#I’ve been in a spiral for a long time now and finally crashed out bc of everything piled up but it was inevitable

[sommersong]

I’m only posting this here because I have very few followers and most are my close friends, otherwise this would be too personal (and I’m still omitting most details), but after check-in and consult, it’s been determined I’m entering a php program for my mental health and the resulting dangerous physical health implications of the last couple months. tough and scary decision, and I’m struggling with a level of shame about it I don’t fully understand, but I need to get a handle on my head before I fuck more of my life up. that being said, while I won’t be full-time inpatient like I expected, I’m likely to be around less even when I'm not actively receiving care. even if the emotions need a writing outlet and my output goes up (possible not probable), I’m not likely to talk as much ooc especially bc I need to make brain room for the social aspects of the program/s to fully engage. also feel the need to shoutout to vic @cordoliae who has provided me unimaginable support these last few weeks when she absolutely did not have to, when I truly needed it the most, when I felt like I was going insane and didn’t understand my own brain, when I felt like a monster in human skin. she reminded me I am a person with good intentions and made me feel fully understood and loved when I felt filthy and undeserving and like I was speaking a language nobody else could decipher. six years after finding you on this hellsite and I could not ask for a more beautiful steadfast friend, and it seemed only right to tell my very limited dash (most of whom probably already know this) how much I adore and appreciate you.

[withacapitalp]

Hehehe sappy New Years post today bc yesterday did not go the way I expected. It’s still the new year day!!!

But God I do not know how to explain 2022. 

My favorite word is dichotomy. For a lot of reasons, but also because I feel like it describes my life a lot. Because 2022 was the best and worst year of my life so far. I got to teach the most amazing group of children I have ever met, and did well enough that they’re personally asking me to come back and teach there, I wrote my thesis, worked three jobs, managed to graduate on time with a double major no one had ever attempted at my college, all the while interning and volunteering on the side and going to conferences to speak about my research. 

And the entire time- as I genuinely, honestly, loved every minute- I was spiraling inside. 

It was so bizarre to me, all of the bad stuff was over, everything should have been good. Only the most amazing things were coming my way, things most people dream about getting in their lives, and I was so upset I couldn’t breathe some days. In my criminally logical brain I couldn’t understand why I was fine through everything bad, but now that things were good I really wasn’t okay. 

That’s the thing. When you’ve lived in survival mode for fifteen of the twenty one years of your life, you don’t realize the crash that comes from finally escaping the thing that was trying to kill you. I’d spent so long just getting by, that I had no idea how to live now that I had the chance. I was trying, and doing pretty well, but it just felt so…broken for lack of a better term. 

But I kept with it. I loved when I could, and I healed whatever was possible to heal.

Which brings me to August, which brings me to Stranger Things, which brings me to one of the most amazing groups of people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. Friends, Confidants, Creators, Inventors…Everything. Not only did I get a reinvigorated love for my writing, but I also got just the most lovely people in the whole world. At the risk of being too sappy, something that is more valuable to me than even my writing. People who slid into my life like they had always meant to be there, who understood me in ways I never expected to be understood. 

I don’t know how to explain the absolute insanity for me of jumping into a server, having them all be on talking so fast my head was spinning, mildly considering just running for the hills bc how was I going to fit into a group that was already working so well together??, then saying fuck it and just giving them me exactly as I was, only to find they actually really liked that person, and I found that I did too. 

Love is a weird concept for a lot of people, they think it has to be something deep and sacred. I just think it’s a gut instinct kind of pull, if it's deep, it's deep, if it isn't, it's still valid and true, and I haven’t met a person in this fandom who hasn’t had that same kind of pull for me. 

From the people I’ve talked to once, to the ones I talk to every day, to the ones I don’t talk to at all who just hang out in my notes and sometimes leave tags on their reblogs (Yes I see you! I know you all by name and I get excited when I see its you in my notifications). From the people who comment on all my stories, to the ones who I see every day on my daily drabbles….I dunno it’s just really interesting to feel valued and not immediately want to shy away from that. 

My New Years resolution as always is to be more in connection with people so! If you’ve ever had the urge to talk to me pls don’t hesitate to reach out. I generally dont bite, and I tend to be an okay person haha! 

Anyway my sappy post has gotten as sappy and indulgent as I should let it be. Suffice to say that messed up kid I was in January, the one who had no clue what was coming and was afraid to hope for better, well he was finally able to let down his guard a little, and look what the universe had planned! I hate to say it, because it feels like a jinx, but I think ’23 is gonna be our year :D I'm knocking on wood aggressively as I type this, so hopefully that's enough

Tagging my mutuals/people who always make me so happy to see bc hey we all are and if y’all are being mushy I will also get to be mushy. I am sorry if I didn’t tag you it is not a ‘I don’t care’ and more a ‘I got five hours of sleep after being at the hospital for literally the entire night’ Love you guys!!!! 

 @stevethehairington @henderdads @thefreakandthehair @strawberryspence @gothbat99 @steddieassheg0es @riality-check @hexmionegranger @reindeerrobin @rougenancy @eddieunbanished @bonitabreezy @horsegirleddiemunson @maxinemaxmayfield @ruthofrhythm @willowworkswithwords @h0n3y-dw @marshmellowpaint @silverysnake @lizisodd @thelastwalkingsoul @aringofsalt @babyboyargyle @flowercrowngods @manda-panda-monium 

[artificialqueens]

These People in This Room (Don't Shine Like You) (Diamond Chaney) - Ortega

summary: Lawrence has just been crowned the winner of RuPaul’s Drag Race UK, and Ellie is right beside her. Just like she’s always been.

a/n: omg HIIIIII! here’s my entry to the fic challenge (will it be my only one? who can say). in a shocking turn of events this is not a drabble asdfghjk but would we have expected anything concise from me? this fic was inspired by Shine and Starstruck, both by Years and Years. they are very diamond chaney songs so pls do give them a little listen for full effect! standard procedure, she/her pronouns bc they’re in drag, u know the drill. this has taken me entirely too long to write but pls enjoy some diamond chaney from the night of the crowning! (pls also collectively pretend they had an actual dancefloor to celebrate on and not just a hotel room bc i had already started writing at the point Ellie posted her BTS. fic is just one big serving of pretend anyway xo)

***

It’s somewhere around midnight, the sun has set on Thursday and Friday has crept in, and Lawrence is sitting in a booth with the dancefloor flashing bright colours in front of her, only just daring to believe that this is her actual life.

There is not a single moment that seems real. Even being one of the top four took her essentially since filming stopped to come to terms with. But hearing her name being read out, hearing the other girls cheer for her and being able to do nothing but stare at the screen in disbelief with her hands over her mouth and sob like a baby…that’s not sunk in yet. Maybe it never will. She’s still feeling the after-effects from the way the shock and euphoria had kicked seven shades of shit out of her pulse, the way the serotonin had crashed over her like a wave and the absolute unbridled lack of control she’d had over any of her emotions.

When the cameras had been cut off and they’d been given the all-clear from the producers that they could hug each other, Lawrence had only managed to stand up from the chair, still in floods of tears as Bimini bundled their arms around her, Tayce had jostled them all with the way she’d jumped up and down and yelled in delight, and Ellie had looped her arms around her neck and murmured into her shoulder, words Lawrence couldn’t hear but felt the love from regardless.

It had to be Ellie, really, that crowned her. It was a full-circle moment. She still remembers the night they met for the first time; Dundee in 2016, some time in the early hours of the morning (she’d probably called it ‘bastard o’clock’ or something similar), coming out of the bar and being stopped by a boy in half-drag similar ages with her who spoke rapidly and excitedly and told her that he’d messaged her about starting drag and she’d replied to him. The way realisation had dawned on her and the way she’d been her usual loud and boisterous self to cover up the fact she’d actually been quite bashful about the fact they were meeting for the first time.

There was no alternative, not least because of everything they’ve been through together; the years leading up to this moment and the rollercoaster it’s all been. She’s glad that they’re on a high because they’ve seen each other at their lows (been the cause of each others’ too, sometimes) and pulled through only slightly scathed, but always stronger. The producer had asked Lawrence who she’d wanted and when she, still speechless, had pointed in Ellie’s direction, seeing the tears start to stream down her face had only made Lawrence’s start all over again. They’d hugged- just the two of them this time- and the way Ellie had immediately felt like a safe place in the crazy chaos of reality reminded Lawrence so much of when they had filmed. The way even just hearing Ellie’s voice would stop her feeling homesick, the way she was a living comfort blanket.

She’d never tell that to Ellie, of course, because she’d never hear the end of it if she did.

It’s been a couple of hours and Lawrence is expecting everything to suddenly sink in any minute now. Something will click like the last piece of a puzzle and she’ll finally accept that she’s won, that the whole thing isn’t a giant and premature April fools’ prank. She turns her phone over in her hand, wondering what all this nervous energy is doing to her body chemistry. She’s got messages from her family, her friends, Kiko, the girls she works with back home. Well…some of them. But apart from reading them and frantically replying, Lawrence hasn’t checked anything else; hasn’t opened Twitter or Instagram, where the notifications are piling up like pizza leaflets through a letterbox and are equally as unwanted. If she thinks about them she can feel her stomach twist, wrung out like a wet towel.

Forty thousand likes. The Team Bimini tweet had forty thousand likes. What did her own get? Eight thousand? Lawrence thinks about the sheer scale of forty thousand people, compares it to the population of towns in Scotland. Almost Airdrie. Just under Coatbridge. She imagines a whole town of people, angry and furious and disappointed, and all of them tweeting her to let her know exactly that. She remembers in high school when she thought the whole of Hermitage was against her. She wants to tell baby Lawrence that that was fucking small fry. A thousand kids? Try the sheer scale of Bimini’s fanbase. Her breath is shaky when she tries to breathe in, like her lungs have reduced in size. It reminds her of that time in school camp when they all had to jump from a pier for some unknown-fucking-reason, how freezing the water had been and how her chest felt tight as she gasped for air. Lawrence supposes it was character building in the sense that it prepared her exactly for how anxiety would make her feel later in life.

In for four. Hold for five. Out for six.

“There she is!”

An ever so slightly slurred and wobbly voice breaks Lawrence’s reverie, and when she looks up she sees Ellie approaching her, a little unsteady even in the flats she’s changed into with a glass of prosecco in each hand. It says a lot that even at the top of a helter-skelter of an anxiety spiral, Lawrence’s heart still gives a little swell when she sees her friend. Ellie has always been able to make her feel better. She feels an almost silly sense of relief that she’s here.

Lawrence takes one last little breath in before plastering a small smile to her face. “Awrite? Where’s Mumma Diamond?”

“In her room conked out. Just got back from putting her to bed, she couldn’t hack it. Letting down the family name, that one,” Ellie huffs, sliding into the booth and squashing up right beside Lawrence, even though there’s enough space for two metres distance even if they had still been under strict instructions from the BBC.

“Tayce?” Lawrence asks, gratefully accepting the prosecco glass and hurriedly downing a too-big gulp in an attempt to calm herself down.

“Facetiming A’whora. Of course.”

“Of course. Maybe a bottle and a half of prosecco is gonny be the love potion she never knew she needed.”

“Fuck, we can only hope,” Ellie grins, already laughing through her words. “If we’re gonna be touring with them I don’t wanna have to karate chop through five layers of sexual tension every time I have to walk past them.”

Lawrence chuckles, tired but humoured and unable to not make the so-obvious joke. “You couldny fight sleep.”

“Shut the fuck up, I’ll fight you in a minute!” Ellie nudges her with her shoulder and spills both of their prosecco from the glasses in their hands. The gesture is affectionate and out of place with the impending threat. “Where’s Bims? Thought they were with you.”

Lawrence shrugs. “Went out for a smoke with one of the runners about twenty minutes ago and never returned.”

“Good for them. Always thought there’s something inherently sexy about a winch in a back alley.”

“Well, you would know.”

“Eh, so would you!” Ellie cries, nothing short of incredulously offended. Her expression makes her look even more like a cartoon character than usual, and it’s entirely too endearing.

“Yeah, forgot that popular phrase. It takes two to winch in a back alley,” Lawrence jokes, but her heart isn’t in it. It’s too heavy and her ribcage feels like someone laced her into a corset and pulled it too tight. She’s hoping Ellie is too drunk to notice.

Ellie sips her prosecco with her eyes on her, then scrutinises her as she swallows it. She frowns, her nose wrinkling up as she prods Lawrence with an acrylic-nail finger. “What’s up?”

Fuck.

“The sky,” Lawrence says without conviction, and the raised eyebrow Ellie gives her in return is enough to unlock her. She deflates like a balloon and brings her phone up so Ellie can see it, turning it over in her hands. “Just…as happy as I am, and as much as this is all a dream come true…I keep psyching myself up to open any social media, and I can’t, because this one fucking brain cell of anxiety keeps telling me that everyone out there hates me and hates the fact I’ve won.”

Ellie’s face falls into a frown. She gently pries the phone out of her hands and places it on the table, takes one of Lawrence’s free hands in hers and rubs her thumb over her knuckles. “But all your other brain cells know that’s wrong.”

Lawrence sighs. “So why’s that one louder than all the rest?”

Ellie presses her lips together in a badly-suppressed smile. She’s giggling as she speaks. “Because you’ve only got two brain cells.”

Lawrence splutters a laugh, shoving Ellie with her free hand. The other is still laced together with hers. As the laughter dies down and the momentary serotonin wears off, Lawrence can feel her brow furrowing involuntarily. “Forty thousand people wanted Bimini to win, Ellie. Forty thousand. You know that’s like a whole town? That’s like the population of Coatbridge?”

“ Fuck Coatbridge!” Ellie exclaims, affronted, and her shock and insistence makes Lawrence snort all over again. “Okay, forty thousand people is a town but really, what’s that to the rest of the world? Think how tiny that is in the grand scheme of things, Lawrence! Honestly, give a fuck about what any bastard who wants to send you anything vile thinks of you! You’re so amazing! You won! Fuck everyone else!”

Lawrence wants to feel cheered up. The prosecco Ellie’s drunk is making her all the more animated and lively, giving her words a determination and a passion that her speech so rarely possesses most of the time. Ellie is calm, and she doesn’t get wound up easily. There’s something about the fact she’s growing this animated over getting Lawrence to believe in herself that warms her heart a little.

Then again…

“It’s not just that, though. There’s girls from home that haven’t even said well done. Girls I’ve always supported and couldn’t do enough for, and it’s like…really? You can’t be happy for me when I’ve actually managed to do the one thing I’ve wanted to do for years?”

“Well maybe they have said well done, and you’ve just not seen it because you’ve been hiding,” Ellie gestures matter-of-factly at her phone. It doesn’t convince her.

“They won’t have. You’ll know who I’m talking about, Ellie.”

Ellie sighs a little, clearly conceding that Lawrence is right. Her grip on her hand tightens a little, and when Lawrence looks up at her in response her blue eyes hold a glint of assurance.

“Well, even if they haven’t…fuck ‘em. Onwards and upwards, chick. You’ve got ten new sisters out of this who’re always going to know what it’s like, they’re gonna be here for you no matter what,” Ellie says comfortingly. Lawrence knows why she’s said ten and not eleven, but Ellie affirms this with another squeeze and a slightly shy smile. “And you’ve always got me. You’ve always had me.”

This is true. She’s always had Ellie. Before the show, doing gigs with her and hanging out with her and going to DragCon with her. On the show, always there to reassure her or pull her out of a negative spiral or just lean against her shoulder and squeeze her hand. And after the show. Whatever that might look like. Whatever that might be.

She supposes that neither of them know yet.

“C’mon,” Ellie says decisively, holding out a hand for her as the song changes. It’s some sort of Paolo Nutini dirge, and Lawrence has to laugh at how obviously whoever is in charge of the music has rushed to attempt to find something Scottish. Lawrence can only blink at Ellie’s outstretched hand.

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Come on! ” Ellie laughs. Lawrence doesn’t know if she’s blushing or if it’s just the lights.

But she does know that she can’t leave Ellie hanging when she’s looking at her like that.

So Lawrence lets herself be dragged out to the dancefloor and pulled into a hug as Ellie sways them left to right ever-so-slightly out of time with the song, tipsy and full of affection given the way her arms are locked around Lawrence’s waist. It should feel stranger than it does. In reality, being held by Ellie feels as simple as just existing.

Or perhaps simpler than that, given the fact that Lawrence’s existence feels entirely surreal right now.

“You have to be in drag for half past se-ven,” Ellie sing-songs, bringing one of her arms out from around Lawrence’s waist and tapping her on the nose. Lawrence immediately misses it, so it’s a relief that it’s not gone for long.

“Because I wo-on,” Lawrence imitates back to her, and the way Ellie squeezes her waist in response and affirmation causes a smile and a blush to bloom on her face without her even being to control it. She rests her head against Ellie’s chest so she can’t have the satisfaction (ammunition) of seeing how she makes her feel.

