#I’ve been in such a weird place mentally about art lately

[theswedishpajas]

Based on my favorite gif lately

[hopefully-nightly-doodles]

I don’t really post vent art here but I decided I o post this one cuz well… Honestly it’s mostly cuz I can’t sleep and have a lot of thoughts circling my head right now…

Vent hidden just incase people don’t wanna get depressed reading my wall of text sndbdj

I used to talk a lot in my twitter and I do have a priv that I had posted this vent art on weeks ago but idk- Twitter has become such a toxic space its hard to be active there even in my private account. Well actually its hard to be active anywhere for me, but if you’re a long time follower you probably already know that. I’m a hermit, and very much an introvert with a weird social battery. Every time someone tells me they think I was an extrovert I always get so confused by it-

I don’t even know where I’m going with this or if it will ever see the light of day, but it can’t hurt to try and process feelings right?

Im not going to go into detail on to what made me draw this or the full extent of what’s been happening cuz its complicated as fuck- But I can try and dissect how I’ve been feeling or at least try to. For the past month or maybe more I’ve been tipping back and forth on my mental health, and at the end of May the scales finally tipped over for the worst and I did something so fukin stupid. It was a snap instant regret kinda moment and I knew I fucked up big time. While yes, there were outside things that happened and build up turmoil months prior that got me to that point of mental deterioration before the snap, its on me to have let myself get that bad in the first place.

I should have taken more breaks when I knew I was pushing myself constantly, draining myself constantly. I should have been more firm with my boundaries whenever I mentioned them and should have been better at communicating the hurt and stress and pressure thats been building up before it all came crashing down.

People always say “love yourself before you love others”, and on a logical and fundamental level I always understand why. At least I think I do… But to deeply understand what it actually meant I knew I only had, at best, a foggy grasp of it. And since what’s happened recently I kinda get a little why now. People who are hurt will always end up hurting other people when that hurt is ignored or not properly processed.

And thats what happened to me. I hurt someone I really cared about and I feel gross and unbelievably disappointed in myself for it.

It doesn’t matter how hard you try to be better for others or to be there for people and be kind and supportive to them. Those acts of service and kindness, tho genuine, isn’t going to fill the hole in your heart that you aren’t giving that kind of support to yourself. It’s so self destructive and will leave you to grow bitter from the inside out. And thats why it was so hard to see, and why I didn’t notice till it was too late. Cuz on the outside I look and acted fine, but inside i was deteriorating so much that I got to a point I couldn’t not see it anymore. And in a desperate cry for help I tried to open about it and explain int the worst way possible up but snapped, crossed a boundary I shouldn’t have then ran away.

And I don’t mean snap like get angry, I meant like snap as in I had a mental break that led to the worst tunnel visioned, impulsive fueled action afterwards. Its so hard for me to get genuine angry at people and when I do I walk away to cool down. I at least have some comfort knowing I didn’t unleash burning hot fury on someone cuz I think I might actually puke if I get to that point. That I have become that kind of person. But anger isn’t the only way you can hurt someone and I feel like what I did was kinda worse then plain anger.

Since that happened I just been away from almost everything. I mean I know isolation isn’t the solution so I kept a couple of friends close to have a support system to help me through this. But I did it to think and process everything that happened and has happened before hand that led to that point. And I haven’t just been overthinking and sulking and mopping in the mess I made because honestly who does that help really? I guess that’s what lead me here, to making a tumblr post on my dump account at 7am in the morning. To pick apart my feelings and toss it into the void.

Well that and 2 other reasons… That part where I was talking about being disgusted by myself? Yeh well thoughts of me “erasing myself form the equation” and just snipping connections left and right had pop up in my head more times that in has ever been recently. Cuz you know if ***I’m*** the problem then haha I probably wouldn’t be missed then!

But then two people check up on me and like I shit you not I started crying on the spot. Actually sobbing (but not too loud cuz I can’t cry in this house hold) because oh wow not everyone hates me. Like yes I had my support system and they are doing gods work, they are lovely beautiful human beings and love and adore them! but it’s different when someone you weren’t expecting checks up on you, to know you occupy a space in their head and to hear and see that they cared enough about you to check.

