentrate on reading her own writing before the bell rang.

After exams were finally over, Eddie headed to the woods to wait for Chrissy who had asked him if she could buy a rather unusual amount of weed considering her casual habits, and Dottie seeked refuge in The Weekly Streak’s newsroom until it was time for Hellfire to begin. She was helping Fred put together a mockup for a story he wanted to present to Nancy the next week when the editor-in-chief herself asked her if she wanted to go to the bathroom. Dottie, being well-versed in girl language, accepted without complaint and followed the blue-eyed girl into the nearest bathroom where she immediately began washing her hands in an attempt to hide the fact that she was so very much nervous about whatever she was about to say.

“Nance? Is everything okay?” Dottie asked, eyeing her carefully.

“Yeah- yes, everything’s okay. I just… I wanted you to know since you were the one that said I should just go for it so… I called Jonathan.”

“Oh,” she said, surprised that she was getting an update on the topic at all.

“We talked and he says he understands that I’m upset. We didn’t break up but we’re going to take a break, officially this time,” Nancy shut off the water tap and stepped to the side to wipe her hands dry with coarse paper towels.

“Well, how do you feel about that?”

“Good, I think. He says he has a job now, and he’ll go full-time for the summer after graduation so he might be able to save up some money to come see me,” she smiled, hope swimming behind her eyes.

“That’s great, Nancy!” Dottie said, giving a big hug to her friend. Nancy went stiff at first but after a second, she breathed out and hugged her back. “I’m so proud of you, I know that was probably a really hard conversation for you both.”

“It was but… I feel better now. I want to trust him again, and we agree that maybe this will help us get there.”

“So you’re still off the market then? Asking for a friend that’s totally not Fred,” Dottie joked, and Nancy let out a girly giggle that surprised the both of them.

“Off the market, and out of his league,” the editor-in-chief said, playfully stern.

“Oh my god, Nance!” she let out a loud snort that sent Nancy into a fit.

It felt good to laugh like this, to shoulder a silly burden together, to foster a new friendship and be vulnerable with one another. Growing up hadn’t been easy for either girl in wildly different ways, but the summer of ‘86 was right ahead of them and promised greener pastures if one could get the courage to take the first step outside. Nancy hadn’t let herself have a friend for so long. It had been easy with Jonathan - shared trauma bonds you like nothing else in the world after all - but it was undeniable that a part of her had died that day when Barb went missing. Even though Dottie wasn’t Barb, Nancy could feel like Nancy again right that moment, in that bathroom, hiding from their nosy journalist-aspiring colleagues and the junior that kept following her around like a lovesick puppy. She felt herself breathe a little bit easier almost a full year after the nightmare that still woke her up in the middle of night, prompting her to double check the guns she had stashed in the topmost part of her closet so her little sister Holly could never find them by accident.

The door to the bathroom opened and a group of cheerleaders came in, fussing over their makeup and hair before practice began. They were chatting excitedly about an upcoming party, and Nancy and Dottie moved aside to let them get access to the mirrors. They were about to leave when another girl pushed the door open in a frenzy; a slightly out of breath Chrissy Cunningham ran inside in haste.

“Where were you?!” shouted Melissa, rounding on her as soon as the door had slammed itself shut.

“I got held up by a teacher, calm down,” Chrissy lied seamlessly, but her glossy eyes were a dead giveaway to anyone that had spent any significant amount of time with the elder Hellfire members. “What are we talking about?”

“Your boyfriend’s party. What are you gonna wear?” Kathleen asked, putting away her lip gloss.

“Are we allowed to go?” Libby asked, eyes hopeful. Standing next to her was another junior tumbler, Valerie, who was downright pouting at their captain.

“Of course you are!” Chrissy said, taking full advantage of the fact that Jason would never complain about her inviting her younger cheerleader friends if she pouted at him a little. “Everyone is invited. Are you two coming too?”

It took a few milliseconds for Dottie to register that Chrissy was talking to Nancy and her, and she only realized because Nancy quickly put on a friendly smile and shook her head, a quick excuse on her lips.

“Oh, no, I’m sorry. I already told my Mom I would babysit my sister. It’s their date night and I’d hate it if they had to cancel,” she said, and Dottie knew she was lying because her eyebrows bunched upwards in the very familiar way they bunched whenever she lied to other people in the school’s newspaper about how great their ideas were.

“Aw, they still go on dates, that’s so cute,” Valerie said, ever the romantic.

“What about you, Dot? Are you coming?” Chrissy asked, ignoring the way her friends looked at her like she was inviting a rabid dog inside for dinner.

“Uh, I- I wasn’t aware there was gonna be a party.”

“It’s tomorrow night at my boyfriend’s house but I’m organizing it so it’s honestly my party,” she giggled, and Dottie swore she’d heard Gareth make that same sound whenever he was high. “We’re saying goodbye to senior year! I just told Eddie you were all invited, you should totally come.”

“You did what?” Melissa asked and Kathleen scoffed.

“It’s our last senior year party. All seniors can come,” Chrissy said in a tone that left no questions to be asked before she turned back to Dottie. “It’s gonna be really fun, we can probably convince Jason to let us play Queen at some point! Please think about it at least? For me?”

“Okay, I’ll- I’ll think about it. For you,” Dottie smiled, and Chrissy grinned.

“We should go now,” Nancy said, interrupting the awkward tension. “Lots of newspaper club things to do.��

“Oh, sure! We’ll see you around!”

Nancy guided Dottie out with a hand on her elbow; Chrissy and Valerie were the only ones that waved them goodbye. Just before the door closed, Melissa snarled “You invited the freaks? What’s wrong with you?” but they never heard what Chrissy replied. They made their way back to the newspaper club’s room in silence, each of them deep in their own thoughts. Nancy realized that she hadn’t been to a party since she’d broken up with Steve, her ex before she’d started dating Jonathan. Had it really been that long? It seemed like it had been ages since the last time Nancy tried to act like she was a normal teenager, like she didn’t need to keep a light on while she slept, scared of the shadows in the corner of her own bedroom. Like she didn’t have sleeping pills issued by a military doctor that she refused to take hidden inside a pair of old sneakers. Nancy would never be the same Nancy she was before November 8th, 1983, but she had to try.

“We should go,” she said, Dottie’s head snapping up from the papers in front of her. “To Chrissy’s party.”

“You wanna go?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“O-okay! I can ask my Dad to take us if you want,” Dottie offered.

“I drive, I can pick you up if you want.”

“Sure, if that’s better for you. Thank you!” the brown eyed girl smiled. “I actually haven’t been to any parties since senior year began.”

“We better make this one count then,” Nancy said, and went back to work with a timid but happy expression on her face.

Dottie tried really hard not to grin, but the thought of not only being invited to her first high school party in Hawkins, but also going with her newest friend and possibly her Hellfire gang made her impossibly giddy. Senior year had certainly sucked royal ass when it began, but it was definitely ending with a bang, not a whimper.

