#I hate living in the north it gets light too early

[lockes-woods]

Stuck Chapter 8

“-A nor’easter is set to hit the city in the early hours of tomorrow morning, Friday the 8th of December. It is recommended to prepare for a potential shelter-in-place order. This storm has already caused shutdowns of major metropolitans to the north. It is predicted that the city will receive a record amount of snowfall.” Himiko paused the newscast as a new message notification came in from Shanks. She swiped over to her message app.

Shanks: Are you still okay to meet this afternoon?

Shanks: I understand if you have to reschedule because of the storm.

Himiko: I think we’ll be fine.

Himiko: The storm isn’t supposed to start until tomorrow morning.

Shanks: Okay, as long as you’re comfortable.

Shanks: I’ll pick you up from the subway stop at 5

Himiko: K sounds good

Himiko smiled down at the text before heading back to her room to get ready for her lecture. Both of her professors had opted to do remote classes because of the inclement weather. One was still conducting a lecture on Zoom, while the other had just assigned a reading and discussion board. She wasn’t sure if the storm was really going to be that bad or if it was just because it was the first major storm of the season. Either way, she was happy to not have to go into class today. Himiko was grateful that her and Nami had gone grocery shopping the night before. No amount of money could compel her to go into any supermarket today. She knew all too well how crazy people got with the threat of any amount of snow even if it was warranted. It was like the beginning of the pandemic all over again. Himiko had no doubt that the shelves would be bare before noon today.

Despite her doubts about the storm, she was glad when Nami told her that she’d be riding it out in center city at Vivi’s apartment. If it was really going to get as bad as they said she was happy that she wouldn’t have to worry about Nami’s safety. Vivi lived in a nice neighborhood, and she got her groceries delivered so there was no need for either of them to leave the apartment.

Himiko slipped on a hoodie before settling into her chair and logging onto her lecture.

***

Himiko internally groaned when she spotted the crowd forming at her subway stop. It was twice as packed as normal. She could already feel herself begin to overheat as her body attempted to adjust to the sudden influx in temperature. It was at least twenty degrees warmer in the subway station than it was outside. That paired with the fact that she and everyone else were wearing bulky winter coats to combat the frigid temperature didn’t help. Himiko quickly unzipped her jacket before boarding the train where she was packed in like a sardine. She grabbed a strap and took a deep breath to center herself. This was going to be the longest twenty-five minutes of her life. She tried to make herself as small as possible to avoid touching those around her or their belongings. On top of the crowd, half the people were carrying groceries or travel bags.

Himiko let her mind wander to Shanks as the train departed. She wondered where he was taking her. All she knew was that it was in uptown and involved food. He specifically told her to come hungry. She wasn’t sure if they were always going to surprise her with the date locations, but she didn’t hate their consideration. It was actually pretty cute to see two grown men get so excited over simple dates.

This time the only clue he gave her was that he went there at least once a month to destress. Unsure where they were going Himiko opted for a nicer outfit just in case. They were going to uptown after all. She was wearing a white A-line dress with a floral corset top that was laced in the front, sheer nude tights, and light pink flats. While she wasn’t positive about where they were going, she’d rather be overdressed than underdressed. She was kinda bummed that she had to wear her glasses today, but she knew it was easier in the long run than having to deal with dry eyes from the wind.

Himiko let out a sigh of relief when they pulled into her stop, and she was grateful to be able to dislodge herself from the crowd. While some people had gotten off at previous stops they were instantly replaced by new people. It felt more like a weekend than midafternoon on a Thursday. She kept a hand locked on her cross-body purse to prevent anyone from opening it. Even though she had a good awareness of her surroundings she didn’t want to risk attracting a pick pocketer. She knew from experience that crowds this big in such a small space were prime places for theft. She made her way up the staircase as fast as the crowd would allow.

She didn’t have any issue finding Shanks once she was finally able to make it outside. Between his height and hair, he easily stood out in a crowd. She could feel the salt crunch below her feet as she crossed the street to meet him. Himiko zipped up her coat as her body temperature started to even out.

“Hey,” he greeted her lifting his arm, prompting her for a hug. Himiko happily accepted the brief embrace.

“Hey, it’s nice to finally see you,” she said as she pulled back from the hug.

“Likewise,” he started visibly giving her a once over, “you look great by the way.”

“Thanks,” Himiko responded shyly. She resisted complimenting him back; she didn’t want him to know how good she thought he looked in a suit. Knowing him it would most likely go straight to his head.

“Ready to head out?” He asked. Himiko nodded as they started to make their way north.

“So, where are we going.” She asked.

“You’ll see,” Shanks replied with a smirk.

“You’re seriously not going to tell me?” she asked.

“And let Mihawk have all the fun? Not on your life.” He responded. Himiko rolled her eyes playfully.

“Can I at least guess?” she asked.

“Sure, but you’ll have to be quick. We’re almost there.” Shanks said.

“How far is it?” Himiko asked.

Shanks hummed in thought before responding, “About two blocks away.”

“Is it some sort of cooking class?” She guessed.

“Nah, I don’t know how much you’d enjoy doing that with me. Outside of breakfast and the occasional sandwich, I’m pretty much useless in the kitchen.” Shanks said with a laugh.

“Does Mihawk cook, or do you mostly do takeout?” Himiko asked.

“Oh, Mihawk’s a great cook. He always does the cooking on his days off; we normally save takeout for when I’m on my own or days he works.” Shanks explained.

Himiko nodded pausing a moment before resuming the game. “Is it a restaurant?”

“I don’t know if I’d call it a restaurant, but they do serve food.” He answered.

“Oh! Is it a sports bar?” Himiko asked excitedly thinking she’s got it.

“Nope,” Shanks said amused, “Me and Mihawk aren’t really sports people. Outside of casually watching rugby, I don’t really find any sports compelling to follow.”

“Damn,” Himiko cursed out of ideas.

“Do you even like sports?” he asked with a laugh.

“Sorta? My dad was from Philly and was a die-hard Eagles fan. I can follow and know the rules of all the mainstream sports like basketball or baseball. I will watch the Eagles if I’m home and they’re playing, but I don’t really go out of my way to see them. Which might be for the best; sometimes it’s a labor of love to be a Philly sports fan.” She explained.

“Do you have your own home team?” Shanks asked.

“Nah, I never really stayed anywhere long enough to call home when I was a kid. Living here for the past three years is the second longest time I’ve ever stayed somewhere consecutively.” Himiko answered, “The first being my time in Florida with Nami’s family.”

“Did you enjoy traveling around the country?” he asked.

“Sometimes, it was definitely a double-edged sword. I’m grateful for all the experiences I had, but it would have been nice to set down roots somewhere.” Himiko started, “Where are you originally from?”

“Oh, I was born and raised in the downtown area. Outside of a semester abroad when I was in undergrad, I’ve never lived anywhere else,” he said, suddenly stopping in front of a café. Himiko looked at him confused before it clicked that they were at their destination. Himiko glanced up at the sign and unconsciously squealed when she realized what kind of café it was.

“Is this a cat café?!” Himiko asked looking up at him in excitement.

“Sure is,” he said with a smile holding the door open for her. She quickly stepped inside to get out of the cold. Himiko couldn’t contain her happiness as she took in her surroundings. There were about eight cats scattered around the room. Some young, some old. There were only half a handful of patrons. She unintentionally fit in with the floral theme of the café quite well. There were multiple cat trees shaped like flowers in bloom. Along with a plush green circular carpet that mimicked grass.

“Are you hungry?” He asked from behind her.

“Yeah,” she nodded following him towards the bakery part of the establishment. Her eyes lit up when she saw that they had a tiramisu cake in the case.

“Hey, welcome in. Are you guys ready to order?” a male worker around her age asked from behind the counter. Himiko nodded again when Shanks glanced at her to see if she was ready.

“I’ll take the strawberry shortcake and a black coffee please,” Shanks ordered.

“Can I please have a slice of the tiramisu and a cappuccino,” Himiko added on. The worker nodded.

“That’ll be 2,100 berries; cash or card?” he asked.

“Card,” Shanks responded adding a tip and tapping his card to the card reader.

“Alright, that will be out shortly. We are closing an hour earlier than normal because of the weather. So, our closing time tonight will be seven.” Shanks nodded in understanding before leading Himiko towards a table near the back wall next to a cat tree that mimicked a cherry blossom tree in bloom.

“So do you come here often?” she asked, shedding her coat, and hanging it on the back of her chair.

“It varies, sometimes I only come here once a month other times twice a week. It really just depends on how stressed I am.” He answered, reaching down to scratch behind a tabby’s ear as it passed by. Himiko smiled as she watched him interact with the cat.

“It’s nice that you have a healthy way to destress. I’m sure your job can be really draining.” She said as the cat stalked away. Shanks nodded.

“I’m used to the stress to an extent, but it can definitely come to a head when I’m working on high-profile cases.” He spoke. Before Himiko could ask any follow-up questions a high school-aged worker dropped off their food.

“Here you are,” She started placing their food and drinks in front of them. “And by the way I love your outfit.” She said giving Himiko a warm smile.

“Thank you so much, for the food and the compliment,” Himiko said with a matching smile. The girl nodded before heading to the back of house.

 “You really do look stunning,” Shanks said taking a sip from his mug as he eyed her over the rim.

“I’m sure you say that to everyone,” Himiko said with a laugh as she followed suit and took a sip of her drink.

“Nah, I may be a flirt, but I only ever say things when I mean it,” He started setting his drink down. “Though I do think there’s a better place I’d like to see that outfit.”

“Oh, and where’s that?” she asked, amused.

“My bedroom floor,” He responded with a smirk. Himiko held his gaze for a moment before she broke down laughing.

“What too cheesy?” He asked joining in on the laughter.

“Just a little” She answered with a smile, taking a bite of her cake.

“Damn, that line almost always works,” Shanks said, digging into his own dessert.

“On who? Mihawk?” Himiko asked exasperated.

“Sometimes, depending on his mood.” He responded.

“I don’t believe that,” Himiko said shaking her head.

“What, it’s true!” Shanks said, defending himself.

“How many times has it worked?” She asked.

“I’ve bedded Mihawk with that line plenty of times.” He said back.

“Oh, really. Is it the line that gets him, or is it just because you’re handsome?”  Himiko asked.

“You think I’m handsome?” Shanks said with a smirk, leaning his head on his hand.

“I mean it’s clearly not your game that got me here.” Himiko joked, causing Shanks to drop his smile.

“I have game,” Shanks said, feigning offense.

“Oh, I’m sure you do,” Himiko laughed.

“I do! How else would I have bagged Mihawk?” He asked.

“By being attractive! You have pretty privilege.” She said finishing up her cappuccino.

“What’s pretty privilege?” he asked, confused.

“It’s a theory that attractive people are treated better than those who are not,” Himiko explained.

“If anyone here has pretty privilege it’s you,” Shanks said, shaking his head.

“No, I’m pretty and have a personality.” She sassed him. Shanks responded with an exaggerated eye roll as he took the last bite of his dessert. He then stacked their dishes and took them to a wash bin built into the trash can.

“Ready for the best part?” he asked, taking her hand, and leading her over to a box full of cat toys. He grabbed a feather on a stick and took a seat on an ottoman. Himiko grabbed a small mouse plush before sitting down next to him. He started to wave the feather around. A pair of younger cats perked up and crossed the room towards him. Himiko unconsciously smiled as the cats took turns batting the feather around; she almost missed the light touch of an older cat brushing against her leg. She glanced down and was met with a pair of heterochromatic eyes of an older calico. The cat was sat at her feet flicking her tail back and forth while eyeing the mouse plush in her hand. She lightly tossed it a few feet away; to her delight, the cat stalked over to the mouse, picked it up, and returned the plush to Himiko's feet.

          The cat and Himiko played fetch for the next ten minutes before it slinked off to lay down on a heated cat bed by the window. Himiko's eye followed it before widening as she looked out the window.

“Shit,” she cursed, at the sight of solid white on the other side of the glass. Shanks glanced at her confused before he followed her gaze to the front window.

“Jesus, that happened fast.” Shanks agreed as he let the two cats grab the feather and pull the toy away from him.

“I think we need to leave right now before it gets any worse,” Himiko said as she headed back to the table and grabbed her coat. She now noticed that they were the only customers left in the café. The staff had just begun to corral the cats into the back room. Shanks nodded in agreement as he slipped his coat back on.

“I hope the trains are still running,” she said pulling up her transit app.

“How far do you have to walk from the station to your apartment?” he asked looking down at her.

“Um, about three blocks.” She answered while trying to refresh the app.

“So, you’d have to walk five blocks in total if you went home?” he asked.

“Yeah,” She nodded as the app finally loaded. All outdoor transportation had a ‘x’ next to their routes, but the subway would still be running, at least for now.

“If you’re going to go all the way downtown, I’m coming with you,” he said looking down at her with a serious look on his face.

“You don’t half to do that-” Himiko started before Shanks cut her off.

“Yes, I do; there’s close to zero visibility outside. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if anything happened on your way home.” He started taking her hand in his. “Alternatively, we can go to ride out the storm at my apartment it’s only a block and a half from here.” Himiko bit her bottom lip as she mulled over her options. She had zero chance of trying to convince Shanks to let her go home alone in a blizzard. That paired with her poor choice of clothing basically made the decision for her.

“Okay,” She nodded, “Let’s go to your place.” Shanks nodded, letting go of her hand for a moment to pull out his phone. A look of relief crossed his features.

“Mihawk just got home; he didn’t get the short end of the stick for once,” Shanks explained, pocketing his phone.

“Does he normally have to stay at the hospital during storms?” Himiko asked tilting her head.

“Yeah, he was stuck at the hospital for three days last summer when that hurricane came to the city.” Shanks started before continuing, “We should get a move on; I told him we’d be home in the next 15-20 minutes. He’ll worry if we’re late.” Himiko nodded as they made their way to the door. Shanks grabbed her left hand again as they opened the door and went outside. It was immediately awful. Himiko had zero visibility as she blindly followed Shanks through the storm. That paired with the intense wind made it almost impossible for her to keep her eyes open. She was immediately grateful that she didn’t opt to go back to her apartment. After what felt like an eternity, she lost Shanks’ grip. Before she was able to panic, she heard a beep and was being guided inside a building.

          Himiko took off her glasses and quickly cleaned them on the edge of her dress before putting them back on. She squinted as her eyes adjusted to the bright lighting of the room. She was standing in an art deco-style lobby. The base was a deep forest green with gold and silver accents. She felt anxiety rise in her stomach as the reality of her situation sunk in. She was going to be stuck with Mihawk and Shanks’s home for the next 48 hours at the minimum.

MASTER LIST

#red haired shanks x reader #red haired shanks x dracule mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader #bisexual reader #red haired shanks #dracule mihawk #dilf mihawk #surgeon mihawk #lawyer shanks #modern au #sugar daddy au #slow burn #red haired shanks x dracule mihawk x reader #cross posted on ao3 #mishanks x reader

[hankwritten]

Enargeia

Day 3: CREATE (Texas Toast)

When they first joined BLU, Pyro thought it couldn’t get any better than this. New friends! Other new friends who they were allowed to set on fire! Basically all the rainbows they could manage without having to worry about that normal, everyday stuff like finding their next meal or stealing candy from convenience stores. Just work that they loved and a blank cheque to do it.

Yet, they can’t deny there’s something nice about living with Engie too. On weekends, those two long, bitter days when there’s no work at the battlefields and they have to entertain themself by lighting up in the pits or the fireplace (which Engie had specially installed for them since New Mexico homes don’t come with fireplaces), they actually find they’re alright with the concept of downtime. Something about Engie…he makes what would be boring simply…peaceful. Even on the rare occasion BLU gives them a holiday, and the painful two-days become excruciating three-days, they find they don’t mind so much as long as Engie is setting the schedule. He makes breakfast (eggs with bacon in a smiley face, or pancakes shaped like hearts) into an event. Going to sleep (which Pyro hates with a passion, will run themself ragged until four in the morning rather than lie down and try to make their brain go quiet) has become strictly regimented in an early-to-bed-early-to-rise sort of way. It’s actually shocking how much having a normal sleep schedule and regular meals will do for you.

That, plus having something non-work/non-fire related to set themself to, which isn’t really Engie’s doing but he was their inspiration. Between the moments spent with one another—be that meals or the much beloved story time—Engie occupies himself in his at-home workshop. Pyro watches from time to time, delighted how he loses himself in the not-quite-work-not-quite-hobby, enthralled with how things simply spring to existence under his palms.

The ranch is really to thank for their sudden fecundity. They were resistant, at first, when Miss Pauling “““encouraged””” them to move off-base and Engie kindly offered his home, but it fits them well. They want to make this place fit. They’ve even taken it upon themself to go fix up the old fence on the north side, and to learn enough engineering to tinker with the refrigerator since Engie keeps saying he’ll get to it but never does.

However, it’s not quite enough.

“I want to paint the side of the barn,” they tell Engie one day.

He looks up from the mini-dispenser that's been in development hell for months now. “Really? Sure it’s been a few years, but it’s not like it’s chippin’ yet.”

“Not as in painting all one color. As in paint something. Like a mural.” They glance out the window. “I want to make something. The way you do.”

“Hm,” Engie says. “I suppose I do have a couple of buckets lying ‘round the shop…”

They set to it that afternoon.

The buckets slop and occasionally spill with Pyro’s excitement, the brush thick with each swipe. They can feel the power of creation within them, and they begin to shape a sunrise on the barn’s bright and bare wall. Engie loans them a ladder, and stops by every hour or so, watching something beautiful come to be.

Pyro pours their heart and soul into it. They love until they have calluses through their gloves.

And when it’s done, it looks like utter shit.

“Oh I don’t think it’s that bad, darl,” Engie assures them.

“It’s hideous,” they mourn.

What was supposed to be a combination of yellows and oranges runs into the blue in a brown muck. The rainbow which they’ve thrown over the scene is wobbly and super crooked now that they step back.

“It looked so different in my head,” they say. “But when I tried to make it real it just came out all wrong.”

“Have you ever painted anything before, Py?”

“Well, no, but…”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have started with something so big for your first ever project. Making things takes time, and a bit of practice. You start with a potato clock and work your way up to the wristwatch.”

“I’m just so tired of things not staying. When I make fire, it’s beautiful, but then it’s gone right away.” Their shoulders droop. “Sometimes it feels like destroying rather than creating.”

Engie thinks for a minute.

“Come to the workshop for a moment, darling. I wanna show you something.”

Dragging their feet, they follow him inside. The great space of the barn-turned workshop is warm despite its ravenousness, machines in low power mode gently beeping and throwing off heat. He guides them to one of the out of the way tables, clearing a space and rustling up a torchlike device from his piles of scrap.

“This here is a woodburner.”

“Anyone can be a wood burner.”

He chuckles. But then he guides their hands, showing them step by step how to work the small device, standing behind them while they carve a small unicorn out of a piece of wood using only a flame.

“It’s still ugly,” they complain.

“Sure is.” He sets the unicorn, which is just a mangled horse shape since Pyro accidentally chopped off the horn, on one of his tool shelves. “But now you’ve gone and given it a try. Now the next one you make will be a little better. And a little better after that.”

“That’s going to take so looonnngggg….”

“True. But I’ll be here keeping you company.”

That won’t be so bad then. They pick up the torch again, and as Engie settles in, they resolve to prove that fire can make just as well as it can unmake.

#dnadvalentines2023 #engiepyro #texastoast #tf2 fanfiction

[turtlemagnum]

i think my first exposure to AI art might've been this video where somebody was testing out this new, weird thing where they automatically generate a song using AI, and i couldnt help but feel that it was an indictment of the modern music scene that a goddamn computer could effortlessly and accurately replicate the generic swill that passes for popular music nowadays. didnt have a vocalist synthesized yet but those have been becoming a thing too, or so i hear.

i saw a little article about how the newer generations of gamers are turning more and more to retro games. as somebody technically belonging to the "newer generations" this felt self evident, as frankly most of the gaming i do nowadays is almost invariably in an emulator. i think that to a certain extent, most of the best mainstream games that are going to be made already have been, at least for the forseeable future of major developers with games made scientifically perfect for milking you for the most money possible rather than as an art form. im sure it's all gonna collapse in on itself eventually, from what i hear some of the older folks who lived through more than i have we've been here before. hell, pretty much anybody who cares even a bit about gaming history knows first and foremost about the gaming crash of the early 80s, mostly spurred on by the temporal equivalent of modern cheap asset flip garbage that floods most stores these days. it's hard not to feel like we're about to see a massive crash yet again, with the ones inheriting the earth being the little fellas, and of course nintendo. which, makes sense, their earliest history is of weathering shit just like this, of course they'd know when to spot enshittification and stay clear of it. i'm in no way saying that nintendo is exempt of being a shitty corporation, but i will say that from a business standpoint they're one of the only ones i know of that actually seem to understand the idea of sustainability on a broad scale. hell of a lot better than the likes of activision, thats for damn sure. but back to what i was actually trying to get at before i adhd tangent'd, i think it makes a lot of sense that when the majority of the shit being put on the market is corporatist, design by comittee, prefab trash with aggressive monetization and a consistent attitude of fixing any problems in patches, it makes a hell of a lot of sense that we'd go back to our roots. NES mario is the same as its ever been, has been for over 30 years, and will be in another 30. you dont gotta worry about them patching it to make it actually function as advertised, or patching it from being something you enjoyed into something you hate, or having fomo marketing based microtransaction bullshit. the most that's gonna change is that every now and again, nintendo will make the only version they give not have flashing lights for epileptic folks, or patch out mike tyson because he sucks and replace him with a white guy, and the white guy's less hard but thats ok because it's still pretty hard, and either way it's a good game, fun, and you can still find the original on rom sites and also probably ebay if you dont have a vpn but do have a disposable income, so dont worry about it. getting sidetracked again, ANYWAYS-

what i wanted to get at is that i wonder if we're gonna see a similar resurgence in other old kinds of media just like, in general, for the mainstream. like why watch the 22nd reboot of ghost busters when the originals are right there. king crimson's still good, why dont you listen to them instead of bemoaning how your new favs are problematic, even though i dont think fripp can reclaim the fag slur (im gay, i can it's fine). i've recently been watching fist of the north star and original dragon ball, ilike the m. there are books. lots of those, actually,. you can read em! if you have the attention span. i honestly think we might be seeing more and more of this, now that im looking out for it. like i see just like, random people mention how much they like prog rock or 1930s dracula. relatively normals talk about how they like lemon demon these days. those stupid aestheticized classic anime accounts on twitter get sososo many likes. can you tell im sleep deprived writing this? i can, and im writing thjis. im writing this SO HARD. send poast.