One of them was a friend from a new more recent friend group I had been in when I joined a new fandom. Me and that person hadn’t been particularly close nor talked too much but I loved their company whenever we did get the chance. I wish I talked more to them but time zones and my own social anxiety kinda prevented that so that is something to work on. And the 2nd one was from an old friend I kinda drifted away from a lil, cuz again I moved fandoms, but was very close with. They have absolutely no clue about my current situation but actually checked up on me cuz of uh… The territorial tension between China and the Philippines hdkdbsjsb. It was so out of nowhere and unexpected like they didn’t even have my alt discord to message me but they found a way so I was kinda just super touched-

And those two interactions plus my awesome friends who have been a great support system, that keep me centered and grounded. Im reminded that people do care and that one mistake doesn’t make me scum of the world no matter how loud my toxic thoughts screams it at me. Especially not when I am trying to be better and recognize the mistakes I made and even apologized before taking my break from most my contacts. No one has even called me that but myself cuz Im so quick to be hard on myself for any mistakes.

All I can do now is keep myself centered, allow myself to feel my complicated feelings and process them in a healthy manner, do my best to be better moving forward, and to be patient with myself and move at my own pace.

Hey if you got this far into reading, wow you must have a lot of free time! /lh jdkdjdhdjdhd-

That or you’re just really interested in how I’ve been. I’ve been called mysterious, aloof and hard to read before so maybe you wanted to know what actually goes on upstairs lol.

But either way here’s a little something for reading I guess. The words in the vent art is actually lyrics and this was the song I was listening too when I was making it. Additionally if you’re feeling sad and need a song to listen to try this, it helps me process emotions. Either way if you happen to stumble on this, I hope you get something form this and that you have a nice day.

[swashbucklery]

Do you write original fiction as well or just fanfiction?

I was thinking of how to answer this, because my kneejerk reaction was one of self-justification - oh-I-write-fic-but-I-aspire-to-original-fiction-someday sort of breathlessly, which I see so often in fandom spaces. But then I was like: wait fuck that.

Because here is the thing anon and I don't think I would expect you to know this, but this is a space were I get to talk about myself and like. In 2019 I was someone who wrote (fanfiction) regularly and often, and felt like I was always working hard to balance art and work but managing, and doing a pretty decent job of protecting time for art. And then, I had the privilege of being in a healthcare job in March 2020. Which I talk about here but only a little, because this isn't really a space where I want to share a ton about the IRL parts of myself but basically: the experience of being Essential and being asked to Do My Part For Society Because It's A Big Crisis really dismantled my entire system of work-life balance and left it dismantled for uhhhh the past two to three years.

So that has been a time where I didn't have a lot of words to write. Not because I didn't have stories that I dreamed about or things to say - I had so much to say - but for me, writing is something that happens when it feels safe. Taking characters on emotional journeys, working through the puzzle of the highs and lows of connection and what that character needs and the gaps in the story and getting to fill them in - that's not compatible with a crisis, at least for me. That's slow and quiet and it requires time and space for slowness and silence to happen. And using 100% of my mental and emotional energy to Be Essential, For Society, took up all of the spaces where writing fiction would normally be.

And I bring this up because - I don't think it's after. I don't think it's going to be after for a long while if I'm being honest. But it's a season of late-pandemic transition, and a season of trying to reassemble the components that worked well for me for balance in the Before Times.

And one of the things I’ve done as part of reassembling the parts of my life that exist beyond my Essential Workerhood has been a lot of reframing to make more sense of what the pandemic has meant as a part of my life. While I'm in the midst of this, finding time to get my words out in a way that feels like play and feels like fun is a big, huge achievement. In a way that's hard to explain to folks who didn't have The Essential Worker Experience but that I want, very badly, to communicate well.

Right now, I personally am celebrating my success at being able to sustain play and wellness and the core things that I value despite the crushing stress I've had to work through. I'm so proud of the fact that last year and this year I've been able to turn towards rediscovering joy and processing the grief and stress of 2020 onward because that's what my soul needs and has needed. I’ve devoted so much time to working, and the thing that is best for me in my downtime is actually to intentionally add elements of rest and play instead of making my hobbies efficient or turning them into opportunities for side hustles.

I do think that I have original stories to tell, and I think that I'm still figuring out how the trajectory of my life will go to know exactly when but. At some point, I think it will feel really important to prioritize giving myself time and space to get those words out and maybe I'll publish something original. I’d really like to set up a pen name and submit some works to erotica anthologies and write weird romance novels.

But in the meantime, the best thing for my heart is to have writing and words be a place to play. And the easiest way to play is to take someone else's characters for a spin and have the best time with it, and that's what fanfiction is for me. So anyway: I just write fanfiction, anon, and I’m really pleased about it.