As Eddie ticked final after final on his list, he had allowed himself to think that he would be DMing his last session as the leader of the Hellfire Club that Friday. He had carefully crafted an emotional ending to the adventure they were currently on, and hoped his players would be on board to having a less action packed meeting than usual. They were, after all, not only saying goodbye to him as a leader, but also Jeff, Gareth, Donny, and Dottie. When classes started again in September, Mike and Dustin would be sophomores and the club would be in their hands, new sheep ready to be recruited walking down the hallways of Hawkins High.

The session had started, as usual, with a recap of the previous session's shenanigans. After finding out that their dead mutual friend Orfuel wasn’t, in fact, dead but instead trapped within Shadowfell, the party quickly realized what their next move was: to embark on a journey towards the Forest of Moonstone where Jeff’s character Tharivol had grown up and lived in, all in search for guidance and help of his elders. Orfuel’s partner in crime and girlfriend, Dedlock, had sacrificed him to Mask, the Lord of the Shadows, and was being kept in his divine realm inside Shadowfell - a castle known as the Shadow Keep. Dedlock wanted to rise above the ranks in the church of Mask, and this worthy act of manipulation was going to give her entry into the Circle of the Gray Ribbon, which is where his most loyal priests belonged.

The table was buzzing in excitement as they traveled through Eddie’s carefully crafted world in what would be their last time exploring it. They took their time on their way over to Moonstone, Eddie forcing them into lengthy conversations around a campfire, sharing stories about Orfuel and how they’d become such good friends with him that they were all willing to cross planes of existence to get him back in their lives. They attuned weapons and readied spells, and got a long rest in before the final challenge of the campaign finally arrived. Upon arrival to the Forest of Moonstone, they immediately seeked an audience with the druid that had taught Tharivol everything he knew. The slender elf advised them against their plan; they simply weren’t powerful enough to face the dangers of Shadowfell at this point in time. Instead, he proposed a different alternative.

The next steps were quite easy. They would wait until the new moon, which was, coincidentally, that same night. They’d hold a ritual to open a portal between the planes and bring back Orfuel from the terrible place he had been banished to. The eldest, most powerful cleric from the Circle, a halfling cleric named Portia, would guide them through the ritual, and they’d all have to contribute, each in their own time whenever Eddie prompted them to act. Between conversations and preparations, it was getting late, and so Eddie proposed a little bathroom break before the ritual began, which the boys accepted gratefully, cans of soda littering the table. Dottie inched her chair towards him, voice low like she was about to tell him a secret.

“So,” she began.

“So,” he said, curiosity piqued.

“I talked to Chrissy today and she invited me to a party.”

“Did she now?”

“Nancy and I are going.”

“Oh?” Eddie’s eyebrows rose. “Didn’t know you were interested in that.”

“I’m not but Nancy asked me to and I dunno, it could be fun. Our last senior year party,” Dottie said in a dramatic tone. “You’re going too, right? Chrissy said she invited you and the guys.”

“She did, but I-” he scratched his neck. “I’m gonna be honest with you, darling, I don’t really like those parties very much. I go to them, I sell a few ounces, and then we go to Jeff’s for a movie night.”

“But Chrissy wants us there, she said that all seniors should go. Please, Ed?” she pleaded, eyes rounded with weaponized innocence. “I like hanging out with Nancy but I’d feel so much better about going if I knew you were gonna be there too.”

Eddie sighed. I am so whipped for her and she knows it, he thought before turning to their other friends who were refilling the snack bowls while the freshmen got more sodas.

“Gentlemen!” he called, making Gareth, Jeff, and Donny look at him. “Princess here has a request.”

“What’s up?” Donny asked, sliding into his seat next to hers.

“Nancy and I are going to Chrissy’s party tomorrow night. I want you guys to go with us too,” she said, and the boys instantly laughed.

“Dot, we can’t go to Jason Carver’s house,” Gareth said between chuckles. “He hates us.”

“And also, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but no one invites the freaks to parties,” Jeff added.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. The party is at Carver’s house, yes, but-” Eddie put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a piece of scrap paper with girly writing on it. “-Chrissy Cunningham is planning it. We got an invite this time, fellow weirdos.”

“Chrissy invited you to her party?” Gareth asked in disbelief.

“I believe she invited us all.”

“She did,” Dottie said. “She told me she told Eddie to tell you we were all invited.”

“Those are too many uses of the verb to tell in one sentence,” Donny said, poking fun at her. She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Okay, so, let me get this straight. Chrissy Cunningham, the Uncrowned Queen of Hawkins High, invited all of us to her party? And you’re actually going? With Nancy Wheeler of all people?” Gareth’s eyes were wide open.

“How much of a discount have you been giving her?” Jeff joked, implying something less illegal than simply selling her weed, but also dirtier was going on between them.

“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie threw a ball of paper at his head. “She’s a friend, and she invited Dottie too. In person, not through me.”

“Yeah, Nancy and I ran into her in the bathroom and she told us to come.”

“What is it with girls and bathrooms?” Gareth looked at Donny, the only other one at the table who had sisters. He shrugged in response.

“So? Are we all going? If it sucks we can leave, but I just thought it’d be fun to, y’know, do something different for once,” Dottie said with a hopeful smile.

“Okay, I’m in,” Donny announced.

“Dude!” Jeff and Gareth looked at him like he had betrayed them.

“Oh, come on! It’s now or never, we’re never gonna see these assholes again after graduation. And you know those rich kids always have so much beer at their parties. Are you really gonna say no to free booze?”

“Okay, when you put it like that…,” Gareth conceded. “I’ll go if we all go.”

“Ditto,” said Jeff.

“Guess we’re going to Jason Carver’s house tomorrow night, boys,” Eddie said, reluctantly.

“It’s gonna be awesome, you’ll see,” said Dottie, right as Dustin, Mike, and Erica rejoined the group and settled for the next part of the adventure.

“If everyone’s ready,” Dustin looked around the table at his friends after a lengthy discussion. “-we go to the clearing.”

“You come into the clearing right before midnight and you see everyone sitting on the grass, making a big circle around a huge oak tree. This is where Tharivol’s Circle prays to Silvanus, The Oak Father, the God of Wild Nature. You can feel energy underneath your feet, coming up your legs and into your chest as you approach everyone else. This place is sacred, and the people here are willing to help you rescue your innocent friend. Do not take their kindness for granted,” Eddie narrated, solemn voice ringing through the tension in the room. “Portia is standing next to the base of the tree in beautiful, shiny robes, her long silver hair blowing in the breeze. She beckons you to come closer.”

“We go to her,” Erica said, firmly.

“The old halfling lady instructs you to sit at her feet where the tree’s roots come out of the dirt. She looks at her Circle and begins her speech,” Eddie held his head high as he embodied Portia with a mystic drawl. “Children of Silvanus. We are gathered here tonight to help our very own Tharivol and his allies restore order and balance to where chaos and injustice has spread. Pray with us. Let Silvanus help them return a lost friend home,” in his normal voice, Eddie continued. “Portia turns around and with her staff, she draws a line into the earth where the portal will appear, if, and only if you succeed.”

“Hang on, Portia is opening a portal?” Jeff said, holding in a chuckle.

“Portia the Portal Lady,” Dustin muttered, and Mike next to him snorted loudly.