#turtle hall of fame

[cursedvibes]

Edo Flashback Character Design

That Kashimo flashback is living in my head rent free so let me ramble about the character design (particularly hair) and how it tells us a lot about these people in just a few panels.

Ishigoori & girlfriend/wife

I see a lot of people making fun of Ishigoori for being bald... hate to tell you this but 90% of men back then had some variation of this hairstyle. Kashimo & Kenjaku aren't the norm but I'll get to that.

The topknot of the ichomage is quite long and a bit thicker with the top of his head widely shaven. Overall, a very tight and clean look usually seen more among Edo city folk, which I think can be interpreted as him being being pretty fashionable and in touch with modern trends despite being a samurai living up in the north. His clothing looks casual and he's waving his naked feet around, so I'm assuming this is his house they're in. He seems to be pretty well off, looking at the conditions of it.

Now his girlfriend is the main reason I think this takes place somewhere between 1600-1650 aka very early Edo period. She has long flowing hair, not pinned up like it would be common during the heights of the Edo period, and she seems to be wearing a kosode (short sleeves, unisex belt and wider cut unlike kimonos) which started to go out of fashion by mid 1600s. It was a trademark of upper class women around the time this takes place, showing again that she and Ishigoori must be well off.

(ca. 1615)

(Kashimo & Kenjaku under the cut)

Kashimo

(gonna use they/them for Kashimo because if Hakari doesn't gender them, neither will I)

Now, Kashimo immediately sticks out for being unshaven and having their hair all waving about. Very unprofessional. I'm pretty sure Akutami's main influence here was Takezo from Vagabond which also takes place around the same time. Subsequently, we immediately know that Kashimo doesn't take part in polite society. They're only wearing a plain dirty yukata(?) and don't care much about appearance (sickness might play a role too). It could also be that Kashimo is simply so unchallenged that they don't even bother getting into more proper combat gear like in modern times. Anyone who sees them, besides Kenjaku, will likely die anyway without them needing to spend much effort, so why bother.

Kenjaku

Okay, so Kenjaku is really interesting. First of all, for a man their hair is way too long and loose. My guess is that this person originally had a chasenmage or sohatsu style and then grew it out or Kenjaku grew it it out. Both styles were popular among young men around 1600. Sohatsu was worn by confucian scholars and doctors in learning until the early Edo period and then got picked up by samurai later in the era, 1750+ (also became popular among ronin). Either way, their hair still rarely reached past their shoulders, so Kenjaku's style is definitely unusual. The hairstyle was already seen as a bit extravagant, so Kenjaku probably appeared eccentric/flamboyant (bit fruity) to the general population. Actually some of the hairstyles of the women on the painting further up in this post look closer to this than the typical sohatsu...

(left: chasenmage, right: sohatsu)

Generally, they are wearing pretty light clothing both in fabric and colour (this is the first time we see them wearing light colours) that are in a modern style considering the time period but nothing outstanding, more on the casual side. The clothes Ishigoori is wearing look like they're from higher quality material than this. What I find interesting is that they don't have any sort of sigil on their haori despite being out in public, so they either removed it or the person they took over doesn't belong to any big family. The sandals that they are wearing together with the comfortable clothing indicate to me that they are traveling a lot, otherwise they would wear gesa (would also be more practical on a bloody battlefield...) or zori. If they really did just come from Mutsu, that would be appropriate. Very busy making binding vows I guess.

Considering they said their body isn't suitable for fighting, they don't have any weapons on them that we can see, and this is Kenjaku we are talking about, I would say their body probably used to be a wandering physician or scholar with political ties and that's why they took over this body. But who knows. Definitely very gender.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk spoilers #ishigori ryu #ishigoori ryuu #kashimo hajime #kenjaku

[septembersghost]

Hi again! :) I'm so sorry if this question has been asked before. What are your top McWexler songs? The songs that, when you listen to them, you can't help bu think about Kim and Jimmy?

hi lovely!!! i don't think this has been asked actually - someone asked me for an in-character list, and that one's harder for me to place working from their times and tastes than it is choosing songs that subjectively make me think of them! i have my top five taylor list (which could easily expand to ten), and of course cowboy like me remains thee ultimate song for them. and i mentioned silver springs by fleetwood mac and slow like honey by fiona apple. something stupid probably goes without saying ;___; <3

also! a bit of an aside, but in lantern, when chuck is playing jazz, it's "it never entered my mind" by miles davis, and it was SO eerie to me because frank sinatra's version of that song was already in my head as being very jimmy/kim whenever they might separate, because i think too much about things that make me sad!

so i'll give you five modern ones and five old ones, with apologies that somehow these ended up leaning way towards the melancholy.

♥ hate to be lame - lizzy mcalpine feat. finneas (it's always in the back of my mind/maybe my mistakes are the reason that I made it back to you in time/if i could rewind, would there be some butterfly effect?/what if we never met? what if the stars never aligned?)

♥ grapejuice - harry styles (there's never been someone who's so perfect for me/but I got over it, and I said/"give me somethin' old and red"/I pay for it more than I did back then/there's just no gettin' through without you)

♥ hold out - aly & aj (you know I never meant to be a burden to ya/I never wanna cause you harm/I know what heavy conversation does to ya/I wish I never brought it up at all/but some days, I need a rescue/hey you, if you hear me calling/hey you, if you see me falling/will you catch me?/will you hold out your arms and catch me?/will you catch me?/do you think that you're strong enough?/you always told me that these days would get better/but I'm afraid that you were wrong)

♥ new normal - sasha sloan (wake up alone in an empty bed/it's quiet in the livin' room/go for a drive like we always did, in the middle of the afternoon/havin' a drink at our favorite place like we always used to do/this is my new normal without you)

♥ the louvre - lorde (a rush at the beginning/I get caught up, just for a minute/but lover, you're the one to blame/all that you're doing/can you hear the violence?...our thing progresses/I call and you come through/blow all my friendships to sit in hell with you)

♥ a case of you - joni mitchell (you're in my blood like holy wine/you taste so bitter and so sweet/oh, I could drink a case of you, darling/and I would still be on my feet/I am a lonely painter/I live in a box of paints/I'm frightened by the devil/and I'm drawn to those ones that ain't afraid)

♥ like a lover - brasil '66 (how I envy a cup that knows your lips/let it be me, my love/and a table that feels your fingertips/let it be me, let me be your love/bring an end to the endless days and nights without you)

♥ these foolish things - ella fitzgerald (the winds of march that make my heart a dancer/a telephone that rings but who's to answer/oh, how the ghost of you clings)

♥ you've got a friend - james taylor (or carole king!) (if the sky above you grows dark and full of clouds/and that old north wind begins to blow/keep your head together and call my name out loud/soon you'll hear me knockin' at your door/you just call out my name/and you know, wherever I am/I'll come runnin' to see you again)

♥ two sleepy people - carly simon (here we are, out of cigarettes/holding hands and yawning/see how late it gets/two sleepy people by dawn's early light/and too much in love to say goodnight)

#i always love music questions <333 #snowstormserenade #letterbox #mcwexler #forever is the sweetest con

[mercyfullkate]

It's really cold so gather round, I'm going to tell you about the last time it was this cold and what happened.

I had a ticket to see Avatar (the band) play Louisville, KY on January 16, 2018. I'd planned to leave work a few hours early that day to drive the four hours or so to Louisville, but a snowstorm moved in that morning and the college where I work was closed that day and the next.

I live in east Tennessee. It doesn't usually get very cold here but this was one of those Arctic blast storms where the temperature drops to well below freezing and everyone stays home because we don't know how to drive in snow. But I had a concert to attend! I'd only become a fan of Avatar recently when I saw them open for In This Moment, and I wasn't going to miss seeing them as a headliner. So I put on the wool underclothes I wear for hiking in cold weather, and heavy wool hiking socks, and over that jeans, t-shirt, hoodie, and hiking boots. I also put a wool scarf and mittens in the car and figured I'd be fine. It wasn't snowing yet although the sky was low and leaden.

I headed north on I-75 and by the time I reached the Kentucky border the snow had started. The roads were bad and I drove slowly, but my main trouble was keeping the windshield clear enough to see where I was going. I was driving a 2011 Mini Cooper that had a lot of miles on it and was cranky about the cold, and while the windshield wiper fluid has antifreeze stuff in it AFAIK, the little nozzles that squirt the wiper fluid froze over after the first time I used them.

I stopped for gas at the Berea, KY exit (because I went to Berea College and know the area!), cleaned the windshield, got some hot chocolate, talked to the gas station attendant about how yeah, this was a bad snowstorm and the plows couldn't keep up, and got back in my car. And I drove and drove through the snow all the way up to Lexington. All this time the temperature hovered around 12 degrees Fahrenheit. I listened to music really loud and ran the heater and was fine.

The snow had mostly stopped by the time I passed Lexington and was on the last leg to Louisville. The roads were clear although there were spots of ice under the overpasses. No problem, I kept it slow and arrived in Louisville with several hours to kill.

I went to a music shop and bought a used crash cymbal, visited a few book stores and bought some books, and finished up at a Panera where I drank coffee and watched out the window, killing time. I was excited about the concert and didn't want to arrive too early. It was at the Mercury Ballroom downtown, where I'd never been before, and I think doors opened at 6pm. I finally couldn't wait any longer and left a little after 5pm.

Traffic was light. Most people had gone home from work early because of the bad weather and I think schools had been closed too. It didn't take me too long to reach downtown after all.

I arrived well before 6pm and found parking in a snowy lot only a few minutes from the Mercury. Parking was $5. I grabbed my scarf and mittens because it was dark now, still about 12F, and snowing lightly. I walked down to find the end of the line and figured I could survive the cold for half an hour or so.

Now, this was a metal concert and almost no one was dressed for the cold. I wasn't even wearing a coat! Almost no one was. And before long we were all truly miserable, hunched up and shivering. 6pm came and went. 7pm came and went. By the time doors opened I couldn't feel my toes at all.

It turned out that the lines weren't marked and I'd waited in line for 90 minutes in 12 degree weather in the VIP line, and me and everyone around me got sent to the end of the actual line behind people who'd only just arrived.

Anyway, we made it in and it was nice and warm inside. This was pre-Covid and everyone scrunched in together. The opening act was a magic/freak show called (I think) Hellzapoppin, and I hate that sort of thing so I just hid behind a tall guy so I couldn't see. By the time Avatar took the stage, my toes had finally thawed and I could feel them again.

Avatar always puts on a great show and I really enjoyed the concert. Despite everything I've typed, this story isn't actually about the concert. Afterwards I decided to drive toward home, and if the roads were bad I'd stop somewhere and find a hotel, and if not I'd just drive home.

Moonlight glowed on snow-covered fields. The interstate was almost deserted. The roads were clear after all even after I reached Lexington and headed south on I-75, so I just kept driving. The temperature at this point was around 5 degrees Fahrenheit. My car lit up its "don't like cold weather" check-engine light, but that happened every time it got too cold. This also isn't a story about car trouble.

At the time I was living in a little town north of Knoxville, and I reached it about 3:30am. I was sleepy but was off work the next day so was looking forward to sleeping in, then messing around on my drum kit with the new cymbal I'd bought.

Norris, Tennessee has a public field in the middle of town called the commons, where kids play soccer and the town shoots off fireworks in summer. As always, I looked across the commons as I drove past it, because my house was just visible beyond a little hill. And as I looked, I saw that my house was on fire.

The two minutes or so that it took me to reach home were probably the most terrifying of my life. I took mental stock as I drove carefully on the icy road: I had no pets or people living with me at the time, my wallet was with me, and things can be replaced. I was okay. I could get replacement family pictures from other family members. It was a pity about my book collection and drum kit, but again: just things.

As I came around the last corner, I realized it wasn't my house on fire after all! But that was even worse, because my nearest neighbor was elderly and almost deaf. What if it was her house? What if no one had reported the fire yet and she was trapped in her house?

But by the time I reached my driveway, with relief I realized the fire was another door down, a house that had stood empty for several years. And I also saw fire trucks in the road, battling flames that were taller than the surrounding trees.

The neighborhood smelled of smoke. My house smelled of smoke. I took my new cymbal and new Avatar t-shirt inside and wasn't sure what to do. I wanted to shower and go to bed, but I imagined a fireman pounding on my door telling me my roof was alight, and me having to grab a towel and bathrobe to escape into the frozen night. So I stayed in my sweaty concert clothes and watched the fire through the window for almost an hour.

There were several inches of snow on my roof, though, and I suspect that's why the fire didn't spread. Finally I showered and went to bed, but woke only a few hours later with a headache from the smoke. The empty house had burned down completely.

No one was hurt, fortunately. My deaf neighbor had been the one to call 911 when she smelled smoke. My crash cymbal was worth what I paid for it. I ended up with an ear infection from standing in the cold so long without a hat.

That's all. That's a longwinded story about how I drove to see a concert in sub-zero snowy weather and returned home to a house fire two doors down. But it was all okay and you should totally check out Avatar (the band) if you're not already familiar with them. I got to see them again this summer in Knoxville at what turned out to be their 1000th live show, and it was great and nothing burned down afterwards.

#cold weather #avatar band #house fire #roadtrip

[wiw3]

Happy 2nd of July!

These hicks.

These hick fucks.

Double-feature today, due to the fact that I hate where I live because of them. I almost hate my country because of them, but I’m not quite there, yet. There are better reasons to hate the United States than hicks blasting fireworks off 48 hours too early, but it interrupts already-procrastinated work.

Maybe that’s why I’m angry at them. Maybe I’m mad at them preventing my work because I’m insecure over how irresponsible I was with my first big voiceover project. That’s probably it.

If I think hard enough, most of my complaints just spiral back to insecurity over my own inefficiency, inability, or ineptness. What else is there to complain about, I ask you? The state of the world? You’re insecure over your ineffectual powerlessness, as are we all.

Everyone’s got it in them, and you can’t be naïve to it. Always aware, or always oblivious, you do have to wind up picking one sometime. I’ve been trying to get a healthy balance of reality versus escapism, but every time I step out of one and into the other, regardless of time spent in either, it becomes increasingly absurd to want to believe in anything or to dream at all.

It’s much better to be a hollow work drone, drinking non-Dylan-Mulvaney-branded Bud Lights and guffawing at the pretty lights in the sky.

A part of it is jealousy, too, I think. I wish my soul could be soothed by tiny pocket-explosions and pyrotechnics, but I could see them any time of the year.

Maybe I’m not appreciating the time of the year enough, and the tiniest goddamned part of me is worried that they’re going to blow their stashed wad before the actual holiday comes.

Maybe Independence Day is the last real bastion of North American pride, as it disappears into the ether of just trying to go along to get along. I’m probably missing the boat on that one a little, but I owe it to myself to think through being angry so that I don’t wind up making it someone else’s problem.

Venting has become a stressful thing for me to do. Maybe it’s like the Grecian saying, “Everything in moderation”, but I’m not Greek, so it doesn’t apply. Life is suffering and I’d rather be on substances 100% of the time, living in a perfect, pretty little dream world.

But I can’t have that. I can’t suffer any delusions or else I risk a more grounded person bursting that bubble for me.

I don’t dream anymore.

So stop launching your fucking fireworks.

#writing #sorry for party rocking #blog post #rant #rant over #sorry for the rant #hicks #rednecks #fireworks before independence day #da fourth of july #get on it

[damonalbarn]

Hey I was wondering if you knew the article that Justine spoke about suzi in?!

It was in The Guardian in 2000. Here you go:

Sweet revenge

In the mid 90s, Justine Frischmann and Damon Albarn were the First Couple of Britpop. Then he used a Blur album to rake over their break-up, while she languished in obscurity amid rumours of heroin addiction. Now she's back with a new album, and it's her turn to exorcise her demons.

Caroline Sullivan

Friday March 24, 2000

As Alison Moyet once said, it's hard to write a decent song when you're happy. Rock bands thrive on romantic turmoil in their private lives, without which they would be reduced to padding out lyrics with football scores and the weather.

Thus it was for Blur's Damon Albarn in mid-1998 when he sat down to write what would become the 13 album. His eight-year relationship with Justine Frischmann of the chart-topping Elastica, whom he once described as **"the only person who's ever been completely necessary to me" **had just ended, at her instigation. Pained and humiliated, he decided to exact revenge by exposing their most intimate details to public scrutiny.

The outcome? Embarrassment for Frischmann, a number one album for Blur and a bit of a result for Albarn.

Break-up albums are by definition both embittered and yearning - in the case of Marvin Gaye's vindictive Here, My Dear, they're just plain nasty - but 13 got more up-close and personal than could be considered gentlemanly. Albarn portrayed his former partner as neurotic, even slipping apparent drug references into the single Tender: "Tender is the ghost, the ghost I love the most/Hiding from the sun, waiting for the night to come". Frischmann was the ghost, supposedly, who was on the verge of being consumed by what one music paper euphemistically called "the darkness at the heart of Elastica".

Frischmann's response can be found on a song called The Way I Like It, which appears on Elastica's first album in five years, The Menace (out next month): "Well, I'm living all right and I'm doing okay/Had a lover who was made of sand, and the wind blew him away".

This is unlikely to be her last word on the subject. As she ambivalently begins her first round of interviews since 1996, she's finding that everyone has the same three questions. Why did Elastica nearly sabotage a promising career by taking so long to follow up their million-selling debut? Had Frischmann taken leave of her senses when she walked out on Mr Britpop? And what about the drug rumours?

"One journalist said to me, 'Dahling, I heard you were on heroin - Mahvelous!' " she says with some amusement. "Drugs are around, but I'm not that interested and never have been, although there have been elements of party animal in my band. The rumours are a lot to do with rock'n'roll mythology, where people want to believe you're having a more exciting time than you are."

The only drugs on her person today, as she perches on the edge of an armchair in her publicist's north London living room, are Marlboro Lights. Her other indulgences are two cups of herbal tea and a Cadbury's Flake cupcake, which she nibbles with well-bred pleasure. Her dark eyes are clear, and her long, tanned body is a testament to the virtues of a daily swim in a pool near her Notting Hill home. Only Elastica know whether they really succumbed to heroin and hedonism after their self-titled debut made them more famous than they'd ever expected to be, but if they did, Frischmann, 30, seems little the worse for it.

Given the current predominance of damnable boy bands, the Britpop mid-90s are beginning to seem like a halcyon period for English music. It was a time when the underground went overground, and a self-described "little punk band" like Elastica could sell 80,000 albums in a week.

More than a few loser guitar groups saw Britpop as a licence to print money, but Elastica, led with cool elan by the androgynous Frischmann, were one of its gems. The Blur connection was a marketing godsend (Frischmann and Albarn met on the London indie circuit, she as guitarist in an early line-up of Suede and girlfriend of frontman Brett Anderson, he as a cherubic baggy hopeful), yet the spiky-haired Elastica LP embodied that euphoric time like nothing else.

Frischmann, guitarist Donna Matthews, drummer Justin Welch and bassist Annie Holland were unprepared for the album soaring to number one in its first week. When they signed their record deal, Frischmann, whose great-grandfather was a conductor of the Tsar's orchestra at the Summer Palace in Byelorussia, was five years into an architecture degree at London University. A liberal north London Jewish upbringing - her engineer father built the Oxford Street landmark Centrepoint - had instilled expectations of success, but the reality of being photographed in the supermarket and having her rubbish stolen was a shock. Fiercely independent, she also resented her unsought role as half of Britpop's First Couple.

There was more. Two of Frischmann's musical heroes, The Stranglers and Wire, decided that two Elastica songs were suspiciously similar to two of their own tracks, and won royalties. Meanwhile, there were malicious rumours that Albarn had done much of the work on the record. He hadn't, but he did find Justine's success in America, where she was substantially out-selling Blur, hard to endure.

"It was very hard for him to deal with and he's very confrontational," she says, with the flattering openness of someone who prefers interviews to be more like conversations. She admits she often says too much, but in an era of image control and spin, her honesty makes her a one-off. Not that she's likely to land herself in it too badly - she possesses the intellectual ammunition to look after herself, which must have been instrumental in attracting two of rock's more articulate stars, Albarn and Anderson.

She's been accused of being a professional rock girlfriend, though it was probably they who were lucky to get her. She spent the cab ride over reading the Sylvia Plath letters in Monday's Guardian, and muses on the irony of the poet's subjugating herself to Ted Hughes when she was the more gifted. (Her new boyfriend, by the way, is an unknown photographer, "though that'll probably change, because men seem to get famous when I go out with them".)

"I reacted the way a lot of women do, by being passive," she continues. "He put a lot of pressure on me to give up Elastica. He said, 'You don't want to be in a band, you want to settle down and have kids.' " In so many words? "In so many words. He kept putting on pressure till I started to believe him." She adds bemusedly: "I've met his new girlfriend, and one of the first things she said was that he wanted her to give up travelling with her work to stay home with the baby [Missy, born last autumn]. I'm surprised he's got away with being thought of as a nice person for so long."

After 18 months, during which they did seven American and three Japanese tours, Elastica came off the road to record company demands for an immediate second album. Annie Holland's response was to quit the group, while Donna Matthews became renowned for hard partying on the nocturnal west London scene. They lethargically recorded some demos, but their heart wasn't in it. By 1997, when a second album should have been ready to go, Frischmann and Matthews were barely speaking, and there was nothing useable down on tape.

Holland's replacement, Sheila Chipperfield (of the circus Chipperfields), was deemed not good enough and left by mutual consent. By 1998, their continued lack of productivity was being likened to the Stone Roses' lengthy and ultimately self-destructive holiday between their first and second LPs.

"I didn't think Elastica were going to continue at that point, and we did kinda split up," she says, absently stroking her publicist's cat. Frischmann is a cat person; she's owned a tabby called Benjamin since she was 10. "Unconditional love," she coos. The pet's place in her life is so assured that prospective boyfriends are subjected to his feline scrutiny before she'll go out with them.

