#wordy but like I got excited

[awzominator]

6 and 22 since they kinda relate: Is there a battle Nexus and if so is a respected establishment or is it run by criminals? Who fights there?

Battle Nexus there is!!! They don’t get mixed up in that until they’re like 17/18 tho. The Nexus is universally watched game put on by Game Master Zog, an Ex-Commander of the Triceraton army. He was banished from the empire and set up the semi legal Nexus to gain power and glory.

It’s a bloody brawl and deaths do often occur. Most fighters join for the cash prize and title. A lot of wanted criminals join, and since the Nexus is neutral territory they’re free to participate. However, not all are willing participants in the Nexus, often forced or blackmailed into fighting by Zog or other shady figures. The Turtles encounter quiet a few characters while fighting for their lives and freedom in the Battle Nexus. Two notable figures are Traximus, freedom fighter who aids in their escape and Mona Lisa, a bounty hunter who loves the thrill of the fight!

[xx-vergil-xx]

ch. 37 teaser – road trip shenanigans

[notasapleasure]

Plumber temporarily incapacitated by bike accident. Instead I got to spend today catching up on work emails and further pondering just what it would take to make Brasso clock Cassian in the jaw.

[signetied]

@lickedtheplate plotted a starter !

it had been a particularly rough session this week, farleigh had been given the floor, his essay was supposed to be the point of review this week. but he'd shown up with nothing instead, having procrastinated too much and partied too hard, leading up to the whole thing finally came crashing down upon him in one big crescendo that even farleigh couldn't control. he, of course, should have expected nothing from the likes of oliver when it came to saving him from what could only be described as sheer humiliation.

farleigh had been on the floor near the professors feet, giving every excuse as to why he didn't have the essay on hand. and the harder professor ware pushed back on him, the more farleigh started to break down because of it. but the worst part about it, at least to farleigh, was the fact that none of his usual tricks worked. the coy looks or the suggestive banter, all had gone unnoticed by the older man. he'd practically been sobbing at the professors feet, yet all ware did was scold him further, tell him how he was wasting everyone's time by showing up empty handed. and oliver, yeah, oliver could've said something. because farleigh knew he already had his essay completed — he always did, he was one of the biggest overachievers farleigh had ever come across. but instead of saying anything, he just sat there, saying nothing ... for once in his life.

but at least, if anything, it's now over. and farleigh's tucking a book ware had given him to read before their next session into his satchel when he feels the eyes of oliver piercing into him like daggers. tears were already beginning to dry on farleigh's cheeks, causing them to itch, and a hand lifts to wipe them from, not wanting anyone to see just how badly he'd broken down. everyone except for oliver, that is.

he's sure he's gloating in it, though he doesn't look over at him to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s aware of it either. why couldn't he just leave? wasn't watching that whole thing enough material to jerk off to for the next month or so? though, he supposes, he's just trying to milk the last remaining moments of the breakdown he just witnessed — he knows he would if things were reversed. but he also thinks that maybe, just maybe, he would've attempted to rescue oliver from something like that, if only to save himself from having to sit through watching it for over an hour. ❛❛ don't. ❜❜ he says after a moment, snapping the front of his book bag closed. ❛❛ whatever it is you're about to say, i don't want to hear it. ❜❜

[enruiinas]

how much longer do we have together? -- to Law!

"I NEED MORE TIME WITH YOU" PROMPTS // accepting!

He'd finally done it. Worked up the particular amount of nerve it had taken to overcome years of essential secrecy and reveal a piece of himself so few had been privy to before. Even with the new addition of the Straw Hat archaeologist, Law could count on one hand the number of people who knew his name in its entirety - those of them still living, at any rate.

Such a small thing, it sometimes seemed: the existence of that single letter he'd always carried and never understood. But the need for secrecy had been impressed upon him since childhood, and the decision to reveal it to Robin - one of the few people in the world he thought might be able to give him further insight to its mysteries - was not one Law took lightly.

Whatever small hope he'd harbored when he asked her to join him on an aimless exploration of the island they'd docked at, he hadn't been surprised to find she knew just as little on the subject as he did, confirming that all they could do for now was follow the Road Poneglyphs. But some part of him had decided he could trust her - perhaps from the moment she'd thrown her own slender frame over him as Doflamingo surged toward them back on Dressrosa. Wounded and on the verge of unconsciousness, those moments in the flower field had been mostly a blur - but somewhere beyond the pain, he'd heard her comforting voice offering words of encouragement. Felt the weight of her doubled over his chest as she shielded him from an oncoming attack he couldn't open his eyes to see.

He'd come to his decision shortly after that, as their group made their excruciating way toward the rest of their respective crews on Zou. He would tell her as soon as the opportunity presented itself - and today it finally had, as the submarine stopped at this sparsely-inhabited island en route to Wano. New information or not, Law felt strangely at peace now that his secret was out there. Now that he'd voiced the four little words that had unsettled him since he'd realized the truth of them. I told you because I trust you, he'd told her.

How long had it been since he'd said those words to anyone beyond his own crew?

...And how lost in his thoughts must he be for her words to have just now registered in his wandering mind?

"The samurai said we're a day or two out still," Law replied distractedly. It took him a moment to realize that might not have been what she was asking. When he did, his footsteps faltered, and he turned back to look at her with a curious arch of one dark brow, intrigued despite himself. "Or did you mean until we leave here? I told my crew to take the afternoon for themselves - we don't have to head back to the Tang if you don't want to yet."

[fyrewalks]

It's a bad idea, he thinks when he catches Hangman's eye across the Hard Deck and there's a sparkle of something more. It's a bad idea, he thinks when they're quiet in the backseat of the uber, neither wanting to ruin the anticipation with pointless small talk. It's a bad idea, he thinks when his fingers start on the buttons of Seresin's annoyingly tight button-up once safely inside his temporary accommodation - except then Seresin's, Jake's, tongue is down his throat, and really, Bob isn't thinking at all, anymore.

As he's lying there, sweaty and sated, half drowsing, Jake's arm across his belly like he simply forgot Bob's there and is too tired to adjust, it's easy to rationalize the gravity of the situation away. Tomorrow, they'll all scatter back to their postings as if the detachment never happened. He'll go back to the Eagles, Jake to the Vigilantes; they didn't cross paths before at Lemoore, and there's no reason for them to now.

Bob is no stranger to one-night stands, temporary bits of fun. He knows the routine, but when caught attempting to make a quiet exit the next morning, he can't muster up the usual excuses or goodbyes. What's he supposed to say - thanks for the fuck, see you never?

Except, as it turns out, whatever rational thinking he employed that night, wasn't all that thought out. Back with the Eagles, it's harder to avoid Hangman than he assumed. Bob dodges him in hangars, at bars and hangouts Nat dutifully drags him out to. He absolutely does not think about how Jake kisses, or moves, or the way he tastes. Absolutely not. And just when Bob thinks he's got a handle on the worst of his intrusive, betraying thoughts, the orders come - they're all being recalled to Top Gun for the official formation of the Dagger Squad in a month's time.

A week into tense briefings, all of them frustrated and annoyed by the endless paperwork and ground time, Bob thinks himself foolish to think he struggled at all in Lemoore. At least then, Hangman had given him a wide berth too. Now, often stuck in the same room for hours at a time, Hangman's usual taunts feel sharper. If anyone's caught on to how he's singled Bob out, no one voices their suspicions. At one point he worries Natasha's caught on to something, but when she raises her eyebrows at Bob, he mutters something about Hangman being Hangman and that seems to satisfy any curiosity.

And then, Bob has the misfortune of finding himself alone in the locker room after a few miles on the treadmill. If the way Hangman corners him is any indication, he'd guess it's purposeful. Bob very carefully keeps his eyes on the next set of lockers, just to the right of Hangman's face.

"What - miss an insult or two in the classroom," he snarks, surprising himself. Admittedly, it's a little easier when Natasha is in the cockpit with him. Bob takes a breath, his eyes flicking to Hangman's eyes, his lips. Bob refocuses his gaze. "Don't you think it's a little obvious?" If it's not curiosity, it'll be a joke - one that skirts too close to the truth. After all, navy pilots are known for their crude humor. Bob knows himself; he'll struggle to shrug it off. // @a1truist

[weevil-wallflower]

A Jedi & A Droid

Cal Kestis x Jedi!Reader

Summary: Your life was never the same after You stumbled upon another Jedi and a droid.

Warnings/Tags: No warnings, SFW, hurt/comfort, minor angst, fluff, mutual pining, no use of Y/N, no pronouns used, pre/during Jedi: Survivor, minor spoilers for Jedi: Survivor.

A.N.: My third entry for Cal Kestis Week 2024! Prompts: Day 3 - Droid & Day 4 - "We shouldn't be doing this".

I am so late but responsibilities called! Also, this story, initially meant to be simple, got wayyy out of hand and turned into a combination of little snippets. So a bit of a wordy one but I am so happy to finally write this, as the idea had been sitting in my drafts for so long plus I really enjoyed writing it! I think this is one of my best stories yet :3 Gif by me!

Also on AO3!

Word Count: ~6,800

After the crew of the Mantis had split apart, Cal found himself adrift in the galaxy with only BD-1 by his side, spending years drifting between missions and without a crew—a family. While working for Saw Gerrera, he had formed strong friendships with fellow rebels; Gabs, the Klatooinian twins Koob and Lizz, and Bravo. However, it never felt quite the same. He longed for the camaraderie and companionship he had once known, yearning for a friend, a family and perhaps even a partner, to share in their journey’s hardships and victories.

Then, one fateful day, while Cal and BD-1 were navigating through a crowded spaceport, they came across You—running desperately from a squad of unrelenting stormtroopers. Cal's sharp senses detected the hurry in your movements and the terror in your expression as You ran through the packed streets, desperately trying to evade capture.

Without hesitation, Cal leapt into action, his instincts kicking into overdrive as he made his way through the chaotic crowds, dodging blaster fire and weaving through narrow alleyways in pursuit of You. Out of breath, he finally caught up to You, halting You in your tracks and reached out a hand to offer his help.

“Come with us!” The redhead urged, his voice firm yet reassuring as he glanced back at the approaching stormtroopers. “We have a ship. We can help you escape.”

Despite the opportunity presented before You, You hesitated, your eyes wide with fear and uncertainty as You weight your options.

“I’m not getting in a stranger’s ship!” You protested, your voice trembling with apprehension.

Cal’s gaze softened, understanding the gravity of your situation as he met your gaze with unwavering determination.

“You have a better idea?” He asked, his tone gentle yet firm as he kept his hand extended towards You.

You still appeared hesitant but the thunderous footsteps of the approaching stormtroopers and the urgent “Beep-bo-beep!” from the droid perched on the redhead’s back sealed the deal, making You choose the lesser of two evils. With a slight nod, You reached out to take the redhead’s hand, feeling a sense of trust and reassurance wash over You like a wave. Was it the Force trying to tell You something? You had no time to dwell on it, however, as Cal led You to his ship.

As the three of you boarded the Mantis, Cal’s eyes widened with excitement when they fell on the lightsaber strapped to your side, realisation dawning on him.

“You’re a Jedi!” He exclaimed, surprise apparent in his voice. “That’s why those Imps were after you.”

The knowledge brought him some hope, knowing that he had finally found another Jedi besides Cere, after all these years.

You simply nodded and hesitantly took the offered co-pilot seat as the ship soared through the vast outer space. You were unable to shake the feeling of apprehension that gripped You. The knowledge that Cal now knew You were a Jedi filled You with a sense of unease, knowing all too well the dangers that come with being hunted throughout the Galaxy. The thought of bounty hunters and Imperial forces closing in on You sent a shiver down your spine, and You couldn’t help but wonder if trusting Cal was a mistake.

However, as You stole a glance at him while he piloted the ship, You noticed something that caught You off guard—a lightsaber attached to his belt, just like yours. Your eyes widened in surprise as You turned to face him, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Are you… are you also a Jedi?” You asked, your voice full of uncertainty.

Cal’s face lit up with a smile, his green eyes sparkling with excitement and happiness.

“Yes, I am!” He exclaimed, voice full of joy. “I can’t believe I’ve finally found another Jedi!”

“Me too…” You whispered as the revelation sent a wave of relief washing over You. And sure enough, You felt his Force signature resonate around You, feeling his resilience, determination and a strong connection to the Light Side of the Force. However, while the signature carried traces of sorrow and grief, You were surprised by how warm and comforting it felt, enveloping You like a protective blanket. You were unable to remember the last time You felt someone’s Force signature—much less one as soothing. The feeling replaced your earlier apprehension with a sense of solidarity and companionship, relieved to know that You were not alone.

However, it still took time for You to feel comfortable around Cal, despite his warm demeanor and infectious enthusiasm. But slowly over time, You found yourself gradually opening up to the redhead, sharing stories of your past and your hopes for the future. Yet, a lingering sense of caution remained, a barrier that felt insurmountable at times.

But BD-1, Cal’s loyal droid friend, proved to be a source of comfort and solace during those moments of uncertainty. Seeing how happy Cal was once more, all because of your presence on board, BD-1 went out of his way to make You feel welcome with his cheerful chirps and friendly demeanour, offering You small gifts and gestures of kindness that never failed to bring a smile to your face.

And as You watched the little droid trot around the ship, trilling with excitement, You couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude towards him. His efforts to make You feel comfortable and at ease did not go unnoticed, and You found yourself growing fond of BD-1 in return.

Cal, too, noticed the bond that was forming between the both of you, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his droid friend bringing joy and laughter into your life like he did for him. Seeing You happy lifted Cal’s spirits in ways he couldn’t fully explain, and he found himself opening up to You even more, sharing his hopes and fears with a newfound sense of trust and vulnerability.

Overall, BD-1’s efforts to make You feel comfortable and welcome were essential in helping You overcome your initial apprehension and form strong bonds of friendship with Cal and the droid. There were numerous instances which contributed to strengthening your bond with both of them.

One day, Cal and BD-1 ventured out on a mission while You agreed to stay behind on the Mantis to look after it and to provide backup support if needed. But when the duo failed to return when they should have, a sense of worry began to settle deep in your mind. Especially when You were unable to contact them via the comms. Time appeared to stretch on endlessly as You waited for their return, each minute that passed only made your concern grow. Feeling restless, You paced the length of the ship, your footsteps echoing in the empty corridors as You anxiously awaited their safe return.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, just when You contemplated going out to search for them, You heard footsteps and beeping sounds. You quickly rushed down the ramp to be greeted by the sight of Cal, looking a little worse for wear but otherwise unharmed. Your worries melted away in an instant as You ran over to greet him.

“Cal, you’re back!” You exclaimed, relief evident in your voice.

The redhead grinned wearily, his expression softened by your sight. “Hey…” He greeted, his voice tinged with exhaustion. “Sorry for the delay. We ran into a bit of trouble out there.”

Before You could respond, BD-1 chirped excitedly, leaping down from Cal's back and presented You with a tiny gift he ejected from his stim dispenser. With a delighted giggle, You accepted the gift, a simple trinket made from scavenged materials—a token of BD-1's affection and friendship.

As You thanked the little droid for the thoughtful gesture, Cal couldn't help but chuckle at the scene unfolding before him.

"Well, it looks like BeeDee gets all the attention," he quipped, his tone light-hearted as he approached you. "No warm welcome for a valiant hero like me, huh?"

You grinned at his playful remark, thankful that despite the dangers they faced on their mission, Cal and BD-1 had returned safely, and that was all that mattered in the end.

As you all walked back inside the Mantis together, Cal's arm draped casually over your shoulder, You couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging wash over You. And when BD-1 chirped happily beside You, You knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together as a team.

Another day, You remember sitting alone in the quiet solitude of your quarters at the back of the Mantis. With the weight of loneliness and longing pressing heavy on your heart, You couldn't help but feel the ache of missing your long-gone family and friends. Memories of happier times filled your mind, each recollection a bittersweet reminder of the bonds You had lost to the war of the Galaxy.

Meanwhile, out in the common area of the ship, Cal paced back and forth with furrowed brows, his concern for You evident in the worried lines etched upon his face. He had sensed your melancholy from the moment You had withdrawn to your quarters, and despite his best efforts to coax You out of your seclusion, You had insisted that You were fine, not wanting to burden him with your troubles.

But BD-1, after sensing your distress, took it upon himself to cheer You up. With a soft chirp, the little droid scuttled into your quarters, carrying an assortment of gifts and trinkets.

You looked up when BD-1 dropped the presents at your feet, startled by the unexpected intrusion. But when You gazed into the droid’s photoreceptor lenses, You noticed something—empathy, compassion and a silent invitation to share in his company.

With a small smile, you reached out to accept the gifts that BD-1 had brought for You, each one a small token of friendship and comfort in the midst of your loneliness. A handcrafted charm bracelet, a bundle of aromatic herbs, and a holorecording of soothing music—all thoughtfully chosen to lift your spirits and ease the ache in your heart.

As You held the gifts close to your heart, a wave of gratitude washed over You, grateful for the droid’s unwavering support and companionship.

When Cal noticed BD-1 entering your quarters, he longed to join in as well, wanting to do everything he could to make You feel better and suddenly, an idea came to him. Quickly, he brewed a cup of your favorite caf, its rich aroma filling the air. With each measured step, he poured his heart into the simple act of preparing the beverage, hoping that it will bring You some solace in the midst of your turmoil.

As the redhead slowly walked into your quarters with the steaming cup in hand, he felt a sense of relief wash over him at the sight of the little droid’s offerings laid out before You on your bed. He was grateful for BD-1’s presence, knowing that the little droid was looking after You in his own unique way, offering You comfort when You needed it the most.

When You saw Cal enter your quarters with hesitant steps, You couldn’t help but feel a surge of warmth in your chest at the sight of him. The small, sympathetic smile he wore tugged at your heartstrings, and as You watched him walk closer, your lips curved into a small smile of your own.