It’s little moments like that that she needs right now. Anchors to keep her down on earth, to let her know that this isn’t just some really prolonged lucid dream and it’s all actually happening because currently reality is so absurdly ridiculous; she’s just won Drag Race and she’s slow-dancing with Ellie to the song that’s blasting through the speakers in the background, a parody of some American high school prom where she’s just been crowned the queen.

Moments like these- where Ellie’s holding her close as if she’s literally trying to protect her from the world- remind her that not everybody is against her. Not everybody hates her. Not everybody is wishing her a slow and painful death because Bimini didn’t win, least of all them. She knows that Ellie was never able to share what team she was on even though she hadn’t had a chance at the crown, but she didn’t have to. Not really. They’ve always been on each others’ team.

Ellie jolts Lawrence out of her daydream with the way her chest is shuddering, and Lawrence momentarily thinks she’s crying again before her soft giggle becomes audible over the music.

“What?” Lawrence tilts her head up, meeting Ellie’s scheming, smirking face.

“Can’t believe RuPaul Charles asked if you wanted to move to London, city of dreams, city of a thousand opportunities…” Ellie begins, Lawrence already laughing as she knows what the conclusion to her sentence will be. “…and you said, ‘yer awrite pal, am fine in Glesga wi the jakes an’ the Blue Lagoon chippy an’ the guy that stands on Buchanan Street and yells at everyone that they’re going to hell!’ ”

Lawrence would normally roll her eyes at Ellie’s impersonation of her accent, but she’s laughing too much at the joke that’s forming in her head to commit to it. “RuPaul asked if I wanted to move to London, and I said…”

The pair of them are almost giggling too much to get the punchline out, Ellie clocking on to how it’s going to end. In sync, the pair of them splutter out a “… NNNNAAW! ”

Giddy and happy, Lawrence rests her cheek against Ellie’s chest again. “London’s got junkies too, anyway.”

“This is gonna sound really selfish, but…don’t actually move to London,” Ellie’s voice murmurs from above her, and there’s something plaintive to it that makes Lawrence refrain from replying with a joke or a barb like she normally would. The way Ellie follows it up cements that fact. “It would probably be so good for you, but like…Glasgow would be lost without you, genuinely. And so would I.”

Lawrence can’t cry again tonight, even if it’s only because she thinks it’s physically impossible, so she just squeezes Ellie tight until she worries about her ability to breathe. “I’m not going anywhere, hen.”

Lawrence doesn’t even really know what they are, her and Ellie. They both still have Grindr and they talk about their hookups and raised hopes and broken hearts with each other like friends. But they’re not really just that. They’re affectionate, and they open up to each other with the same shared unspoken understanding of something Lawrence doesn’t understand. They hug for too long and cuddle up to each other when they’re together, and Lawrence can’t count the amount of times during filming that she’d find strength in the way Ellie would squeeze her hand without a word. They’ve woken up together too many times (why she’d felt the need to remind Ellie of that while the cameras were rolling, she’ll never know) and kissed each other more than that. Every time they say I love you they mean it, but they also mean a little bit more. There’s no butterflies or fast pulses or fluttering hearts- they’re past that stage. Everything is just natural and normal and easy.

She wonders if they’ll ever put a label on what they have. There’s a part of her that doesn’t ever want to.

“If we’re both still single by the time we’re forty,” Lawrence begins, leaning back to look at Ellie through her glazed, half-drunk half-tired eyes. “…we should just say ‘fuck it’ and get married.”

(She doesn’t even know if it’s a joke or not.)

Ellie laughs as if it is and nods as if it isn’t. “Drag wedding. We’d need to upstage Tayce and A’whora, though.”

Lawrence realises something. “I’ll turn forty two years before you.”

There’s a pause as the song starts to fade out, and it makes Ellie’s murmur seem louder than it is. “That’s okay. We don’t need to wait for me.”

The jolt her words give Lawrence’s heart and the way Ellie’s talking as if it’s an actual plan makes her think maybe it wasn’t really ever a joke after all. It’s ridiculous though, and it’s all theoretical, and it’s a totally hypothetical scenario, and they’re both drunk , for Christ’s sake. So Lawrence pulls out of Ellie’s arms and takes her hands in her own, the song that’s started playing more upbeat and the opening chords inciting some sort of hope and optimism in her heart for the future that’s unfolding for the pair of them.

“One more song then bed?” she suggests. Ellie raises her eyebrows as she looks down at her.

“Whose bed?”

“Shut the fuck up, Dirty Diamond,” Lawrence shoots back without missing a beat, and as the first lines of the song fill the room she leans back and begins to spin the pair of them in a circle, both of them laughing as if everything is as simple as just that room, and the music blaring out from the speakers, and the lights flashing above them drenching them in purple and pink.

[amerie-wadia]

balancing on breaking branches: part two

jj goes to the water when the world begins to spiral around him. always has → read on ao3

a/n: wrote this a few days ago and waited to post bc i wanted to write more but i like how this turned out and i don’t want to write a bunch of nothing just to meet the word count of the first part. 

If JJ had a boat life would be a lot easier. If he had a boat he’d be setting sail and cruising straight down the Atlantic Coast, swerving a hard right near Miami, and finally touching down in the Yucatan Peninsula. He could swim and surf and eat lobsters until his hair went grey and his back broke down. He could have a houseboat with a slide and sleep with all the windows open so he could hear the crickets and the crashing waves along the rocks and sand.

If he had a boat he could sail away before Pope found him.

But JJ didn’t have a boat. Nor did he have anywhere to hide. He wasn’t dumb enough to go right back to Rixton’s Cove, but he was dumb enough to go to the Chateau. Well, it wasn’t a dumb idea at the time. The HMS Pogue was at the Chateau and JJ was in need of a boat. A plus B and all that.

The real difference was: Pope had a car. So while JJ ran and tried as hard as he could to think about Yucatan and lobsters and stars, Pope had managed to drive all over town and still made it to the Chateau before JJ. And JJ would’ve turned around if it wasn’t so dark outside and Pope’s car hadn’t been turned off.

“JJ? What the hell, man?”

Pope’s voice shocked him and he jumped, instinctively clenching his fists out in front of his chest in case the noise was Barry coming to pay his respects. Or Luke.

It was Pope. Standing, back hunched slightly in the worried way that Pope often stood, with his hands lowered and eyes kind and wide. And JJ had the biggest fucking crush on him.

“You can’t just walk away when someone’s talking to you,” Pope continued but JJ was furious and still shocked and he shoved past Pope hard enough that Pope stumbled. To JJ’s dismay, he followed JJ through the yard and around back. “JJ!”

“Shut up, Pope.”

He marched up the steps of the porch, up and down around the police tape, and into the house. Pope followed him more gracefully as JJ took the HMS Pogue keys from the kitchen counter bowl where they always sat.

“Taking evidence from a crime scene, that’s really smart.”

“This isn’t a fucking crime scene.”

“This isn’t a crime scene? Look around, dude!”

JJ tried to shove past Pope but he stood firm in the doorway with his arms outstretched. JJ wanted to shove him as hard as he could but he also refused to push very hard. Not when one wrong blow could send everything crumbling down.

“The cops are gonna come looking for you if you take that? And what then, JJ, do you want to be considered an accessory for murder?”

“John B didn’t fucking murder anyone.”

“I’m being serious right now. Do you really want to give the cops more reason to put you in jail?”

“I don’t give a shit.”

“Well I do.”

JJ froze, giving up on shoving around Pope and instead he huffed and crossed his arms across his chest.

“Move.”

“Only if you’ll talk about what you said to me.”

“Pope, no—”

“Yes, we’re going to talk about this.”

“God, Pope. Just fucking move!” JJ threw his hands too hard, palms out, and shoved Pope backward. Pope’s grip on the doorframe was stiff and he definitely stumbled but he didn’t fall to the ground like JJ was expecting. His eyes were wide and JJ couldn’t tell if it was fear or just the darkness of the room. “Move!”

JJ knew he was being childish, knew he sounded childish as his voice began to tremble with rage and exhaustion and a bit of desperation. Pope shook his head.

“Let’s talk. That’s all I want to do and then you can sail away to Yucatan or wherever the hell you were planning on going.”

Pope let a hand fall from the doorframe and motioned for JJ to sit down on the couch.

“Wasn’t gonna go to Yucatan,” JJ mumbled as he took a seat. Pope didn’t turn on any of the lights but the moon glowed through the windows just brightly enough that JJ could see the curves of Pope’s face. It was private but JJ knew he was still seen and he wished the moon would just shut up.

“You like me, huh?”

It sounded so innocent when Pope said it that way. Maybe it had always been innocent. But the thought of Pope knowing, the thought of Kie knowing, felt violating and raw and guilty.

“Maybe.”

“It was really brave of you to tell me.”

“Shut up, Pope.”

“I mean it.”

“Shut up, Pope!” JJ yelled, angry that Pope wasn’t angry. Angry that Pope wasn’t hitting him or kissing him. Angry that this revelation seemed to have such a tiny effect on Pope while simultaneously tearing JJ apart. “If I could take it back I would, but I can’t. It was stupid and we can just forget that it ever happened.”

“It wasn’t stupid.”

This conversation was stupid and it was too dark to see Pope’s facial expressions and JJ knew if he got up now Pope couldn’t stop him.

“Can we just forget about it?” JJ asked instead because he most likely couldn’t make it to Yucatan in the HMS Pogue and in a few years all his debts might be paid off and maybe he could actually just buy a plane ticket.

“I don’t want to forget about it,” Pope said, quietly and confidently and in a voice so raw it gave JJ goosebumps. JJ knew it wasn’t what he wanted, knew Pope was just being a good friend. But Pope’s voice sounded different, sounded gentler and it hurt.

“What do you want, then? To sit in the dark and talk about our feelings?”

“Well—”

“It was a rhetorical question, Pope!”

“No, JJ. That is what we should do because John B is dead and you haven’t talked to your friends in two months. We’ve been so worried about you man, about your dad. And then when we finally do talk again you tell me that you’re basically starving and that you like me and now you just want to run away again and ignore us? Not this time.”

Pope’s hand raised into the air and then came crashing down in the space between JJ’s fingers and it was strong and gentle and made JJ’s skin feel like it was on fire. Pope squeezed, drawing their fingers together so tightly that JJ knew he couldn’t just run away. Pope had to know the effect that it had on JJ.

“Please, don’t cut me out again.” Pope’s voice was shaky and it sounded slushy and JJ momentarily forget how to turn inhales in exhales and by the time he could manage to get a full breath in, he realized he was actually going to have to be honest with Pope.

JJ was really good at partial truths. He was a good liar because there was always a tinge of truth—hidden between the lines somewhere—in all the lies he told. He had spent his whole life making excuses and crafting stories that were so close to the truth that no one could see where the blurred lines were drawn in the sand.

But Pope was asking for the truth. The real, whole, honest truth. And JJ didn’t know how on earth to be truthful.

“What else do you want me say?” he asked because there were a million things he wanted to say, but he couldn’t say too much and ruin everything more than he already had. Omitting the truth was different than lying, it wasn’t pretend. It was just strategic.

“How, uh, long?”

“A long time, Pope.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

The darkness coated some of the awkwardness but the air between them was heavy and JJ wished he had something to fiddle with.

“Like, for real?” Pope asked suddenly, maybe even hopefully. JJ wished Pope would stop asking because JJ had already told him he liked him, he didn’t need to be teased over and over again.

“No, Pope, I’m just fucking with you. Yeah, I’ve had a crush on your since I met you and it’s super embarrassing and I really don’t want to keep talking about it, okay?”

“A crush?”

JJ wanted to scream but he didn’t have the energy.

“Yeah, a crush.”

Pope’s hand was still tethered to his own the touch was a bit too much right now. Pope’s grip loosened and suddenly he drew his hand back. Maybe he was thinking about all the times JJ had stood too close or texted him too late into the night. Maybe he was thinking about—

Lips.

Lips pressing against JJ’s own that must belong to Pope because there was nobody else in the room. Lips that engulfed his own, lips that JJ had been dreaming about for years suddenly kissing him. Pope was kissing him.

Hands.

Hands whose fingertips brushed around his ears and through his hair and held his head steady. Hands that could just as easily be hitting him but held him so gently.

JJ’s breath hitched and he relaxed his lips, pressing them against Pope’s and drew his own hands around Pope’s neck to cradle the back of his head.

The moment was gone just as quickly as it had come and Pope’s eyes were the only light in the room but JJ didn’t need to see Pope to know he had never looked more handsome.

“So much for talking,” JJ teased, breathless and flustered but feeling the first shred of confidence he had all night. “What was that?”

“That was a kiss, JJ.”

JJ rolled his eyes.

“I know that. I mean, why did you do that?”

“I’ve always wanted to,” Pope whispered, face so close to JJ that he could feel the breath on his skin. Pope’s lips lingered around JJ’s but didn’t come close enough to touch.

“You have?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Maybe you should do it again, then?”

Before Pope could make up his mind and before JJ melted into the couch cushions, he drew Pope’s face towards his own and pressed their lips together again. Pope’s hands wrapped around his waist this time, tugging JJ closer to dismiss the space between them. Pope’s lips were one thing, but having his entire body pressed against JJ was a whole different story.

It was real and it was happening and it was everything and nothing like JJ had pictured it. All the daydreams of Pope’s hands and his lips and his smile gave him butterflies and rosy cheeks, but the real Pope made JJ speechless, made him feel like he was walking on water, made him feel so confident he could run a marathon or paint the Mona Lisa. The real Pope was a million times better than the daydream Pope.

“Don’t go away again,” Pope pleaded into the kiss, voice wet but light and just as breathless as JJ’s. “Please.”

“I won’t,” JJ promised, tucking his face into Pope’s shoulder and indulging in the immense comfort and safety he felt there. Pope’s arms drew him closer somehow, stable and real against his body.

———————————————————————

taglist: @ifyourelostyoucanlook @backintheggamebaby @playitaagain @girlsru1eboysdroo1 @the-pogues @apoguecalledjj @kiaracameron @midsommers

[grandtheftstarship]

Quietly (Spock x Wife!Reader) [Request!!]

“Hi! I’m a huge fan of Star Trek as well, and it’s funny that I’m close to your age! I’ll be sixteen very soon. I was wondering if perhaps you would write a Spock x Wife! Reader fic where Spock’s wife is generally very nervous and quiet, but very sweet, and she deals with a lot of Anxiety and Insomnia? And perhaps he tries to comfort her and aid her in sleep and being calmer? It would really be great bc I deal with both of those on the daily :) thx, LY! Live Long and Prosper, friend! ❤️ ~R”

Hiiii R!! This is so crazy because we are basically the same person omg. I’ve been meaning to write something like this for the longest time and then you requested!!! Stay strong sister!! Live Long and Prosper :D

p.s fun fact i wrote this entire thing and then ended up hating it so i rewrote it and now its so much better i really hope you like it

Warnings: a little angst, anxiety, basically 90% just fluff, short but sweet Word Count: 1571

request something!!

masterlist

You felt a warm hand on your shoulder, gently coaxing you awake. No, it couldn’t be morning already, could it? You had only just dipped your toes in the intoxicating pool that was sleep; how could it be over so soon? 

Your eyes peeked open and you were met with a lovely image of your husband leaning over you, the slightest smile on his lips. 

“Good morning,” Spock pressed a small kiss on your cheek before settling himself back down, head resting in the crook of your neck. You reached up to run your slender fingers through his soft hair, bliss soaring through your veins. Despite your lack of sleep, you would be happy to wake up like this any day. 

But, alas, it was all over so soon. Your fantasy of waking up on Earth to the sun shining through your bedroom window curled up next to Spock felt so close, yet so far. Space was your passion, but Spock was your home. You knew which one felt more important. 

Spock sat up and rolled out of the bed, stretching.

“Did you sleep?” He had learned that it wasn’t a question of if you slept ‘well’ anymore. He still asked every morning, but he always knew the answer. 

You frowned, shaking your head. Spock pulled his Starfleet shirt over his head before bending over the bed to kiss you quickly.

“I’m certain the doctor could prescribe some melatonin or a similar medical remedy to ease your situation.” And, every morning, he tried to offer help for your condition. It was endearing, truly, but you wished he would just quit mentioning it altogether.

“Thank you, but you know I don’t react well with medication,” you replied, yawning and dragging yourself up. You pulled off your sleep shirt and tugged your red dress over your head as you walked to the bathroom, giving Spock a kiss on the cheek as you strode past him. 

“Are you prepared for the away mission tomorrow?” he called from the bedroom. 

Shit. Your heart dropped with such force your knees felt weak. Shit shit shit!! Your mind immediately went into overdrive and suddenly you were spiraling down a rabbit hole of different scenarios - all ending with either your death, Spock’s death, or just death in general. What if you got attacked? What if you killed everyone else in a shuttle crash and you had to live with the guilt for the rest of your life? There were so many things that could go wrong; one misstep, one miscalculation -you shook your head violently, snapping yourself out of it. You gripped the counter tightly and started taking deep breaths. It's fine. You were going to be just fine. Yeah... fine. It’s nothing. You were only going to be operating a shuttlecraft with twelve people aboard for the first time, three of which were your best friends. Fine. Just fine. 