On top of everything else, in early 1998 her relationship with Albarn was in trouble. Frischmann retains enough of the indie ethic to detest the phenomenon of celebrity couples, and was dismayed when they became one. "I really hated the tabloid interest, and I went out of my way not to be photographed with him. Only about three pictures of us together exist, I think. In many ways, I think the media interest broke us up, because it made me feel the relationship was quite ugly, and I had to get away from it. There were other factors, too, obviously, because we were together for eight years, and I finally felt it was better the devil you didn't know, really."

Albarn's ego seems to have been severely undermined by having a girlfriend who was nearly as successful as he was, and something of a sex symbol to boot. Despite adopting a resolutely boyish T-shirt-and-jeans uniform, she's thoroughly feminine, a mix that got her voted fifth most fanciable woman in a lesbian magazine.

"I'm completely heterosexual, so I didn't know how to take that. It scares the shit out of me, the idea of being with a girl. I'm glad I've narrowed it down to half the people in the world."

She seems to view Albarn with indulgent exasperation these days, simultaneously praising his intelligence ("The Gallaghers just couldn't compete") and ticking off his flaws. "Damon adores being in the press, and sees all press as good press. He orchestrated that rivalry thing with Oasis. He really wanted kids, and I didn't feel our relationship was stable enough. He was a naughty boy, and he wasn't the right person to have kids with. I had this cathartic moment..."

At which point they split up. Albarn wrote 13 and then met Suzi Winstanley, an artist. "She was pregnant within three months," Justine observes wickedly.

Of the acclaimed 13, she's tactful, describing several songs as "really lovely". She studies her cigarette for a while before adding, "but I'm cynical about selling a record on the back of our relationship". But you're doing the same now. "It's true, but at the time I had no right of reply."

Elastica finally pulled themselves together last year, just as the music industry was about to write them off (their American label had already "very kindly let us go", as she puts it). Holland rejoined, Matthews went to Wales to sort out her life and the band banged out an EP and played the Reading Festival. Things came together quickly after that. They spent the last £10,000 of the recording budget on re-recording a dozen tracks, finishing the album, after years of procrastinating, in six weeks. They've called it The Menace "because that's what it was like to make".

It's dark and resolutely uncommercial - all wrong for 2000's pop-oriented climate. It's unlikely to match the success of the first one, which is fine with them. Call it (though Justine doesn't) their White Album. Its 70s punk aesthetic brings to mind angry girls such as the Slits and the Au Pairs, although the defining mood isn't anger so much as catharsis. None of the songs is specifically about Albarn, she claims. "The dark feeling is due to the sense of isolation, tasting success and getting frightened by it. I was questioning whether I wanted to be in a band any more, and there was no one I could ask for advice. Getting success and everything you ever dreamed about is hard to handle, and makes you question everything."

She's better prepared for success, if it comes again, this time. Already the privacy-preserving barriers are in place. The next interview of the day is with Time Out magazine, which wants a list of her favourite restaurants. "I'm not telling them where I eat," she says reflexively. "I'm gonna lie."

#questions #damon albarn #justine frischmann #blur #elastica

[ragingbookdragon]

The Daughter Of Superman, The Adopted Son Of Batman...What Could Go Wrong? PT. 1

Jason Todd x Kryptonian!Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 3.8K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: I totally forgot about this one! If you like how cute and fluffy it is, just wait for PT. 2! It gets angsty >:) -Thorne

**********************************************************************

They were pretty lazy teenagers when they weren’t busy saving the world with super speed, strength, and smarts. Even if their textbooks were spread all over his bed they were still too lazy to actually do their homework, instead scrolling through social media apps and trolling all the citizens of San Francisco about the identities of the Young Justice Team.

She glanced up from the advanced calculus textbook and stared at the boy laying across her thighs. “Tim, isn’t your dad hosting a gala this weekend?” he hummed in response, and she asked, “Are we allowed to come?”

He didn’t bother looking up from the tablet he was tapping at and nodded. “Yeah. Bruce already added your names to the list, (Y/N).” a flicker of a smile came over his lips and he added, “Of course I had to wear him down in order to get Bart on the list.”

She looked over at their speedster and grinned. “I’m kinda surprised Bruce actually let you on the list Bart.”

A shocked expression etched across his face and he questioned, “Why do you say that?”

(Y/N) shifted Tim’s head, smiling as he grunted from being moved, and rose from the bed, walking over to the minifridge. She pulled out a soda before jumping back on the bed. “Because between you, Tim, Conner, and me, you’re the one who gets us into the most trouble.” She shifted Tim’s head back into her lap, petting his hair until he smiled.

“I do not!”

“Oh really? Do you remember prom night? It’s been almost two years and they stillcall us and talk about the absolute mess we—well, you caused.”

“That cake wasn’t there when I started running, I swear!” he pointed at Tim. “Tim it wasn’t! You know that!”

The others cackled at his protest, and (Y/N) glanced at Conner. “You gonna bring M’Gann?”

A faint pink tinged his cheeks, and he shifted his gaze down at his physics textbook. “Uh…maybe.”

(Y/N) leaned forward, poking his cheek. “Your heart’s beating pretty fast, little brother.”

He swatted her hand and glared at her. “Shove off.”

She snorted and glanced at Tim. “What about you, Timbers? You going to go with Stephanie?”

“Steph and I aren’t dating anymore, (Y/N).”

“For now. But you two like each other.” She smiled and singsonged, “She’s your first love~”

“What about you?” Tim scowled. “Who’s your date?”

She grunted at him and laid flat in the bed, Bart’s legs under her back. “Are you kidding me? You know my dad won’t let me get a boyfriend, let alone a date to a gala for a night.”

“You’re nineteen, (Y/N). I think you’re allowed to start dating.”

“And my parents help pay for part of my utilities. Does it look like I’m going to do anything to tip that delicate balance of not having to pay for all that?” she sighed. “Dad’s always been that way when it comes to me.”

“Daddy’s little girl.” Conner grinned.

(Y/N) grunted and reached over, shoving Conner off the bed. “Don’t call me that. I am not a daddy’s girl.”

The others laughed at her and Tim quipped, “Yes, you are. You two go on father-daughter dates every month and take pictures to show everyone.” She glared at him and he smiled, continuing, “Maybe we can find a date for you at the gala.”

“You can try. But mom and dad are going to be there. If dad sees me with a boy, he’s liable to lose his mind.” The others laughed again, and (Y/N) rested her head down on Bart’s lap. “I need a dress, Timmy.”

He glanced over at her and tapped a few buttons before showing her the screen. “How does this look?”

(Y/N) took the tablet from him and looked over it, taking in the image of the navy-blue dress. “I like the color, but this is a Cinderella dress. Give me something not as…poofy.” He nodded and took the tablet back, tapped on it, then handed it back to her. “Hmm…too booby.” The other two boys giggled at her answer and Tim sighed, taking the tablet again.

He handed it back to her once more and she looked at the dress. “Mermaid silhouette…sheer side…strappy back…” She glanced up at Tim and nodded. “Got a pair of shoes to match?” He hummed and she grinned. “Then I’ll take it. Thanks Timbers.” He nodded once more, and she nudged Bart. “Oi Allen.”

“What?”

“Don’t run into the cake at the gala, okay? It’ll probably cost more than you.”

“It was an accident! Stop bringing it up!” The others simply laughed at him.

***At The Kent Farm***

“Mom! Dad! Jon! I’m home!” She shut the door behind her and turned, catching Jon who’d launched himself at her. “Kid you’re getting too big to do that.” He laughed at her and she let him down, ruffling his hair. “Where’s mom and dad?”

“Out back with Krypto.” He tugged on her sweatshirt. “Did you bring me anything from the tower, sissy? Did ya? Did ya?”

(Y/N) snorted and rummaged in her pocket, pulling out one of Tim’s crimson shurikens. “Tim gave this to me to give to you.” She handed it to him but held it when he reached for it, “Do not,” she warned firmly, “cut yourself with this or mom and dad will make you give it back after they finish tearing me a new one for giving it to you.”

“I won’t!” he promised and she watched his eyes light up in wonder when he took it. She ruffled his hair once more before walking towards the backdoor.

She stepped outside and saw her dad throwing a ball with Krypto, her mom watching from the back porch; she walked over and leaned down, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Hey, mom.”

Lois glanced up at her and smiled. “Hey, sweetheart. You’re home early.”

(Y/N) nodded, sitting down beside her. “School let out for the week, and we didn’t have any missions from the Justice League, so I figured I’d spend a few days here instead of cooped up in the tower.”

“I’m glad you decided to come home, hon. It’s always nice when you come back.”

She looked up and saw Clark walking towards her. “Hey, dad.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Hey sweetheart, how were the boys?”

“They’re good. We did our usual thing.”

Clark sat on her other side. “Collapse on Tim’s bed and lay around like lethargic teenagers?”

(Y/N) snorted and shoved his shoulder lightly. “We were productive young adults. We finished over-break assignments and reports. Well…mostly. Still got that thirty page physics paper I have to write but…I’ll let that stew awhile.”

He chuckled. “Anything else happen today?”

“Talked about the gala this weekend.” She paused. “You guys are coming too, right?” They nodded and (Y/N) laid back on the porch, pulling out her phone. “Ugh…I remember how badly the Wi-Fi sucked out here. I don’t have any service at all.” She looked at her mom. “I don’t how a journalist like you manages to live in the middle of nowhere like this and still stay sane.”

Lois snorted and thumped her leg. “It’s called satellite service. Now c’mon, let’s go inside. Dinner should be done by now.” (Y/N) rose from the porch and they all began walking in when the sound and feel of rushing air came over them. She and Clark immediately spun, ready to defend themselves when they saw Conner hovering in the sky.

His eyebrows were drawn in slight concern. “(Y/N)! We need you!”

She nodded, shucking off her sweatshirt and pants, revealing the blue suit underneath. The crimson cape billowed around her and she glanced up at him. “What’s the situation?”

“We’ve got simultaneous bank robberies all over SF. Bart and Tim are already on the first few. I came to get you.”

(Y/N) turned to her parents. “Rain check on dinner guys.” She turned in the direction of San Fransisco, eyes darting wildly as she viewed her teammates positions. After a second, she nodded. “I’ve got em, Bart’s on the east, Tim’s on south. You take north and I’ll take west.”

He nodded and she shot up from the ground. They were almost in San Francisco when her father’s voice reached her. “Be careful, (Y/N).”

She curled her fists when the bank doors came into view and responded, “Always am, dad.”

***

“The dress looks fine, (Y/N).”

She glanced up at Tim who was smiling at her; she let out a sigh, letting go of the side strap she’d been tugging, still semi-uncomfortable with how it fit. “I know it does. But I feel like it’s still a little…grown up for me. I’ve never had a dress this open in the back or the sides since…ever.” The boys laughed and she smiled at Bart and Conner. “I forgot how well you two cleaned up.”

Bart pulled at both sides of the bowtie and winked at her, while Conner merely grunted, “I still hate tuxedos.”

“You’re definitely going to hate the long hours of your wedding then.” They laughed once more, and the car pulled around the venue.

Tim looked at them and grinned. “Show time, lady and gents.” They followed him out of the limo, grinning at the cameras as they walked inside.

Immediately, the view made her eyes go wide and she gaped. “Damn…this place is…really big.”

Tim shrugged nonchalantly, “I dunno, the ballroom in Wayne manor is bigger, but definitely more expensive.”

Bart shook his head. “Tim, my dude…we live on minimum wage not a billionaire’s salary.” (Y/N) and Conner simply nodded, still dumbfounded at the sheer size.

Tim rolled his eyes and looked around. “There’s Bruce and the others.”

She glanced in the direction he was looking and she saw her parents with Bruce. “Looks like mom and dad are busy chatting.” The others nodded and she turned to Tim. “What exactly are we supposed to do at a gala?”

“Have fun?” (Y/N) heaved a sigh and stared at him until he said, “You dance and drink and eat. That’s all you do.” He waved his hands. “Go knock yourselves out.”

They started to fan out when (Y/N) called out to them. “Wait!” They paused, turning back around. “We should go talk to Bruce and tell him thanks for inviting us.” They nodded and followed Tim over to Bruce.

He saw them coming and turned, holding out his hand to her. “Good to see you, (Y/N). You look wonderful this evening.”

Her cheeks warmed at the compliment and she smiled, giving his hand a firm shake. “It’s good to see you too, Mister Wayne, you don’t look too bad yourself. Thank you for inviting us to the gala.” The others shook his hand, and she turned to her parents. “Hey mom, dad.”

Lois walked around her and squealed, “You look so beautiful!”

(Y/N) cleared her throat, feeling her cheeks warm as the others smiled in her direction. “Mom…chill out, you’re embarrassing me.” She merely laughed but stepped back over to Clark’s side and (Y/N) looked around. “Bart have you—and he’s already at the buffet table.” Snickers sounded behind her and she sighed. “I’m going to make sure that the bottomless pit doesn’t devour all your food before your guests can eat, Mister Wayne.”

They watched her walk off and when she got over to the table Bart was standing in front of, she saw him shoving food in his mouth. “Oh my god…Bart, what are you doing?”

He turned to her, and swallowed, a sheepish smile crossing his face. “I haven’t eaten anything today,” he licked his thumb clean. “I’m hungry.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes and sighed. “Just try not to eat your fingers, would you?”

He snorted and pointed to an appetizer. “You should try the pigs-in-a-blanket. They’ve got this sauce on top that’s just—.”

A low voice cut him off. “They have pigs-in-a-blanket! What!” They turned to see a young man a couple years older than them reaching over. “The old man’s never had something this plain at a gala.” He popped one in his mouth, then turned to them. “You’re Timberly’s friends, right?”

They nodded and (Y/N) gazed, something about him tugging at her mind. “I know you from somewhere.” She stared into his teal eyes and suddenly she remembered where she knew him from; she’d never forget those teal eyes and how angry they’d been. “You’re Jason Todd, aren’t you? Bruce’s second son.”

He grinned. “That’s me. Have you and I met before? I have to agree with you, because you look really familiar.”

(Y/N) glared at him and crossed her arms, spitting. “We met in the Hall of Fallen Titans three years ago.”

Jason’s eyes briefly widened, before they narrowed in amusement. “You’re the one who threw me out the third story window after I kicked Timber’s ass.” He chuckled. “You don’t have to worry about all that, doll. Timmy and I are good now. You can ask the speedster about it.”

She continued to glower at him until Bart leaned over, propping his chin on her shoulder. “He’s telling the truth, (Y/N). Tim told me a while back that he and Jason are brothers now.”

Jason nodded and she finally stopped glaring at him. “Just so you know Jason, I can still throw people out windows.”

He smiled and held out a hand, watching her place hers in it; he brought her hand up to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, doll.”

Bart poked her side and grinned. “I’m gonna go see Tim and Conner. I’ll leave you two alone.”

He wandered off and (Y/N) pulled her hand back. “So, why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

Jason chuckled. “Oh, I was. I got better. We just made up a story about me getting lost, yadda yadda yadda, I’m not important.” He propped his elbow on the wall above her and grinned. “But what is important, is how pretty you look in your dress.”

(Y/N) cocked a brow. “Is that supposed to flatter me?”

“Is it not?”

“It could be a little better.”

He laughed and she found herself smiling along with him. He nodded towards the balcony. “Wanna get some air?”

She nodded, and they walked out into the night. (Y/N) gazed up at the stars and sighed in wonder. “There’s billions of them out there…I’ve never tried to leave earth and go search for them on my own.”

Jason leaned on the railing and gazed at her. “How come?”

(Y/N) shrugged, leaning against the railing too. “Dad’s full Kryptonian…me and Jon are, to use a less than favorable term, half-breeds.” She paused. “I’m not sure if I would survive like dad does out in space.”

“Won’t know ‘til you try.”

She huffed a laugh and looked at him. “If I’m wrong, I might die.”

“And if you try and you’re right, you won’t be dead.”

She shook her head at him, a smile playing at her lips. “You’ve got answers to everything, don’t you, Jason?”

He grinned at her. “I find that being sharp and witty helps with the crowds, doll.” The music sounded from inside the ballroom, and he stepped back, offering her a hand. “May I have this dance?”

(Y/N) rested her hand in his, feeling him pull her close, his other hand resting on her lower back; it was warm against her open skin and she cleared her throat. “I should warn you, I can’t dance to save my life.”

A cocky smirk crossed his lips and he leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. “I can take the lead, doll…all you have to do is give it to me.”

“Your flirtations need work too.”

Jason chuckled in her ear, making her shiver as he pulled back. “I don’t think they do.”

“Arrogance isn’t attractive, Jason.”

“Mhm.”

“It isn’t.”

“I heard you the first time, doll.” As they swayed to the music, he asked, “So, how’d you and Nerd-bird become friends?”

“We met through Conner.”

“The clone?”

“My brother.”

“Sorry.”

“He introduced the two of us, and we’ve been friends ever since.”

“Only friends? Nothing more?”

It was (Y/N)’s turn to smirk and she looked at him. “Are you asking because you want to know if there’s competition?”

He stopped moving and they stood still, her in his arms. “Just want to know if there’s anyone between me and first place.”

She huffed a laugh. “God, you’re something else.” Her eyes found his and she asked, “Do you want to get out of here?”

Jason nodded and stepped back, holding out his hand. “Where do you want to go?”

(Y/N) smirked and stepped forward, closing the distance he’d created, and wrapped an arm around his waist. His teal eyes widened, and she looked back at the party; no one noticed them, and she turned back to face him, “Up, up, and away.” They flew upwards, and she felt him latch onto her. “Why are you acting like I’m going to drop you, Jason?”

He made a waring noise in his throat. “I have a friend who’s an Amazon, and she is…very fond of throwing and dropping me.”

(Y/N) giggled. “Sounds like we’d get along spectacularly. She likes dropping you…I like throwing you out of windows…”

“That was one time. And you caught me when I was off-guard.”

“Uh huh, sure. You got your ass kicked by a sixteen-year-old and I think you’re just bitter.”

He grumbled at her. “Rub it in, why don’t you, doll.” She laughed and lowered them down; their feet hit the roof and he looked at it. “Wayne Enterprises? Why?”

She shrugged. “Cool tower…nice view.” She took a seat on the ledge, listening to him sit beside her.

He leaned over. “Almost romantic…don’t you think?”

(Y/N) eyed him, seeing a goofy smile on his face; she snorted, shoving him lightly. “You’re cheesy.”

“So I’ve been told.”

She glanced back at the water. “You know if this goes anywhere, my dad and your dad aren’t going to be happy.”

Jason snorted, nonchalantly replying, “Doll, there’s a few things I’m afraid of in life. Superman and Batman…are not those things.”

“Is that arrogance or confidence I hear coming through?”

He shrugged. “Probably a bit of both.”

(Y/N) smiled, then she felt his hand rest on hers, letting him link their fingers; she turned her face to him. “Is this the part where you tell me I’m beautiful and ask to kiss me?”

Jason grinned. “No, this is actually the part where I tell you you’re drop dead gorgeous…can I kiss you?”

She giggled, leaning in, and just before his lips brushed hers, she whispered, “You know I can kick your ass, right?”

He groaned. “Should I mention that strong women really do wonders to me?”

(Y/N) huffed a laugh and brought her free hand up, curling in his shirt. “Shut up and kiss me, Jason.”

“With pleasure.” His lips met hers, and she felt him bring his hand up, cupping her cheek. She pulled back ever-so-slightly, but he chased her, pressing his lips to hers again. He let go of her hand and brought his other hand up. He lowered her down until (Y/N)’s back was flat against the ledge; the chill from the stone made her arch her back off it, and press into his chest.

Jason pulled away slightly and smirked at her. “Cold?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “If you want to keep making out, jokes aren’t going to do the job.” He snorted at her and leaned forward again, intent on kissing her senseless when someone cleared their throat, startling them.

They sat up quick as lightning, turning in the direction of the sound. “I wondered where my daughter had flown off to.”

“Oh my god,” she hissed and covered her face with her hands. “Dad. C’mon…seriously?” Clark stepped onto the ledge and walked towards them.

Jason leaned down, whispering, “Is he going to throw me off the ledge?”

This made her giggle despite trying not to and she shoved him. “Shut up, Jason.”

He grinned at her and rose from his position, standing in front of her father. “Mister Kent.”

“That’s my daughter.”

“Oh, I know it is. I still remember how she threw me out of a building a few years ago. I get teary thinking about it.”

The corner of Clarks mouth rose, but then dipped back down, and (Y/N) stood up. “Dad, I’m nineteen. This whole, ‘daddy’s little girl can’t date’ bit, is getting old.” A hurt look crossed his face and she stepped forward, taking his hand. “To you, I’ll always be your little girl, dad. But sooner or later you’ve gotta come to grips with me dating and having…mature relationships.”

Clark held her gaze, then glanced at Jason who grinned and gave a thumbs up. “Does it have to be one of his kids? I mean if it’s going to be, I like Tim.”

“Ew, gross. Tim’s my best friend.”

“What about Dick?”

“Nice butt, but he and Kori are dating.” She paused and smiled at him. “The only one left is Jason, dad.”

Clark eyed Jason once more, then Jason offered, “If it makes you feel any better, I’m slightly afraid of your daughter.”

He sighed. “Thank you, Jason. I can tell.” Turning to her, he cupped her cheek. “It feels like yesterday I was bringing you home for the first time.”

“Dad…stop…we don’t need sentimentality right now.”

Clark hummed and smiled at her, pressing a kiss to her forehead; he turned to Jason and leveled him with a hard look. “I don’t think I need to warn you about what happens if you make her sad.”

Jason gave him a mock salute. “Chances are I’ll be in ICU after I was thrown out a building.”

“Oh my god. Let that go.”

They laughed, and Clark rose from the rooftop. “I’ll need to get back to the party. Don’t do anything crazy.”

They waved him off and (Y/N) turned to Jason. “Do you want to get something to eat?”

He nodded. “There’s a pizza shop down the block from here.”

“Sounds great.” (Y/N) rose a few feet off the roof when she heard a cough behind her.

