#[ why yes I made a three paragraph post about coffee ]

[flameleadsarc]

@ananthologyofsouls asked: What type of coffee does Roy like? Does he prefer americano, cappuccino, latte, etc? (Sorry if I've asked this before )

It's all about the coffee beans and where they come from. What kind of flavor do they have? How strong is it? Roy likes his coffee rich and strong, and he drinks it black. His favorite blends come from Creta and Aerugo for that very reason. Adding sugar or cream to it ruins it to him unless, in his words, "The coffee beans are shit." Then, all he's doing is trying to wash down the flavor of the coffee itself---he does this a lot when he's up north.

Americanos? Oh, he loves those probably more than regular coffee. What does he prefer over those, though? A good macchiato, but he gets them sparingly. Why? Mostly because the good stuff is harder to get in Amestris---that's what he tells himself, at least. In reality, he knows there's more caffeine in it, and he only pushes the limits of his body so much. He considers it a treat.

So, to be brief: if one sees him adding sugar and/or cream to his coffee, it means he doesn't like the coffee. He won't turn down a cappuccino, or latte, but he'd much prefer an americano or macchiato if someone wants to order something other than a cup of black coffee. Though, adding cinnamon to said cup of coffee would be a nice way to show some appreciation too.

[idontknowreallywhy]

This one accosted me while I was trying to write something else (which appears to be A Pattern for me and writing… well… anything actually). It is very much inspired by many enjoyable conversations / informal therapy sessions with @astranite who shares my “what’s really going on with Scott” headcanon, and at the same time helped me figure out what might be going on with me too. Thank you for everything and for helping me nudge this into something shareable.

It’s also inspired by @sofasurf’s amazing set of fics about Scott’s struggles in the early days post Jeff disappearing. It’s absolutely right that after an initial crisis his brothers and grandma would have put in measures to stop him needing to work so hard and bear it all alone and I love how she tells that story.

And yet… we have Scott who 6 years later is still up late sat at that thrice-darned desk.. brothers aside, he’s CEO of a company that would employ a lot of competent people to sort out all the nitty gritty paperwork. So why is he still frequently found asleep there 6 years on?

This is my attempt to figure out some of the Reason… and not in any way a side quest distracting me from my own Big Document nemesis. Nope.

It is, however, 99% projection for which I hope you’ll forgive me. Hopefully it’s not too out of character.

Sort of an emotional hurt-comfort thing. The ending is very silly because that is apparently how I roll.

Trochilidae

Scott shook his head irritably as his eyelids drooped and flung out his hand to grab his mug… which promptly took a nose dive off the desk.

Allowing himself to face plant the polished wood for a moment he acknowledged he was, at least, lucky it was empty. Something he really should have remembered as that would have been the 5th time he had raised it to his lips only to be disappointed at the lack of caffeinated wake up juice within.

Not that it was doing any good. He scowled. It never did. The miraculous transformation from ‘Sleep of the Dead’ to ��Alert and Ready’ that the brown stuff could bring about in Virgil and Brains remained a mystery to him. Drinking it kind of kept him grounded though, maybe that was just habit by now. Nevertheless… he shoved his chair back and stood up, glaring at the chunks of ceramic on the floor: a job for future Scott. He went to get a new mug.

Re-entering the living room, he surveyed the scene. All was quiet. Deep breath… stretch out shoulders… he tilted his head from side to side to shift the tension in his neck with a satisfying series of cracks.

1am. No problem.

He was nearly done and then he could get to bed and get a solid 4 hours oblivion before his morning run.

Back at his desk, he took a fortifying gulp of focus juice, put on his determined face, picked up his tablet and swiped up to open the annual report again. He blitzed through another three paragraphs, noted down 4 questions for the board, one for the accountant and one further point to follow up with Jack, the Tracy family lawyer, before his eye was drawn to the broken mug scattered across the floor.

Probably shouldn’t leave that.

Gordon might wander by in those flimsy deck shoes and mortally wound himself.

He laid the tablet back down, pointed at it and muttered” don’t go anywhere” to the document that had been tormenting him. Blinking rapidly as he realised quite how little sense THAT had made, he crouched down to nudge the scattered fragments into a pile he could scoop up into the waste basket.

From this angle he realised there was a lot more than just decimated mug and coffee splatters down here… there were crumbs galore, odd, sticky patches and… yes he was pretty sure that the mysterious patch of shadow tucked away under the back corner of the desk was the better part of a club sandwich. He shuffled over, crablike, and reached underneath to retrieve it, sniffed it cautiously and was just concluding it was unlikely to be worth the subsequent food poisoning when John’s hologram popped up in front of him. He didn’t even glance up to see the inevitable raised eyebrow.

“Don’t even say it, John.”

Obediently his space-brother remained silent.

“I’m nearly done. I’m just signing off the annual report for the board meeting tomorrow.”

“From… under the desk?”

Blue eyes were cast upwards as Scott strode over to the kitchen to dispose of the rancid but weirdly tempting sandwich. There was no liner in the food waste caddy. He tutted and placed the plate on the counter top to deal with in a minute.

“Obviously not, I just spotted that Gordon had left something gross lying around and we don’t want a repeat of the taco incident.”

“Okay, and what are you doing now?”

Scott looked down at the cleaning bot in his hands.

“I… well it’s clearly not been working, the place is a health hazard so I was just going to see if I could…”

This time he did raise his eyes to meet the eyebrow of judgment.

Holding up the bot for John to examine, he grinned at his little brother and shook it gently.

“Look it has googly eyes! I bet that was Gordon.”

“Unlikely to be causing the malfunction. Get Brains to take a look at it tomorrow. Or Alan, he needs the practice.”

“True. Oh, did you see the note his teacher sent through?” Scott returned the bot to its housing and jogged over to his desk to pull up the email in question. He sat down and started to type a reply.

“Scott.”

“Mmhmm?”

“I saw it. It’s non-urgent.”

“Yes but while I think of it I might as well…”

“It’s 1:27am. Why don’t you just sign off the report and get some rest. It’ll keep.”

A melodramatic huff and the offending document was returned to the screen.

“You’ve been reading this for the last four days, Scott. What’s the issue? Can I help?”

“There are just so many points I need to follow up before I can put my name to it.” Scott highlighted a particular paragraph. “What if the data this is based on is inaccurate? I haven’t seen it!” He stabbed at another “These assertions here… is it ok to say that? I need to check the industry standards for…” he gestured vehemently “six or seven of these baseline metrics. The grammar in the narrative paragraphs feels clumsy. And I haven’t even started proof-reading it for typos yet!”

Scott took a deep shuddering breath and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, weaving his fingers into his hair and gripping slightly harder than was comfortable as if that would ease the headache he knew was starting.

“The accountants have checked it, the divisional heads have checked it, Jack has been all over it at least twice. Virgil and the engineering team went through it with a fine tooth comb last week, they’ll know the baselines. I’ve checked it myself. Even EOS had a look.”

The response was barely audible.

“But what if… it’s not good enough? If someone missed something and… I didn’t spot it…”

“You don’t have to spot everything Scott. We pay smart people very generously to spot things. As CEO you are allowed to rely on them.”

Silence.

“Please… can you trust us?”

Holding his breath to fight a wave of nausea, Scott flipped to the final page of the document and added his digital signature.

With ninja-like speed John had saved the file and forwarded it to the board.

“It’s done, big brother. Go and sleep in your actual bed for a change.”

A swift shake of the head and muttered curse as big brother realised he’d gnawed through his bottom lip again.

“Can’t.” He stood up and paced the room.

“You know, maybe you shouldn’t have caffeine so late. Even Virgil…”

Scott’s snapped explanation that it made no difference whatsoever and that John KNEW that was forestalled by a series of beeps followed by a low hum as the cleaning bot started trawling across the floor.

“EOS?”

“Yeah, I asked her to see whether a firmware update would sort it.”

“Right.”

The brothers watched in silence as the little machine zigzagged around the room, bumping from one obstacle to another in an apparently haphazard fashion.

“It doesn’t seem very efficient does it?”

Scott sank suddenly to the floor in an effort to hide the fact his legs had turned to jelly.

“No, but it’ll get there in the end and everything will be done and it will all be ok.”

He snorted at his brother’s lack of subtlety and rested his forehead on his knees, concentrating on breathing evenly. He was fine. It was all fine. Again.

A few minutes passed before he noticed a faint high pitched giggle and his moment of peace was interrupted by the cleaning bot repeatedly bumping into his hip. He lifted his head to glare at it only for his eyes to make contact with the outsized googly ones jiggling wildly with each collision. His shoulders shook and he pressed his lips together to try to contain the rush of emotion rising up in his chest.

“EOS!”

As John turned to lecture the AI about when it was and wasn’t appropriate to annoy older brothers, the bot froze, all unblinking innocence gazing up at him. Scott let slip the smallest chortle then, after a beat, exploded, throwing back his head with howls of laughter, tears running down his face

It took him a while to compose himself enough to notice he was now lying on his back on the living room floor, John smiling down at him like some benevolent heavenly messenger. Smugness permeated through EOS’s voice as she enquired whether the Commander was much better now. He hiccuped. Then nodded. As he peeled himself off the floor and patted the cleaning bot absently, Scott found himself seized by An Idea.

And so it was that as Gordon awoke with his dawn alarm to find a 6-day old sandwich with giant eyes watching him from his bedside table.

The screech of a horrified squid echoed through the villa and was swiftly followed by the slamming of doors and the thundering of feet as most of its occupants tore to the rescue of a brother in distress.

The eldest brother remained precisely where he was, warm and comfortable, listening to the chaos and bemused voices. He smiled to himself and drifted back off to sleep.

[AO3]

[muffimtv]

this even though you dont write rn

🥑🥤💌🌻🧃🍄🪐📚🍬🦷❄️🥐🏜️<- (general art creation) 🦋🐚🐝🌸🎨🧩

YOU ARE INSANE

🥑 - you accidentally killed somebody, which mutual(s) do you text for help?

@fuzziecorpse @bathtubswooo and @h3xrts4-me

🥤- recommend an author or fanfic you love

sing, sweet cicada on ao3! my partner and i loved it so much that i bound a copy for him!

💌 - how many unread emails do you have right now? 

22!

🌻 - tag someone you appreciate but don't talk to on a regular basis

@crikey01 your tag games are so silly i love them

🧃- share some personal lore you never posted about before

ooh fun question!! whenever it rains i try to go lay out on the roof of my car, it’s very fun :3

🍄 - share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings

its so hard for me to pick just one pairing BUT currently jmart is on my mind so! i think martin likes having little streaks of color in his hair and jon likes to dye his grey streaks to match

🪐- name three good things going on in your life right now

i got my brother into one of my favorite shows, i’m working on a fursuit, and prom is next week!

📚- what's the last thing you wrote down in your notes app? 

a fic idea i had at literally 2am yesterday

🍬 - post an unpopular opinion about a popular fandom character

genuinely i cannot think of oen LMAO

🦷 - share some personal wisdom or a life hack you swear on

learn to sew!! it’ll have you a lot of money on things like hemming pants/dresses, repairing clothing, and making them too

❄️ - what's your dream theme/plot for a fic, and who would write it best?

i’m always a sucker for coffee shop aus man…..

🥐 - name one internet reference that will always make you laugh

my brother and i always use “empty the compartments of your pantaloons” and one of us will respond “FOR WHAT PURPOSE???” and it always makes me giggle

🏜️- what's your favourite type of comment to receive on your work?

those ones that are like “SCREMAING CRYING SOBBING THROWING UP EATING MY WALLS”

🦋 - share something that has been on your heart and mind lately 

JMART 🔥🔥🔥

🐚 - do you like or dislike surprises?

i like them usually!

🐝 - tag your biggest supporter(s) and say one nice thing about them

@fuzziecorpse hiii i love you <3

@notroadkills u are so funny king

@crikey01 YOUR ART IS SO GOOD LET ME EAT IT

🌸 - do you have any pets? if you do, post some pictures of them

my baby bunny easter (she is actually terribly old)

woe, baby be upon ye

🎨 - link your favourite piece of fanart and explain why you like it

this martin art. specifically the second one 😭😭 that little image was ALL that was on my mind when i was in my ACT today

🧩 - what will make you click away from a fanfiction immediately?

NO PARAGRAPH BREAKS OR PUNCTUATION

PLEASEEEE I DONT WANT TO READ A BLOCK OF TEXT MY EYES ARENT MADE TO HANDLE IT

[arachnaspi]

This is a rant about a Good Omens post that came across my FYP and it's kinda long so if you don't have the patience/mindset, scroll past :)

--

Ok but like I can't be the only person who thought when Nina confronted Crowley about his feeling for Aziraphale that Crowley's little "oh" moment was bc he found out other people could see his feelings for Aziraphale, not bc he realized he had feelings for Aziraphale.

Idk, I just saw a post abt how someone was saying (I'm paraphrasing this) "with Crowley's character it's so wrong that he's only realizing now he's in love" and it made me go :T because

1. I didn't interpret that scene that way (and I'll say it, I might be wrong and maybe I missed something that the poster didn't)

2. Based on the wording this poster chose, when they complained about how "wrong" it was for Crowley to act that way, it kinda sounded like they were on the verge of citing bad writing, which hoo boy

About bad writing:

First off, everyone is entitled to their own opinion. If you want to say something is "bad writing" go right ahead but personally, I'd love to hear/read why you think that! I love hearing explanations of opinions (but I understand if someone just wants to throw something out there without it being tossed back at them)

Second, there's a difference between "bad writing" and "[this] doesn't align with what I expected/wanted to happen". Both of these have the given premise that you correctly interpreted what was written in the first place. Now, you can say that "can anything in the world really be interpreted correctly bc we all have our own individual experiences and preconceptions that influence how we see the world?" and I'll say yes of course.

"Bad writing", the way I understand it, is when an author writes a story in a way where characters consistently don't act the way they are supposed to based on what was established in the beginning of the story, or some twist happens where any/all character development disappears and it's supposed to sound like a good thing. (I am aware this is not always the case bc like with chemistry and the English language, writing has many exceptions for all its supposed rules.)

In other words, if one doesn't like how something happened in the work, that's not exactly bad writing, that's simply preference. If one didn't like how the author dragged on and on about how something happened that's unimportant to the rest of the story (e.g. describing a blade of grass for three paragraphs when it has nothing to do with the story), or did something to a character only for shock value and erased their development (or even the story's development) in the process, then that is what I'd consider bad writing. This is just my opinion though and I am not a scholar, I just read/watch a lot.

So, when someone says "it is so wrong for this character to act this way in this one instance" it kinda rubs me the wrong way because 1. Did we interpret that scene the same way? (In this case, no) and 2. If we did interpret this the same way, perhaps the author had a reason for the character acting in this manner - after all it's a one-time event. Sure, it's out of character but it's not bad writing since it's not a pattern. After all, we humans don't always act in-character - if your best friend is cranky after waking up late and clumsily spilling their coffee everywhere in their half-awake haze, are you going to tell them it's wrong for them to act that way after what happened to them? Why are we expecting well-written fictional characters to always hit their beats when we don't do that ourselves?

Maybe I read into this more than I needed to but I had thoughts and nowhere to put them. But if anyone wants to healthily debate or comment on anything I said, feel free! :D And if you want me to clarify something, I'd be happy to do that as well.

[bethany-thinking]

Read Along: For Women Only: The Performance of a Lifetime

Subtitle: Why Your Mr. Smooth Looks so Impressive but Feels like an Imposter

My Mr. Smooth is currently doing all the household chores including my share today so I can have a relaxing Mother's Day sitting in my pjs, drinking coffee, and writing snarky blog posts. I'm not too worried about him because he is impressive, but let's get to the chapter so I can learn more about all the ways I can harm my marriage in this chapter.

So, this chapter looks like it's going to be all about what is more commonly called imposter syndrome. Which studies have shown is actually a bit more prevalent in women but yes of course men experience it too. Let's just be clear though it's not a man-centric problem.

The first part of this chapter just describes fairly normal types of imposter syndrome that men might face at work. This is normal. Women experience it constantly in the workplace. A good relationship should help anyone stay grounded and be reminded of their value. The key to working through imposter syndrome is not being propped up and told you are good though, it's the self work of learning to affirm what you are good at, acknowledge where your weaknesses are, and realize that everyone is human and figuring it out just like you.

Feldman then quotes a man that wrote her and told her that some men might withdraw an active role in his family if he thinks his wife challenges his decisions or is displeased with him. I often think that men in particular discount the weight that is placed on women constantly in these types of books that if they don't keep their husbands happy that their husbands will leave them or cheat on them.

FYI: Imposter syndrome is someone not recognizing their actual strengths and capacities. It's not the same as someone being held accountable for actually not fulfilling their roles or responsibilities.

So what do we do, ladies, so our husbands don't leave us?

"Affirmation is everything" This is where we take a little roadtrip over to Proverbs and visit the seductress woman who is temping the young man with flattery. Ladies, your husband is supposed to be getting that flattery at home and if not, well, you get the drift of where he might go for it, and it will be your fault (queue in a circle of red caped women pointing at you).

Oh wait, sorry, correction, at home it's "affirmation" not "flattery". Not really sure the difference since Feldman has made it clear over and over that you pretty much just affirm whether it's based on reality or not.

There is actually a sub-title in this chapter "He'll seek affirmation somewhere" just in case you think my summary is exaggeration.

And three whole paragraphs on giving "supportive sex". I'm guessing we will more clearly learn that our husbands will cheat on us if they don't get enough "supportive sex" but I'm guessing that will be most clearly explained in the sex chapter.

We end the chapter with learning that "we can give our husbands confidence". Again, there is plenty of good stuff here if you would just remove the he's going to leave you messaging, broaden it out to be something that we all need versus a man thing, and also recognize that it's not just about affirming someone but encouraging them to be the best version of themselves. Sometimes that might include helping them address weaknesses too.

And that's chapter 3!

[catrasredemption-moved]

Wow. Okay. My first instinct is "we're comparing apples to oranges" but that's not even. I'm talking about apples. You're talking about. Cows. Metaphorically speaking.

This post isn't about defending people who are apologetic to Nazis. It's about people who write coffee shop AUs and get five-paragraph essays about how their way of writing a Frappuccino being made was wrong - and yes, I DO know the intention behind it because OP is a friend.

You got so wrapped up in trying to make your point that you jumped three sharks, missed the moon, and you're currently orbiting Pluto.

So back to the original point - unsolicited criticism of fanfiction is useless. Absolutely useless. To pull from one of your earlier replies "repeating the same dialogue wording" - why would you feel the need to point that out? Does it take you out of the story? Then just stop reading. I promise you, no one is more aware of a writer's habits than the writers themselves. Pointing it out doesn't help them, it just makes them feel bad about themselves and less likely to ever finish a fic. It's pointless. Just keep it to yourself.

Hey y'all, do me a favor and don't tell fanfiction writers what you don't like about their work in your novel length critical comments, especially if it's clear that you fundamentally do not understand what fanfiction is and what purpose it serves. It's disheartening, unwarranted and totally unwanted. If someone wants to write a fun, self-indulgent AU, that's their choice. You don't dictate what the plot "should be" based on canon narratives or real world politics anymore than you dictate my choice of red wine that you're making me really want to drink.

It's their fantasy, not yours. If you don't like it, write your own.

[ahtsumu]

long shots ; miya osamu

pairing: miya osamu x f!reader

synopsis: miya osamu is the teacher’s assistant for food chemistry i. you can’t stop thinking about him.

tag(s): college!au, slow burn, TA!miya osamu, grad student!reader, fluff, reader is a go-getter!! ; warning(s): profanity, suggestive themes, talk of insecurities and imposter syndrome ; wc: 5.6k

a/n: happy birthday to @starrysamu​! i love u. pls excuse any errors. i’ll weed them out later! btw this fic is not a sugar daddy au LOL

HIS NAME IS Miya Osamu and he always looks like he has it all figured out. Comes in every class with his black hair perfectly tousled, the sleeves of his dark button-up rolled to his elbows, a cup of coffee in one hand and the strap of that black messenger bag in another.