You had barely noticed your hairbrush slip from your other hand until the clatter shook you from your thoughts. Spock rushed in without missing a beat, placing a comforting hand on your back. Using his other hand, he brushed stray hairs from your eyes and lifted your chin up so he could meet your gaze. This wasn’t the first time he was there to ease you back down to reality. 

“Hey, Hey. You are going to be okay,” he cooed softly, rubbing circles on your back. You shut your eyes and took a long, deep breath. 

“I will be with you for the duration of the mission,” he reassured you. “I promise you, I will not leave your side.”

You felt relieved, but a lingering sense of unease remained. You threw your arms around your husband before pressing a quick kiss to his lips. 

“Thank you,” you beamed up at him. “Really, you don’t need to do this.”

“There is nothing I wouldn’t do to help you, [y/n],” the smallest of smiles danced on his lips. He gave you a quick kiss on your forehead before exiting the bathroom, letting you finish getting ready. You bent down, picking up the hairbrush, frowning at the cracked handle. You would have to put that on the list of things to grab at the next starbase. 

As you brushed your hair anyway, you thought hard about your schedule for the day, planning out things to do to avoid dwelling on the events tomorrow would hold too much. It worked, A little. 

As you were putting the finishing touches on your morning routine, Spock poked his head in. 

“Are you ready to leave?”

“Yep.” You sighed heavily, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from your uniform. Before you could stop yourself, you turned away from the mirror and headed for the door, grabbing Spock’s hand and pulling him into the hallway.

                                                        ᓚᘏᗢ

After you and Spock ate breakfast, you went down to engineering for your job assignment. Unfortunately, Scotty didn’t have much for you to do, so you did ensign-level jobs for him to pass the time. Anything to quell the storm that was your anxiety.

You had tried so many times to find remedies for your condition; work, sleep, staying as busy as possible. Hell, Spock had quickly become a coping mechanism for you and was more successful than any of your other less-desirable options. Unfortunately, since he was a real person and an officer, he couldn’t be there for you all the time as you worked on opposing ends of the ship. This typically ended up with you spiraling and having to pull yourself out on your own. 

Out of your four options, work was probably the least effective. There was too much time to think; too much time for your demons to sink their claws into your brain. And, since the one person who was able to fully calm you down was unreachable, escape was sometimes impossible. 

Scotty had given you the small job of making sure the heating and cooling pipes on the starboard side of engineering and since the job was oh-so-simple, there was way too much time for your mind to wander. You tried so hard, you really did, to think about anything else, but the looming mission continued to push itself to the forefront of your mind. It wasn’t long before it would take over you once again. 

                                                        ᓚᘏᗢ

You didn’t know how long you had been lying awake. The minutes ticked by like days, seconds passed like hours. Spock was curled around you tightly, trying to make you feel safe enough to sleep and it had worked for a little while, but fear had wound itself into a tight knot in your stomach. You had never been assigned to an away mission before and you were absolutely terrified out of your mind. Horror stories of officers going missing, getting mauled or eaten by monstrous aliens, dying painful, horrific deaths in any way you could imagine plagued your thoughts. You remembered back to the instructional class about manning a shuttle, the sole reason you were going on the mission, and your stomach lurched at the thought of the graphic photos they had shown of shuttle crashes during the safety portion of the course. Panic started building in your chest, your legs began to shake and you knew what was coming. You tried not to wake Spock, but a sob you had tried to contain wrenched its way out of your mouth as some sort of strangled gasp and your husband was instantly awake and leaning over you. You heard him speaking to you, but the only sounds you were able to make were choked cries and before you knew it you were in the midst of a full-on breakdown. Panic set your body on fire, lightning-fast images of possible outcomes to the mission flashed across your eyes, tears streaming down your face as you bawled into Spock’s bare chest. 

“I can’t!” you sobbed over and over. “I can't!”

Spock had never held you so tightly, grasping across your back with one hand, the other tangled in your hair, clutching you into his chest. He rocked you softly as you started calming down, humming soft tunes in your ear as your wails turned to sniffles. Despite your trouble sleeping, mere minutes after you had stopped crying you had fallen asleep. 

Spock didn’t let go of you for the rest of the night. He leaned back down on the bed, curling back around you and holding you close. He contemplated canceling the away mission until you were more up for it, but he decided it would probably be best to discuss it with you in the morning. 

He eventually drifted off, only to wake a mere two hours later to the sound of your alarms. He quickly shut them off, not wanting to wake you since you had finally gotten the sleep you so desperately needed. Without moving too much as to wake you, Spock reached for his padd and canceled the mission anyway, as well as excusing himself and you from duty for the day. You needed your rest, especially after a night like the one you had just experienced and he knew he needed to be there for you. 

He set the padd back down on the bedside table before climbing back under the covers and wrapping his arms around you. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for you. He loved you, after all.  

[gabriel-agreste-has-no-rights]

Rating: G

Summary:  With the help of the baby he found along the way, Mr. Banana sets out to rescue Princess Floria. If he can return her to Paris, she should be able to end Lord Gabriel's war on magical creatures. He'll only have to fight off giant lollipop monsters, Mayura's minions, and his own feelings along the way.

Word Count:  3082 | Chapter 1/2

Notes: I blame @botherkupo. Floria’s her name for August’s mom. Overall I’m torn between pride and regret at writing this. i wont tag maddy bc i think she’s suffered enough for her sins

XXX

“Lollipop!” The baby—Mr. Banana had taken to calling him Greenie, on account of his radioactive green eyes—cried out and tried to clutch at the castle in the distance.

“No, it’s not a lollipop,” Mr. Banana laughed as he adjusted Greenie on his hip. It did look like one, though, with the swirling stripes and colorful shingles on its turrets. “Here you go, little guy. This is even better than a lollipop.”

He stopped walking to bend down and pluck another onion from the ground. Some people thought he lived off of nothing but bananas, and that that was the reason he looked the way he did.  It always boggled him. Didn’t they know that would be like cannibalism? But onions—now those were a vegetable he could get behind.

Sometimes he chose to pretend it was his onion breath that kept all the other fairy tale creatures away, and not the fact that he was a giant sentient banana.

“Lollipop?” Greenie tried holding the onion by its tall grassy top, as if it were a stick. When the onion drooped, he spun it around like it was the heroic Ladybug’s magic yo-yo. 

At least the baby was entertained. Mr. Banana had run out of lollipops about ten kilometers ago, so it was the best he could do.

Unfortunately, that meant that he had to carry Greenie instead of Greenie carrying him.

“At least I’ll have some nice biceps to impress the princess with.”  He flexed his free arm and grinned.  Well, he was already grinning.  His face just sort of did that, no matter how he was feeling.  His neighbors probably found that more unsettling than the onion breath.

Greenie didn’t mind, though.  He just gurgled and swung his onion at Mr. Banana’s peel.

Two hours and one diaper change later, Mr. Banana stood in the castle’s shadow.

“Lollipop,” Greenie said with wide eyes.  Mr. Banana held him close, patting his back.  The castle might look disarming with all its pastel colors, but Lord Gabriel had told him that a terrible monster guarded the princess inside.

Not for the first time, Mr. Banana wondered if this quest was worth it.  Lord Gabriel wanted him to retrieve Princess Floria, who had been imprisoned by the enigmatic witch Mayura over a year ago.  Mr. Banana didn’t understand all the details.  He just knew that Lord Gabriel said the princess’ brilliant red hair could heal any ailment.

Maybe it could even Mr. Banana into a human.

No point in getting his hopes up about that, though.  He still had to actually save the princess first.

“You’d better stay outside, Greenie.”  He set the baby down in a patch of grass.  “It might be dangerous in there.”

“Nana?”  He reached out, opening and closing his tiny fists.  His radioactive eyes were wide, like he was about to cry.

Mr. Banana’s grin faltered.  “I’ll be right back.  I promise.”

Ever since Mr. Banana had saved Greenie from Lord Gabriel’s minions, they’d been attached like apples and bananas.  Magical creatures like himself and the baby weren’t safe in Paris.  Hopefully, Princess Floria could change that.

Mr. Banana saluted the baby before pushing open the heavy castle door.

“Stay peachy, little guy.”

XXX

The inside of the castle was just as bright as the outside.  Weren’t castles supposed to be dark and scary?  But this one was decorated with bright purple and blue swirls across the walls and up the pillars.  It was prettier than Mr. Banana’s lonely swamp, honestly.

But pretty or not, the castle was lonely.  Mr. Banana hadn’t seen a single sign of life.  Was the princess actually here?  If no one was guarding her, wouldn’t she have just run away?

Maybe there were guards further inside, near the tower.  He’d better be careful.

He pushed open another large door.  This one was pinky-orange, like a soft ripe peach.  His stomach rumbled; he should’ve eaten that onion on the way here.

“Woah,” he breathed when he entered the room.  “Greenie would love this.”

Giant lollipops seemed to grow along the walls of the chamber.  Were they part of the castle’s magic?  Or did Princess Floria spend her days gardening lollipops to pass the time? ...Could you even garden lollipops?  He didn’t think so, but then again, most people didn’t think living bananas existed, either.

No time to get distracted, though.  He crept through the chamber, leaving footprints in the thin layer of sugar that dusted the floor.  If his were the only footprints here, he could at least be pretty sure the room was deserted.

A low rumble sounded from the far end of the room.  

Okay, not deserted then.  

He froze as a cluster of lollipops peeled from the walls, then latched together like the limbs of a saccharine golem.  Despite not having a face, it seemed to swivel to look at him.

“Uh-oh.” He gulped.

Time to make like a banana and split.

He dashed down a corridor branching off of the chamber.  The thundering footsteps of the lollipop monster crashed behind him.  That thing would be too fast to outrun, and his potassium-filled heart was already beating as fast as it could go.  Should he dive out a window?  No, the castle was at the edge of a cliff; he’d end up mush in the chasm below.  But this hallway seemed to stretch on forever, and the monster was gaining on him.

He tripped over the plush carpet.  This was it.  After everything, he was going to get crushed by a giant lollipop monster.

But if he was gone—who would take care of Greenie?

He rolled to the side, and the monster’s lollipop fist shattered the floor where he’d been lying.  That could be him next, if he didn’t get up soon.

He scrambled to his feet, but still nearly slipped into the fresh hole.  That dark abyss was not peachy.

“Wait—that’s it!”  He grinned.  (Well, he was already grinning, but his heart was in it now.)

He dashed further down the hall while the monster was shaking the dust from its spherical fist.  Then, he removed a section of his peel.  There was no time for blushing modesty; he dropped it on the floor and kept running.

A few moments later, he heard a giant crash.  Hopefully the monster slipping on the peel.  He didn’t look back to check.

He finally reached a spiral staircase at the end of the hall, and sprinted up the steps two at a time.

XXX

“Wow,” Mr. Banana whispered as he reached the top of the tower.  He could’ve stared at the gossamer curtains, or the plush carpet, or the broken bits of lollipop hung from the ceiling, catching the afternoon light like stained glass.  But each of those things only got a passing glance.

The real beauty was the princess lying sprawled on the couch.

Her limbs were askew; one arm hung off the side, fingers dangling in a piece of peach pie.  (Clearly she had good taste.)  A soft snore escaped her, sending his heart stuttering.  But the most stunning thing about her was her brilliant red hair.  It fell around her face in waves.  One strand was stuck in her mouth, and seemed to be plastered to her cheek with drool.

He hated to wake her when she was sleeping so soundly, but he had no idea when the lollipop monster would right itself, or if it could fit up through the spiral stairs.  Either way, he would surely have to get Princess Floria past it.  He hadn’t really thought that far ahead yet.

“Um, Princess?”  He stepped forward and tapped her shoulder.  

No response other than a louder snore.  This wasn’t some kind of magical sleep, was it?  In all the stories, true love’s kiss could wake any unconscious princess, but that wouldn’t help him.  He was a banana.  He couldn’t be anyone’s true love.

“Princess Floria?”  He shook her a little harder.

“Ah!”  She bolted upright, fists swinging.

He yelped and sprung back, but not before taking a punch to the nose.  “Ow...”

“Oh my gosh.” Floria’s eyes widened.  Her hands covered her mouth.  “Are you okay?  I’m so sorry, I’m—wait, who are you?”

He flashed his best grin (well, his normal grin) and flexed his arms.  “I’m your knight in shining peel, Princess.  Here to rescue you from this castle.”  

She took him in from stem to toe.  Maybe he should have worried about modesty—it would take a day for that strip of peel to grow back, and he was painfully aware of how naked his side would look. Still, he wouldn’t let his worry show.  She didn’t have to like him; she just had to come with him.

And, hopefully, fix his curse.

“You—you’re a banana.”

“Mr. Banana, actually.”  That’s what he’d taken to calling himself, anyway.  If he had a real name, no one had ever bothered to tell him.  Maybe he should’ve picked something a little more… normal-sounding.  Well, he could pick a new one if he got to become human.  

He was thinking Louis.  That had a nice ring to it.

“Is this some kind of joke?”  Princess Floria asked.  Whatever remorse she’d had for punching him had vanished.  She rubbed the back of her hand across her cheek, scraping off the dried drool.  “Why did Mayura send you?  Isn’t trapping me here enough?”

“Mayura—?  No, I’ve never met her.  Lord Gabriel sent me, actually.  He said Mayura should be on vacation this week.”

“Oh, that’s so much better.”  She crossed her arms, getting peach filling on the sleeve of her green dress.  “Mayura may be a witch, but I trust her on one thing.  Gabriel’s more of a heartless monster than any creature she’s created.”

Mr. Banana blinked.  None of this was going how he imagined.

“So, uh… does that mean you don’t want me to rescue you…?”

She sighed.  “Sorry.  None of this is your fault.  I’ve just—it’s been a long time, and talking to the sentimonsters gets pretty boring after a while.  Mayura only comes around when she wants to vent about something, so… yeah.  Shall we?”

She held out her hand, as if expecting him to help her to her feet.  That hand happened to be the one with peach pie still stuck to it.

He shrugged and tugged her up.  “Guess we shall.”

XXX

“You didn’t slay the monster?”  The princess gaped while crouching behind him.

Mr. Banana stared over the side of the spiral staircase, where the lollipop monster was trying to shove its bulbous fist through the handrail’s supporting bars.

“I’m a banana!  I don’t know anything about killing monsters!”

“Then why did Lord Gabriel even send you?”

“I was the only one who would try!”  

He was the only one with nothing to lose.  Well, except Greenie, but the baby would’ve been taken by Lord Gabriel if Mr. Banana hadn’t complied.

The sentimonster shook the staircase again.  If he didn’t find a way out soon, the structure would crumble right into the monster’s sugary clutches.

“You couldn’t just eat the lollipop thing, could you?”  Mr. Banana grinned at the princess.

She gave him a deadpan stare.  “Not any more than I could just eat you.”

Sweat beaded on the outside of his peel.  “R-right.  Just throwing out ideas.”

He couldn’t make the monster slip again; its feet were already planted on the ground.  Maybe he could slip through its legs?  But he wasn’t confident he could carry Princess Floria at the same time.

The princess gripped the railing with white knuckles.  “Maybe we could—”

“Lollipop!”  A high-pitched voice interrupted her.

Mr. Banana’s eyes widened.  He leaned over the rail, searching the floor below.

“Greenie!”  He spotted the baby crawling towards the monster.  His dark brown face was powdered with sugar, but those radioactive eyes were unmistakable.  (Plus, there probably wasn’t another baby in the castle.) 

“Is that—August!”  The princess shouted.

And then, before Mr. Banana could stop her, she leapt over the railing.

“Floria!”  He reached out, but she was falling, falling, her green dress billowing up around her.  The sentimonster swung at her, but she gripped the stick of its arm and flipped from it like an acrobat on a trapeze.

Mr. Banana gaped as she stuck the landing.  She… she was incredible.

She scooped up Greenie while Mr. Banana was still tripping down the stairs.  The sentimonster couldn’t move fast, but it was still too big to outrun, especially if the princess was carrying a baby.

“Lollipop!”  Greenie wailed while Princess Floria rushed him away.

“Right, banana-split up!  Keep the monster confused.  Brilliant,” Mr. Banana said.

Well, it would have been brilliant, if it worked.  The monster only seemed interested in Floria.

He dashed after them, trying to keep up with the monster’s lumbering steps.

“Lollipop!  Lollipop!”  Greenie still screamed.  Now wasn’t the time for the baby’s sugar addiction— 

Or was it?

“Princess!”  Mr. Banana shouted from behind the monster.  He could still see her running away through the wide gap in its legs.  “Put Greenie down!”

“What?”

“The baby!  You’ve got to put him down!”