She spun around and looked down at Jason. “Doll…I don’t know if you know this…but I can’t fly.”

“Whoops. My bad.” She lowered back onto the rooftop and held out her arm.

He walked into it and wrapped an arm around her waist, then tipped his head to her. “Up, up, and away.”

(Y/N) snorted as she rose. “You’re still cheesy, Jason.”

The grip on her waist tightened as he murmured, “I know.”

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x reader imagines #jason todd x reader imagine #jason todd imagines #jason todd imagine #jason todd #red hood x reader #red hood x reader imagines #red hood x reader imagine #red hood imagines #red hood imagine #red hood #batfamily x reader #batfamily x reader imagines #batfamily x reader imagine #batfamily imagines #batfamily imagine #batfamily #bruce wayne #batman #tim drake #red robin #clark kent #superman #conner kent #superby #bart allen #impulse #dc comics #dc imagines

[honklore]

landslide | karl jacobs

(kindergarten teacher!karl, single mom!reader, oh no karl’s apartment gets flooded so he has to stay at his best friend from high school’s house who also happens to be the mother of his favorite student, karl just being soft and sweet and a great friend, um talk about the baby daddy being a loser essentially, the beast team is there playing the role of karl’s friends from school, graham is the sweetest child, slight angst, fluff, friends to lovers, SOFT KARL, warmth, comfort, romance coded but very light)

listen to: landslide by fleetwood mac, never grow up by taylor swift, growing up by river run north, rainbow by kacey musgraves

Karl helps one of his kids press their palms onto the wall. When they release their palm, pink paint remains, making a sort of leaf to the tree branches painted onto the wall.

“Now write your name,” Karl advises another kid, whose orange paint had already dried.

“G-R-A-H-A-M,” the boy writes out with a large permanent marker. “Can I take a picture? For my mom?”

All the rest of the children begin to shout their agreements, also wanting to bring home a picture for their parents. Karl grabs his yellow Polaroid camera and takes a picture of each handprint.

He keeps all of the pictures in the chest pocket of his denim jacket. “Okay, guys— to the sink! Whoever has the cleanest hands gets to help me pass out snacks!”

“Why are we having snack time so early?” It’s Graham that asks, the little one always eager to be around Karl.

Karl ignores the boy’s paint covered hands poking at his clean jacket, and answers him as politely as he can. “Mr. Jacobs forgot his lesson plans today, so we’re going to watch a movie instead.”

“A movie?” Graham’s eyes widen.

“Yep,” Karl giggles. He crouches down to Graham’s level and whispers, “You wanna pick it?”

“Nature Nut!” Graham cheers almost immediately, causing Karl to wince.

Ah, yes, the wonderful little DVDs of a lonesome man teaching the watcher about bugs and weird types of slugs. Karl actually has the entire collection, and Graham happens to adore them just as much as Karl did when he was a kid.

“Alright, go wash your hands and I’ll get it started.”

It’s a little girl named Hana who cleans her hands the best, so she passes out organic fruit gummies to everyone while Karl puts in the DVD.

While they watch the video, Karl checks his text messages.

There’s one from Chris: “I’ve already got Chandler on the couch. Sorry, man. You can have the floor, but it’s not gonna be comfy :(“

Right. Karl forgot that Chandler lives in the same complex as him. His apartment is probably just as flooded as Karl’s is. Now if the landlord would just answer his calls and help him... maybe this situation wouldn’t be so stressful.

Karl didn’t forget his lesson plans; they’re just submerged in his bedroom with everything else Karl has left lying on his carpet. And maybe it’s his fault for not buying more storage bins, but a studio apartment can only hold so much stuff.

Serves Karl right for doing his lesson plans at home instead of at the school like most of his fellow kindergarten teachers.

He lets out a quiet sigh, careful not to disturb the children. He only has a short list of friends left to ask, and while he doesn’t think they’ll mind him asking, he really hates to put anyone in that position.

Besides, most of his friends have roommates or significant others and Karl doesn’t want to ruin their routine. He’d hate to intrude. And he could always sleep in his car for a few days, but the amount of stuff he had to pack because of the flooding has barred any chance of a good night’s sleep.

The video ends, and Karl gets the kids seated with coloring pages until their parents arrive.

One by one, he I.Ds the parents and tells the kids goodbye, helping them put on their coats and take home whatever library book they picked out earlier.

Finally, there’s only one kid left, and Karl is a bit embarrassed of his hyper-awareness to Graham. It’s not even his fault, really. Graham just has a beautiful mom, who happens to be Karl’s beautiful friend, and sometimes Karl gets eager to see you during pickup time.

Whatever. It’s no big deal.

The kindergartener already has his coat on. His curly brown hair is almost unruly as he continues to work on his coloring sheet.

Karl pulls at the hem of his sage sweater sleeves and wonders if his hair looks okay. Maybe he should invest in a little desk mirror; or maybe that’s vain.

“Hey, Karl! Sorry I’m late!” You rush in, holding on to your leather messenger bag. You fix your glasses before they fall off the bridge of your nose, and Karl is so focused on the movement that he almost forgets about your child.

Until said child is scolding his mother. “Mom! You have to call him Mr. Jacobs! It’s rude to call him Karl!”

“Your mom is an adult,” Karl reminds Graham (as soon as he finds his voice.) “Since she isn’t a student, it’s okay for her to call me Karl.”

Graham pinches his lips together, and then shrugs. “Fine. Mom, we watched Nature Nut today.” He runs up to you and wraps his arm around your middle. “Can we go to the park and look for slugs?”

“Sure,” you giggle. “But we need to get home soon, okay, Bud? I have to make dinner and then we have to clean up the mess we made last night.”

Graham turns to Karl and smiles naughtily, like the trickster he often is. “Mom said I could tear up her papers last night. She said it’s There-pee.”

“Ther-a-py,” you emphasize for the five-year-old.

Karl studies your face, and he can tell that you seem a little more stressed than usual. “Therapy, huh?”

You smile sheepishly. “Well, when your son catches you tearing up old love notes, you have to let him in on the fun, right?”

“You are a team,” Karl acknowledges. He wants to ask more; wants to dig into your heart and extract whatever is hurting you, but your son is standing between the two of you, waiting for him to say goodbye. Karl clears his throat and picks at his sweater again. “Anyways, uh, text me tonight? Let me know you two got home safe. And, I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” you breathe. You smile at him and then take Graham’s hand. “Thanks, Karl. I’ll text you.”

Karl spends the night at a motel down the road. He texts a few of his friends and hopes for good news in the morning, or at least a confirmation from his landlord.

When you text him, a little selfie of you and Graham, holding up what looks like microwaved s’mores, his heart grows fond, and he forgets about his own problems for a moment.

Life has never been very easy for you. From the get-go, you have always been destined to fail, growing up with an absent father and an overworked mother. With a dead-end dream like yours (writing, of all things), it’s no wonder you clung to what little breaths of freedom you had.

He was handsome and bold, with a carefree smile and brown eyes that mirrored the sun. The lead singer of a band, with a voice like chimes. And you fell just as hard as one of your many protagonists. Perhaps the mistake always lay in the fact that you put too much fantasy into reality. You have always romanticized the littlest things, and that comes back to bite you more often than not.

You never expected one: to get pregnant your senior year of high school, and two: have to go through it alone.

Of course, most people you come to love leave eventually. It’s something you have always remembered; something that sticks in the back of your brain like gum to the bottom of your child’s Spider-man skechers.

Graham is the only constant in your life. Though you’ve been blessed with a decent job editing for a webazine company, and you can work from home more often than not, Graham is the real thing that keeps you alive.

He’s the most precious boy, with brown curls and big brown eyes. He favors his father, and though that should deter you, it reminds you of innocent days, and it gives a new meaning to brown eyes. Graham is not his father, and he never was.

Graham certainly got his love of learning from you. Though he likes science more than writing, you adore how eager he is to always get to school. It helps that Karl is his teacher.

Karl’s been your friend since freshman year of highschool, when the two of you both took the same creative writing class the local university offered. Though the two of you had differing end goals, you often studied together and encouraged each other. He was there when you found out you were pregnant, and he was there when you found out you’d be raising your child alone.

Now life comes full circle, and you see him twice a day. You could go out on a limb and say he brightens up most mornings, but you would still give that slot to your son.

Karl is standing at the doorway now, greeting all of his students and helping them take off their book bags and coats. He’s wearing monochrome today: red pants, a red sweater, and red shoes.

Graham lights up almost immediately, and you are thankful today that you decided to dress Graham in his red t-shirt. “Mom! We match!”

“I know,” you grin, squeezing his hand.

Karl glances at Graham, and then you. His cheeks showcase that same pink hue they always do, and while it should clash with his red garments, it doesn’t. “Hey, Karl.”

“Hey,” he grins, cheeks full at the sight of you two.

Graham spreads his arms and waits for Karl to help him take off his jacket. “Do you see that we match, Mr. Jacobs?”

“Yo, that’s awesome, Little Man!” Karl gives Graham a fist bump that seems to appease him, and you wait for Graham to run to his friends before addressing Karl.

“How have you been?”

Karl sighs. He brushes his hair away from his eyes. “Okay. My- uh- my studio apartment flooded so I’m staying at a motel until my landlord can get me estimates on when I can come back home.”

“That sucks,” you frown. “You know, if you need a place to stay, I have a pullout couch in my office. And obviously, Graham wouldn’t mind.”

Karl pales. “Are you serious? I didn’t mean to suggest anything, Like I know you work from home and you need your office.”

“And you’ll be at school until three,” you say. “I’ll work then. C’mon, Karl. I don’t like knowing one of my friends has no place to stay.”

Karl bites his bottom lip and scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll drive over after I check out of the motel.”

“Great!” You smile. “I’ll order pizza.”

"Graham, clean your room," you say, struggling to push your desk against your office wall. "We're going to have a guest for a few weeks."

"Mom," Graham whines, "They aren't going to look in my room."

You begin to take the cushions out of the spare couch to start setting up the pull-out bed. "Mr. Jacobs is coming over, Graham.  Don't you want to show him your collections?"

Graham's brown eyes grow wide. "Mr. Jacobs? You didn't tell me he was coming!"

"He's going to be staying with us for a little bit, okay? So I need you to be on your best behavior."

“Can I show him my worms?” Graham asks, alluding to the compost bin in the small backyard of your townhouse.

“Yes,” you say, thankful that he isn’t putting up much of a fight toward cleaning. You’re also thankful he isn’t asking any questions, as Graham always seems to have a few at the top of his tongue.

Graham cleans up his room quickly. You know for a fact that he’s just shoved all of his toys under his bed, but it’s enough until the weekend, when you’ll have more time to help him organize.

The little guy hoards rocks like no one’s business. You curse the day Karl decided to teach the kids about geodes.

“Wanna help me make up Mr. Jacobs’s room?” You half-yell, while grabbing spare bedding out of your linen closet.

Graham’s little footsteps are head before he answers, and soon he’s at your hip with a quick, “He can have my Frozen pillowcase!”

You hesitate to tell Graham that his Frozen pillowcase is currently on one of your pillows, but just you can’t give your guest a dirty pillowcase. “That one is in the wash, Buddy. Why don’t we give him your Spider-Man one?”

“So he matches my pajamas!” Graham is easily pleased, and he even takes one of his stuffed bears to add to Karl’s made-up bed. (“So he doesn’t get scared at night.”)

By the time the pizza arrives, Karl is just behind, so you keep Graham busy with a slice of cheese and a glass of diet pepsi (only half of a can, and only because it’s a special occasion) while the two of you bring in Karl’s stuff.

He surprisingly didn’t bring much, and when you ask about it, he grimaces. “My studio is pretty small so a lot of my stuff was on the ground and got mildewed. Other stuff was in bins so I just left it there. I only need clothes and my lesson plans, anyway.”

“Well, here’s the desk and bed. It’s not much, but there’s a lock on the door in case Graham ever gets too inquisitive — bless him — and curtains so the stupidly bright sun won’t wake you too early.”

“Those both sound like personal experiences, Y/n,” Karl teases. He takes off his jacket and throws it on the bed. “Yo! Spider-Man?”

“Graham picked it out,” you say. “He also relinquished one of his bears to keep you safe in the middle of the night. His words, not mine.”

“He’s so cute,” Karl mentions offhandedly. The fondness in his tone takes you back a bit. Not because the phrase isn’t true, it’s just that most people find your son annoying before they find him endearing. The change of tone is nice.

“He is,” you say. “And he’s dying to show you his room after we eat dinner.”

Karl gives you that same lopsided smile he often had in high school. Part of your brain shifts to his personal life, and you wonder why Karl himself isn’t in a romantic relationship. Not that he has to be, but the both of you are getting older, and Karl has always been one to express a fondness for having his own family one day. Maybe he just hasn’t found the right person.

It isn’t until Graham is peacefully in bed — after a very chaotic reading of Goodnight Moon by yours truly, and an argument that Mr. Jacobs cannot, in fact, sleep in the same room as him — that you actually have a chance to show Karl around the house.

“Here’s the guest bathroom. Graham almost always uses the bathroom in my room because he likes looking at the big tub. He will beg you to play with him, but if you’re busy don’t feel guilty telling him no. He knows what no means and he’s good about playing by himself.”

Karl giggles. “Okay. I don’t mind playing with him, though.“

You show him around the kitchen, where you left little spaces for him in the pantry. You show him the garbage bags and the T.V. settings and the list of compostable ingredients. “And also, please come and go as you please. Like, I completely understand that you’re here temporarily and you aren’t a babysitter or anything like that. I don’t expect you to be in charge of Graham any time outside of school.”

Karl blinks. “But if you ever need time away, you can ask me. I don’t mind babysitting.”

“I know,” you smile. “But Graham is my kid. I don’t need time away from him.”

You’re lying. Karl knows it. You’ve been in this single parenting thing for five years and you aren’t about to reach out for help now.

“Anyways, if you have any questions just ring me or ask me,” you say. “I’ve got to get to bed. Goodnight.”

“Thanks, Y/n.”

Karl thinks it’s sweet the way Graham insists on making his own breakfast.

You’re already up when Karl gets out of his (temporary) bedroom with his clothes tucked under his arm. You’re busy arguing with Graham. “You can’t fry your own omelette for the last time.”

Karl quirks an eyebrow at your exasperated face. You look stressed beyond belief, even though the day has just begun.

Karl tosses his clothes back in his room and walks into the kitchen. “Hey, Graham! Do you want to show me your rock collection?”

Graham spins on his sock-clad heels, eyes bright at the thought of seeing his teacher. “Mr. Jacobs! Yes! Let’s go!”

He grabs Karl’s hand with ease, leaving you room to finish making breakfast.

Graham’s room is fairly simple. The small wooden bed is covered in a green quilt, and beneath that, frozen-printed sheets that certainly don’t match. He has a tub of stuffed animals shoved against a small dresser.

Karl gets distracted by the framed picture on top of the dresser. It’s a picture of you and Graham’s father, a few months before you got pregnant. He’s smiling, and you’re holding up a peace sign. It makes Karl feel a bit sad, knowing that Graham’s dad never stayed around to see how wonderful he turned out to be.

Then again, a lot of people in your life left as soon as they found out. In high school, no one wants to be friends with a teenage mother.

Karl reckons that if he had a family like this, he’d never take them for granted.

Graham pulls out a gemstone. It’s a murky green one that Karl has let him take home from class. “Do you remember this, Mr. Jacobs?”

Karl grins. “Yeah, bud. Thanks for keeping it so safe for me.”

Graham beams. He grabs Karl’s hand and pulls him towards his dresser. “Can we match? I want to look like you.”

Karl feels his heart swell. He wants to smother the young boy in affection, but he doesn’t want to cross a line. He’s your friend, sure, but he’s also Graham’s teacher. He can’t coddle Graham more than the other children. He already has a godchild to coddle. “I’m wearing yellow today. Do you have any yellow clothes?”

“Let’s look!” Graham yanks open one of the drawers and begins pulling out the articles of clothing one by one. “No, no, no... Here!” He finds a pair of yellow overalls, folded amongst the mess he made. “I’ll wear these!”

“Let’s clean up first, okay?” Karl grabs the overalls. “So it’s clean when you come home from school.”

Graham, looking like the last thing he’d ever want to do is disappoint Karl, begins to pick up each shirt with obvious intent. He tries to fold them, and does a somewhat decent job, so much so that Karl leaves it, thinking you’ll find it endearing rather than annoying.

He really loves that about you. He likes your patience with Graham. You’re so young, and in reality, he squashed so many early dreams of yours. No matter your lot in life, you never blamed your child. Karl thinks that’s why Graham is so open, so adaptable, so endearing.

He helps Graham get dressed and leaves him in his room so that he, himself, can get ready.

When he emerges from his shower, hair wet and clothed in yellow, he smells something amazing.

He doesn’t want to intrude on your morning with Graham. He already feels too indebted to you already.

“Have an omelet,” you say. Wisps of hair cover your face. You place a plate down in front of him.

Graham is already eating his omelet, slowly, while flipping through a picture book. He sounds out words he recognizes, but stays silent the rest of the time.

Karl takes out his phone and scrolls through his instagram feed just as your own phone begins to ring.

“Shit,” you curse, and then immediately apologize to Graham. You press the red button and tap anxiously on the tabletop.

“Everything okay?” Karl asks.

You run your hands over your hair and let them rest on the back of your neck. “Yeah is just—“

The phone rings again, and this time you pick it up. “What do you want? ... Why would you tell me that? ... Why should I care? ... Please stop contacting me, okay? Goodbye.”

You slam the phone down and leave the room. Karl watches you disappear down the hallway, sniffling.

“Mommy is upset,” Graham says. He looks at Karl, lip quivering. “At me?”

“No, Buddy! Of course not!” Karl reaches over the table to ruffle Graham’s curls. “Never at you.”

“When we tore up paper, she was crying.” Graham fiddles with his book page.

Karl wonders why your ex’s actions are being brought up five years later. Last he heard, you had fully healed from the breakup long before Graham’s first birthday. But now he’s about to be six, and you're suddenly upset?

He’ll have to ask you about it soon.

“Are you ready to go to school, Buddy?”

“Yeah!”

You cradle your face in your hands and try to ease the tears back in. You’ll never get this article proofread and sent if you can’t see the keys.

The door opens, and Graham runs in just in time for you to finish wiping your eyes. “Hey, kiddo! How was school?”

“Mr. Jacobs let us finger paint!” Graham holds up his palm, covered in dried paint, and grins brightly. “Can I have gogurt?”

“Yeah bud. Why don’t you put something on the T.V.? You can have your snack in the living room today.”

“Yes!” Graham takes blueberry gogurt out of the fridge and — after getting you to tear it open — runs into the living room. Sneakers and backpack still on.

Karl trails behind, clutching a messenger bag to his chest. “What’s going on?”

You sigh and close the laptop. The manuscript will have to wait. “Ben called. About a week ago. His girlfriend is pregnant. Called me to tell me he wasn’t going to leave her— like that would heal what he did to me. Then he called this morning to tell me they’re engaged.” You burst into tears then, and you feel so pathetic for doing this in front of your old schoolmate, that you hide your face behind your palms and allow your shoulders to shake. “Why weren’t we enough? Why wasn’t I enough?”

Karl scoots one of the chairs in front of you and sits, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Hey. Look at me.” With gentle hands, he grabs your wrists and pulls them away from your face. “It is not your fault he left.”

“But it has to be me in some way,” you retort. “He must not have loved me. Something, because now he’s going to raise her child after he left mine. Graham deserves a dad.”

Karl places his forehead against yours. The two of you used to do it all the time in school, mostly with immature giggles in the spaces between, but now it’s heavy with intention. “Graham has not felt even a little bit unloved in your care. You are all he needs, okay? You’re amazing.”

You nod, head still pressed to Karl’s. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry for getting too emotional, there.”

“Be as emotional as you want,” Karl says. “I’ll be here to balance you out.”

Your heart stutters at the words, like maybe they mean something more than he’s letting on. Of course it’s stupid to think Karl Jacobs would ever even consider you, but just the knowledge that he cares makes your soul feel a little lighter.

“I’m a mess,” you stutter, bringing your fist up to wipe at your nose.

“Nah,” Karl grins. He runs the pad of his thumb across your cheek and grins. “You’re alright.”

“It’s snowing!” Graham wakes Karl up by jumping on his chest.

Karl sucks in a breath, winded at the sudden weight, and grabs the boy, lifting him off of his chest and onto the mattress. “Hey, Buddy. Let’s not jump on sleeping people, okay?”

“Okay,” Graham says. He’s already lost interest in Karl, now crawling off of the bed to open the blinds. “Come look at the snow!”

“I see!” Karl rubs his tired eyes and checks his watch. “We might have a snow day, Graham.”

“Yes!” Graham pumps his fist into the air. “Let’s go tell mom!”

You’re sitting on your bed, chewing on a red licorice rope and flipping through a fashion magazine. You look up when Karl and Graham enter.

Karl likes seeing you like this: the domesticity of seeing you in the morning, lazy and true. His chest sparks when he thinks this may be one of the only moments he can capture you like this, so he intends to commit the sight to memory.

“Did I hear snow day?” You grin at Karl, childlike wit in your own eyes — the same as your son’s.

“Looks like it.” Karl rolls up the sleeves of the sweater he slept in. “You want pancakes? I make some mean chocolate chip pancakes.”

You shift your gaze away from his arms and clear your throat. “Uh, yeah. Just let me get dressed and I’ll help—“

“No need,” Karl insists. “Enjoy your quiet time. Graham and I will make the most delicious pancakes you’ve ever tasted.”

“With lots of chocolate chips!” Graham shouts.

You give him a pointed look. “But not too many.”

Graham huffs. “But not too many,” he repeats.

Momentary splashes sound from your bathroom, followed by Graham screaming “It’s a dragon! Run for cover!”

Karl giggles from his place on the couch. He’s got mushroom-patterned socks on, and he’s tucked up into the cushions, nursing a can of Monster. “How does he still have so much energy?”

You sigh and pull your beanie down over your forehead. “You’d think a snow day would tire him out. Thanks for constantly carrying him up the hill, by the way. I know you’re a teacher, but sometimes I forget how good you are with kids.”