“You’re killing the fuckin’ mood,” Gareth complained, kicking Jeff who sat opposite him.

“Moving on, please,” Erica rolled her eyes and motioned at Eddie to continue. He bowed his head in acknowledgement and carried on with his narration.

“Portia starts praying loudly in a language you don’t quite understand. At first, you think she might be praying in Elven but you quickly realize she’s praying in Sylvan, the language of the fey,” Eddie said, tense silence falling over the room once again. “Tharivol,” he looked at Jeff. “You recognize a few words and it sounds like she’s requesting access to a kingdom, to a place called Shadowfell. She’s asking the Raven Queen for help in rectifying a wrong that has happened within her realm. I want you all to tell me what you do to help Portia during the ritual.”

“What’s everyone else doing?” asked Jeff.

“They are still sitting in a circle while they pray.”

“I’m gonna pray to Silvanus too then.”

“Go ahead. Let me hear what you say to him.”

“Oh, Silvanus, God of Wild Nature, Old Father Tree,” Jeff began, in character as Tharivol with his head bowed, eyes closed and hands clasped above the table. “Orfuel saved my life once. Let me return the favor. Let me repay the kindness he showed me by righting what is wrong in his name. Let him come home to us. Let him live long and prosper.”

“Damn,” said Gareth under his breath. It was showtime at the Hellfire Club, and everyone was taking it seriously.

“I’m gonna pray to Moradin for assistance,” Erica said as Boldhild. “I’m gonna invoke my Oath, and say: Fight the Greater Evil. No Mercy for the Wicked. By Any Means Necessary. Retribution. I honor these values today, and tomorrow. In your name, Moradin, the All-Father.”

“I’ll pray too,” Dottie joined them as Holly. “I’m going to lay down my quarterstaff, my symbol of Lathander touching the earth, and I’m gonna call out to him for help like they did.”

“You can do better than that, darling,” Eddie crossed his fingers and rested his chin on them. “Show me how you commune with your god.”

“O-okay,” she said, attributing her nerves to the expectation of performing an impromptu prayer in front of everyone and definitely not because of the sultry voice Eddie was talking to her with. She bowed her head and began praying. “Lathander, I come to you as a child of the light to ask you for aid in a time of need. My siblings in arms are asking Silvanus and Moradin to come together and help, but I fear their calls might go unanswered. Morninglord, I beg of you, take pity on us. Take pity on Orfuel, who has been banished to the plane of shadows. Take pity on those who cannot walk in your light like we do every new dawn, and please let us be joyous when the morning comes.”

There was the sense in the room that this wasn’t just a regular end of a campaign. They could feel it in the way Eddie had guided the session so far: minimal combat, heavy on the roleplay, distinctively interested in character growth. He was gearing up to something, and from the looks of it, it was going to be something big. With the understanding of a party that trusts their DM to bring a satisfying story to life, they gave themselves to him freely and wholeheartedly. This wasn’t just the end of an adventure. This was the end of Eddie’s reign as the leader of the Hellfire Club and he deserved a proper farewell.

“I-,” said Mike, gearing up to join his friends in the ritual as Mozikith. “I don’t think I can pray to Asmodeus for help, I mean… Doesn’t really feel right. So I’m gonna give Silvanus an offering instead.”

“What kind of offering do you wish to give him?” asked Eddie.

“Uh, a blood offering? My own blood.”

“No!” cried Jeff. “Offerings to Silvanus can’t be blood sacrifices. You have to destroy something made out of wood or wooden materials and bury it.”

“Okay, well, uh- Do I even own something made out of wood?” Mike wondered aloud as he looked down at his inventory notes.

“You have your staff,” Dustin suggested in a sheepish tone.

“Can… Can I break my staff and still keep my arcane stone?” he looked at his DM.

“I’ll allow it but you can’t cast spells simply holding the stone. You either get a new staff or do something with it, like put it inside a locket,” warned Eddie.

“It’s fine. I won’t need it anymore anyways,” Mike reasoned. “I’m gonna break my staff in two and bury it under where the portal is supposed to be created.”

“Me too,” said Gareth, making Despair join the sacrifice. “I’m gonna add my javelins to his pile.”

“How many?”

“All four of them.”

“Very well,” Eddie smiled. “Anyone else has something they’d like to add?”

“I want to offer something to the Raven Queen in exchange for her to let us through,” said Dustin as Seebo.

“Oh?”

“She collects trinkets, right?”

“That she does, Seebo. What do you have to offer to her?” Eddie leaned forward. “It has to be something interesting, remember, she doesn’t exactly care too much about cheap junk.”

“I want to offer her my father’s ring.”

A few sharp gasps could be heard as Dustin held Eddie’s eyes as if he was challenging him to say no. Everyone at the table knew what that ring meant to Dustin’s character. The heavy brass ring was all he had to remember his parents by after a war had left him and his ten younger siblings as orphans, begging on the streets for a small mercy until Orfuel taught him to run petty scams and pickpocket. At first he’d been reluctant but he had ten mouths to feed and couldn’t afford to pity those who had so much more than he did. Dustin placed a tacky ring he’d gotten at a yard sale in the middle of the table. Trust him to always keep props on his body for D&D related purposes.

“Okay, I’ll take it. Let’s see if she does too,” Eddie accepted his token.

“I’ll offer her a memory,” added Donny as Odorr. “I know she collects those too.”

“Which memory are you offering to the Raven Queen, dearest Odorr?”

“I want to give to her the night I burned down my village. That’s why I was a hermit until Orfuel found me,” he turned to the table to explain. “I was exiled as a kid because I couldn’t control my Wild Magic and set a barn on fire. It spread to the rest of the village so they said I was a danger and casted me out.”

“Shit,” Erica said, impressed that he’d kept his origin secret for so long. “Did you kill someone or what?”

“No, but I hurt a lot of people. It’s in the past now.”

“I’m sorry you went through that,” Dottie told him sincerely. Odorr had been her first friend on the campaign, and she cared for him like he was a real person. Donny squeezed her hand as a thank you.

“Okay, are we ready to proceed? Good. Since everyone has played their part in the ritual, I’ll explain how this is going to work,” Eddie brought them back to the game. “I’m gonna ask Tharivol to make an Arcana check, with advantage. To that you’re gonna add 1d6 of Inspiration for each member of your party, so that’s 6d6.”

“Can I roll Religion instead of Arcana? Since I’m praying to Silvanus,” Jeff bargained.

“Sure. Roll in front of everyone.”

Jeff grabbed 2d20 and breathed deeply, calming his nerves. He shook the dice in his hands, letting them fall to the tabletop, the two green and gold flecked pieces of plastic glinting in the moody lighting Eddie had set for the evening.

“18 and 19,” he announced.

“I’m guessing we’re starting with 19. Mozikith, if you will,” Eddie prompted Mike to start the inspiration dice rolls.

“Wait!” Dottie interrupted. “I want to cast Guidance on Tharivol.”

“Remind me again what that does, princess?”

“You touch one willing creature. Once before the spell ends, the target can roll a d4 and add the number rolled to one ability check of its choice. It can roll the die before or after making the ability check. The spell then ends,” she read with a smile. “You told me the other day that I always use the same two cantrips so I’m using a new one today.”

