#andrcfiles

The lake had finally gone quiet. Most of the family had gone back inside the cabin one by one, ready for a nice night of sleep after a long day in the sun. Only the crackling bonfire remained, its orange glow consistently catching his eye. Nick sat in one of the old camp chairs with his legs stretched toward the fire, a half-empty bottle of soda dangling loosely from his hand. He'd traded his swim trunks for a pair of shorts and a soft hoodie once the evening chill had rolled in, though his hair was still messy from spending the day in the lake.

He glanced over when he realized he and Uncle Nolan were the only ones left outside. A small, sleepy smile tugged at his lips. "Guess we outlasted everybody, huh?" he said softly, breaking the comfortable silence between them. He pulled one leg up onto the chair, resting his chin against his knee as another firework burst somewhere across the lake, painting the sky in brief flashes of red and blue. "I kinda like it better like this, honestly." His eyes drifted back toward the water, the corners of his mouth turning upward. "It's nice when everything finally gets quiet."

When Will wanted to feed but craved something with a little more substance, he'd often visit a dive bar on the edge of town. The wood-paneled walls and the neon signs -- paired with the jukebox music that was twangy and never from this century -- made the demon feel nostalgic for a bygone era. But the biggest draw was by far the clientele: mostly men past a certain age, grizzled to varying extents by the shit they'd encountered over the decades. Men who were gruff at first, but with some light encouragement on Will's end would come around to appreciate spending the night inside someone young and handsome and tight.

Will was immediately drawn to a man sitting at the corner of the bar, nursing a glass of half-melted ice with a million mile stare in his eyes. As he made his way over, he caught the bartender's eye-- who promptly shivered and dropped the glass he was drying back into his little washing station, following Will over to where the other man was sitting.

"Hi. Just some soda water and a lime wedge for me, please." The dark haired demon smiled at the bartender as he slid onto the stool. "And a, uh..." He turned to the lonely patron he'd sat next to and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder to get his attention. "What are you drinking? A whiskey? This one's on me, sir."

@andrcfiles gets a daddy day starter | Finneas & Emmet

Estranged. Reconciled. Even though nearly three decades ago he had walked out, Finneas had found his way back to him. For this, Emmet was grateful. The company alone was a welcome reprieve from the dullness of the mechanic's life, but it was the warmth they shared what truly comforted Emmet. Still, it came with surprises he was still adjusting to.

He woke up with a grunt. Noise and movement had stirred him awake earlier than usual. Through squinted eyes he saw the tall figure of his son, looming over him. Holding something. Breakfast. Emmet watched Finneas leave a tray of food on his night table. Father's day. He had forgotten, but Finneas remembered.

With a twist of his hips, Micah's skateboard skidded to a stop outside the waterfront tiki bar. He studied the building while he bent over to pick up his board. There was a familiarity about the place that tugged at his chest. When was the last time he'd been here? He must have been really young-- like an 8 year old at the bar or something. He couldn't imagine his mom doing that now, but maybe things were different when she was still with his dad. Garrett. He still got cards from Garrett twice a year: every birthday and Christmas, usually. He didn't even know if his dad still worked here or not, but he didn't have much of a choice. He had to see.

He entered the bar with his skateboard in one hand and his guitar case in the other, a hiking backpack on his shoulders and an old metal band shirt with the sleeves cut down to his hips on his... body, or whatever. And Micah's concerns about whether or not his dad was even still here were answered when he saw the man behind the bar: big as a barge, and older than the pictures Micah had of him but still incredibly handsome. With as short as Micah was, and with his somewhat darker complexion and long dark hair, it was kind of hard to believe Garrett was his dad-- until Garrett grinned his 10,000 watt grin at one of his patrons, and then it made total sense.

Micah didn't make a big deal out of it. He walked up to the bar and set his guitar case down by his feet a couple seats away from where Garrett was and just stood there. Drumming his fingers on the sticky lacquered surface of the bar with his heart in his gut. Waiting for Garrett to recognize him, if he even would.

It's only after Ryder gets out of the shower that he realizes things might be a little more serious than he'd thought. Well, he knows that taking one of his dad's cruisers for a spin was a serious offense like legally-- and not that he'd ever admit it, but he does understand why his dad wanted him to spend the night in one of the cells at the precinct. But Ryder really thought he'd pulled one over the sheriff when his one phone call was to Uncle Nolan, the mayor, thank you, who usually took great pleasure in going over his brother's head when it came to his nephew. And this case was no different, which was fucking awesome. But now Ryder is stepping out of his uncle's shower, dripping water everywhere, realizing he doesn't have a clean set of clothes to change into. Or deodorant. Or a toothbrush. Or anything.