“Are you out of your mind?  I’m not losing my son again!”

Her—what?

But like it or not, she didn’t have a choice.  The sentimonster’s heavy step shook the floor, and she tripped, barely managing to curl around the baby as she fell.

“Lollipoooooooooop!”  Greenie squirmed from her embrace.

This had better work, Mr. Banana thought with a grimace.  Magical, monstrous lollipops might not trigger Greenie’s transformation like the ones he’d stolen from the town.  They might not even be edible.

That didn’t stop Greenie from latching onto the monster’s foot and licking it anyway.

Suddenly, Greenie grew to enormous size.  Purple and pink spandex stretched over his dark skin, so thankfully none of them had to deal with the problems of a giant naked baby.  Just a normal giant baby.

“A-august?” The princess gasped.  “What’s happened to you…?”

“No time to explain.”  Mr Banana grabbed her wrist and tugged her along.  “He’ll be fine, trust me.”

“Why should I trust you?  You’re a talking banana who cursed my son and wants me to leave him with a monster!”

“Lollipop!”  Greenie—no, August, apparently—laughed and picked up the sentimonster with both hands.

Then he stuck its head in his mouth.

“Y’know, I think I feel worse for the monster right now,” Mr. Banana said.  “I’m sure he’ll find us when he’s done.”

She glanced over her shoulder one last time before nodding.

Then she hiked up her skirts, and they ran.

XXX

Ten minutes later, August crashed through the castle wall, still clutching bits of chewed-up lollipop in his chubby fists.

“Lollipop,” he announced proudly.

“Fantastic job, Gree—er, August.” Mr. Banana beamed.

“Are you going to tell me why my son is the size of a house now?” Princess Floria asked once she’d finally caught her breath. She straightened from where her hands had rested on her knees.

“Nana,” August crouched beside them. His eye was as tall as the Princess, and it took her in with curiosity. “Who?”

“You remember me.” The princess’ voice was pained. “Ma-ma. I’m Mama, August.”

“Ma...ma?” The giant baby frowned, then looked at Mr. Banana. “Na-na.”

“I’m sorry.” He fought to turn his tetanic grin upside-down. “You’ve been in that tower for over a year, haven’t you?  Do you think he…”

Princess Floria didn’t meet his eyes.  Probably for the best, since he shouldn’t bother finishing that sentence.  It would only make her feel worse.

Instead she scooted closer to August, resting her hand against his giant foot.

“He doesn’t remember me.”  She bowed her head.

“Pretty,” August said, patting her red hair softly.

She choked out a laugh.  “Thanks, sweetie.”

She wiped her eyes before turning back to Mr. Banana.  He froze, still feeling like he was intruding on this mother-son moment.

“You brought my son back to me.  Even if I don’t know who you are, or how you did it, I suppose I owe you for that.”

His heart pounded.  This could be where he asked her to heal him.  To turn him human.  If she even could.  He had no proof that he was like August; once normal, but cursed by Hawkmoth’s evil taint.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he ended up saying instead.  “You’re free now.  To take August and go… wherever you want, I guess.”

She frowned up at her son, who had taken to picking tiles from the castle roof and tossing them into the river that flowed at the base of the cliff.

“Will he be okay?  I mean… will he go back to normal?”

“In about an hour.  He only changes if you let him eat lollipops.”  Mr. Banana smiled.

“Okay… weird, but convenient.  No more sugar for you, huh, baby?”

August ignored her, blowing raspberries as he continued deconstructing the castle like it was made of legos.

“You might want to leave now.  While August is still big enough to carry you.” Mr. Banana said, though his heart ached at the thought of returning to isolation.  But he couldn’t ask Floria to return with him to Lord Gabriel.  He doubted she’d do it, considering her opinion of the man.  Besides, she deserved to be free, to finally raise her son.

Maybe he could take her place here.  Living alone in a castle would be better than living alone in a swamp, wouldn’t it?  At least here he’d have a lifetime supply of candy.  

Mayura might come back and demand to know what happened to Floria, though.  

“Leave?  But… alone?”  The princess wrapped her arms around herself.  “I’ve been alone for so long… and August seems to like you, even if you are a talking banana…”

Mr. Banana chose to ignore that half-insult.  It was better than what he usually got when people talked to him.

“Are you saying I—I can come with you?”  He asked.

“Well, you are my knight in shining peel, are you not?”  She smirked.  “Plus, I think August might listen better to you.”

Listen was a bit of a stretch, but Mr. Banana still grinned.

“Greenie!”  He cooed, and August dropped the brick he was playing with to blink at him.  ��Up?  We go up?”

“Up!”  August threw his hands in the air.

Then after a bit more coaxing, he picked up Mr. Banana and Princess Floria, and they were off to…

Well, hopefully somewhere safe.

[orbitariums]

I have a request: Peter Parker finding out his gf (y/n) is an avenger? Maybe he doesn't realize until a certain fight? Thank you, and I hope you are having a great day! - first ask anon (I guess I'll just call myself that 🤣🤣)

hi !! yes welcome back first ask anon and thank you so much for this request i’ve had the loveliest time writing it (s/o to my friend emily for helping me w/ some details bc i’m still new to marvel). hope you enjoy!! heads up this is like super long for a tumblr one shot *at least i think so*, if you guys request me stuff be prepared for it to be longgg!

disclaimer: fighting scenes are not my strength, especially for a marvel character!!! hope the plot makes up for it. also i pretty much just made up a villain and a fight. + switches between she/you when peter is first seeing the reader. ++ inspired by teen titans and kill la kill! contains: slight language + violence of course. hope u love it!

                             violet blast and spiderman (pt. i)

     Spiderman was good. This guy was better.

     Terrified bystanders and entrapped citizens watched in the crowded street as Peter tried desperately to simultaneously protect the woman he’d saved and fight off the bad guy. But doing both at once was wearing him out and his mind couldn’t help but keep going back to the fact that he had made no progress with his math project back at home because he kept delaying it to adhere to the role of friendly neighborhood Spiderman.

Plus he had a date with you later that weekend that he was stressing about because he wanted everything to go perfectly. But he kept up, and kept up with his banter all the while, just barely dodging the bad guy’s grotesque metal fist as he rolled underneath him and tried to shoot a web at him from behind and flip him over.

     “You know, you really should invest all this energy into being less of an asshole!” Peter yelled out, rolling to his side to avoid being smashed again.

     This guy was like the Hulk, except he had the robotic, armored qualities of Iron Man, if Iron Man looked like a giant made out of concrete with glaring red eyes and a deformed metal hand that was not doing Peter any favors.

     “Concrete Man!” the beast roared, swiveling around to face Peter who looked like an ant from where he was standing.

     “Really, Concrete Man, that’s your name? Yeah, Iron Man called, he wants his trademark ba-” Peter’s voice got carried away as he found himself getting swooped up by “Concrete Man”, his body slowly getting crushed in his metallic grasp.

     Peter’s breath became shallow as he tried to escape, looking down at the people below him who were now crowding closer, screaming in terror. He tried to find the woman in the crowd, at least to tell her to run away to safety now that Concrete Man was distracted, but he only caught a glimpse of her, and she was staring up in transfixed terror as well.

     “Shit!” Peter exclaimed, growing panicky.

     He tried to outstretch his arms in the hopes to web this guy’s face and get it in his eyes so he’d at least let go of Peter, but to no avail. Peter let out a panicked gasp but calmed down when he realized he could still stretch out his feet against Concrete Man’s body, and so he pressed his feet against his bulky build and pushed off, extending his arms over Concrete Man’s hand so he could flip off.

     He knew that when he did he’d be awaiting a hard pummel to the ground, but he did so anyway, flying through the air momentarily before finding his landing midair and sticking it. He tried to maintain his heavy breaths as he continued to fight against Concrete Man, sticking out his hand in the attempts to catch his legs in a spiral and make him fall to the ground, and then go off from there. 

     But before the web could even shoot, he was shoved aside by another figure, a girl about the same height as him, a little taller even.

     “Move Peter,” you said hostilely, shoving him aside and standing your ground in front of him.

     Peter had to do a double take to make sure he was seeing correctly, and to make sure he had heard correctly as well. Whoever this was had said his name, so that meant she knew who he was somehow. But he had never seen her before in his life, so who could it be? His heart was racing with fear, and anxiety, and his head was pounding with fear, add in the way he was still practically hyperventilating from escaping Concrete-Man’s strong hold and the adrenaline rush.

     The girl had an interesting uniform (a mix of Starfire, Raven and Senketsu)- a navy blue crop top with mid-length sleeves, and a purple stem miniskirt held up by black suspenders, along with thigh high violet boots, and her whole uniform had all types of gadgets and buttons all over it. She also had on a dark blue cloak with a hood that masked her face so he couldn’t see her, but he was still in awe. In other words, she was kind of hot- if extremely powerful- and Peter couldn’t help but notice that.

     But he snapped out of it when he realized what was actually happening, and when he saw that you had propelled yourself up into the air to fight this guy off yourself. He wanted to complain that this was his fight, even though he was losing terribly, but couldn’t when he saw that you had blasted this villain guy in the face with blinding blasts of ultraviolet radiation. The concrete on his face crumbled slightly and he roared in anger, swooping his hand to try and grab you up, while you were floating in the air.

     He roared again when he missed as you dodged his clenching fist with ease, lurching forward and sending passerby into a panic as the ground shook beneath them.

     “Foolish girl! You dare to challenge me, your worst nightmare?”

     “Not much of a challenge,” you retorted, and Peter laughed, then shut himself up when he realized he should probably be doing something, but he didn’t know what.

     “You look like a schoolgirl in that redundant uniform!” yelled out Concrete Man out of spite. “Get back to class!”

You paused midair, just sort of bouncing in the air, but now your eyes were glowing green and you felt energy activating inside of you that you knew would be deadly for Concrete Man, and extremely riling for you.

     “Aw,” you crossed your arms, your voice eerily monotonous. “You made me angry. Good luck in advance.”

     Concrete Man started to laugh, but before he could even get out a good bellow, you darted forward, feet first, and rammed yourself into his face, nailing him so hard he practically stumbled, your superhuman strength and berserker state granting you immunity to the aftermath of the blow and even greater strength. 

     The people below gasped and stumbled back, and some people started to run. Meanwhile, you were launching great green blasts of energy from out of the palm of your hands and into the villain’s face, blinding him and making him even more vulnerable as he groaned in pain at the heat of the power surges you were sending out.

Peter just looked up, his voice shaky because he was intimidated by you now, and choked out,

     “U-um, d-do you need any help? Sh… should I be doing anything right now? I’m really confused, woah-”

     “No! Shut up and get that woman to safety!” you yelled, only because you were angry and he was distracting you.

     He did exactly that and ran over to the lady who Concrete Man had been attacking previously to get her to safety, and practically managing the crowds of people running by and trying to escape. You, on the other hand, were this much closer to defeating Concrete Man. 

     With blast after blast you had practically rendered him powerless, and he was staggering back, about to fall hard onto the ground. As Peter watched, he realized your maneuvers and techniques - the way you were hot headed and fast on your feet, just hitting him with move after move - reminded him an awful lot of someone… someone he was incredibly close to, but in his haze he couldn’t think of who.

     “EVERYBODY MOVE BACK!” you yelled out to the few people who were standing underneath where Concrete Man was going to fall.

     Everyone ran and when he finally fell, tumbling and crashing to the hard ground, you zoomed down, your eyes still gleaming a flashing green, and hovered above his disintegrating face, mocking him,

     “Who the fuck is a little schoolgirl now!”

     He bellowed and tried to get back up, but you were already harnessing your energy between your two hands, pressing the right wrist over the left wrist in a clamping maneuver and muttering,

     “Get back to class,” before blasting an explosion of radiation at him that made him cry out in agony as he melted into the ground, just a puddle of wet cement like he had been before.

     The people that remained cheered raucously and you came back down to the ground, a few feet ahead of Peter who had watched the whole thing go down in awe. You couldn’t help but smile, back to your normal state after releasing all of that energy, and bow just for even more effect.

     You swerved around to face Peter now, remembering the mistake you had made in calling him by his name. You had meant to tell him sooner or later, but in your anger at seeing him get so mishandled by this wannabe Ironman you had slipped up and soon the cat would be out of the bag. You knew your boyfriend could be a bit of a ditz sometimes, despite his pure genius, so you figured he hadn’t yet put two and two together.

     “Who are you?” Peter was first to talk, his face a mix of horror and confusion.

You breathed out loudly, catching your breath,

     “Follow me.”

     Reluctantly, he did, and you led him to a quiet alley where no one else was, and this just so happened to be the alley where he left his backpack and changed into his Spiderman uniform everyday. Something was definitely up.

     You looked around to make sure the coast was clear, and when you had decided it was safe, you got awfully quiet and looked him in the eyes, though he still couldn’t decipher the face because you were masked.

     “Peter, it’s me,” you said solemnly, your face and voice hopeful that you wouldn’t be angry.

     It was like a lightbulb, no, a fuse, lit up and exploded over his head. He almost took a step back, he was so shocked, and everything started to come together. He started getting eight by ten glossies of his life, but just the moments he shared it with you, and all the weird things about you he had brushed off. 

     Like for example, your insane flexibility despite you proving to him multiple times you hadn’t set foot in a gymnasium for gymnastics since you were a kid, your excuses for leaving suddenly out of nowhere, your off days where you seemed to be supernatural when angry. It all made sense now.

     “YN?” his already high voice cracked as he squeaked out your name, and you smiled apprehensively, hoping he wasn’t mad.

     “Um… hi?”

     “I don’t believe it. I do, but… wh- how does this even happen… you knew I was Spiderman all this time? And- and you, who… who even are you! If you’re a villain we have to break up… you’re not a villain are you? Please don’t be, I love you. I-I mean, that’s a strong word, could be scary, but you’re scary so I don’t want to get you upset by saying that if you’re not ready. Are you ready? Am I talking too fast, I feel like I’m talking really fast. Okay, woah, I’m a little light-headed, I’m gonna sit down.”

     He sat up against the wall and you chuckled, standing in front of him- the boots really added height and you practically towered over him- on top of that he was sitting down. You thought it was cute that he found you scary, hell, you thought he was cute - he on the other hand was intimidated by your even further enhanced beauty (because you were already beautiful to him but now even more so) and power. He was also trying very hard to look anywhere but at you, or at least at your face, because he had never noticed how absolutely ripped you were, more than him maybe.

     “Peter, calm down.” You removed your mask and cloak and he cleared his throat a bit too loudly, now that he could see your face. Then he started to choke and you made a disgruntled face as you glared down at him.

     “Sorry,” he held his hand out to excuse himself but continued coughing.

     “Look, I can’t tell you anything if you’re gonna be freaking out the entire time.”

          “Okay… okay, just… explain.”

     And you did- you explained how you were the most recent Avenger and how Natasha Romanoff had taken you under her wing for training, and how you had even visited other realms like Azarath and Tamaran to receive training from the former Teen Titans. You told him how this was really very recent and how you were going to tell him at some point, you just had to find the right time. He was planning on telling you too, at some point, since your relationship was getting quite serious.

     You explained that you hadn’t meant to call him Peter, but that you were just distracted and annoyed, and already angry, since Peter was getting hurt and you felt like you hadn’t gotten there soon enough to help out. And you explained how you wanted nothing more than for the two of you to remain the way you were relationship wise, and not to let this new knowledge about you or each other betray what you had. 

     But you emphasized that sometimes your job was more important than him and he totally understood that - you were the kind of headstrong girl who, even if hot-headed, had a good head on her shoulders and a strong belief in yourself. You wouldn’t let anyone, even Peter, your first love, come between that.

     “Wow…” Peter said, following your lengthy conversation. “So you’ve been an Avenger all this time?”

     “Like I said, I only gained Avenger status recently. Before that I was kind of like you… just more, y’know, lowkey I guess, since you didn’t know who I was… or who Violet Blast (your superhero name) was until now.”

     “Yeah… no kidding,” Peter panted. “You look really nice in your uniform by the way.”

You side-eyed him but winked playfully, 

     “You too if I were into the whole tights thing.”

     He made a face, irritated but satisfied- you were the same old smart mouthed you, even as an Avenger. You were sitting next to each other, still in the alley, and you hopped onto your feet again, pulling Peter up from the ground too. He winced at how hard you had grasped his hand- superhuman strength things- and couldn’t hide it before you noticed. You giggled,

     “Oops.”

     “Ha,” he laughed limply, because he was still a bit afraid of you.

     “Ok. I left my bag somewhere here…” you trailed off, starting to swivel around to try and find it.

Peter spotted it and dashed a web out towards it, pulling it towards you,

     “Got it!”

     You smiled and picked it up,

     “Aww. My boyfriend’s a little spiderbaby.”

     “Er- I’m a spiderman,” Peter corrected, folding his arms.