“I need to stop teaching you things if you’re gonna use them against me,” Eddie grumbled, but deep down was proud that she listened to his advice so intently. “Fine, Tharivol, add a d4.”

“Thank you,” Jeff said to Dottie and rolled. “2.”

“We’re at 21. Mozikith, please.”

“Shit,” Mike said. “That’s a 2.”

“We’re at 23. Seebo, your turn.”

“Fuck. Sorry guys, that’s gonna be a one,” Dustin mumbled angrily.

“Tough start. We’re at 24. Boldhild?”

“Four!” Erica cheered.

“We go up to 28! Despair, you go.”

“Please, please, please,” Gareth whispered. “SIX!”

“34! Odorr’s turn now.”

“Fuck yeah! That’s a six!” Donny punched the air excitedly. Everyone started becoming antsy but hopeful.

“We’re at 38. Holly, please.”

“Four?” Dottie said, timidly.

“That brings us to 42. Everyone in the clearing starts humming as Portia continues praying. Seebo, the ring in your hand begins burning until you can’t stand the heat anymore and drop it. It sinks into the earth beneath you as a gash appears where the line in the dirt was drawn,” Eddie began describing, his players waiting with bated breaths for confirmation of their success. “Tharivol, you feel a surge of magic from deep inside you, like a gentle warmth crawling up from your feet all the way up and into your chest. You see the oak tree begins glowing in the moonlight.”

“Holy shit,” Jeff said.

“The ground beneath you begins to shake and suddenly, Odorr, you feel a piercing pain in your head, like a needle pushing right in the middle of your forehead between your tiny horns. You fall to your knees in agony and see that the gash begins opening more, revealing fog on the other side.

“It’s working!” Dustin cried, and Mike shushed him immediately.

“Holly, you see your Lathander holy symbols begin to shine. First, it’s the one attached to your staff. Then, your armlet. It feels warm, like sunshine seeping into your skin on a cool day. The gash keeps opening and opening until it becomes a shadowy circle right in front of you. The pain in Odorr’s head stops,” Eddie said theatrically, making a pause for dramatic effect. “The DC you had to beat… was 40.”

“WE DID IT!” Erica screeched, and everyone began yelling at the same time.

“You almost gave me a heart attack, you piece of shit!” Donny yelled.

“Fuck, that was close,” moaned Dustin, bracing himself against the table, tension finally leaving his body.

“Congratulations, adventurers. You’ve just opened a portal to Shadowfell,” Eddie laughed, throwing his head back.

“Do we go in now? How does this work?” Dottie asked, wanting to continue the story.

“You have to speak the name of a creature and they’ll be sucked in through the portal towards your plane.”

“What was Orfuel’s last name?” Gareth looked at Jeff.

“Evensorrow,” said Mike.

“We call for Orfuel Evensorrow to come back to the material plane,” Jeff said, back in action.

“You see a shadow moving behind the fog, it seems like it’s fighting back the tendrils. Call out to him again, all of you,” Eddie instructed.

“Orfuel! Orfuel!” everyone began chanting. “Orfuel, it’s us! Stop fighting back!”

“The creature becomes prone when it hears your voices and lets itself be dragged into the material plane. A dirty human man lays at your feet, gasping for air after the shadowy vines retreat. Portia loses strength and the portal closes itself, severing the connection to Shadowfell.”

“I catch her before she falls,” Mike said quickly.

“Thank you, dearie,” Eddie said in a pitiful voice that belonged to an old frail lady. He continued in his normal voice. “Portia is okay, she just needs to rest.”

“We go to help Orfuel then,” Gareth looked at his friends, who nodded in agreement.

“Orfuel is a shell of the man you all used to know. His hair is long and matted, his beard is graying at the edges. He has dark circles under his eyes and looks like he hasn’t had a drink of water in days. He tries to speak, but his voice doesn’t come out.”

“I give him my water bottle,” Erica said.

“He drinks half of your waterskin in a rush and now that he feels better he looks at everyone surrounding him with fearful eyes,” Eddie began trembling, like it took a toll on his body to even utter a single syllable. “He’s coming. We have to- we have to hide. He’s coming.”

“Mask’s coming?” Donny asked.

“Mask’s just a pawn,” Eddie scoffed. “Orcus is coming.”

“Who’s Orcus?” Dottie looked around the table.

��The Lord of the Undead,” Dustin said, wary. “He’s the master of the undead that live in The Abyss. He wants to exterminate all life on every plane of existence until only his undead soldiers remain.”

“Wait, what do you mean Orcus is coming?” Erica asked Eddie, but really, it was Boldhild asking Orfuel.

“Mask knows Orcus hates the Raven Queen, so they made a deal. Mask kills the Raven Queen, and he becomes the keeper of Shadowfell for Orcus. Dedlock gave me up as a sacrifice to grow Mask’s power.”

“Shit. What do we do now?” Donny asked everyone else in the room.

“We fight back,” Dustin said, like it was obvious. “First we go for Dedlock and the Circle of the Gray Ribbon. Then we go for Mask.”

“And then…,” Mike mused. “We go into The Abyss.”

“And that’s where we’ll end our session,” Eddie said, and everyone groaned in protest.

“What the fuck, man?!”

“You said this session was the last one!”

“That’s such a non-ending, what is wrong with you?”

Eddie laughed and looked at his friends who kept begging him for more. More stories, more adventures, more guidance. They weren’t asking for entertainment. They were looking for more friendship. He moved to lower down his DM screen and hauled his prop box onto the table. Everyone stared at him curiously, wondering what trick he was gonna pull out of his metaphorical hat next. He simply reached in and grabbed two pins, putting them on the table: one said Chapter Leader, and the other said Dungeon Master. He’d had the first one for three years, and the second one for longer. He looked up at his club members with shiny eyes, and Dottie thought he’d never looked more at peace than in that moment.

“As you all know, my beloved sheep, I’m hoping I finally get to graduate this year. I don’t know if I am just yet, but in any case, this is my last session as Hellfire’s very own DM and leader. There’s more story to tell in this campaign, but I won’t be doing it here, on this throne, in this props room that always smells a little bit like glue,” he smiled when everyone huffed in agreement. “We’re going to take a break from this adventure until Dustin comes back from his nerd camp for geniuses-”

“Hey!” Dustin protested, but he looked proudly at Eddie while he did it.

“If you still want to find out what happens next after all that, I’ll be more than pleased to keep the action going outside of school grounds. But! A king shouldn’t rule over their kingdom forever, and it’s time for me to pass the crown onto the next generation. Wheeler, Henderson, please,” he motioned to the side. The freshmen followed him a few steps away from the table where Eddie dropped to one knee and bowed regally. “Michael Wheeler, you are Hellfire’s new Dungeon Master. I trust that the tales you tell will always be as grand as Mike the Magnificent was under my reign.”

“Woah,” Mike said when Eddie presented the Dungeon Master pin to him. “Eddie, this is- thanks, man.”

“Dustin Henderson,” Eddie continued, looking into the hopeful eyes of the kid he so very much admired. “The crown is too heavy for one man to wear alone, so I am choosing you to be the next Chapter Leader of the Hellfire Club. May you be as brave as Dustin the Daring was when he was under my wing.”