“He drives a BMW, did ya know?” Isla says in your ear one morning. Your only friend in Food Chemistry I gives you a pointed look before sitting back in her chair in the lecture hall with a smirk on her face. “Saw it this morning. Bet he’s loaded.” The two of you watch the subject in question walk across the classroom and settle in his seat at the table in the corner.

“Shut up,” you whisper with wide eyes. A grin–– far from innocent–– makes its way onto your face. “Imagine being Miya Osamu’s sugar baby.”

“He’s not old enough to be a sugar daddy.” Isla looks at her nails disinterestedly. “And that’s too many AUs in one. He’s already the TA, for god’s sake. This isn’t some shitty Wattpad novel.”

A light giggle slips out of your lips. “I can see the title already. My Sugar Daddy is the TA?!”

Now, if anyone had been listening in on your conversation, they would’ve assumed many things about you. The first being that you’re both gold-diggers. This is untrue–– at least, in your case. Isla, you’re not so sure about, given how your friendship only goes back about one month. But she tags you in memes on Instagram so maybe it’s as real as real gets. Their second assumption would be that you have a big fat crush on your TA. That one’s complicated, mostly because it’s true, but only kinda. It all started in the second week of school when Isla caught you staring at Osamu and slipped you a post-it note with both your initials encircled in a heart. And, because you’re shameless with a good sense of humour, you made a show of kissing it while she was looking. And thus began your meaningless but incredibly entertaining, satirical, co-written fantasy about Miya Osamu.

It also didn’t help that on the first essay you got back, Isla’s paper had been marked up with “are you sure?”s and “this is a jump”s, while yours had “excellent reasoning” and “insightful analysis”. You’d even gotten a little comment at the bottom: y/n, fantastic work. you should speak up in class more often. –– OM

But Miya Osamu doesn’t play favourites because the next week you’d gotten another essay back, this time with another comment at the bottom: y/n, not your best work. you could’ve done better by connecting your first paragraph with the second using grant’s reading. conclusion lacked punch, too. all the best. –– OM

Every time you’d read the words scrawled in blue ink, you’d felt a pair of eyes on you. But you chalk it up to Osamu being a careful grader. A good TA. Someone who cares about his students.

Isla calls bullshit on that. You’re not really sure how to feel about her stance.

The classroom door opens and shuts again. You don’t have to look at your phone to know that it’s nine on the dot. Instead, you and Isla straighten your backs, pull out your notebooks, and focus. Your no-nonsense professor says “good morning” in her usual perky manner before jumping right into her keynote presentation.

“Did you all find the reading okay?” Professor Lee asks an hour into the lecture.

A chorus of “yes”s fill the air. You bite your lip, wondering if revealing that you didn’t understand shit will out you as the class idiot. Or maybe your silence is telling enough–– maybe the people in the seats beside you have noticed the grimace on your face and are having thoughts like ‘gee whiz, am I glad I’m not dumb like her’. Heat rushes to your cheeks. Sometimes you really wonder if you’re smart enough to be here. Occurrences like these do nothing to dispel your insecurities.

You vaguely hear her ask something like, “Any thoughts about the reading?” It’s not that you’re actually dumb. It’s just that this class is ridiculously hard for an introductory course, even for a graduate programme. From the start of the semester til now, fifteen people have dropped the class. There’s just twenty of you left. Guess a ridiculously hot TA can’t save a course’s drop-rate.

Before you can make your mind up on what to say, your professor moves on from her question.

As you look off to the side of the room for a break from your thoughts, you find a pair of blue-grey eyes pointed in your direction.

Everything about you, from the expression on your face to the way your muscles tense, makes you look like a deer caught in headlights–– even though he was the one caught staring in the first place. So maybe your shamelessness works on a scale.

Miya Osamu lifts one corner of his mouth.

And as if the exchange hadn’t happened at all, he looks back down at his laptop and continues typing.

The rest of the lecture goes through one ear and out the other.

“Everyone, I believe Osamu has something he wants to say,” Professor Lee says as everyone begins packing their bags.

The raven-haired TA slides out of his seat and sits on top of his desk. “Yeah.” Osamu clears his throat and crosses his arms over his chest. You notice how the muscles in his arms bulge from the movement.

“Whipped,” Isla mutters, grinning mischievously.

“Him for me,” you whisper back, though your eyes do travel back to his face where they should’ve been all along. Osamu catches your gaze and holds it. And then he looks away again.

“Now, I know you’re all Nobel prizewinners in the making,” he begins, garnering a round of snickers and giggles from your classmates. Most people say that cliques dissolve in college. That there’s no such thing as popularity amongst graduate students. That much, you agree with. But no one ever said anything about popular teacher’s assistants. Especially smart, attractive, witty teacher’s assistants like Miya Osamu. “But in case you didn’t understand the reading or would like to develop a deeper understanding of it, don’t hesitate to email me. I’ll try to host a review session all of us can attend.”

Professor Lee smiles appreciatively at Osamu, adding, “That’s a wonderful idea, Osamu. Guys, please take this opportunity if you struggled with the reading. I know eighty pages is a lot, but our next three classes are structured around the concepts in the reading and the mid-term next week will almost exclusively be about it, too.”

Well, shit.

To: m.osamu@hqu.edu

Hi Osamu,

I was wondering if I could get some help with the reading from last class. To be frank, I couldn’t make it past page 15 and I’m lost like a snot-faced five-year-old in a shopping mall on Black Friday. Sorry. Thanks in advance!

Regretfully,

Y/N

MS Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

From: m.osamu@hqu.edu

no problem. is 5 pm tomorrow at jack’s okay? we start on the concepts from the reading next class so i want to get you up to speed asap. let me know. thanks.

OM

PhD Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

It’s five minutes to five when you pull into the parking lot of Jack’s Diner. The shiny, retrofuturistic eatery is a university favourite but the empty parking lot tells you it’s completely deserted right now (and rightfully so–– who eats dinner before six?). The black BMW parked a few spots from your car, however, says that you’re not alone.

Osamu’s figure comes into view as you reach for the handle to the front door of Jack’s. The twenty-six-year-old sits by himself at one of the bright red tables in the back, typing away on his dark grey laptop.

His head lifts up at the sound of the opening door. Osamu calls out your name and waves you over.

“Hi,” you greet with a smile, sitting down across from him.

“Hey.”

You look around before leaning forward on the table. “Is anyone else coming?”

“No.” Osamu sits back in his seat. “I thought about hosting one big group, but then I realised that it’d probably be stressful for the staff here.” He nods his head in the direction of the kitchen. “And I had a hunch that everyone would have different questions. Forcing everyone to review concepts they already know is a waste of time.”

At first, you nod. That makes sense. But then you furrow your brows. “So how long have you been here?”

Osamu blinks. He hadn’t expected you to ask about him. “Hmm? Oh.” He taps his phone to check the time. “Just a while.”

Quirking a brow, you ask, “And how long is ‘a while’ to you?”

“Seven hours,” he admits, chuckling lightly when he sees your jaw drop. “A lot of people had questions. They just don’t act like they do. Anyway, time flies. Really, it does.” Quickly, he clears his throat and sits forward. “So, about your email.” He grins. “Not sure if you meant it to be funny, but it was.”

“I’m glad my distress was entertaining for you. Do you TA just to watch grad students suffer?”

“Perks of the job,” Osamu says. His grin widens when you giggle. He’s never heard you laugh before and he realises at that moment that it’s really nice. And then that same grin falters. Gracefully, of course, and imperceptibly to you. But not to him. Is it okay for him to be… thinking things like that? About a student? But you’re not really his student since he’s just the TA. Right? Osamu ignores the weird feeling that comes over him and clasps his hands together at the edge of his laptop. “Back to your email. Can ya tell me what you’re confused about?”

Three hours and two Impossible Burgers later, you suddenly understand everything about food molecules so well that you wonder why you’d even been confused in the first place. But besides that, you’ve also picked up things about Osamu. As a person and not an idea. Not that you’d been actively searching for fun facts about your TA. But they’d stuck to your brain like gum at the bottom of a desk. He likes to slip sarcastic quips into a conversation every now and then. Eats burgers upside down (“The right way,” as he’d said, smirking). Is friendlier than he looks.

“You’re really good at explaining things,” you comment as Osamu shuts his laptop closed.

“Well, I kinda have to be,” he says. And maybe it’s the mental fatigue catching up on him or the fact that he’s real fond of the reason why he can break big concepts down into morsels but suddenly, the rest of his thoughts spill out his mouth like wine. “I have a twin brother with potato salad for brains.”

“Oh?”

And before he can stop himself, he tells you about Miya Atsumu, the pro-athlete you’ve definitely heard of but never gave too much thought. And then you hold onto the fact that they were both on the volleyball team and you ask of which school, so then he tells you about Inarizaki, the high school he attended, and then his decision not to go pro to go to college, and then––

“Sorry,” he laughs, cheeks turning pink. “You probably didn’t need to hear all that.”

“No, it’s fine,” you say–– and you mean it. “Your life is interesting.”

Osamu leans back in his chair. “Well, I’m sure yours is, too.” He holds your gaze like it’s the key to your presence. It’s an invitation. The kind that comes from people who don’t really know if they want you around but also don’t want you gone.

You take it.

Osamu shouldn’t–– he really shouldn’t–– but he wonders about the things you didn’t tell him the entire drive home.

Isla laughs when you tell her about what happened at Jack’s. You lay in bed with your phone next to you on speaker, your face turned on your pillow so that you’re staring out the window at the city below.

“He wants you,” she sings.

“Or he was just being nice.”

“Methinks not!” Isla giggles. “He’s intrigued, girl! You’re like that cute little new mystery in his life and he just wants to get to know you.”

“I think he was just being polite.”

“Or he’s crushing on you!”

“In your dreams.”

“You mean yours? Boo, you’re no fun today. Usually, you go along with the jokes.” Isla’s tone is playful on the surface but full of implications.

A few silent seconds pass. Yeah, you think, agreeing. I do.

“Girl,” Isla drags out the word in a high pitch, saying it like a scientist says ‘eureka’. “You’re not playing along anymore because it’s real now. You're actually catching feelings!”

“Am not!” you laugh.

“The Y/N I knew would’ve said ‘nah, bitch, he’s catching feelings’ and I think that says all there is to say.”

“Okay, I think he’s cute but it’s not a crush,” you concede, grinning. “And he’s the TA, Isles. It’d never happen.”

“Not while he’s still a TA in a class you take.”

“Isla.”

“Ask him out once this semester ends! Unless you’re chicken.”

“I’m not asking him out.”

“Knew you were––”

“Have you seen me? He’s asking me out.”

Miya Osamu walks through the door at eight-fifty as usual that next morning, dressed in his usual button-up, holding his usual cup of coffee. But this time, as the rest of his tall frame passes through the doorway, Osamu’s eyes subtly scan the faces in the lecture hall, lingering for just a while over yours. The corners of your lips turn up. You hope he saw that.

“Bitch!” Isla whisper-screams. The students sitting around you turn around at the noise and grin at each other when they realise it’s just Isla being… well, Isla. She shoos them away jokingly.

“What?” you whisper back.

“Care to explain why our TA was literally eye-fucking you?”

“That was hardly eye-fucking,” you retort. “Maybe like an eye-handshake.”

“Yeah, a naked eye-handshake where his thang is handshaking your––”

He does it again the next class.

And the next.

And then he doesn’t. Miya Osamu walks through the door to Food Chemistry I at eight-fifty in the morning in a navy blue button-up with a cup of coffee in his hand and looks through the rows of seats in the lecture hall for your face, only to find it missing.

He debates pressing the matter.

To: m.osamu@hqu.edu

hey osamu,

i wasn’t in class today because i’ve been sick with the flu (no big deal, just feel like i’m dying). a classmate sent me pictures of the slides from today so i think i should be fine, but is it okay if i email you with any questions? thank you very much!

miserably,

Y/N

MS Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

From: m.osamu@hqu.edu

y/n,

of course. sorry to hear that you’re sick. let me know if i can do anything to help you. the midterm is next week. get well soon.

OM

PhD Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

“You writing that the midterm is next week did not offer me any peace of mind, by the way,” you say, spinning around in your chair as Miya Osamu enters your pod in the library.

He offers you a wry grin. “Hello to ya, too.”

“Was that an accent?” You thought you’d heard one at Jack’s, but you couldn’t be sure because it’d been so spotty.

Osamu slips into the seat beside yours and pulls out the laptop in his messenger bag. You catch a whiff of his cologne–– something spicy and woody, but clean. It suits him. “Nice catch. Yeah, I speak a regional dialect. Took me a while to smooth it over but it still resurfaces every now and then.”

“Why?”

“It just didn’t seem fitting for a PhD candidate, I guess,” Osamu explains, opening the slides from the class you missed. A day after your initial exchange, you’d emailed him again (with a much clearer mind) and asked if he could go over the slides with you in person.

i literally feel like i’ve been given the homework from russian lit, you’d written. except the russian has been translated to hieroglyphs and my task is to choreograph an interpretive dance based on the hieroglyphs.

Osamu had snickered when he saw your email. that doesn’t even make sense. must be the fever talking, he’d been tempted to write. But that strange feeling had come over him again, the one that’d screamed at him to keep it professional, goddamnit, so he’d played it safe instead and sent is eight pm at the main library okay? He hates that you’re getting a watered-down version of his personality. Osamu swears he’s a lot more interesting when he’s not, well, a TA.

“I think it’s fine,” you say, smiling. “I like it. It’s you.” And suddenly, you’re wondering if it’s okay to be complimenting your TA. If it’s okay to say that you like things about him, or if that crosses some grey, unclear line. Is it weird to treat your TAs like they’re your friends? It’s not like TAs are real teachers. Right?

A grin–– wide and genuine and almost excited–– grows on Osamu’s face. He rubs the back of his neck as his eyes flit over to the laptop screen. “Thanks. Really.”

You nod. But you feel like there’s more that he might want to say, so you wait.

“I got a lot of shit for it when I came here for my master’s, y’know. Not to my face, of course, but people would refer to me as ‘the guy with the accent’. A professor once said it made me seem crass. Said it’d hold me back in my career.”

“So you changed.”

“Adapted,” Osamu corrects. “It’s hard to admit but conforming is sometimes all you can do when you don’t have the power to change the system. Can’t really make everyone suddenly respect a dialect.”

“And after you’re finished with your PhD, you’ll go back to speaking in that dialect?”

Osamu looks out the window and smiles, probably imagining the plans he’s already made about the future. “Yeah.”

“What if you have to speak the standard language at your job? Like, your boss is all, ‘hey man, if you don’t speak––”’

“I’ll be the boss.”

“Oh?”

And with a little more prodding, Miya Osamu tells you about the restaurant chain he plans on opening after graduation, the slides about food additives left completely untouched.

The librarian knocks on your pod a few minutes before eleven to tell you they’re closing.

“Shit,” Osamu murmurs, running his hands through his hair. You’re still laughing about something he’d said before the librarian interrupted him–– one of his stories from high school–– and he thinks that you’ve completely forgotten that the reason you came to the library was to catch up on the material you were already behind on. And now you’re behind on that. But you look so carefree right now and, actually, you’re very pretty and you’ve got such a good heart and it’s a lot for him to process but he knows he just wants to see you happy a while longer. So Osamu just slumps back in his chair and laughs along with you.

He says your name as his chuckles grow softer. “It’s pretty late. How’re you getting home?”

“I’ve a bike,” you reply. It’s good for the environment and is a pretty solid form of exercise if you do say so yourself. Sometimes you just don’t feel like driving. 

Osamu presses his lips in a thin line. Would it be too much to offer you a ride? “I can drive you home. It’s really not safe for you to be alone outside, especially near midnight. You can get your bike tomorrow. Or I’ll get it for you.”

He drives fast. Not the unsafe fast that speed demons drive at, but the kind of fast where you know he’s got some edge to his character. You bring it up to him–– especially since it’s nighttime, for god’s sake, he could hit something–– and all he does is remind you how there are lamps as bright as the sun lining the entire road to your dorm. And the fact that you live in the least accessible dorm on campus.

“A twenty-minute drive?” he’d exclaimed when he saw the GPS monitor.

“A bunch of roads are closed for construction. It’s a ten-minute bike-ride because I can cut through campus.” And suddenly feeling a little burdensome, you’d added, “Sorry. I can still bike––”

“No.” He’d held his hand out in front of you, gesturing for you to stay in the passenger’s seat. “It’s not a bother at all.” Because it wasn’t. Osamu was… happy. Not that he’d admit that.

“So this BMW,” you start in a teasing tone.

Osamu smirks. “A gift.”

“Can I guess from who?”

“Sure.”

“Atsumu.”

His brows rise. “Colour me impressed.” He hadn’t expected you to remember anything he’d said about Atsumu. Or maybe he had but told himself otherwise to lower his hopes.

“I’m smart like that.”

He snorts. “Not if you keep distracting me and using your review time to…” hang out with me, get to know me, tell me things about you… “…goof off.”

You grimace. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

Osamu makes a turn down a familiar street. It dawns upon you that you're ten minutes away from your dorm and suddenly you wish he’d just make the wrong turn at the next intersection so that you could talk to him some more. It can even be about the health benefits of fish or the molecular makeup of kale–– you don’t mind. You just want to be around him longer.

“I think you’re really smart,” Osamu says quietly. “I think you’re not processing the readings because you’re distracted, or just not fully applying yourself. Obviously, last class’s slides are a different thing, since you were absent. But you really are smart. I’ve seen your papers.”

You bite your lip to hide your grin, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. “Thank you.” You look out the window, too jacked on dopamine to think straight. “I think I still need you, though.”

And that innocuous little sentence floats right out your mouth into the air, settling between you like a little wedge before either of you even realise it. Neither of you says anything. You marinate in the awkwardness before stuttering out a clarification. “To, um, to explain things. Y’know, since you’re, uh, so good at… explaining things.”

Osamu clears his throat and chuckles stiffly. There’s a slightly pink tinge to his cheeks. “Thanks,” he says, looking straight ahead. He can’t even look at you. Fuck. It’s so awkward. “I’ll try to keep… explaining things.” Fuck. What does that even mean?

A few uncomfortable minutes pass in silence. The night can’t end like this, you think. It can’t when everything else had gone so well. You still have to see him for a few more months. “Did you know,” you start, catching Osamu’s attention, “that Jack’s Diner has a location in Italy?”

“Oh?” he asks, making the final turn to the street where your dorm is. He actually hadn’t.

“Yeah. I asked the owner about the chain a while back. Have you ever been to Italy?”

Osamu shakes his head. “I’ve been to Paris, though. To see a friend. He’s a chocolatier.”

Now, if Osamu had been your friend, you would’ve said something like well, let’s go to Italy together, except he’s not. He’s your TA and you’ve been reminded that enough tonight. So instead, you say, “When you open that restaurant of yours in Italy, let me know.”

“That’s gonna take a while,” he laughs. He appreciates how you said ‘when’, though. And he tucks that little bit of confidence you have in him somewhere deep in his mind so that it doesn’t get lost.

“Isn’t that just seven hours?” you shrug, grinning. Osamu’s BMW pulls up outside your dorm and parks as he marvels at what you just said. You’re amazing. You unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to face your driver.

“Thank you for driving me,” you say, offering him a smile.

“Yeah,” he replies.

You stretch out your hand. With a puzzled look on his face, Osamu grabs it and shakes it. Firmly. You can’t help but notice how nice his hands are. Calloused for sure, but they feel nice.

“Goodnight, Osamu.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

He watches you jog into the building before driving away. And it’s like you’ve possessed his car or something because the smell of your shampoo and perfume is everywhere and it’s too much but it’s also not enough at the same time and he can feel your palm against his as he spins the steering wheel to make a turn and for the first time in his life he doesn’t turn on the radio to fill the silence in his car. Osamu replays everything you said in his head.

But he especially thinks about that part where you said you need him.

Weeks melt into months. You turn in essays after essays for Food Chemistry I, each coming back with detailed commentary in an all-too-familiar blue scrawl. All your other classes go well–– extremely well, actually. You might just end the semester with a 4.0 if Food Chem doesn’t fuck you over. Isla still tags you in memes on Instagram. You still tell her about everything that happens with Osamu.