“I do have a godson,” Karl reminds you.

“But Tucker is a baby,” you say. You only know the baby’s name because of Karl’s constant snap stories about him.

“Most babies and kids want the same thing. Affection and attention.” Karl scoots over to the edge of the couch and pats the cushion.

You sit next to him. “I guess that’s true. You’re really good with Graham. He’s not this open to other adults.”

Karl is clearly blushing now; you can see his pink cheeks even in the light of the television. “He’s great in class, always helping the other kids.”

“He wants to impress you,” you say. You pop open a can of orange soda and take a sip. “He thinks you’re just the coolest guy.”

Karl laughs and shakes his head. “Didn’t you hear, Y/n? I’m handsome and cool.”

“Oh, of course,” you nudge his shin with our own sock-clad foot. “How could I forget? Mr. Ladies Man in high school.”

This makes Karl blush even harder, because he most certainly was not a ladies man in high school. In fact, he was a nerd in all senses of the word, part of the debate club with a few other boys. He had a few dates here and there, but nothing ever stuck.

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “My time is gonna come.”

“Hasn’t it already?” you ask before you can really process your own words. But of course he knows that he’s grown into his face, right?

Karl is positively handsome, eyes bright and lashes long. He’s so warm and comforting to you. He must be just as comforting to everyone else.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re handsome, Karl,” you say plainly.

“You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “Why would I lie?”

Karl opens his mouth, perhaps to call you out. To tell you you’ve been too honest, but he’s interrupted by your son.

“Mom! I’m ready to get out now!”

“I should go,” you say, still looking at his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. His sweater has small spots on the shoulders where snow has fallen and since melted. He shivers.

“You should take a shower. You’ll catch a cold.”

“Okay,” he whispers. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Chandler comes over the following Saturday night to hang out with Karl, and you’re surprised at how much he truly hasn’t changed since high school.

He’s still got infamously perfect eyebrows, and his voice is still monotonous despite its humor. “Nice place.” He raises his brows as he looks around.

“Who are you?” Graham is sitting at the kitchen table, watching Minecraft playthroughs (kid-friendly ones you’ve watched through yourself) on your phone to entertain himself while you clean.

“I’m Chandler, Karl’s friend.”

“This is Mr. Jacob’s friend from school,” you say, detailing your words so they’re easier for your son to digest.

Graham stares at him for a moment, not quite judging but not quite accepting either. “Okay. Do you want to see my rock collection?”

Chandler looks genuinely excited, and accepts before you can come up with an excuse for him. Graham tells Chandler to stay in the kitchen while he grabs all of his rocks.

“How have you been?” you ask the taller man. “Like, with the flooding and everything?”

“Well, I’m on a couch at Chris’, which is good since he doesn’t charge rent. But that means I’m near Tucker, and that baby has some lungs.”

You laugh. “I remember when Graham was a baby. I was so young, and my mom told me it was my responsibility to wake up and take care of him whenever he cried in the middle of the night. I was so pissed at her for making me do that, but those were some of the best nights to bond with him.” You realize you’re ranting and shake your head. “Whatever. Baby screams are loud as hell.”

“You can say that again. I’ve been talking to my friend Jimmy about taking his spare room and paying rent. I dunno how many more sleepless nights I can take.”

“Why would you need to pay rent if you’re just crashing?” You wipe down the kitchen table to keep yourself busy.

“Didn’t Karl tell you? Our landlord is in heaps of trouble because the pipes weren’t up to code and that’s why they busted. The damage is basically too expensive to fix, so we’ve got to find new places.”

You stop cleaning. “Karl didn’t tell me that.”

“Oh.” Chandler scratches his brow. “He probably didn’t want to worry you. He feels really bad that he’s stayed with you this long.”

“It’s only been a month or so,” you counter. “Besides, Karl’s a great housemate. He cleans and keeps Graham occupied. Plus, now I have someone to watch corny game shows with.”

Chandler grins. “Oh. Okay, I get it.”

“Get what?” Karl, finally out of the shower, steps into the kitchen and immediately tackles Chandler in an energized hug.

“Nothing!” Chandler’s voice cracks

You shoot Chandler a weird look, and change the subject. “Where are you guys going?”

“To play video games at Jimmy’s.” Karl says, and the thrill in his voice makes you think of high school. Of the debate team bus rounding the corner. Of you standing there, waiting to congratulate him with a big hug and a frosty from Wendy’s.

You miss it. “Have fun, okay? I’m probably going to tuck in as soon as Graham does, so just let yourself in.”

“You’re leaving?” Graham comes in, and his arms are filled with smooth and rough stones and gems he’s both found by himself and bought at random general stores while traveling.

“Not before I see your rocks!” Chandler says with so much enthusiasm, you think he’s telling the truth.

Graham giggles and drops the rocks onto the ground. Of course, he wants your guest to sit on the floor and count rocks. You’re almost embarrassed.

“ ‘ Okay, Y/n?” Karl laughs at your expression. Then he places his arm on your shoulder, thumbs the skin of your upper arm.

And once again, it’s high school. It’s senior year graduation and Karl is the only one who congratulates you. It’s his comforting touch, him coming over in the middle of the night after you texted him a picture of your first sonogram. It’s that same comforting touch. That little “I’m here,” and it melts you on the inside, leaves you in a shell of an eighteen girl again. Scared, and worried, and a little less alone.

“Yeah,” you manage. “I’m okay.”

The television plays Cartoon Network reruns on a low hum. Karl is curled up in a blanket, nursing a bottle of water and thinking over Chandler’s words.

You’ve liked her since high school, dude.

Which is a complete lie. Seriously, Karl didn’t have a crush on you in high school. He would know if he had a crush on his best friend. You’ve been his friend since freshman year, and that’s all you’ve ever been.

Now in college, it was different. In college, Karl was alone in a dorm with Chris, and you were one of the only people from high school he stayed in contact with. In college, he would bring you your favorite snacks and drinks, and other things you would forget to buy because you were a part-time student and a full-time mom. In college, you would pull all-nighters with him, working on your exams while Graham was asleep, then using energy drinks to get through the next day.

Karl even remembers the time your mom caught the three of you fast asleep on your rug, with unopened monster cans and an empty milk bottle beside you.

Throughout your entire pregnancy he was warned not to stay friends with the pregnant girl — it’d be too much for him, he wouldn’t want to become the new father, and all kinds of other stuff people would mumble to him when you weren’t around.

But you never expected him to be anything other than your friend. You never asked him for the help he gave — though you thanked him always — and you never once assumed he’d take the role of Graham’s dad.

And now… now he finds himself wishing you would.

“Mr. Jacobs?” Graham creeps up without him even realizing.

Karl jumps, sets his water — and thoughts — aside. “Hey, Bud. It’s really late. What are you doing up?”

Graham sniffs, and Karl realizes that the boy is crying. “I had a nightmare.”

Karl holds out his arms before he can think, and lets the five-year-old crawl into his lap. He wraps them both in his blanket and turns the television up just a little more. “Was it scary?”

“You left.” Graham says, voice less watery, like he doesn’t know the weight of his words. He’s focused on the rerun of Adventure Time that’s playing. He’s not even remotely interested in his nightmare now, with his tears dried up, and his eyes drooping back towards slumber.

“I’m going to leave one day,” Karl says, because he thinks it’s important that Graham knows.

“You should stay with me and Mom,” Graham says. He yawns. “We like you so much!”

Karl’s heart stutters. He tries not to think about it.

When Graham’s bed is empty the next morning, you freak out. He’s always in his room in the morning. Even if he wakes up before you, he stays in and plays with his toys.

You’ve already got your phone out, and your mother’s number called, when you walk into the living room.

Relief floods your system. Karl and Graham are asleep on the couch, snuggled up serenely like they didn’t just cause you to have a premature heart attack.

You hang up before the call to your mom can go through and stand there, watching the two boys sleep. Graham has both his arms wrapped around Karl’s forearm. It’s such a sweet picture that you take out your phone and snap one.

The flash is on.

Karl scrunches his nose and winces. “What the–”

“Sorry!” You whisper. “You both looked so cute, I couldn’t help it.”

Karl smiles, still sleepy, and finally opens his eyes. He peers at you, stormy green under fluttering lashes and you’re almost intimidated into looking away. “He had a nightmare.”

“Oh?”

“About me leaving.”

“Oh.” You frown. “I’m really sorry about that. I keep telling him that you’re moving out soon, but I don’t think he fully understands.”

Graham stirs. You reach down and pick him up. Your knuckles brush across Karl’s warm, sweater-clad chest and you suddenly wish you could cuddle with him, too. You shake the thoughts away and focus on your drowsy son. “You’re staying at Grandma's for a few days, remember?”

Graham rubs his eyes and perks up. “And I’ll see her cat?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “But we’ve got to get you dressed because she’s coming in a few minutes.”

“Karl Jacobs!” Your mom’s voice embarrassingly rings through the apartment, and you realize Karl has taken it upon himself to open the door. “Y/n told me she had a temporary roommate but I never thought she would finally ask you!”

“Oh my gosh…” you mumble, buckling Graham’s overalls and hauling him up into your arms. “Mom! His apartment flooded so he’s staying here. Don’t be weird about it.”

“But he’s so handsome,” your mom coos. You’re concerned she might reach forward and pinch Karl’s already ruddy cheeks.

“Thanks,” Karl laughs. “But she’s right, I’m just squatting until I can find a new place.”

Your mom harrumphs. “Well, I don’t see why you can’t stay here forever. Y/n doesn’t even use that office room. And even if she did, the two of you could just share a room.”

“Mom!” You plunk Graham into her hands and grab his overnight bag. “You have to leave.”

“Did I say something wrong?” She sounds worried, but there’s an undisclosed mirth in her eyes that makes you think of your freshman year, when you did have a crush on Karl.

“You said everything wrong,” you say, kindly pushing her out. “Have a good time, Graham. I love you! As always, Mom, call if you need me to come get him.”

“Yeah, right!” She yells over her shoulder. Graham is already giggling, so you close the door with confidence.

You turn back to your roommate. “I’m sorry about that, Karl.”

“It’s fine.” He smiles, but it’s reserved. “But speaking of me finding a place… I know Chandler told you that I can’t go back to my own apartment. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You want to say “You can stay here as long as you want, and long as you’ll let me keep you,” but that would reveal too much, and you don’t want to lose the one good friend you have.

“And I was thinking I should move out soon anyway.” Karl pulls his sweater sleeves until they cover his hands. He’s hiding. He’s shielding himself the same way he did in junior year, when he got turned down by his crush to go to the prom. “I don’t think it’s good for Graham to get this attached to me if I’m just going to leave.”

“Oh,” Your sleeves are too short, but you want to shield yourself too. “Yeah, that’s… that’s probably a good idea.”

Karl stands there for a beat, like he’s waiting for you to say something more. Like he hasn’t just taken your heart and pushed it aside. Like this hurts a lot less than it actually does.

But any word out of your mouth would be tearful. It would be honest. It would ruin everything. “I’m going to go on a run.”

There’s a cricket outside that won’t stop chirping against your window. You blame it for your insomnia, choosing to ignore the anxiety of eventually losing Karl. It feels so horribly childish, since you’ll see him when you drop Graham off at school. And you’ll see him whenever the two of you go out for coffee on weekends.

But you won’t see him in the kitchen, reaching for the pancake mix so his shirt rises up and you can see the dimples in his back. You won’t see him humming along to the radio while he works on his lesson plans. You won’t feel his warmth when the two of you stay awake, nursing spiked lemonade and giggling at the commentary videos you find on YouTube.

He’ll just be Karl again. He won’t be home anymore.

Startled by the realization, you get out of your covers and rush to your door.

It opens before you can even reach for the doorknob, and there’s Karl in his pajamas, biting his lip and avoiding your eyes.

“I don’t want you to leave,” you say, just as Karl confesses,

“I love you.”

You open your arms and he dives in, face pressed into the space where your neck meets your shoulder. Warmth envelopes you and the scent of pine fills your nose.

Karl is timeless. Youthful glory and childish pride. He’s a pinch on the side and a push on the swings. Like a rock that actually skips on the first try. Like shoes that you can slip on when they’re still tied. And he’s here, in your arms, squeezing you like you’re something valuable enough to lose. He’s confessing love like you aren’t the worst possible candidate for his heart.

“I can’t offer you much,” you start, but Karl bumps his forehead against yours, boyish and playful — football fields and bright red lockers and secret notes on bathroom walls.

“I’ve known you for years, Y/n,” Karl’s voice is a low rumble. Green grass eyes blinking at you like you’re something to second glance at. “I know what I’m getting into. I want you. I want Graham. I want everything this is, and everything we’ve been for the past month. I don’t want this to end.”

You close your eyes, because his are too honest. He’s open and vulnerable and gentle — a child on the first day of school, ready to make friends. You take a deep breath, try to remember what you were like on your first day. Rosy cheeks and shy glances. Knobby knees and a trusting heart. You reach out for whoever you once were — the Y/n with a heart open and willing to be loved. “I don’t want this to end either. I’m in love with you, Karl.”

His grin lights up your world in its entirety. Gold flecks in emerald green disappear as he smiles, too thrilled to keep his eyes open. And when he kisses you, warm lips against cold ones, you feel like a puzzle has just slotted into place.

It would only make sense that you would grow to love the boy you grew up with.

#karl jacobs fluff #karl jacobs x reader #karl jacobs fanfic #mcyt x reader #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt fluff #pixiecap//

[inkykeiji]

day 5 ❅ let’s hit the north pole and live happily

please don’t cry no tears now, it’s christmas baby

day four ❅ day five | series masterlist

character: todoroki touya | dabi

genre: hmmm bittersweet angst

notes: AAAAAAAAH MERRY CHRISTMAS TO THOSE OF YOU THAT CELEBRATE AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO THOSE OF YOU THAT DON’T <33 eeee here it is, the final day!! it’s short n (bitter)sweet, just a lil epilogue of sorts to wrap the whole thing up. thank you so, so much to every single one of you that has supported my blog over the past few months, your love means more to me than words will ever be able to tell you <3 | title credit: snowman by sia

warnings: 18+ (no hardcore smut but still), pseudo-incest (stepcest), tense family dynamics, size difference, generally toxic relationships (possessiveness, extreme dependency)

words: 2.3k

synopsis:

Because he’s right. Because this trip would have, undoubtedly, killed him, had it not been for you and your soothing lips, kissing his tears away; you and your gentle fingers, dancing along his skin as they calmed his sobs; you and your unwavering love for him, filling him up until he felt like he was going to burst with it, your discernible warmth laving over his body, his mind, his very soul.

  ❅           ❅           ❅           ❅           ❅           ❅    

The wind rattling the old bay window has you waking with a start, jolting a little as another harsh gust blows against the glass, sweeping up powdery snow and dancing with it in intricate, forceful squalls.

A deep sigh slips through your parted lips as your head flops back against the pillow, listlessly staring at the ceiling.

It’s Christmas.

You had decided to stay, Touya promising you he could handle another twelve hours around your family, especially if he was sleeping through most of it.

“I don’t want to further upset my mom,” he had told you, lips tugging down as bloodshot cobalt eyes glanced away from your inquisitive stare. “There’s no point in leaving now and causing more problems when we can just leave early tomorrow,”

Of course, niichan. Whatever you want, niichan.

Rolling over onto your side, you run your fingers through his tousled hair, head tilting forward to pepper tender kisses across his face.

It rouses him slowly, gently, lids lifting to reveal brilliant sapphire, gleaming in the grey morning light, and blinking a little as his gaze focuses, a small grin forming on his lips.

Really, there’s no other way he’d rather wake up, no other sight he’d rather be greeted with, except for you scattering the sweetest kisses across his face, calling his name in the sweetest whisper, staring at him with the sweetest eyes.

“Merry Christmas, princess,” his voice is gravelly, vibrating in his throat, eyelids still a little puffy and swollen from the night before.

“Merry Christmas, niichan,” you whisper, fingers trailing down the side of his face, a deep sense of bittersweet melancholy burrowing in your chest.

It’s Christmas.

He made it.

“You did it,” soft lips murmur the praise into his fluffy hair, inhaling his musky scent and filling your body with it, with him, burning hickory wood and Marlboros with just a hint of day-old cologne. “I am so proud of you,”

And normally, normally he’d playfully tell you to shut up, rolling his eyes at your gentle compliments.

But today isn’t normal.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” he admits in a mumble, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck and exhaling. His voice is so raw, so honest, that it sends tears rushing to your eyes, stinging a little as they blur your vision.

Because he’s right. Because this trip would have, undoubtedly, killed him, had it not been for you and your soothing lips, kissing his tears away; you and your gentle fingers, dancing along his skin as they calmed his sobs; you and your unwavering love for him, filling him up until he felt like he was going to burst with it, your discernible warmth laving over his body, his mind, his very soul.

You say nothing, because there’s nothing to say, swallowing thickly against the lump that’s lodged itself in your throat and blinking rapidly to keep the tears from escaping your eyes, little fingers tangling themselves in his hair as you hold him close.

      ❅           ❅           ❅

Christmas Day is tense, and awkward, as you’d expected it to be.

Neither of you are present at breakfast, opting to stay in bed, to pretend to still be sleeping as Touya ruts into you slowly, lazily rolling his hips as he swallows your mewls, mingling with his little pants and the gentle creak of old bedsprings, creating the softest, sweetest symphony. Words whispered against your skin promise you that next Christmas, and every Christmas after that, we’ll celebrate just like this, just the two of us, tangled up in each other as you writhe and gasp and tremble and cum.

Just the two of you…you like the sound of that.

No one tries to wake you. No one comes to get you to ask if you’re hungry, no one saves you a plate of leftovers, no one tells you that they’ve already begun opening gifts, that they’ll be done by the time the two of you finally emerge from your cozy little bedroom.

Your meek little merry Christmas is met with a chorus of mumbles, your family members keeping their eyes averted as you stand at the bottom of the stairs, peeking out from behind Touya’s torso.

They don’t ask what happened. They don’t ask where you went last night, or how Touya’s feeling this afternoon, despite the fact that every single one of them had witnessed his puffy, tear-stained face as you had barreled through the living room the past evening, had heard him choking on his own sobs as you frantically tried to calm him while half-dragging him to the front door.

And Touya doesn’t apologize. He doesn’t apologize for nearly pulling a gun on his baby brother the day you arrived, doesn’t apologize for lobbing a block of ice at his face, doesn’t apologize for the cracked lip and bruised eye he gifted him two days ago.

You don’t open any of their presents, which is fine, because there’s only one that truly matters to you—a tiny box sitting abandoned under the tree, wrapped in shimmering azure paper, glinting in the weak yellow light.

It holds a diamond encrusted platinum choker, roughly two fingers wide and not unlike the gold one Duchess from The Aristocats dons. You’re more of a Marie, Touya tells you as you stare down at it, tilting it in the dim light and watching as the precious gems catch, casting brilliant little rainbows. But I thought this would suit you, too.

Tears cloud your vision, glistening in the Christmas tree lights as you gaze up at your niichan, hitched little thank you’s lodging in your throat.

“Look on the inside,” he urges, jutting his chin at the box and directing your stare back down, dainty fingers picking it up in the most delicate fashion and scanning the inside of the band.

Right at the front, carved into the platinum in elegant, loopy letters, reads: To my princess, Merry Christmas. Love, your niichan.

“It’s stunning,” you murmur, looking back up at him again, little watery giggles tumbling past your lips. “Help me put it on?”

A fond laugh rumbles deep in his chest and he nods, taking the piece of jewelry from your hands and slipping it around your neck, large hands gentle and careful as they fasten it.

The weight of the choker is comforting around your skin, searing into your flesh in the most pleasant way, a physical manifestation of Touya’s love, of Touya’s ownership, that you can wear forever.

“Open mine!” you urge him excitedly, plucking the only other present left under the tree—a small rectangular box, wrapped in glittery pink paper—and shoving it at him.

And he can’t help the snort that escapes his lips as he tears through such pretty princess wrapping, eyes softening as he uncaps the box.

A Boker Lockback Hunter knife gleams up at him, the handle encased in pearly iridescent nacre, such elegant material contrasted by the glinting silver of the blade. Your name is engraved across the blade in a neat scrawl, and he inhales sharply, taking it between his fingers like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever held, turning it and watching it glimmer in the light.

Sapphire eyes finally flit to yours, an unreadable expression on his face. And, for a moment, you’re terrified he hates it.

But then he’s surging forward, dropping the box from his other hand and cupping your jaw as he drags your face towards his, smashing your lips together in front of the entire family. Someone gasps, someone mutters something, someone chokes on their breath, but you can’t be bothered to care, not when all you can see, taste, feel is Touya, mouth slotted against yours as his lips move in the gentlest caresses, pure love and adoration pouring from him and into you, filling your chest until it swells, until it feels as though it’s going to burst.

“I love it,” he murmurs as he rests his forehead against yours, breathing slightly laboured, eyes still closed. “Thank you, princess,”

And he does love it, he loves it so much, because now, he can carry a little piece of you with him everywhere he goes, something almost as pretty as you are on his body at all times. Because now, every time he uses that knife to protect, to torture, to kill, he’ll be reminded of exactly why he does it, and who he does it for.

The rest of the family stares at the two of you, gazes searing into your skin, their travelling eyes leaving a scalding, prickly heat in their wake as they observe you and Touya exchange your gifts, entirely consumed by one another, caught up in your own little world, eons away from everything else.

And you wait for it to come, wait for the hurt and sorrow and regret to seep into your chest, to sink, heavy and stifling, to the very pit of your stomach, but it never does.

Disappointment is thick in the air, adding a weight that should feel suffocating. And it does, in a way, but not the way it’s supposed to.

Because you meant what you said last night in the car—you really don’t care what any of these people think of you, don’t care if they’re upset with you, frustrated with you, exasperated with you—as long as you have Touya, it really doesn’t matter.

Their thoughts, opinions, feelings—none of them are important, not when Touya’s got his strong arms wrapped around your waist, not when you’re safe in his warm, protective embrace, nuzzling into his firm chest, comforting and familiar.