“I-” Dustin managed to get out before he launched himself across the floor and tackled Eddie into a tight hug.

“I won’t disappoint you, Eddie, I swear to god-”

But there was no need for him to promise anything, because Eddie knew that Hellfire was in safe hands with the two boys that had gone from looking at him like he was their Lord and Savior to simply calling him a friend. And as Eddie said goodbye to his time in high school, he was so grateful that even if he hadn’t learned a single thing valuable within those walls, he had come out of it with a group of people that he could always count on when life got too rough to handle on his own.

taglist (comment below or shoot me a dm if you want to be added!): @munsonology @kurdtbean

58 notes · View notes

mediocretranslations · 2 years

Text

Tetsurou Kuroo VS Kenma Kozume - △ University Student

DISCLAIMER: I am not fluent in Japanese and the translations are not 100% accurate, so there may be lots of inaccuracies. Please let me know if there’s any mistakes I made in the translation!

Please do not repost my translations anywhere else!

A Tetsurou Kuroo and a Kenma Kozume story from the HQ FBS △ University Student series

Read below!

The last panel is the artist's information!

Thank you for reading!

hello again! several months passed by and my quality is still deteriorating almost had to redo the first page entirely because of a minor screw up, but with what was left of my paint fogged brain, i managed to salvage it! hell no am i cleaning up text bubbles again. now for the translator notes! page 1: last box is just idle chatter, didn't have the energy to fill it in and also i'd block the drawings... page 5: not sure if kenma is saying "i should get" or "we should get" page 6: i don't know if kuroo is whining how he wants to share a drink with us or with the "same guy" (in the first page), so i stuck to what made sense...in my mind last page: the prompt (grey bubble) is something among the lines of "how he waits for (valentine's) chocolate" and above their heads is their different reactions. kuroo's: "rather than waiting, he messes around" (kinda saying that he teases you for it) kenma: "he stays quiet about it, but when he hears [you say] 'here you go', he answers" (which means he waits patiently but jumps at the opportunity (?)) whew! whole lotta hoopla over a simple triangle chapter. dont know why i was procrastinating so much on this also it feels like whenever i post it's a landmark on my life. right now im at my final year of school lol. got off on a bad start, but i'm hanging in there...! also uhh...got a bunch of new novels from a while back and ordering a new one! an inarizaki themed! who knows if it'll come to me in one piece, though... is the one piece real? also CAN TUMBLR PLEASE FIX THE EDITING FEATURE??? whole app keeps crashing whenever i try to copy paste my formatting ;; also uh if the order of the pages is confusing or the qualitys a bit iffy, feel free to let me know!

[TAGLIST]: @nachotrash @xiao-tofus @kirakirasaku @jovialsweetshottub @shsluwu @blossomingwaifu16 @xedspirits @the3rdstalltoilet @sassyglassesbunny @bionic-bumblebee

-[Please let me know if I got the urls right!]-

#haikyuu x reader #x reader #kuroo tetsurou #kenma kozume #kuroo x reader #kenma x reader #kuroo x reader x kenma #kenma x reader x kuroo #hq fbs #hq kareshi #yibs-translations #yibs-mediocre-works

225 notes · View notes

the-six-that-thrive-if · 1 year

Text

UNOFFICIAL DEV LOG - JULY 11TH 2023

Okay, so basically, I pulled another all nighter again, but I just want to say, that I've added so many new features since I finally figured out several different coding!

The ability to wear glasses, to have scars, freckles, acne, to have food preferences, vitiligo & allergies (don't quote me, haven't added the code yet, still deciding.) I'll definitely go into depth later on, but if you want scope, the original page for choosing your features was two pages, I'm pushing six. Whew

Stats have been basically figured out, I also threw in a health bar and physical abilities.

Also have refined the TSTT Logo, made by yours truly.

#dev log #interactive fiction twine #itchio interactive fic #interactive fiction #interactive fic #twine interactive fiction #interactive fiction demos #dating sim #horror interactive fic #dating sim characters #if game #t.m.basement.announcements

45 notes · View notes

mlobsters · 5 months

Text

supernatural s15e19 inherit the earth (w. eugenie ross-leming, brad buckner)

i'm not sure i want to watch this, actually. all right, next day. let's see. combination of not wanting to watch them grieve cas after that weird reaction i had to 15x18 plus feeling like writing anything about spn is completely pointless. power through

covid lockdown-era city views, along with the akf/always keep fighting on the tower and the actual coke ad about social distancing "staying apart is the best way to stay united" well this is not helping my mental state and also presents confusing idea that this universe was affected by covid, which it obviously isn't. along with everyone being raptured

SAM I did this. We could have just given Chuck what he wanted, you know, his grand finale. But I resisted. I pulled the thread. I thought we could beat this game, do it better. We tried to rewrite him, and the whole world paid the price.

taking a moment to address the absurdity that chuck's being such a brat over the fact that the brothers won't kill each other he's gonna rapture the entire earth

CHUCK I mean, picture it. The two of you... And your little lapdog Jack... Rotting on a lifeless planet, knowing it's this way because you wouldn't take a knee. Eternal shame, suffering, and loneliness. Whew! That's deep. That's sophisticated. That's a page-turner.

it is something

little schmaltzy but i'll take it. ah, well. for 30 seconds at least. i know he comes back though so it's all good

very pretty lighting

i think it's been long enough i don't care about the endless reasons to get pellegrino back on the show and i'm just happy to see him and his overflowing charisma

LUCIFER Mm. Yeah. Alright, team. I don't want to bring ants to your picnic, but that ain't gonna cut it. Okay, think about it. If the Empty pulled me off the bench, it's 'cause the Winchester charm ain't enough, right?

harsh but fair

LOL new death, dead death, lucifer actually working with chuck, dead lucifer. we're making it snappy, folks

haha and now michael was working with chuck too and he's dead. this is sure something

gotta get them covered in blood and beaten to a pulp for old times' sake

okie doke. they figured out the michael business, jack is a power vacuum, sure. we gotta wrap this up, fellas

haha makes me think of this 1998 merlin miniseries with sam neill when they all turn their back on queen mab and she loses her powers because everyone forgets about her

SAM Then I think it's the ending where you're just like us and like all the other humans you forgot about. DEAN It's the ending where you grow old, you get sick, and you just die. SAM And no one cares. And no one remembers you. You're just forgotten.

i think about it a lot so i made some gifs a while back 😂

all right. de-raptured and people indoors

not sure how i feel about this whole speech from jack about how he's gonna be as new god and basically around but not around. sucks they semi-lost their kid too

SAM You know, with Chuck not writing our story anymore, we get to write our own. You know, just you and me going wherever the story takes us. Just us. DEAN Finally, free.

kind of surprised this wasn't the finale honestly, especially with that montage that managed to get me crying.

#supernatural #spnwatch #spn 15x19 #eugenie ross leming #brad buckner

6 notes · View notes

odettecarotte · 9 months

Text

I've been reading Avgi Saketopoulou, who looks like this:

Her bio on the Division 39 website states: "Avgi’s love of psychoanalysis and of queers is rivaled only by her love of motorcycles."