Speaking of.

“That’s the wrong equation,” he says behind your ear as he settles in the seat beside you. The sound of his low voice so close to your ear sends a small shiver down your spine. “You gotta switch the hydrogens.” Osamu knocks on your skull lightly. “What’s goin’ on up in there? Ya got somethin’ on your mind?”

You laugh and elbow him in the side. “Shut up, ‘Samu.” He’d told you during one of his office hours that he’d gone by that nickname because he had a teammate with a foreign name in high school. It sounded so cool, he’d said, grinning.

I think Osamu sounds pretty cool already, you’d teased.

And he’d replied, Let’s trade. I like yours, you like mine, why not share?

You teeter on the line between friends and less-than-friends and, oddly enough, more-than-friends. Sometimes you still play it safe. Sometimes he pauses between texts and real-time conversations, no doubt to scrap an instinctive reply for something more “professional”. Sometimes you say things that make him look at you with the ghost of a smile at the corners of his lips. Sometimes he calls Atsumu to scream about you.

“S’not a no,” Osamu points out. He’s dressed in a black sweater and grey trousers today. You’re suddenly reminded of how the weather’s been getting colder when someone opens the door to the university café and lets in a gust of chilly autumn air.

“Okay,” you admit, setting down the pencil. “I just… don’t really feel prepared for this next test.”

Osamu frowns and looks down at your worksheet. “Your process is correct, though.”

“Right, but… I don’t know. I’ve just not been feeling great about myself lately,” you laugh, looking down at your feet. “Food Chem’s the toughest class I’ve ever taken. And remember how I completely embarrassed myself in that class discussion last week? It’s not really making me feel like I belong here.”

“Imposter syndrome,” Osamu remarks.

“Correct-o.”

He says your name softly and puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Maybe you’re not the smartest, but you’re definitely smart. And you belong here. I’ve seen your papers. They’re just as great as anyone else’s and I don’t hand out compliments for nothin’. You’re gonna do some great things but ya can’t improve if you ever give up.” Osamu searches your eyes for a sign of your understanding.

There’re a lot of things you want to say but you don’t know how to put them into words. “Can I hug you?” you finally ask.

Osamu doesn’t even think about it. “Of course.”

He feels you smile against his chest and wonders if you can feel his heart beat faster.

Isla camps out in your dorm as finals come around the corner.

“I don’t understand shit!” she wails, throwing her notebook into the air.

“Isles, it’s okay,” you laugh, slipping out of your chair and walking over to her nest in the corner. “You gotta chill, dude.”

“Not fair! I didn’t have a hunk holding my hand through this course all semester,” she retorts, humour glittering in her dark eyes. “I had the Organic Chemistry Tutor and his accent’s cute enough but, girl, you had Miya Fucking Osamu!”

“You’re literally the worst.” You giggle and sit down beside her. “Tell me what you’re confused about. I’ll try to explain it to you.” The way Osamu does.

You text him that you’d channelled his brains later that night.

His reply comes seconds later. all you, einstein.

From: osamu

good luck on the exam

you’re going to kill it

To: osamu

would u like to divulge any… information about it? 😏 😏 😏

From: osamu

bye

To: osamu

i was kidding :(

From: osamu

fine. tip #1: write your name

To: osamu

not very helpful. 0/10

From: osamu

keep running your mouth and 0/10 is what your score’s going to be

i’m kidding

you got this, y/n

“Holy fuck,” Isla groans as you cross the street to head to lunch at Jack’s. “If you don’t see me next semester it’s because I’ve gotten my grade back and decided to drop out.”

“What would you do?” you ask, amused.

“Maybe move to New Zealand. Raise some sheep. Marry a hot, blond shepherd and fuck off to a cliffside cottage.”

“Solid plan.”

“What about you?” she asks.

“What about me?”

“Remember that conversation we had at the start of the year? About your man?” The two of you reach another red light for pedestrians.

“We’re friends. He’s not my man,” you laugh. Though it pains you to. Something about being Miya Osamu’s friend doesn’t really sit right with you, but you don’t know how to not be his friend. You don’t know how to move out of the corner you’ve backed yourself into.

“But you wish he were! And now you can finally hit him with that ‘Hey, Osamu, I’ve been madly in love with you since the start of the semester, wanna fuck like rabbits and then open that store in Italy?’ and he’ll be all––”

A throat clears behind you. With wide eyes, the two of you turn around.

Holy fuck.

Miya Osamu stands behind you with his hands in his pockets and an enormous smirk on his face.

“He’ll be all what?” he asks, eyes fixed on you.

Isla murmurs an excuse and starts walking on her own to Jack’s.

“Um.” You swallow nervously and shrink in your coat. “You heard all of that, right?”

“Yep.” Osamu grins. He grins. He’s grinning. He’s smiling like he’s won the fucking lottery and you honestly don’t know what to do with that information.

“So, like,” you look down at the sidewalk and kick at a pebble, “what are your thoughts about that?” God, you could die. “‘Cause I know you’re a TA and it’d probably look pretty bad and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you because I like you and it’s cool if we just…”

Osamu interrupts you with a laugh. “My thoughts,” he says, “are that I want to kiss you.” His fingers lift your chin up. “What are your thoughts about that?”

Well, shit. “I think that’s pretty cool, yeah,” you breathe, eyelids fluttering shut as his face comes closer to yours.

He tastes like mint. And his lips move softly, slowly against yours like he’s savouring the moment. And then you feel his hands snake around your waist to pull you closer–– closer because you both are tired of forcing the distance between bodies that want to be near each other, closer because he’s thought about kissing you just like this for so long, closer because you remember the last time he’d touched you was three days ago and it was just a brush of his fingers against your arm and that feeling of wanting more haunted you for the entire night. But holy shit, Miya Osamu is kissing you. He’s kissing you.

And then he pulls away. His dark eyes flit over yours. “I,” he breathes, “I need your course load next semester.”

“What?” you ask, disbelief written all over your features, chest rising and falling as you try to steady your breathing. You just kissed, for God's sake, and he's––

“I need to know which courses not to apply to TA for,” he grins, cupping your face in his hands. “Can’t be teachin’ in a class with my girlfriend as a student.”

“So we’re official?” you ask, beaming.

“If you want,” Osamu replies with a smirk.

You grab the front of his coat and tug him down for another kiss. “Hell yeah, I want to be official.”

[novelconcepts]

Jamie & Dani short prompt- Online Dating au meeting online and being from bad past relationship. Thank u

This is probably a bad idea. It is, isn’t it? Almost certainly.

Why is she here?

Dani Clayton has been playing this particular set of thoughts--bad idea, terrible idea, why would you do this?--on repeat for three days. Ever since setting up that dating profile. Ever since realizing there isn’t much use in setting up a dating profile if you’re not going to use it. 

Oh, it’s all fun and games, building the thing. Find a photo that accentuates all the best parts of your face--Dani, after an hour of careful consideration, wound up going with one that accentuated her hair, more than anything, but she suspects the same idea counts. Then, the profile. What do you like? Teaching, long walks, new experiences, bad coffee. What don’t you like? 

Men, she’d thought, and snorted aloud into her wine before settling on: Deep water, accordion music, expectations, being called Danielle. 

A little more flourish, tipsy keystrokes, a casually-framed short-version of her life. Perfect. And then...well, then you hit the publish button, don’t you? You decide, for better or worse, to jump off this diving board and see just how far you can stand to swim before the energy gives out on you.

The faces appearing before her hadn’t been bad, certainly. Pretty, most of them. Interesting, a few. Still, she hadn’t swiped right on any--once or twice, because she’d forgotten which way meant yes please, but mostly because no one seemed quite...right. Which, she’d thought, was silly. The whole point of an app like this is to cast as many nets as possible and see what comes up. The whole point is to have fun. 

But every time she’d hovered over a promising image, a woman who likes dogs, or plays the violin, or goes rock-climbing in her spare time, she’d thought of him. Eddie. Who had taken one yes to a single date, and tried to make a whole life with her out of it. 

Eddie, who had taken her two decades to pull away from. 

What if the women here were the same? Not Eddie, exactly, but--presumptive. What if they believed a swipe-right was as good as a marriage proposal? What if she got bound up in conversation, and then a date, and then a relationship with someone else who just didn’t fit right?

Left. Left. Left. 

And then: the mistake.

She hadn’t meant to swipe right. Exactly. She hadn’t planned, maybe is the better way of putting it, on swiping right. She’d only wanted to look at the woman’s profile a little longer. Only wanted to inspect the facets this woman had put out on display with almost resigned simplicity. 

Some people, Dani had by now realized, wrote poetry and paragraphs to describe themselves. 

Jamie Taylor had bullet points.

“Gardener. English. Likes: Plants. Stories. Tea. Dislikes: Bullshit.”

The end. That had been quite literally the sum of it. Gardener. English. No bullshit.

But the picture, somehow, Dani hadn’t been able to look away from. Not because of carefully-arranged lighting, not because of a curated model-clean image--but because the woman appeared to have posted the photo almost under duress. It came in profile, as though someone else had done the job, her head turned toward the camera as if interrupted. Her hands were buried in a flower pot. Her clothes were simple--a tank top, a silver chain resting against the jut of collarbones, a pair of worn-looking jeans with holes in the knees. Her eyes--some fascinating color Dani couldn’t quite place--looked somewhere between amused and irritated. 

She looked real. 

Stupid, Dani thinks now--because that was probably the idea, wasn’t it? This woman, Jamie, had planned to look exactly this way. Real. Vexed at the idea of putting herself out there. Reluctantly available. 

It was a ploy, certainly--but one that seems to be working, because not only did Dani accidentally-not-accidentally swipe right, she found herself texting the woman. For hours. She’d expected much less, had figured this Jamie person would be as brief in text as she had been in bio, but...

Jamie had talked to her. Willingly. Teasingly, with more humor than truth, maybe, but with no sign at all that she was sick of Dani’s questions, bad jokes, nervous assessment that I really don’t do this, I honestly don’t get it. 

I don’t, either, Jamie had replied, and that had felt like enough of a reason to keep testing the waters. Enough of a reason to keep the conversation going back and forth, back and forth, until nearly two in the morning.

Shit, she’d said. I need to be at work in four hours. 

Shame, Jamie had replied, her tone already searingly familiar over text. Own your own business, make your own hours. Far wiser approach. 

I’ll make a note of it for when I found an elementary school, Dani had replied, laughing. She hadn’t said she’d already been in bed for an hour, the phone resting on the pillow beside her head so she wouldn’t miss the buzz of a new message. It had seemed perfectly reasonable at the time, with wine-warmed blood and the happy haze of good conversation. Jamie made her laugh. Jamie put her at ease. Jamie might not have been real, but she felt real, and that was good. 

Better than anything she’d felt in years, if she was honest with herself. 

Still, when the next day had come and gone with no message, she’d thought, Fair enough. Jamie had been good virtual company for one night. It was more than she’d expected to get out of this app.

Far more than she’d expected, particularly when Thursday night rolled around and her phone buzzed.

Teacher, yeah? No school on Saturday?

Correct, Dani had replied, as amused by the out-of-left-field text as she was irritated with how her stomach had flipped over upon receiving it. You have figured out the complexity of the American school system. 

I am a genius, Jamie sent back, followed quickly by: Drinks tomorrow night? 

Drinks. A thing that people do. A thing that adult people do for date reasons. 

She isn’t real, she’d thought, even as her thumb was punching back: How’s 8? Miller’s?

A mistake. Definitely a mistake. Because the app had been a lark, and the conversation had been too easy, and the fact that she can’t quite pick out the colors in Jamie’s eyes from a single photo is making her crazier than she’d like to admit. 

A mistake, saying yes. A mistake, suggesting the local pub-like establishment around the corner, whose beer-and-burger specials had kept her fed on too many evenings spent working late. A mistake, because once this goes south--as it’s absolutely bound to, as everything Eddie-shaped always has--she’s going to lose her favorite hangout in the deal, too.

And yet: here she is. Standing at the door, wondering if the outfit chosen for the evening festivities--tight jeans, pink blouse, hoop earrings--is too much or not nearly enough. 

What am I doing here?

Maybe, she thinks with mingled alarm and hope, she won’t even have showed up. Maybe it’s all part of the ruse: look approachable, look human and normal, look a little too beautiful in the most grounded way possible--then, cheerfully, invite a woman to drinks and just don’t show. A fun story for whoever comes next. Can you believe she thought I’d want to meet her after one night of texting?

“Dani?” 

English, Dani thinks with a sudden rush of heat. Right. Somehow, she hadn’t quite been prepared for the accent, which--coming out of this woman, draped with languid ease at a table--is truly a little more than Dani thinks she can handle just now. The accent, combined with the mess of curls dragged back from her face, and a dress sense that manages to be both casual and deeply attractive at the same time, is...

“Jamie,” she says, her voice a little lower, a little more hoarse, than is truly necessary. The woman pushes up from her seat, a small-framed figure in a black button-down, suspenders, ripped jeans. She’s pressing a hand toward Dani, offering a firm shake as though they are business partners, not an off-the-cuff bad idea of a date. “You look--”

“Never been here before,” Jamie says, almost apologetically. She gestures for Dani to sit before dropping back down in a sprawl that implies exactly the opposite of what her mouth is insisting. “Wasn’t sure about the, ah, dress code.”

“You--you did fine,” Dani tells her, wishing suddenly she’d gone for a dress. Or a  different human body altogether. She feels too tightly-strung, too anxious for the easy smile on Jamie’s lips. “Um. You’re very. In person.”

“Very,” Jamie repeats, a hint of uncertainty in her voice. “Is very American for wish I’d gone left, after all?”

“No. No. Absolutely not. That.” Bit too forceful, she suspects, judging by the smile spreading into a grin. “No, it’s just--your picture didn’t--tell me you’d be so...”

“Clean?” Jamie suggests innocently. She raises her hands, wiggling her fingers in a small wave. “Scrub up fine, when I need to. Seemed to call for it.”

“And you...sure did answer,” Dani says stupidly. “The. Call, I mean. I’m sorry, I really don’t do this often.”

Something seems to soften in Jamie, her smile less teasing as she leans across the table. “Hey, no worries here. Same person you were talking to the other night.”

Dani nods, embarrassed, and flags down a server. Drinks ordered, she draws in a deep breath.

“I mean, I haven’t done this in years. Or. Ever, I guess.”

“A first date?” Jamie asks. When Dani doesn’t answer, she adds in a knowing tone, “A date with a woman?”

“Both,” Dani says honestly. “My last relationship was--well, I mean, we were engaged--”

Jamie whistles under her breath, reaching up to scratch her head. “Blimey. What happened?”

“He’s...him.” It’s too much to go into on a first date, too much to explain, even though talking to Jamie over text had been so dangerously easy. “My best friend growing up, but that was...growing up.”

Jamie nods thoughtfully, tilting her chin in thanks when the server deposits two full pint glasses and a basket of fries on the table. “Rough time, sounds like. I can relate. My last relationship also did not go well.”

“Was he also a man who thought you’d be all too happy to quit your job and take care of a bunch of babies?” Dani asks, perhaps a little too bitterly for the occasion. Jamie flashes another grin, sipping her drink.

“She was a woman who thought I’d be all too happy to take the fall when she got busted for possession.”

Dani gapes. “Oh. Oh--I didn’t know--I’m so--”

Jamie shrugs. “She wasn’t wrong. I was nineteen, and deeply stupid. Live and learn, as the poets say.”

“Which poets?” Dani asks, smiling a little. Jamie’s brow furrows.

“John...Lennon, possibly? Hard to say. Anyway, relationships are a chore and a half, but the greatest people in the world tell me thirty is too old to play musical bedframes, so. Here we are.”

No bullshit, thinks Dani approvingly. For what little she’d put into her profile, Jamie evidently hadn’t been lying about that.

“You haven’t been in a relationship since you were nineteen?”

“In my mind, I was still in the relationship at twenty-four, when they let me out. She didn’t agree. Found out she’d been married two years, by then.” Something darkens in Jamie’s eyes for a moment. She sighs. “Like I said. Not my finest. But I am, as they say, a shining beacon of reform these days.”

“Now, when you say they,” Dani teases, grinning. Jamie nods decisively. 

“John Lennon. Definitively.”

There it is, thinks Dani, watching Jamie pop a fry into her mouth. There, the easy roll of conversation from the other night. As though they’ve known each other forever. As though two people who have thus far failed irrevocably at relationships make a perfect match.

Easy, she thinks. Don’t go wild, now. 

“So,” she says, when the comfortable silence between them has grown a bit too comfortable for the setting, “who are the greatest people in the world? The ones who tell you thirty is too old for...did you say musical bedframes?”

Jamie laughs. The ring of it curls gently around Dani’s head like a soft hand, a sound she’ll find herself replaying later with a skipping heart. 

“Not many willing to put up with a grump of my caliber, but Hannah and Owen fight the good fight. So long as I at least pretend to try.”

“Let me guess. They set up the account for you?”

Jamie makes a sort of gesture in the air with the hand not holding her glass. “Threatened to bury me in puns and children, respectively, if I kept putting it off. Owen’s still grumpy about the photo choice.”

“I liked it,” Dani says without thinking. Jamie raises an eyebrow.

“Well, you did swipe as much. Mind if I ask why?”

Walked into this one. Still, she doesn’t mind as much as she probably should, not with the genuine curiosity in Jamie’s eyes. “You looked--don’t laugh.”

“No promises,” Jamie says, but with the gentle tone of one who knows exactly how much to tease before it’ll hurt. The idea warms Dani in a way she’s not quite ready to look at yet.

“You looked real,” Dani says. “Like you weren’t going to play games, or waste anyone’s time. Like you just wanted to be happy in peace.”

“That is,” Jamie says, holding out a fry for Dani to take, “sort of the idea, yeah.”

There’s an almost puzzled cast to her smile, like she didn’t entirely expect this answer, and is pleased by it at the same time. That same sense from the photo sweeps over Dani now--that this woman is authentic, even if she’s not always shiny, that she’s kind even if not entirely clean. That she doesn’t have any interest in muddled expectation or living a comfortable lie.

“And me?” Dani asks. She doesn’t entirely mean to--but she’s sure, in asking, that Jamie will answer. Jamie is unlike anyone else she’s ever met, the first person she’s ever known to meet each question head-on. 

“Honestly?”

Dani nods. Jamie seems to consider it, turning it over in her head as she twists a fry between her fingers like a cigarette. 

“All of it.”

“That’s,” Dani begins to laugh, “that’s not--”

“No,” Jamie says, and she isn’t smiling, exactly. Her eyes have a sort of shine Dani likes very much, but there is no hint of teasing in them now. “Really. All of it. You’re...very pretty, and that’s--but the way you described yourself. Like you didn’t care to be anyone in particular. You like new experiences, and bad coffee. You hate being called Danielle. I...I wanted to know why.”

“It’s not my name,” Dani says simply. Jamie gives a brief laugh, her hand moving across the table to lightly brush Dani’s fingertips. 

“I wanted to know why all of it. Why do you like bad coffee--”

“It’s the only kind I know how to make,” Dani says automatically. “Just sort of leaned into it.”

“--and teaching--”

“I want to make a difference,” Dani says. 

“--and where you most like to go on those long walks--”

“Anywhere I can breathe,” Dani says. Her fingers are hesitant, tracing the tips of Jamie’s. There’s something electric about this, about barely touching, about barely knowing someone and still wanting to give them neatly-packaged secrets shaped like the mundane. 

Jamie is smiling. “See, that. I like that. All of it.”

It’s nothing, Dani thinks reflexively. A collection of details. A sparse approximation of a life. Eddie knows all of this, and then some, and never matched up to knowing her.

But this woman, leaning across the table with one hand outstretched, looks so different. Watches her with steady interest. Is listening to every word Dani says, though the bar is growing crowded around them, and soon, conversation will become a task instead of a gift.

“Would you,” Dani says, feeling certain that some mistakes are not as bad as they seem, “like to take one of those walks?”

“Tonight?” 

“Yeah. Tonight.” Emboldened by the smile, by the curl falling into Jamie’s eyes, by the knowledge that she still can’t quite make out what color those eyes are, Dani takes her hand. It’s so easy, she thinks she could do it even without looking. “Right now.”