Slowly, Cal extended the cup towards You, his gesture a silent offering of support and understanding. And as You accepted the cup of caf, You felt a sense of gratitude, knowing that with Cal and BD-1 present, You were never truly alone, even in your moments of solitude. Their presence and unwavering support filled the room with a comforting sense of companionship that eased the ache in your heart.

When Cal moved to leave You to your thoughts, as You had requested earlier, a sudden impulse seized You. “ Cal, wait!” You called out, surprising yourself with the words.

Turning back to face You, the redhead’s expression was one of curiosity, his eyes searching yours.

“Would you… would you mind staying here for a while?” You asked, your voice soft with uncertainty. “I could use the company…”

A flicker of emotion passed through Cal’s eyes; a mixture of surprise, gratitude and something deeper You couldn’t quite recognise. With a small nod, he settled into the seat opposite You, his presence along with BD-1’s providing reassurance amidst your troubled thoughts.

And as you all sat together in the comfort of your quarters, the warmth of the caf and the gentle hum of conversation filled the air, slowly dissipating the tension from earlier. With each passing moment, You found yourself drawn deeper into the warmth of Cal’s presence, the sound of his deep voice soothing your worries.

As You listened to him speak, your gaze wandered, taking in the details of his appearance with a newfound appreciation. His fiery red hair, the brightest You had ever seen, seemed to glow in the soft light of the room.

His green eyes, so vibrant and full of life, sparkled with intelligence and kindness, drawing You in with their magnetic charm. And as You met his gaze, You found yourself captivated by the depth and warmth that lay within them, a reflection of the soul that resided behind those beautiful emerald orbs.

His freckles, scattered like constellations across his sun-kissed skin, added to his charm, giving him an air of boyish innocence that belied the immense strength and resilience he possessed. And though his face carried the marks of battles fought and hardships endured, each scar only served to enhance his rugged allure, a testament to the trials and tribulations he had overcome over the years.

While You took in the sight of him, bathed in the soft glow of the room, You couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and admiration wash over You. In that moment, surrounded by the comforting embrace of his presence, You knew that You were in the presence of someone truly special—a friend, a confidant, and perhaps something more.

As time went on and the bond between You and the duo deepened, You developed a deep, almost parental affection for the little droid, despite not understanding what he said half the time. Often, in moments of excitement or tenderness, You found yourself affectionately calling BD-1 "Beebee" or "BB-1," much to Cal’s amusement.

During one particularly heartwarming moment by the campfire during a stop on Bogano, as Cal's hand brushed against yours and the stars twinkled overhead, You couldn't resist reaching out to BD-1 with a soft smile.

"Come here, Beebee," You cooed, beckoning the droid closer.

BD-1 chirped happily, nuzzling against your side with a warmth that made your heart swell.

Cal chuckled at the endearing nickname, his eyes crinkling with affection as he observed the exchange.

"You're my little bebe!" You exclaimed, unable to contain your adoration for the droid, causing Cal's laughter to fill the air, a melodic sound that echoed through the night.

"You're going to spoil him with all that love," he teased, his playful tone only adding to the warmth of the moment.

You grinned, feeling a sense of contentment wash over You. "Well, he deserves it," You replied, reaching out to pat BD-1's head affectionately.

Another one of your adventures led you all to an enchanting night market, where the dim glow of colourful lanterns illuminated the bustling streets. Cloaked in hooded robes that disguised your identities, You and Cal strolled through the bustling streets and crowds of people. The outer rim planet that you all had landed on was far from the watchful eyes of the Empire, but the threat of being hunted down as Jedi still lingered, necessitating caution in your movements.

As you both moved through the sea of sellers and stalls, You couldn't help but steal glances at Cal, admiring how handsome and mysterious he looked in his black cloak.

Cal too stole glances at You from beneath his hood, unable to contain his admiration. The way your eyes sparkled with curiosity as You took in the sights and sounds around You, the delicate curve of your smile as You marveled at the many stalls— it all filled him with a warmth that he couldn't quite explain.

His thoughts drifted to uncharted territory as he found himself yearning for more than just companionship with You. The urge to reach out and hold You close, to feel the warmth of your embrace and the softness of your touch, tugged at his heartstrings with an intensity he hadn't anticipated.

But the redhead knew better than to act on such impulses, especially in the midst of such a perilous situation. The threat of danger loomed overhead, reminding him of the risks involved in allowing his emotions to take control. And yet, despite the rational voice of caution in his mind, he couldn't shake the longing that stirred within him whenever he looked at You.

And as You turned to face him with a curious expression, he felt a rush of warmth fill his chest, the desire to protect and cherish You overwhelming any doubts or fears that lingered within him. In that moment, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the night market, Cal knew one thing for certain; he would do anything to keep You safe.

The redhead’s thoughts were interrupted when You suddenly rushed inside a bookstore with shelves full of interesting titles. Among them, a book on how to learn Binary stuck out, with a cover full of symbols and characters that attracted your interest.

"Hey, Cal, check this out!" You exclaimed, excitedly holding up the book after he caught up to You. "I've always wanted to learn Binary, especially now so I can understand Beebee better. What do you think?"

Cal glanced at the book, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I think that's a great idea," he replied, his voice warm with encouragement. "Learning Binary could definitely help you and Beedee communicate more effectively."

Turning to BD-1, who was perched on Cal's shoulder, You addressed the droid with a playful grin. "What do you think, Beebee? You think I can learn Binary? Then you and I can gossip like schoolgirls, won't that be fun?"

Cal chuckled at your remark, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I definitely think Beedee will have some juicy gossip to tell you," he quipped, eliciting a series of excited beeps from the droid. "But yeah, learning Binary sounds like a fantastic idea. Just promise me one thing: as long as you both don't gossip about me, I'm all for it."

You giggled in response before purchasing the book and tucking it safely into your robes. For some reason, You hadn’t thought to ask Cal for lessons, thinking You could learn on your own and not wanting to trouble him as he already had too much on his plate. But now, with the book in hand, You were eager to begin learning.

After weeks turned to months aboard the Mantis, You received communication from a distant friend from within the rebellion You worked for, presenting You with a difficult choice. The holographic image flickered to life from within your now fixed comms unit, revealing the face of a trusted ally, their voice filled with urgency and determination as they extended an invitation for You to return to the rebellion.

For a moment, You felt torn, the call to duty and the desire to make a difference in the Galaxy making You feel conflicted. The rebellion was your way of fighting for freedom and justice alongside allies who shared your ideals and convictions.

But as You glanced around the familiar surroundings of the Mantis, the faces of Cal and BD-1 staring back at You with concern and uncertainty, You realised that this ship had become more than just a travelling vessel—it was your sanctuary, your home.

Cal, ever perceptive to the turmoil raging within You, approached with a gentle hand resting on your shoulder, his eyes filled with understanding and empathy. “Whatever you decide, know that we’re here for you,” he said, his voice soft and reassuring. “You’re a part of this crew, a part of this family, and we’ll support you no matter what.”

With a heavy heart, You weighed your options, torn between the duty to your cause and the love for your newfound family.

In the end, You made your decision, lead on by your stubborn sense of duty to the cause. The call to serve the rebellion beckoned with an undeniable urgency. In a way, You and Cal were very similar, feeling like you both needed to keep fighting, unable to shake the sense of duty that weight heavily on both of you.

Cal accepted your decision with great reluctance, having half a mind to join You but he had his own duty to fulfill for Saw Gerrera’s rebellion.

When the moment of your departure drew closer, Cal and BD-1 stood beside You as You gathered your meagre belongings, their expressions a mirror of your own conflicted emotions, as You prepared to leave. The duo knew that your absence would leave a void aboard the Mantis that would be difficult to fill.

Cal, ever stoic and composed, held his emotions in check, offering You a reassuring smile as he bid You farewell. His words of encouragement and support echoed in your ears, reminding You that You were not alone in your decision, no matter how difficult it may be.

BD-1 on the other hand, unable to contain his emotions, wailed and cried, clinging to your legs desperately as You attempted to walk down the ramp of the Mantis and onto the planet. The little droid’s cries of distress tore at your heartstrings, filling You with a sense of guilt and anguish as You struggled to pull away.

“Beebee, it’s okay,” You whispered, calling him with that endearing nickname, your voice thick with emotions as You tried to soothe the distraught droid. “I’ll come back, I promise. We’ll see eachother again soon.”

But BD-1’s cries only grew louder, his little legs clinging to You in a desperate embrace, refusing to let go. Tears welled in your eyes as You looked into the droid’s photoreceptors, seeing the depth of his sorrow reflected back at You.

As he watched BD-1 cling to You with such desperation, witnessing the droid’s anguish and your distress, Cal felt a pang of sorrow and longing grip his heart as well. He slowly approached you both, gently reaching out to the droid. “’We shouldn’t be doing this’,” he murmured softly, his voice laced with sorrow as he pried BD-1 away from You. “We must respect others’ decisions…”

The redhead wanted nothing more than to embrace You, to hold You close and offer You comfort in this difficult moment. But he knew that if he allowed himself to give in to that temptation, he would break down completely. With a heavy heart, Cal settled for a handshake instead, his touch gentle yet firm as he bid You farewell. He knew that letting You go was the right thing to do, even if it tore him apart inside.

With a heavy heart, your touch lingered on Cal’s hand before You gave BD-1 one last reassuring pat before finally stepping away and descending down the ramp. And as You walked away, the echoes of BD-1's cries followed You, a haunting reminder of the sacrifice You had made in the name of duty.

As your silhouette faded into the horizon, Cal couldn’t shake the weight of grief that settled in his chest. Watching you leave, he couldn't help but reflect on the bond that had formed between You, him and BD-1, realizing how much he and the little droid had come to cherish You.

In the short time You had been aboard the Mantis, You had become like family to them. And now, just as they had grown accustomed to your presence, You were leaving them, all too soon, like so many others before You.

The thought of saying goodbye was nearly unbearable, a painful reminder of the transience of life and the fleeting nature of companionship in a Galaxy ripped apart by conflict and suffering. But even as the pain of loss threatened to overwhelm him, Cal knew that he couldn't hold You back, knowing all too well that your duty to the rebellion was a call You could not ignore.

As Cal returned inside the Mantis, a heaviness settled upon him, weighing down his spirit with the burden of your departure. Unable to muster the resolve to fly the ship just yet, he found himself sinking into melancholy, the empty space around him echoing with the absence of your presence.

Sitting in the cockpit, Cal held BD-1 close to him, the little droid providing what comfort it could with its mechanical chirps and beeps. But even as he clung to BD-1, a sense of loneliness overcame him, a stark reminder of the void left behind by your absence.

"BeeDee," Cal murmured softly, his voice tinged with sadness. "We... We both really did come to love our new friend, didn't we?"

"Boo-woo..." BD-1 beeped in response, his photoreceptors dimming with sorrow as he nestled closer to the redhead. In that moment, as they sat together in the silent cockpit, Cal sought solace in the presence of his loyal droid.

BD-1 then emitted a flurry of hurried beeps, crying out to Cal with urgency, telling—demanding him to bring You back right this instant. Cal felt a pang of sadness grip his heart as the desperation in BD-1's cries mirrored his own inner turmoil, reminding him of the depth of the bond that had formed between him and You.

"We shouldn't be doing something like this..." Cal repeated solemnly, shaking his head as he recalled his earlier words when BD had clung to You. "We can't force someone like that..."

His voice was heavy with resignation, a reflection of the harsh reality they faced. Despite their wishes and desires, they couldn't force You to stay, no matter how much they wanted to. The decision was yours alone to make, and they had to respect that, no matter how difficult it may be.

BD-1 emitted a series of mournful beeps in response, his sorrow palpable as he nestled closer to Cal, seeking solace in his presence. Together, they sat in the quiet confines of the cockpit, grappling with the emptiness left behind by your departure, silently hoping that You will return to them one day.

Meanwhile, as the evening turned into night, You found yourself immersed in the routine of life within the rebellion's base once more, but the memory of leaving your newfound family behind weighed heavily on your mind. Amidst the chatter and activity of your fellow rebels, a sense of longing gnawed at your heart, aching for the companionship and camaraderie You had experienced aboard the Mantis.

In the quiet solitude of your old quarters, You unpacked your belongings, the Binary language book You had purchased a few weeks earlier catching your eye. The sight of it brought back precious memories, reminding You of the laughter, the warmth, and the sense of belonging You had felt with Cal and BD-1. In that moment, You realised with a pang of regret how big of a mistake You had made in leaving them behind.

With resolution burning within You, You made a spur-of-the-moment decision to return to the Mantis, hoping against hope that it wasn't too late. Racing through the dimly lit corridors of the rebellion's base, your heart pounded with anticipation as You hurried towards the landing pad where the ship was stationed.

As You approached, the silhouette of the Mantis came into view, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. Relief washed over You as You realised despite the few hours that had passed since You had left, the ship was still there, almost as if waiting patiently for your return.

You ran up the ramp and inside the ship, your breath coming in ragged gasps as your gaze fell on the solemn figures of Cal and BD-1. For a brief moment, confusion flickered across their faces, but it quickly gave way to surprise and joy as they realised that You had returned.

BD-1 was the first to react, emitting a series of excited beeps as he rushed towards You. Tears welled up in your eyes as You knelt down to greet the little droid, wrapping your arms around his small frame in a tight embrace.

"I'm so sorry," You whispered tearfully. "I didn't mean to leave you. I didn't realise how much you both meant to me until I was gone."

BD-1 chirped softly in response, his photoreceptors gleaming with happiness as he nuzzled against You. Meanwhile, Cal approached slowly, his expression a mixture of relief and concern as he watched the emotional reunion unfold before him.

"Welcome back," he said softly, his voice tinged with emotion.

With BD-1 by your side as a reassuring presence, You rose from your embrace with the droid and turned to face Cal, the weight of your emotions spilling over as You threw your arms around him in a tight hug.

As You hugged Cal, your heart overflowing with emotion, he returned the embrace just as fervently, his strong arms enveloping You in a comforting hold.

"I'm so sorry, Cal," You whispered once more, your voice trembling. "I didn't mean to leave you both..."

Cal held You at arm's length, his gaze meeting yours with a mixture of relief and sincerity. "You mean a lot to us, you know," he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of his feelings. "We've come to rely on you, to count on you. And when you left..."

His voice trailed off, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. But before You could respond, BD-1 let out a series of joyful beeps, trotting over to nuzzle against You in his own display of affection.

The redhead grinned fondly at the droid before turning his attention back to You. "Beedee's right. You're not just a member of the crew," he continued, his words filled with warmth. "You're family. And we're just grateful to have you back where you belong."

Tears of gratitude flowed down your cheeks as You gazed at Cal, feeling the weight of his words sink in. In that moment, surrounded by the love and acceptance of your chosen family, You knew that You were exactly where You were meant to be.

Your adventures continued, roaming the Galaxy with Cal and BD-1. Despite using your book to teach yourself Binary and spending more time with BD-1, your grasp of the language remained shaky at best, leading to frequent misunderstandings with your droid friend that often led to comical yet occasionally embarrassing moments.

During one very tense mission on a remote planet, BD-1 emitted a series of urgent beeps, which You interpreted as a call for action. Without hesitation, You activated the nearest control panel, thinking You were helping to disable a security system. But your actions did the opposite instead, triggering a blaring alarm and alerting nearby guards.

Cal chuckled softly at your mistake, but his amusement turned to concern when You misinterpreted BD-1's attempts at giving directions using the help of his holomap. Confused by the droid's beeps, You accidentally led the way into a dead-end corridor, much to Cal's bemusement.

"Oh, wrong turn…" You mumbled sheepishly, earning a sympathetic pat on the back from Cal.

As the mission progressed, so did your series of misunderstandings. At one point, BD-1 signaled for a left turn, but You mistook it for a right, resulting on a wild goose chase through a maze of corridors. Cal laughed good-naturedly as You backtracked, feeling slightly embarrassed but grateful— and very surprised—for his immense patience.

Later, during a small respite from missions, BD-1 chirped happily and nudged You, prompting You to offer the droid a sandwich You had just made.

Cal chuckled again, gently correcting your mistake. "He's asking for a power recharge, not a snack," he explained, suppressing a grin.

Blushing, You quickly helped BD-1 into the charging station, feeling a bit silly but grateful for the opportunity to learn.

As you three continued your journey, your misunderstandings with BD-1 became both more frequent and more amusing. One memorable incident during a mission on a remote outpost, BD-1 quickly warned You about a slippery surface ahead. However, You misinterpreted the droid's chirps as encouragement for a fun slide.

With a playful grin, You ran and launched yourself onto the surface, expecting a thrilling ride. Instead, your feet flew out from under You, and You landed with a loud thud that sent a cloud of dust into the air.

Cal rushed over, concern etched on his face, but as he helped You up and noticed You were fine except a few scrapes, his expression softened into a grin.

"You really need to work on your Binary," he teased, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

Blushing furiously, You burst out into laughter along with him, grateful for his good humor and unwavering support.

One evening, as the three of you sat around a campfire beneath a blanket of stars, the flames casting flickering shadows across the campsite, You couldn't help but steal glances at Cal when he wasn't looking. His red hair, illuminated by the warm glow of the fire, appeared to shimmer like molten copper, framing his face in a halo of fiery strands.

His freckled cheeks, kissed by the suns of countless worlds, added a touch of youthful charm to his rugged features. And when he laughed, his eyes sparkled like twin galaxies, filled with a light that seemed to chase away the darkness.

But it wasn't just his appearance that captivated You—it was the effortless grace with which he moved, the strength and agility evident in every fluid motion. His muscular yet lithe physique reflected countless hours spent honing his skills, preparing for the challenges that lay ahead.