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I have been seduced by her in three different ways.

First, my beloved supervisor loves her and now Saketopoulou, her ideas and her demeanor, is part of our growing "relational third." Becky had me read the article "The Draw to Overwhelm" two years ago. The only other person I know who has read this independently of my recommendation is a dominatrix in New York who cites it on her website. It is a secret society of freaks.

Second, Saketopoulou writes kind of like she looks in this picture: like a brilliant, demanding and inventive top who can also see into your very soul. Her agility with language and theory is almost scary. One is not surprised that this is the psychoanalyst who gave us the concept of "exigent sadism."

Third: I watched one of her lectures over Zoom. The man who introduced her was an old, white psychoanalytic dick and probably most of the participants were, too. He mispronounced her name. Despite what I perceived to be a hostile audience, a woman of color spoke during the time for questions at the end. She evidently felt safe enough to share the hint of a personal disclosure, the kind which can ignite a shitstorm of ignorant reactivity in such a group. Avgi held the woman in a welcoming, respectful compassion. You could feel it in her gaze, her voice, and what she attended to in the woman's words. It was Marina Abromovic "the Artist is Present" level of connection with a stranger in a performance space. Over Zoom! No one said anything disrespectful after. Avgi protected the woman and let her have her process.

When I got Sexuality Beyond Consent, I cracked it open then put it down after a few pages. It felt dense, like the author was using big words to obscure some Yeah Duh ideas. I had wanted to love it, so I was disappointed. I avoided engaging with it. I resisted. (I was also depressed because of Gaza and my dog dying, not in the mood for anything else hard.)

When I finally felt strong enough to pick it back up again, whew! I have been cracked open by it on an intellectual level the way Mark Lanegan's "Whiskey for the Holy Ghost" cracked me open on a spiritual and emotional level in December 2021. Like, I'm scared by how deeply it affected me and how much I loved it! Yet my love is undeniable!

#avgi saketopoulou #sexuality beyond consent #division 39 #psychoanalysis #psychologie #vrroom vrooom #queer

9 notes · View notes

poke-me-with-a-stick · 2 years

Text

Chapter 7 of 'Artificial Wingman' is here!

For the full story, click here!

Enjoy!

---

Delicately pulling the last poppy free of the sand-like mixture from the kit, Danny sat back with a sigh. It had taken less time than he thought it would to dry the flowers out, only having to leave them sitting overnight surprisingly, but now he could move on to the next step. Brewing the potion

Beside him, Robin sat up from where he had been slightly slumped over the table. His gaze was hidden by the sunglasses, but Danny could feel the intensity of his stare as he set about shaking the flowers out. "Alright." He started after a moment, sweeping the grainy substance up with his hand. "Now we can start brewing."

Robin grunted, standing and gathering the shopping bags as Danny grabbed a pot and set some water to boil. Over the next few minutes, Danny began to carefully measure, grind, and pour the ingredients into the boiling water, stirring as needed. From his position next to him, where he had been handing Danny the ingredients he needed, Robin watched with increasing interest as the liquid began to glow under Danny's administrations.

A quiet gasp was heard as the kitchenette was cast in warm golden light, the not-quite Latin flowing from Danny's mouth slowly fading out as he brought the potion to a simmer

Backing off, Danny wiped his brow with the back of his hoodie sleeve. "Whew. Okay, now what?" He questioned himself, dragging his finger along the page that listed the potions process. "It says…" Robin leaned over his shoulder, scowling slightly at the words that only Danny could read.

He let out a groan as he read the next step. "What? Is something wrong?" Robin asked, his scowl softening into a concerned look.

Sighing, Danny closed the book. "Nothing is wrong per say." He nudged past the teen, heading back over to the stove. "It's just, the next step is a bit… long. And there's no way to really speed it up." As he talks, he grabs a Mason jar from the cabinet, a small churr escaping him as he hunted down its lid. "The potion needs to settle, at room temperature, for three days." He poured the glowing, steaming potion into the jar, hissing slightly at the warmth that met his hands. Quickly, he screwed the lid on tight and put it down on the counter, wrapping a hand towel around the jar to conceal its glow.

Looking over his shoulder, he flashed Robin a nervous smile. To his surprise, the teen didn't seem the least bit perturbed by the news. A small, almost pleased, smile settled on his face. "That doesn't sound too bad."

Leaning back against the counter, the two fell into silence, Danny awkwardly patting his thighs as he tried to think. "I guess we just… wait now?" He suggested after a few minutes. Robin nodded, following him into the living room. The both sat down on the couch, Robin grabbing a book from the side table. After looking around for something to do himself, Danny grabbed the remote and turned on the TV.

Flipping through the channels, he finally settled on some sort of news outlet, where he observed what a normal news channel was like. He had to admit, though it was nice to see that the weather report didn't have any mention of dangerous drivers, it was kind of… boring. Nevertheless, he leaned back into the couch and listened to the different stories they reported on.

He was just beginning to dose off when Robin shut his book with a snap sound he thought only existed in cartoons. Danny sat up as the boy stood, shutting off the TV and grabbing Danny's arm in a firm yet gentle grip.

"Where are we going?" He asked as the teen lead him out the front door and into the alleyway. A slight chill hung in the air, not that it bothered him. Having an ice core was good for that. He could feel Robin's little shiver at the change, though.

"Out." Was all the answer he got as the teen pulled him along, down side streets and alleys that were beginning to become familiar. Danny fell silent, following the teen without hesitation. Eventually, Danny found himself in a familiar place. The Batburger that Robin had introduced him to. He didn't have time to ask any questions, because the next minute he found himself in the booth from last time, Robin ordering at the front before joining him again.

He started to ask why they were back here, but Robin pulled his phone out as soon as he was settled into the cheap pleather seat, typing quickly and scrolling through something with an intense kind of focus. Instead of interrupting, Danny made himself content with tapping his fingers on the tabletop, finding the rhythm a song he half remembers hearing at Dorthea's castle.

Robin didn't look up from his phone as he stood to collect their food, still staring at something as he sat their tray down and gestured for Danny to grab his. It was only after they had both gotten halfway through their respective meals that he finally spoke.

"What do you enjoy doing in your free time?" He asked, finally putting his phone away and turning to face the teen. Even through those sunglasses, Danny could feel the intensity of the boy's stare.

Danny stuttered for a minute before saying the first thing that came to mind. "Video games." Robin raised his eyebrow. "I mean, I don't usually have a lot of free time, so what time I do have is usually spent relaxing at home, playing games with my friends." He defended.

"Hmm." The vigilante took another bite from his veggie burger, looking over his phone's screen again. "Are you bothered by cold temperatures?" The teen looked up at him again.

Danny's mind drew a blank. Cold temperatures? "No?" His answer sounded more like a question, but all Robin did was nod before applying himself to his food again. Shrugging to himself, Danny did the same, wolfing down the burger and fries while he tried to puzzle out what Robin was planning.