[peony-pearl]

Hi there, happy new year! I was wondering if i could get your insight on something. I’ve always had mixed feelings about Iroh sending Zuko to fight Azula & insisting it would be wrong for him to fight Ozai & also pushing the throne on Zuko. BUT it really rubs me the wrong way when I see anti Iroh takes that make him out to be so awful for this. I feel like everything Iroh does throughout the series comes from a place of love for Zuko even if he is flawed & can be messy & lazy & imperfect as a father figure - that’s what makes him interesting. But so much of what Iroh says in Sozin’s Comet Part 2 (to me at least, as I re watch the show) almost feels like…, not Iroh the Character speaking but almost just the writers using Iroh as a narrator if that makes any sense?

What I’m getting at is - do you have a take on Iroh’s motivations & what was going through his head during Sozin’s Comet part 2? I want to know what you think his perspective was because I feel like you always have good takes about what was going on in Iroh’s head & I have trouble reading him during a lot of this episode.

If you don’t have time, no worries. Thanks for often sharing your insights on this show as well as your beautiful fan art & writing. Hope you’re having a good start to 2023!

Ahhh thank you for this ask!! And I totally get where you're coming from.

I feel like Iroh insisting Zuko take the throne is a continuation of their discussion from The Avatar and the Fire Lord. While there are so many things left unsaid/not dealt with when it comes to Iroh, he probably doesn't at all feel like he's worth the crown. That and he's already stepped aside for so long, he could be realizing his complacency, his inaction, they've all piled up and now look at the mess they're in. He is not ruler material. Maybe he once was, but that's long past - and yet that's silly bc Iroh seems to already have the vibe that it's never too late to correct your wrongs.

I think Iroh is just... done with his home nation. The connection is gone. Iroh is loathed in the Fire Nation and has not had his name cleared in the rest of the world since before defecting. What would it look like politically for him to pop back up, fight/kill his brother who had been ruling for 6 years and had imprisoned Iroh, and then just plop on the throne? Even with the Avatar's blessing?

Ozai had to fall from the Avatar himself (granted I would have liked it if Iroh showed up to help Aang or something)

Now, going onto him sending Zuko to fight Azula, this is indeed where things get messy. One would think it's just as bad for Zuko to fight Azula when Iroh won't fight his brother - but I don't think Iroh intended for Zuko to KILL Azula. But Azula was going to continue her father's regime when crowned; even if he fell. There are a lot of things going on as well that they may or may not know, such as her mental state, what's going on with her banishing people at the palace; the hardest pill is that Azula is following through with plans set by her father to actively hurt an entire world.

The Fire Nation royal family is at the helm of the entire war.

Azula is a tragic product of it, as much as her brother, as much as her uncle, and yes, as much as Ozai. She has to be neutralized (not killed, just stopped) before she can keep following her father. This is it, this is endgame.

If Ozai has to be killed it's because he's LEADING everything; he's THE Fire Lord. Azula just needs to be stopped.

But I do agree that there's some really weird choice of words and plots. Iroh tends to get a lot of lines that sound great on paper, but in context it's like 'wait this doesn't sound helpful at all'.

ULTIMATELY though, Zuko becoming the Fire Lord, imo, is the best in the framing; although it would have been nice to see him question it more before suddenly wondering before speaking to Iroh. Let him question his desire for the crown, for the weight of it; let him reminisce on life in Ba Sing Se as a normal teenager. The royal family is in such shambles, there's almost nothing left of them. Honestly, neither Zuko nor Iroh nor anyone from the current family should have taken power over the Fire Nation - but that doesn't fit the bookends/Zuko's written story. Again, if there had been more self-awareness of the absolute fractured nature of the family, Zuko could have grown from his desire for the crown and found himself and I think with some newfound wisdom he could teach Iroh a few new things and that would be a great fresh start for their relationship and they could both go helm the Jasmine Dragon and Zuko gets, you know, a LIFE.

I think Iroh had good intentions naming Zuko, the next generation, someone who broke out of the chains of their family, the next Fire Lord, the one to lead the Fire Nation out of the war... but we don't even know what the Fire Nation itself thinks of Zuko, or the war for that matter. I mean, the prison guard Ming was pretty favorable of Iroh - but I have a notion it's shorthand for the viewer bc Iroh is supposed to be 'a good guy' by that time and having someone be genuine with him softens the blows of his time at the prison; but it would have been neat to learn that maybe Ming came from a family that favored from his time as a general and she was kind of blinded by that bias. Maybe the 'mean' prison guard had beef with Iroh because of Ba Sing Se.