No bullshit, she thinks. No expectations. Just Jamie looking at her like she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing. Dani can’t blame her. This isn’t at all what she’d thought she was getting, walking in tonight. 

But there’s something about it--something about the feeling that she’s been here before, or should be here forever, or will always find her way back to a woman who looks at her just like this--that almost makes her feel brave. Almost makes her feel wonderful. She rises from the table, laying cash beneath her half-empty glass, and feels a pleasant jolt in her chest when Jamie follows without another word.

If this a mistake, she thinks as they step out into the brisk evening air, it’s one she’s hungry to make. 

[alexseanchai]

Fanfic 2020 in Review

I got tagged by @kasienda @noirshitsuji and @marvelousmsmol and I am tagging whoever wants to play!

1) List of fics completed this year in the order they were finished:

*filters own works to complete and updated in 2020*

1 - 20 of 57 Works by AlexSeanchai

nope. *adds filter to include only works of at least 1000 words*

unless otherwise indicated, these are all Miraculous Ladybug:

“don’t bake it lying down”, post-reveal Marichat vs Felix Graham de Vanily

“veracity”, canon divergence from “Ladybug” featuring Mister Bug and Verity Queen (so also Marichat, I guess)

“(no request is too extreme, if) your heart is in your dream”, in which Hawkmoth wins, for the thirty seconds or so before Emilie saves Ladybug and Chat Noir’s lives

“tell me you love me and make me believe it”, in which trans girl Chatonne Noire ropes Ladybug into helping plan her civilian self’s escape slash social transition

“kingmaker, oathbreaker”, in which Hawkmoth wins and Emilie watches her son remove himself from the family

“stay and let me watch you break it down” (Twelve Dancing Princesses), a modern setting

“set a course for winds of fortune”, in which trans girl Chatonne Noire has already escaped and Gabriel and Nathalie are trying to bring Gabriel’s son home

“we ground love in a hopeless place”, in which post-reveal Marinette’s attempt to remain resolutely not in love with her partner dissolves like sugar in coffee when they start a pun war

“ring the bells that still can ring”, in which Alya is deeply confused about why Adrien and Marinette are planning a wedding when last night both were single

“burning wishes at both ends (the cold wind and long loud wail remix)”, in which Gabriel made a monkey’s paw wish and Emilie makes another

“words cannot espresso”, in which Marinette’s OC roommate is justifiably worried for Marinette’s safety, and meanwhile Adrien takes care of Marinette

“the compromise of truth” (the chronologically second-earliest part posted to date of nine lives, snake’s eyes), in which Adrien tells his friends how he won some freedom and respect from his father

“At The Present Time”, the Ladrien/Ladynoir marriage proposal follow-up to @art-deco-shrimp‘s  “Your Presents Required”

“j'ai rêvé (so I don't have to dream alone)”, in which the events of canon must just have been a series of dream sequences, Marinette and Adrien both think, until they both arrive at Chloe’s Halloween masquerade dressed as themselves from the dreams

2) Number of words written:

ahahaha no. I am not counting all my scattered fic drafts and trying to figure out what I did and didn’t write in 2020. I refuse.

AO3 says I posted 162K in 2020. it is counting all of keeps you guessing (like any real love), which (a) I started posting in 2019 (b) is co-written by @galahadwilder​; it is counting all of my meta snippets collection, much of which was written in 2019; it is counting the Vimeo passwords for my vids. but I probably cleared 150K by a safe margin.

3) Your most popular fic:

“veracity” has a four-digit kudos count, wow, when’d that happen? this is also the 2020 work with the most hits and the most bookmarks, but “tell me you love me” has four-thirds as many comments as its nearest competitor.

4) Your personal fav:

“cannot break us, not with a thousand swords”, no question about it. this is the one in which Ladybug proposes marriage to Chat Noir via Princess Bride meme on Tumblr. (if you intend to download the work or otherwise to consume it with creator style off, you want the accessible version instead of the primary version.)

5) Your fav scene:

aaaaaaaaa

—okay so this is cheating and I know it, since Uncertain Humors (the one where Marinette/Adrien is both Orpheus/Eurydice and Theseus/Ariadne) is nowhere near finished, never mind posted (maybe I'll get “Sanguine” done to post on my birthday?)

but it is still my favorite of the year. as you might guess from that description of the story, this scene has content notes for character death:

Hell is a maze. Marinette walks.

This acrid passage has little to see but damp stone, seeming blood-stained in the dim carmine light. At about the height of her heart, the faintly glowing thread cuts through the not-clammy air; it ought to be pulsing at the same rate as the heart it's bound to. She might be able to see her own reflection if she looked down at the open sewage pipe, or at one of the puddles that now and again she splashes through, dampening the canvas of her shoes. She might see reflected what's behind her.

She remembers Mme. Mendeleiev lecturing on human physiology. In healthy humans old enough to have learned how, urination is a voluntary action: one may not know which muscles one tenses and relaxes in order to do so, and probably isn't paying attention to those details when one is doing, but one has conscious control over whether one does. Usually. Stress and anxiety mean some people are unable to relax the relevant sphincter muscle and others are unable to stop themselves. It's voluntary for cats, too: it's one way they mark their territories. Cat-boys have other ways.

There is a moment in every human life when all one's muscles relax at once. Some Parisians have had several such moments.

The thread is braided with itself around her left fourth finger, rows of tiny red half-hitch knots, and falls loosely over the back of her hand to loop twice around her wrist. She holds it wrapped between the fingers of her right hand to keep it at a constant tension, as though knitting with this insubstantial thread, so fragile for something two (two dozen, two million) lives hang from—too thin to sew with, no thicker than one strand of his hair. As she walks, she winds it around and around and around her wrist.

Between her ring finger and her right hand, it loops twice.

Marinette's shoe lands in a puddle she didn't see. The rainwater splashes soundlessly onto her bare ankle and on the stone.

(With cat-like tread, upon our prey we steal— It's a very loud song.)

She walks on.

6) A fic or scene that challenged you:

where the firelight fades, no contest. this is the second story I’ve ever been able to stick with more than a couple hundred words past the 20K mark, but it’s easily the twentieth novel-length I’ve begun. (though also, you know that kedreeva post? well, 90K later, I’m less than 15K from completing this 10K fic! I think.) and I have been learning so much about long-form fiction.

there has also been a lot of weeping and tearing my hair. case in point: I just trashed the chapter 15 draft because I figured out the reason it wasn’t going anywhere! I can probably keep the first few hundred words of that draft without any editing, and another few hundred with some revision...

7) A line of writing you’re proud of:

from “j'ai rêvé (so I don't have to dream alone)”:

Everything about their partnership is fragments of sentences in the dream diary Adrien writes in ultraviolet pen. Disjointed flickers of thought even when examined under the black light he hides in the snack cabinet under packets of Super Yoyo sandwich cookies and bags of cheesy Monster Munch potato chips and boxes of petit écolier butter cookies (chocolat noir)—none of which explains the gym-socks smell. All fleeting incoherent flashes, invisible between the mundane lines of La Modification shelved at his bedside between Leroux and Dumas. None of it is solid. Adrien has more proof his room's haunted.

okay let me break this down for you!

* Adrien started a dream diary to make sense of the memories

* in invisible ink, in a book that (according to Wikipedia) is thematically appropriate and won’t (if Gabriel sees it) look like anything other than Adrien developing an interest in French literature

* shelved between Phantom of the Opera and The Three Musketeers

* look I didn’t come up with the name “black light”

* or “chocolat noir” for what English speakers call “dark chocolate”, or “petit écolier” (that is, “little schoolboy”) for that sort of butter cookie

* also not my fault that “chocolat noir” sounds remarkably like “Chat Noir”, which, attentive readers may have noticed, is not a name that appears in the story after the header and before Miraculous Cure

* I found the website of a store in Boston, Massachusetts that caters to French expats, and the yo-yo cookies and the monster chips were right there in the photos, y’all

* the snack stash and the black light live in the cabinet where, in canon, the Camembert lives; yes, that cheese smells in the real world like gym socks

* this story’s akuma was not able to affect anything but squishy human memory: nobody affected remembers anything about Ladybug or Chat Noir or Hawkmoth, not in any solid way, not even when they read news articles about the subject, and this includes Marinette and Adrien not being able to see or hear or remember their own kwamis—but you know what Adrien’s Insta post about his poltergeist and Adrien’s Insta post with the floating sock don’t show and don’t explicitly refer to?

* I love this paragraph so much (my housemates may have been lovingly mocking me over it)

8) A comment that touched you:

there are people (y’all know who you are) who said y’all are studying my style. I ded of blush.

9) Something that inspired your writing:

by volume of fic drafts that can be blamed on any particular person, the winner is probably @norakwami​

10) Your proudest accomplishment (that one scene; finally finishing that one fic; posting your first fic; etc):

so that longest-story-ever-written record I set in 2007 with the 89.5K story that, till where the firelight fades, was the only story I’d gotten much past 20K?

I broke that fucking record!

and then I deleted the draft of firelight chapter 15 😭

11) Do you have any writing goals for the next year?

I’m starting work on a fantasy novel, a Sleeping Beauty retelling in which I explore (among other things) the economic consequences of the king’s ordering all the spinning wheels burned, and I want to make significant progress on that. and I want to not make my hands any worse; I kind of need those!

(breaking news alert: bodies fucking suck. so does giving yourself repetitive stress injuries in doing one and a half to two people’s worth of work for an organization that was never ever going to pay you more than one person’s worth of pay.)

[deepperplexity]

Prompt: 17. Loneliness

A/N: We are getting closer to the end of Snapemas and I wanted to write something I haven't done earlier through this prompt list. Fair warning, it is a bit sad... But I feel like this is yet another subject to shine some light on. There are some cute/sweet parts too! (Written on mobile so the paragraphs are a bit wonky, sorry 'bout that!)

Setting: Christmas party at the Burrow, Snape is approximately 85-90 years old

Characters: MANY xD

Word count: 1814

Warnings: Major Character Death

Masterlist page // Masterlist post // SNAPEMAS POST

After the war, so many years ago, Harry had told everyone of his exceptional work and dedication. He had been celebrated as a hero along with many others. He was acknowledged and people were not so frightened of him back then as they had been earlier. They nodded at him on the streets, the students had asked him to tell them stories more times than he could remember and he had made friends and amends.

Yet, none had found him to be of romantic interest. None had found him worthy of their time and love. None had found him to be partner material and he had never had a romantic relationship. One night stands, sure. But no relationship of mutual love, not a single person to share his life and home with. He had thought, he had hoped, that one day someone would find him worthy but it had never happened.

So there he was, sat in a wonky armchair surrounded by other families and everything brimmed with joy. Except he felt none. He was empty and sad, alone in the world. He knew all too well that once the party was over he would go back to his dusty home and silence would fall again. As it always did. He would cook for one, do laundry for one, clean only the spaces he used and the morning coffee would always be shipped in solitude. Not that it will continue for much longer, old as I am and my body giving way. He allowed the thought to linger. Sure, he could make potions, keep his health up and live to 150 probably. But what was the point of that?

"Severus, dinner is nearly ready. Shall I ask Ron to help you get seated?" It was Hermione who spoke to him with a soft smile on her lips as she marched over.

"I am quite alright to get seated on my own," he huffed with a slight sneer but Hermione only rolled her eyes.

"Everyone, it time to eat!" She called so loudly it could be heard all the way through the Burrow. Just as Molly's voice had once been heard even in the smallest of corners and highest of rooms.

"Come on now, up you get," she said and grabbed him with strong arms.

She marched him over to the table as his back ached terribly and his knees refused to function smoothly. She plopped him down and he sneered at her.

"There we go," she said with a smile as she patted his shoulder.

"Now, don't be a Grinch and smile." Severus could not help but do as he was told since it was nearly a tradition for her to utter those words. She gave his shoulder another pat as the table was swarmed by several generations and it was extremely cramped. But Hermione always made sure he had enough space, even if the newest generation always wanted to crawl all over him. Why? He had no idea. Perhaps all the stories their parents and grandparents had told them of the war, of his part in it.

"Granma' 'mione" Hermione turned at the little girl who stood next to her leg.

"What is it dearie?" The granddaughter of Harry and Ginny had clearly inherited her looks from the Weasley side of the family with her red sparkling hair and twinkling eyes of mischief.

"I wanna sit here," the girl said and pointed to the chair next to Severus. Hermione smiled.

"I think your father wants to sit here," she said and the little girl pouted while Hermione smiled so widely her eyes wrinkled even more.

"Bu' I wanna sit by Uncle Sevy!" She stomped her foot with an angry expression and Hermione sighed.

After a while, and some bickering about who would sit where, everyone had a place in the recently remodelled and extended dining hall of the Burrow. Hermione had done a great deal to fix up the place as she and Ron were the only ones who wanted the place when Molly and Arthur had passed away from old age. Severus had helped with some magical binding spells and such but he had not been able to do much as his body did not age well. Hermione always said it was because he didn't allow enough joy and exercise in his life and he always huffed at the words. But lately, lately everyone had seemed more worried about him and comments like that had stopped coming. He suspected it was because he was truly old and brittle now.

"Well go ask-"

"Of course you shall sit by my side you little trickster," Severus said with a thunderous voice and the girl beamed at him before she quickly crawled up on the chair and Hermione simply scooted her in closer to the table as Albus came in.

"That's my seat!" He said and he played the shocked parent role as his daughter laughed on a giggle.

"Uncle Sevy said I get so sit with him," she giggled with a proud expression and Albus shook his head in defeat as his daughter, being merely 5 years old, was as headstrong as any child could possibly be.

"There is room for everyone," Hermione chided and Albus took the seat next to his daughter as the chair on the other side of Severus had already been claimed by the grandchild of Hermione and Ron, one of Hugo's daughters. Little Mary. She was a quiet child, as in she did not speak unless it was an absolute necessity, but very attentive and brilliant in her own way.

The chaos of Christmas dinner ensued after some thanks had been said for everyone's attendance, and the children begged for their gifts to be delivered after dinner. Hermione, the boss of them all, had shut it down with a few chosen words. So they all started to eat, talk and laugh again. The house was truly filled to the brim with them all. Three generations, four if you counted Severus as a separate one, which surely made sense?

The food was delightful, the children as well. The adults were in the middle of various conversations while helping the little ones. Severus kept a close eye on the two little ones closest to him and helped them as much as he could while Albus's daughter blabbered about gifts, school and the new pyjamas her mom had given her a week earlier - apparently, it had reindeer on it and that was obviously very important to tell him. On his other side sat Hugo's daughter in silence for a long time as she gently ate and listened to the conversations around her. She was also 5 years old and yet she seemed very different from the rest of the children. Less out there and more closed of. Severus found himself to be very attentive to her, even when the other children and adults called for his attention he still had her under his gaze.

Once the table was cleared and the squadron of Weasleys and Weasley-related people had moved out to the living room while the Potters and Potter-related people trailed after Severus was still sat by the table. He was looking out the window as snow fell silently in tiny little glittering flakes. Someone tugged on his sleeve. Hugo's daughter, Marry, wanted his attention. He glanced down at her.

"Yes?" His tone was as gruff as always yet there was a hint of a surprise in there somewhere. Mary looked intently at him, unflinching and unwavering.

"Can I sit?" She pointed to his lap and Severus opened his arms so the girl could climb up into his lap. It was an odd feeling. Not that the children didn't do it, even the previous generation had wanted to sit in his lap - well that time it was harder to accept but eventually, he had learnt to deal with having children crawl all over him. No this was an odd feeling as Mary never wanted to sit in a lap, be hugged or held in any way. She wanted no physical contact with others when it wasn't on her terms. And everyone respected that (even though he knew it hurt her mother deeply). But she snuggled into him, her knees raised as she leaned her side into his chest and he wrapped his arms around her gently. They both looked out the window in silence for a moment.

"Does it hurt?" she asked and Severus arched a brow at her. He was still rather good at that.

"Does what hurt?" he asked and the girl ever so slightly tilted her head.

"Life." Severus gawked at the girl. His mouth slightly open as that was in no way a question someone so young should ask.

"I saw it," she whispered, "the hurt, the bad people." Mary fidgeted with her fingers as she looked down.

"You saw it? Severus asked and she nodded silently.

"Would you like to tell me?" he asked and she nodded again.

"What did you see?" He asked and she peaked up at him.

"I see all kinds of things," she said softly, " some good, some bad, some make me sad. Like you. When I see things from you it makes me sad. You seem sad. It hurts," she said and Severus was quite surprised at how well-spoken she was for her age - and the fact she barely talked.

"Is that so?" She nodded at his words. He gave her a small smile.

"Well, you see Mary, life is difficult. Life is hard. But it is also beautiful," he said as he struggled to find words the little child could understand and also not to tell her too much.

"There are good people and bad people, there is love and hate. Some choose the wrong path and end up at the wrong place," he continued as they both yet again looked out the window.

"I don't understand. You are good but your life was bad? Wasn't it?" Her direct words cut through him harshly yet he smiled as she called him good. Children, unlike adults, said what they thought and felt. No filtering. Just honesty.

"True, my life was not easy-"

"And grandpa's pa was mean to you. But you like grandpa? You protected him? I don't understand." Severus stiffened, how do you know that?

"Mary, can I ask, what exactly do you see?"

"Well, I-" a burst of loud laughter broke through their little bubble and Mary jump a little as she grabbed on to Severus.

She relaxed again, "well I see what has happened, what might happen too. Sometimes it's really clear but sometimes it's hard to see. It's, foggy. I think that is the things that might happen."

"I think you're right," Severus murmured. Maybe she's a seer?

"Have you talked to your parents?" Mary shook her head, "Is this why you don't want to be touched?" Mary nodded, "do you see things about people more often when they touch you?" he continued in a steady, unwavering rhythm of his thunderous yet low voice. Mary nodded again.

"I see."

"That's my line," Mary said with an attempt at a smile. Severus smiled and gave her leg a little pat.

Yet, a thought occurred to him.

"May I ask, why you are willing to sit with me?" Mary tensed ever so slightly.

"Do you want to know?" Severus nodded sharply. He did indeed want to know even though he had a hunch.

"I don't see more foggy things from you and it feels, feels different. Feels like there is no more." Severus sighed, he understood her words. He had felt life slip away the past year as well.

"And the bad stuff, there is not so much bad left in them. Have you, hrm... I don't know the word."

"Accepted them and moved passed it?" Mary nodded that that was what she meant, "I believe so, I believe I've come to terms with those things in the past."

"But not the loneliness, I see it. The empty house. The coffee cup." Severus sighed at that.

After a moment of silence where Mary curled up even more and leaned her head against his chest that rose and sunk with every breath.

"I'm gonna miss you," she said in a hushed whisper. He gently stroked the top of her head, a coldness spread through him as the realisation truly hit him. He was nearing the end of what was his life. And who knew what waited beyond the border between eh living and dead; certainly not he.

"I will miss you as well. But I won't go far," he said softly and she chuckled ever so slightly.

"You shake when you talk uncle Sevy," she said, "it feels nice."

"Well, I have a deep voice. It happens," Severus said with a tired yet warm smile as he relaxed with her in his lap.

"It's nice," Mary whispered and after a moment he felt her body grow heavy as she silently fell asleep cradled in his arms.

It took several minutes before Hermione appeared in the doorway, just outside of Severus view as he was watching the snowfall outside still. She silently beckoned Ron, Hugo and Hugo's wife Ellie to come over. She pointed towards Severus and little Marry who was slumbering deeply. They all had wide smiles over their lips as they watched the scene.

"She's, she's in his arms," Ellie whispered on a suffocated sob. Hugo hugged his wife gently as tears gleamed in his eyes as well. Hermione stepped over as silently as she could.

"I'll take her," she whispered and Severus arched a brow at her.

"She's fine here," he said as he actually did not want to let the little girl go. Not for his sake, no, but for her sake. Little Mary, who never got human contact without an ensuing anxiety attack or crying. Little Mary, only five years old, who had to see things none should. Not only the one life she lived but everyone else's as well. He held her softly and Hermione nodded.