     “Yeah?” you teased him, rolling your eyes. You started to change back into your regular clothes, but Peter made a noise and asked,

     “Whaaat ya doin’?”

You made a face, bringing your brows together,

     “Changing…?”

He cleared his throat, feeling quite awkward now since it was very obvious, but his mind had gone somewhere it shouldn’t have, in his dazed mix,

     “We… yeah, I knew that. Just- you weren’t gonna give me a warning?”

You raised your brow even higher,

     “Peter, I’m your girlfriend.”

He squeaked out and started to complain,

     “Look, I’m really overwhelmed right now, with all this new information, so could you ju-”

     “Fine, turn around,” you griped, but you couldn’t help but laugh at him.

When you were done you waited for him to change too, but he just stared at you.

     “You want me to turn around,” you said, more of a statement than a question, and he nodded shyly.

When the two of you were finally in your regular clothes, though you were by no means regular at all, you carried on out of the alleyway as if you were. When you got out on the other side, you laced your hand through his, careful not to squeeze too hard,

     “And by the way, I do love you… too.”

Although this brought a boyish smile to his face and made him laugh joyously in that cute way of his, he was still a little confused,

     “What?”

You let go of his hand slightly, hoping he hadn’t just been rambling inattentively when he said that to you earlier, and already fearing losing him,

     “Just… you said, back there, when we… I don’t know, I thought you said you loved me. Back there.”

Your voice got low and your head hung and your insecurity was showing. But Peter’s face remained lit up, as he squeezed your hand to reassure you, bringing your hands back closer together,

     “Oh I know! I just wanted to make sure I was hearing you properly YN.”

You rolled your eyes and glanced over at him, basking in this moment- it didn’t seem real, but it was. The two of you, literal superheroes, together in what seemed to be life’s most fun and magical twist yet, not just the fact that you even had these abilities. And you were just two teenagers walking along the streets of Queens. And you shared your first I love yous. You couldn’t help but laugh and smile.

     “Sure, Spidey,” you smirked.

ahh ok i hope you and everyone else who read that liked it!! should i make a part two where they’re just figuring out how to act normally in school + when they’re around each other and stuff, and maybe more of them fighting together!! lmk <3 thanks so much for requesting first ask anon <3

[hermannsthumb]

ok trying this again lol hopefully tumblr doesn't eat my message but i saw where you reblogged that halloween prompts last night and wanted to request "strangers who hooked up at a party while in costume but tbh i might be in love with you so i’m gonna walk this earth looking for the right woodland nymph" for newmann. the thought of hermann dressed as a woodland nymph is CUTE!! thank you, maria

from list of halloween prompts here

HEHE this one took me a while bc i’ve been slammed with a cold the past few days thats made me want to do nothing but like. lie in bed. HERE YOU GO ENJOY

———————————————

“Sexy fairy, huh?” Newt says.

The dude leaning against the wall lowers his drink and frowns. “Pardon?”

“Shit,” Newt says. “Hang on. Sorry.” He pulls out his plastic fangs and works his jaw a few times, then settles right back into his most charming smile. “I said sexy fairy, huh?”

“Oh,” the dude says. He looks down at himself–the illfitting white tunic, the tacky fake vines glued to it, his sandals (socks with sandals, actually, wow)–and gives a self-conscious tug at the equally tacky flower crown atop his head. He’s a real hottie. Big brown eyes, dark eyelashes, cheekbones–definitely Newt’s type. He’s surprised that no one else dove in to chat him up first. “I think it’s meant to be a nymph, actually. I bought it at the costume shop on the way here.”

He’s all posh and English. Newt wasn’t expecting that, but he thinks he can dig it. He leers. “So the sexy is all you, then?”

The nymph’s frown only deepens. “What do you mean?”

“I mean–” Newt sighs. “I was calling you sexy.”

“Oh,” the nymph says again. “Er. Thank you.”

They slip into uncomfortable silence. (Way to go, Newt. Struck out already.) “Are you here alone?” Newt tries again.

It’s the wrong thing to ask: the nymph makes a face and takes a long sip of his drink. (Purple, with weird foam on top, probably whatever’s sitting in the punchbowl marked Witch’s Brew.) “Yes,” he says. “I came with my date, but he–ah–”

His eyes drift to a guy in a semi-matching costume on the dance floor, who’s currently bumping up against some hunk dressed as a sexy pirate.“Ditched you?” Newt says.

The nymph makes a non-committed sound. His hand tightens around the head of his cane (which he’s also wound fake vines around–Newt appreciates the creativity). “I didn’t want to dance,” he says, and then it’s his turn to sigh. “We only met a week ago, on some moronic–dating app my sister insisted I try. I should’ve known he’d…”

That won’t do; Newt was trying to get the guy’s number, not send him spiraling into moodiness. “Hey, I’m here alone, too,” Newt says. “All alone.” He doesn’t even know the host–it’s one of Tendo’s exes, he thinks, who he may or may not have gotten sushi with one time years ago but never bothered unfriending on Facebook.

“Mm,” the nymph says. He gives Newt a long once-over. Newt wishes that he’d planned better, and worn something a little sexier than just standard vampire. (Like sexy pirate; the guy the nymph’s date latched onto instead had the right idea.) As is, he’s probably only passably sexy: his pants are tight enough, and his shirt is open enough, and he has enough glitter in his hair (because it’s fun) to light up like a fucking disco ball in the light. “I suppose you’re going to ask me for my mobile number now. Or offer to get me a drink, despite the fact that I clearly already have one.”

Newt grins goofily. “That was the plan.”

He get another long, considering stare. Then the nymph sets his drink down and clasps his free hand around Newt’s wrist. “Follow me,” he says.

“Cool,” Newt says. “Uh, are we going to the kitchen? I think it’s–”

They’re not going to the kitchen: they’re going to an empty broom closet. Newt can appreciate a forward-thinking man who knows what he wants.

“You ought to know,” the nymph gasps, tangling his fingers in Newt’s hair, “I don’t really do these sorts of things.”

“Really?” Newt says. He grins up at him, face inches from the guy’s stupid tighty-whiteys. “’Cause I do. You want me to put my fangs back in?”

“No. Ah–!”

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

Newt wakes up with a hangover (predictable), his phone buzzing off the side table with his alarm (annoying), and the strangest sensation that he met the love of his life last night (unexpected). The sensation is only amplified when he picks up his phone and sees that he’s, apparently, sent no less than five texts to his dad about it (his fucking dad, of all people, Newt needs some friends), but it quickly turns to dread when he sees the mess that is his poor forearm.

(“I’ve got a spot right here,” Newt slurred. After mutually-reciprocated hijinks in the closet, he and the nymph–who had told him his name at one point, Newt was sure, he just totally forgot–proceeded to get totally smashed off whatever the fuck Witch’s Brew was and then make out in the corner until Newt finally reminded him that he still wanted his phone number. The nymph was game. He was less game when Newt showed him where to write it in bold black Magic Marker one he rucked up his sleeve: his right forearm, between his jellyfish tattoo and his Godzilla tattoo, on a small patch of empty, freckled skin.

“Cute,” the nymph said, wryly.

He said it in a way that made it clear he didn’t think Newt’s tats were actually very cute. “I like them,” Newt said.

“Can’t I just–” the nymph was struggling with the marker, “–put it right in your, ah, phone?”

“This is more fun,” Newt said.”)

The number is nothing more than a smeary mess now–probably casualty to the massive rainstorm raging outside that, if Newt’s soaked pile of clothing on the floor means anything, has been raging since he stumbled home last night. 

He can’t even remember the guy’s name.

SOS, he ends up texting Tendo after a healthy amount of coffee and Tylenol. hooked up with super hot guy at a party last night and have no fucking clue how to see him again and i think i might be in love. help

you’re almost forty, Tendo replies, which is no help and isn’t at all the sick burn Tendo probably thought it was.

Newt resorts to stalking Tendo’s ex’s Facebook page instead. For anything, really. There are only a few photos up from the party last night (so far, anyway), and most of them are focused on the dance floor and the guy’s friends. Newt clicks through obsessively anyway. The ornate Jack-O-Lanterns that’d been on the front porch, Tendo’s ex and some chick in zombie makeup, the punchbowl of foaming purple Witch’s Brew, and–finally, in the very back corner of a shot–Newt standing with his mystery man. Tacky crown and all. He exists, at least, not some extremely specific hallucination on Newt’s part, even though a reverse image search turns up with absolutely nothing but links to buy his costume. 

He has better luck with a blurry photo of his mystery guy’s (deadbeat) date laughing in the kitchen under the bright orange string lights: Tendo’s ex actually tagged him. Probably because he wasn’t totally crashing the party after seeing a post about it like Newt was. Newt’s luck pretty much stops there; not only does the guy make no mention of the nymph Newt spent the night with when Newt stalks his page, but he hasn’t updated his status in literally six months, and none of his friends (because Newt combs through his friends list, too) look remotely like Newt’s mystery man.

So. Newt sends him a friend request.

He accepts it in the amount of time it takes Newt to take to feed his fish, heat up a tiny bowl of spaghetti-o’s, and regret sending it in the first place; he almost spills the bowl over his laptop in his hurry to send a message. Hey, weird question, but who’d you bring to that party last night?

lol why?

“I’m in love with him” is definitely a little forward, so Newt makes up a fast, and hopefully at least mildly believable, lie. He has my umbrella.

Typing for a while. tbh idrk him, we met online. his name was hermann

Then: i think hes a teacher or something

who are you anyway? comes a second later.

Hermann. Newt likes it. It also rings a very, very vague bell. cool thanks! Newt sends back, and then quickly unfriends the guy. Anyone who could possibly ditch a guy as hot and funny and, overall, perfect as Hermann (as Newt remembers him, anyway) is not worth Newt’s time.

exciting update, he texts Tendo. his name is Hermann!

Newt has a lecture to teach at six, three hours from now, so in lieu of actually preparing for it, he decides to be a creepy stalker instead. Hermann’s date said he was a teacher: none of the local public schools have a Hermann (or a Herman, for that matter) on any of their staff pages, K all the way up to Twelve, nor do the private schools. He has better luck when he pokes through staff directories for nearby universities instead: this gives him two Hermans and one Hermann, but neither of their provided pictures look remotely like Newt’s Hermann. Not even when Newt squints.

He spares another miserable glance at the smeary ink on his arm before shutting his laptop. Maybe it’s just not meant to be.

He’s walking to campus from his bus stop the following week–the day before Halloween–when the most fucking unbelievable thing in the world happens.

He sees Hermann.

Just sitting outside the campus coffee shop at a little table, sipping a paper travel mug dotted with little orange pumpkins. Reading over some notes. Newt’s sure it’s Hermann: it’s Hermann’s big brown eyes, Hermann’s long eyelashes, Hermann’s sharp cheekbones, Hermann’s cane propped against the brick wall next to him. Newt’d recognize him even with the stupid nymph costume swapped for more sensible sweatervest and tweed. “Hermann!” he shouts excitedly, waving both arms. “Dude!”

Hermann looks up. He drops his coffee.

He’s completely speechless when Newt finally manages to book it across the street (dodging traffic, including the bus he came in on) and collapse, panting, into the empty seat across from him. “I can’t believe it’s you!” Newt says. “Holy shit, dude! I’ve been trying like crazy to track you down. I lost your number, so I had to message your shitty boyfriend–”

“Not my boyfriend,” Hermann says, faintly.

“Right, your shitty date,” Newt corrects. “You look so good. I almost didn’t recognize you without all the leaves. I’m so glad I found you. What are you doing here, anyway?”

Hermann blinks a few times. Registering it all. “I work–” He says, and gestures to the stairs that lead up to the main part of campus. “Er, here. Physics. I teach physics.”

That explains why Newt couldn’t find him on any faculty pages–he just assumed that Hermann couldn’t possibly be working at the same university as him and didn’t bother checking. He though he would’ve remembered seeing a face like that around. Physics, though, makes sense–it’s not like they’d be in the same building. “I do too!” Newt says. He leans in, beaming away. “Well, not physics, biology. I can’t remember if I told you my name or not. It’s Newt. Dr. Geiszler, if you wanna be serious, but I’m pretty sure we’re way beyond that at this point.”

“Ah,” Hermann says. “No, you didn’t say your name.” He blinks a few more times before finally seeming to get over his shock, and it’s replaced with mild amusement instead. A small smile. “You’re a doctor?”

“Are you that shocked?”

“You’re not very–” Hermann does a very bad job of disguising his laugh as a cough. “Professional. You know–at the, ah, party, you really should’ve just let me–”

“I know,” Newt says, and Hermann’s smile grows.

“Writing it on your arm was a terrible idea,” Hermann says. “I was horribly offended, you know, when you didn’t call the next day.”

Newt fishes his phone out of his pocket, unlocks it, and offers it out to Hermann with a grin. “Looks like I won’t be making the same mistake twice, then.”

[sometimeswritingsometimesdying]

The Superheroes Against The Storm- Chap. 1

well, I say chapter one but we’ll see about that

A/N: i’m back after vacation, and I’ll be gone for maybe the next month or so bc I won’t have any internet, so i thought i’d post this now, and make an actual plan for the story later.

Pairings: Eventual Logicality, I write nothing else apparently, and eventual Prinxiety but it’s not in this chapter. Platonic everything else, but we’ll see about that.

Word Count: Who even knows at this point, ‘cause I certainly don’t

Warnings: maybe a lil’ angst, I’m not really sure what classifies as angst anyway, and some sort of sexual jokes, and you can thank Remy for that

Summary: Logan has been noticing weird things popping up on his computers, so he decides to go ask Patton what they may mean. It eventually spirals out of control into a big mess, with some superpowers thrown in.

The day was bright and shining when Logan Wright made his way down the ruined gravel path that lead to the small house with the big backyard- or, well, the entire forest.

Logan hadn’t really meant to wait so long to go back to visit, but work had been consuming all his time, with meetings and the launching of new projects, and he hadn’t had a lot of time to even think of visiting family, let alone friends.

Ironically, here he was, about to knock on the door (with vine growing on it, he noticed) when it was work that brought him here. He observed the dark wooden door, (that had four symbols carved into the center, one for each element; fire, air, water and earth. In fact, it wasn’t unusual for the people of the towns close and far to refer to it as the “House of the Elements”) and took a deep breath, before knocking on it three sharp and clean times.

As he waited patiently for the owner of the house to open the door, he could hear someone stumble, something crash, and multiple exclaims of ‘oh sorry!’ from the other side of it. How comedical, he thought. A rare smile tugged at his lips, as he recounted how careless about his space and clumsy the other had been throughout the years of their friendship.

Eventually (after more crashes and sorrys) the door opened to reveal a frizzled and short man, who admittedly looked like he’d been in a fight with a cat, and from what Logan remembered (and oh, he remembered) this wouldn’t have been his first time.

The man uttered out another apology about taking so long to open the door while he brushed the dust off from his shirt, until he looked up and saw who had been knocking.

“Logan!” The man threw his hands around his unexpected visitor to hug him, nearly knocking his breath out.

“Ah, Patton,” Logan said as soon as he was released. Patton smiled brightly at him. “I see your hugs are still as bone-crushing as usual.”

“It’s the only way to go!” Patton answered, still beaming. “And I see you’ve got your hold on a couple ways of saying?” Logan adjusted his glasses slightly.

“I’ve been practicing.” Patton chuckled slightly before inviting him inside.

---

“So,” Patton said, voice chirpy as always as he put two cups of tea down on the table. “Any reason for the sudden visit?” 

There was a reason indeed, but Logan didn’t want to start that conversation yet. But, then again, there was a heavier question lingering in the air, why did you wait a year? 

He didn’t know, or better he knew, but he didn’t want to talk about it, so he went with his first option.

“Well, you see, I have observed some interesting patterns that the computers have been picking up lately,” Patton’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“And why would you come to me for help?”

“Well,” Logan said while passing a piece of bread to the deer that had entered the house while they had been talking. From where, you ask? Probably the hole in the wall that lead directly to the, ahem, backyard. Saying Patton was in tune with nature was an understatement. Which was the main reason Logan had decided to ask Patton for help instead of the other, much more dramatic option. “This is much more your area of knowledge than mine really.”

“The elements?”

“Your elements, Patton.” The man in question chuckled.

“Alright then, let’s see what you’re talking about.” Logan pushed a little black box onto the table. He pressed a little button on the side of the box and a hologram popped up. Numerous images and videos of plants and animals were displayed on the holographic screen. They didn’t have many things in common, but one thing was persistent in all of them- they were all deformed. Patton bit his lip as he scrolled through the pictures. Sure he didn’t know the animals, but they were technically connected to him, so he still felt pitiful. “They look like something straight out of a radiation plant.” He said, still looking at picture after picture (and silently praising himself for the pun.)