Lost in admiration, You found yourself drawn to him in ways You couldn't quite explain, feeling a sense of déjà vu during that moment as You admired him. And as You watched him tend to the fire, his movements sure and purposeful, You couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement in your chest.

While the flames danced and crackled, Cal couldn't help but steal a glance at You as well when he thought You weren't looking. He felt a surge of gratitude and relief to have You there with him, especially after the rest of the Mantis crew had split, each going their separate ways.

In those quiet moments by the campfire, Cal's thoughts drifted to the challenges you had faced together so far—the battles fought and the bonds forged in the crucible of adversity. And through it all, You had stood by his side, a constant companion whose presence filled him with a sense of hope and purpose.

He also admired your determination to learn binary, your willingness to laugh at your own mistakes, and the genuine warmth and affection You showed towards BD-1. In your company, he found a sense of peace and belonging, something he hadn't felt since the fall of the Jedi Order.

Lost in his thoughts, the redhead couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for You, grateful for your unwavering support and companionship. And as he watched You, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

Cal's gaze remained on You longer than usual, a hint of something more lingering in his eyes. As the crackling of the fire filled the silence, he reached out to gently brush a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze, You nodded, unable to tear your eyes away from his.

"I... I think so," You stuttered, your heart racing in your chest.

In that moment, the world around You seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in the soft glow of the campfire. Without another word, Cal leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a tender, hesitant kiss.

Time seemed to stand still as You melted into his embrace, the warmth of his touch sending sparks of electricity dancing across your skin. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the two of you, lost in the embrace of the night.

As You pulled away, breathless and flushed, Cal's eyes sparkled in their intensity, his calloused hand reaching out to intertwine with yours.

"I've been wanting to do that for a long time," he admitted, his voice filled with a mixture of longing and relief.

With a smile, You squeezed his hand, feeling a sense of peace settle over You. "Me too," You whispered, knowing that in that moment, You had found something worth fighting for amidst the chaos of the Galaxy.

As You and Cal continued to lovingly gaze into each other's eyes, soft little footsteps filled the air, accompanied by the joyous chirps of BD-1. However, in your post-kiss daze, You misinterpreted the droid's enthusiastic speech, thinking he was teasing You for being all googly-eyed over Cal.

"Beebee, not now," You whispered nervously, blushing furiously as You tried to compose yourself.

Cal laughed, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he gently nudged You. "I think BeeDee is just happy for us," he teased, his tone laced with affectionate amusement.

You shot him a sheepish grin, realising You mistook the little droid once again. "I guess I still have a lot to learn," You admitted.

Cal's teasing grin softened into a warm smile as he squeezed your hand. "Well, lucky for you, I'm an excellent teacher," he replied, his teasing tone hinting at something more than just language lessons.

You couldn't help but blush at the underlying implication of his words, a flutter of excitement dancing in your chest. You leaned in to kiss him once more and as the tender moment between You and Cal lingered, bathed in the soft glow of the campfire, BD-1’s lenses suddenly whirred to life, capturing the scene in a flash of light. Startled, You pulled away from the kiss, blinking in surprise as You turned to see the droid standing nearby, his photoreceptors zooming in and out as they focused on You and Cal with mechanical precision.

“BeeBee, what are you doing?” You asked, a mixture of amusement and curiosity apparent in your voice.

Cal chuckled softly, his arm still wrapped around You as he glanced at the small droid with a playful grin. “I think BeeDee wanted to capture the moment,” he explained, his eyes alight with amusement.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the unexpected gesture, feeling a rush of warmth fill your chest at the thought of having a memento of this special moment.

“Well, I guess we’ll have to thank BeeBee for the souvenir,” You replied, leaning into Cal’s embrace with a contented sigh, giggling when You heard the little droid let out an excited “Whoop!” in response.

You, Cal and BD-1 settled back into the quiet comfort of the night, the image captured by BD’s lenses served as a reminder of the bond You shared with the other Jedi—a bond formed from friendship and love.

As silence once again fell upon the campsite, You found yourself lost in a moment of quiet reflection. The memory of how Cal and BD-1 had found You, helping You escape from the stormtroopers, flooded your mind with a wave of gratitude. If it hadn't been for them, You might not be here, nestled in Cal's arms, sharing laughter and companionship under the starry sky.

With a sweet smile, You turned to Cal, the flickering flames casting shadows across his features. "You know," You began softly, "I often find myself thinking about that day when a Jedi and a droid came into my life. If it weren't for you, I don't know where I'd be now. Thank you, Cal, for everything."

Cal's gaze met yours, his expression tender and sincere. "You don't have to thank me," he replied gently. "I'm just grateful that we found each other. You've become a part of our family, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

His words warmed your heart, filling You with a sense of belonging that You had never known before. With a grateful nod, You leaned even further into his embrace, savoring the comfort and reassurance of his presence. In that moment, surrounded by the silence of the night, the warmth of Cal's love and the joyous chatter of BD-1, You knew that You were exactly where You were meant to be.

[sk3tch404]

Yandere Donnie Darko Hcs

A/n: I finally came around to watching Donnie Darko while I was styling my hair this morning. It was so good and omgg HIS CHARACTER!!! Love it 💜 What he voices in where he rebels against authority resonates with me in the most honest and straight up sense, it's crazy.

CW: Characterizing of psychosis without research (I am in no way claiming this is how individuals who suffer some psychosis or with schizophrenic symptoms act or feel like. This is simply a work of fiction and how I see Donnie's mental state affect the scenario), Donnie is actually very tame here except for his obvious criminal record and acts of violence, and YALL HES A MENTALLY ILL TEENAGE BOY so he's a lowkey soft okay. Y'all see him with Gretchen? So caring and passionate ugh, love him sm. <33 I try to write as close to canon as possible, but sometimes that leads to really soft yans and I kind of doubt my writing. Despite that. I like to think that not all yanderes need to be possessive killing machines in order to fit into the troupe. Everyone's got their own way of dealing with obsession, and so I think I did decently with this one lol.

Proof read a few times, so sorry for wordy/run on sentences and possible wonky grammar.

I feel like Donnie is very observant and patient with his darling. He's quite analytical for a teenage boy which leads him to take time to consider the variables that weigh within your possible relationship.

Donnie is still an awkward kid, so dont be surprised when you accidentally find him staring at you for a considerable period of time in class. In school, he doesn't approach you, seeing as the setting is already suffocating enough. He'd try to catch you after school or when you two have a little bit of privacy.

He's kinda shy and clumsy at first glance--- too talkative in his speech and self-aware of his minor fuck ups. Over time, he'll be more open to what he wants with you. Donnie might not really understand how to handle love and all of its complexities, but hell try really hard to make it work.

Yeah, y'all saw how fast he dived in for that kiss in the film?... Embarrassing, but it's true that he's quite excited to show his affection for you. He'll be "so chill with it," and he is to an extent--- not too clingy at all--- but when he's around he gives you guard dog privileges. Stays at your side and defends you from any brain rotting comments made from the guys around the neighborhood. Donnie isn't much of a fighter, but he's damn well capable of planning and executing a crime if it calls for it. One count of arson, another unaccounted for, severe property damage, and murder? Don't doubt it for one second that he won't consider further acts in the future to come.

His psychosis affects him directly when it comes to you--- as it also does with most things. He already feels so shitty with how things are going in his life, Frank voicing the many thoughts he has about you day to day stresses him further. Sometimes Donnie is scared Frank will convince him to hurt you as the countdown progresses. Despite that fear, he can't keep away from you.

This distress causes Donnie to rebel more often. As he spirals down the rabbit hole Frank keeps digging for him, the anxiety that follows with what will happen to you once the world ends lingers late at night in his bed.

Donnie's main love language is quality time. He walks with you from school and chills with you pretty much wherever. He's pretty book-smart, so he'll pitch in with your projects and homework assignments. His parents don't really seem like they care what he does most of the time, so if he's given the chance, he'll crash at your place for a few before they think he's off sleepwalking or some shit.

Donnie already knows he's slipping off the rails, placebo medication or not, Frank stays to stir the pot. He's almost scared, scared to death that you'll think he's an insane lunatic and he'll scare you off. But at the same time, why be scared if it's the truth? He has evidence, the book, and his own visions. That anxiety doesn't go away when he rambles on about the six-foot-tall bunny rabbit and how that thing has led him to the method of time travel.

You're just left there dumb founded as he stares on at you with that deadpanned look. Too late to back out now. World's ending and you don't got a boyfriend. Well, you got Donnie... and Frank's there too sometimes, but either way, you're all each other's got. You don't want to be alone do you? Donnie knows he doesn't.

He trusts you more than anyone else. Yeah he's on meds, and sure he's loony, but everyone knows that already; not that they seemed to care too much anyway. He feels like he can just exist with you around. All that pent up frustration with the looming guilt of his actions festering inside can be washed out like waves on a cold shore. Of course, it's not a cure-all, but it's damn nice compared to the bone headed friends he got and the tense dinner table back at home.

He has scratch paper in his drawers that are just filled with messy sketches of you. Not sure if he'd be the type to use sketchbooks, but he is pretty organized in his own room. Donnie just finds you so easy and beautiful to draw. Art block has nothing on this boy. He hates it when his sisters barge into his room and see any unfinished piece of you lying around. They tease him so bad about it, he wishes they'd just leave him alone.

"Ooo, is this the girl you're always wasting your time with?"

"No, gimme it. It's none of your business, and get out of my room."

"Geez, fine. Not like that's the freakiest thing you got in here anyway."

Donnie wouldn't be the extreme stalking type, but if he caught a glance of you, he wouldn't be able to look away. He'd also take into account what your daily patterns are as well as your likes and dislikes. He notices your little habits like if you constantly apply too much pressure to your mechanical pencil, making your lead break. He's always have had a passive opinion on the school uniform, but you made it look good, great even. Donnie likes it even more seeing you in street wear. He takes note on your style and even thinks of taking some inspiration from it to feel closer to you.

He's sensitive in places a teenager would be in most. He's irritable and closed off much of the time, even to you if it gets bad enough. Of course, it's not your fault usually. It only makes sense to be defensive in the case of anything he may perceive as a threat, even if that means any possibility of you breaking his heart.

Donnie may be a bit shy in his advances, but what he isn't is hesitant. He's quite bold in his thoughts and feelings. While he is afraid of your judgement in particular, he doesn't mind doing many things in front of you. Your collar is crooked, so let him just fix it up real quick. Talk about something that's got him thinking? He's letting his thoughts pour out like it's happy hour. He sees no issue in doing what he wants to, so if you're feeling unsure or nervous about something, he'll be the one to do it for you. Not many questions asked unless it's got his serious attention.

Kisses are passionate and deep. (Tbh when I first watched the movie I was like, "DAMN dont eat her face- shit.") I dont know if Donnie has had previous experience or not, but he's definitely got the enthusiasm. He tries to match your rhythm if you seem to have trouble following. Not too much tongue, but best believe he's devouring your lips like it's the last 6 hours in the universe. His hands are roaming around your body, feeling the dips and curves so cautiously because Jesus, you're just rocking his fucking world. If you tell him to slow down, he will. Donnie never wants to force you to do anything you wouldn't want to.

Words of affirmation aren't really a thing for him. If he says something to you, it was probably on his mind anyway. If you say "I love you" to him, he'd be almost stunned but wouldn't have a problem reciprocating that energy. He just felt like that connection between you two was already clear enough. No need to say it so directly. Although, it's nice. He really loves and cares for you. Would take a bullet for you--- cross his heart till he dies, all that sappy shit.

If you reject him, let's just say Frank and Donnie will be speaking more often. It pushes him off the edge. Frank isn't in Donnie's head just to do evil shit, but it's not like his presence doesn't perpetuate Donnie's behavior further. He wouldn't go on a killing spree or anything excessively violent like that. He'd be hyper-focused on the time travel aspect of his situation and become more forceful in his methods. He'd demand answers to make sense of all of it. To cope with the fact you didn't want him like how he needed you. Why didn't you like him enough? What didn't he do? Actually, what did he do? His mind feels like its on the brink of breaking as he tries to rationalize all the negativity in his life. He's already done too much, his world feels like it's collapsing in on itself before the actual day could even come. You were a majority of that world, and now it's just broken.

Donnie is so distraught and confused about his adolescent experiences, he almost doesn't know what to do. The only thing to do from then on is to focus on the countdown. Time travel, and how to fix it all. Otherwise, not only would he be left alone, but you would be too. Donnie wouldn't want that for you, not ever. Even with all the pain and frustration stowed away inside his still beating heart, he would never wish to hurt you; one of the only people on Earth who didn't suck so much as everyone else did.

[inexplicifics]

Oh my gosh, inex! and i thought *MY* Wip list was long! Just what you posted was 46 wips!!!! i think I'm at about half that for *active* Wips (and i lost count of stuff i had ideas for and filed away and never got back to). (one of these days, my muse will return in more than intermittent bursts)

Anyway, a while back, I had started my first Valdemar fic, got sidetracked for whatever reason (probably that muse taking off again), set it aside and then because of you, i managed to get my inspiration back and finished it up! Which caused 2 sequel ideas to bloom (we'll see how they go) as well as a complete separate crossover idea.

So i think you can see where I'm going with this - Vanyel's always been a favorite of mine in that world and so I'm interested in your Vanyel fic :D (heck, I actually reread what you had so far recently!) Not sure you've had time to poke at it recently, but if you have, I'm definitely keen on it.

-Pherryt, because apparently you can switch blogs for replies but not for asks.

Yeah, I have Wordy Bitch Disease pretty badly, and an unfortunate habit of getting new ideas pretty much daily. It's a problem.

Valdemar was a childhood formative influence, and frankly Vanyel needs some fix-its, so if I can dump the poor traumatized bastard into Kaer Morhen with slightly less trauma than canon, it seems like a good thing to do!

Here's a bit I wrote relatively recently:

Vanyel lifts a hand in a tentative wave. The wiedzmin feel muted but definitely cheerful against his Empathy; they both wave back, and reach the steps in a very short time, dropping down to hunker on their heels a polite distance away. Axel says, “Hello!” - In Valdemaran. “You speak our tongue!” Tylendel blurts, excitement flaring up through their bond. Axel shakes his head. “Hello, goodbye, yes, no, Companion, Herald, food, ale, privy,” he rattles off. Vanyel laughs. Those are the most important words to start with, he supposes. Cedric smirks and adds, very smugly, “Fuck.” Tylendel falls over into Vanyel’s lap, laughing too hard to even make a sound.

[infamous-if]

.2

I know, I know. It took 2 months to write the second drabble from the poll but...this is not even a drabble anymore. Instead, it's more of a collection of scenes mostly because if I do write how Orion found and began managing the band it would be an entire chapter. I will say that I condensed this due to that, but if I ever do write the whole thing it might look a *little* different. I had to cut corners and shorten scenes for the sake of length. Still, hope you like it! (This is 4, 363 words btw. what is wrong with me) I should probably find a more efficient way to share such long works but whatevs. As always, ignore any mistakes or typos or wordy sentences or sentences that probably make no sense upon reading it a second time. I don't edit drabbles and I always just publish the first drafts. haha.

“…Love me and hate me, I don’t mind as long as you take me—”

A low grumble rises in Orion’s throat when the song pauses, the car falling into an unfamiliar silence just as it slows in front of a red light. His large hands tighten their grip on the wheel, and his eyes glide to his co-worker, Marty, just as he’s pulling his hand away from the PAUSE button on the console. 

“Is there a reason you’re touching my stuff?” Orion asks, his voice carrying its usual calm that holds a level of ice that has even his superiors shuddering when they think he’s not looking. 

Marty licks his lips, his face twisting into its usual expression of guilt. Orion softens his face for his friend’s sake.

Orion Quinn knows the impact he has on people. The rumors that plague him have reached his ears on multiple occasions; he’s a shell of what he once was, never having gotten over the one who got away. He’s detached, the merciless worker that the boss goes to when he’s in need of someone who can do the firing.

 He’s the one people are afraid of crossing or talking casually to in fear of letting something slip. People fear him more than they fear the execs. 

It wasn’t always like this, sure. Once, Orion used to smile freely, used to talk openly and wear vulnerability like a favorite coat. But then the divorce happened and sides were taken. Suddenly, the armor he didn’t know he had was reinforced, dented and bruised from a battle he didn’t expect to fight, but reinforced nonetheless. 

Never date your co-workers. 

“The song is terrible, man.” Marty sighs, running a hand through his oily brown hair when he plops back in the seat. The same seat he pushed back at a 120-degree angle. Admittedly, it makes Orion’s nerves flare up. He says nothing;  he has enough self-awareness to know that complaining about his seat is a bit too much, even for him. “I was doing both our ears a favor.”

The light changes and Orion absently drums his fingers on the wheel as he drives on ahead, eyes gliding outside to soak in the densely populated street underneath the rising sun. “Yeah.” The word comes out in a resigned breath. “I was hoping it’d get better.” 

“We were on the bridge,” Marty throws back. “The only way it could get better is if it ended.” Orion’s lip twitches and of course, Marty can’t let it go. ”Oh! That was an almost-smile.” He leans forward to poke Orion’s rib. 

Orion lets out a laugh before his face quickly drops.

Marty grins, plopping his elbow on the ledge of the car door. “All I’m saying is you’ve been listening to demos nonstop this whole month. Not once have I seen you even mildly excited for any of them.”

Orion grits his teeth. “I haven’t had anything substantial to show the team in ages. Our last artist pulled out on signing with us last minute. Our established artists aren’t selling as well anymore. The industry is getting oversaturated—“

“—and we need to be ahead of the curve. Yadda, yadda.” Marty rolls his eyes. “Do you ever just relax? Damn. That stick up your ass is ten-feet lon—“

Marty chokes on his words when Orion’s eyes cut to his. “Say anything else and I’m kicking you out of my car.” 