When both of their plates were cleared, Robin led Danny out of the restaurant and down a new sidewalk, taking him further into the city. He didn't answer any of the teen's questions as they walked, only giving Danny a slight smile in return to any attempt at getting information.

It was only when they came to a stop that Danny realized what Robin had planned. "An Ice Rink?"

"Yes." Robin nodded, pulling him into the large off-white building. "I have heard that this is an acceptable activity for teens." The way he said it made something else click in Danny's head.

"Is this what you were looking up at Batburger?"

Robin's cheeks turned a light shade of red, answering Danny's question for him. He smiled at the teen, bumping his shoulder slightly as they approached the lobby desk.

As they paid and waited for the man to return with two pairs of skates, something else came to Danny.

"Hey, Robin?" The teen cocked his head towards him, making it obvious he was paying attention. "Have you ever… been skating before?"

Robin was quiet for a moment. "No. But I don't think it will be hard. I am, after all, an experienced and adaptable person." Danny held back a small groan at the almost cocky way Robin spoke. Danny remembered that confidence from his first time on the ice.

His eight year old hubris had taken a mighty fall that day. Jazz still teases him about it, every time it snows.

Danny said nothing to Robin, though. If he, at eight years old, hadn't heeded the advice given to him, then why would a talented, agile teen superhero listen? The only way to learn that lesson was to fall. But just like eight year old Danny, Robin would have someone there to catch him when he did.

—

Damian laced up the sleek black skates he had been given before sitting up, watching with amusement as Danny tied the slightly bulkier white ones he had been handed. Hair in his face and tongue sticking out from the side of his mouth, his fingers moved clumsily over the laces, finally achieving the right know after a moment.

When Danny stood, so did he, both of them gripping the handrails as they wobbled past the benches and to the ice. Danny reached the ice first, transitioning from unstable to graceful in a few quick slides. The teen did a loop on the ice, heading back towards him as he set the first bladed shoe onto the slippery surface.

Almost immediately Damian's leg slid forward, the blade having zero traction. Grunting, Damian pulled his leg back towards him before throwing his other leg onto the ice. His skates teetered shakily from one side to the next under his full weight, before collapsing and sending him sliding, belly first, towards Danny.

Danny was quick to slip out of the way, letting Damian's momentum carry him a bit further out onto the ice. When he finally slid to a stop, he just laid there for a moment, his face burning from more than the ice cold ground. 'You are an ex-assassin, vigilante sidekick to Batman.' He scolded himself, pushing himself to his knees. 'A bit of ice should not be able to best you.'

"Are you okay?" Danny called out, gliding over and coming to a sharp stop about an arms length from him.

"Fine." Damian grumbled through gritted teeth. Taking a steadying breath, he pushed himself back to his feet.

"Are you sure you don't want help?" Danny asks, following close behind him as he tries to push off. His knees shook with the effort of staying up right and keeping his feet from going opposite directions.

"I'm fine." He repeated, completely focusing on moving his right foot forwards. His left decided that it would be the perfect time to move as well, and Damian once again found himself belly down on the ice.

From above him, he could hear the concerned noise Danny made as he inched closer. With a defeated sigh, Damian admitted to himself that ice skating was not as easy as it looked. This time, he didn't try to tell Danny that he was fine, allowing the teen to pull him to his feet.

Part of him expected Danny to let go as soon as he was steady. But he didn't. Instead, Danny held him upright as he slowly skated backwards until Damian could reach out and grip the safety railing himself. "This was a bad idea. We should leave." Damian ducked his head slightly as he began to pull himself along the wall.

"No." He turned around in surprise at Danny's firm response.

"No?" He echoed the teen, not moving from where he held himself up with the wall as the teen glided up beside him.

"No. You wanted to skate. So we'll skate."

"But, I do not know how to skate." Damian pointed out.

Danny smiled brilliantly at him. "That's okay," he said cheerfully. "I'll teach you!" Without waiting for a response, the teen grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the wall.

"Wha- hey!" Damian stammered, his legs beginning to shake again. He grips Danny's arms tightly, not wanting to fall again.

Danny laughed lightly as they moved about, never once faltering when Damian slipped and scrambled for a foothold he wouldn't be able to achieve.

Eventually, when he felt that his legs would hold him, he let go of Danny's arms. Danny shot him a questioning glance, not letting go of Damian's arms until he nodded.

Slowly, Danny eased his grip, backing away as Damian stood as still as possible. Both teens considered it a huge success when he didn't begin trembling immediately. Emboldened by his newfound steadiness, Damian tried to push off again. Beneath him, his skates collided as they both slipped under the shift in his weight, sending him back towards the floor. Only this time, Danny didn't get the chance to move out of his way.

His landing was softened by the cold body of his companion, both of them letting out little 'oof's' as they fell. When the world stilled again, Damian found himself sprawled across Danny's chest. Danny himself was starfish-ed on the ice, facing the ceiling.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. They were too shocked to speak, still processing what had just happened. Damian was the first to recover.

"I-I apologi-" he didn't get far into his apology before he was interrupted. Danny had sat up a few seconds after he had, staring at Damian as he tried to formulate words. But now his head was tipped back, mouth opened. Laughing.

His laughter was airy and soft, yet loud enough to echo all around them in the empty rink. Honestly, it reminded Damian of the sound snow makes as it falls in the dead of night, the little hitches when the flakes hit the window. He found his gaze stuck on Danny's face as the teen bellowed, mesmerized by the carefree expression he had.

As his laughter faded into hearty chuckles, Danny let his head tip forwards again, meeting Damian's gaze, through the askew sunglasses on his face. A delicate blush spread across his pale cheeks, his eyes softening in a look of fondness that was usually reserved for couples that had been together a long time.

Damian's sneeze broke their trance. Abruptly, in a slightly startling display of power, Danny levitates off the ice, his skates making a slight clack sound as they settle against the rink once more. Clearing his throat, he offers a hand to Damian.

"You okay?" He asked as the teen stumbled up.

"Yes. I'm alright." Damian couldn't help the way he clutched the sleeves of Danny's hoodie. Taking a deep breath, they tried skating again. As Danny pulled him along the ice, he gave tips to help him along.

"Spread your legs a bit, and don't angle your feet towards or away from each other." He advised, using one of his skates to guide the other teen's feet in the right direction. "There you go. Just like that." His encouragement and praise made it impossible not to preen a bit. With his feet facing the same direction, he slid forwards without much resistance, the blades sliding along the ice instead of cutting like they had before.

"Alright. Now, to turn, angle one foot in the direction you need, and lean forward a bit." Danny demonstrates as he talks, not letting go of Damian once as he glides them from left to right. "And to circle, aim one foot outwards, and the other at an angle." They moved in a wide circle before straightening out again. "There we go! Now, ready to try this again?" The teen waited for Damian's response as they slid to a slow stop.

Damian hesitated for only a moment before nodding. 'I can do this.' He told himself as Danny slowly released his grip from Damian's wrist, backing out of the way a bit quicker this time, but staying close enough to reach out and grab him should he falter. Luckily, he stayed standing once released, feet angled in the same direction. He started to push off physically with his skate again, but paused. So far, every time he did it that way, he had crashed quite quickly to the ground. Instead, he relaxed his knees slightly and leaned forward, forcing himself not to flinch as he began sliding forwards.