“Indeed, but,” Logan said, clicking the box again. The screen changed to display a bird’s eye view of the city. “They’re not. They’re all from the city, which is highly unusual since it is a low radiation site.” He clicked again, and the screen displayed large circles around certain buildings in the city. “I’ve tracked down the places these pictures were taken in or close to, and they seem to center around these buildings.” He pointed at the state bank and an old warehouse. “And some lower concentration at these points.” He pointed at the museum, an old apartment complex, and the biggest park in the city.

“I see,” Patton said, as Logan clicked the box again to turn it off. “So, what do you want me to do with it?”

Logan looked Patton in the eye. Now or never, he thought. “I- well, I need your help to figure out what is causing these, um, peculiar instances.” Patton offers him a kind smile. “Perhaps we should look into this further back at the laboratories?” Patton gasped and clapped excitedly.

“It’s gonna be just like back in highschool!”

“Well, I wouldn’t say so, those were sleepovers,” Logan said following behind Patton as the latter started running around the house picking up everything he needed. “This is strictly a business trip.”

Patton hummed happily as he threw his clothes into a duffle bag. “Seems the same to me!”

Logan smiled slightly and went to pick up his coat as the other finished packing (If he left anything, he could probably ask a bird or a deer to bring it to him, although he didn’t quite like asking the animals to do things like that for him. They could get hurt!, he’d always say.)

“How are the animals going to respond to you leaving?” Logan asked once both him and Patton were in his car.

“Oh, well, I haven’t left for a while, for, well, a while,” Patton giggled slightly. “But I’m sure they’re gonna be okay, they’re strong enough to make on their own.”

Logan nodded slightly and pulled out of the gravel driveway, with one question on his mind, but what about you? 

However, he remained quiet as Patton hummed along to the radio.

It was late into the night when they finally arrived at the Wright laboratories, and Patton had dozed off long before. Logan was debating whether to wake him up or leave him be when Patton’s eyes fluttered open as he yawned.

“We’re here?” He asked while rubbing his eyes. His big round glasses were askew and his blond curls were a mess. He looked, admittedly, adorable, and maybe Patton held a little truth, because it did sort of feel like high school again.

“Yes, and it looks like Remy is awake.” Logan said, pointing at the only lit window in the building.

Patton blinked tiredly up at the building. “Remy? As in,” a yawn. “Remy Wake?”

Logan opened the door and rounded the car to get Patton’s bag. “As much as it is ironic, it is him.”

“I haven’t heard from him, since, what? College?” Patton said, following Logan inside the building. “I sort of miss our little friend group, you know? We had so many adventures.”

“If you count having to drag Remy away from a party because he’s about to blackout from drinking too much is an adventure, then I guess we did.” Logan answered as he walked into the elevator, a giggling Patton in toe.

“I mean, you have to admit that it was fun to hear him ramble on about every guy we walked by.”

“If by fun you mean terribly embarrassing, then I agree.” Patton laughed again.

“Has his personality changed?” Logan sighed and stepped out of the elevator into his giant office.

“You’ll see for yourself-”

“Finally, babes! You took so long I thought you were already snogging in the car!” The man, the myth, the legend, Remy Wake himself said from his spot on the couch, clad with full sunglasses and starbucks coffee. Logan rubbed the bridge of his nose as he and Patton blushed.

“This is what I meant.” Patton laughed and went over to hug the living daylights out of Remy.

“Ah, Pat, babe, it’s great to see you again!” Patton sat down next to Remy on the couch.

“You too Rem! It’s been so long. But, uh, not to be rude, what are you doing here?” Patton asked. Remy raised an eyebrow as Logan sat down on the chair across from them. He pushed down his glasses and looked at Logan over them.

“You haven’t told him yet?” Logan shook his head. “Ah, well. After you, uh, left,” Patton rubbed his neck awkwardly. “Logan, me and the others finished uni and other companies were already trying to snatch this guy for themselves,” He pointed at the man himself, Logan. “But, since he’s stubborn as fuck,”

“Language!” 

“He decided to make his own company, and me, being the great friend that I am,” Remy gave Logan a pointed look.

“Remy you are possibly the worst worker in this laboratory,” Logan said, matter-of-factly.

“The worst worker with a PhD in physics?” Remy challenged.

“The worst worker that sleeps on the job?” Logan shot back. Patton chuckled and told them to calm down.

“Anyway, as I was saying before I was interrupted so rudely,” Logan scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I decided to start working in the company and here we are now!”

Patton looked utterly impressed. “I move away for a couple years and this happens.”

“You know it, hun,” Remy stood up and adjusted his leather jacket. “But I think I’m gonna head out now.” He picked up his bag and coffee, and headed for the elevator. “Have a fun night you two!” He called out. Goddamnit, Remy, Logan thought.

Eventually, they were so tired that they fell asleep on the couch not much later.

[baixueagain]

ok venty reflective blog entry time bc I find it helps me get shit off my chest & calm my anxiety. 

tl;dr I had a shitty teen friendship that to this day has left me with enduring trauma symptoms lol

at least once a year I find myself reflecting back on one of my closest teenage friendships. towards the beginning it was (at the time) probably the deepest platonic bond I had ever shared with anyone, but over the years things soured until finally it became well and truly toxic and finally ended disastrously. we tried on two occasions to make amends as adults, only for it to crash and burn again because of the baggage.

now toxicity in this case went both ways and I know that I had ownership in what happened. my RSD ass for one was clingy and needy, which was only exacerbated by a very long episode of major clinical depression that started when I was around 16. I could also, like many teen girls, be a real catty little shit at times. I had a hard time with social cues because of my neurodivergence, but I will note that I have always tried extremely hard to listen and respect others when they tell me that I’m doing/saying something which annoys them, hurts them, or otherwise bothers them. thing is, though, you kind of have to tell me if something bothers you, or else I might completely miss out on or misinterpret your reactions. it’s not so much a lack of empathy as just the signals get completely crossed. people send off so many signals that I sometimes can’t sort them out.

as a result I have made a lifelong habit of conscientiously trying to communicate that I am open to hearing feedback and trying to resolve interpersonal problems. I did it back then, too, because this was far from the first time I’d had trouble reading social and emotional signals, or getting them confused.

anyway, that said, what sticks with me about this particular friendship is that as things progressed this friend, let’s call her A, began to treat me not only like a burden, but like a monster, sometimes reacting to me with both fear and hatred. that was the confusing part. she did it in front of others, making it clear how she saw me, and that was the humiliating part. she also had long talks about her problems with me with other people (who were already openly mistreating me due to my neurodivergence), but she rarely ever told me that she had problems with me, even though I pretty much begged her on multiple occasions to tell me what I was doing wrong. that was the painful part.

ever since then I have had the occasional bout of extreme guilt, shame, self-hatred, and anxiety as I wonder if maybe she was right to treat me like that. maybe I was a monster. maybe I had been horribly abusing her and never realised it. maybe my attempts to reason with myself about all this are just the typical excuses abusers make for their behaviour. maybe i’m a monster, or else why would A have treated me like a monster? why else would so many of the other people in our mutual social circle have treated me like a monster? fuck, am I the baddie? 

hell, throughout those years, when my other friends and family tried to convince me that A was treating me unfairly, I consistently defended her to them. I told them that they didn’t know A like I did. I told them that I must be doing something wrong. I must deserve the way she was treating me. sometimes, like today, I still find myself in that spiral of anxiety and self-blame.

on days like today, I have to consistently remind myself of the things A did do, making a goddamn list in order to silence the screaming in my brain telling me that I am the sole fuckup:

she downplayed things, dismissed them, and even shamed me when I told her on multiple occasions that some powerful people in our social circle were openly mistreating me and a few other (obviously ND) kids

she confided in these same people about our friendship and took their advice on how to treat me

she basically used me as her free therapist for years, and because I didn’t know better I let her. she meanwhile refused to see a real therapist for some of the very real issues that she had, even though I literally begged her (in tears) to please go to a professional about these things because I couldn’t handle them on my own.

she lied to me. a lot.

she used me to lie for her to others, including to her own parents. I let her, because I thought that’s what loyal friends do.

she frequently treated me like an annoying child in public because of my hyperfixations and other coping mechanisms

she frequently treated me as if symptoms of my illnesses - including literal internal bleeding - were just me trying to manipulate her for attention

years later, A basically admitted to seeing me as a freak who is unable to socialise with “normal” people. she acted as if I were being unreasonable and overreacting when this made me angry.

as I would learn even more years later, she would frequently assign malicious intent to my awkward or unusual (but otherwise innocent) social behaviours. this, it turns out, is why she’d sometimes randomly start treating me with fear, revulsion, or anger, with me being completely clueless as to why. (note: I have other close friendships that started around the same time as my friendship with A and which have endured to this day, and none of those people have ever had very much trouble with talking to me about behaviours that inadvertently upset or bother them)

she continued to do this during both our attempts to make amends. when I finally realised what had been happening and told her how it made me feel during the second attempt, she cut off all communication completely. by this point it had been nearly a full decade of this behaviour from her.

but of course, even when I sit down and write all these things out, the little whisper in my brain still tries to convince me that she could probably make an even longer list for me so I must be the monster she thought I was, right?

then again, while writing, I’ve come to something of a realisation: if a friendship from my teen years has left me with symptoms of emotional trauma that have lasted into my fucking thirties, then maybe I’m not the asshole in all this. maybe my crippled-ass brain is telling me I’m a monster because, during a very important developmental stage of its maturity, someone I loved and trusted repeatedly treated me like I was a monster.

I mean, only like 2-3 years ago, I suddenly had a memory surface of A’s dad yelling at me in public, in front of dozens of people, and then leaving me to have a meltdown/panic attack in front of those same people - all because I tried to ask her why she was (yet again) treating me strangely. I don’t remember what he was yelling about, or why. I can only suppose that she had told him that I’d done something heinous. that, or he just saw that his precious little girl was treating the local freak like a scary monster and decided that it must be for a good reason, because that freak’s a freak. 

this occurred a full decade before I actually remembered it for the first time. I even called up my parents to confirm whether it actually happened, or if I was imagining things. it had. 

so yeah. I’ve always known that all that business fucked me up. I guess it just fucked me up even more seriously than I’d ever expected.

[chasingshhadows]

a personal post

I wanted to talk about something personal. 

(cw: anxiety/panic attacks, mentions of csa & self harm)

A few weeks ago I had an anxiety attack. This is something normal for me. A tightness in my chest that I just feel like I can’t breathe around, that sits like a painful, heavy knot on my sternum. My breathing becomes more shallow, and I just sit on the edge of tears, and spend the entire episode fighting them back, occasionally releasing these aborted sobs as I try to suppress the urge; and still, sometimes I fail and the tears fall. And my thoughts just spiral, I can’t focus on anything other than what triggered it, which only makes it more intense. I usually stop eating/drinking, mostly because I can’t make myself like, get up and get food bc I get too hyperfocused on my anxiety.

Sometimes, this lasts a few hours. Sometimes, it lasts 2 or 3 days. This was a long one.

I finally calmed down a couple days later, started putting actual food back in my body, started being able to lose myself again in the things I love. Things went back to normal. 

Until less than two weeks later when it happened again. Just as long as the first.

(tl;dr I finally sought treatment for my anxiety after suffering through it for 15 years and ngl it feels p damn good)

I’ve been getting these attacks since I was a kid, I remember them as early as age 12. But back then, I didn’t call them panic or anxiety attacks. I thought of them as “breakdowns.” Minutes and hours spent hyperventilating and sobbing uncontrollably. I was in and out of therapy in grade and high school after being caught self-harming, but this was something that just never got addressed bc I never brought it up - everyone breaks down sometimes, right?

In college, things were better and then far worse. I started self-harming again my sophomore year, and sought therapy. My therapist asked to see my scars in the first session and I didn’t go back.

Jump to a year and a half later. A survivor of csa and several other incidents of predatory sexual behavior by that point, I started spiraling hard, made only worse by catcalling on long walks home at night and a near miss with a sexual assault after a party. It got to the point where I started skipping class, or being late because I couldn’t take elevators if there were men on them. The breaking point was a night at the gay club with my best friends and I started having a panic attack bc I couldn’t see another woman, bc despite being surrounded by men I trusted wholly, I panicked. 

I went back to therapy (someone new), and started working through my mountain of issues, the ones I knew about (csa, androphobia, depression), and the ones I didn’t (anxiety, abn). The eating disorder, phobia, and depression took center stage as they were impacting/threatening my life in the most urgent ways, but I was diagnosed with anxiety disorder for the first time in my life. 

Therapy was one of the best things that ever happened to me, and for the first time in my life, I felt like I had a handle on my issues. That I was in control. That I was managing it.

Over the last 6 years since my diagnosis, I’ve become a major advocate for others to seek treatment for mental health issues, including medication. It’s just like wearing glasses, I tell people. Mental health treatment is just as vital as treatment for physical disorders. Sometimes I even get pushy because I know how hard it can be to take that step, to admit you need help. 

But I was managing my own issues, right? I didn’t need medication. I thought that because I almost never reached the point of hyperventilating anymore (once or twice a year, at most), that I was managing my anxiety. I was in control.

And it took two severe attacks within less than two weeks to make me realize just how ridiculously wrong I was. To realize how much I had just absolutely become my own blind spot. 

I wasn’t ok. I wasn’t in control. I wasn’t managing my anxiety attacks, I was just experiencing them. I was waiting them out. I was suffering through them.

And it’s not just the attacks either. My social anxiety left me alone and crying at my desk at my company holiday party because I just couldn’t make myself get up and go talk to my coworkers. My social anxiety won’t let me enter a new restaurant by myself because I’m too afraid of standing in the wrong spot, going to the wrong counter, looking stupid. My anxiety left me so afraid to talk to one of my old bosses that I lost my job. 

I’ve started living my life around��this anxiety. I made space for it, I accommodated it, changed my routines, and adapted the way I approach new things (i.e. sometimes not at all) to avoid these feelings, and then felt like a failure when they crept in anyway.

And honestly, the biggest thing I’ve felt since deciding to seek help is anger. I’m so mad at myself for letting this go on so long, for spouting off to anyone that will hear to just get medicated because yes, it is bad enough and you deserve not to feel this way while ignoring all of that advice for myself. For suffering through and thinking that was an acceptable way to live. 

My appointment was this morning and it didn’t hit me until my doctor left the room just how terrified I’d been that she wouldn’t take me seriously. That she would say it was all in my head and I was fine. That she would think I was making it all up or just seeking drugs.

But she didn’t. She asked why I was there. She asked what these attacks feel like and what caused them. She asked about my history of therapy. Asked why my anxiety was put on the backburner and asked why I never medicated before. Asked about how my anxiety presents outside of the attacks. She listened. Took notes when I mentioned something of note (i.e. self harm, csa, depression). She was kind and gentle.

I got lucky, I know. I have heard many a horror story from friends and others who sought treatment and were treated like children or criminals. My experience with my first attempt to get help is not typical, and I know how lucky I am.

But now I have a plan. I have a new, very low level daily med to take to ease the binds I’ve let slip around my life. I have another, stronger med to take if I have an attack. I have a lifeline. I have a follow-up appointment. I have a referral to see a therapist. 

And when she left the room to write up the scripts, the relief just crashed in. I’ve taken the first step and the door wasn’t slammed in my face and while I’m still furious at myself for allowing this to go on, especially when that first step ended up being so painless and simple, I’m just honestly flooded with relief. 

I’m looking forward to what comes next, to what my life could look like without being so bogged down in fear, without worrying about something triggering an attack, without having to making room in my life for something that has no right to it. 

Get help y’all. You’re worth it.

[captainkaithr]

Hi oops it’s been a while and I’ve been picking at this for months but I finally sat my ass down (in the middle of packing bc I have priorities) and finished the thing!

Right Here, Right Now

[AO3] [DA] [Ko-fi]

Adrien catches sight of Marinette when he’s racing across the rooftops as Chat Noir. He grins, and can’t help lunging down into the nearest alley and leaving the transformation behind him. “Hey, Mari!”

Plagg dives into his pocket seconds before Marinette twists to see him.

She yelps, one hand flying to the purse she always carrying, the other holding her sketchbook up as if to hit him. “Adrien!”

Adrien holds up his hands as he laughs, slowing so that he can walk beside her. “Didn’t mean to startle you. I just - couldn’t resist.”

“How did you get out of the house? You don’t have a shoot, or anything scheduled,” Marinette asks.

That she always knows his schedule – better than he does – is amazing. But as Chat Noir, he’s seen the inside of her room. She’s had his schedule pin to the underside of her trapdoor for a long time. As Adrien, he's seen her room too, but it's been curiously devoid of the masses of photoshoots and the schedule in those moments.

Since they started dating, it's been like that all the time. Just a few pictures left, of the four of them. Some of the rest of her class. Her family.

“Can you keep a secret?” He slings an arm about her shoulders, pulling her close to him so he can whisper in her ear.

She giggles and blushes bright red, and he thinks he’ll never get used to that. He doesn’t think he wants to.

“Did you sneak out?” she asks, her voice a stage-whisper.

Adrien grins and kisses her temple, because he can’t help himself.