Your father can barely meet your eyes, let alone speak any words to you, but it doesn’t matter, not when Touya’s been gazing at you with such affection it’s nearly choking, not when Touya’s been whispering the sweetest little affirmations, praise and compliments and words of love, to you all day, lips tickling the shell of your ear.

Fuyumi no longer tries to keep the peace, looking as if she just swallowed something sour every time she accidentally catches your gaze. She sits next to her mother on the loveseat, her body so rigid it must be aching, muscles tight and tense, coiling any time Touya speaks, any time you answer.

But it doesn’t matter, because you feel relaxed and at ease in your niichan’s arms, answering his questions with soft murmurs and little giggles.

Natsuo can’t seem to sit still, fingers fidgeting as they pick almost viciously at his cuticles, palms running down his thighs, rubbing behind his neck, dragging over his face, body full of jitters as if he’s had too many cups of coffee…or as if he’s coming down from something.

But it doesn’t matter, because Touya is still, serene and calm for the first time since stepping foot in this cabin, finally able to breathe now that everyone’s stopped pretending, stopped trying to be a family that they’re not, a family that they’ve never been, a family that they’ll never be.

Shouto’s entirely silent, stoic and apathetic, though he isn’t afraid to look at you, to glare at Touya as nimble fingers pick idly at the thick cream bandage wrapped around his hand, covering an ugly curve of five stitches across his palm, curtesy of Natsuo.

But it doesn’t matter, because neither of you have anything to say to him, verbally or otherwise.

      ❅           ❅           ❅

You don’t stay for Christmas dinner. Rei is stiff when she hugs the both of you goodbye, voice void of any emotion as she wishes you a safe trip home, makes you promise to call her when you arrive at the flat, though you’re absolutely positive she won’t want to hear from either of you.

It’s just going through the motions at this point, doing what every good mother is supposed to do when her children depart on Christmas Day. No one else, save for Natsuo, bids you farewell.

Touya doesn’t apologize to his mother, either, although you know he will a few nights from now when he calls her—in his own convoluted way, a sorry without a ‘sorry’—deep voice caressing her ear sweetly like he always does, laced with just a hint of derision as he lists all of his wrongdoings, as he subtly and skillfully connects them back to her, as if they’re her mistakes. And you know she’ll forgive him, like she always does, that she’ll apologize too, for forcing him through such a horrendous disaster—apologies that had become a habit long, long ago, after something goes seriously south at a family event, as they have a tendency to do when Touya’s involved.

Snow crunches under your boots as Natsuo walks with you to the Audi, each step further away from the cabin aiding you in feeling lighter and lighter, each step further away from the cabin allowing your lungs to open up a little more, fresh air rushing in as the invisible weights of family obligations and duties begin to lift.

True to his word, Natsuo returns Touya’s weapons the moment he’s behind the wheel, wishing the two of you a merry Christmas and promising to swing by the flat soon—maybe for New Years, he muses—before patting the roof of the car and sending you on your way.

Rei watches the whole interaction from the front door, arms wrapped tightly around herself as she leans precariously against the doorframe, face crumpled with an emotion you’ve never seen before, something akin to a complicated, contradicting mixture of grief and affection.  

A deep breath you hadn’t realized you were holding slips through parted lips as the Audi finally pulls onto the road. Warm and heavy, a large hand snakes it’s way onto your thigh, kneading the muscle slightly, Touya casting a glace at you through the corner of his eye with a tiny smile tugging at his lips. And you can practically see it, the tension dissipating from his tight body with each second further from the cabin, becoming more fluid and relaxed. The two of you only have each other now, but that’s okay. It’s you and him against the world now, a fact solidified by this trip, but neither of you would have it any other way.

“Never again,” Touya sighs the moment the cabin is out of sight, disappearing in the rearview mirror behind a hill.

No, you agree. Never again.

#dabi x reader #dabi #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya #MERRY CHRISTMAS I LOVE U ALL SOOOOO MUCH #sorry this is liiiike two hours later than it was supposed to be i got caught up with family!! #k i'm gonna go eat dinner now lmao #AND THEN #ASK TIME WOOOO i miss u guys so much!!! #is he gonna use that knife to carve his name into her skin somewhere??? #u bet ur fuckin ass he is!! #dabi smut #tw pseudo-incest

[teacupfulofstarshine]

you're the pink in my cheeks (i'm a little bit soft)

summary: "and i know we'll never grow old together / cause you'll never grow old to me / you're the pink in my cheeks / and i love that it means i'm a little bit soft / you're the pink in my cheeks / and i love that it means i'm a little bit soft"

- "monster," marceline (adventure time)

(OR: 5.4k of soft domestic lesbian!analogical, featuring lesbian!moceit, trans male!remus, trans female!roman, and Gay Shenanigans)

a/n: huge thank you to dandie for beta'ing this fic!

i just wanted to write wlw is that so wrong of me? no. no it is not.

CW: alcohol mentions, a few sex jokes, swearing, one implied instance of potential sexual activity (although it doesn't go any farther than making out; if you want to skip that part, skip the section that starts with "Did you get the right kind of popcorn?")

word count: ~5.4k

read it on ao3!!

“I think I may be going insane,” Logan says, squinting at her laptop screen. Virginia, hanging upside-down in the armchair, looks up from her phone and blinks.

“And why is that?”

“Because I am starting to agree with Rosie’s anti-Florida agenda.”

“I didn’t realize that there was an anti-Florida agenda.”

“Rosie has one, and I have always thought it facetious. However, if this laboratory does not start sending me my requested samples and information in a timely manner, I will be forced to concede that Rosie may have . . . a point.”

“You, agreeing with a lit major? I never thought I’d see the day,” Virginia teases. Logan initially resists the urge to stick her tongue out or flip Virginia off, because that would be childish, but then she remembers that Virginia does not care about her childishness, so she sticks her tongue out. Virginia snorts with laughter, and Logan feels warm, fizzy pop-rocks bursting in her chest.

Her phone buzzes next to her, and she picks it up. There’s a new message blinking for her attention on the screen.

[from: snesbian (snake lesbian)]

a, b, or c

[to: snesbian (snake lesbian)]

. . . What?

[from: snesbian (snake lesbian)]

*rolls eyes*

[from: snesbian (snake lesbian)]

i need you to make a selection, logan. a, b, or c.

[to: snesbian (snake lesbian)]

I am confused. What am I selecting between?

[from: snesbian (snake lesbian)]

wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy

[to: snesbian (snake lesbian)]

Yes. I would like to know. That is why I asked you.

[to: snesbian (snake lesbian)]

Also, I am not a meteorologist. Or a boy.

[from: snesbian (snake lesbian)]

it’s a meme, i’m sure v will be happy to show you the og. but first: make a choice

[to: snesbian (snake lesbian)]

Option B, I suppose?

[from: snesbian (snake lesbian)]

vodka it is!

[to: snesbian (snake lesbian)]

Wait, what?

Her phone buzzes again, another text thread lighting up, and Logan abandons the now-fruitless conversation with Jan to see that her wife has texted.

[from: soda poppy]

y is jan fillin a thermos with vodka and sayin u gave her the go ahead? >:(

[to: soda poppy]

I am unsure. She texted me asking me to make a choice between “a, b, and c” with no context given. When I eventually selected “b,” she excitedly mentioned vodka and logged off.

[from: soda poppy]

her an remy r going 2 a pta meeting tonight an i guess they’re goin drunk

[to: soda poppy]

Is that a . . . normal occurrence?

[from: soda poppy]

sadly yeah

[to: soda poppy]

Wait, is she even allowed to attend PTA meetings? You two don’t have any children?

[from: soda poppy]

she’s on the school board so she has the right 2 attend. idk if she’s supposed to or not but its never stopped her b4

“Everythin’ good over there?” Virginia asks.

“I believe I may have just enabled Jan to attend a PTA meeting drunk.” Virginia snorts, swiping at her phone.

“Good for her, honestly. The only reason she and Poppy live in that neighborhood is so that Jan can flaunt her wife in front of all the capital-s Straight people, because she’s a petty fuckin’ bitch.”

“That is a strange word choice for your best friend.”

“I hate Jan, she’s a bitch,” Virginia says, smirking fondly at her phone. Logan knows her girlfriend well enough to know that this statement is disingenuous, so she stands up, stretching her arms above her head, and leans down to drop a kiss onto Virginia’s forehead.

*~*~*~*~*

Logan blinks awake slowly, feeling for the position of her limbs. She’s on her left side, left arm tucked up under her pillow to cradle her head, wrapped in the thick comforter of their bed. Her right arm is slung across Virginia’s body, and her girlfriend is pressed up against her, head tucked right under Logan’s chin and face nestled into her neck and chest. Virginia breathes, slow and deep and even, and Logan hums, huffing out a soft exhale.

She carefully wiggles out of bed, tucking the comforter around Virginia’s curled-up form. Virginia grumbles when the cool morning air slips against her skin, because she is a foolish woman who insists upon sleeping in short shorts and a spaghetti-strap tank top no matter the current weather patterns. Logan wraps her up, making sure that she’s shifted into the middle of the warm divot of body heat, and Virginia settles in, asleep again in a heartbeat.

Logan turns to the corner chair, where her early-morning outfit is already laid out: athletic leggings, a sports bra, a moisture-wicking quarter zip jacket. She changes quietly, lights off, and tugs on a pair of ankle socks before slinking into the bathroom. Once the door is shut, she flicks on the soft lights over the vanity and carefully undoes her sleep braid. Normally, Virginia does Logan’s hair, because Logan is not good at dealing with her wavy, tangled, curly mess, but she won’t wake up her girlfriend for that. She can, at bare minimum, pull her hair up into a high ponytail for running purposes.

They live in a small town only a short walk (and even shorter bike ride) from the beach, full of little two-story brightly-colored beach cottages. Logan steps off her front porch, pulls out her phone, and quickly shoots a text.

[to: ginny <3]

I am headed to the beach for my weekly run. I will likely return before you wake up, but in case I do not: I will be back before 9 AM.

[to: ginny <3]

I love you <3

Logan kicks up the kickstand on her bike, runs her fingers over the glossy dark-blue paint flecked with white and silver and gold to mimic stars, and swings one leg over the bike seat. She carefully pedals out into the narrow road and heads for the beach. The cool early-morning air whips past her face, and she chances a glance up at the dark-blue-turning-light-blue-grey sky and smiles.

She’s always been an early-morning morning person, anyway.

*~*~*~*~*

Logan’s sneakers dig into the hard-packed wet sand along the water’s edge as she runs. Seagulls scatter in front of her, and the podcast Virginia recommended hums in her ear. The sun creeps up, up, up onto the horizon, coloring the blue-grey into streaks of brilliant pink and orange and gold, light reflecting off the water in resplendent diamond sparkles.

Logan runs half a mile down the beach, turns around, runs back to where she started and then runs half a mile in the other direction before turning around and running back to her starting point. By the time she’s bent over, hands on her knees, huffing out breath while her legs burn pleasantly, the sun has emerged fully from the ocean, and Logan is beginning to wish she had worn a visor.

She takes a moment to appreciate the sensory experiences of being on a nearly-abandoned beach: the scent of salt water, the sound of waves crashing against sand, the errant cries of gulls squabbling over fish. Their little beach is not nearly pristine enough for a tourist attraction, and too far north along the Atlantic coast to be warm year-round. Still, Logan loves it, and cannot imagine living anywhere else.

She hunts along the water’s edge as she walks, briefly, a cool-down before the bike ride home. She finds a few things worth photographing, a few crabs to shoo back into the ocean, and a few things worth gathering: an intact clam shell whose smooth curve runs unbroken from the heel of her palm to the tip of her index finger when she lays it flat in her hand, a light gray rock worn smooth by the waves that turns dark-gray-almost-black when wet, a small spiral shell that she thinks may have broken off of the top of a snail shell. Logan wraps all three things carefully in a small handkerchief from the little bag she keeps in her bike basket, pulling out her phone to note the time (8:37 AM) and the message notification flashing at her.

[from: ginny<3]

dunno why you insist on being a morning person. stop by the dunkin on your way back and get us breakfast?

[to: ginny<3]

You had Dunkin for breakfast three times this week. You should consume something healthy.

[from: ginny <3]

>:( >:( >:( >:(

[from: ginny <3]

counterpoint: you bringing me dunkin is better than me not eating breakfast at all. which is the alternative because i do not want to get up and prepare anything

[to: ginny <3]

Your womanly wiles will not work on me in regards to Dunkin breakfast.

[from: ginny <3]

bitch (affectionate)

[to: ginny <3]

Would you like me to make you breakfast on my return, beloved?

[from: ginny <3]

. . .

[from: ginny <3]

will you make me an omelette? with all the cheesy goo an shit?

[to: ginny <3]

I will make you an omelette with some degree of “cheese goo.”

Logan slides her phone into her pocket, huffing out a laugh at her girlfriend’s behavior, and hops onto her bike again.

*~*~*~*~*

“Your omelettes are always so much better than mine,” Virginia says, moaning as she sinks her teeth into an enormous bite of egg and cheese. Logan, calmly dicing bell peppers to mix into her own omelette, smiles.

“All food tastes better when it is prepared by someone who is not you.”

“You’ve clearly never had anything the twins have cooked.” Virginia takes another bite, pops a multivitamin into her mouth, and chases it down with a gulp of milk. “Besides, it tastes better because you made it.”

“I am not the most accomplished chef in the world, certainly, but I am glad you enjoy my cooking.”

Virginia laughs softly. “Lo, I like your food because it’s prepared by someone who loves me. I can taste the love in everything you make for me.”

Logan turns back to her peppers to hide her blush. “Love is not a measurable ingredient when cooking.” Virginia laughs again, louder this time; when Logan sets the knife down, she hears Virginia’s chair scrape out behind her as she stands, feels her arms wrap around her waist, feels the cool skin of her face press into her neck.

“Love you.”

*~*~*~*~*

“Stressful day at work?” Logan asks, hearing the door slam.

Virginia kicks off her flats, sending them flying into the wall with a clatter. Logan sets down her crochet project and moves toward the entrance of their house, where Virginia is shrugging off her rainjacket to reveal a mint-green Peter Pan-collared blouse and dark gray dress pants. “The stressiest.”

Logan takes the jacket and shakes it out on the tiled entranceway before hanging it on the hook. “I am sorry, beloved.”

“Lots of assessments, lots of parents who don’t understand why I’m assessing their kid, lots of parents insisting that there’s nothing wrong with their kid, or that there’s no way their kid could possibly have the deficits that I’m seeing. Like, I wouldn’t make this shit up, you know? Literally, let me help your child. You came to me, remember? I’m not in the habit of imposing myself onto people.”

“That sounds very stressful,” Logan says. She tries to picture a life where she spends all her time interacting with people she doesn’t know on a regular basis instead of her little corner of the university biochemistry lab where she only has to interact with three or four known people and her immediate supervisor, mostly by email. It sends icy fingers skittering down her spine.

“It is, I hate it. I mean, Kitty’s my supervisor until I get my C’s, so if I have problems I can consult with her, but like . . . why are people the way that they are.”

Logan stretches up and presses a gentle kiss to Virginia’s cheek. “I love you, Ginny.”

Virginia exhales and folds herself around Logan, draping her body over her girlfriend and going limp and boneless. “I don’t wanna be a real person for the rest of the night.”

“That can be arranged.”

“But it’s my night to make dinner.”

“I do not mind switching and having you make dinner tomorrow,” Logan says. “This is an acceptable deviation from the routine.” Virginia pushes her face into Logan’s neck, and Logan nuzzles the side of her head, and she sighs like the entire world has lifted off her chest.

*~*~*~*~*

(This is how it starts:

Logan, taking a class on British literature in her sophomore year because she needs to meet her core requirements. Logan, meeting Rosie, disagreeing with her on almost every single point she raises in class, hating when they’re paired up for their midterm project but earning the best grade in the class overall. Logan, seeing a text from Rosie about how her housemate needs people to participate in a research study for extra credit. Logan, making the long trek down to the health sciences building and seeing Virginia for the first time, thinking that she’s pretty and not knowing that she’ll be thinking that for the rest of her life.)

*~*~*~*~*

“Hello, gorgeous,” Virginia hums.

“Are you talking to me or to the mint plant?” Logan says, aggressively stabbing her pointer finger against the Delete key. It clacks loudly, and she mutters an insult under her breath. “I am going to set myself on fire. I swear to god, I am.”

“Obviously the mint plant,” Virginia says, turning and dropping a kiss on Logan’s head. “You okay, honey?” Logan grumbles more and shoves the laptop away from her with a disgruntled noise. Virginia moves the laptop away and leans over to kiss her forehead.

“I am trying to politely word an email whose essence boils down to, ‘If you do not send me my fucking samples in a timely manner, I am going to be forced to commit an Atrocity the likes of which this earth has never seen’,” Logan says.

Virginia laughs so hard that she sits down on the tiled kitchen floor, wiping tears from her eyes. “You are so funny,” she wheezes. Logan feels her irritation fade a little under the brightness of her girlfriend’s joy. “Let me see the email, I’m good at professional bullshitting.”

*~*~*~*~*

“Braid my hair!” Rosie says, throwing herself down onto the couch. Logan lifts her laptop up just in time to keep Rosie’s head from slamming into the keyboard.

“Ginny is your best bet for braids, Rosie. I have limited experience.”

“It doesn’t have to be fancy, It just has to be off my neck.”

Logan saves her document and sets her laptop on the coffee table, poking at Rosie’s ribs until she slides onto the floor and settles cross-legged between Logan’s thighs. “A comb and some hair-ties would be appreciated.”

“REMUS!” Rosie shouts.

“WHAT?”

“BRING ME A BRUSH AND SOME HAIR BANDS!”

“GET YOUR OWN!”

“I’m going to kill that man,” Rosie mutters, rolling to her feet. There are suspicious muffled thumping noises from the other room for a few minutes before Rosie emerges, victorious, hair somehow even messier than it was in the first place.

“You are the single loudest person I have ever met,” Logan sighs, taking the comb and the hair ties and beginning to drag it through Rosie’s curls. Rosie winces, just a little, at the pull of the comb, and Logan tries to be more gentle.

“Thank you!”

“I did not say that was a compliment.

“Hey!”

*~*~*~*~*

Logan tugs her sweatshirt sleeves down from where she’d rolled them up previously, shivering a little. Part of her wishes that she had worn leggings instead of capris as she drags the folding chair a little closer to the bonfire, toes dragging through the still-sun-warmed sand. The speaker set up on the food table blasts some sort of current pop music, and Rosie and Poppy dance around each other, chanting the lyrics at each other. They are both very loud and very off-key and, Logan suspects, fairly drunk as well. Remus is in the ocean (definitely buzzed, potentially naked) and Jan is standing at the edge of the ocean, watching to make sure he stays alive.

“Hey,” someone says, low and rumbling in her ear. Logan does not flinch (just barely) and turns to see Virginia, holding a plastic cup with a poorly-drawn sketch of the state of Virginia on it. Her hair is starting to come loose from its messy bun, and her sweater sleeves keep sliding down over her wrists and nearly dunking into her drink, and her breath smells sweet and alcoholic. When she lifts her hand to Logan’s cheek, her fingers are cool, and Logan shivers.

“How’s my girl?” Virginia asks.

“Cold,” Logan answers honestly. Virginia laughs, tipping her head back and exposing the long strip of her neck. Logan wants to lick it.

“You’re adorable,” Virginia says, leaning in and pressing her mouth against Logan’s ear. Her breath is warm and slightly damp. “So pretty, my Logan, and so smart. I bet you know exactly what chemical compounds are making the flames turn that color, hmmm?”

Logan can feel her face burning hotter than the bonfire, but Virginia just sits languidly in her lap, feet propped up on the armrest. Her toes are painted pale purple, and the glitter sparkles in the firelight.

“How many drinks have you had?” Logan asks.

“Enough to feel all tingly,” Virginia says, swirling whatever’s in her cup. “How many have you had?”

“None,” Logan answers honestly. Virginia leans her head against Logan’s shoulder, and her wispy frizz tickled Logan’s nose. She sneezes, and Virginia giggles in the high-pitched, superficial way she only giggles when she gets really, really drunk.

“You sound so cute when you sneeze.”

“I do not.”

“Of course you do,” and now Virginia is looking at her, eyes glowing warm in the firelight. “You sound cute when you do anything. You’re cute when you exist. You’re cute no matter what. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

Logan hates the taste of alcohol, but she leans in and kisses Virginia anyway.

*~*~*~*~*

“Lo.”

“Hmmm?”

“Pick a color.”

“What?”

“I’m painting my toes again. Pick a color for me.”

Logan flops over onto her stomach, staring at the neat row of creme polishes sitting on their ottoman. Virginia’s bare feet are propped up in front of them, spread apart awkwardly with neon lemon gel toe spreaders, and she studies the nail polish like she’s trying to determine which vial isn’t poisoned.

“I like that one,” she says finally, pointing to a pale pink polish the color of the flowers Virginia brought her on their first date. Virginia hums, picking the bottle up and tilting it critically in the light.

“Not the one I would have picked, but I said you could pick, so I guess we’re doing it.”

Virginia tosses some bottles of toppers (or “tacos” as she calls them, slang from one of the YouTubers she likes) onto the bed while she paints her toes, and Logan sifts through them to settle on a blue-yellow iridescent one.

“I do not know how you can get behind wearing something called a Unicorn Skin,” Logan says. Virginia just shrugs and plucks the bottle from her hand. Their fingers overlap - Logan’s warm from where they’ve been tucked under her body, Virginia’s cool from where they’ve been gripping the glass bottle. Impulsively, Logan lifts Virginia’s fingers and kisses the tips.

“You’re going to smear the polish,” Virginia mutters, even though she painted her fingers earlier today and they’ve been dry for a while. She doesn’t bother to yank her fingers away, either, so Logan kisses them again.

*~*~*~*~*

“Logan!”

Logan is fully aware that the only thing keeping Poppy from crashing into her like a floral-sundress-covered cannonball is the casserole dish in her hands. She counts her blessings and steps aside to let Poppy in.

“Where’s Jan?”

“Getting something from the car! It’s my turn to drive us home, so she brought something to drink.”

Jan primly kicks the passenger side door shut with her heeled ankle boots, a bottle of wine grasped by the neck in each hand.