Marty pouts but relents anyway, choosing to change the subject. “What about dating?”

Orion keeps his eyes on the road but quirks a brow. “What about it?”

“You know…” Marty starts, gesticulating vaguely as he searches for the right words. “Maybe putting yourself out there could help you relax. Or even inspire you—“ 

“No.”

“What? Okay, but—"

“Not interested.”

“You didn’t even know what I was going to sa—“

“Don’t have to.” 

Marty huffs and says nothing for a long moment. Neither of them rush to fill the silence; normal for Orion but unusual for his infinitely more talkative friend. It’s only when he pulls into Carolina Records’ parking lot that Marty speaks again and Orion realizes his silence was really just contemplation.

“I know the divorce was difficult,” he starts, delicate, “but—“

Orion’s jaw clenches.

“— that doesn’t mean you should give up.”

Orion sits there a moment, fingers clenching into fists. “It’s not giving up if I never tried in the first place.” He swings open the door and steps out, the car door slamming with a hint of finality.

. . .

Carolina Records boasts a twenty-floor skyscraper made up of floor-to-ceiling glass windows and sleek, dark marble floor. Orion has been here since he graduated college; going from a measly intern to an A&R representative responsible for finding two of the most promising artists in the company. 

That was a year ago. Since then, the well of new talent has dried up and Orion doesn’t know what to do.

Of course, he was offered higher positions, all of which he quickly denied. Orion always had a knack for numbers and trends, discovering what new genre is going to come to the forefront, seeing what kind of music the general public is listening to. Music: he understands it better than people. His understanding is almost clinical: while people listen to it for enjoyment, Orion seeks the patterns, the feelings that every beat and scale and vocal run they invoke. He takes it apart and puts it together like a surgeon does a patient. It just makes sense to him. 

He could do so much more, he knows that, but none of that interests him.

The music—that’s what he likes. 

Discovering new talent is what excites him. Which is why this odd dry spell has him walking with gritted teeth and tension between his shoulders-blades. He has to do something.

“Mr. Quinn.” 

Orion nods at a woman who passes by the hallway, ignoring the way Marty does a whole spin when he tracks her retreating frame down the hall.

Another one. This time a man from the marketing department. “Good Morning, Mr. Quinn.” 

“Morning.”

Marty scoffs when the man continues walking, not sparing him a glance. 

“Am I chopped liver or something?” Marty complains.

“Mr. Quinn, hey!”

“Hi.” Orion nods his head once and presses the elevator button. When his eyes land on a frowning Marty he says, “You’re just not sociable.”

“Huh?!” Marty then lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched sputter of a laugh. “And you are?”

Orion frowns. “Yes.”

Another laugh. “You’re smart, dude, you know it’s more because of that”— he gestures vaguely at him—“than your social skills.”

The elevator doors open with a cheerful bell and they step inside. “What?”

“You know.” Marty shrugs. “Your face. You look like you should be on a billboard advertising overpriced cologne with your shirt unbuttoned and your hand in your hair talking about your luxurious life or something.”

“That’s…specific.”

Marty shrugs. “I read a lot of GQ.” 

Orion wrinkles his nose when they spin to face the doors. “While it is true I would be considered objectively handsome by societal standards—“

“Oh, fuck off.”

“—I don’t think that’s the case.” This time Orion lets out a small smile. “Or maybe it is?” He quirks a brow at his co-worker. “Should I send a gift basket to my parents? A ‘thank-you-for-the-superior-DNA gift?’”

Marty shakes his head.  “You know, when you do try to be funny you still sound like an asshole.”

Orion hums, the joke tickling him enough for him to let out his first smile of the day. 

The elevator doors sing their arrival and they bid farewell once they part to go to their respective offices. Orion strides to his corner office where another one of his co-workers, Kass, is standing with a box in her hands.

“This week’s demos.” Orion is just putting his arms out when she plops the boxes on them. “You should really stop requesting unsolicited demos. It’s such an outdated way of doing things.”

Orion ignores her and unlocks his office door, turning the knob and pushing it open with his hip. His office is barren but spacious, with high windows overlooking the city. Marty told him once that people would kill to have his office, but really it’s just like any other space. What’s an office without a productive person to work in it? Orion hasn’t done anything of meaning in weeks.

Sighing, he drops the box on the table unceremoniously, picking up the first CD on the top of the pile. GROUNDED IN REALITY reads the title, and it’s so apt that he almost chucks the CD in the trash on that very fact alone. Still, he’s nothing if not fair. Another sigh escapes him and he gets to listening. 

. . .

Helpless.

That’s how he feels.

After hours of listening, the music has long since blurred together in a portrait of uninspired melodies and generic, radio-friendly lyrics. Nothing stood out, nothing made him want to dig into the song in search for more, nothing made him feel.

Is it me? Am I the problem?

Jaw clenched, Orion fishes out his phone, the usual flinch coming to him when he sees the background. He forgot to change it, and it’s always an (unwanted) surprise whenever he sees a picture of them together. 

One year ago. The beach. Happy.

Shaking his head, he sends a quick text to his mother telling her that he’ll have to raincheck on their dinner. He still has half a box of songs left. Looks like he’ll be staying late.

“Yo, Orion!” A knock. “Let’s go! I want to driiink.”

Or not.

Marty strides in without waiting for an invitation, a grin on his face. “Tab is on me.”

“Do you ever work?” Orion asks, eyes half-lidded in equal parts annoyance and indifference. 

His friend frowns. “This is work.”

“I don’t think getting drunk is in the job description.” Orion looks down, absently clicking on the button of his mouse in an effort to busy his hands. 

“Wah, wah. Don’t be a fucking party pooper.”

 “Too late.”

Marty shoots him a look. “A few artists are playing tonight. Call this recruitment.” He uses spirit fingers. “Maybe you’ll even loosen up for once.” When Orion looks at him, a brow raised, Marty drops his hands. “Yes, I do my job sometimes. Don’t look so surprised.”

“It’s not that,” Orion starts. He doesn’t immediately continue. Instead, they simply stare at each other. Marty wiggles his brows as Orion narrows his gaze. “When you say the tab is on you—“

Marty whips out a black card. “Company card, baby!”

Orion palms his face with a long groan as Marty begins to moonwalk across Orion’s office. “I was perfectly fine staying inside.” Even though he says this, a moment later he stands and grabs his trenchcoat from the back of the chair. “And you’re driving.”

“What!” Marty stomps his foot as he follows him out. “Nooooo.” 

. . .

The bar sits in a livelier part of the city, a part that Orion doesn’t often find himself in. It’s less about the scene and more about the memories associated with every damn corner of this place. Orion can pluck a memory from his mind like a petal from a rose garden: the diner they went to and fought for fifteen minutes over who would get to pay the bill, the park they spent their lunches at.

The shop where he bought the ring.

“This place is golden,” Marty says, breaking Orion out of the string of memories he wishes he could erase forever, “it’s like a real gritty, underground hole-in-the-wall vibe.”

“Sounds like fun,” comes out of Orion in a dour tone that has Marty rolling his eyes. 

They stride through the neon glow of the brick hall until it opens up to a dimly lit bar. The space is humble; the sparse crowd is compensated by the energy of the performers on the stage. 

“Stacy, do you remember when I mowed your lawn…?”

“Is the band really covering Fountains of Wayne?” Orion says through gritted teeth.

Marty bites his lower lip, his obvious attempt to stifle laughter only making Orion’s faux horror flare even more. “Maybe.” Marty spins around, shimmying his shoulder. “You don’t agree that Stacy’s Mom Has Got It Going on?” Marty then realizes something and laughs. “You know, I dated a Stacy once. Weirdly enough, her mom wasn’t that bad looking—“

Orion sighs and quickly moves to the bar. “I need a drink.”

Whatever hope Orion had of finding new talent is gone in the face of the line-up. It quickly becomes obvious that the performers are composed of people who aren’t taking the ‘gig’ seriously or patrons that are half-drunk and stumbling on the small stage.

Worse that the place is pathetically empty; it’s only them two and three other stragglers eating stale fries and bobbing their heads to the music, more out of obligatory politeness than anything else. Orion is suddenly regretting taking Marty up on his offer. 

Orion drinks his lager through periodic gulps, his desire to forget this night growing with every person that performs. The memories of this area coupled with his lack of work lately make him dizzy. He wants to escape. Quit. Scream. All of it.

“Get me another,” Orion says, much to Marty’s delight.

More and more people perform until Orion has lost any focus on the stage. Instead, he entertains himself by watching the game on the TV, having long given up on finding any new promising talent in a place like this. 

“Next up we have”—the bartender stops, her eyes narrowing as she tries to read something off an index card—“er, [band]. Yeah. Give them a round of applause.”

With how few people are in attendance, the applause is less applause and more awkward clapping that quickly dies after two. 

The people on stage are younger. Immediately, Orion notices that they’re equipped with actual instruments instead of relying on the karaoke machine in the corner. A decisive point in their favor, he decides.

“You said this was a gig…” He hears one of them say to what appears to be the lead singer. The boy wears a red hat, as well as an assortment of chains on his neck. Three other band members set up their instruments, trying not to look too disappointed by the turnout. Still, even with the lager creating a slight fog in his head, Orion knows that look. The moment when hope dies, burning like a napkin to a flame.

“No,” the lead singer says pointedly as they adjust their mic, “I said this was a favor.” In that moment, the singer nods their head at the bartender, who shoots them an appreciative thumbs-up. “A paid favor.”

The boy shakes his head but snorts. “I guess.” 

Once they’re set up, the singer looks ahead, gazing at the bar. Their eyes briefly settle on Orion as they gaze at the few faces in the room. “Hey!” they say, chirpy. “We’re [band]. Thanks for coming out!”

A chorus of muttering replies.

Marty taps on the bar. “Wanna head out?”

Orion, unable to look away, shakes his head. “No. I want to see this.”

The next few minutes feel like a dream. Orion is in a daze as the song plays, the beats piercing through him. The voice sends goosebumps up his arms, the instruments weave together in a perfect harmony that has Orion’s heart racing. When the song ends, it’s too soon. He wants it to keep going. He doesn’t want it to end. 

He wants more.

“Thanks!” The singer says to a smattering of slightly enthusiastic applause. This is the most energy everyone has had all night. They turn, grab their things, and disappear through the curtain. Orion bursts up….

…spilling his drink on the table.

“Oh!” the bartender squeaks as Marty hisses.

“Aw, fuck.” Orion curses, and then flinches. “Sorry. Uh….sorry.” He doesn’t know what his apology is for. Dropping the drink, cussing, or speeding away before he could help clean it up in order to catch the band backstage?

“Hey!” Marty calls. “Where are you going?”

Orion ignores him. He has a one-track mind right now, one focused on finding the band that just made him feel like he hit the jackpot. This. This is what he’s been looking for. 

The door swings open, and the band stop mid-conversation to look at Orion, who busted through the door without so much as a plan or script in place. Instead, he simply stands there. 

“Uh.” One girl, flaunting bright blue hair, says. “Yeah?”

Orion reveals his card, feeling a bit like a robot. He moves on automatic, working through the many thoughts in his head to utter the rest of his words. “Do you have a manager?”

. . . 

“You want to manage us?”

The din of the coffee shop sings with the sound of plates and aimless chatter. It’s been two days since he heard them perform back at the bar, and Orion has been running through his pitch the way one does before an interview. He’s never been this…nervous? Uncertain? In his life. 

“Yes,” is Orion’s only response. He sits on one side of the table while the band sits on the other; an invisible wall between them. He can see it, their apprehension. He is not one of them. 

Not yet, at least. 

“Wait.” The boy Orion learned is named Rowan leans forward, fingers on the table. “How do we know this isn’t a scam?”

“I’m not asking for money. All I ask is for you to show up to play for my boss. That’s it.” Auditions are a lost art. Nowadays artists are recruited through viral internet songs and connections. Two things that always exhausted Orion. It hasn’t been just about the music in a long time. 

Their eyes widen. They all exchange looks, equal parts excited and wary. 

“Why?” [MC], who he learned is the sole singer of the band, asks.

Because you made me feel something. Because listening to you is the first time I felt human in a long time.

He imagines himself waving off those words like mist. “Because you’re the first band that has caught my attention. And it’s not easy to catch my attention.”

The band member named Iris snorts. 

“I’m not trying to be arrogant,” he says blandly, leaning back in his chair to fold his arms over his chest. “It’s the truth.”

“Where do you work?” Another member, Devyn, asks. 

“Carolina Records.”

Multiple pairs of eyes widen.

“Holy shit.” Jazzy laughs. “The Carolina Records?”

Orion nods, used to this kind of reaction. Starry-eyed artists are pretty much the same when it comes to Carolina. “Yes.” He leans forward, his heart racing. “Just one audition. That’s all I ask.” 

He watches as they all exchange looks; a silent language only they share. After an agonizing moment, [MC] turns to him and nods. “When?”

. . . . 

Orion has been pacing for the last half hour.

He stands outside Carolina’s humble theater space, chewing on his nails as he waits for his boss, Jacob Hill, and a smattering of other executives and shareholders that will be the final word in whether Orion can work with [band]. He hasn’t asked for something this big in so long that Jacob Hill immediately said yes, more out of excitement and surprise than anything else. Orion did produce two of their most profitable artists in the company. 

The elevator doors open and Orion stops in place, head whipping up to see them walking through the hall in a wave of black suits and greased hair. Orion brushes down his shirt, trying to dampen his nerves. Jesus. Nerves? Get a grip, Orion. 

He doesn’t know how to stand as he waits for them to approach. Hands in pockets? Arms crossed? Orion is so indecisive he just resorts to standing straight, arms at his sides. 

“Mr. Hill.” Orion shakes his hand, clearing his throat. He makes his polite greetings to the rest of the team and says, “Thank you for making time for me.”

“Always, Orion.” Jacob slaps a large hand on his back. “You’re one of my best. You should ask me for favors more.”

Orion lets out a small, slightly nervous laugh. “Ah, you know. I like to—“

“—do things on your own,” Jacob finishes, a soft smile on his face. “I get it.”

He slowly looks up, meeting Jacob’s eyes. In them he can see the familiar pity he’s gotten since the divorce. 

It’s Orion’s fault, really. If he didn’t isolate himself and turn into what he is now, people wouldn’t look at him and assume he’s broken inside.

Would they be wrong in their assumption, though? Am I broken inside?

“Shall we?” another executive says, and Orion bobs his head in a nod, pushing away the image of Jacob’s face.

Inside is a small theater, the stage just big enough for one artist. The seats are plush leather, the lights dim but blue. Jacob always likes the spectacle, and he catered this space to feel like a real performance for possible signees. Orion decides against sitting, too nervous to do anything but stand in the back, giving them the signal he taught them in his pep talk before they came.

[MC] nods. “Um. Hi. We’re [band]. I’m [MC] and this is Iris, Rowan, Devyn, and Jazzy. And um…this is [song].”

Orion flinches at the lackluster introduction. Doesn’t matter, he thinks, unfamiliarly optimistic, the music will do the talking.

And it does.

But not in the way he thought.

All throughout the song, Orion peeks at Jacob and his team. He wants to celebrate when he sees them bobbing their heads, wants to curse when they get on their phones. Orion has never worried this much in his whole career. He’s never wanted something so bad. 

He’s never allowed himself to want. Not after the divorce. 

He didn’t think he was deserving of getting what he wanted. 

The song ends, and Orion lets out a breath. There’s muffled chatter between the men, and on stage the band crowd together, hopping in place as they let out their remaining nerves. 

Jacob stands, the rest following. Orion speeds ahead, wanting to see the thoughts on his face. Instead, Jacob simply regards him with thin lips.

“They were…good,” Jacob whispers, putting a hand on Orion’s shoulder and guiding him out of the room and to the empty hall, “but I think we’re going to go in another direction.”

Orion’s positivity leaks out of him like an open faucet. “What.”

Jacob inhales through his nose. “Look, the singer is talented. They all are. I understand why you like them but…” He shakes his head. “I don’t think the guys see it. And plus,” he shrugs, “they don’t have what we’re looking for.”

Orion’s brows furrow. His stomach drops in itself and his mouth dries. “They have another song. They could play it—“

“Orion.” Jacob gives him that pitying expression again. Fucking hell. He wants to smack that expression off his face. “I know you’ve been…off, since the divorce. You haven’t been on top of your game, and I’ve been giving you your space. It’s not easy, especially since you worked together—“

“I’m fine,” he says tightly.

“—but you can’t…fixate on something to get over it. You need to do it the healthy way. The old Orion would’ve brought me someone with pizzazz. With that unique Orion touch, you know?” Jacob pulls him close. Orion is reduced to a scolded child, unable to do anything but listen. “This isn’t the Orion I know. You usually bring me diamonds.” 

“I—“ Orion swallows. “I’m trying.” And it’s the most honest thing he’s said in ages. He’s trying. And it’s not working. He’s been trying the day he signed that fucking divorce paper and signed the only life he’s known away. 

“I know you are,” Jacob says, squeezing his shoulder. “Sometimes we miss, and that’s alright.”

The rest of the group filter out and both Jacob and Orion step back, trying to hide any sign of their tense conversation. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Orion nods slowly, the lump in his throat growing as he feels multiple eyes on him. His jaw is clenched, his eyes are downturned. He can hardly look at his boss.

He stands there, frozen, forced to listen to their careless chatter as they walk down the hall. The moment they stepped out of those doors, they forgot about the band. The same band that made him feel something, the first time since his divorce. The same band he can’t get out of his head. The same band that proved he is not broken. He can still feel.

And they don’t even fucking care.

“I quit,” Orion says, the words coming out of him before he could even think. Jacob and Co turn around, twin expressions of shock on their faces. Orion looks up, straightening, trying to look even an inch of the Old Him.