I'm sorry I keep getting sidetracked (kinda like Iroh's writing ayoooo) but like yeah; I feel like Iroh's come to terms with the fact that he would make a poor leader (and yet the comics shove him into the interim Fire Lord position); but it would have been nice if he'd stuck around for a while; at least for Zuko's coronation and to make sure he had a good staff/council/updated the Fire Sages. There's a lot of stuff in S3 that breaks my heart with Iroh; some of it is on a good plane, but the execution is, admittedly very weak. I don't think Iroh meant to put more divides in the family that weren't already there, but I can see how it's interpreted that way. There's a war and he's picking the side that he feels is just.

It's the same when Azula shot Aang down with lightning - she's fighting on her side of the war.

Iroh knows she and Ozai must be defeated. He's fighting on his side of the war.

When Zuko asks Katara 'want to help me put my sister in her place?'

it's a heartbreaking echo of 'I'm about to become an only child'

The only reason Iroh and Zuko 'win' at the end is because they come out on the same side as the Avatar after they help defeat their own family. Iroh and Zuko are alive and well. But their family is not; and I think no matter what they did, it was going to end up that way.

[cosmicdreamt]

Excerpt from Chapter 1: New Moon - The Fool

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 || Chapter 11

Therapy rooms are weird. It’s like entering a portal to some unknown space where there’s an attempt at a sense of familiarity and comfort but you still know. You know it’s a room of business and profession and picking at your brain. What you’re there for and what the room tries to be just don’t match up.

It’s a strange feeling for her no matter how many times she’s been there. Even if she can sit on that couch with one of her legs tucked under her and her torso draped over one of the arms as she awaits her therapist to arrive at their session - being too hyper aware of the room gets her mind going. As her hand reaches up for her to rest her face against it her pinky finger starts tapping at her cheek. Sure, they can make you wait all the time in the world but God forbid you make them do the same.

The door finally opens and the man walks through, an action that has her finding herself sitting up straight once he places the folders on his desk and sits across from her in the other chair. 

“Good morning! Sorry for the wait. Thank you for coming today, Neff. How’ve things been for you lately?”

The dissociating feeling from earlier dissipates now that she has other things to focus on. How have things been lately? A lot better than they were that’s for sure, thanks to him of course. She was lucky to have found a therapist that works well with her after ones before didn’t quite work out. She’s been seeing him since right before she started college and now she was twenty-three. 

His name being Dr. Kruger is one for the books, though.

“Uh….well it’s been alright. A normal amount of stress, no mental spirals or breakdowns, usual depressive episodes but the meds have been helping with those. I’ve been able to keep up with work - I’m still at the cafe, working full time now -  and my art business has been doing well. I feel like I’ve been able to function well enough in society lately. Things have been fairly steady and consistent.”

She gives a slow nod and shrug of her shoulders as if to say ‘yeah, that’s about it’. He nods in response, taking a few notes down before continuing.

“That’s good to hear then. And what, to you, is a ‘normal amount of stress’?”

To that her eyes glance up and to the side, thinking for a moment before pursing her lips.

“Work stress, mostly. Making sure I’m doing all my tasks and doing them right. Making sure customers are satisfied. Dealing with the ones that come in and are unreasonable. My bosses say I’m doing fine and I know they mean it, but you know how my brain works by now. I’m always double and triple checking and just still have that lingering worry. Outside of work it’s just making notes of payments I need to make, making sure I have enough groceries, making sure I’m cleaning on time, giving myself time to relax so I’m not burning myself out. Things like that.”

“Not trying to take on more than necessary just because you think others have it worse?”

“I think you’d beat my ass if I did that. So no. Not this time.”

She can see him attempt to stifle a snort, the corner of his lips betraying him by curling just a bit before making more notes. He tries his best to remain professional but his mistake was encouraging her to be as raw and real with her feelings as possible. He wasn’t immune to her dry humor. 

“Hopefully not any time, either.”

“Can’t make any promises except I’ll try.”

[runfast-runfar]

Life Lately ~ June 2023 ~

- I’ve been out of residential treatment and in PHP five days a week for 1.5 weeks now. It’s been a rollercoaster, that is for sure. 