"I'll check on you in a moment," she said and he nodded ever so slightly. Hermione left and took the rest of the crowd that had gathered with her before she closed the door and left Severus in solitude with the sleeping child cradled ever so gently in his embrace.

When Hermione came back over an hour later Mary was sleeping even deeper. Her little hand splayed over Severus's chest and her head slightly tilted where it rested against his arm. she was heavy ad his legs had fallen asleep but he did not mind, no he did not mind one bit as Mary had a tiny smile on her lips as she slept peacefully.

"Should we put her to bed?" Hermione whispered and Severus nodded with a small smile. It was indeed time to let go. Hermione skillfully snuck her arms in under Mary, but the little girl stopped smiling instantly. Hermione swiftly walked out with the little girl as Hugo entered the room with Ellie in tow.

"Thank you," Ellie whispered as she silently cried tears of joy.

"How did you manage to get her to sit in your lap? Please, tell us," Hugo said and Severus gave the couple a tired smile.

"She asked, I obliged," he simply stated. They looked a bit confused at that. But Severus ignored it.

"You have a gifted daughter," he said, "and I do not mean that in the general spew people cast about when it comes to children. I truly mean, she is gifted. You ought to speak with her, and get help." This seemed to both concern and confuse the couple. Severus allowed his gaze to glide over to the window. An old man's pleasure, to look at the world outside.  

"What, what do you mean, Severus?" Hugo asked as he crouched beside him.

"She's a seer," he simply stated.

"A, a seer?" Ellie asked as she sat down on a chair next to Severus.

"Indeed, and physical contact gives her more visions. visions of the past, the present, the future. It's all quite much for suck a young girl. You ought to get her help, allow her to explore and train her ability before it hurts her even more," Severus said and he did try his hardest to do so in a gentle way.

"She told you?" Severus nodded at Hugo's words.

"She, she never told us she, we just thought she, was special. Had special needs..." Ellie sobbed and Hugo looked as if he was devising a plan. Severus did not really concern himself with it as he knew he would not be here long enough to see what happened. He had felt it, and with Mary's words, he knew it. It was all ending.

Once Harry had dropped Severus off at his home and apparated back to the Burrow Severus sagged in the hallway. He was exhausted and he felt as if he could sleep for weeks. It was indeed a struggle to just undress and get ready for bed. But once he was properly tucked in while wearing his most comfortable nightshirt he slowly drifted off to the world of dreams. Little Mary's smiling face greeted him and she took his hand in hers. It was warm and soft, gentle as she tugged him through a field of sunflowers that echoed with children's laughter and the softest of music lingered in the wind.

The living room was filled with talk about Mary as Severus felt himself grow even more tired.

"Severus, would you like Harry to take you home?" Ginny asked with a gentle smile as she walked up to him.

"I presume that would be in order," Severus said and Ginny immediately told Harry who got dressed in coat and boots as Ginny helped Severus get dressed. He felt such disgrace at being such an ordeal but Ginny kept telling him it was no trouble and that they loved to have him with them. He could not fathom why and did not dare to question it as that might have changed their minds. They were, after all, the closest thing he had to a family. How it came about he still could not quite understand but it had happened at another Christmas party many years ago.

His breathing slowed as he found peace. His heart stopped beating as he felt warmth and joy spread through his younger body in the world of dreams and love. His soul drifted away, led by Mary's sweet smile as she called for him to come home and be free. All that was him left the world of the living and his body that still had a face etched with a soft smile. As he stepped over the border and embraced eternity Mary let go of his hand. And he knew, knew he would see her again, in many years when she was old and wise. When she had lived her life he would great her with a smile as he was no longer lonely and cold.

Masterlist page // Masterlist post // SNAPEMAS POST

Uffh, this hurt to write but at the same time, I really wanted to try my hand at this kind of sorrow and joy... This older version of Severus, this lonely version who never got a chance at love in life. but who still managed to find joy and peace in the end.

I hope you guys liked this despite it being dark/sad and different <3

Tags: @lizlil @snapefiction  @morphineisouthoney​ @setsuna-meiou31​ @snapefiction​ @monstreviolet

[Dec:2020]

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[vegetalass]

hcs of the gang being quarantined in one big house together maybe?? 🥺 lub ur writing

i lub u, anon!!🥺 sorry this took forever!

General 

Oh my godddddddddd

They had to stop doing movie nights because there was too much fighting 

They tried to set it up such that everyone got a turn to pick a movie but there were still complaints

Now, movies are viewed at random and the policy is that 

1. The TV is first come first serve

2. You have to announce when you’re using it

3. Anyone is allowed to join you 

This has stemmed into multiple people shouting “IM WATCHING _____” at random times

And yes, people will try to hide the remote (mostly Sean)

If they can find it, that is

The lines between public and private property have been blurred. Everything must be labeled or there is a chance someone will take it 

You can risk it, but it’s not recommended since they’re all dudes and will most likely eat anything 

And even with your name on a box of graham crackers, there’s still a chance someone will stick their hand it in and steal a few

All the dudes walk around in their Long Johns like it’s not awkward

They have to do their own laundry so everyone is missing socks

Or they have extras

And wet laundry is constantly being left on the ground if it’s unattended and someone needs the washer 

Arthur

This dude double dips 

He licks the spoon and puts it back in, too 

Gets yelled at a lot for this, but never remembers to stop

Everybody is afraid to touch all of the dips now because of this 

And Hosea has to start buying separate ones just for Arthur

He’s the one who takes 3 hour baths 

I imagine that there’s multiple bathrooms in the house but not enough for everyone so there are definitely times when people are like “WTF, Arthur you’re still in there?” or “Where’s Arthur?” 

Usually it’s Charles or John because they don’t mind sharing a bathroom with each other 

Cue Arthur having accidentally fallen asleep in the tub 

But yea he’s just chilling in there, otherwise

Started the quarantine off by trying to fix up the house… But immediately got lazy

There’s probably a number of things he keeps saying that he’ll “get to, eventually”

The only reason Dutch hasn’t called someone is because it’s a PANDEMIC

Technologically challenged 

Barely knows how to turn on the TV and still uses an iPhone 5 that has pretty much stopped working

John has given up trying to explain how to make things fullscreen on YouTube

Because of this, probably spends most of his time wandering around the yard and reading or journaling

Tilly even bought him some scrapbooking supplies, which he’s been trying to use 

Little washi tapes and highlighters because she knows it can’t get too complicated too fast 

She also makes him an Instagram account so he can take photos or post art

But figuring out how it works is a losing battle, and he never remembers to use it, anyway 

“I think we should get a pet” 

Everyone: “Arthur... Do we look like we take care of ourselves? 

If anyone tries to talk about how annoying the quarantine is, starts ranting about people who refuse to take it seriously

And the conversation ends up spiraling into him blaming capitalism for everything

John 

Every other meal he eats is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich or Doritos

He does that thing where he wraps a bowl or plate in plastic wrap so he doesn’t have to wash it 

Doesn’t clean up after himself

Leaves used tissues, slimy butter knives with PB on them, and crusty socks laying around 

Unluckiest of them all 

His snacks get taken the most, the bathroom is always occupied when he needs it, never gets to use the TV, his laundry is always moved, etc. 

Always ends up using the bathroom when there’s no toilet paper

Texts Arthur for help and then makes an announcement in the group chat about “common courtesy” 

Nobody replies

His texts are full of messages to Abigail that all say the same thing

“Help.” + “Please come get me” + “I hate it here”

They’re all left on read except for the occasional response asking if he needs anything from Target

The list he sends back is like four paragraphs long and it’s all dumb stuff 

He’s like “FaceTime me when you get there, I wanna go shopping too”

Doesn’t even really want to leave the house for necessities, so he has to do stuff like water down his soaps or steal other people’s toiletries just to prolong how often he needs to go shopping for himself

He’s the one using Irish Spring from the dollar store mixed with water or a block of orange Dial soap that hasn’t been touched in five years 

Charles tries to throw away an empty hand soap and John is like “THERE’S STILL SOAP IN THERE LOOK” *mixes water with it* 

Steals razors and Shampoo 

Thinks conditioner is “unnecessary” and “doesn’t do anything” 

Complains about being bored but doesn’t bother to do the things people that people offer

Charles 

Voluntarily becomes a recluse 

Not because he wants to but because everyone else is too annoying to deal with 

He’s forced to start using the internet and when he’s not on the computer he’s trying to block out the noise of the 8 other men he lives with just living 

Going on walks is his other hobby

Also probably buys one of those adult coloring books to color

Like Athur, Charles hogs the bathroom 

It’s not as bad as Arthur since he’s not in the tub for the whole time but he really will spend an hour getting ready in the morning for absolutely no reason 

If anyone asks about it he just tells them that since they’re in quarantine there’s no reason to rush 

But he does get yelled at if there’s no other bathrooms available 

Becomes a self-care connoisseur 

Walks around in a bathrobe and face mask just to try and achieve some sort of zen 

Literally the only one who doesn’t walk around half naked

Besides Hosea, the one of the only guys who tries to wake up on time and eat three healthy meals a day 

The house is entirely dark and he’s eating toast while Hosea makes coffee 

It’s awkward, not because they’re weird about each other but because no one else is awake and it’s quiet for once 

Dutch is the third person up and Charles leaves the kitchen by the time he’s around 

Gave up trying to do the dishes and only cleans what he uses

Sometimes if he feels like being nice he’ll do Arthur’s dishes, too 

But only if he gets something back in return, like Arthur doing his laundry or something

The only one who changes his bedsheets on the regular

Him and Kieran are the only ones trusted by Hosea to leave the house safely 

Micah 

Everyone is surprised Micah isn’t dead yet

Everyone is constantly fed up with him for something or for just being irritating 

And try to ignore him for the most part, which is hard

Tries to defends himself with “Well, you don’t have to bother me if you don’t want to” 

Doesn’t clean up after himself, either

John leaves more mess, but Micah does worse stuff 

While John just leaves his dirty peanut butter knives around, Micah does stuff like forget to put the mayo back in the fridge, leave the bread bag out and open, forgets to bring his used dishes to the dishwasher, throws his trash in other people’s trash cans, leaves his wet laundry in the dryer, etc. 

If it’s annoying and gross, he does it 

And tries to eat food that other people have made for themselves or don’t want to share with him 

Dutch is the only one who shares with him willingly

Does not pick up his hair from the bottom of the shower

And doesn’t clean the sink after he shaves

Honestly, I doubt any of the drains in the house work properly because so much shaving goes on 

It’s honestly surprising to everyone that he takes the quarantine seriously 

Accuses people of being sick even though all of them have barely left the house… 

Wears a mask inside when he’s feeling salty 

He doesn’t even care about the mask, it’s just to make people feel gross and bad about themselves

Besides Sean, he’s always trying to hog the TV

And everything he watches is annoying, pretentious, or both

Complains about there being “nothing to watch” despite always having something on and refusing to stop

Tries to smoke inside and literally always get busted for it

Even if other people are doing it too, he’s the one who doesn’t even bother to be by a window when he does it

His room is always off limits 

If you need something from him you need to knock and wait in the doorway

Also does the “You’re too close… Step back, please” thing

And if anyone gets mad, says it’s a pandemic and he’s just trying to be SAFE

Mostly does this to feel powerful

Turns in to Uncle Jr. with all the complaining and berating he does

Uncle is honestly offended

Hosea

The only person allowed to do the shopping 

He gave up trying to give people lists because the groceries they came back with were never right 

Either too few, too many, not the right stuff... You name it 

See here for more

That’s why, despite being the oldest, he’s the one who goes grocery shopping for meals twice a week 

Refuses to buy alcohol because of incidents that they’ve had

Can’t stop people from sneaking it, though

Similar to Dutch in that he gets annoyed when people oversleep, but because its quarantine, he tries to not mention it, and at the worst, gets passive aggressive 

Tries to make a chore chart for people to follow but it gets ignored

He ends up having to force people to do things by reminding them constantly 

He’s the one who starts opening people’s doors in the morning and turning on the lights

Makes everybody start eating on paper plates with plastic silverware because he’s tired of trying to make people use the dishwasher 

Arthur doesn’t know how, John doesn’t put his plates in the right place, Charles refuses to since no one else contributes to keeping it neat, Micah doesn’t even know they have one, Kieran also can’t fill it correctly... 

Basically, it’s too much for Hosea to handle 

His dinners are all Costco pre-made meals that can be made quickly 

Frozen lasagna and prepackaged salad type stuff 

He’s the guy who falls asleep on the couch sitting up while watching TV and if you try to talk to him he says “I’m awake” without opening his eyes

And if he’s using it, don’t even think about suggesting to change the channel 

The answer is and always will be no

Even when he’s not really paying attention

And it’s either on the History Channel or Discovery Channel

Always complaining about how cold his feet are

Doesn’t let anyone touch the thermostat

He’s an in real life Elf on the Shelf

Dutch 

If anyone, and I mean anyone starts sleeping in, he gets in a really pissy mood 

“While I’m up, doing work for you, you’re sitting in bed being lazy!!!” and “What do you mean you don’t understand why! Why should I have to tell you why wasting the day is annoying to all those who are working!” 

Even despite this, he can’t actually change the fact that no one wakes up on time

And it’s not like the work he’s doing for them is very important

He’s the one who thinks that a pandemic is the perfect time to be or do something useful

Eat healthy, write a book, pump iron… Anything

And when people complain about being useless he’s like “You have all this free time!!!1! Stop complaining!!! You can do anything!!!” 

And if he’s doing something he considers useful, yells at people who try to bother him 

Arthur: “Hosea wanted to know-”

Dutch: *doing sit ups* “CAN’T YOU SEE I’M BUSY?” 

When it’s his turn to cook dinner, he’s making 8 boxes of Trader Joe’s mac and cheese in a huge pot and calling a meal

Literally the only meal no one complains about 

He won’t clean the pot when it’s finished, though

Literally just cooks and leaves it out for someone else to deal with

Another self-care aficionado 

Also walks around in a bathrobe and face mask 

He’s worse than Charles though, because while Charles wears pants... Dutch will be booty ass naked under his 

Also keeps trying to make homemade masks and scrubs and walks around in those, too 

He’s like “This is a good one, I can tell already” 

Everyone: “Dutch... is that... mayo... in your hair?”

Annoyingly good at monopoly

Does not invite Molly over and gets yelled at over FaceTime

Cue everyone eavesdropping on their arguments

Goes on power walks

Yells at people when they listen to loud music with swear words 

Honestly, always yelling at people

“Can somebody get me my slippers? Arthur? John? Hosea? AnYoNe!!!”

Kieran 

Spends the least time in the bathroom because he’s afraid of getting yelled at 

Does everything in five minute increments 

Except for showers, when he allows himself ten minutes

Barely 

Most of what he eats is just microwave popcorn and shredded cheese

He’s the one asking people if they want to go on “family walks” with him

Literally no one joins him 

Also tries to play board games with everyone

This goes a little better at least because Hosea will sometimes play and if he’s there, a few people will definitely join 

Very bad at monopoly

The most conscious about wearing a mask 

The others wear them but Kieran is the one who wears double masks, gloves, and carries around Febreeze 

Also will get mad if anyone forgets their “safety equipment” 

Or if they’re within six feet of him in public

Props to him though for staying healthy 

I’ve mentioned this before, but... Spends most of his time playing games on a big tablet wearing headphones

Candy Crush and FarmVille and Words with Friends and stuff like that

Though all of his internet friends are weird old ladies he doesn’t know 

Everyone is mad at him for sending non-stop game notifications, too

Hosea is the only one who responds to any of them 

He’ll never admit this, though

Also tries to start doing arts and crafts 

Mary-Beth started telling him about the various crafts she’s been doing, so he’s started trying to follow along, too 

Things like crocheting or popsicle stick art 

His stuff all looks bad, but he’s just happy to be doing it

And to be FaceTiming Mary-Beth

When he gets to choose a movie, he’s picking a “family-friendly” movie like Inside Out or Lilo and Stitch 

Everyone starts out being mad but they all end up watching the whole thing without complaining 

Heated debates ensue, too 

For example, like about whether Flynn should’ve cut Repunzel’s hair in Tangled 

“YOU’RE GONNA LOOK AT ME AND TELL ME THAT I’M WRONG?” 

Charles + Arthur vs. Dutch + Bill

Makes meatloaf or Hamburger Helper like once a week

They’re basically the only thing he knows how to make 

Sides with Arthur when he suggests getting a pet

Wears a Snuggie 

Doesn’t change his socks 

Javier

Plays his own music very loudly and won’t turn it off or down if you ask 

Either that or he’s practicing guitar 

It’s not really that bad but when you can’t escape it.... People get mad 

The only saving grace is that the singing is usually in Spanish so it’s not as bothersome

The door to his room is always closed

Refuses to open it

To talk to him, you have to knock and then he’ll exit

Dutch is the only one allowed in and he thinks Javier’s rules about entering are creepy so never does it

Javier cooks his own food and won’t share

Only makes enough for exactly one person so even if he wanted to, there’s not enough

Eats dinner in his room to prevent people from bothering him or asking for some

However, he has the biggest stash of quarantine snacks… 

No one knows where he gets them

And getting him to share is like trying to do a drug deal, but he’s not against it as long as he gets something in return 

He didn’t personally cook all these snacks so the rules are different 

His room is full of scented candles to make it smell better since the whole house kinda smells like Boy 

Buys a gamer chair at the start of quarantine 

Claims it’s more comfortable than the office chair that Dutch and Hosea chose for everyone

Everyone is jealous

Wears fuzzy pajama pants only 

Sean

Sean is the one sleeping in

Never sleeps in his bed and just falls asleep wherever, basically

Usually the couch

Because he’s always snoozing, he’s the one who watches the most TV

Micah claims this isn’t “fair,” despite doing the same thing

And even if he’s not watching TV, he’s just using the couch to watch Tik Toks full volume 

Tries to make his own Tik Toks, but they either stink or no one wants to participate

Constantly having people get mad at him for recording them 

Stopped wearing clothes the moment quarantine started

Always in a tank top and his underpants 

It’s kinda weird 

People cared at first but by now they can’t be bothered to complain since they’re 

1. Used to it 

2. Probably start doing the same thing

Leaves his laundry laying around

Also won’t share anything he’s eating 

Gets mad when people steal food

Doesn’t address anyone in particular though, just walks around yelling about how “nobody has the common decency not to steal” 

Has food delivered almost every other day 

No one knows where he’s getting the money from, either

Everyone think it’s a waste

Mostly because he doesn’t share, but also because all hell broke loose when Hosea found out about an expense called “delivery fees” 

Also has a stick up his ass about wasting food 

Started yelling about this randomly, too 

If he can’t force someone else to finish leftovers, he forces himself to finish them 

Probably gets caught watching a certain type of nasty video a lot

Lowkey it probably happens to everybody at least once

Yells at anti-maskers 

Tries to wrestle the other boys and gets his ass handed to him

Bill

Possessive of everything 

Usually he’s not this bad but being cooped up with a bunch of thieves and liars doesn’t make him confident that his Circus Animal cookies will last very long 

Doesn’t share anything and very adamant about making sure there’s labels on things so nothing gets mixed up

Also makes his own space in the fridge with tape 

BILL’S SPACE DO NOT TOUCH 

And will start yelling in anything is moved 

Not as bad as Sean though because he only cares about his own stuff

The whole thing is super hypocritical though, because he definitely steals other people’s stuff

If he gets caught, claims “it’s only fair” 

Hosea has to buy him soap because he won’t buy it himself

Definitely the one who learns how to make prison hooch with cranberry juice and yeast

And the one who eats all of the ice cream 

Even the nasty flavors 

Wears the same clothes everyday because since he’s not working, “they’re not dirty” 

They start getting holes in them, though

If anyone tries to suggest something for him to do, he gets mad and claims he “knows how to entertain himself”

Also constantly accusing people of being in his space or business 

Ends up starting a ton of fights over this and then complaining about how mean everyone is to him 

He’s not doing it on purpose, though 

Ends up buying some kind of gaming console to pass the time

If he buys an Xbox, he shares with the rest of the boys

If he buys a nintendo switch, he starts playing Animal Crossing and doesn’t put it down for weeks 

Out of everyone… He’s the one who takes the pandemic the least serious 

He follows the rules because he doesn’t want to be eaten alive by any of the boys, but he probably thought the virus was a hoax at first 

He learned his lesson the first time he tried to go out without a mask and got locked in the car, though

Forgets to flush the toilet 

His room is dirty

[sage-nebula]

Do NOT reblog, or I will delete the post and block you.