“What?” Jacob blurts. 

“I quit.” Orion swallows. “I’ll formally hand in my resignation tomorrow.” He bows, trying to muster up the little respect and professionalism he has in him. “I’m sorry.”

“Orion—“

He spins around, walking back inside. 

The band is still on stage, this time all packed up and ready to go. When the door closes, they all look up, their hopeful and wide eyes on Orion as he walks down to the stage.

He stops in front of it. He puts two palms on the stage, looking at the members of the band he will take to the top. He promised it to himself…two minutes ago.

“I’m going to ask again,” Orion says through his teeth, his heart racing with the adrenaline of his quitting. What the fuck is he doing? And why does it feel so good? “Do you still need a manager?”

When he looks up, the band stares at him in silence.  

He witnesses [MC] look behind him at the door, where Jacob and his team left. As if realizing something, they look back down. “Yeah. You okay with another artist in your roster?”

“Yes.” Orion nods. He’s okay with it. 

Because all he needs is one. 

[honeysuckleharringtons]

any chance you could do Counselors' Lounge for steve please? 🫶🏼💫

hi, love!! i am so so sorry this took so long to get out, work stuff happened and mental health stuff happened but i hope this was worth the wait! it's also not technically workplace but they are working at a summer camp, but if you wanted something else, feel free to leave another ask and i write a new one hehe 🫶🏻💛

"Take Me To The Lake" ~ S. Harrington

Summary: In which Steve's last summer at his childhood summer camp becomes his favorite summer ever.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,048 (she got a lil wordy oops)

Content Warning: reader and steve are implied to be around 18/19, sexual humor and fade to black smut bc steve is a hoe, light mentions of food, mostly fluff but a lil angsty at times, possibly bad descriptions of volleyball bc it's been a minute since i played, reader from ohio lol, lmk if i missed anything!

Extra Notes: yeah i did name it after a taylor lyric, what about it??

Originally Written: 07/07/2024 through 0718/2024

Beta Read By: @writer-in-theory 🫶🏻❤️

masterlist | summer celebration

“You're going down!” Steve shouted from his side of the sandy volleyball court, hands on his hips to further prove his point.

You simply shook your head. “You wish, pretty boy!” It looked a whole lot like he mouthed something to the effect of ‘Yeah, I do,’ but a children's summer camp wasn't exactly the place to unpack that.

Camp Clearwater was probably your favorite place on Earth, and it was the one place on Earth where you were guaranteed a month of wonderful bliss with your favorite person ever. To say it was your favorite month of all twelve in a year was probably a little biased, but when you were getting to see the one person on the planet you adored more than anyone else, it was hard not to pick favorites.

Steve Harrington had started out just like any other camper in your eyes: for one, your rival, considering you were never on the same team at camp due to gender differences; not to mention, he was someone you only saw that one time of year. But, thanks to raging hormones at the wonderful age of thirteen, a chance game of “spin the bottle” after dark had brought the two of you together and you'd been inseparable ever since. Sure, you were pretty much only guaranteed the month of July together, but after that fateful first kiss, you called each other every night and all but forced your parents to drive you to the other's city every now and again for a date or two.

“Alright, when the whistle blows, the Ladybugs will serve,” the announcer practically yelled through the bullhorn. Your bones rattled with the volume of her shout, but it only added to the excitement coursing through you.

The whistle blew, the ball went up, and Kimmy smacked it right into the back corner of the court. Was it cheating for you to pick your two best players for the championship set? Maybe, but with Kimmy's precise serves and Megan's ability to keep the ball in the air no matter how many times she had to dive or slide, it would feel wrong for anyone else to be on that court.

The girls met in the middle of the court for a high five, clearly proud of the serve. Cheering them on from the sidelines, you yelled, “Good job with the ace, girls!”

The ball went up again, this time a lighter serve that barely made it over the net, taking out the setter of Steve's team. Still, they managed to keep the ball up, even with the weaker of their players being the one to spike the ball back over to your side of the court. It went back and forth a few times, eventually ending when Kimmy's block went out of bounds.

Steve had definitely brought his A Game when training the two boys on his team, seeing as most of the round, both your team and his were neck and neck on points. Before you knew it, the score was twenty-three to twenty-three, and either team needed only two more points to win.

In hindsight, maybe it wasn't the best decision to coach against your boyfriend. Sure, healthy competition was always a good thing in relationships, but it was Steve's last year as a counselor, and you'd hate for him to walk away sad. Although, from the crease forming between his brows, you could tell that he was more stressed than anything right now.

“Come on, guys, you got this!” he shouted from his side of the court, hands clapping loudly in excitement. You couldn't resist doing the same, turning to your own team and cheering them on.

The next point went to the Ladybugs when Megan surprised them with a tip that fell right over the net, giving the guys' team basically no time to bounce back. You were one point away, and the thought of winning the championship—even if it was only just at some summer camp—made your heart rattle inside your rib cage.

Then, the Beetles took the next point with a shocking service ace, keeping their team and the game alive.

Two more points and again, it was anyone's game. Your heart pounded and your hands shook at the exhilaration and thrill that this game was giving you.

The ball went back and forth, back and forth, until you'd forgotten you were a coach, not a spectator. You were just as entranced by the ball as the parents watching from the bleachers were, and you didn't even realize what had happened until all the girls on your team came flooding over to you, all squeals and cheers.

“We did it!” one girl, Britt, screamed as she jumped up and down. Another squealed, apparently incapable of forming words. Megan and Kimmy were all smiles as they did the handshake all the girls in your cabin had started doing toward the beginning of the month.

You couldn't help but be proud of your girls, not just Kimmy and Megan, but each of the girls on your team that had fought for this year's trophy. In a sense, it was your last trophy, since you'd now graduated high school and wouldn't be playing in college. Though, you definitely were coming back to Camp Clearwater every summer you could.

After your celebratory dinner in the dining hall and the most bittersweet of goodbyes as you sent all your new friends back home to their parents, you couldn't help but search for your ‘rival’ coach to see how he was handling things.

You found him back in his cabin, alone since all the campers had already been sent home. Walls that were usually filled with posters of baseball players and favorite movies were now bare, beds that normally housed pre-teens were now vacant, and the boy who usually wore a smile was now sporting a frown, one that displayed what looked like sadness and homesickness.

“Cheer up, pretty boy,” you said, catching his attention, his eyes darting up to meet your figure where you stood in the doorway. “You've always known I'm better than you at volleyball.”

He snickered, his frown slightly disappearing. “You wish.”

You stepped closer to him, shutting the cabin's front door lightly behind yourself. “What was that you mouthed at me today? Yeah, I do?”

Steve rolled his eyes, though his expression displayed joy at your words. “Thought you might not have caught that.”

Your hands met his hair, swiping through the brown strands delicately. “I'm a better lip reader than you thought, Harrington.”

“Yeah, that's not your only specialty with lips though, is it?”

A scoff escaped your lips. “Is that all you think about?”

“Sometimes,” he said, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “But mostly I just think about how pretty you are and how lucky I am.”

A smile pulled at your own lips, your heart nearly melting at his sweet words. Still, despite his demeanor, you still felt the need to ask, “Are we okay after today? No hard feelings?”

His brows creased. “Why wouldn't we be okay?”

“I did beat you at your very last Beach Bug tournament,” you reminded him, your hands moving down to his own and interlocking your fingers.

“Don't remind me,” he said dramatically, throwing his head back. Then, he met your eyes again, his expression sickeningly sweet. “Seriously though, we're okay.”

You held out your pinky finger, a pout appearing on your face. “You prommy?”

He locked his pinky around yours. “Yes, I prommy,” he replied sarcastically before pulling your hand up to his mouth and kissing the knuckles.

Then he was pulling you onto the bed with him, both your legs and his braiding together as they dangled off the side of the mattress. Steve's hand met your waist as he pulled you into his side while his lips met your head for a soft kiss.

“Weird how this is the last weekend I'll spend in one of these cabins,” he mentioned as his eyes darted from you to the roof.

“Don't remind me,” you parroted his words from before, only this time they were true.

His hand slid down to meet your bare leg, skin sun-kissed from all the time you'd been spending in it lately. You noticed his eyes avoiding yours, and the homesickness that swirled in them. The two of you still had another forty-eight hours before you had to leave each other, and yet he was already longing to be back in your arms.

“I do have some somewhat good news, though.”

Your heart raced at the possibilities, though your brows wrinkled in confusion. “What?”

“Well, I was gonna tell you over the phone when I found out but I thought it would be better to tell you in person. Just in case I don't get the reaction I'm hoping for.”

This only made you more confused. “Why would I be upset over good news?”

By now, the two of you had made your way back to sitting, his legs still dangling from the bed while yours were now pulled underneath yourself. Steve’s eyes were more serious now, his breathing speeding up as he got closer to his confession. “Do you remember how I said I was moving for college?”

“Yeah, your dad was trying to get you into U of Chicago,” you waved your hand as you remembered his words. “Alma Mater crap, right?”

Steve chuckled at your question. “I may have not been entirely sincere about the whole thing.”

He just kept adding to your state of confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Steve took your hands in his, watching as they intertwined once again. “He was trying to get me into UChi… but that's not where I'm going.”

“What are you…”

The next statement had your heart racing just as much as the volleyball match that afternoon. “I got into Bowling Green.”

Your mouth flew open as your arms wrapped around his neck, squeals flying out of your mouth left and right. “You're kidding!”

His head shook against your shoulder where it rested, and you swore you felt a tear slip against your tee shirt. “I know it's not Denison, but-”

“It's here. It's two hours away from me. Not six.” By now, tears were forming in your own eyes, your smile wider than the lake outside of that cabin. You pulled his face away from your shoulder, meeting his gaze again. “Why would I be upset over this?”

Those big brown eyes you loved fell down to the floor, his tears drying up in an instant. “It doesn't mean I can come back here.”

You wiped at a stray drop of water on his cheek, causing him to shiver at the touch. “Why not?”

“My dad made an agreement with me. If I promised him my summers at the firm, I could promise you my weekends during the school year.”

Butterflies shot off in your stomach like fireworks. He may not have been able to give you everything you wanted, but he could give you enough. And that was simply all you needed.

Hands made their way into dark brown, beautiful strands. Lips met skin, the pulse point of his neck to be precise. “Steven,” one kiss, “Otis,” another kiss, on his jaw, “Harrington,” one last kiss, underneath his ear.

“Hmm?” he asked. You could almost hear his eyebrow cocking upward.

Another long kiss, then a small nibble to his earlobe. “I love you.”

“You're insane.”

His tee shirt made a light thump against the floor. “Insane for you.”

Steve looked down at you through dark eyelashes, meeting you with a half smirk. “I take it you're excited about this whole thing?”

“Very,” you nodded, your grin outright showy at this point. “You remember earlier how you said I was going down?”

The man could hardly keep his composure as your hands met the button of his shorts. “You are truly insane.”

“Maybe…” You finally made your way off the bed, sinking to your knees in front of him. “Do you wanna find out how insane I truly am?”

“I've died. I'm in Heaven right now. Or Hell, one of the two.”

“Me too, Stevie,” you said, leaving a kiss on his knee. “Me too.”

-> taglist: @dungeons-are-too-cold @ducky-died-inside @awkotaco24 @liberhoe @princesseddie @corrodedseraphine @manuosorioh @esoltis280 @mochminnie

[cb-writes-stuff]

Hey.

So, uh…

Remember that art thing I said I was working on?

Well…

It’s still pretty messy, but… Here you go.

ISAT-STYLE HAT KID.

Look at her! She’s so energetic! And not depressed! So unlike Siffrin!

She got that cape! And that umbrella! And her signature hat!

I think I did pretty well at capturing the ISAT art style. Certainly for my first time. A colored version does exist, but I’m saving that for another day, when I can post the finished versions. To talk about the art itself, I used Bonnie as my primary reference, since they’re the only one who’s not an adult. For example, Hat Kid has blush stickers and no nose shadow, since that seems to be a kid thing. I also borrowed Mirabelle’s rapier to get an idea of the perspective on the umbrella, which helped out a lot. I also decided to keep Hat Kid’s thicker upper eye line and her eyelash-thingies, since I feel they make her more distinctive from the other characters, in a good way. They’re also pretty satisfying to draw, not gonna lie.

For those of you who don’t know, this is part of me demo’ing an AU idea I had, called In Hats and Time. As you might guess, it’s a combination of In Stars and Time and A Hat in Time. (I just realized I could call it “A Hat in Stars and Time”, or “AHISAT”, but that’s a bit wordy.) I don’t have a story, like, at all. Not set in stone, anyway. But I do have a few ideas. I’ll probably post about it later.

AAHHH! I’m really excited to share this. It’s a new kind of art project for me, doing this kind of style swap, but I’m really liking how it’s going.

Edit: I should’ve done this earlier, but here is a similar drawing I did of Siffrin in the AHIT art style, also grayscale. Figured I should plug that.

[precious-little-scoundrel]

MotA Fanfiction: John Brady and first person/reader/insert no use of y/n.

18+: John Brady had me at “like you told me” five seconds before “son of a bitch that’s France” and now we’ve got seven kids and a mortgage. The following could be a very existential diary page about the first few months of that marriage.

But basically, John Brady makes me rabid: here have some purple prose smut about it mixed into an essay on happiness

My mother readied me for many things but not for this. I dig through the archives of her heavy advice, her off handed comments, her jubilant prognostications, all I keep so dutifully in my mind, and I search for some hint from her that she knew it could be like this. But I find nothing, it is all too weak or strong or wordy.

Did it not come in words?

Were her misty eyes when she settled the veil over my face the true meaning of it? Had I mistaken her emotion as a presentment of missing me when it was instead tremulous excitement for what was in store? Had she known when she wrapped me in white and insisted it fit me lovingly to my proportions that it was not tidiness and appreciation for good seams but instead, that holy knowledge of what more awaited me? That a wedding dress in its fit reflects what happens when the groom removes it?

She knew I had myself a good man. Did she suspect how well he’d fit me?

And I thought it was merely cloth, I had been too busy even for my own wedding. I was too busy loving him, the idea of him, of him being mine. Perhaps if we had met in peacetime, if he had courted me between his hours at the office and my semesters I would have looked forward to my wedding, planned each detail and worried over all manner of things that brides are said to care about.

But we had not; I’d no sooner loved him than he’d gone, and no sooner had death returned him on loan than I married him. I loved him and everyone else but me seemed to know what that meant as he kissed frosting from my wrist.

I had thought I’d known at the registry office, signing in ink my name, scrawling a practiced B that ended with a flourished Y.

Mrs. Brady.

I’d thought I’d known then. I had given the benign judge a saucy smile of the fully enlightened. I had no idea. To ask me if I was happy that day would have been a good joke, to ask me if I could be happier when we waved out a window chalked with news of our nuptials: it would have been more than half insulting.

I was happy. I thought I knew. And that night, what little doubt I had about the gaps in my theory, he filled. Love in its rawest form, breaking me apart, making a place for himself, I clung to his shoulders; this part my mother had told me of. She told me it got better; I can’t speak to that. He was pushing and petting and I endured until surrender turned to fascination and again to arousal by his rhythm, the concrete sense of his need, the clarity of his release. And still I was urging my sweet boy to take and take; it did not get better, it got sublime. I could not fault my mother for her faulty preparations, even though I think she knew -for her own sake I hope she knew. There are no words for it when two bodies become one, minds meld and he finds his way eased by your blood till he’s in so deep you think he’s probed at your heart. I don’t hear of people speaking about that part, and mother didn’t tell me, but I think they know.

I am quite forgiving of her that night, I thought I knew then, I assumed what she left unsaid, it was merely out for lack of vocabulary. Lying beside him, having tasted heaven, I am generous. She tried. I know.

He had put a pillow under my hips before he opened me, it tilted me kindly for his invasion and I wonder who told him of that. His innate desire to please had long ago led me to find he was good at kissing, and that he liked to kiss me everywhere. He was as delighted by the back of my knees as he was by my throat, and he forgot all reason when he tasted between my thighs, only his firm and unyielding hands on my hips gave a mottled clue he kept at such kissing for his own satisfaction as much as mine.

I know that I am happy then, on my wedding night, and next morning I am happier still. I might try at being cross with my own self, for sabotaging my arrival at absolute knowledge except that I cannot help but be giddy for it; he loves to kiss me, my boy, and he has a warm blush on his face in the sunlight, this first morning I’ve woken up beside him, and his hands are already busy with me. Mine grow busy with him and I know this is how we will spend our days, kissing with him inside me, and I am happy.

No one who encounters me in the coming weeks can doubt it. My parents whisper amongst themselves, his too, church members and fellow servicemen. My Johnny is not settled with a job and so we lodge at various places in the next two months, and soon each of our hosts knows it, too. It cannot be stifled beneath his quieting palm when he breaks me apart, thin walls and no place to call our own except the harbor of my body, that’s his home and he goes into it. Often and more vigorously each time until I associate happiness with the most alarming strength of exertion from the lithe length of him rolling against mine, noses to toes; I draw blood from his hand.

Even my boy is beginning to see: he makes me happy. He has the most melancholy eyes, my boy, I recalled them as being calm and observant before he went away. But he has observed too much though he never says so, and out of his army greens there is not a speck of baby blue left in them, they’re cold gray and the only time I see them sparkle are when I’ve made him laugh so hard a tear rolls down his creased cheeks. I am impatient with his happiness, I know it and I know I’m wrong for it, but I miss the sky blue of them and the way I didn’t used to have to guess at what roils beneath them.