- I miss work so much. Like, so so much. It’s hard to explain bc I don’t miss the work itself that much, but I love the people I am around at work. My closest friend is also someone I work with, and so it’s been sad knowing I don’t get to go on walks for coffee, and randomly catch up throughout the day. I am looking at another ~4 weeks in PHP (meaning being out of work), and then I will step down to IOP for a while. The potential problem with IOP is it is 3 days a week, and I will have to leave work two of those days quite early (i’ll have to leave at 2:05pm and then the third day, friday, I won’t be able to go into the office at all bc the program is 10am-3:30pm fridays. That is a big ask considering they have been giving me this whole time off, full pay, to do this program. I just want this process to be over. I want to just go back to my life and be done with all of this treatment. It’s mentally and emotionally exhausting. 

- As ready as I am to go back to work, I also am so nervous for it. I am anxious to be around that many people again (there are ~75-80 people in our office). I have gained a pretty significant amount of weight atm from refeeding/my weight not having stabilized yet. I LOVE my therapist at my PHP program (her name is Jess and I talked to her each week when I was in residential, she just wasn’t my official therapist until I got to PHP) and I want to get to keep seeing her forever lol! I know I will get to keep seeing her during IOP but I also am a little worried if work doesn’t let me do IOP/take the needed time off I may have to leave against medical advice and not complete IOP. And that would mean not seeing Jess which would be very difficult for me. So it’s just a bit of an up in the air clusterfuck atm. 

- Some happy things are happening too though. My brother, our mutual friend and I are going on 3 apartment tours this upcoming saturday and I am SO SO excited and ready to be moving out, so fingers crossed one of these places works and we get it asap bc living at home is rough. 

- I am dog sitting for Finn and I LOVE my time with him! He is the best pal ❤️

- It was my best friends birthday and I made her a card that I painted and I haven’t done anything art related in a while and it felt nice to do. I need to do it more. 

- We do cute little fun activities in PHP often, and I got to make a little sand sensory “garden” and I love it! I am leaving it at program for the time being to play with there, but when we move out I am oddly excited to put it in my new room lol!! 

- And then the Taylor Swift concert is a little over a month away and I am SO EXCITED (also SO NERVOUS!) I was originally going with my brother (I coerced him to go with me) but my friend is able to come now, which I am so excited about, but it also made me weirdly extremely nervous too. She’s my closest friend and I love her very much and am so glad she’s coming. But I’ve never been in a social setting like this with a friend honestly ever. I haven’t had many friends since I was a little kid, and I’m nervous about it. I’m nervous to be in a crowd, and I get nervous around friends, even close friends, and I am a little worried about being in both those situations at once. I also don’t know how to act.. like I don’t want to be weird and too excited about it bc that’s weird.. but I also don’t want to be too rigid and a buzzkill... ugh.. why am I like this!? So, that’s been a bit stressful and on my mind for the past few days. It’s frustrating too bc it’s not that I don’t want her to come, I really do. I just wish I wasn’t so anxious about everything all the goddamn time. That would be freaking nice. 

- Anyways, no program today since it’s Juneteenth! So I walked down to get coffee with Finn this morning (I also slept in until 8am which is late for me lol), and then I have been laying in bed with Finn all morning! Yesterday I went on my first run in about 4 months now, it was an easy 30 minute run which felt conflicting. I was so happy to be out there again. No back pain, and it just felt like being back “home” in a way. But it was hard because I was running 8+ miles daily and in such better shape then. Okay.. maybe not “better shape” bc eating disorder.. but the difference in athleticism is real and hard to reconcile with. Anyways, went on that run, and then I did my favorite peloton class afterwards. And so today is a rest day. I will do some light yoga later, but I am freaking sore and so it’s been a relaxing day. Although apart from those workouts yesterday I laid in bed all day yesterday too haha! I actually movie marathoned all 6 Scream movies yesterday in bed which was amazingggg lol! I am rewatching Scream 6 now, and then I am going to watch all the Purge movies today! (can you tell i’m on a horror movie kick lol!) 

- Well, I hope you are all doing well, and have a great week ahead of you! 🫶 

[yourlittlesol]

Back on my pen at twenty four, twenty-twenty three.