There are so many posts on here about “eldest daughter this” and “oldest sibling that” but there are no posts that talk about what it’s like to be the middle sibling when your oldest sibling is a complete and utter fuckup in basically every way.

I’m technically the middle child. I have a sister who’s 8.5 years older than I am, and a (technically step-)brother who’s nine months younger than I am. My brother became my brother when I was six and he was five, so the “step-” determination is really meaningless, but I added it to explain how he could be my brother when he’s only nine months younger than I am. Anyway. I have two siblings, one older and one younger, and so that makes me the middle child, right?

Well, yes . . . but also no. 

As you could surmise by the opening paragraph, my older sister fucked up in basically every conceivable way. I won’t get into her whole life story here because that’s not my story to tell (though believe me, there are doozies in there), but suffice it to say that every single choice she made is one that most parents would disapprove of. All three of my parents certainly did. And so what do you think happened when it came to me? 

I’ll tell you what happened. 

Because my older sister fucked up in every way one could possibly fuck up, there was a fear, I suppose, or a concern that I would, for whatever godforsaken reason, follow in her footsteps even though the two of us could not be more different in terms of attitude, outlook, goals, et cetera. As a result, if I did even the slightest thing wrong, the punishment hammer came down on me with all the might of Thor celebrating a delicious beverage. I failed geometry in junior year of high school due to an undiagnosed learning disability (along with undiagnosed severe depression and an undiagnosed anxiety disorder, all following years of abuse at my biological mother’s hands), and I was put under lockdown for the entire summer. I was not allowed to leave the house except to go to summer school, I was not allowed to talk to or see any of my friends, or play video games, or watch television, or be on the internet, or read, or write fiction, or do basically anything besides the aforementioned summer school and listening to music. To this day, my parents think this was a good decision on their part even though they now know about the learning disability and myriad of mental illnesses. They think it was a good call for them to punish me like they did.

And so you would say, okay, but if they punished you that severely because they didn’t want you to end up a drug-addicted high school dropout like your sister, surely they would level the same punishments against your brother, especially since you two were so close in age! Well, you would think that, but nope!

Instead, when my brother was around seventeen, he got pulled over and arrested for marijuana possession. (I think he was pulled over in the first place for speeding, but I can’t remember.) His punishment was to have his car taken away for six months. That’s it. He still had all of his other privileges, was not punished in any other way, he just could not drive for six months. He got in actual legal trouble, but he was still allowed to have hobbies.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that my brother should have been punished more harshly, per se. I’m only saying there was a stark difference in the way that we were treated that my family refuses to acknowledge or own up to even to this day, and it all comes down to the fact that I was never cut slack in either direction. If I was compared to my older sibling, then the fact that she had screwed up so royally in basically every single way meant that I would be made to stand at attention so I could be yelled at for an hour for failing a math class, and then continue to be berated and insulted for how I was clearly never going to college (I have a master’s now, by the by) because of it over the next few days, and yelled at further for having “nothing to say to myself” in the face of all the lecturing. But if I was compared to my younger sibling, why, then it should be expected that he always gets off easier, because he’s younger than I am and the baby of the extended family and, well, I’m older and more mature, so I can handle it better, anyway. And I mean, I guess, for the record, true; I took my punishment in silence because as a victim of child abuse for basically my entire life I never stood up for myself against my parents back then and always just stayed quiet to try to make punishments worse, whereas he threw fits about having his keys taken away every single day for those six months, but also we have to consider how “mature” one really is if that “maturity” stems from a decade and plus some of child abuse.

Because see, that’s the thing, and what has made me really start thinking about this the past few days. I mentioned it on twitter, but a week ago I got into a fight with my mom (stepmom, the better of the two) over politics that has effectively led to her disowning me, I think, which in turn means that my dad has disowned me as well, I think, because I’m pretty sure he’s going to take her side on this one. I won’t get into the actual subject matter here, but the long and short of it is that she accused me of “attacking” her when I wasn’t, and has since then refused to speak to me, even when I tried to offer an olive branch by texting her that fine, I wouldn’t talk to her about politics, but I still loved her. She left me on Read. So the way I see it, she’s not talking to me until I apologize, and I won’t apologize, so she’ll never talk to me and I’m just effectively disowned, I guess. It’s not exactly the first time I’ve lost a parent, and actually, it’s kind of in the same way as the last time.

Fifteen years ago, I left my abusive biological mother to live with my dad and stepmom. (I’m going to keep using stepmom to keep it clear from here on out, just as I use biological mother, even though I do call my stepmom “mom” and consider her as such.) At first my biological mother kept trying to reach out with her pity party guilt tripping about how lonely she was and how much she needed me and yadda yadda, but in the last phone conversation we had, she called me a traitor for leaving her. Keep in mind, I was 15, and she was abusive to the point where the neighbors could hear every profanity and threat she screamed at me from down the street. They told me this. They also told me they always thought about calling CPS, but they never did, but whatever. The point is, on that last phone conversation, she called me a traitor for leaving her. I told her that I wasn’t. She said that I was. I told her I didn’t have to listen to that. She said I did. I said I didn’t, and hung up the phone. I expected her to call right back to curse me out . . . but she never did.

That was fifteen years ago, and we’ve never spoken since.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to speak to her. Actually, the one time it looked like it might happen (at my sister’s wedding), my Fight or Flight response kicked in when I saw her walking toward me and I bolted. I had a panic attack so bad I felt like I was going to vomit. It’s really embarrassing to admit that, but it’s true. The only time I’ve seen her since was at my nephew’s high school graduation (which is the only graduation she got to attend for anyone directly related to her, since my sister dropped out and she didn’t attend mine), but although we made eye contact I looked away pretty quickly and, again, didn’t speak to her. Again, I don’t want to speak to her, this isn’t me complaining, I’ve not lost a single wink of sleep for the fact that she never reached out again despite how my dad likes to go on and on about how she should have “never stopped trying.” (But also, he never picks up the phone to call me for a chat either, despite always telling me how I should call him, so.)

But I just can’t help but notice the similarity. Once again, I have a mother who is refusing to speak to me because she feels I’ve wronged her in some way, and if I want a relationship, then I have to be the one to reach out (even though I already did, but was left on Read, so she wants me to reach out in a very specific way that she won’t even articulate). This isn’t the first time that she (and my dad) have done this, either. When I studied abroad in London, we got into a fight over something stupid over Skype, and I hung up the call. I was 19/20, so you know, not fully mature, but expected to be. Two weeks of silence passed before I had to call them to apologize, because even though their daughter was in a completely foreign country and, hell, could’ve been dead for all they knew, they wanted to Teach Me A Lesson, with that lesson being that unless I behaved the Right Way, they wouldn’t be there for me. And I guess here we are now, about eleven years later, having come full circle with that.

And you know what? I’m tired of it. 

Because here’s the thing about being the second child when the first child is a fuckup in every way: you are expected to not only not fall into those same pitfalls, but also to excel in every single possible way. Not only in terms of grades or whatever else, but also in terms of emotional maturity and support for the parents. This veers into the abuse I experienced, I know (at least some of it), but you know how I mentioned that my biological mother kept going on and on about how much she needed me and whatnot? This is because instead of treating me like her daughter, I was instead treated like her combo maid-servant-therapist. It was my job to wait on her hand and foot when she was home, whether that was through fetching her coffee or being in charge of the refrigerator remaining operational (this sounds specific because it is; when I was about 13 the refrigerator broke and she yelled at me for a.) not knowing it was going to break and b.) not doing anything to prevent it breaking), but also she laid out all of her problems to me day after day, month after month, year after year. Do you know how many times I had to sit and listen to the “your father ran out on me after 22 years of marriage” speech? And when I finally asked her if she could stop she yelled at me because I clearly let him badmouth her but I wouldn’t let her do the same. (He actually didn’t, and neither did my stepmom. She was the only one remaining bitter.) She “needed” me because I was the emotional pillar on top of which sat her own degrading stability. The second time I told her that I wanted to live with my dad (because I told her to her face that I wanted to switch the custody agreement twice, and got browbeaten down twice, before I finally left in secret and didn’t tell her until I was already at his place), she picked up smoking cigarettes again after having quit smoking while she was hospitalized for undiagnosed diabetes and told me that it was my fault that she was smoking again, because I had stressed her out so badly by telling her that I wanted to leave. And like, one, obviously I wanted to leave, is there any question of why I wanted to leave or why that wouldn’t make me just want to leave more? But also two, the point I’m getting at here is that it was always about her, always about her emotional needs, never about mine. My emotional wellbeing was never a priority in that house. I was always expected to be there for her, that was my entire purpose as her daughter. 

With my dad and stepmom it was obviously different, and in a lot of ways it was better because, god, I hated having to be the recipient of the constant stream of stress and misery from my biological mother. My dad and stepmom had each other, so I never had to hear about their woes for the most part. But at the same time, look at what happened when I failed geometry; instead of looking into seeing if they could get me diagnosed with a learning disability, or maybe actually listening to me when I said I felt “burnt out” and pushing a little harder for me to go to therapy, my dad instead yelled at me for an hour and several days after, insulted me, told me I was never going to succeed, and put me under lockdown for the entire summer, cutting me off from my support network of friends. I came from a background of 15 years of abuse, and one fuckup a year or so later lead not to a reexamination of how I was doing, but instead a severe punishment so that I “wouldn’t do it again.” I couldn’t pass a math class in university and in my final year I finally broke and went to my parents about how I really wasn’t going to graduate college because of it, and they agreed to pay to get me examined for a learning disability which, whoops, looks like I had! And my dad still blames me for waiting for so long to get diagnosed and not telling him sooner, when the last time he found I failed a math class that summer lockdown happened. He still hasn’t put the pieces together between that lockdown and why I didn’t tell him about the math classes I failed in university. Amazing.

My point is, with my dad and my stepmom, it wasn’t so much that they used me as an emotional sponge or pillar, but rather that they were pretty much uninvolved so long as I performed adequately, and was the model daughter they could be Oh So Proud Of, but the moment I slipped, bam! Go to jail, go directly to jail, do not pass Go, do not contact your friends. My emotional needs were still not a priority because it wasn’t about whether or not I was okay, but whether or not it looked like I was doing okay in ways that were quantifiable, such as my grades. And I mean, to be fair, I wasn’t exactly keen on opening up about my feelings at that age and I was a pro at masking how I felt and acting like everything was fine because my biological mother would berate me on the car rides to school each morning to the point of tears, and then would yell at me more about how I better clean myself up because god help me if any teachers saw me crying, which would make them think she was a bad parent and that, too, would be my fault. (Protip: Washing your face with very cold water helps clear away the puffiness around the eyes that can be a tell you’ve been crying.) But even so, again, that puts the responsibility on me to do the Right Thing so that they could be there for me emotionally as my parents, and that is just—

I’m so tired of it, man!

I have had three parents and yet have never had the unconditional love of one. Never. My stepmom once tried telling me that she and my dad would love me unconditionally when I was a teen and she was trying to get me to admit I was a lesbian (funny thing is, even I didn’t know I was gay at the time), and my dad walked through the living room and, not even knowing what we were talking about, was like, “No we won’t.” So that was great. But the thing is this whole thing proves that she was full of it, too. Because they tolerate me being gay (while still trying to set me up with men), but because I won’t apologize to my mom when I haven’t done anything wrong but she feels like I have, she’s giving me the complete and total silent treatment until I do. Because I didn’t perform in the way I’m supposed to, because I wasn’t The Mature One, I’m being cut off. Because it’s my job to be The Mature One, because I was always The Mature One, because I never had any goddamn choice in the matter and the dysfunctional environment I was in when I lived with my biological mother (+ my sister, her baby daddy-now-husband, and their two very young children whom I was often put in charge of despite being in middle school at the time because their parents were often too busy doing drugs and/or sleeping to care for them) required it. Because I had to be Kept In Line so that I wouldn’t end up like my sister, but also it was just me that had to be kept in line despite how close in age my brother and I were. And again, I’m not saying that I wish my brother had also been punished harshly, but more that I wish that, you know, maybe some mercy could have been doled out to me, except it wasn’t, because I had two siblings on either side to be compared to and as a result one toe out of the line resulted in a smiting.

But in the end, it isn’t even really about that. This post isn’t really about how I’m simultaneously the eldest daughter but also the second child. It’s more about the fact that I’ve had three parents and yet have never had the unconditional love of even one, even from the one who said I had it. It’s about how my emotional needs were never a priority for any of the parents in my life. It’s about how I basically had to raise myself and it’s a real goddamn wonder I’m not even more screwed up than I actually am because of it. And it’s also about how I really miss therapy and haven’t been able to go for a long time, and I think this rambling stream of consciousness post proves that I really, really need to find a new therapist so I can go back again, because goddamn.

Anyway, once again, do NOT reblog this or I will delete it and block you, I just needed to get this off my chest, but I need it to stay here. Thank you.

[yuvon-writes-letters]

[The first part the the letter is scribbled, but still readable. It’s basically a bunch of attempts to start the letter that were eventually trashed, at the half-way point is when the letter finally starts.]

Yu, and Jake apparently

First and foremost, hello Jake, welcome to the danger zone.

So I guess we now know to not mess with the blood ritual, or at least, not mess with it at the current moment. Although, I can’t ignore the potential of it. The instructions didn’t say “we’ll bring a friend” it said “we’ll give you something you’ll like”. We could totally capitalize on that, so long as we research the limits, if there’s any at all.

Also, don’t blame yourself Yu :(, I’d probably wish for friends too if I were isolated in a forest between dimensions, filled with death symbols and blood rituals and shit.

I’m writing this at 1 in the morning, because it occurred to me that we haven’t talked about your Duskwood Buddies, Yu and Lis. How are they? Because I’m thinking that we’ve been so caught in our own issues that we forgot that people can become suspicious.

I realized that, because it happened to me, just now.

I actually haven’t opened the Messenger in awhile, and the moment I did just heaps of private and public messages from both the Duskwood Gang and my unrelated family and friends asking if I was ok. It took hours just to respond to everyone, and I’m pretty sure Jessy and Skie aren’t buying any of my shit too. (Skie is, an unrelated friend btw.)

I have to wrap this up now, I need to wake up in three hours for my shift, I have so much more to say, but I don’t have the time right now.

I’ll say it when I’m free.

Rai

Rai,

The ritual does have potential, yes. But "a result you'll like" seems to use a fairly vague definition of "like". Do I like being able to talk to Jake? Yes. Do I like having him trapped in here with me? Hell no. There's nothing to say that the next time we try the ritual won't be worse. I'd really just rather not, if possible. Still, I'll take a look into it. We might not have much of a choice, when it comes down to it.

I mean, rituals are sort of like magical equations, right? Or cooking. You have a formula, you plug in materials and/or actions, and you get a result. If I can figure out if there are variables, then maybe we'll have an advantage.

Hmm. Are you implying you think I brought Jake here out of an underlying desire to have someone here with me? That's actually not a half-bad theory. If that's the variable, I might be able to edit that if I focus exclusively on one thing I want.

I think Lis' Crow Crew are all still in stasis, so they'd have a hard time getting suspicious. Though, since Jake is now free of the stasis, it might be good to double-check that they're still in stasis too. I don't know about her family and friends, though. Lis, maybe you should check that.

I haven't talked to my Crow Crew in a while either, but I suspect I won't find anything when I chat with them. They're in a lesser stasis too, after all. I'll still check, though. Oh, and you probably shouldn't worry about my non-Crow Crew friends and family. They all forgot I exist, so there's no reason for them to worry about me. I hope that clears up once I leave this place

Oh shit.

(The handwriting changes to Jake's.) I do not know what precisely happened, but given the number of curses (blacked out) Yuvon is shouting, and glancing at the previous paragraphs, I think we can safely assume that the "stasis" we have been relying on is not quite as effective as we had previously thought.

I should likely check if Lilly or any of the others has messaged me, as well. I will do that at the end of this letter, I think, so I do not risk leaving off halfway through as well.

Back to the top, then.

Your implied theory about the subconscious desire is intriguing. I am not sure how we would affect that "variable" (as Yuvon put it), however. I believe I will leave that part in her capable hands. She is the one who has taken a class in psychology, after all, not myself. While she is not an expert by any means, she knows quite a bit more than I.

Asking Yuvon to not feel guilty, however, could be easily compared to asking a stone pillar to bend. I am doing what I can. Hopefully, with time, I will get through to her.

You are writing this letter at one in the morning, and you need to be awake in three hours for your shift? I am beginning to see the extent of your problems. Do what you must to survive, but please try not to neglect your personal health as much as possible. You are one of the precious few people who has shown themself capable of talking sense into Yuvon, after all. Your input is invaluable.

I will check my messages now. In case I need to abruptly end the letter to deal with interpersonal drama, I will sign off now, and if I have time will add my results as a post-script.

Sincerely,

Jake & Yuvon

P.S.: Jessica, of all people, did indeed text me fairly recently. She demonstrated concern for Yuvon and requested to know if Yuvon was in danger. I told her that I did not believe Yuvon was in any more danger than was normal for her area, and Jessica accepted it.

Lilly also texted me, concerned about my recent absences and wondering if I was in danger myself. I assured her that I was not on the run nor in active danger, and then we had small talk. I was quite glad I'd had some practice with Yuvon, but I believe I may have still come off slightly awkwardly.

Yuvon seems to be busy, so I think I will wait to

(The handwriting changes to Yuvon's.) Rai you are a fucking life saver fucking hell this is a nightmare

So apparently when I talked to them all on Father's Day that somehow jiggled something. Either it lessened the stasis massively or it just flat-out ended it. Dan was the only one still in stasis for a while but then the group noticed him acting weird(er than he was at least) and snapped him out of it. Also apparently Dan is now out of the hospital? And he's getting some physical therapy because of some of the injuries he got. That's why he's been missing recently.

Anyhow they thought that was weird, but obviously no one drew any supernatural conclusions but Jessy, and Jessy sort of went completely the wrong direction. But they were all really, really worried. Like, thought the MWAF had kidnapped me worried.

I assured them all I was okay, but I'm not sure if they actually believe me, because Cleo wanted me to take a picture to show them I was alright and obviously I can't do that, because then they'll ask why I'm in a forest with a bunch of sheets of paper and envelopes on the ground. And what the hell do I tell them then?

So, yeah, they all think I'm kidnapped and there's a sixty percent chance they think Jake did it (99 on Dan's side.) I'm going to dedicate time to catching up with them and hopefully dissuading their concerns somewhat. That ritual project's going to have to wait.

Also, I think I need to try to find Jake some coffee. I think I wake up too early for him XD He's basically made himself into a blanket monster with the one blanket that doesn't feel like sandpaper to him (though he had to rip off the tag) and is yawning every two seconds. I'm going to try to convince him to go back to sleep for a while.

—Yu and Jake

(The letter tucks itself into the paper clip with the others.)

[tessiete]

Author Interview Game

Thank you for the tag @kckenobi - Really enjoying these!

Name: tessiete

Fandoms: Right now, we doing Star Wars. And Star Wars is the fandom I’ve been the most prolific in. In the past, though, I’ve written for Star Trek: AOS, X-Files (1 abandoned fic - don’t go there!), Teen Wolf, Kingsman, ER, The Good Wife, and The Haunting of Hill House.

Where you post: Everything is HERE on AO3, our shared home.

Most popular oneshot: A Better Grace

Okay, this surprised even me. Is The Good Wife a really popular fandom? Or am I a really unpopular writer? (It’s the latter). It’s also funny, because like so many of my fics, this is Crack on Malicious Compliance. A prompt - actually possibly @pebblysand? - made a joke about Will Gardner falling in love with himself. So I wrote him as Narcissus…

I thought it was funny XD

Most popular multichap: One Human Thought

This is a Saved From Slavery baby Obi-Wan AU. Like A Better Grace, this was ALSO Crack on Malicious Compliance. @lieutenantmittens wanted a story about Obi-Wan Kenobi as a bed slave of Qui-Gon Jinn, and like...this is what happened. Technically, that is the impression Obi-Wan’s previous captor was convinced Qui-Gon was taking him for. But Qui-Gon would never. And so instead, we have this Jedi Temple as Hogwarts, Obi-Wan “Not a Jedi” Kin’Obi, Father/Son Growing Together fic.