If he can’t feel happiness as thoroughly as me, he at least presents with quiet confidence as he finds a peacetime footing, there is a job offer in Maryland and we take our first road-trip. He is full of plans and maps and well drawn schedules and I am full of 55 mph breezes up the nose, feet in his lap and face hung out the window merrily, there are endless rows of pines and the feel of bark against my back at the rest pavilion. More, more, more, I demand of him and he gives it, it’s happiness turned hungry, greedy, close to vicious. Happiness that needs topping off.

We fight that night before his interview. A silly thing, inconsequential, hotel room adding to the displaced feeling I have begun to feel after our adventure calmed into adult necessity. He is preoccupied with being excellent and I am preoccupied with happiness. Chiefly if I make him happy or not; this is the first night he has not been so undivided in his passion and I allow it to vex me. I am young and I am happy and I guard it jealously, thinking that holding it -gripping him- tight fistedly desperate about it, will keep it all the closer.

“I am doing this for us.” his tone cuts me, I have admired it slashing others but it has never been directed at me before. He is wiser than I am and a self proclaimed cynic. I think he is fighting me in my happy quest, but, “For us, I’m doing this for us.”

His fingers dig into my cheeks and it is assurance enough. I have to agree that even heaven must have some maintenance work intruding on the celestial revels from time to time.

By the time I stand on the bed and cinch his tie the next morning before his interview, I have never been more in love. I am happy, yes, but there is admiration for him there too, but I struggle with finding a place for it.

Love, it seems, multiplies and I remain fixated with happiness in its tidiest form. Like the moment we cut the cake. I ask him that night if he has ever felt that, felt it simple and tidy.

“I feel a million things about you.” he swears instead; his tone suggests it is the most devout compliment.

I pray for wisdom next Sunday. I can feel that there is more to happiness than I know and it unsettles me. Our fight has long been made up but those million things that Johnny thinks and knows of me haunt the little life I try to construct, they haunt it as badly as whatever plagues his dreams at night.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” he begs a hundred times to me night after thrashing night; he suggests the sofa, I won’t hear of it. The bruises his flailing limbs land on mine are no darker than those he makes in calculated romance. His dreams respond to the feeling of my hands on his belly, he wakes easily with it, I have something to wake for and it is not perfect or quiet or even gentle always, but I am in love and when he allows me, I feel powerful and needed, hands on his belly, a thin tickle of hair beneath my palm. “You’re an Angel.” he swears to me, lips warm and plush against mine, I am so in love.

My cycle stops soon after the interview trip. I wait until I am sure to tell him one night, we are sprawled across our bed gasping back breath and I tell him, simple and direct as he prefers. I had wanted him one last time before he thought of me as a madonna. It had not been so different, I had been preoccupied with the child but I had also found my peak, and he had grasped greedily at my breasts, my nipples knotting beneath his fingers and only a lingering soreness in them to remind me of my secret. With his seed dripping from me, redundant and warm, I tell him.

“A baby?” My husband’s eyes glow, he cups my face like I am holy, his lips thank me with kisses to my nose and eyelids, “We’re havin’ a baby?”

He is all preparedness now. Striding with purpose and when he kisses me he is kissing the mother of his child; he gets the job in Maryland. We tell my parents of our happy news before we go, it surprises no one and yet there are celebrations as if we waited a decade. My Johnny is pleased and his smile is fixed, but I remember him when I told him, the glow about him, the naked press of him to me, his kisses on my belly. These are things I wish I could tell my mother -these are things that make me happier. Even more than the child itself.

On the way back to Maryland, our car trip is sedate, I eat ginger candies to quell the nausea and Johnny contemplates an unspoken thing. When I contemplate at all I think of driving down here over a month ago and the feeling of bark behind me and his hips snapping into me. I wonder if our child was made in the pines -how very different a few weeks makes a trip. He has foregone smoking his pipe indoors out of consideration for my queasy stomach.

“There’s somebody out here I should see.” He answers me at the gas pump, knowing I can tell he is preoccupied.

One of his crew lives off this exit, it’s why he’s filling up when the tank is half full. Johnny says he should go see him, and where he goes I will too.

Waist gunner Timmons is missing both legs. Together he and Johnny speak of bonds and education, his new job and the likelihood of drought, tidbits about the other boys' peacetime business failures, they laugh without malice. They laugh at themselves too. When taking our leave Johnny tells him our news. It makes me blush and I don’t know why, I was proud of our making the child. I should be proud of our finished product. I see him slip a hefty dollared bill in the coat pocket of the garden cover by the door as we leave.

Johnny stops our car at the end of the long gravel drive and while it confuses me, I know he is in a turmoil. His fists suddenly slam against the steering wheel and his face goes red beneath its freckles.

“Baby?” I question him but then he is weeping, forehead pressed to his knuckles on the steering wheel, aggravating buzz of a fly against the windshield unheeded.

It’s ugly and hiccuping and half panicked, he can’t seem to stop though the angry set of his shoulders tells me he wishes to, and after helpless fluttering beside him, I undo my waist belt and slide over to his side, arm thrown over his shoulders, forcefully prying him from the wheel. He lays in my arms and weeps for what feels like hours, letting me hold him and swear to him and soothe him. I’ve never known him like this, he speaks of Whys and Who’s and What’s He Got Going For Him to Deserve So Much Good Luck.

I am his good luck, his lips tell me as they press to my belly, he has fully sagged into my lap in his misery. I am his good luck, me and the baby and the job in Maryland and it is the first time I’ve ever thought of happiness as guilt.

The first days in Maryland, I cannot say that he is happier but he looks at me more openly, the guarded set of his eyes is gone and something sheepish but trusting shimmers there instead. Still steel gray but I notice the flutter of lashes around them and the dusting of pink cheeks more often. We never speak about Timmon’s driveway but I come to realize with a jolt: he’s softer for having let me see one of his million parts. I know him better now and it shows in his loosened shoulders and his shy smiles, the almost joyous eagerness he has to begin life here.

We close on an offer on a house, brick with a little porch, a small front drive and boxy lawn but in back there is a tall whitewashed fence going round and garden beds that are empty and waiting. It’s a prize and we are both delighted and he swoops me up, light as a feather, and brings me over the threshold.

“You’ve been waiting to do that!” I realize, he didn’t do it on our wedding night at the hotel or any of our other lodgings.

“We’ve got ourselves a home.” he grins back and there is such relief in his face I wonder at how much concern he was harboring before.

I begin to watch my man the way he watches me, I think less and less of whether he is happy and more and more if he feels safe. It’s why I’ve made no move to couple since he has not, not since I told him of the baby. We have been traveling, then moving in our boxes and he has been feeling whatever it was he felt in Timmons driveway. Some modicum of selflessness takes up residence in my childish heart, allowing him to hold me and not demanding proof of happiness from him. He cradles my belly every night as we spoon and I can feel his lips quirking in smiles as he gently hums to our child.

I watch my husband like he first watched me, from the bandstand, boyish cheeks blown full and nimble fingers flying over brass keys, I knew I wanted him then before he did. I went after him fast and furious, unlike myself in the way I tenaciously kept our first halting conversations going, shocking myself with the way I fanned my skirts around his lap and let him play beneath them -he was better at that than talking and I obliged him ravenously. Told him he looked handsome in his uniform and he told me he’d like to marry me. He came back to me as promised, four years late, yet the happiness that his first glittery eyed glance sparked in me is something I crave now as if I have not dabbled in far more heady pursuits with him thus far. His child grows in my belly but I miss his blush when I first stared at him past his bunker behind his music stand.

He watched me first, I wanted him worse. His eyes were blue then.

I admit my petulance to my mother after a week at the new house. Not that I am so wanton as to be bereft after a ten day abstinence, but that I cannot seem to settle some gnawing resentment that has begun. Again, not over the coupling. I am not sure what it’s over. I love him more than ever, and yet, that first blush of blazing white happiness of our first few days has given way to a nurturing watchfulness, an almost heartbreaking sympathy, a self effacing desire for his joy that robs me of my own. I ask her for a remedy.

She tells me I loved the idea of him before, and now I love him. And love is not made of happiness alone. She tells me to talk to him. “If you don’t know what it is,” she says, “he may. He knows you.”

He loves a thousand million parts of me, he had said. And then I had scoffed, feeling so sure I was comprised of only one: happiness.

Amongst the other basic necessities of settling in, we do our best to scope out the town, having arrived on a Thursday we attended mass soon in the only Catholic Church to be found in the small place, we find the town’s rec hall more promising, I keep my eyes peeled for a music store. There is one in Millersville, I find it when I go to inspect a couch that caught my eye in the Hutzlers catalog.

I do not know if he needs reeds. He hasn’t played since he got back, he may have a stack of extras in some box. But the sentimentality fills me strongly, the memory of missing him and waiting for him and having no ability to reach him over there except by sending the packages. And each of his letters with their little sheepish addendum: please send more reeds.

I got up from dinner that night to give them to him. He had asked about my day and as if I had some horrid secret to cover I had choked on my descriptions of the couch until I had broken down and admitted there was more. I place the item beside his plate and he puts down his fork while I stand in suspense.

An innocuous plastic wrapped package of saxophone reeds was probably not what my Johnny was expecting but he lets out a cut off little laugh about it.

“Did you even need more?” I am weirdly in knots over it, fingers nervously bunching at my dress and he leaves off opening the package to slip his own into mine to prevent the tick.

“I did.” he murmurs warmly, pressing a kiss to my forearm that dangles beside him, “Thank you.”

“Is that why you’re not playing?”

He looks surprised. “I -just busy, I suppose?” he questions himself.

“I miss it.” vocalized at last, I realize just how much.

“Do you?” his lips curve in a smile against my arm and move across to my belly, the hot gusts of his affection damping my dress. “Well, if my sweetheart misses it…” his lips have moved so low along my dress I feel an ache where I am missing other things.

He cleans his instrument that night while sat at the table while I do the dishes, our clearing of it a joint endeavor. He fusses over the need to grease it and other things too technical to be questioned but I understand, it won’t be played tonight. But it’s good to see him at the familiar task, his affection and seriousness for his work both manifesting across his face.

The next day he goes with me to Hutzlers, his opinion on household furnishings having been impeccable thus far and far more decisive than my own. He humors my myriad of hypotheticals regarding comfort and staining and color schemes, hands shoved easily in his pockets and a gentle smile on his face, I know by look alone he is categorizing each of my expert arguments into tidy little categories that he will present to me again in fifteen minutes time when a decision must be made.

In the end we purchase a pale blue couch with roses imprinted tone on tone into the fabric. It was decided upon only after he had hauled me down to the cushions to see if it were a plausibly good place to kiss. I now wonder if we have gotten a blue couch instead of a peach one simply due to the fact it was further from the window and he felt free to dip me down over the arm for a brief half minute.

Either way, it is set in stone that our new couch will be blue and on the way to the cash register, he immovably halts at a counter displaying the most heart wrenchingly cute baby items.

“We have to get somethin’.” he sounds almost exasperated at the previous weeks’ oversight.

We leave with ten different things, not having agreed upon what gender our child will be and I am unable to argue that booties are always a sensible option for either sex, I also want to strangle the woman behind the counter whose over eager desire to help robs me of the unguarded delight Johnny was showing over the little things before she came up.

He is opening my car door and teasing me for being so mercurial when he himself turns mildly glum before a hard determination sets his jaw.

“What?” I question, half wondering if he sees some old acquaintance or is having some awful recollection. I can’t imagine what amongst this urban place and departmental hedonism could inspire it but, stranger associations have done so.

“It’s midway through September.” he mutters, keen eyes fixed at the store’s grand facade, hand still heavy on the window before closing my door.

“Yep.” I am at a loss.

“But the seasons are milder down here.” he is presenting a case of his own for something and all I can do is agree, Maryland is more temperate than New York.

“Your mother even gave me a book about the different zones.”

“Yeah.” he is pleased with my perceived understanding, face lighting up, “So it’ll stay warmer down here.”

“For longer.”

“Yeah.”

“Johnny? What?”

He seems to realize I’ve not understood what he keeps looking at so intensely across the parking lot. “I want to buy bushes and flowers but it’s September.” he admits.

An extravagance this late in the season, and my man is not extravagant. “They’re very pretty.” I settle for acknowledging, knowing this is something he must decide but he looks so torn I would do anything to smooth that creased brow.

“It would make the place more, I dunno,” he stares down at his hand on the still adjar car door and shrugs, “…homey?”

“Some things are perennial.” a little blossom of hope tinges my own voice, my mind had gotten away with me -if he is this invested while yet undecided, I cannot imagine what diligence he might display at husbandry were he to act on it. And there’s nothing I have grown to love more in all my watching than him at some diligence.

We don’t get them. But in the car on the ride back there is discussion that the place is only a fifteen minute drive. Which pertains to the delivery of our couch, and we must hurry back to have the front door opened and I wanted to sweep where it will be once more. The delivery boys thump the blue thing on our floorboards carefully and its large presence is exactly what Johnny was saying we needed -Hominess. Emphatic. Settled. Ours.

No sooner have they left with his kind tips in their pockets than he is pulling me down on it, a hungry imitation of his actions at the store with hands more risky and insistent. I have been missing him so badly I come apart easily from his finger’s ministrations between my legs, sidetracked in trying to pull off my panties and garter belt. When he sees me go, he takes mercy and lets up, a gentle swiping through his prized currency of sticky pleasure and I watch him bring those long fingers to his lips, sucking them clean.

“You taste different.” he admits with heavy lidded eyes, “Since…” he doesn’t finish his explanation of the change in my belly, the slight swollen pooch that is our child.

“Bad?” I ask with feminine panic at the very notion.

He is settled on his belly between my thighs, blue couch a plush landing beneath us both, “N’bad.” is emphatically mumbled against me and my legs kick out the buzz of his voice. By his vocal and insistent enjoyment of it, I cannot help but be assured. Not bad. I keen up at our ceiling as he wrings one and then two and then -he won’t stop and I am needy for it, enjoying the familiar span of his hand dominating my belly, only this time it is cupping my swollen womb. I settle in relief that the proof of my maternity beneath his palm does not deter him, or at least, distract. He hums into his messy work and noses at me where I am all lightning and pulsing need, his hips jerking down into our plush new addition each time I pull at his dark locks.

Different, he says of my taste, and wedges his face in deeper, his hips beginning to move with the movements of his face against my parts and I swear to him that he is good, that he is perfect, that I’ve missed him, that he is beautiful and that he should have gotten those flowers.

His corresponding laugh makes me gush onto his tongue and his humor turns into a moan that only prolonges my delicious agony. He pushes my legs wider so forcefully I think he would like to take them off entirely if he could, his face smothered in my heat.

“You have a job now.” I present a case of my own to him, about the flowers as I try to get on top of the feeling, it is too much and he is unrelenting and I try to grasp onto something that is not his rocking body and clever lips, “A very good job and a car and -and we have this house, a-nd a-a a very nice couch -aaah God!”

His grip on my hips is deathly as I list his accomplishments until he seems to seize and then sag, tongue grown listless at last as his lips part and a shuddering groan fans over my tacky thigh.

“And we deserve flowers.” I whisper hoarsely, petting the dark strands from out of his eyes.

He’s spent himself in his writhing, I can tell by the molten expression on his face when his eyes finally drag up to meet mine over the small swell of my stomach, and set off by our new couch, they are the sparkliest of baby blues.

I have never been more startled. Or pleased. I had forgotten to watch for it, and so it had returned of its own skittish volition. I cling to that glimmer of blue until his smile grows wider and his eyes flutter shut in exhaustion.

Happiness.

At the end that night, bathed and fed and having inspected our new assortment of infant wear and argued once more over the likely gender, he brings his instrument out of its case with the package of reeds in hand. He has been offered a part time job at the high school, teaching music. It would be a hobby, he protests against his own interest in it, it would take away from time with me and Little One.

“I could go, too.” I point out.

“You’d like that?” he is pleased, the lamp is too dim for me to discern if there is blue but his lashes flutter briskly and I kiss his cheek, it’s hot beneath my lips.

“I always love watching you play.”

Before he fits the reed to the mouthpiece he makes me close my lips around it, a red stain marking it after, much to his satisfaction.

“You’ll be teaching children!” I swat at him, utterly pleased despite my own remonstrance.

“And I am married.” he says as if it were a universal absolution for all things.

The clock strikes five fifteen the next evening and he is not back. I have a plentiful assortment of excuses to choose from to explain his variance from routine. Traffic, work, a waylaying colleague -he has only been at work a couple of weeks, it is absurd to expect a forever unchanging home time. By five forty I cannot pretend expectation of what may have occurred and so keep the meatloaf warm with its proper cozy and when there is a bustle at the front door, I sprint to it like he’s back home from the war again.

It’s well I opened the door myself, he was endeavoring to while juggling three large potted plants in his arms. There is dirt in his white collar and I let out a little whoop at his uncharacteristic impulsiveness, stepping aside to help him get them through to the back porch. It doesn’t even need discussing, the large sliding glass door gives a beautiful view of the backyard from the living room and it’s sheltering insures privacy and a deterrent from our children’s stray balls flying to the next lot. At least for a few years. And the plants will go in the empty beds at the perimeter.

It is a Friday, and we eat my tepid meatloaf in between his smooching apologies for having been tardy and garbled plans for where we will put each plant and how we will stagger them according to their eventual size. It was far more than the three pots he brought, the trunk and also the cab were full of fauna.

Our excitement next morning is idiotic, we manage to snicker at ourselves for being so domesticated that this inspires frenzy but the self awareness gets not further than that, I throw on my rattiest -and coolest- sundress and he his jeans and with only his white singlet, breakfast is inhaled while standing at the backdoor, last minute plotting being discussed between bites. And then we spend our entire Saturday at it.