She blushes again, and it’s red on red because her last hadn’t quite faded out.

“And I saw you and I couldn’t resist – is it terrible that I want to keep you for myself?” He steps back, because it’s awkward to walk that close, but his hand slips down to hold hers and she wraps her fingers about his hand. Or as much she can, with hands that small.

“Away from Nino and Alya?” Marinette asks.

Adrien nods as they wander down towards the Eiffel Tower. “I know we’re all dating and we shouldn’t <i>really</i> be jealous, but…”

Marinette laughs and bumps her hip against him. Her purse sways with the movement, nudging at his side. “I’m sure they won’t mind.”

“You think?”

“Certain,” she replies. “What, you don't think they sneak off to be a couply couple on their own? They were dating each other before us.”

“Oh, of course." He knew this. It makes sense, after all; and if they want to be alone, then for sure there's no harm in him here with Mari without them.

Mari's blushing again; there's something she's not telling him.

"Spill, Mari. What's got you glowing?"

"Don't." Mari laughs and pushes him away.

"No, come on." He's laughing, because he knows what she's thinking about. After so long, he can read her like his favourite book. "Tell me why we all started dating again?"

Mari groans and hits at him ineffectually with her sketchbook. "You know why."

"Sure, sure. Tell me anyway." Adrien catches her sketchbook and takes it from her, using it to shield them from the sun. “I like hearing you say it.”

“You dork.” Marinette groans, but she doesn’t let go of his hand.

Adrien laughs. “I’m waiting!” he half-sings, a spring still bouncing in his step.

“Because we all love each other,” she answers, grinning. “And this way we don't crash anyone's dates. You know that. We say it often enough.”

“Yes, but you in particular…” Adrien draws it out, laughter in his eyes like the sun.

Mari laughs and pushes him away with a hand running through his already wind tousled hair. “Because I had a massive crush on you. Happy?”

“Always.” Adrien ducks away from her hand and presses another kiss to her forehead.

“You dork,” Mari mutters, affectionately.

“Your dork.” Adrien grins.

"My dork," Mari agrees, sounding very self-satisfied. Very much the cat that got the cream.

And Adrien loves the sound of it, loves it so much that he can't help the joyous burst of laughter that escapes him out into the glorious Paris sunshine.

"Alya's and Nino's too, of course," Mari is saying. "They have a part in your dorkishness as well."

"Not as big a part as you, though."

"Well... since they're not here..."

As they reach the steps of the trocadero, overlooking the way down towards the Eiffel Tower, Adrien has a sudden urge – a feeling of everything, all at once, that makes him want to – to sing and dance, and just – live and laugh and love with Mari at his side. Normally it's a patrol feeling, it's messing about with Ladybug, it's their puns and quips and games, but even so it bleeds over into his unmasked life more and more, whenever she was there and laughing at his side.

It's second nature, then, to sweep Mari up with all the strength that bounding about the rooftops of Paris has given him and spin her around, delight splitting a sparkling grin that could be seen from the sun on his face.

Mari squeaks and buries her face in his neck, and he feels her laughter in his very being and it's beautiful.

He stumbles and comes up against the wall, and without much of a break swings Mari up to sit on it, boosting himself to her side before she's settled.

People are staring, but they're always staring. He's Adrien Agreste and he's with the prettiest (unmasked) girl in Paris, why wouldn't they stare?

But it catches him, for all of an unwanted moment, and he remembers just how many pictures Mari had had up on her walls of his modelling. Yes, she was a designer herself – they could've just been for inspiration – but why only him? Why – she had the talent to go far, but...

"Adrien?" Her hand is soft against his, and she's gesturing for her sketchbook. "Can I have that, please?"

"Oh – yes, of course." Almost distantly, he hands it to her. Lost in the turmoil of voices he doesn't want to believe, but...

There are a lot of them. Chief is his father's who had disapproved from the start. Had believed the worst of Mari, never liked Nino, thought Alya was too nosey and antagonistic.

He tries to bury the voice, but-

"Is everything ok? You've gone quiet," Mari says, her sketchbook closed in her lap.

"Why was it just my modelling photos that you had all over your walls?" Adrien asks, before he can really stop himself.

"How – how do you know about that?" Mari stutters, her blush threatening to return.

Oh. Oops. "Alya told me?"

Mari scowls, and Adrien worries that he's dropped Alya in it. "I'm a... a big fan of your father's works. I was using them for inspiration."

"But just the ones that I wore?" He pushes, because if she's going to talk about it, then it must... it must be ok, right?

"Because of that massive crush I had on you, remember?" The words fall flat, like they're supposed to be joking but aren't.

"Oh, of – course." Adrien's voice is light, his smile pleasing – as well practised as ever even as his feelings crash.

All those photos because of her crush, or her crush because of all those photos?

"Adrien." Her voice calls him back from spiralling, and he wonders if she would be able to do that were he an akuma. Probably.

He tilts sideways to look at her, and meets her defiantly earnest gaze.

"I didn't have any of those pictures before I knew you. Before I knew how kind and understanding you are, and how patient when you don't have to be, and that day – your umbrella-" she cuts off. "You were never just a pretty face," she says carefully.

“Ah, so you admit I’m pretty-” The teasing comes naturally to him, a by-product of the time spent free to say what he will behind a mask, and never have it reflected back on him by his father.

Mari laughs and pushes him away.

He rocks back easily, bending with the movement and feeling her hand - pencil hooked between her fingers - warm against his chest.

"I never got it back, you know." And she had taken down all of the magazine pictures.

"I couldn't bring myself to return it." Mari shrugs, reaching a hand up to tuck some of his hair back behind his ear. "It's a reminder. To keep me grounded. Or – well, as grounded as I can be."

Adrien laughs, and his hand tightens on hers again. “Do you spend a lot of time flying about the city?”

Mari considers him for a moment, then laughs at him. “If tripping over it counts.”

“As long as I’m there to catch you,” Adrien says, with all the intensity of his youthful heart. “My-”

Marinette blinks at him, and there isn’t even the hint of a blush this time.

Adrien reconsiders. That might have been too much coming from his unmasked self (and too close, neither of them were - she wasn’t-). “Sorry, that just-”

“Why Adrien,” Marinette cuts across him, recovering with a bat of her eyelashes that almost looks to have been plucked from Chloe’s books, “Did you mistake me for Ladybug there?” Her tone is teasing, her playful smirk almost Chat Noir’s own.

Adrien blanks, is caught unawares, and now it’s his turn to blush. His cheeks have never been so warm, and he’s sure he could be used as a warning light for ships passing in the night, they feel that bright.

Marinette laughs, delighted. “It is possible! I knew I could get you to blush. Payback!” She crows, victorious.

This was - oh, she was almost too much, she was brilliant and perfect and maybe she wasn’t Ladybug (or maybe she was, whispered Adrien’s most heartfelt feelings, because she hadn’t negated that as such, but-) but she was here and he was hers and he could - with that, he could do anything, he’d run up the Eiffel Tower to yell it, just to make sure the world knew, and-

“Adrien?” Marinette winds her fingers through his, sounding concerned. “Are you alright? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean - Alya said you couldn’t but I wanted to see and I took the chance because I couldn’t resist and-”

“Marinette.” Adrien catches her hands as they start flying, thankful she’d left both pencil and sketchbook in her lap. “You have my permission to do that at any point you think is necessary.”

Marinette giggles, high pitched and relieved. “I don’t think I can do that again.”

Adrien presses a kiss to her palm. “And I meant it, you know. Whatever you do, wherever you go. I want to be there at your side.”

Mari smiles, soft and slow. “I’d like that,” she whispers, tilting her hand in his grasp to stroke down his cheek. “I’d like that very much.”

[ofshilohs-blog]

heyho, hi ! i’m incredibly late jane ( pls just ignore that the accepted post says sylvia .. i was v insecure if u catch my drift ), twenty, she & her and from the glorious gmt+2 tz. along with being an avid dc & marvel fan, memes cause 90% of my laughs which .. is sad now that i think about it but Anyways ! you’re here for shiloh and not me ( mayhaps a little bit. here’s to hoping right. ) read below at ur own risk, you’ve been warned alright .. also if you want to plot just hmu or like this & i’ll im you later !

SHILOH HARTELL — wait, you mean the AMETHYST ? yeah, i’ve heard of HER before. they’re a TWENTY-ONE year old DANIELLE CAMPBELL lookalike and identify as DEMIGIRL. people often describe them as THE ARCANE of this island. i definitely agree, though. i mean, not to be rude or anything but shiloh can be kinda PEREMPTORY and PARADOXICAL, but everyone has their bad days. however, they’re also TRUSTWORTHY and DILIGENT, which makes people admire them so much. i guess what i’m trying to say is that they’re a true gem.

BACKGROUND ( TW: CAR ACCIDENT, COMA & ALCOHOL/SMOKING MENTION )

first things first .. you can click on each word to find shiloh’s bio & headcanons but i don’t want u to waste five mins of your life so i’ll try to cut it down to three. SKSKJ

besides that i’m actually kind of proud of this kind of social media page ?? so mayhaps look at it .. if u want.

really getting started now though

born april hartell in toronto in 1996, before her younger brother june was born one year later.

( for the sake of .. lbr everything i’ll just go on calling her shiloh bc otherwise it’ll be too confusing w/ april & shiloh ) in her early yrs shiloh used to envy june and the way their parents always preferred him, but fast forward to now and shiloh’s soo very glad they did. she taught herself numerous things she probably would have never considered if she wasn’t “ignored” a good few months and even after she brought up being left out to her parents it continued.

when shiloh was twelve, her brother was diagnosed with copd or more commonly known as smoker’s lung, an obstructive lung disease which only caused the family dynamic to spiral down.

after the news sunk in the hartell’s did everything for their brother/son and during those times shiloh and june actually grew close. shiloh mostly took care of her brother when their parents went out or simply had to recharge. ( the next few sentences are from her bio bc it’s 2am n i’m tired bear with me plS ) nonetheless graduating was just as important as taking care of june. shiloh has been known as some kind of a contradiction during her school years, always being excessively studious and getting straight a’s while being surrounded by other popular kids due to being the cheerleading co-captain. at the time her schoolmates didn’t know anything about shiloh’s home life as she preferred to keep it that way. hanging out with them gave her a few hours of calmness, despite most of them trashing other people’s property or trying to set her up with the most basic but popular guy, until they realized she apparently had no interest in any form of relationship. but what no one, except for her brother, knew was that shiloh in fact had a friends with benefits agreement with some messed up guy from a local university. shiloh always told june it wasn’t serious in the slightest and she probably wouldn’t even talk to him if he didn’t have his own demons to deal with.

shiloh always blamed her father for june’s disease as it was caused by him smoking every day and having june next to him almost all the time. while shiloh never wanted to become like her father, years later she believes she did despite trying truly everything not to.

at age eighteen shiloh changed her name legally, now using april as a middle name and nickname for her parents to use. ( once again copied from her bio rip ) ever since graduating shiloh started making videos to compensate for the lack of other distractions, as she wasn’t interested in meaningless hookups anymore either. being exposed to even more knowledge and terms than before, the brunette found herself more and more.

while spiralling down due to constant pressure at home and online shiloh had weak moments of consuming too much alcohol which only caused to cloud her judgement. it was june’s eighteenth birthday when shiloh made a fatal mistake, driving while intoxicated caused their car to hit a tree and damage its occupants.

it wasn’t until one month later that shiloh woke up from a coma, as disorientated and concerned as ever. when she caught the sight of her brother without any severe injuries shiloh was finally able to breathe normally again, not realizing her heart rate went up significantly just moments before.

even though june always claimed the crash didn’t worsen his condition, shiloh kept blaming herself just like she blamed their father for what he did to her younger brother. during that time shiloh started seeing similarities between herself and him that didn’t even exist.

once again distancing herself from her family shiloh put out more and more videos. as she gained subscribers rapidly, shiloh decided to talk about her private life for the first time publicly, hoping it’ll help people in similar situations.

getting mostly positive feedback and encouraging comments, shiloh approached her family again. she tried making peace with her own mind about everything that happened in the past, almost promising herself to not act the same way ever again.

as june’s condition got worse year after year, it hit its lowest point in 2016. no temporary treatment helped and the family’s former inherited fortune shrunk every year after trying one high-priced experimental endeavour prior to another. shiloh and her family got closer during that time once again, but her parents also insisted on her being able to have a life on her own. 

while applying to the closest car shop to become a mechanic, shiloh cut all ties to social media in the process after making one last youtube video explaining why. 

as her family heard of the gem theory they believed it’d be for a good cause to set shiloh up for it. being skeptical at first, shiloh put more thought into it. what if it meant the money she’d receive could be used for yet another attempt at finding a cure for her brother, or even the organization itself developing one ? after a few tests shiloh was all too familiar with, the result of being a perfect fit for the project surprised her to a degree. while hoping to partake in the experiment for the sake of her younger brother, shiloh simultaneously didn’t want to leave her hometown for the very same reason. having a long talk with june, however, convinced shiloh to be a part of the gem theory. still being skeptical, she hoped for some kind of silver lining.

PERSONALITY ( TW: ALCOHOL & SMOKING MENTION )

as mentioned above shiloh is very eager to learn about basically everything. she always needs something to keep her occupied. as megan abbott once wrote there's something dangerous about the boredom of teenage girls and while the quote is only semi-fitting it definitely can be used to describe shiloh’s high school years, always fooling around and screwing up while maintaining this picture perfect kind of image as co-captain of the cheer squad and a straight a student.

contradiction has always been a big part of shiloh, balancing between two stereotypes if you will: nerd vs. popular kid, first born vs. being the “lesser” child, being incredible romantic vs. meaningless hookups, keeping all feelings in vs. letting them all out at once, not believing in anything that can’t be touched/seen vs. believing in aliens.

absolutely despises cigarettes, blunts and everything else that can be smoked.

believes that wearing glitter as highlighter takes her closer to the stars and aliens.

the only alcoholic beverage she regularly consumes is any type of red wine.

for the first time in her life, shiloh’s been away from her family for more than a month. while appreciating being able to live her own life, homesickness hits her a lot.

shiloh’s a very structured person, disliking chaos and things that don’t seem to make any sense. suffering from ocd especially intensifies the former along with spending up to an hour with things such as rearranging belongings again and again, something others probably wouldn’t even notice. back when shiloh did youtube videos those had to have a certain length as well, sometimes even having to be re-filmed.

being on the island gives shiloh a bad taste in her mouth more often than not with everything that happened. as she’s a person who doesn’t necessarily likes being observed after her online presence, shiloh’s reminding herself of the promise she gave her family of not returning without anything more than ever.

this was all soo v serious omfg. but have this little fun ig tidbit that the only meme shiloh’s familiar with is that snl sketch dear sister bc she used to love the o.c. which inspired it so have that. keysmash

WANTED CONNECTIONS

alrigHT this is not to toot my own horn bc Yikes ! MXALDKS but i’m best at brainstorming and rambling when it comes to connections but will try to add some general ones to this part later or tomorrow as in monday bc it’s already past 3am n i’m [ madison beer vc ] dead.

[kate-writes-fluff]

If you're still doing dialogue prompts? 160? For whatever you want?

160.  [text] Who says no to sex and donuts?!

When I saw this, I thought of Jean, so @tiggeryumyumm I decided to work in your Valentine’s day themed jeanmarco in the same prompt.

Sorry for the wait!  I’ve been fighting some real writer’s block.

Jean: Who says no to sex and donuts?!

Eren: just bc i work at a bakery doesn’t mean u can take advantage of it

Jean: I just thought it would sweeten the deal ;)

Eren: obviously it didn’t work

Jean: T-T

Eren: considering how thin the walls are in our apartment, i’m grateful for ur lackluster flirting skills

Jean: …. Rude

Jean locks his phone and sighs as lets himself into their apartment.  It’s only 5 a.m., about a half hour after the Wings of Freedom closes for the night and therefore way too early in the morning to deal with Eren’s teasing.  Jean drags his feet as he makes his way to his cluttered bedroom, exhausted from both his most recent rejection and a long night of wiping down tables at the bar.  He simply throws his uniform–which chronically reeks of alcohol–into a corner of the room as he strips, not even bothering to throw on pajamas before he flops into bed and promptly falls asleep.

Hours later he’s ripped away from a pleasant dream about a handsome stranger with plump kissable lips and warm, welcoming arms by an annoying buzzing noise uncomfortably close to his ear.  Jean groans as he fumbles, finally finding his phone underneath his pillow with the display lit up with a new message.  Part of him wants to ignore it, but he knows that if Eren pities him enough he might offer to bring him food–but only if he replies before he changes his mind.

Turns out, the text is from Eren, but it’s a picture of a flyer with no words attached.  He can’t help but groan as he taps the image to enlarge it and squint at the tiny, pixelated words his brain isn’t awake enough to comprehend yet.