It has almost been three years since I sat down in front of the computer screen to let my fingers bleed of words. The feeling’s thrilling but somehow vexing and taunting. Life’s been a tad buzz with twenty twenty one’s on-the-job-training course while witnessing a miracle-in-working healing of grandpa, heading back home in Tondo after being away for four months of health isolation, twenty twenty two’s completion of thesis and defense, shooting for our film finals, and finally walking down the PICC aisle on my black toga and white lace, on my grip was my diploma that reads “A Graduate of Bachelor of Arts in Communication''. Wait, it gets better. In July of the same year, I joined the Dream Team – a whole year of studying music and bible at church and helping out in production and ministry outreach. It was the most rigorous yet remarkable journey I’ve gone through in life so far, and I think it will always hold a special place in my heart for in it I’ve learned not only the intricacies of music theory, aural theory sight and ear, rhythm, and dance, but also to seek God diligently, communicate and listen well, be keen to details, and how to uphold a better version of myself every trimester, every week, every day with my soul anchored in faith and humility. As I near pass the finish line of my dream team year, I must say it is the pinnacle of my early twenties alongside stepping out of college.

I am a work in progress – we all are. However, looking closely at myself, I do tend to overthink a lot. By a lot, I mean a lot – with my brain working overtime in an overdrive. I guess it’s because I wanted to embody perfection even though it’s impossible. I’m twenty four, wow. I can’t believe I’m twenty four. It’s slowly sinking in as I re-kickstart my adulting journey by updating my CV. I was stuck at twenty, where I already knew I am old and supposed to be contributing to the finances of my family, an ever reliable ate that hands away W.O.W (words of wisdom) to everyone younger, and someone who behaves prim and proper – just like what the society expects in a fully-grown woman. I am not young anymore, technically but my grandparents often say that I’ve still got decades ahead of me to enjoy life without slacking my years away. That said, I’m old enough to make wise and mature decisions that’ll surely affect my latter years, and still young to be a worrywart about everything. Twenties is indeed a rollercoaster of learning – and this is not for the faint of heart. So to my fellow twenties warriors, we got this.

Lastly, maybe this thought process has something to do with age as well but lately, I’ve found myself writing my future someone in my prayer list priorities – alongside career, calling, and dream house. Isn't it a little early for that? Better to be praying for him early than late and settle for less, right? I wonder how God reacts everytime I mention to him my “him list”, does he find it funny? The “him list” is not in any way demanding, just a couple of specified bullet points of what I want him to have, parted with negotiables and non-negotiables – e.g for negotiables; it will be great if he’s three years older than me (he doesn’t have to be exactly three years, it’s just my preference but younger? Uhmm, wouldn’t it be weird though? I think it’s weird); Someone who takes good pictures (for memories), and someone who loves to read and write because it’ll be great to be with someone I can mentally grow as well. For the non-negotiables, he should be a man who is gentle, kind, serves God in the ministry, and a man who cooks well because I eat a lot.

Wherever that future someone is, I am always praying he’s healthy and safe. As much as I expect him to be a number of things, I also have my me list so that I can truly be a helper suitable for him. I am praying for a great husband, so why wouldn’t I be a great wife for him? Whether we’ve already crossed paths or we’re still about to, I believe that our foundation should be God – because He loved us so that we can love the people around us, eventually, each other, best. So, no pressure for us. We’ll get to know each other in God’s perfect time.

To wrap up this life catch-up, I’m grateful that no matter how life keeps on throwing me lemons, God always provides for me a blender to make lemonades. I am flawed but not lost. My feet stands on level ground for His counsel gives me a straight-path direction despite the many turns I see. To speak life, to produce quality works, my soul should always stand close to the God who perfects me.

It’s great to write again.

🌻Sol

[violetsystems]

I’m under consideration for another job at the same place I’ve been under review since late summer. Applied for it yesterday and got confirmation. Figure it might move the other job forward worst case scenario. It’s what I was doing before I was reduction of force. The other position would be cool too as there’s an opportunity for management. But I can’t just sit here and have an entire city and neighborhood watch me like it’s some political act. I unblocked some songs from my SoundCloud but I don’t really feel safe or interested in making music or being seen anymore. I don’t think a lot of people do right now. Everything is a springboard for an argument and nobody just wants to dance or have fun. If it is fun it is to secretly roast somebody’s entire life like it is a joke when it is closer to defamation. I don’t take it that seriously and just figure employment is more important than being seen as some sort of rockstar, activist or messiah. But I have blocked an abnormal amount of people lately as if they aren’t talking about it on some forum somewhere. I’m not bothered by it I just think people are stupid and flexing mental illness instead of sharing their art or music. I don’t drink or do drugs so I’d rather just work. But it’s a weird time in the world where everyone wants to see you go broke first.