It got away from me...yeah.

Favorite story you’ve written: The Eternal Spring

My baby. My child. The only story for SW that I’ve ever written that I’ve taken seriously. It’s a Padme Lives AU which sees her travelling to Tatooine with a severely traumatised Obi-Wan Kenobi, and her twins. She and Obi-Wan are reeling, and unable to reconcile to the point that after they fight one night, he runs away in a misguided effort to kill the Emperor and end things, leaving her on her own. She gets her shit together, puts a bounty out on Obi-Wan to be brought in warm, hires Boil to fill it, who gets help from Rex and Bo-Katan, who assign him a guide/pilot in Korkie (MY BOY!), and together they drag Obi-Wan’s dramatic ass back to life.

It’s a reimagining of the myth of Psyche and Eros. It’s the first fic I wrote poetry for, the first fic I made con-langs for, and yeah...I just……….it’s probably the closest to how I imagine my Star Wars.

Fic you were nervous to post: A Summer Swift. It’s mine. It’s still under anonymous. But it was the first time I wrote smut (all, like, two paragraphs), and I just...rampant sex IRL is Not My Thing, and it’s not what I go looking for in fic, but I - AGAIN the malicious compliance - promised to write a “realistic coffee shop AU” and was determined to show how depressing this romanticised venue really is.

Definitely get the MOST outrage for that, but not for the reason I thought. Apparently, perpetual mediocrity and eternity in a menial service job depresses people. Who knew. The fact that it’s probably the closest reflection of my actual darkest fears maybe is what makes it...effective?

Of the fic publicly posted under my own name - Everything Grows. It’s an a/b/o QuiObi fic I did for a challenge with @lieutenantmittens because I wanted to see if I could do it. It was...a strange journey. We did a lot of research, asking people what tropes they liked, and reading as many SW a/b/o fics as possible, and by the end, honestly, we were more exhausted than Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon. 10/10 Learning experience. Don’t think I personally nailed it - I would not have gotten anywhere without @lieutenantmittens who did so much of the heavy lifting - and it didn’t really sell me on the trope, but I’m glad I proved I could do it, you know?

How you choose your titles: What’s the theme? → Google “quotes about fatherhood/light/royalty/inheritance/love/hope” → Insert TITLE of ⅔ of the words from that quote.

Ex. Everything Grows (rounder and weirder) = “Everything grows rounder and wider and weirder, and I sit here in the middle of it all and wonder who in the world you will turn out to be.” - Carrie Fisher

One Human Thought = “How DARE you and the rest of your barbarians set fire to my library? Play conqueror all you want, Mighty Caesar! Rape, murder, pillage thousands, even millions of human beings! But neither you nor any other barbarian has the right to destroy one human thought!” - Cleopatra (1963)

The Eternal Spring = “Hope springs eternal in the human breast.” - Alexander Pope

Also poetry. Like…...99% of what I write revolves around poetry. Which is ironic bc I don’t love poetry. I’m not educated in it. But…???

Do you outline? No, not really. I usually wait to come up with the opening line in my head, and then once I have that, I just go. HOWEVER, especially with One Human Thought - since it had no concept when I first conceived it - I’ve found it SO helpful, even necessary, to talk through basic ideas in DMs with my loves. It really speeds up my writing.

Complete: 20/22 of my fics are complete. (Fffff to my X-Files fic)

In progress: One Human Thought. Only, like….three more chapters, I think? Coming down to the wire. Does the structure worry me? Yes. Why is the darkest night of the soul SO close to the climax and resolution???? I don’t know.

Padme’s Chapbook - a zine I’m doing that’s a collection of poems Padme has curated and collected from amongst her friends, with three sort of meta-narratives as well.

Coming soon/not yet started: Silent and So Near. It’s my WWI/Clone Wars fusion fic where Qui-Gon lives, Anakin is not prematurely knighted, and Obi-Wan goes to the frontlines alone. It doesn’t go well. (But it ends...happily?). 

And then an Obitine Double Date fic, with Obi-Wan and Anakin obliviously flirting their way through a Senatorial gala while Satine and Padme run interference and drink.

Prompts: I love prompts but I don’t always do them. The prompts I love are the ones I can twist - the bed slave, obi-wan dressed as padme, falling in love with yourself, sad coffee shop, etc. 

Upcoming Work You’re Most Excited About: Silent and So Near. I love WWI and I’m excited to see if there’s a way of drawing thematic parallels between the idea of the death of a Belle Epoch, of the end of gentlemanly warfare, of war by attrition, of the Industrial Age and the mechanisation of war….all that. 

No pressure tags: @tree-scapes @pebblysand @lieutenantmittens @pomiar @acatbyanothername93 talk to me! ....if you want!

[thrushpot]

hidden in plain sight

“HEY BEAUTIFUL - if I could request prompts 9 and 26 from the list you reblogged - with our favorite trash boy billy of course ❤️” requested by anonymous.

#9: “You’re in love with her.”

#26: “It was you the whole time.”

warning(s): swearing, trashboy jacking off to stuff but it’s no biggie

a/n: set in the 90s, inspired by two of my all time favorite films Pump Up the Volume & Rules of Attraction. highly recommended. thank you so much anon, hope you enjoy:)

—

Everything was boring in the world of the freshly graduated, young adult. Billy lacked virtually any excitement in life, also lacking any drive to pursue it. Until something, someone, exciting came to him first for a change.

It started out with a letter in his mailbox. He’d wondered if distant family members were wishing him an extremely late happy birthday, making him less than eager to get around opening it. Later that night, after cooking himself some Top Ramen, flicking through the endless channels on television, he got curious. The mail sat on his kitchen counter, waiting to be ripped open and read. To get his mind at peace, he snatched it off the counter, dragging his nail down the envelope before taking out what was inside and tossed the envelope aside. Upon opening it, he scans the letter and finds no name (besides his own) and a paragraph of black writing. With a teetering feeling in his gut, he reads thoroughly to himself.

Hey.

I think I know what’s going through your mind right about now. What is this for, is this some joke one of the boys are playing... Let me just clear that nonsense right off the bat: it’s not. I’m writing to you because like all the other girls that eye you up at a bar or a club or maybe even a local store, I’m terrified of what you think of me. You’re so intimidating, Billy, and it doesn’t really make my job any easier here. You’ve got this... this way about you, I don’t know how I could ever begin to describe something so uniquely and ingeniously Billy... but I could try again in another letter if you’d like. Or I could just fuck off and you could crumble this up before throwing it away and move on to whomever else suits your druthers. Maybe go to a girl that can talk to you up front instead of communicating through a cheesy desperate letter in your mailbox. But it was important to me that you know that I care about you. And I’ll be damned if I let you go another day thinking nobody does.

By the time Billy finished reading, his cheeks hurt from smiling and his heart wouldn’t quit in his chest. Even his hands shook as they held the paper. Needless to say the letters didn’t stop, not that he wanted them to. Billy didn’t dare crumbling it up and throwing it away either like she suggested if he felt uncomfortable. Instead, he handled the note with care and pinned it to the wall in his room. The boy read it twelve more times before dreaming of what Mystery Girl has in store for him next.

It didn’t worry him too much about who it was hiding behind the curtain yet. The blushing, lovestruck boy had taken to simply basking in the thrill of living in a reality where some beautiful girl had taken time out of her day to write him a thoughtful message.

—

The letters became a crucial part to the boy’s routine and overall happiness. If he could make it to Friday after a hard week full of work, he would be rewarded by these special messages.

Mystery Girl never disappointed him, always the same red paper, same beautiful black writing and a kiss just for his lips at the bottom. Every week it had similarly themed scents, his favorite being when it was lathered in vanilla. Some messages made his cheeks burn and tears fall, whereas others made him claw at his jeans, desperate to drag them down his hips before rigorously fisting himself. The letter would be smothered on top of his face as he got to satisfying his aching needs, consuming him whole. He’d inhale her fresh vanilla perfume as his eyes practically rolled to the back of his head at her beautifully gifted, dirty minded secrets whispered to him through the ink on paper. Playboy mags will never have this much of a hypnotic affect on him, not by a long shot. These messages were personal.

He was starting to wish she’d cut the anonymity out already. The boy knew in the back of his brain this could lead to trouble or heartbreak. But he ignored all of that and sat back to fucking enjoy it.

It was month three receiving messages and as always had a pep in his step, even whistled with glee as he drove over the post office. He jingles the mail key between his finger and hums a happy tune, even holding the door open for an elderly woman behind him. Nothing tops the anticipation of turning the key to the lock and seeing the angelic envelope awaiting for his eyes to read and his hands to hold. Ten cups of coffee don’t even give him this feeling. No one has ever made him feel so special, so seen.

As he rips open the little silver door to his mailbox with expectancy, his mood drops in a split second from a high ten to a flat zero.

All that sat in his in his mailbox were bills and spam. Billy searches the compartment thoroughly, thinking there may have been a mix up or it could have fallen out. She couldn’t leave him high and dry like this.

On the brink of a meltdown because this wasn’t how his evening was supposed to go, he takes a deep breath to bury his insecurities. Maybe Mystery Girl was late. The disappointed blonde snatched the useless bills and the meaningless spam and slammed his box closed. He must be certain that this is all he’s got, that her precious letter didn’t get dropped in a sewer or left behind. He rues the day he ever lets that happen.

Approaching the woman behind the desk that types at her computer, Billy impatiently rings the atrocious bell to grab her attention.

“Yes, sir? How may I help you?”

Billy knocks his knuckles on the table anxiously before answering with his infamous charm.

“Hey, Miss—“

“Sue,” the woman nods to her nametag. Billy fakes a smile before going on.

“Sue, lovely name, ah... I’m supposed to get something that comes here every week and honestly, I’m pretty damn disappointed, ‘cause I didn’t see it in my box. You happen to know if this was the most recent delivery?” he asks, feigning politeness as he folds his hands together, wanting an explanation.

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid this is the latest delivery. Looks like whoever sent what you were expecting hasn’t dropped it by,” she replies before resuming whatever business being conducted on her computer. Billy furrows his brows in worry, but nevertheless flashes Sue a tight smile. After he turned around to exit, he stumbles as his chest bumps a woman’s, making him take a step back.

“Shit, sorry,” he breathes, placing his arms on the girl’s shoulders to steady her. She lets out an innocent laugh before catching her breath. She looks to be in the middle of her own tornado of a mishap similar to Billy, stuttering as she recovers from their collision.

“It’s fine really. My fault,” she blames, pointing to herself while mocking her clumsiness before fixing another strand of hair that fell down her eyes. Billy recognizes her from somewhere but it’s not certain where yet.

“Haven’t I seen you somewhere?” he thinks aloud, filter having vanished into thin air wondering what it is that’s so familiar. She licks her red lips and pulls the hem of her sweatshirt down, fidgeting under his stare.

“I work at the record store downtown. Seen lots of faces, but I’m just a regular boring old cashier,” she chuckles. Billy’s eyes cascade down and check her out unconsciously. That would explain her familiar face, knowing he always takes trips to her work buying tapes.

“Shit, I do know you then. Well if it’s any consolation, I’m just a regular boring old customer. You off right now?”

“On lunch break,” she holds up her half eaten peanut butter and jelly in a plastic baggie. “Wasted half of it trying to race here and check my mail but ran late, s’all.”

“Sucks ass when you don’t get to enjoy yourself on break. You’re headin’ back now, then?” Billy asks. Music could get his mind off the absence of Mystery Girl’s letter tonight.

“Yeah um, after I go check my box. Why do you ask?” she wonders, nothing snippy in her tone, just thoughtful.

“I was thinkin’ maybe I could follow you back there, snag a few more records for me and my baby sister,” Billy answers, pointing to his car parked outside. She follows his eyes out then looks back at him, her ears turning a shade of red like her lips before she nods.

“Uh, of course, sounds like a plan. I’ll meet you there, sound cool?”

“Sounds awesome.”

The nameless girl smiles, waiting for the the blonde to disappear into his vehicle before sneaking the envelope into his box with the name Billy Hargrove sprawled on the front.

Sue from behind the counter pauses the task she’d been vigorously tackling. She looks over at the girl slipping the usual piece of mail into the box that belonged to the boy from earlier.

“He looked upset that you were running late today. Seems to really look forward to what you send every week,” she says. Y/N doesn’t reply, instead giving a thanks to the woman from behind the counter. She hid her crimson smile in her sleeve and shook her head at the ground before leaving the post office with a call of see you next week, Sue over her shoulder.

—

Billy makes it to his destination, seeing the girl from the post office park her yellow Beetle and skips over to greet her with a wave. She weakly fumbles with the cluster of keys on her keychain, scoping for the right one. After finding the desired key, she switches the sign hanging on the door from sorry, we’re closed to come in, we’re open! and takes her jacket off. Billy wanders the store with delight, eyeing the hundreds of artists and posters that litter the place.

“Never caught your name,” he called out, almost forgetting he still called her nameless in his mind.

“Oh yeah, it’s Y/N,” she replies, sauntering over to the boy that busied himself flipping through the endless choices there is in stock.

“Y/N, huh? I like that, suits you. I’m B—“

“Billy, yeah. Kinda knew that already. You’ve been coming here awhile,” she interjected, folding her arms and looking over his shoulder at what he’s interested in. “Stone Temple Pilots, nice taste. Plenty more in the back,” she offers with a shrug. Billy’s eyes light up before asking what other stuff that’s tucked away in the back, then drops his jaw to the floor when he followed her into the small space behind the counter.

“How do you even get shit done working here and not just blast this stuff all day?” he asks, practically eyefucking the Mötley Crüe section. “Jesus Christ.” Y/N giggles at his childlike wonder and stands behind as he surveys each collection, flipping through the albums and even seeing some with signatures from his favorite artists.

“Who says I don’t just blast shit all day and get paid for it?”

The blonde nods with a laugh, pointing to her. “I like your style. Man, I would too. Drove my dad nuts in high school playing these on repeat in my room, but God was it fuckin’ worth it.” He knows with the variety that Max’ll go insane just looking at it too. Dusk is settling in when he checks the time, noticing it had been awhile since he left the post office. He realizes if he leaves now he’ll get to check his mail again just in case, right before picking up his sister in time from practice.

“I should probably get goin’ soon. Gotta pick my sister up and swing by the post office one more time, but I really dig this. Might just dump the rest of my savings into more from the back,” he chuckles, heading to the register so she could ring up his purchases. Y/N hesitates before speaking up.

“You’re going to the post office for the second time today?” she clarifies.

“Hm? Oh, just usually get somethin’ every Friday didn’t come yet but I’m gonna check again,” he answers vaguely while almost dropping the goodies in his arms while fumbling for his wallet. He slaps a fifty dollar bill on the counter and gives her a smile. “Was nice seeing you again, Y/N.”

“Oh... it was nice seeing you too. Enjoy whatever you get in the mail,” she calls out.

“Yeah, hopefully,” Billy mumbles to himself as the tapes almost take a fall before he quickly swoops it up with the other hand that isn’t busy.

“Need some help?” she covers her laughs under her hand at his clumsiness, watching the boy struggle with his arms full before she takes initiative to go and grab tapes and albums that were surely about to fall. For the split second she was close to him, he smelled the scent of vanilla perfume and wanted to pass out from how that flavor drives him insane since he got a letter sprayed with it.

“Thanks,” the blonde mutters, unlocking the driver’s side before she carefully drops the mountain of shit he bought in the back.

“No problem, Billy.”

With another wave to Y/N through the window, he watches from the wheel as she switched the sign to sorry, we’re closed and close down. Snapping out of the staring contest he had with her backside, Billy heads right back to his mailbox.

—

Racing back just before closing and turning the key to the square silver door, he thanked the heavens that he was gifted again with a surprise waiting for him. A kiss waiting for his lips at the very end, and the same gorgeously scented paper. Billy holds it to his chest like precious cargo that isn’t to be damaged before waving to Sue. He delicately rips the envelope before snatching what’s inside and carelessly throwing the envelope in the back without a second thought. Right before he unfolds the paper he reaches into the back to find a tape to listen to while reading. He cranks Nirvana up all the way and bites his lip before reading.

Did you miss me?

I missed you. The hours and days are long, I can’t help but think of you whenever I’m alone or in a mood. I don’t understand how someone can walk into your life and nearly everything before them you forget, because nothing’s as interesting nor as important anymore. Heard around that you’ve been naughty lately; taking whatever bashful, naive, giggling pretty girl that you can find from the bar home. Do you ever think of it being me beneath you while you fuck those girls? Or is it just when you’re by yourself? Can’t blame you there, but I don’t go sharing my bed with guys. None of them compare; you are the sun among ants. You’re what my heart never stops hammering about, what I toss and turn all night thinking about. And I can’t shake this feeling away. I’m endlessly, hellaciously, a hundred percent yours. Billy... you have me wrapped around your finger and you don’t even know how bad yet; but I’m not tired pretending.

Billy’s left blushing. Of course he thinks about her when he’s with other girls. Without any more sitting around, he gets down to it by whipping his belt off and getting to work through his boxers. It’ll have to be quick, but surely it’ll satisfy the urge that lingered all day, dying for this precious moment.

Sure, he’s in his car touching himself while reading a piece of paper like some nut job outside the post office in the dark, but he doesn’t give a fuck.

Not five minutes later, the red faced boy sped up the shallow harsh strokes and splatters all over his hand and partly on his jeans. It’s embarassing how fast he always cums thinking about her while smelling that same perfume. He wipes his mess with some miscellaneous napkin tucked away and sighs dreamily. The afterglow is an experience he never forgets to enjoy basking in, the endorphins flooding from his head to his toes, never ending grin glued to his expression. After heaven slows a bit, he takes time to neatly fold the letter up and put it in his jacket pocket before starting up the vehicle.

By the time he reached Max, she’d been waiting outside. As the redhead enters she grumbles under her breath then clicks in her seatbelt doing her signature pout.

“How was practice today, squirt?”

“Shitty. What took so long?” she complains, crossing her arms stubbornly, dodging her brother’s attempt at lighting up the mood as an apology.

“Look, I just got caught up in stuff. Your mom still making you sing choir, huh?”

“Yeah. She thinks I’m gonna be the next Madonna or something. I don’t even like singing.”

“Well speaking of that, take a look in the back.” Billy nods his head as his sister squints before realizing what he meant. She glanced to find a fat stack of records then gasps before undoing her seatbelt and climbing back to look closer.

“Hey, watch it, alright!” he protests, not wanting his firecracker of a sister without a seatbelt on.

“Holy shi—“

“I know. Who loves ya?”

“These ones just came out,” she marvels, flipping through the collection and tucks her hair behind her ears as she reads what songs are on the back.

“Gee, Billy. You’re the best big brother in the whole wide world. Thank you so much,” Billy mocks, imitating her with a nasily high-pitch girl voice. Max rolled her eyes and punched her brother’s shoulder before seeing a ripped open piece of mail on the floor. Somewhat nosey, she picks it up and sees her brother’s name in a girl’s handwriting.

“What’s this?” she asks before the car pulls over with the driver in a panic, frantically reaching behind to snatch it out of the grabby twerp’s hands.

“Don’t touch it! That’s none of your business,” he argues, wrestling with her before the envelope gets torn in half due to the siblings playing tug of war. “Look what you did!” he shouts, livid at the girl holding her hands up in surrender with wide blue eyes.

“I didn’t do anything! Who cares that much about some empty envelope that fell anyways,” she bites back.

“I do, alright? Don’t go snoopin’ around shit that doesn’t belong to you ever again,” Billy warns, sending a death glare through the rear view mirror at Maxine.