“Valentine’s Meet Up,” it says in a curly romantic font.  “Hang out with other singles and donate your time to brighten someone’s day.  Make friends and meet someone new.”

Before Jean can think of a coherent response, though “what the fuck” would probably be a decent enough answer, Eren texts him again.

Eren:  i signed u up

Jean: whyyyyy?

Eren: bc ur single +whiney + u have a day off on 2/14

         also ur a romantic loser so i know ur gonna be extra whiney on V day

Jean: ….

Eren:  u kno im right. Accept it

Jean:  i only read this text b/c i thought you were offering me food

Eren:  if i bring u a donut will u stop complaining

Jean: its a start

Eren: i hate u

Jean puts his phone on his dresser and sighs happily as he relaxes back into his pillow, looking forward to the treat his roommate will inevitably bring him.

Jean makes good on his promise and doesn’t complain about the singles anonymous meeting Eren has signed him up for.  Though he makes sure to give his roommate the stink eye when he finds out that he has holiday plans of his own.

“If you’re hanging out with Mikasa and Armin, then why couldn’t you just let me tag along?”  Jean whines, turning to give his roommate the most pitiful expression he can muster from beside him on their lumpy clearance-sale couch.

Eren doesn’t bother to look up from his phone as he promptly answers, “Because you would spend the whole day complaining and flirting with my sister.”

“Not true!  I might flirt with Armin too,” Jean flutters his eyelashes as Eren groans, turning away from him to finish texting his sister about their plans.

“Yeah, like I want to make my sister and my best friend uncomfortable all day.”

“But you’ll let your sister crash your date with your crush.”

“It’s not a date!”  Eren exclaims despite his bright pink cheeks.

“But Armin is your crush?”  Jean laughs as he reaches out to playfully ruffle his roommate’s hair, an attempt that costs him an elbow in the side.

“I hate you,” Eren groans.

“Then get your own Netflix,” Jean suggests, switching windows on his computer away from the website in question to check his email.  He makes a point to delete his junk mail as slowly as possible, just to rile up his roommate even more.  After about ten excruciatingly long minutes he’s about to give in and start the episode of Stranger Things when a new email pops up in his inbox.

“It’s for that Valentine’s thing,” Jean remarks, catching Eren’s attention.  He crowds over Jean’s shoulder to watch as he opens the message.

Dear Mr. Kirstein,

Thank you for expressing interest in helping to set up and organize the Valentines Meet Up event.  Would you mind meeting me at the bakery to discuss planning details?

Thanks,

Marco Bodt

There’s a moment of silence as they stare blankly at the polite message before Jean pointedly glares over his shoulder.  “Eren!  I thought you signed me up for the event, not the planning committee!!”

“Whoops,” Eren shrugs and leans back into his own spot on the couch, giving his roommate the space he needs to properly fume.

“You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” Jean accuses, narrowing his eyes into an even harsher glare.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  Eren turns his attention back to his phone, pointedly avoiding further eye-contact as he resumes texting.  Jean puffs his cheeks angrily, unsure whether the avoidance is a sign of guilt or exactly how little Eren cares about the situation.

“… That’s it, we’re watching Hart of Dixie.”

“No!” Eren exclaims, dropping his phone in his lap as he finally returns eye contact.

“If you signed me up to be a romantic sap for the full week until Valentine’s day, well then I’m going to start now.”

Eren groans but shifts in his seat to see the screen better.  “It’s not even romantic, they’re just idiots for the sake of drama.”

Though Jean agrees with him there, he can’t help but roll his eyes at the remark.  “You can complain when you have an actual love-life, Mr. I’m-in-love-with-my-bff-but-I’m-too-scared-to-say-anything.”

“Says the chronic single,” Eren bites back, digging his elbow into a ticklish spot in Jean’s side, making the other man squirm.  “I hope you meet someone at the stupid event so you’re too busy being stupid and in love to bother me anymore.”

“You and me both.  Watching you guys flirt is more excruciating than watching Zoe and Wade go back and forth.”

Eren grumbles profanities under his breath for several minutes before he angrily remarks, “Are you going to start the show or not?”

Jean sighs as his alarm goes off at 11 a.m. the next day.  Working nights means that on a normal day, he tends to sleep through the afternoon.  But thanks to Eren, he has plans to meet the event guy at the bakery that cut his much-needed sleep short.

The night before had been a long, tiring day and even as he wakes up he still feels tired and listless, barely able to keep his eyes open.  Maybe if he was more awake, he would have put the effort into dressing for a first impression.  But the fact is, he’s simply too tired to care.  So he slips into a pair of sweatpants and a flannel shirt, not even bothering to comb his hair before he shoves his shoes onto his feet and stumbles out the door.

Eren’s wiping down the counter when he arrives at the Braus’ bakery.  As Jean slumps against the customer side of the counter, Eren shoots him a distasteful look.  “Really, not even an effort?”  

Jean finds enough effort to roll his eyes.  “Give me the sugar I need to get through this.”

Eren grunts an affirmative as he reaches into the display case to pull out a raspberry filled donut.  As Jean pulls out his wallet to begrudgingly pay–though this is all his roommate’s fault, he knows better than asking him to pay too often–Eren nods toward one of the front tables.  “Marco’s here already.”

As Jean turns to find the person he’s meeting, he suddenly wishes he had bothered to look in a mirror before he left the apartment.  Dressed in a spotless lilac button-down and steam-pressed gray slacks, the man looks as put together as Jean isn’t.  But by this point, Jean is just too tired to even think about running back to his apartment to scrounge up an outfit that looks half decent.  Though he does quickly finger-comb his hair before he slides into the chair opposite the man.

“Hi!  Are you Jean?”  The man smiles brightly at his approach, making Jean regret his clothing choices all over again.  Because that dimpled smile single-handedly makes his heart clench and his hands start to sweat.  Though the freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose certainly make the expression far more endearing than anything larger than a baby animal should ever be.  In contrast, Jean can almost feel the bags under his eyes and wonders what the stranger thinks about the hot mess he regrettably is.

“Yeah.” Jean does his best to smile politely, though it falls short.  His cheeks feel stiff and his flirting muscles are not quite awake enough to throw out his usual charms.  “Are we waiting for anyone else?”  He takes a moment to look around the shop and though there are few people getting breakfast to go, there aren’t many people milling around.

“No… you’re the only volunteer.”  Marco threads his fingers around his coffee cup and looks crestfallen for a moment before he smiles again.  “Let’s start brainstorming, shall we?” he suggests as he pulls out a small spiral notebook and a pen.

“Um, sure.  What do you have in mind?”

Marco eagerly flips the page in his notebook, revealing rows upon rows of neat handwriting and messy doodles and diagrams.  “I’m so glad you asked.”

The following week is the busiest Jean’s had in years.  Whenever he turns around, he’s making bright colored paper chains or folding squares of paper and cutting out paper shapes, filling his and Eren’s apartment with boxes upon boxes of decorations.  Whenever Jean gets ready for work, he can hear Eren stumbling and cursing over the new boxes that appear while he’s out of the apartment.  It would be funnier if Jean didn’t trip over the damn things himself, too.

The highlight of all the paper toil is that Marco is loathe to make him work alone.  During the week, they meet up at the bakery at noon, where Marco spends his lunch break away from the library decorating the place with him.  (Jean makes a mental note to pay the local library a visit someday soon.)

Even after spending so much time together, Jean doesn’t find himself tiring of Marco.  In fact, with each day he looks forward to every time he leaves to return to work, Jean finds himself actually looking forward to the next day even more.  Marco is just as charming as he was the first day they met, cheerful, creative, and fun.  

Unwilling to repeat the embarrassment of their first meeting, Jean’s careful to pick the best outfits in his closet for their afternoon meetings.  He can’t help but blush the day Marco compliments a shirt ornamented with an iron-on transfer of one of his own art prints.

Jean has always been one to preen over compliments, but the sheer sincerity in Marco’s voice and smile as he gives them is enough to fluster him every time.  Halfway through the week, Jean realizes that his attraction for Marco is slowly growing more than skin-deep.  That day, Marco laughs cheerfully at even the shittiest of his puns–a quip about Eren being the real breadwinner in their roommate relationship because bussing tables doesn’t exactly set the bar high–and Jean softens.

By the weekend, Jean finally finds the guts to invite Marco over, so they can watch movies while they create card supplies.  Marco brings takeout and they eat together on his lumpy couch.  When Jean watches tv with Eren, they have no qualms about personal space, throwing arms and legs into the lap of the other at a whim because they’ve learned not to care about boundaries after years of living together.  Here, with Marco, Jean is fully aware of just how small the sofa is and just the barest brushing of skin against skin is enough to make him jittery.  

Marco doesn’t seem to mind his nervousness, too busy laughing at the antics of the characters of The Grand Budapest Hotel and flashing smiles Jean’s way when a particularly funny line is spoken.  Jean confides that he’s an aspiring artist working at the bar only to make money in the meantime, so Marco makes an effort to point out the parts he finds visually inspiring.  He enjoys the pastel color palettes–strikingly similar to the colors of his dress shirts– and cheerfully taps Jean’s knee to point out the most brightly colorful scenes.  (He likes the pinks of the Mendl’s boxes the most.)

At nine o’ clock, Marco needs to leave and Jean has to get dressed for another night working the bar.  As Jean locks the door behind them, Marco hesitates for a moment, twisting his fingers together.  “I’ve heard that In the Mood for Love is a really visually interesting movie too.  And I’ve been dying to see it,” he remarks off-handedly, looking down the hall at the flickering lights instead of at Jean.

“Sounds cool,” he says, words that seem like the understatement of the century.  

For the first time ever, he smiles through his whole shift at work.

“Do you guys have to come flirt at my workplace every day?”  Eren asks on February 13th.  “It’s sorta gross.”

Jean’s ears warm but he scoffs at the question, “We are not flirting.  He just happens to actually appreciate my jokes.  Unlike some people.”  

Eren snorts.  “The only way he’d find you funny is if he has a crush.”  He leans against the oven door casually, enjoying watching Jean squirm with embarrassment for once.

Jean huffs in retaliation, “Less talking, more baking.  If we’re doing to decorate cookies tomorrow, we need cookies.”

Finally it’s the night of Valentine’s day and Jean’s nervous.  All their hard work is on display, hung up around the bakery, decorating it with reds and pinks from head to toe.  Trays of fresh cookies are ready to decorate and paper pieces are prepared for cards.

The cheerfully colored donation boxes are set up in the front of the room, listing the names of local hospitals and orphanages that are accepting cards.  The slogan “Give a card, give a smile,” hangs on a banner directly behind the boxes.

Sugary sweet pop music starts playing as Marco returns from the sound system, setting up a themed playlist from his phone.  Jean tries not to stare at the pink tie the man has on–the same color as the Mendl’s boxes in the movie they had seen together.

“It’s almost time,” Marco smiles, threading his fingers together restlessly.  “People should start arriving anytime now.”  The air between them seems charged with anxious restlessness.  Suddenly, in their last moments alone together it hits Jean that once the day is over, once they clean up the bakery, they’ll lose their excuses to see each other.

It doesn’t really matter that over the course of the week, Jean has learned that Marco’s favorite color is teal and that Persuasion is his favorite Jane Austen novel.  That Marco didn’t tease him when Jean confided that his favorite childhood movie was The Princess Bride.  It doesn’t matter that Jean showed Marco his art portfolio and the other man enthusiastically admired it, saying that if he ever finished writing his book he’d love to commission him to design the cover.

Once the event is done, they no longer have a reason to spend so much time together.

The shop bell rings and people start arriving, forcing the two men to separate and socialize, doing their best to keep the mingling running as smoothly as possible.  (Honestly, Jean hates this sort of thing, but after all the work they had done, he can’t weasel his way out of chaperoning a bunch of adults for a night.)

Regardless of how busy Jean finds himself throughout the night, his eyes always wander to the other side of the room where Marco is cheerfully chatting with other cute single people.  

He’s busy staring instead of paying attention to the card making tables when a young woman with wavy auburn hair whistles at him.  “Yo loverboy.  This is the wrong place to stand around being lovesick,” she chides, carelessly wiping cookie crumbs off her fingers.  “Sit down, make a card.  You’ll fit in with all the unhappy singles that way.”  She grabs a sheet of cardstock out of the pile and quickly scribbles something on it before handing it over.

It messily reads “Ur hot freckleface” above a hand-drawn heart that looks remarkably like a butt.

“See, it’s half done now.”

Jean sighs but sits down to work on fix the card she started.  He grabs a pink paper heart that’s just barely large enough to cover her unromantic words.  As he glues it down, he can’t help but notice that it’s the same shade as Marco’s tie and that thought convinces him to hazard a glance over at him.  The tall man is busy chatting and working on decorating his own cookies, even as he oversees others.

It wouldn’t hurt to make my own, I guess, he muses, searching through the box of children’s markers to find a color he likes.  It’s been years since he’s made anyone a hand-made valentine.  The only friend that might appreciate one would be Armin–the most sentimental out of the group–, though Eren would definitely change the wifi passwords for that sort of “personal offence.”

After an hour, Jean and Marco switch stations; Jean overseeing the decorations of the last batch of cookies while Marco helps with the cards.  Jean slides his own card into the back pocket of his jeans, unwilling to let his newfound friend even guess toward his intentions yet.

Finally, two hours after it started, people begin to leave, many of them in small groups as they chat and exchange phone numbers.  Even the woman who “helped” Jean with his card is cheekily hanging off the arm of a stern-faced young man.  She whispers something in his ear and his cheeks flare red before she turns back to wink at Jean as they leave the building.

The floor is covered in cookie crumbs, sprinkles, and paper scraps that will be a pain to clean-up, but even so Marco still smiles.  “Looks like a success.  People walked in alone, but they’re leaving with friends.”

Jean’s card feels like a weight in his pocket and he has to concede that yeah, it really seems like a success.  

They take their time cleaning, taking away all the little sugary clues that they’d been there, that they’d prepared for a whole week over it.  Jean’s smile falls as he returns to his earlier train in thought:  that their reason for spending time together is quickly falling away as they sweep up the mess.

“Cheer up, Jean.  The night’s still young,” Marco laughs, taking a moment to turn up the speakers.  Cascada’s “Everytime We Touch” blares, bringing back memories of youtube videos Jean forgot watching.

“Where’d you find this?  What year do you think it is?  2007?”  

The music becomes a palpable presence in the room, especially as Marco begins singing along, dancing with his broom as he sweeps.  Jean cracks a smile as he laughs, leaning into the table he was in the midst of cleaning for support.  He’s laughing so hard that he doesn’t notice Marco’s approach until he leans the broom against his table.

“Mind dancing with me?  That broom is just too stiff and wooden.”  Marco holds his palm upwards, like a prince asking for a dance in the ball of a fairytale, not in an empty bakery that looks like it was ransacked by preschoolers on a sugar-high.

“I can’t dance.”  Jean waves his hands in refusal, but Marco’s grin only widens.

“Neither can I.”

Finally, Jean gives in and reaches out to hold onto Marco’s shoulders as the other man leads him around the room.  They trip and stumble on chairs they hadn’t put away yet, but they only laugh in the face of their own clumsiness, each mistake bringing their bodies even closer together.

The song ends and something slower and mellower replaces it.  Jean can feel his pulse pounding but it’s hard to be embarrassed about it when he can feel the beat of Marco’s own heart from where their chests are touching.  

“I’m not looking for somebody with some superhuman gifts.  Some superhero, some fairytale bliss.

Just something I can turn to, somebody I can kiss.”

Marco smiles breathlessly, his lips barely inches from Jean’s, and suddenly it feels a little too close and intimate, so Jean takes a step back to pull the card out of his pocket.  It’s more than a little crumpled around the edges from their romp around the shop, but Jean finds himself passing it over anyway.  It just seems… fitting.

The card is brightly colored and framed with paper hearts, but on the front it simply reads “Thanks” in Jean’s best penmanship.  Marco’s face falls a little as he looks at it, so Jean hurries to explain himself as he opens it.  “I wanted to thank you for setting this all up, because it really turned out to be a lot of fun.  And mostly because I got to meet you.  And I hope you don’t mind if I ask, but I’d really like to keep hanging out, even though Valentine’s day is over….”

Marco cuts him off with a gentle hand on his own.  “I’d really like that…  But you know, Valentine’s day isn’t over quite yet….  And there’s no one I’d rather spend it with than you.”

Jean’s cheeks burn brightly as Marco retrieves a small plastic bag from where it’s lying forgotten on the counter:  a cookie decorated with a heart and Jean spelled in pretty cursive.

They have a whole lot of cleanup left to do, but Jean really can’t bring himself to mind.  Even if he had to stay there all night, picking up each and every crumb individually with his bare fingers, he’d willingly do it if Marco would keep looking at him the way he is now, like he’s been the highlight of the night.

But the night’s still young, of course.  And if they want to watch In the Mood for Love and kiss on Jean’s couch, then they need to finish cleaning.