Johnny digs the holes and carries the plants to their allotted places and only then allows me to gently labor in filling soil over the roots, we eat cold meatloaf and slug down ice tea under the afternoon heat, not even bothering to go inside. When I have no other job, I weed the beds in preparation, watching unreservedly the way his shoulders glisten in his hard work. I have caught him eying the neckline of my dress, the recent changes he has imposed on my body now ensuring it does not gap so much as bulge while I lean over and grasp the next offending dandelion. I know he is watching and he knows I am watching and we are happy at our work, tidy garden beds filling out and his tongue pressed to his top lip to catch a drop of sweat.

The sun is a glittering soft light through the western trees by the time we take stock.

“Nothin’ left to do but water them.” he has his arm over my shoulder, hand nearly brown with caked soil where it hangs against my smudged breast, his undershirt gone translucent from sweat, the oddest attraction to his underarm blooms in me as he huffs in satisfaction next to me. I press a kiss to the swell of his pec instead, he folds with a shocked giggle, he is ticklish.

“It’s very homey.” I pronounce, feeling indeed a bone deep satisfaction over our garden at our own house from our own hands. His elbow crooks further and he has my neck secure in the bend, golden hour light the prettiest thing in the world as he nuzzles our sweaty noses and slowly claims a kiss.

“Our kids are gonna get to play out here for years.” he seems to realize as he lays his head atop mine, his voice sounds so softly comforted I can feel my eyes smart with tears.

He can feel my nod beneath his chin. “And us.” I suggest.

“And us.” he agrees with a laugh, “I’m gonna mow.” He decides suddenly and he is giving me one more smooch before moving away, headed at a jog to the garage for his machine before the sun fully dips. Never one to leave a job slightly imperfect.

I water our new additions while he pushes the mower, strip after strip, along our back yard, closer and closer to complete perfection. I have little doubt that once he finishes this he may find yet another task and knowing we have done enough, I go inside as he finishes the last swaths and grab a tablecloth, an opened bottle of wine along with salami and a brick of cheese. I have these waiting for him on a cloth, laid upon his freshly shorn grass. He cuts the engine, I watch him as he heedlessly take off his soaked singlet and uses it to rub the grass from his eyes. He is beautiful, my boy, where tan skin blends to fair and a strong, lean back disappears into jeans. There are dimples on his back, right below that belt, I know them, I’ve traced them with my tongue.

“C’mon, we’ve done enough. Sit and look at how perfect it is.” I beckon and his face lights up at my little spread, sauntering over, undershirt still clasped in his hand.

“Im filthy.” he warns and runs his hand along his sweat sheened belly in a motion I find obscenely captivating.

I pat at the tablecloth, “So am I.” for my dress is soiled and I am sweaty and only my hands are really fit for food as I scrubbed them thoroughly.

He holds his own up to show their grimey palms yet sits himself beside me anyway, and I notice the callouses dotted along the pads of his hands. I want to kiss them, soil and all.

“Then I’ll feed you.” I reply to his unspoken question and bring a bite to his lips.

We toast each other with the wine, drinking from the bottle and we watch as dusk begins to throw her first veil over the golden light.

“I’m not nauseous anymore these days.” I report and he is sweetly relieved for me, I pull out the pipe I packed for him and hand it to him between salami rolls.

His eyebrow, mobile and ever so empathetic, asks if I am sure but I am, and I watch as the match recreates a golden glow on his face once more today as he lights up and I watch him with the most lazy feeling in the world as he watches our gardens go muted by dusk.

“We’ve really done it.” he observes, relief dripping in his voice, a long exhale tinges the air around me with sweet tobacco and I am reminded of courting, of chasing him down while trying to appear reserved. Of wanting him so badly I had little choice but to remain devoted. The smell of smoke in the street would stop me dead in my tracks, thinking of this young man an ocean away.

I think I know what he means but I need to be certain, and I find I am hungry to know everything, every bit of him. If his current happiness is placed in stark relief against some previous melancholy, I want to know that, too. “What have we done?” I ask teasingly, scooting nearer to him on the cloth and kissing at his shoulder. He smells of gasoline and grass and pipe smoke. And I taste salt when I lick my lips.

“We’ve got ourselves a home.” he grins so easily, my boy, and if it were earlier in the summer there might be fireflies out in the twilight. “And you’re not nauseous anymore.” he giggles.

I’ve wanted long enough these many weeks, when my lips trail from the meat of his shoulder to his beautiful neck, he cannot mistake my intentions.

“O-out here?” he stutters out, hissing at the end by my bite on his fragile throat, i place my hand on his jeans and palm at him. There is still nothing so thrilling to me than the feel of a man firming, the way he awakes to me and only me and at my least whim, even while his mouth is all stuttering questions and his eyes are startled shimmering pools. He is always surprised when I initiate, as if he can imagine his own desire being that needy but not my own, he is always surprised and I realize it may be the only one of the million parts he does not fully know of me: how badly I love him at all times. “N-now?” he is rocking denim clad hips into my palm and their fit has grown impossibly taut.

I have the zipper down, my hand meeting the sweat soaked crease of his thigh and wiry curls that are equally wet from his work, when I wrap my small fist around him, he is clammy and pulsing in my hand. It should be revolting, perhaps, with dirt and gasoline and sweat acting like a gritty lubricant, but nausea has been replaced by something else hungry and while he may have found comfort in having provided the necessary civilian checklist for our lives, I am a woman whose body he has forever altered with his child and I have never loved anything so much as watching him at work. I want to smell it, feel it, taste the gritty earth of the man who has renovated my very flesh.

“Yes, now,” I beg, giving him one last squeeze before I lay myself back, sundress riding up my thighs, “I want you to take me under our gardenia.”

He watches me raptly, boyish eyes fawn-like and batting lashes fluttering like moth wings in the dim light; he rises to his knees and stays there as I unbutton my soiled dress. There are twenty four buttons to the hem and I make theater of each until I am bare. More than he anticipated, for while at work I did enjoy the last bit of clement weather on all my parts.

He makes a pained noise of want at the sight, maybe he too loves the sheen of sweat that makes us both shimmer in the far off patio light, how it reflects off my swelling belly, breasts grown large enough my necklines are impossible to keep discreet. I stop him from tasting me with a foot to his clavicle, I love his mouth but I want to be taken. And he indulges me, shimmying between the parted scraps of my dress and laying himself against my body, denim rough and thrilling against my bare thighs, the slightest space between our bellies lest he crush me. I am hardly large enough for it to be a concern but I can see his fascination with it, his preoccupation, his hair hangs into his eyes as he stares down at where his desire parts my petals and I can feel the drag of him against me, sweat and unabashed want making a swamp of me.

I peak and thrash from the torture of his steady grind alone, and in a typical moment of firm implacability, I feel my husband press into me while I am yet writhing. He scoops the back of my knees into the crook of his elbows, leaning over me with mischief on his face as he folds me, “You started this.” he still has enough self possession to remind before he gives into the grip of my heat and begins to move in me, engaging work-sore muscles not yet fully fatigued.

If my novel new shape has created some preoccupation, if my symptoms and moods had once ruled me in earlier weeks, it is worth it now for the way my body goes alight beneath him, electric delight curling my toes and fuzzing my sternum at each thrust, I respond to him half possessed and he snickers like he knew of this before me. I swell until my sheath is so tight it makes us both keen from it, slippery to the point of cacophonous. I claw at his back and his shoulders don’t stand a chance at remaining unmarred as he stays unperturbed and sweetly vicious inside me, jamming himself deeper. When I begin to scream he lets down a leg and cups my neck, forcing my mouth against his own.

He tastes of wine. I hook my toe into the denim of his waistband and tug it further down, till I can fully see the pale swell of his backside and I think the motion tickles him as he giggles in his rhythm. I can register that the air has grown cool as the sun fully deserts us, leaving us to it with a final curtain call on the happiest day I’ve ever known.

The force of our endeavor has shoved me up the blanket until I am well and truly beneath the far branches of our gardenia. I tilt my head up and smell the blossoms’ heady scent, their leaves and white flowers blending into the canopy of nightly stars beginning to show. Johnny’s warm face is tucked, groaning, into my neck, our bodies so close as he begins to falter in his control that I cannot watch him. So I watch the blossoms above sway in my vision as his need rucks my body up and down beneath them for a few more desperate minutes. I turn my face and press a kiss to his temple, his hair damp with sweat and smelling so much of him I clench. I love you, so good, you’re so good to me, so deep, so deep, I love you- my mind is adrift and where he rocks inside me is all I know and I babble and beg and praise him for it.

His breath is a hot steam over my clavicle, dirty hands tenderly grasping at a swollen breasts, he bites at my lower lip to hush himself when the pleasure overtakes and I too go under one more time, legs drawing up again under the wracking delight and my modest man groans and pants the filthiest appreciations, for taking him, slippery beautiful thing, tightest little cunt, could spend all my days in you, milk me, that’s it milk me sweetheart, you like it when I make you?

What he babbles to me as he spurts is never something later to be answered, it is gibberish and rhetorical and yet I believe every word, treasure them when he rolls off and pants beside me, I will rehearse them in my mind when he is gone to work. I know this last set will have me ready down to my thighs long before five o’clock.

In the cold night air his hands are soothing the damage his forceful want has done, petting my trembling flank down like a horse after a race, it gives me zapping little after-quakes that make him hum into our kisses as his warm palm feels me twitch and clench and melt.

We should go inside soon -we both mumble it at the same time and barely have energy to laugh over it. We stay on the tablecloth, grass texturing our backs, his only movements are to roll me closer to him, pulling my gaping dress with me, and plucking a white starry blossom for behind my ear. After he has placed it he drops his head again, pillowed on my upper arm and I can feel his breath even out across my throat.

My mother did not tell me of this. I have asked others in the most discreet way I can summon, but they all just say they hope I’ll be happy, they’re sure I’ll be happy, he seems to make me happy, they themselves are happy.

It is likely only myself at fault, but now I think of happiness as a very desperate thing, tentative and elusive and ever watchful. I did not expect to find its most distilled essence in quiet things. There is nothing more to write as our happiness did indeed persist after we woke and rose and went to shower, chilly from our exposure, it went on after we had wrapped ourselves under the bedding and clutched at each other like twins. But what is there to relate of such happiness? It has no great drama, it is not so very vigilant unless it is to actively prevent sadness, and even that is welcome here when it must be passing by. Perhaps the poets, or the preachers, or my wise boy would tell me it’s joy I feel. Maybe that was what I was looking for all this time.

Maybe that is what feels so foreignly precious about lying on a blanket with his spend cooling between my legs, our shrubs like loyal sentinels dotting the fence line and my man gently snoring atop me after having created a life sworn to himself when he thought he might die. It is sobering to be integral to that dream, but it is also peaceful.

It is joy, I suppose. Or a sort of Garden Variety Happiness.

Here’s my widdle Brady Taglist, thanks to each of you for expressing such interest and always showing such love. This was a bit of a weird passion project and I’ve got no idea if it actually “worked” but it was the branching out my creative brain needed. So many of y’all are already nailing this Man so well, 🤨😏 I’ve been such a happy recipient of all yalls works. Scream at me. Lemme know. Xoxo

@luminouslywriting

@ktredshoes

@archival-hogwash

@gigisimsonmars

@steph-speaks

@ab4eva

@lilfreebee

@slowsweetlove

@xxanaduwrites

@blurredcolour

@venus-planetof-love

@pearlparty

@winniemaywebber

@sagesolsticewrites

@ginabaker1666

[ashirisu]

hey, everyone!

My name is Ley (pronounced like "Lee," she/they) and I'm a fiction writer/editor based in the PNW. I haven't done a proper writeblr intro in a while, so I figure the new year is a great time to reintroduce myself to the community!

— about me

An important thing to understand about me and the way I talk about writing is that this stuff is literally my entire life. Even outside of work, I don't think I have a single interest or hobby that doesn't relate back to storytelling in some capacity. I'm an avid media consumer and critic, and will hyperanalyze just about anything that catches my fancy for more than a minute.

I love science fiction and fantasy, and my goal as a writer is to take all the genres I loved growing up and create stories that are a little more diverse, inclusive, and queer.

— about the blog

I came to writeblr mostly to share my work, but also to find an active community where I can get excited with other writers and talk shop. Marketing is obviously a really important part of the publishing industry, but I get tired of having to filter every thought I have about my work and experiences through the lens of aesthetic micro-trends just to put it out in the world. Sometimes I just want to pop off about scenes I'm proud of, you know?

Above all else, I really just want to connect with more writers like myself, ones who got their start in fandom spaces and are working to take their writing from a hobby into a career. I see you, I am you, I love you, let's be friends!

You’ll definitely see me posting and reblogging a lot of stuff that isn’t necessarily related to writing, so be ready for that. My art exists in the context of my personality and the world as a whole, and I simply do not have it in me to maintain a whole separate blog for silly nonsense and memes. Just consider it a way to get to know the writer as well as the writing!

— about my writing

I write a lot, though most of it is disconnected nonsense. Flash fiction and short stories are where I really thrive as a writer. I don't tend to commit to long-form projects, but I have a few projects that I'll occasionally share details about!

I like to describe my style as "earnest and character-forward," which is a fancy way of saying that I like driven protagonists who think too much and are emotional to the point of it being a character flaw.

My goal is to share more of my original writing moving forward, so hopefully you'll get to see all of this for yourself. If I'm totally honest, though, you'll probably see more of me discussing my work than actually writing it.

— about my projects

Here are the things you'll most likely see me posting about:

Agnomen: A sci-fi retelling of Hamlet and Coriolanus, currently in its very preliminary stages. It is literally my Roman Empire, except it's set on a moon of a planet that I'm calling Jupiter as a placeholder (but please note that it isn't actually Jupiter, as Jupiter is a gas giant and therefore a scientifically impossible setting for large sections of the plot).

Alter Ego: A superhero fic in which not-so-mild-mannered reporter Drew Derrick fights for mutant rights and can't seem to get his act together when it comes to keeping the complicated parts of his life separate.

Untitled Fantasy Project: The very first project I ever wrote, and the piece I return to every so often when writing is feeling more like a slog than a fun hobby. I set a lot of one-offs in this world and follow a few key characters around without them having a real plot.

D&D: I write a lot about Baz, my Wild Magic Barbarian. He's a regency noble with a lot of problems, and I care about him very much. I also have various other settings and characters, but he's my most active PC at the moment and therefore gets the most attention.

Short Stories: Sometimes I write these, and sometimes I like them enough to share!

— tag directory

ley rambles: my (often wordy) opinions about things

ley writes: not necessarily my writing, but talking about my writing

my writing: stories, blurbs, and other content I've written

not my writing: reblogs and creative writing that I liked, shared, and sometimes commented on

[stellar-constellations]

Hello, i dont know if you're taking requests at the moment, but I was wondering if you could do a denji x little sister reader. You can write whatever you want. Also, sorry if this is wordy. This is my first time asking for to be written.

        Platonic! Little sister! (Y/N) x Denji

        You're the most important female in his life, not even Makima could compare to you. If you even utter a word about disliking Makima, all of a sudden his feelings are dropped. "Makima who?"

        If you're a normal civilian, Denji's always going to make sure you're somewhere nice and safe before even thinking about hunting a devil. If you're a devil hunter, well, tough luck; Denji's still going to be protective of you and make the job take even longer than necessary because of his rebuttals. He just wants to make sure you're safe!

        Can and will fight anyone who insults you. Yes, you may live on the streets with him. Yes, you might've not had a shower in who knows how long. Yes, your hair is matted, but they don't have the right to insult you. Denji might be a skinny person, but he's been on the streets since he was a kid with you (and he's a devil hunter) so he knows how to fight. Even when he does have his (Aki's) apartment and someone picks on you, well, he now has his own trash can to dump their remains in instead of a local dumpster.

        Denji will always make sure you eat your food; especially your vegetables. No buts! You need to stay healthy!

        Denji would actually die if something bad ever happens to you. He lost his mother and got placed into a shitty situation thanks to his dead dad, you're the only one left in his life and he'll fight tooth and nail to make sure you stay with him.

        Denji was a little afraid that you wouldn't like Pochita when he brought him to your little shack one day. He really grew a bond with Pochita, but he doesn't want you to be upset or scared of the devil dog. He was very happy when you accepted Pochita with open arms.

        Denji will let you use his jacket as a blanket. You can cuddle up with him and Pochita too if you're too cold. He knows he doesn't have much to provide for you (and he feels awful about it) but he wants to make sure you're at least warm at night.

        Denji will always make sure you and Pochita eat first before him. Your needs come before his own.

        When Denji moves in with Aki and Power, he's very cautious of them (especially Aki). Denji wants to make sure Aki and Power won't hurt you, so he's always keeping a watchful eye on them.

        Denji was more lenient on Power. Of course, he still kept an eye open at all times, but he was glad to find you and her roughhousing one day (yes, you got hurt since she couldn't control her strength. She was really sorry about it but refused to admit it, so she let you play with Meowy all day).

        Aki slowly started to gain Denji's trust when Denji miserably failed to make your favorite food on your birthday. Denji woke up extra early to surprise you but was having so much trouble that Aki smelt burnt food and ended up waking up. He found Denji dumping out another batch of burnt food and ended up helping him (just so he didn't waste all his money on restocking the groceries). Yes, Denji took all the credibility. No, Aki did not care enough to try and correct him.

        Manga spoilers ahead, so if you don't know who Nayuta is, don't read!

        When Nayuta comes into the picture, Denji was a little hesitant of it. Two kids to take care of? He can barely take care of himself on good days! Kishibe insisted that Denji take Nayuta in so he really didn't have much of a choice.

        There's some silent jealousy between the two of you, but Denji is too dense to realize it. Denji thinks you two stare at each other because you're very curious and excited to become friends/sisters! Denji was very relieved to see you both coloring together (Nayuta was ruining your zebra with red crayon, so you ruined her dog with a blue one).