“I hope you do not intend to drink both of those in their entirety tonight,” Logan says. Jan rolls her eyes and offers one of the bottles to her.

“This one is a gift for you and Ginia. The other one is for me.”

“None for Poppy?”

“Poppy is the designated driver, so she will not be drinking. And I know she already told you that.” Logan rolls her eyes, and Jan flips her off. “Are you going to invite me in or not?”

“What are you, a vampire?” Virginia shouts from the kitchen.

“Only one of us dresses like the undead, darling, and it isn’t me,” Jan calls back, stepping into the house. “Are the twins here yet?”

“They cannot attend. Remus has orchestra practice and Rosie is teaching a dance class. You already knew both of these facts, because you are in the group text.”

“I am not.”

“You responded to a message in the group thread fifteen minutes ago.”

“That was the NSA agent assigned to monitor me.”

“You are a liar.”

“What else is new?”

*~*~*~*~*

groupchat name: be gay do crime

soda poppy: hey every1! DONUT 4get to make ur bakesale goodies and drop them off at r house by 7 am on fri!

lo tide: Please use normal words. I am begging you.

snesbian (snake lesbian): then beg.

lo tide: I do not recall asking for your opinion.

snesbian (snake lesbian): and yet i give it to you anyway. am i not generous

virgin: if you don’t stop making fun of my gf i swear to god

virgin: also remus if you don’t stop changing my name i’m gonna end you

virgin has changed their name to gin(ny) and tonic!

gin(ny) and tonic: much better anyway

violets are blue rosie is me: i believe you meant anygay

gin(ny) and tonic: i said what i fucking said

ace attorney irl: you changed your name :(

gin(ny) and tonic: every day the Lord regrets giving all of us mod powers in this chat

snesbian (snake lesbian): i have no such regrets

lo tide: Can we circle back to the bake sale, please?

soda poppy: Whatchu wanna kno???

lo tide: I assume it is school related?

soda poppy: yep!

soda poppy: fundraising 4 this year’s art club field trip! since im the faculty advisor im in charge of approving and setting up 4 the fundraisers

lo tide: I see. And why, exactly, is it our responsibility to make things for this fundraiser? Should it not be the students’ responsibility?

soda poppy: they r makin stuff 4 it but also i gotta make sure some of the stuff will b edible yknow

lo tide: I see.

gin(ny) and tonic: listen i know that jan is like. a professional pastry chef an shit. but i’m not making anything fancy like a cheesecake or smthn

gin(ny) and tonic: i’m making like. fuckin brownies

snesbian (snake lesbian): smh don’t you care about the Children at all?

gin(ny) and tonic: no. they’re not my kids

ace attorney irl: i will make cookies

soda poppy: u cannot make them inappropriate shapes

ace attorney irl: :(

violets are blue rosie is me: do not worry, i will make sure they are an appropriate shape

violets are blue rosie is me: i’ll make cupcakes!

lo tide: I believe I have a recipe for lemon squares that I can make. Will lemon squares be sufficient?

soda poppy: yeah! just keep ur stuff free of common allergens like tree nuts

gin(ny) and tonic: so my plan to just yeet you a bag of reese’s peanut butter cups and call it a contribution is out then

*~*~*~*~*

Virginia throws a box of brownie mix into the cart and dusts her hands off. “There. Done.”

Logan raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t give me that look, we have the rest of the ingredients at home. We have tap water, we have oil, we have eggs, we don’t need anything else. What do we need for your lemon thingies?”

“Lemons, presumably.”

“You’re a comedian,” Logan deadpans. Virginia flips her off, and then leans in to kiss her cheek. “I do need lemons, though. Lemons, more eggs . . . I have a list in my phone.”

“What phone?” Virginia says, dangling Logan’s galaxy-patterned case above her head. “I think you’re too short for this, Lo.”

“Give me my phone,” Logan says, rolling her eyes. Virginia wiggles it above her head, laughing.

“Maybe you should give me something in return.”

“Like what?”

Virginia grins. “Like a kiss, perhaps?”

Logan rolls her eyes again, but she leans in and kisses Virginia gently, swiping her phone back when Virginia lowers her hand to cup her face. “Thank you for paying the toll, sweetheart.”

“You are ridiculous,” Logan says. It doesn’t stop her from gently kissing Virginia’s cheek before pushing the cart down the aisle again.

*~*~*~*~*

groupchat name: be gay do crime

lo tide: What time did you want us to drop off the baked goods, Poppy?

soda poppy: if ur gonna b in the area, u can just drop them off at my house!

ace attorney irl: i made some of the shapes inappropriate but those ones r 4 u and jan

soda poppy: what did u make 4 the bake sale?

ace attorney irl: . . .

soda poppy: what did u make 4 the children, remus.

ace attorney irl: nothin’ too crazy! jan had some normal summer shapes - suns, flip flops, etc. etc. used those

soda poppy: :D thx remus!

ace attorney irl: made some fishies too! but the octopi are just for u an jan.

ace attorney irl: i . . . may have painted dicks on them

soda poppy: well at least u warned me right

*~*~*~*~*

“Did you get the right kind of popcorn?” Logan asks.

“If by ‘the right kind’ you mean ‘your favorite kind,’ then yes, I did,” Virginia says, coming into the living room with a large yellow bowl full of fluffy popcorn. “What are we watching tonight? It’s your turn to pick, isn’t it?”

“Gay fish,” Logan says.

Virginia sets the popcorn on the coffee table and blinks at her. “That is . . . quite the description of Finding Nemo, sweetheart.”

“Not Finding Nemo, Ginny. Luca. It’s new, and it’s not explicitly gay, but there is a very obvious queer reading. I thought we could watch it together.”

“Anything with you sounds wonderful.”

“Sap,” Logan mutters. She leans in to kiss Virginia’s cheek, but Virginia turns at the last moment and presses their lips together.

“Are you sure you want to watch a movie?” she says. “We could just make out instead, if you want.” She pushes gently on Logan’s stomach, guiding her to lay on her back on the couch. Virginia lays on top of her, gently sliding a hand to rest warm and heavy on her stomach. She leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss to Logan’s neck, and then her jaw, and then rubbing their noses together.

“Tonight is movie night,” Logan says. Virginia presses their mouths together, and Logan hums, gently pressing up into the kiss. “We should be watching a movie.”

“Are you sure?” Virginia says. “I think we should pursue this avenue a little further.”

Logan squirms a little. “I - I would not - um - no, thank you.”

Virginia’s eyes, which were hazing over with something, clear as she blinks. “Okay, sweetheart.” She leans back, sits up, pulls Logan into a sitting position. “Are you alright?”

“I’m okay,” she says. “I just - I am not in the mood for that tonight. If that is okay.”

“Of course it’s okay,” Virginia says. She holds out a hand, and Logan takes it. Virginia kisses the back of it before settling herself on the couch. “I am so proud of you for expressing a boundary and telling me you were uncomfortable. I know that expressing boundaries is something that we’re both working on, and you did a wonderful job. Tell me what you want, Lo. Please?”

“I would like a kiss,” Logan says. “Just one. And then I would like to cuddle, and - and I would like us to watch Luca together. Is that acceptable?”

Virgil nods. “Of course, love. Come here, hmmm?” Logan settles next to her, and Virginia gently cups her cheek and presses their mouths together. “I love you, Logan. So much. Of course we can watch Luca now.”

Virginia lays an arm along the top of the couch, allowing Logan to cuddle up against her and rest her head on her chest. “I love you,” Logan says softly.

“I love you too, sweetpea.”

*~*~*~*~*

Logan rolls over, yawning, and feels a small weight displace itself from her thighs. She blinks awake slowly, lifting her head and pushing her curtain of curls aside to reveal a black cat mewing at her grumpily before settling into a sushi roll beside her.

“Did I wake you? I am sorry, Galileo . . .”

Galileo settles against her, purring softly, while the ash-grey cat at the foot of the bed pads slowly up to curl on Virginia’s back. “That’s your favorite spot, isn’t it, Andromeda?” The cat emits a soft “mrrrp” before settling back down to sleep. Logan yawns, smiles, and gently strokes her hears. “What should we do, girls? Shall we stay awake and be productive members of society?”

Neither cat responds, and Logan looks at Virginia. She’s haloed in the morning light, eyes tightly shut, mouth hanging open, drool leaking into a puddle on the pillow. She snores a little - one, two, three snorts before settling back into a deep sleep.

“No,” Logan decides, “we shall not.” She lays back down, gently nudging Galileo a few inches over so that she can snuggle up to Virginia. Galileo stretches out, pressing a paw directly into Logan’s cheek. Logan shoves her, and she resettles onto Logan’s feet with an indignant noise.

“You can sleep by my face when you do not kick my face,” Logan mutters, curling into her love.

*~*~*~*~*

groupchat name: be gay do crime

soda poppy: r u all comin 2 the bake sale 2morrow?!

lo tide: I was under the impression that we were only providing the baked goods. Is it not for the students at the school?

soda poppy: we got waaaayyyy more stuff than we thought so we r havin a 2nd bakesale 2morrow 4 parents an stuff!

soda poppy: we r gonna need sum help with setup though . . .

lo tide: Poppy, please do not even -

soda poppy: 🥺🥺🥺 p l e a s e

lo tide: Poppy.

snesbian (snake lesbian): logan

lo tide: If I agree to stop and pick up coffee for everyone, will that motivate you all to turn out?

violets are blue rosie is me: i’m always a slut for free coffee

lo tide: I’m sorry, where did I say that this would be free?

violets are blue rosie is me: D:<

ace attorney irl: eh i’m down for it. where you swingin’ by?

soda poppy: there’s a panera p close 2 where the bake sale is!!! it’s gonna b at the morning girl’s basketball game

lo tide: Does anyone have any issues with Panera coffee?

violets are blue rosie is me: nah. large iced coffee, add three ounces of half and half, two pumps of sugar syrup, two pumps of vanilla, and caramel drizzle.

ace attorney irl: complicated bitch much?

violets are blue rosie is me: why must the cain instinct betray me like this

ace attorney irl: the cain instinct started when we stole each other’s genders in the womb

violets are blue rosie is me: this is true this is true but you’re still a bitch

ace attorney irl: large hazelnut coffee, two sugars, please

snesbian (snake lesbian): large dark roast, black

soda poppy: medium decaf coffee, two ounces of almond milk, and two pumps of sugar syrup!

gin(ny) and tonic: large caramel latte

lo tide: You . . . are going to ride in the car with me to pick up the coffee, we can order our own coffees. I do not need your order, love.

lo tide: But I appreciate the information <3 <3

*~*~*~*~*

“We come bearing gifts,” Virginia announces loudly. “And by gifts, I mean we bought a baker’s dozen of cinnamon crunch bagels for everybody.”

“Well, there are twelve cinnamon crunch bagels and one plain bagel, bagged separately, for me,” Logan corrects, expertly balancing two coffee trays with a bagel container. “Also, we made more brownies.”

Poppy looks up from where she’s instructing two high-schoolers on how to hang a sign properly and grins, waving brightly. Jan is leaning on the table, hand on her head, sipping at a water bottle.

“Vodka or whiskey?” Logan asks dryly, handing over Jan’s black coffee. Jan blinks at her, flips her off, and drains a long swig from her cup.

“Water. Partied a little too hard with Remy last night, and now I’m hungover as shit.”

“We suspected as much, which is why we brought you an extra coffee.”

“Lifesaver,” Jan says, knocking back another long drag of coffee before taking a sip of her water bottle. (Logan suspects the bottle is actually Poppy’s, due to the sun-shiney stickers plastered all over it.) “You and Poppy both. But if you tell anyone that, I’ll gut you like a fish."

“No, you won’t,” Logan says, turning to hand Rosie and Remus their respective drinks. “You never do.”

Jan flips her off, but Virginia comes up behind her and leans her forehead against her shoulder. Logan turns, kissing her forehead, and smiles.

Life is good today, she thinks. Life is good.

(screen names!

virgin -> gin(ny) and tonic; ginny <3 = virginia (virgil)

lo tide = logan

snesbian (snake lesbian) = jan (janus)

soda poppy = poppy (patton)

ace attorney irl = remus

violets are blue rosie is me = rosie (roman) (thanks to @rosesisupposes for letting me borrow your screen name for this!)

#starshinewrites #fem!analogical au #analogical #moceit #trans creativitwins #ftm!trans remus #mtf!trans roman #it's just soft domestic lesbian analogical fluff #that's it that's the fic

[darkverrmin]

trigger warning: family member dying.

I lost one of my grandmothers a couple of days ago. She lives in another country, but I've seen her a lot through the years. She died alone in her apartment. My heart breaks only thinking of that. I can't even look at my parents without crying, seeing how they blame themselves. She didn't want to come live with us, she liked it there.

And we can't even fly to her funeral because of the fucking pandemic.

How can you ever make peace with someone dear to you dying, without blaming yourself?

***

Jaskier's face fell as he continued reading the letter in his hands.

Geralt, who noticed that the room has gotten too quiet, lifted his gaze from the potion ingredients in front of him. "Jaskier?" He asked, slightly frowning. "What is it?".

Jaskier folded the letter with shaky hands, giving Geralt a small smile. It didn't reach his eyes. Geralt could cleary see how the younger man's lips were shaking.

"It's nothing" Jaskier said, his voice slightly breaking at the last word. "Um. It's just. My father".

Geralt snorted, going back to his work. "Another threat of disowning you unless you quit being a bard and traveling with a Witcher?".

Jaskier's laugh was short and bitter, and that's what finally made Geralt finally drop what he was doing and focus on the man in front of him. "No," Jaskier said, trying to maintain a light tone. "Um. My father, he- well- He died. Heart attack".

Geralt blinked back at him, not knowing what to say.

What the fuck should he even say?

Panicking, he said the stupidiest thing possible-

"Are you okay?".

Jaskier snorted at his question and got up from his seat, pacing across the room. "Well, I- As you know, my father and I weren't exactly close. He was very mean to me on some occasions. Always said he was ashamed of me. He and my mother, they fought- a lot. To be honest, I hated him".

Jaskier stopped in front of the small window of their rented room.

"I think I hated him. I don't know. In the last few years, I never cared about what's going on in his life". The young bard buried his face in his hands. "Then why does it hurt so fucking much right now?" He sobbed quietly.

A moment later, strong arms wrapped themselves around his waist and pulled him against a warm body. Jaskier started shaking violently.

"C'mere." Geralt murmured and Jaskier turned around in his arms, burying his face in the fabric of his shirt. He was sobbing openly now.

He didn't remember how it happened, but at some point he and Geralt eneded up on the floor, Jaskier sitting in his lap, his fists curled in the Witcher's shirt, sobbing into his neck.

Geralt ran his fingers through his hair, whispering "it's okay, I'm here, let it out", occasionally pressing kisses to the bard's shoulder and temple.

When Jaskier's sobs turned into quiet sniffling, Gerlat gently picked him up in his arms and carried him to the bed.

Lying down, Geralt continued murmuring soothing words, rubbing small circles into the bard's back. Jaskier continued crying into his shirt.

"I-i- He- W-when I got that scholarship to O-oxenfurt, he told me never to show my face in the courtship a-again. B-but, nonetheless, he sent me money when I was stru-struggling".

Jaskier took a deep breath. "He hated me being a b-aard, but my sister, Izzy, she told me he requested other bards to play my songs. Th-that he just wanted to hear that I was okay".

Jaskier took another shaky breath, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I was a horrible son, Geralt. I, I, I let him down all the time, he- He died and it is all my fa-".

"Stop it," Geralt cut him off, frowning slightly. He wiped Jaskier's tears away with his thumbs, cupping his face tenderly.

"He wasn't the ideal father and you weren't a horrible son." Geralt said quietly. "You are a person. With your own wants and dreams. Your father sometimes couldn't accept that".

Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut, more tears rolling down his cheeks. Geralt wiped them away, too. "You did nothing wrong, Jask. You're grieving. It's okay to feel that way. But none of this is on you. Okay?".

"Okay." Jaskier sobbed quietly, but it didn't sound convincing. So, Geralt did the best thing he could do at the moment. He pulled the bard closer and held him tight.

"I want to be there for the funeral." Jaskier said quietly into his chest.

"Hmm." Geralt replied, tracing his fingers through Jaskier's hair. "We will go".

Jaskier was quiet for a moment. "We? I thought you wanted to head north, to Kaer Mor-".

"We can go there after the funeral. Or spend the winter in Oxenfurt. My brothers and Vesemir will understand". Geralt suddenly got up from the bed, fetching Jaskier some water.

"Drink." he ordered. Jaskier frowned at him, but took a few gulps nontheless.

"Okay." Geralt said, sitting down beside Jaskier on the bed. "Do you want to keep talking?".

"No." Jaskier replied quietly, staring at the floor.

"Okay." Geralt said again, reaching for the top button of Jaskier's shirt. When Jaskier didn't push him away, Geralt started to unbutton his shirt. "Then try to get some sleep. We need to leave early tomorrow".

Jaskier sighed, allowing Geralt to undress him and pull him beside himself under the covers. "I don't know how am I going to deal with all of this." Jaskier mumbled into the other man's chest.

Geralt put an arm around him and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "You won't. We will".

***

Don't feel guilty.

They wouldn't have wanted that.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #witcher #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #witcher netflix #geralt the witcher #julian alfred pankratz #dandellion #geralt #geralt z rivii #geralt x dandelion #geralt x julian

[jiaraforeverr]

Dancing With Our Hands Tied

Author's note: Hi everyone! This is my very first fanfic so I would love to hear your thoughts! @arcticaid requested this months ago, I'm so sorry it took so long! I started writing it in May, but honestly forgot about it until after I watched season 2.

You can also find it on Ao3 here!

Pairing: JJ Maybank/Kiara Carrera

Kiara lay awake in the spare bed of the Chateau, the heavy and humid air sticking to her skin and making her whole-body flush with warmth. She could blame her inability to sleep tonight on the typical end of summer North Carolina heat, but there was something else on her mind keeping her up. With all the windows propped open as wide as they would go, she could hear the creaking of the old hammock rocking slowly back and forth, keeping her mind from thinking of anything other than the person she knew was also pretending to be sleeping right now.

A couple hours earlier, Pope had said his final goodbye before getting on the ferry to the mainland, where he would be traveling to UNC Charlotte for his first semester of college. He was finally doing what he was meant to, to pursue the future that his friends have protected and encouraged the last few years. But now he was gone, not coming back to the island for at least a couple months.

And that left Kiara and JJ.

It had been almost two years since the gold summer. Two years since they had last seen John B or Sarah. The loss of their best friend had taken a toll on all of them, but especially JJ. John B had been his brother, the first person he really was able to call family, the first person he felt safe with. Losing him had sent JJ down a dark path filled with alcohol and drugs much stronger than weed. It had taken Kiara and Pope about three months to get him back on track, and luckily that included getting him out of his dad’s house and into the Heyward’s care.

The three of them held onto the Chateau though. No one ever came asking about it, and they never brought it up. Currently, JJ was saving up to officially own it so they would no longer have the constant fear of having the last part of their best friend ripped away from them.

With Pope leaving for college, Kiara was left with the impossible task of deciding what she should be doing now. Much to her parent’s dismay, she had already that college wasn’t what she wanted- at least not right now. She can see herself going in the future, maybe getting a degree in marine biology and opening a conservation center of her own. But that was for later. Now, she knew there were still things she had to do.

Giving up the fight with herself to fall asleep, Kiara sits up in bed, sighing deeply as she presses her hands to her eyes. She could help but think about JJ. She was terrified of what leaving him alone would look like. She couldn’t risk losing another friend. A part of her knew that deep down, she just really didn’t want to leave his side at all.

Things with JJ had always been different than it had been with Pope or John B, but even more so after John B’s disappearance. They had a bond stronger than ever before, and Kiara was unsure how to deal with the feelings that had come along with it. She thinks that they’ve probably always been there in the back of her mind. Every flirty comment or wink JJ had given her growing up had always been accompanied by a small tug in her stomach that she now has a sneaking suspicion wasn’t due to annoyance.

Walking through the empty, quiet house, she took no precautions to avoid the loud floorboards like she normally would, and with an ache in her heart realized it was because no one else was here. As she got closer to the back door, quiet music filled the air, confirming that JJ was most definitely not asleep.

She silently made her way towards the hammock where JJ lay with both eyes closed, but he still opened one eye knowingly as she stopped next to him.

“Couldn’t sleep?” JJ murmurs softly.

“No, I just willingly woke up in the middle of the night for fun,” she responds sarcastically, but with no real bite to it.

“Hmm,” JJ closes his eyes again, “I can’t imagine hating myself that much. What a horrible life you lead.”

“What about you, what’s got you up?” Kiara ignores his quip at her, wanting to get to what was on his mind.

He didn’t respond right away, the silence sitting comfortably between them for a few moments. Kiara reaches down and brushes her fingers softly through his blonde hair, prompting him to finally respond.

“What do we do now Kie?” His whispers, just loud enough so she can hear him.

“What do you mean?” She murmurs back, as if she was afraid speaking too loudly would cause him to retreat back into his mind and close up on her.

“Like, we’re not kids anymore. Pope’s gone, you’ll be outta here traveling the world or whatever soon enough. I just feel like I’ve got nothin’ going for me when everyone else does.”

JJ’s admission makes her heart stop, and her breath catch in her throat. It had been a while since John B’s death, but that in no way meant they were over it. And now JJ was facing the very real possibility that he could be losing his remaining friends as well.

Wordlessly, Kiara reaches down again and gently tugs on JJ’s hand, indicating that she wanted him to get up. Predictably, he groaned in protest, but still slowly pulled himself up from the hammock. They both knew he would do anything she asked of him. Kiara leaned over and slightly turned up the volume of the speaker JJ had set up at the base of the tree. The sound of soft reggae music filled the air making her smile. She didn’t think before stepping closer to JJ so they were chest to chest with their noses just about touching. She wound both arms slowly around his neck securing him to her.

“What are you doing?” JJ asks her, a small smile creeping up on his face as his arms automatically wrap around her waist, closing the small gap between them.

“Dancing,” she responds, burying her nose in the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of the ocean, smoke, and a hint of sweat. She sways their bodies side to side, and feels him drop his head into the top of hers.