Damian's body relaxed when he found himself moving slowly, Danny still right beside him. A small sigh escaped him, before he turned one of his feet slightly to the left. Miraculously he didn't crash to the ground, but instead turned slowly in the direction he wanted. The teen couldn't stop a small laugh that escaped him as he began to pick up speed, letting his reflexes take over again as he slowly got the hang of it.

Beside him, Danny cheered loudly. "You got it!" He shouted, fist bumping the air as a purr rattled from his chest. Distracted, the teen didn't notice the slightly mischievous tone Damian's smile took. Nor did he see the leg that slid his direction. Instead, the rumble in his chest was abruptly cut off with a loud yelp as he hit Damian's leg, flying forwards and landing ungracefully onto the ice.

He whined from his place on the floor. "What was that for?" He grumbled, pushing himself to his knees.

Damian pretended to turn his nose up. "For laughing at me, when you're clearly more experienced at this than I am." His voice held a note of laughter, his eyes sparkling with an unusual light behind his tinted lenses.

"Excuse me? You're the one that wanted to go skating!" Danny stuck his tongue out in a childish display, huffing good naturedly as he crossed his arms and pouted.

Damian snorted. "Well, I suppose you have a point there. But you won't get an apology from me." His smirk stretched into a wicked smile. "Unless you can catch me, of course." He challenged the teen.

"Seriously? You couldn't even skate until a minute ago. Do you really think you can beat me in a speed contest?" Danny pushed himself back to his feet, hands on his hips as he cockily grinned.

"Try me." With that he was off, gliding across the ice in fast, controlled motions. Danny's laugh echoed behind him as he pushed off as well, gaining speed every few minutes as he practically launched himself forward.

Damian didn't know how long they dodged and weaved around each other on the rink, only that it felt much too soon when the manager told them they would be closing soon. Both he and Danny had a nice sweat going, despite the cold of the air, as they slid over to the exit and sat down to unlace their skates. Neither talked as they put their own shoes back on and returned the skates. It was only when they left that Danny heaved a loud sigh and tossed his arm over Damian's shoulder. "That was awesome!" He exclaimed, leading the teen in the vague direction they had come from. "We should totally do that again sometime!"

Damian ignored the small part that whispered that there probably wouldn't be a next time if he let the teen leave, instead humming his agreement.

"It's still a bit early." Damian remarked as he nudged Danny in a different direction. Truly, he would rather avoid the diamond district. As clean as it was, there were also more cameras there as well. "Why not do something else before we return?"

"Hmm…" Danny brought one of his hands up to his chin, rubbing it thoughtfully as he narrowed his eyes in thought. "I know!" He snapped his fingers and pointed at Damian. "Why don't we catch a movie?"

Damian thought about it for a moment. "I suppose that would work. As long as we don't have to sit through an insufferable romance." He shuddered at the memory of the last romance movie he had been forced to watch. The Notebook was not his favorite from Brown's list, and he would give up his sharpest knife to never hear the title again.

"Deal." Danny said immediately. Plans made, Damian took the lead again, pulling Danny through a shortcut to get there faster.

In the end, they watched a nice horror/comedy, something with dolls and old cliches that were obviously being made fun of. While it was not one of Damian's top choices, he could not say he hated it. Anything that made Damian able to hear that beautiful laugh was worth suffering through.

—

Jazz slung her bag into the Specter Speeder, looking through all her messages one last time before chucking her phone in after it. Both of her parents had called earlier that day, saying that their trip had been extended slightly. A friend of theirs has met up with them and invited them to another convention, this one a few hours drive from their current one, taking them further from Amity.

Her father had claimed that they would 'be back before you know it, Jazzy-pants!' But her mother had been a little more realistic, estimating that it would be at least another week and a half, possibly two weeks. Jazz had assured them that it was fine, she would watch Danny while they were gone. Having no reason to suspect anything amiss, her mother had bid her goodbye, asking that she tell Danny that just because it was Summer Vacation, didn't mean he could stay up all night and sleep through the day.

Sighing, she ran a mental catalogue of what she had packed. Clothes, food, water, a few ecto-weapons, a can of Fenton Pepper Spray, and a Fenton Phone. The Boomerang sat in the back seat, a last resort if she couldn't track her brother down the normal way. A box of ecto-contaminated blueberry scones sat in the passenger seat, a gift for a certain Ghost of Time.

Jazz knew she wouldn't be able to find the dimension her brother was in without help, and she also knew of Danny's allies as Phantom. If anyone were to know Danny's location, it would be Clockwork, after all. Heck, he was probably already expecting her.

Not seeing any reason to keep the ghost, or her brother, waiting, she hopped into the Speeder, firing it up and pushing carefully through the ghost portal. A wave of coldness raced through her as she passed into the neon green dimension, forcing a shiver out of her.

Once through, the craft sped off, following the GPS Tucker had set up for it through the odd floating structures. Getting to the clock tower would take a bit, Jazz knew, so she engaged the autopilot and leaned back.

She shoved her face into her hands with a loud sigh. 'Oh Danny.' She prayed. 'Please be okay.'

---

(I know there's probably some spelling mistakes or Grammer mistakes, but it's okay because I tried my best.)

For the lovely people who enjoy this story, as well as the amazing person who made the prompt for it!

@halfblackwolfdemon @manapeer @xxwintrynightzxx @im-totally-not-an-alien-2 @blu-lilac @academicpurposes @secretdestinywerewolf @passivedecept @naluforever3 @postit-nope @spiteismymiddlename @2t-productions @plague-daisy @feet-achy @bubblecookies16 @thesapphiredragon13 @justwannabecat @magicalcollecter @adeniumdream @amuseofminds @lupagrim @readerkayden @dr-syko-pharm-4 @ladythugs @angelheartgamer @markthespot68 @kyrianclawraith @michikoy-yuki @servasvictoria02 @your-emo-nightmare @vala-dreams @scarlett-green-rose @t1dwarrior-of-earth @charlie-the-frogie @akikoyuii @mysticalcomputerdetective @roseuniverse999 @im-totally-not-an-alien @thefearfullone @weird-droplet-309 @jaytriesstuff @raventao @jacquelynwinchester @dragongoblet @tlise21 @longlivethefallen @the-archer-goddess @temple-of-jalebi @adepresseddwightsblogofjunk @plainly-colorful @the-legal-shipper @49saltpeppershakers @igotafewbadideas @tumbling-darkling @sparklygardenbouquet @sarcastic-yami @blueneko9314 @starscreamlover @liedboutmurder @do3y @roze-realm @some-mildly-happy-human @yinari-uchiha @azuera @chaoticmistake @altairsarts @kawaiikenna @heartsong18 @thetoyboxs @tricksovertreats @mnemovoid @lim4b3ans @horribly-lost-and-gay @keimiwolf @dryeraseslime @joey394

#danny phantom #dc x dp #batman #batman x danny phantom #danny phantom x dc #danny phantom x batfam #danny phantom x damian wayne #dead serious #love potion #miscommunication #Jazz Fenton is on her way!

108 notes · View notes