[novorehere]

A Vore Day Toast

I’ve been doing a bit of self-reflection lately.

Peering inward, I wondered where it all started. Why do I enjoy vore? Why would such an outlandish scenario appeal to me in the first place? And after some thought, I think I’ve finally figured it out.

I want to make others happy. To have my very existence be a source of pleasure. I crave a place where I can be hidden away from the stresses of the world, being a filling meal the only thing I have to worry about. I want to feel that intimate moment of closeness with someone, knowing they appreciate me just the way I am. I want to be near to someone’s heart, figuratively and literally. Inside, nothing else matters but emotions.

And emotions are something that I have a lot of today.

I’ve had this tumblr account for almost seven whole years now, (crazy, right?) and looking back, so much has changed over that time. I graduated high school. Went to college. Got a job. Found love. Made significant strides with my mental health. It hasn’t always been easy, but this community has always been there for me. A place where I could escape to, to talk about a weird little pretend scenario that I’ve always held dear. To interact with others who share that same impossible interest, laughing at our weirdness together.

If vore is all about getting to make others smile, about finding a place to rest and escape from the world, and sharing a part of yourself with others on a genuine, personal level, I can sincerely say that you all have provided me with all these things and more. I suppose in that way, I have experienced what it’s like being swallowed.

And I thank you all for having me.

This one goes out to all the memes we’ve shared, the comfort characters we’ve obsessed over, and the insane amount of creative talent I’ve witnessed over the years in art, writing, animation, sound design, and more. To all the many blogs come and gone and to those still here today, I truly thank you for being such a special part of my life.

Happy vore day.

-Kate (Novorehere)

[after-the-shapes-and-beats]

Okay time for talking about ideas/concepts/trivia I haven't explored!! A lot is old stuff but some is new, lots of thinking lately lol.

Also a reminder you can totally ask me questions if you're interested in something I haven't mentioned or want something elaborated further on. <3

I was going to introduce Barracuda, Lycanthropy, and the other player shapes as characters, at different points and under different circumstances of course. I did post one concept of Barracuda, but the others haven't graced this blog yet. (Still have to finalise all their designs/redesigns lol)

Was going to do a lot of Q & Square unofficially adopted parent/child moments. Didn't have anything specific planned but just really looked forward to the potential fluff/angst etc. of it all lol

I was also gonna do shameless Square/Fresh shipping lmao. Its my story they can kiss if I want!!

Chip was gonna get a girlfriend. :)

Was going to bring up Qs past. It wasn't going to be super important/relevant in the long run, but it was going to be discussed.

I reeeaaally wanted to do some animatics. I'm not brilliant at that kind of thing but god I couldn't get them out of my head lol. Still can't haha. Especially one for the track "first crush" by Sabrepulse. ;)

This is a newer thought but I’ve been exposed to some new songs recently via my sibling playing rhythm games and GOD some of those tracks really made me go “I NEED to incorporate this into my jsab au somehow”. They slap dude. These songs fuck severely and I need to choreograph fight scenes to them.

A BIG concept I wanted to introduce was individuals having a "true song" (still workshopping the name) intrinsic to them that gives them their abilities. Square can hear them if he listens carefully. :)

Qs true song was gonna be a big reveal haha. It's not Close To Me. :^)

Considering the start of the blog was set approx. maybe only 1 or 2 months after the event of the game, there was gonna be a lot of Processing Trauma. Fresh is a recently rehabilitated force of destruction. Square just remembered he's basically god. It's all a lot to come to terms with haha. Denial can only last so long lol.

The main plot thing I wanted to eventually get to was basically "where did square come from and what are the repercussions of inserting himself among the mortals he created?"

I haven't pinpointed any characters' ages other than "around this area". Except Huey. Huey is definitely 17 lol. Everyone else is solidly an adult. Square and Fresh are mentally young adults. (Immature young adults, but still. Lol)

Before the game Chip lived mostly at sea, but after everything she decided to settle down to be close to her friends. :) She still spends a good amount of time out on the water, but she has people and a place to come home to now. uwu

Huey's special interest is flying/flying machines! When he and Square met in the factory, he was actually testing out a small single person craft he built when he got stuck.

Fresh is really into his creative hobbies. After knowing only destruction, creating is really fun and healing for him. :)

Q has a plethora of skills, most are expected because they live rurally and try to be as self sufficient as possible, but some are very out of left field lol.