        When you and Nayuta finally got along with each other, Denji finally realized the rivalry the two of you had going on. He felt a little bad that he didn't realize sooner since he could've tried to help you two get along, but he's really glad that you both were able to set aside your differences to focus on your main goal: care for your big brother, Denji!

        Now you and Nayuta do everything together! Drawing, watching TV, playing at the playground, you're basically inseparable twins! You even share the same classroom together (if you're around her age). If you're older than Nayuta, you drop her off at her school and pick her up when it's over. Nayuta is always bouncing with unseen excitement when she sees you and Denji from her school gates, ready to take her home.

        I really hope you like dogs because Denji has a lot of them now that Makima's gone. Denji will build a fence in his apartment to keep them out of your room if you're allergic or dislike them. If you do like them, that's great! You can help Denji and Nayuta walk them, feed them, bathe them; it'll be fun!

        Denji really loves you and Nayuta and is very protective of you. He knows you and him have had a hard uprising, he just wants to make sure you're happy and content with the life you have now with him, Nayuta, and many dogs. If you're not happy, he'll try his darn best to make it better for you.

        Thank you for my first request! I'm happy to be of service! (The Denji Drought on Tumblr and any other website is serious, stay hydrated y'all).

        I hope you enjoyed this! If you have any requests, feel free to ask! I have a masterlist on who I write for on my profile. This applies to anyone!

[blondeboyfriend]

𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Eren Yeager x f!reader x Zeke Yeager [ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] I basically wrote a bunch of vignettes and threw in some wordy headcanons. This is a repost. I wrote it in like 2022. [ SYNOPSIS ] You've just adopted two disasters, I mean dogboys. [ WORD COUNT ] 3.2k [ CONTENT ] Modern AU, hybrids (duh), threesome (mmf), knotting, cigarettes (Zeke), voyeurism, exhibitionism, jerking off, fingering, teasing, nipple play, creampie, impact play (Zeke receiving), dacryphilia (Zeke’s the crybaby), panty sniffing, thick Yeager dick, cum play, Zeke has grey eyes because I'm addicted to the manga version of him, this fic is so ridiculous like don't take it seriously. Just enjoy the ride.

When you adopted Eren and Zeke you fully expected to get two normal dogs. The ad on Craigslist purported two mutts, related but not from the same litter. They were a bonded pair that could not be separated. It claimed they had all their shots and were totally healthy, but not neutered which was emphasized for some strange reason. You made a mental note to get that taken care of, if the dogs were to become yours.

You responded to the listing expressing interest. You listed off a few qualifications: you were an experienced dog owner, you had a large yard they could play in, and you didn’t smoke. You received a response almost immediately.

Yard sounds cool. The smoking shit doesn’t matter. Do you have cable or do you stream everything? Would appreciate a response asap k thnx.

You could not imagine why they needed such information, but regardless you responded.

Hi! I have basic cable and Hulu. Is that okay?

Your answer was deemed acceptable. Phone numbers were exchanged and you were asked to meet at a local park the next day. It was a great relief that they wanted to meet in a public place. 

That night you couldn’t sleep. You were simply too damn excited. The sun couldn’t come up soon enough. It felt like it purposefully slowed down. Minutes felt like hours. It was unbearable. Of course by the time you were able to drift off, your alarm chimed and it was time to go get your dogs.

You arrived at the park right on time. There were a few kids running around with their parents trailing after them and two young men standing off in the distance, but not a single person with two dogs. You waited around for ten minutes until you got the nerve to call the person. It was perplexing to hear someone else’s phone ringing while you made the call.

“Yeah?”

You heard the voice through the phone and in the air.

“Uh… Wait, are you here? I think I see you.” You squinted and took a better look at the two men loitering. “Where are the dogs?”

One of the men pointed at you which caused the one on the phone to hang up and wave you over. You made eye contact with one of the parents, hoping that would be enough incentive to come to your aid if needed.

“Hi,” you said as you dropped a pin to a friend.

Someone, anyone, needed to know where you were lest you get the Law and Order: SVU treatment The two men looked normal enough. Both were rather tall and well built. One had long, silky chocolate-colored hair. The other was of the wavy, flaxen persuasion. You noted they were both wearing hats: the brunette wore a denim bucket hat and the blonde a nondescript baseball cap. 

“Oh hey, sorry for hanging up. I figured since you’re here and my phone is running low on minutes,” the brunette said.

“That’s fine. Where are the dogs?”

The two men looked at each other and then back at you.

“You didn’t say anything about the hybrid thing in the ad, did you?” the blonde asked, hanging his head.

“Do you think anyone would’ve responded otherwise?”

“What hybrid thing?” you questioned.

The men redirected their attention towards you.

“We’re th—”

“We’re the dogs, alright!” the brunette exclaimed.

He dramatically pulled his hat off, revealing two brown button ears. He then proceeded to knock the baseball cap off the blonde by smacking the bill upwards. He too had little button ears. You were filled with conflicting emotions. You were attracted to their good looks and you thought their ears were cute. But you were also disappointed they weren’t normal dogs.

“Listen, we understand if—”

The brunette interrupted him again. “I don’t! Please take us home with you. I promise we’ll be good. Or I will at least. Honestly you can just take me in. I don’t even know who that guy is.”

“I’m his brother.”

“No he isn’t.”

You stared at them, debating whether or not you should take them in. You didn’t have the biggest home, but you could probably get creative and make it work. However there was still a twinge of paranoia. You weren’t certain you could trust them. But on the other hand you could use the company.

“You can both come live with me. The ad said you were a bonded pair so…”

“Eren, you said we were bonded?” the blonde asked, blushing and eyes sparkling.

“Don’t. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Uh, okay! You guys ready to go then?” you rallied, trying to prevent any conflict from brewing.

Their eyes lit up and their bushy tails started wagging. You were powerless against them. They were yours and you were theirs. You couldn’t wait to get them home and let them get cozy. And more importantly shower. They both looked a little rough around the edges.

On the way home you couldn’t help but stare at their ears, curious as to how they felt. You tried to resist the urge to pinch them, but it became too big of a burden to bear.

“Can I touch—”

“Yes,” they sighed.

Zeke was the more affectionate of the two, but only towards you and Eren. He was pleasant yet standoffish with others, keeping most people at an arm’s length. He had no issues wearing a collar and actually preferred it, unlike Eren. It gave Zeke a sense of security, something his life often lacked. He was incredibly intelligent, but prone to getting lost in his own thoughts. And he preferred spending his days in the yard sprawled out in a hammock with no shirt on, chain smoking and reading.

Eren was a bit of a wild one. He only wanted attention on his own terms, but was open to getting it from anyone he was friendly with. He tended to be a bit of a loner, spending most of his time outdoors. He liked being out in the woods, hiking on balmy days. He was significantly more active than Zeke though you suspected that had something to do with him being younger. Eren was also a bit more hardy than his brother, and lacked the seasonal allergies Zeke had been cursed with since he was a pup.

Since neither of them worked they tended to play housewife while you toiled away at work. Zeke was on laundry duty because Eren was a chronic clothes shrinker. Eren did the cooking, priding himself on his knife skills. He was constantly baking bread with a preference for sourdough. Zeke wasn’t a bad cook by any means, but he lacked the passion Eren exuded. He preferred to clean anyway. It wasn’t uncommon to wake up in the middle of the night to pee and find him scrubbing the toilet.

Depending on where you were in your menstrual cycle, they would both get incredibly clingy and flirtatious. If one of them was feeling particularly bold they’d rub their hard cock on you while you slept. It didn’t bother you much. You had developed a bit of a crush on them. Your sick enjoyment fed off of their desperation. Even the more traditionally annoying behaviors were still a turn on. Like how your underwear was prone to going missing. You’d find it crumpled up and stiff in the strangest places. You never bothered to ask because you didn’t want to embarrass them, or give them any incentive to stop.

Your first tryst with them couldn’t have happened under sillier circumstances. It was late one night. You and Eren had crawled into bed while Zeke stayed up watching the Planet Earth episode on caves. Eren fell asleep almost immediately after pulling you into his warm embrace. You nuzzled your face in his neck, letting your nose graze his Adam’s apple.

Just as you were about to drift off Zeke clumsily opened the door. He skulked around before hopping into bed. You were hoping he’d spoon you, putting you in a dogboy sandwich. But alas, he was going to sleep beside Eren.

Zeke yawned and snaked his arms around his brother. You struggled to hold back a laugh as he wriggled and pulled his brother close. Eren groaned and tried to shake Zeke off.

“Don’t be mean,” Zeke whined.

Zeke then proceeded to grope Eren’s chest.

“Oh… That’s not right,” he said, palming Eren’s pectoral muscle.

“I was waiting for you to notice. Can you please stop rubbing your dick on me?”

“I didn’t know it was you.”

“You couldn’t smell me?”

“You smelled like her shampoo. My—my allergies have been acting up. I can’t smell straight.”

“Makes sense considering there was nothing straight about what you just did.”

“You guys are too much,” you yawned, rolling over onto your back.

Eren fixed his verdant gaze on you. Zeke rested his chin on Eren’s head and did the same. They looked hungry, starved practically. Zeke reached out and booped your nose.

“What?” You asked, laughing.

“I’m bored,” Zeke sighed.

Eren nodded in agreement.

“It’s nighttime. Just fall asleep,” you muttered.

“I doubt he could fall asleep with that raging boner.”

Zeke immediately turned pink and rolled over, trying to mask his shame. He pulled the sheets over his head and sighed heavily.

“Maybe you should help him take care of it?” Eren purred.

“I wouldn’t be averse to that,” Zeke concurred, his voice muffled by cool cotton.

You cleared your throat. While you were very much aware your precious dogboys wanted to bury their noses in your cunt, you never actually considered sleeping with either of them. You weren’t even sure what that would entail.

“If you fuck Zeke, I get to watch.”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” Zeke said dreamily.

Eren grumbled. He wasn’t the best at accepting Zeke’s affection, especially when it was a bit too eager.

“I guess I’m up for it. I can’t remember the last time I fucked someone.”

“I’ll be gentle. Unless you, uh, don’t want me to be. I’m more than prepared to destroy you. I can make it so that no one will ever want you again after I’m through with you.”

“Criiiiiiiiinge,” Eren yawned.

“Be nice,” you chastised, pinching one of Eren’s velvety ears.

“So?” Zeke asked expectantly.

You could hear his tail thumping against the mattress. How could you deny such an excitable boy?

“I’m down.”

Zeke jumped out of bed and started getting undressed. You and Eren made eye contact and laughed.

“Desperate much?”

“He’s not desperate. Just dumb and eager,” you laughed.

Zeke pouted as he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his god-like form. His chest was covered with hair, the same color as a fertile field of wheat. You never got used to seeing him shirtless even though he often went without one. Every time was like the first time, just you in utter awe of his beautiful body.

“You can get undressed faster than that,” Eren goaded.

Zeke pulled off his boxers and balled them up, beaning them at Eren.

“Happy?”

“Not as happy as you apparently,” you chuckled.

Zeke’s cock was hard as a rock, nearly sticking straight up. It was thick, veiny, and of average length which was a relief. Zeke glanced down at it and then made eye contact with you. It was clear he sought approval; he needed validation.

“Very nice, baby.”

“Baby? You never call me baby.”

“That’s because you’re not my baby, Eren.”

“Yeah, Eren, you’re not her baby.”

“Well, what are you two waiting for?” Eren asked, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. He took the quilt with him, wrapping it around himself.

Zeke returned to the bed and got on top of you. He reached under your nightgown and peeled off your underwear. He sniffed them before he handed them to Eren who did the same. Zeke slipped his hand between your thighs and spread apart your folds. He pushed his rough fingers into your cunt and rubbed your clit with the pad of his thumb. He maintained eye contact the entire time. His grey gaze was heavy with ardor. His face couldn’t have been closer to yours. You reached up and stroked his cheek, feeling his lush beard. He hummed happily and continued to finger you.

“Does that feel good?” He asked, curling his fingers inside you.

A “mhm” was all you could muster. It seemed to be enough for Zeke because he beamed and kissed you. To say you weren’t ready was an understatement. He pushed his tongue past your teeth and rolled it against yours. His lips were soft unlike Eren’s which tended to be chapped. A little, joyous whimper emanated from you as his breath lilted into your lungs. It tasted of tobacco and his overpriced, spearmint toothpaste. You wanted him to consume you.

“Can one of you make some noises or something? You guys are too quiet. It’s weird,” Eren heckled.

Zeke broke the kiss. “You do realize not everyone sounds like they’re in Bang Bros video, right?”

Eren was quiet.

“Maybe so. But c’mon. Do something interesting.”

Zeke placed his hands on the small of your back and lifted you forward. He flicked his tongue against your firm nipple. You draped your arms over his shoulders and dragged your nails down his back. You were careful not to dig too deep. You weren’t interested in drawing blood. Zeke was too delicate on an emotional level. His life had been hard enough. You knew he wanted to be pampered, not mangled.

He didn’t seem to hold you in the same regard because he began to bite your nipple. It wasn’t very hard, but still you yelped.

“Hey! Don’t hurt her, you dingus,” Eren teased.

He pulled on Zeke’s wagging tail.

“What good does hurting me do?” He asked ruefully.

You ran your fingers through his soft hair and gave it a tug.

“Not you too.”

“It’s not my fault it’s so fun to be a little mean to you… Do you want us to stop?”

“No,” Zeke mumbled. “I—I like it.”

Eren pulled on his tail again. Zeke groaned and buried his face into your neck. You patted his head and told him how good of a boy he was.

“How good?” He asked, nipping at your neck.

“The best.”

“What about me?” Eren asked.

“You’re a good boy too, I guess.”

Zeke smirked and began to stroke the length of his cock. He gently nudged you back down, leaving you supine. He rubbed his cocktip on your throbbing clit, leaving a few droplets of precum behind. Eren sighed and moved so that he was lying next to you.

“I needed a better view,” he admitted.

“Fair enough,” Zeke groaned as he slid his cock inside you.

Eren stuck his hand under his sweatpants and began to jerk off. You were ecstatic he wanted to watch Zeke split you in two.

Zeke’s thrusts were slow and deliberate. He let his cock gradually stretch out your tight cunt. You loved the fullness you felt, how his cock swelled inside you. It was a sensation you’d never been blessed with before. You felt like you were seeing stars as Zeke picked up the pace. His balls slapped against your taint, leaving a stinging pain in their wake.

“You can fuck her harder than that,” Eren heckled through gritted teeth.

His sweatpants had a sizable wet spot.

“Leave me alone,” Zeke mumbled.

You pinched his ear and gently pulled on it.

“Are you gonna cry, Zekey?”

“Please do not call me that. And what the? No, I’m not going to cry.”

“You do when you jerk off with her underwear,” Eren laughed.

Zeke lost his rhythm; his thrusts became erratic. His cock was hitting your cervix. You felt a dull ache in the depths of your cunt.

“That was one time. I don’t always cry after I come.”

You grabbed his ass and pulled his body closer to you. He let out a low groan as you dug your nails into his voluptuous ass.

“Come on. Cry for me, crybaby,” you teased.

Zeke knitted his brow and didn’t heed your remark. He just kept thrusting away. You felt your orgasm cresting the horizon. You bucked your hips against Zeke.

Eren moaned and ended up coming all over his hand. He licked his palm clean. You were disappointed he didn’t let you lap up his cum.

“Hey, Zeke,” Eren said, catching his breath.

Zeke asked, “What is it now?”

Eren got up and yanked on Zeke’s tail.

“Goddammit!”

“Pull on it again,” you moaned, digging your nails deeper into his plush ass.

Eren was more than happy to comply. A few tears fell from Zeke’s starry, grey eyes.

“Does it hurt, baby?”

“Nah,” he coughed out as Eren tugged on it again. “Maybe a little.”

“Should we g—go easier on you?” You stammered, trying to stave off your orgasm.

“No. Keep doing it.”

Eren moved one of your hands away from Zeke’s ass cheek and he gave it a firm spank.

“Eren!” Zeke yelped.

“Too hard?”

“Just a fucking little!”

You stroked Zeke’s beard, directing his attention on you. He sighed as you tightened around the length of his cock. He gritted his teeth as you writhed underneath him. Eren spanked his ass again, but this time it was gentler. It was inaudible and your little, flaxen dogboy didn’t cry out in pain.

“I’m gonna—“ You desperately moaned.

Zeke gazed down at you; his eyes were dark with lust. They were the color of clouds right before a thunderstorm. You wanted to get caught in his downpour. He fucked you harder than he had before. His cock continued to swell. Your juices flowed from your cunt, intermingling with Zeke’s precum.

“Is he crying?” Eren asked.

You were too caught up in your orgasm to humor Eren’s relentless teasing. Your toes curled and you saw white as you came.

“You look so pretty taking my co—Fuck! Eren!”

You glanced at Eren who had once again pulled on Zeke’s tail. You giggled as Zeke grunted. You used your thumb to wipe away the little tears that had collected in his lower lashes.

“Are you gonna come for me like a good boy?”

He nodded and bucked his hips. A steady stream of cum filled your cunt to the brim. You were stuffed full of its milky warmth and his throbbing knot. You held him close to your body as he finished. Eren, being the little shit he was, tugged on Zeke’s tail one last time. The blonde let out a few whimpers before he collapsed. He was careful not to put his full weight on you.

“Can I come for you like a good boy now?” Eren asked.

“You gotta w—wait a bit. I’m stuck in her for the time being.”

You rubbed Zeke’s ass and he nuzzled his face into your neck. He could be so affectionate. If you ever tried to tell anyone, they’d never believe you. The only people that ever saw this side of him were you and Eren.

“Don’t worry, sweetie. You’ll get your turn,” you said, gesturing to Eren to cuddle up beside you.

Eren did and weaseled his way under your arm. You gave him a little peck on the cheek. It would only be a matter of time before Zeke could pull out and let Eren have his turn.