“First off, it’s empty. Second off, I was just wondering. Sorry,” she apologizes with attitude, their argument having killed the excitement for all the albums still sitting in her lap. The rest of the drive back home was nothing but soul-sucking silence, Billy quiet with guilt not meshing well with his temper, Max not saying a word from her brother’s explosion and idiocracy. When he pulls up to his old home he refuses to unlock the door to let her leave and sits back as she struggles to open the door.

“What the hell! Let me out,” she shoves him, the teenager not budging.

“Would’ya let me explain—��

“No!”

“Goddamit, Maxine! Look, sorry I freaked out or whatever, but these are special to me and private. I don’t want a thirteen-year-old stickin’ her nose in them, okay?”

“What kinda special private stuff?”

“It’s... it’s a girl that writes me. That answer satisfy you, brat?”

Max breaks her pout before shoving her brother’s shoulder more and grins with a daring laugh. “Dude, are you kidding? Who! You have to tell me.”

Billy throws his head back in agony, unwilling to go into these topics in detail with his little sister.

“I wouldn’t tell you even if I knew.”

“So you don’t know who she is?”

Billy remains quiet, acting nonchalant as he gives her a slight nod and avoiding her eyes conpletely. “So what you’re saying is this girl that writes you lovey dovey letters and stuff is like obsessed with you, and...” she lowers her voice like it’s a dirty word or secret. “You’re in love with her?”

“Shut up! It’s not that... that simple, okay? And it’s not obsessing. Don’t be a prick and put it that way. She just gets me s’all. I don’t know who it is but I’ll find her sooner or later. No fucking telling your little friends or Dad especially,” he orders in the deepest authoritative voice he can pull off, letting her imagine the consequences if she disobeys him.

“Okay fine, I won’t tell. I haven’t told him about Lucas either,” she salutes him before asking if she can get out. Billy pauses, snapping his head in her direction and stopping her from moving another muscle.

“What the fuck did you say?”

“Nothing! Your belt’s been undone this entire conversation by the way,” she pulls a face before reaching over to unlock the door and hop out. Billy looks down at his crotch and finds that she wasn’t fucking with him for a distraction, his stupid pants really were undone. He moans incoherent complaints under his breath while lifting his hips to fix his pants. By the time he looks fucking decent again, he jumps when there’s a sharp knock on the window. When he catches his breath from the horror movie he thought he’d just starred in, he rolls the window down to find his devious little sister laughing at his reaction.

“What now, twat?”

“You should’ve seen the look on your face,” Max giggles, pointing a finger at him before getting slapped away by her angry older brother. “I was gonna say something about your secret admirer deal.”

“Max, get inside before you-know-who whoops my ass for—“

“Shut up, you’re in the clear. But the girl that’s writing you, you probably already know her, y’know? Hiding in plain sight. Girls are way better at acting, believe me,” she concluded, shrugging before offering her brother a first bump. Billy, disinclined, still puts on a happy face for her and does the stupid handshake. She waves goodbye until next time he has to pick her up from the misery that is singing lessons and makes sure she’s inside before taking off. Max’s words stuck with him, even as he mindlessly scrolls through all the boring plots and channels on television and falls asleep with the remote still in his hand like a mope. She had to be onto something about his Mystery Girl, though. Billy never thought to consider her as being rather shy. In fact, anything she wrote to him was anything but clean or polite.

”You probably already know her, y’know? Hiding in plain sight.”

As he sips on some cheap beer half awake, he thinks just maybe he could take a whack at solving the mystery on his own.

—

The coincidences lined up perfectly every week for the next four letters he’d received. There Y/N would be, hustling out from the post office to her yellow Beetle before Billy could say hi. There was no mistaking the perfume he spent night after night adoring whenever she passed by. Or the lipstick, the same hue that was smooched at the end of every paper. It blew Billy’s mind that for once he could be fucking onto something.

After more visits to the record store and details about her schedule, she had to be it. Billy was bound to eat his heart out trying to approach her, but fuck if he wasn’t gonna try. It took dedication waiting outside his mailbox for two hours. When he was a hair away from getting too hungry and grumpy to wait any longer, here she comes. As if Y/N had seen a fucking ghost, her face scrunches in horror as she swiftly heads back to her car. She stumbles with her car keys like the time he visited her store and drops them by her feet. Billy can hear her desperate curses from a hundred feet away.

“Y/N, wait up!” the blonde jogs over with open arms, wanting her to know that it was okay and he wished he found out sooner. He needs her to fucking sit still and listen.

“I really need to go back to work okay? ‘M sorry Billy,” she tries laughing but it just sounds forced, so riddled with anxiety that it makes him wanna hold her to calm her down.

“I’ll follow you there, that okay?” he asks, touching her shoulders to soothe her like when they first bumped into eachother.

“Uh, I —“

“Hey, stop worrying. Deep breaths, okay? I just wanna talk a little,” he assures the poor trembling girl. He waits for a moment before she nods her head. “We don’t have to now. I can come by later, whenever you want,” Billy offers, not wanting to agitate Y/N further by making her fess up, that isn’t how this was supposed to go at all. She was gone in a flash, speeding down the highway from where Billy was left. He was all alone in the deserted parking lot of the post office, the same place he’d normally feel giddy upon arriving and even happier when leaving. This time though, he was empty handed and lost.

—

“Y/N, please just hear me out!” Billy begs, this close to getting on his knees to plead with her further as he pounds on the glass of the record store. His palms are sweaty, his heart is aching, and he just wants you to fucking acknowledge him. Y/N remains indifferent, not turning her back to even look his way as a set of heavy headphones lay over her ears, blocking out the sounds of his cries.

“Just let me in! I’m not mad, I swear!” he lets out an a frustrated sob, kicking the door in anger. Y/N turns her head his way at the commotion he’s stirring up. She points wordlessly to the sorry, we’re closed sign that hung on the door and asks him kindly to settle down. She changed her attitude since ditching him in the parking lot, now her mind set on pretending she doesn’t know him or care for anything he has to say. She’s in denial. “I don’t give a shit about this fuckin’ place being closed, I want you!” he shouts, knocking rambunctiously giving the girl no choice but to speak to him.

“Keep your voice down!” she threatens harshly from the other side. Billy’s gone mad trying to make her listen, so he sticks to plan B.

“You know what? Fine. I’ll piss off, ‘cause that’s what you’re tellin’ me you want. Okay?” he surrenders, taking out his own piece of paper and flattening it to make sure it’s thin enough to go through. Y/N watches curiously as he bends down to slide a piece of paper underneath the doorway and then storms off. The disoriented boy isn’t far still, now by his Camaro a few feet away from entrance lighting a cigarette. She hesitantly picks it up off the floor and wipes leftover dirt that gathered on it and eyes him outside before reading.

Look, I’m not as pretty or poetic as you are, okay? But I can’t bare you ignoring me and leaving me. You made me look forward to every fucking Friday. Made me hate the broads I took home from strange places. My head was in the clouds just knowing that there was a real cool chick somewhere out there thinkin’ of me. You’re prettier than I ever coulda thought, I’m one lucky son of a bitch. I don’t know what I did that drew you to me, whatever it was I’m happy I did it. If I could go back... I’d do lots of stuff different. But I can’t, so I just have this half assed thing I’m trying to write but everything’s tearing down on me. But my eyes are open now, I got it figured out. Well, some of it... I guess I still don’t understand how someone can walk into your life and nearly everything before them you forget.

Billy knocked on the glass once again when she finished, far less embittered and wider puppy dog eyes pleading to let him in. Y/N shakes her head with a watery smile before unlocking the front door allowing the boy’s entrance. Without a second wasted not surrounding himself with her, he reaches to cautiously cup her chin and her jaw in his warm hands.

“It was you the whole time,” he muttered.

“Caught me,” she smiles, biting her red lips clutching the note Billy wrote while gently grasps his back.

“Sick of pretending now, huh? Knew that cherry smile anywhere,” the boy whispers, placing his thumb on the pillow of her lips before surging to replace it with his lips. He doesn’t hold any emotion back, deepening his kiss until all he feels is meshing of her tongue going wild with his, lipstick smothered all over their faces. “God, you smell so good.”

“Familiar, isn’t it,” she laughs at feeling his nose tickle her as he inhales more vanilla.

“Fuckin’ waiting for this, waiting for you so long. Now that I have you though, you’re all mine,” he possessively marvels, trailing kisses further south, not caring about the mess of the crimson lipstick passed down to your skin. “Kept ‘em all. All your letters are hung up on my wall or I take them with me everywhere I go, Y/N.”

“Wanna make out in your backseat to The Smashing Pumpkins?” she offers, grinning up at the kisses up fool that lazily smiles back at her in return before going in to nip more at her neck.

“Absolutely.”

Billy now knows why he didn’t care for chasing any excitement after graduating. Maybe he needed someone to seek him for a change, even if it were just through a love note sent every Friday on the same red paper, with the same black handwriting.

—

I was obsessed with the letters being just right, so this took me awhile. I couldn’t see him being literary/wordy about his feelings, so I had the reader write him instead:) starting on movie fics soon. thank you for everything

[omgrachwrites]

Schooled (Bucky Barnes)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/OC

Summary: After the passing of Ava’s father she starts acting out which drives her right into the arms of one gorgeous Professor Barnes.

Warnings: fluff, lil bit of angst, mentions of dr*gs

Words: 2260

A/N: Can you guys believe I’ve posted twice in one week?! I don’t think I’ve ever typed the word ‘Shakespeare’ so many times and on Shakespeare day as well, its pretty fitting! I hope you guys all enjoy this, please let me know what you think and if you would like to be tagged just shoot me an ask! I love you guys very much! xxx

Part Four - Halloween

Bucky sighed to himself as again he marked another unsatisfactory essay, he couldn’t believe those essays were written by the students in his class. The first few were okay but barely, the next couple had just been plain rubbish and the essay that he had marked before this one was downright plagiarised. He looked up at his students who were working on their projects with the exception of Ava and Loki; they were passing notes to one another. Bucky thought that he should say something but he didn’t want to single out Ava. Again. He remembered how embarrassing that was from his own college days.

He raked a hand through his fluffy hair as he looked back down at the pile of essays that he should have marked weeks ago. Now was the perfect time to get the marking done before the work load piled up. Turning over the top essay he saw that it was another one on Shakespeare. He was pissed off with himself, why the hell did he put Shakespeare on the syllabus? The last essay he had marked on Shakespeare there was an author’s note at the bottom of the page, explaining why they thought that Shakespeare was a ‘cool guy’.

Bucky was sure that being a ‘cool guy’ wasn’t very high on Shakespeare’s list of what he wanted to leave behind. Massaging his temples, Bucky looked at the name that was at the top of the essay and saw that Loki had written it. Loki had transferred from Cambridge with a glowing recommendation and now it was Bucky’s chance to see if he lived up to his expectations.

From the first paragraph of the essay Bucky was hooked, it was probably one of the most engaging essays that he’d read about Shakespeare. It was plainly obvious that Loki was passionate about Shakespeare and that was what Bucky wanted in a student, somebody with a bit of passion. By the time that Bucky had reached the end of the essay it was obvious that this was the highest mark on a paper so far. It was so good that Bucky would have even allowed an author’s note about how cool Shakespeare was and it would have even made him laugh.

“Mr Odinson,” Bucky started and Loki looked up with wide eyes, Ava also looked up at him, “I really enjoyed your essay about Shakespeare, it’s the best one I’ve read in a while.”

Loki looked slightly confused and hesitant but he smiled all the same, “well, thank you very much sir,” Ava nudged Loki’s arm and gave him the most dazzling smile that Bucky had to look away.

“Right guys and gals, get going and please enjoy your weekend. Next time we’ll be picking up Shakespeare, Hamlet to be exact,” his announcement was met by an influx of groans but Loki looked excited, “oh, don’t sound so glum, according to Mr Owens, William Shakespeare was a cool guy,” he grinned and there came a whoop of agreement.

“Yes! Right on sir!” Bucky laughed and dismissed the class; Ava shot him a faint smile on her way out.

As Ava walked out, Steve was walking in and did a double take when he saw Ava, “wait, what the fuck?” Steve mouthed and he backtracked himself into the hallway.

Groaning, Bucky stood up and followed his friend out of the lecture hall, “Steve come on! Don’t,” Bucky pleaded but it was too late.

“Ava?” Steve called out, way to keep a low profile Bucky thought, Ava turned around at the mention of her name.

“Steve? Is that you?” she laughed and narrowed her eyes, “I’d ask what you’re doing here but obviously by the look of those shorts you’re the gym coach,” she gestured at his outfit, causing Steve’s ears to go red, “is Sam here too? Maybe we could have ourselves a lovely little reunion,” she rolled her eyes at Bucky.

“I thought that you had graduated university,” Steve said slowly, pointing out the obvious and he looked from Ava to Bucky and Bucky shrugged nonchalantly.

“Yeah Steve, so did I, I mean that is what you told us right Ava? Or at least that’s what you implied,” Bucky knew that he was acting like a child but it was hard for him not to feel offended. Especially when she looked so beautiful in ripped blue jeans and an oversized green sweater.

“Oh my god Bucky, all I did was lie to you! I didn’t realise that it was a crime, maybe your pretty face kept you safe from women lying to you but we’ve all got to start somewhere,” she walked up to him, “so please, stop treating me like a fucking war criminal, alright?” she snarled, jabbing him in the chest.

This girl certainly was a far cry from the woman that he’d met in Greece, “it was good to see you though Steve, really it was,” she looked around the corridor to make sure no one was coming before she stood up on her tiptoes and kissed Steve’s cheek. She shot an angry look at Bucky as she walked off down the hallway.

Steve looked amused and was about to say something but Bucky shot him a venomous look that made him shut up. Bucky sighed and the two best friends walked off down the hallway together and into the car park.

“So,” Steve started, deigning it safe to speak as they squeezed themselves into Steve’s tiny vintage car, “tough break huh, where do you want to go for lunch?”

Bucky was starting to get a migraine from all the marking he had done and the frustrating encounter that he’d had with Ava in the hallway, “yes Steve, it is a tough break, I must have been especially wicked in a past life to deserve this, and honestly, I don’t mind. As long as they sell Irish coffee, I need some sort of alcohol,” he sighed, rubbing his temples.

Steve nodded as he started the car and when he spoke, his voice sounded a little weird and high pitched, “I know the perfect place, I’ll call Sam on the way and see if he’s free to meet us.”

About ten minutes later Steve was pulling up outside a little café, it was absolutely packed inside so Steve and Bucky sat outside – it was a pretty nice day – to wait for Sam. When Sam turned up there were a group of girls that giggled and swooned at Sam as he walked to Steve and Bucky’s table, he was still in his firefighter uniform. Bucky rolled his eyes and grinned as Sam sat down opposite him, he couldn’t see why Sam just couldn’t get changed into regular clothes before he came out on his lunch break.

“Sam, you could have at least gotten changed, you’re making the rest of us look bad,” Bucky chuckled and Sam shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sorry Buck, I just can’t help it if the ladies love me,” Sam winked, “how are you and that incredibly hot TA?”

Bucky shrugged, shaking his head as he nervously began to rip up the napkin that was in front of him, “that incredibly hot TA and I can be nothing but good bed mates,” Sam was saved from replying because at that moment the waiter came to their table to take their order.

“Just three coffees please man,” Sam said to the kid who nodded and scrawled it down in his notebook.

“Make one Irish,” Bucky smiled and turned to look at Steve who looked crestfallen which was pretty out of character, he was staring at his shoes. Bucky was about to ask him what the matter was but a lightbulb went on in his head and he smirked, “oh my god. It’s here isn’t it? She works here,” at Bucky’s words Steve’s head whipped up and a dark flush spread out across his cheeks which confirmed Bucky’s suspicions.

“Who works here?” Sam frowned, on the wrong page from everybody else and Steve gave Bucky a threatening look which Bucky promptly ignored.

“The girl he’s got a crush on, I hear she’s an English beauty,” Bucky chuckled and clapped Steve on the shoulder, “I just can’t understand why you won’t ask her out.”

Steve looked at his best friend like he’d just suggested the most outrageous plan, “what the hell are you talking about Buck? I can’t just ask her out, a woman as beautiful as her must have a boyfriend. She could do a lot better than me anyhow,” Steve shrugged, he’d been nervous around girls ever since high school.

“Seriously man, our local bar is throwing an early Halloween party tonight. How about you invite her to that?” Sam suggested reasonably and Steve rolled his eyes shaking his head.

“It’s three weeks till Halloween; it’s completely ridiculous celebrating it this early!”

“Yeah, that wasn’t really my point,” Sam sighed, “but never mind,” Steve fell silent almost instantly when their coffees were brought out.

They were brought out by a pretty woman with short dark hair and by the look on Steve’s face this was the woman that he’d been lusting after. Steve was hopeless when he was around women that he liked, that was made plainly obvious as Steve wouldn’t say a word to the waitress when she came outside to collect cups and plates. She even smiled at him once which caused Steve to completely lose his head and spill coffee all down himself. When Steve went to the restroom Buck wrote Steve’s name and number down on the bill.

“He’ll thank me one day,” Bucky said to a smirking Sam.

——————————–

Ava walked out of her room, her heels clacking on the hardwood floor and she stood in front of Loki, turning on the spot, “what do you think about my sort of costume?” she giggled, she was going to an early Halloween party with Wanda and MJ tonight. She had decided to go as a princess but she made her outfit casual so it could be seen as normal party attire.

Loki leaned back on the couch, raising an eyebrow appreciatively as he looked her up and down, “you look fantastic.”

Ava giggled and flushed slightly at the compliment, “are you sure that you won’t come? It won’t be the same without you.”

“I might come later on but if I don’t, have a wonderful night love and stay safe,” he smiled and Ava nodded, blowing him a kiss before she headed out of the door.

Ava met MJ and Wanda at the bar and Wanda held up a sandwich bag with cookies in the shape of ghosts inside, “they’ve got pot in them,” she giggled, during the first three weeks of their final year Wanda had taken up a new hobby, “senior year of college is fantastic!”

“Maybe later Wand,” Ava giggled, shaking her head, “do you girls want some cocktails then?”

Soon enough the three girls – after one too many cocktails – were dancing in the middle of the room, drinks in hand. They’d also had a little nibble of Wanda’s homemade pot cookies but they weren’t really giving any effects at the moment.

“I still can’t believe that Bucky is your goddamn professor!” MJ shouted down Ava’s ear as she sucked her iced cocktail off the stirrer. Ava giggled, playing with the ends of her hair, not getting a chance to reply as Wanda spoke up.

“Are you going to start sleeping with him again though?” she asked and Ava shook her head, too much had happened between them.

“No, I’ll get us some more cocktails shall I?” she didn’t wait for an answer before she walked over to the bar, desperately wanting to get away from the conversation. While she was at the bar she felt a hand on the small of her back, she turned to see that it was Loki. He looked so handsome. He’d sprayed his curly blonde hair black and he was dressed in Victorian attire.

“Loki! You came!” she giggled and gave him a hug; he chuckled as he kissed the top of her head.

“Are you drunk?” he asked.

“Loki,” she gasped playfully, “however did you guess?”

“Well Miss Stark, your cheeks are perfectly rosy from the liquor and you look undeniably beautiful,” Ava giggled at his words and gave the gorgeous boy another hug. Over his shoulder she saw Steve – with a beautiful woman – Sam and Bucky. Bucky had some beautiful blonde perched on his knee. Despite herself, Ava couldn’t look away.

Loki pulled away from the hug and followed Ava’s line of sight, “ah, do you fancy Professor Barnes?“ he smirked.

“Something like that,” Ava thought there was no point in lying about it; she was still attracted to Bucky.

“And, he’s looking this way, how about we give him a show?” he winked and Ava nodded, wondering what he could mean.

In a flash Loki had her in his arms, leaning her back slightly, “I hope this doesn’t make things awkward between us,” he murmured before kissing her. She was pleasantly surprised but only for a second before she kissed him back, running her fingers through his thick curls. Loki grunted into the kiss as Ava pushed up against him before pulling away and the pair turned to look at Bucky.

The woman was now sitting beside him instead of on his knee and he was looking at Ava and Loki with a mingled look of amusement and perhaps something else, Ava couldn’t be entirely sure.

——————————–

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