“Why are we dancing?” He mumbles, moving his body with hers.

She ignores his question, and just lets the two of them get lost in the soft music and the feeling of being close to one another. A warm breeze rustles the trees above them causing JJ to grip his arms tighter around her. The fairy lights twinkle in the branches, and Kiara thinks to herself ‘how could it get better than this?’

“JJ,” she whispers into his neck, “how could you ever think that I would leave you?”

“Because this isn’t where you belong, Kie. You should be exploring the world, saving the turtles and probably every other animal along the way.”

“I belong where you are,” she says, her voice just loud enough so that he could hear her. “And if I’m leaving the Outer Banks, so are you.”

“There’s nothing out there for me. I’d be dragging you down.”

“You’ve never been out there, how would you know? You could teach surfing lessons and fix boats in a new country every month. We could ride bikes and never have to worry about a car again. Imagine, me and you hitting every country that has an ocean, surfing every wave we can find around the world. John B would be so proud of us.”

Her voice trails off at the mention of their dead best friend, worried she hit a nerve. But JJ just pulls his head away from hers just enough so that he could press his lips softly to her forehead.

“He really would, wouldn’t he?” JJ says with his mouth against her neck now.

“We’ll make it work, J. We always do. I don’t want to do things like travel the world if I’m not doing it with you by my side.”

“When do we leave, captain?” JJ asks jokingly, but in a way that makes her believe he is serious.

“Planning starts bright and early tomorrow, and I think we’d be much more productive if we got some sleep.”

He says nothing in response and the silence sits between them again as they continue to hold each other.

“Can we do this? In every country all over the world?” JJ asks quietly.

“Do what? Dance?”

“No. I- yes. But I mean more like, just like- be together? Like this?”

Kiara didn’t even try to fight the smile that spread across her face at his words. She pressed a kiss on his neck, right below his ear. She knew what their relationship was right now was complicated, but in that moment, nothing made more sense. She was his and he was hers. Simple as that.

“We’ll always be together. We can be like this for the rest of our lives. On our surf trip to every country around the world, and after it and before. I said I’d never leave you, and I meant it.”

#jiara #jj maybank #kiara carrera #jiara fanfiction #jiara fanfic #jj maybank fanfiction #kiara carrera fanfiction #jj x kiara #jiara outer banks #outer banks fanfiction

[magalidragon]

For the Drabble challenge: 29 + 30 please! 😁

Here’s one! I have #30 coming up in a minute! This is set in a new universe, just something sweet and soft and maybe a tad angsty!

Safe Haven | 29. “Come over here and make me!”

"Daenerys get down from there and come here!"

"Come over here and make me!"

Jon muttered under his breath, storming towards the large oak tree behind his house-- and hers-- rummaging around in the dirty leaves and mud to find the knot at the base where he put his foot and then the groove just a foot above his head for his hand, beginning to haul himself up the back way towards the house above him.  "I'm going to kill you," he vowed, hating when he had to get up this way because she'd cranked up the rope ladder.

He emerged at the top, crawling over ungracefully onto the platform and fell to prop his back against the wall, peering into the treehouse where she sat, her face a beautiful mess of fury, fire, and pain.  She sniffed, hiding it behind her hand, and he ducked his head.  He knew she didn't like it when he saw her cry.  His dragon was always so strong.  He hit his head against one of the tree branches that curved out from the main trunk, which was in the center of the house.

It was hard to tell what came first, the tree or the treehouse.  It had been there forever; he joked that hte Children of the Forst must have built it.  It belonged to no one, stuck behind his house and hers, in a space of the Wolfswood that did not fall on his family's property or hers.  He drew his knee up to his chest and hooked his arm around it, holding onto his ankle.  "Dany, please," he said softly.  "It's not the end of the world."

"You're leaving!"

"I was always going to leave!"

"You didn't <i>tell</i> me!"

He would give her that one.  He closed his eyes, sighing hard.  Couldn't take it back.  "You knew I was going to join," he muttered.  There wasn't much for him.  He wasn't interested in going to college.  He had great grades, was one of the top of his class, but it wasn't for him and he knew it.  "I didn't want you there when I did."

She scowled, reaching over and picked up a stray beer can from the other night when they'd spent the entire time that his cousin had a party hiding away in their own private one.  She chucked it at him, with no heat behind the action.  "I hate you."

"I love you."

"I hate you."

He crawled towards her, repeating the words.  Over and over.  "I love you, I love you, I love you."

"No," she cried, when he pulled her small frame into his arms, and she cried into his chest as he rocked her.  She hiccuped, clutching his shirt.  "It's all changing Jon."

"I know."  He was leaving the only place he knew as his home, joining the military, disappearing into wherever or whatever they wanted him to do, although he had ideas.  Ideas he wouldn't tell her about because she could convince him otherwise.  He kissed her brow.  This was the only place she had thought of as her home, after an entire life of moving from place to place.  He exhaled, eyes fluttering shut.  "Dany...if you were with me...I would not have done it and...and I have to do this."

"I know."  She tilted her face up, the sunlight dying away at the end of the early summer day, her face a pale oval, tears streaking.  She blinked her violet eyes, looking indigo in the dim light.  Her silver hair was tangled, dirty from spending most of the day in the treehouse.  She brushed her lips along his pulse, racing.  "Hold me Jon, just...just hold me until the end."

If he had his way there wouldn't be an end.  He nodded and squeezed her close, until their hands grew bored, their emotions needing release, and they peeled at each other's clothing until they were making love under the stars, still not close to being 'experts' at the act even after the last few months of numerous hours of practice.

When he woke up in the morning, she was gone, and he stared at the carved heart in the tree trunk, smiling at it.  he wouldn't see her again; he had a feeling she was already on her way to Essos.

One day, he hoped, and he gathered up his clothes and climbed out of the treehouse, tossing the rope ladder up so no one could get to their safe haven.

--

Dany had not been back since she left for college. It broke her heart, being back here, but she had to return, because it was Ned Stark's funeral.  It was important for her to be there; he was always so kind to her, the weird silver-haired "Ghost Girl" they called her.  He knew her family's issues, why her mother had relocated them up North, as far away from anyone in the South who might know about her father's embezzlement and crimes. She hated running, she just wanted a place to call home.

And it wasn't even really home until she had discovered that ancient treehouse in the woods behind her house.  Except she wasn't the only one.

It became their place.  The weird bastard child with no mother and father, left to the charity of his aunt and uncle, and the see-through Ghost Girl.  They were the best of friends.  They did everything there.  It was where she had gone to cry over her brother Rhaegar's death, her brother Viserys running away and leaving them, all the kids making fun of her, and the highs and lows of friendship and heartbreak.  They watched meteor showers and stared at the stars, they both had their first drunk moments there-- and hangovers-- the first time they sampled Shade of the Evening-- she hated it, he threw up-- where she hid her cat Drogon from her mother for a week before he got out and ended up in her bedroom.

It was where they had their first kiss-- she wanted to know what it was like and he had already told his cousin he'd kissed someone-- laughing and giggling through it.  Then it was where they relaized they were in love with each other, shouting and angry because he'd gone on a few days with Ygritte Wilde who was telling everyone she'd taken his virginity and where she had been stood up on a 'date' that turned out to be his stupid fucking cousin Sansa setting her up for humilation.

They'd admitted their love, they had fumbled through their first time there-- and second, third, and fourth too.  It was where everything important happened.

It was where he broke her heart.  Where she broke his.

She stared up at it, reaching up with a branch to knock at the rope ladder, grunting from effort since it was caked to the wood from years of weather and countless leaves falling.  A clump of leaves and sticks fell, almost showering her with the detritus, and she smiled, lightly touching the frayed rope.  "Well if I die climbing this thing, that's appropriate," she muttered, hooking her foot into the bottom and making her way up.

It was like time stood still in the treehouse.

It was dusty, piles of leaves and dirt in the corners.  There was a blanket that had been eaten through by some animal, nothing but thread now.  She used to be able to stand straight up in it, but now she crouched, glancing around, smiling at it all.  There were a couple of band posters they'd tacked up, the paper caked onto the walls now.  If she touched it it would probably turn to dust.

And the trunk in the middle, with the carved heart, weather worn and the wood darkened.  She traced her finger along it.  DANY + JON.

She hadn't seen him yet; the funeral wasn't until tomorrow.

They had a lot to catch up on, she supposed, rocking onto her heels.  It was for self preservation she'd left him that morning.  That they'd ceased all communication.  It would kill her to keep it up.  They needed to leave.  To create their own lives and futures.

She exhaled, a puff of cold air coming out and she frowned, glancing down and realizing that the ashtray that she had made in art class was still there.  Except there was a single cigarette butt in it.  Delicately, she lifted it, and her eyes widened; it was still warm.  "Bloody hells," she cursed.

"Hi Dany."

Whipping her head, she fell backwards onto her butt, feet sliding under her.  She gaped at the opposite doorway; the back entrance up to the house, the way that they had to take if one of them had pulled up the rope ladder.  "Jon," she gasped.

He looked good.  Dark curls over his forehead and ears, his beard trim and lines threading from his eyes.  Gray, singular eyes, that made her think of the winter storms and the angry seas.  He smiled shyly, an arm draped over his knee.  "I heard you and...and I don't know why I hid," he admitted, shy.

She swallowed hard.  She wanted to yell at him for some reason.  He'd been in the papers six months ago; a dangerous mission at the Wall.  He could have died.  "Jon," she repeated.

He scooted a little closer to her.  "You look good."

Her hair was shorter than it had been.  She didn't know what to say.  What did you say after all this time to hte only man you had ever loved?  The only boy?  She took a deep breath, exhaled hard, and then did the only thing she suspected one could do.

She kissed him.

Lunged towards him, arms flying about his neck, and planted her mouth so hard on his, she knocked him backwards, and he grunted, the breath pushed out of him from her tiny body sitting on his.  He grabbed her hips and kissed her back, as urgent and desperate as her.  They were in heavy parkas and scarves, but none of that mattered, because she could hear his heart racing in time with hers, and feel the same hot bloody pulsing through him as her.

He broke the kiss a second later, hand rising to cup her cheek; it was cold, but she didn't mind, because the shock reminded her this was real.  "Dany," he sighed.

"I love you," she mumbled.  Tears trickled down her cheeks.  "I love you still Jon.  I don't care if you've changed, or...or if you're with someone or something...because I will always love you."

He smiled slowly and nuzzled his nose against hers, their hot breaths mingling.  "I love you too."  He paused, his brow wrinkling.  "And...and there's no one..  There's never been anyone but you."

They had so much to talk about, so much to catch up on, but for now, she needed to just remind herself that he was there, with her, in their safe space, away from anyone else.  She kissed him again, and again, and buried her face into his neck, smiling, finally at home.

#jonerys #jonerys au #my fics #my moodboards #jonerys fanfic #drabble ask

[caranfindel]

Take these broken wings and learn to fly (15.20 coda)

het, but Wincest-compatible | about 2300 words | PG-13 for language | characters: sam winchester, sam’s blurry wife |

Julia has been widowed (God, what an awful word, widowed) for three years when she meets Sam. It’s a work-based friendship at first. She’s kind of lonely and sad, he’s kind of lonely and sad, and they gravitate toward each other. And then one evening they’re at a bar, the last ones left from an after-work happy hour, both of them drinking more than they should, and she thinks he’s kind and thoughtful and smart and he may be 10 years older than me but he’s still hot as hell and I enjoy being with him and I look forward to seeing him and maybe I should just… and she kisses him. He’s shocked; shocked enough to confirm that he wasn’t just hanging around hoping to make it out of the friendzone. And then he’s holding her face in his hands and he’s kissing her too.

It’s good. They’re good together. It’s not the earth-shattering, all-encompassing romance she had with Shaun. Julia knows she’ll never have anything like that again. Most people don’t even get one soulmate in their lives; no one gets two. And she knows Sam doesn’t have that same desperate love that Shaun had for her; she knows she’ll never have his whole heart. (She knows the woman he intended to marry was killed in a fire, she knows another woman he loved went back to her ex. She doesn’t know which of these women still owns that last piece of Sam’s heart.) But she loves Sam, and he loves her, and they get married.

(The sex is amazing. Sometimes he’s gentle, almost reverent, as if he’s afraid he’ll break her, and other times he’s fierce and passionate and almost tries to break her, and she loves both ends of the spectrum.)

She suggests they melt down her old wedding band to make a new one. It was an heirloom from her grandmother, a plain wide band of yellow gold that she loves, that she thought she’d wear for the rest of her life. But Shaun is the one who put it on her finger the first time. It doesn’t seem right to ask Sam to accept it now. A new band from the old gold seems like a good compromise. No, Sam says, I couldn’t ask you to do that. I know a way we can make it ours. He has the inside of the band engraved with the same symbol he wears tattooed over his heart, and makes her promise to never take it off. Bad luck, he says.

He’s such a contradiction. Scary smart, but as superstitious as an Appalachian grandmother. Calm and unflappable, but with a weirdly hyperactive startle reflex. Kind and empathetic, but capable of extreme violence when pushed to his limits (seriously, don’t walk your drunk ass up to Sam Winchester’s wife and lay hands on her, and don’t get mouthy when she tells you to back off) and just really, frighteningly skilled at that violence.

(A little frightening and also very sexy. Julia’s always had a thing for the hero type.)

They both have nightmares. One night Julia watches Shaun’s face melting under his gear and wakes with a cry of horror. Sam holds her as she tearfully describes living on the knife edge of constant fear that comes with loving someone whose job is literally running into burning buildings. I know, he says, over and over, even though he can’t possibly know. The irony of their first loves both dying in flames is not lost on her, but it’s not like his college girlfriend was a firefighter. It’s not like he watched her go to work every day and prayed she’d make it home alive.

Julia’s pregnancy is a wonderful surprise. She and Shaun had tried for over a year before she was widowed, and she just didn’t count on it happening with Sam. They agree not to name the baby after anyone they’ve lost. Let’s not name him after our pain, she says, and Sam is okay with that. (Or he isn’t. But ever since she showed him the positive pregnancy test, she’s known she could ask him for anything. She’s known he would rip out his heart and serve it on a platter if she asked for it.)

But they haven’t decided on a name yet when her water breaks four weeks early. When their perfect baby boy is born at 12:10 a.m., the nurse announces the date and time and Sam looks up at her in shock and blinks away happy tears and says it’s the 24th. It’s my brother’s birthday. Julia is flying high on endorphins; she loves this baby and she loves this man and she even loves his dead brother she never got to meet, and she says it’s got to be a sign; let’s name him Dean.

She takes off her wedding ring, just this once, to have Dean’s birthdate engraved on the inside. Sam does the same with his own ring. He insists they go to a jeweler who will engrave while they wait, rather than leaving the rings there. She waves a hand at her lumpy postpartum body. You afraid someone’s gonna make a move on all this if you don’t keep a ring on it?

He laughs at her and says you’re onto me, even though he’s the one who needs to be locked away, still with that long lean runner’s body and the amazing shoulders and the goddamn dimples. I just don’t like us being without them, he says. He is a sweet, sentimental fool and she adores him. He bends down to kiss her, carefully maneuvering the baby he’s wearing in a sling, and Julia looks at this man and this baby and this life she didn’t think she was get to have and knows she’s happier than she has any right to be. And she’s relieved when Sam slips the ring back onto her finger, this ring imbued with the men she loves, so maybe he’s not the only sentimental fool.

(One thing she loves about Sam is that he understands why she feels guilty that Shaun didn’t get to share this life with her.)

In July they light a little candle for Dean’s six-month birthday. When Julia wakes the next morning, Sam’s side of the bed is empty and cold. She finds him cuddling their sleeping baby in the living room. I got up to give him a bottle, Sam says. I guess I just fell asleep out here. His red-rimmed eyes and empty coffee mug suggest he didn’t actually sleep at all, but, well. They’re both battling their own private demons. If a night cradling the baby gives Sam some peace for whatever reason, she’s glad of it.

Sam’s fierce love for their child takes her by surprise. If Julia has 90% of his heart, his son has 110%. He parents with a vengeance, is the only way she can think of to describe it. Like he’s making up for something. She doesn’t feel slighted, but it’s impossible to ignore that ever since Dean was born, Sam’s prime objective has been to make sure the boy is happy and safe. Everything else comes second.

(When she notices Sam has been carefully marking his tattoo symbol onto Dean’s clothing, hidden near seams and always in a color that almost matches the fabric, she decides not to say anything. He gets a little funny about his superstitions sometimes.)

Sam desperately wants Dean to have a sibling, and they try for another one, but it doesn’t happen. Julia reminds him that they’re lucky to have even one child. That having a sibling is not a lifetime guarantee of companionship and love. She should know, after all, since Stephanie cut her off after she married that asshole Scientologist and decided she couldn’t have a relationship with anyone who wasn’t also in their stupid cult.

Dean has plenty of friends and tons of activities, which Sam encourages with an almost religious fervor, but he never pulls away from his parents. They have so much in common, Sam and his son. Instead of rebelling as a teenager, Dean seems to grow even closer to his father. They spend hours together, paging through the ancient books in Sam’s study (she hates them, they smell musty and make her sneeze) or driving in the old Chevrolet. They even travel together sometimes, visiting those friends of Sam’s that live up north somewhere. Julia met them at the wedding and they were perfectly nice, thrilled to death that she and Sam had found each other. But she always feels like an outsider when they’re around, like they’re part of something she’ll never understand. So much history, with Sam and the brother she never got to meet. They absolutely dote on Dean though, and he seems to love them too, so the boys’ trip to Sioux Falls becomes an annual event.

(Dean is 14 years old when he comes home from one of these trips with his own version of the tattoo.)

When Julia is diagnosed with cancer, Dean is 16 years old. Sam does his best to ensure life goes on as normal for their son but somehow never neglects Julia’s needs. He throws himself into research and is always on top of the latest treatment, always at her elbow with the top internet-recommended remedy for her side effects, making sure both she and Dean have everything they want and need, all the attention and support they can tolerate. She doesn’t know when, or if, Sam actually sleeps. When she feels up for it, he arranges experiences for the three of them. A week lying on the beach, a weekend in New York City, a night in the mountains looking at the stars. When we look back on this time, he says, I don’t want us to only remember how much it sucked. I want us all to have good memories too.

(She doesn’t know why he’s concerned about her memories. There’s a good chance she won’t have much time to enjoy them. But it’s good for Dean. She doesn’t want this to ruin Dean’s childhood.)

Sam insists Dean go away to college as planned. Julia agrees, although she’s kind of surprised he’s willing to let the boy out of his sight. Aren’t you going to miss him? she asks.

So much, he answers. But this isn’t about me, and what I need. It’s about him. They drive Dean to school in the ancient Chevrolet. Supposedly because the trunk has room for all of his stuff, but Julia is pretty sure it’s just one last sentimental road trip in the old thing before Sam retires it. When they pick Dean up at the end of the school year, it’s in her SUV. Dean promises his father, more than once, that he’ll restore the Chevy someday.

Five years after Julia’s diagnosis, she’s sitting in the doctor’s office learning that her last remission was her last remission. There are no more options. She has months, not years. Sam clutches her hand and nods, once, as if to say I should have known this would happen; I should have expected something like this. Then he takes her home.

It’s a blessing in a way, he says late that night, after a little too much to drink. Knowing what’s coming. Having time to say goodbye. You don’t always get that. And yes, she knows this as well as anybody does.

Sam has always been supportive of her choice not to contact Stephanie, but one day he says Jules, I promise I’ll never bring it up again. It’s just that I don’t want you to have any regrets. I don’t want you miss the opportunity to say things that you’ll wish you’d said. Julia isn’t sure Steph will speak to her. She’s not even sure she’ll have the same phone number — they haven’t spoken since Dad’s funeral, a year after she was widowed — but she makes the call. And Steph answers. And cries. And comes to visit, where she hugs and cries some more. Sam watches it all with a sad smile for a while, then disappears into the garage to sit in the old Chevy.

When Julia takes her last conscious breaths, Dean is holding one hand and Sam is holding the other. She squeezes her son’s hand and thinks I love you, dear boy, and I’m sorry I have to leave you. She squeezes her husband’s hand and thinks thank you for giving me this, thank you for taking care of me, thank you for loving me and letting me love you. Then she closes her eyes and lets the soft, warm darkness take over.

And then. Then she wakes to a cool breeze and the sound of chirping birds. She’s standing at a lake she recognizes. It’s Shaun’s favorite fishing spot. And Shaun is there, waiting for her. And everything is okay.

Sam does show up eventually. Julia’s sitting on the porch of the cabin with Shaun, enjoying the perpetual nice day (sometimes a spring morning, sometimes a fall afternoon, but always nice) when she hears the familiar rumble. It cant be, she thinks. It can’t be that old car. But it is.

I’m glad you found someone with good taste in cars, Shaun says, as Sam unfolds himself from the driver’s seat. He looks exactly as he did the day she met him; no glasses, only a little grey at his temples. Still tall and strong and beautiful. She runs to meet him and embraces him as Shaun watches from the porch.

You found Shaun, Sam says. I’m so happy for you, Jules. I really am. He doesn’t seem to have any intention of joining her (their) Heaven permanently, but he doesn’t seem to have anyone else with him either. Where is the dead girlfriend? How is this fair?

They talk about Dean, and Julia’s heart swells with pride over her strong, smart, kind, brave son. He’s like you, she says. He’s just like you.

Sam shrugs. He’s a Winchester.

But what about you? she says. You’re not — you’re not alone here, are you?

Nah, he says. I’m good. I promise.

(Eventually Julia meets the first Dean, and she understands.)

===

I know a lot of people have mocked Sam's blurry wife, but I actually have grown to love the concept. Because it means she can be anything we want her to be. And yeah, initially I liked the idea of her being Dr. Cara, or Eileen. But now I don't think that would happen. I think Sam would have to start fresh to have that kind of relationship. And I also like the idea of Sam's wife having her own soulmate somewhere, waiting for her, so she's not a huge part of Sam and Dean's shared Heaven. I mean, they're gonna visit, obviously. And then they'll go home to their soulmates.

The title is from "Blackbird" by the Beatles.

#spn #15.20 #my fic #episode coda #sam winchester