Square likes dresses and being barefoot because of sensory issues, and swooshy dresses are very stimmy. :)

Sleeves don't agree with Fresh and his weird arms lol so he wears exclusively sleeveless shirts. God forbid he ever have to attend a formal event.

Fresh seems like the biggest source of potential angst, and yeah there's a lot there, but Square actually has more baggage of the two! While Fresh is up front about his traumas and insecurities, Square keeps all his stuff to himself. Fresh gets to hear a little bit but only because the two of them just understand and relate to each other in a way the others couldn't.

Aaaand that’s everything I’ve got I think!! I need to work on like, proper ref art and bios for the characters and stuff. Develop some underdeveloped aspects some more. I also need to shitpost more lol. Again feel free to ask questions or whatever!! I don’t currently really know how to move forward other than occasionally posting art so responding to you guys’ thoughts/suggestions for drawings or whatever would be good.

Love youuuu! <3

[alloftheimaginesblog]

Life Without Colour {Part EIGHT}

Soulmate AU: Your vision is in black and white until you meet your soulmate. You and your boyfriend, Steve Rogers, aren’t each others soulmates but you love each other. He introduces you to his friends, the Avengers, and a very odd thing happens.

Characters: Steve Rogers x Plus Size Female Reader, Bucky Barnes x Plus Size Female Reader

Warning: mentions of blood, swearing, anxiety moments, nightmare mention

Note; apologies for the long delay, mentally I checked out to deal with some shit but I’m on holiday and feeling a lot better! hope u like it xxx over 7000 words!!!

Taglist:  @domainoflostsouls​  forgetthisbull  handon-h-art  yourspecialcrush  giulsgotmusic  mrsbarnes-rogers  luosymekawa  linzeyzarcone  forgetthisbull   calamityreads  talgra   marina-darling  btsforlif  lamoursansfin  classic1985  lovesicksofi  fandomsfallnomore  thebivirgin  classygladiatorcupcake   lowlyapprentice  mishafaye  cececolbert  trenchcoatedwhiskers  janetgenea   scoobertdoobert2  vivalakatee

PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE

PART FOUR

PART FIVE

PART SIX

PART SEVEN

Bucky glanced at you every few seconds, needing to make sure that you were still with him and needing to know that you were okay. So far, you hadn’t quite moved from your spot of staring out of the car window, hell, you’d barely even blinked. He had asked you a few times if you were okay but each question was met with silence as its answer. He was worried about you, worried about the state of your mind after tonight’s events. Bucky had long since been used to the violence and the attempts on his life but you weren’t, you’d never known a life of violence and death and Bucky was worried that you might not be able to cope with it all. He wouldn’t blame you if you couldn’t cope, it was a lot to take in mentally and emotionally, it took him a long time to bring himself down from that place when he came to after the Winter Soldier situation. He hated that he was used to it; hated that he was desensitised to situations like this but he couldn’t help it. 

Bucky continued to drive. It was late at night which meant he could drive that bit faster to get further from Hydra who would absolutely be hot on their trail. He had no idea how they’d found the two of you so fast. Maybe they’d been on you from the start and had just been toying with you? Maybe they got information from the car dealer at the airport? The old lady from the markets? Who knows? All Bucky knew was that you weren’t safe anymore and he had to get you out of there as soon as possible. The plan had changed since he started driving, he was going to take you someplace else (he had actually set up three safe houses in different states) but he realised that no matter what, they would keep hunting and you’d need to keep running. He knew what he had to do. He had to take you home. 

Home wasn’t safe but nowhere was safe now. If he took you home, you’d at least have more people around to protect and look out for you. It was weird, Bucky knew that was what was best but he almost didn’t want to. He had enjoyed this time alone with you and he was worried about what would happen when you went home. You weren’t his girlfriend, you were Steve’s but Bucky was in love with you. He wasn’t sure how or when it really happened, all he did know was that you were the most important thing to him and he didn’t want to lose you. You had almost kissed, that much was true, but was that just a ‘we just survived something horrific and I want to get out my pent up aggression so let’s kiss’ kiss? Or was it a ‘recently I’ve been developing feelings for you and this is a terrible time for it but let’s kiss’ kiss? God knows. Bucky rubbed his face tiredly with his hand. When he was younger, in the 40s with Steve, he was much more capable of figuring out feelings and being open with them but now... now his heart had almost turned to stone.

Over the last nearly three weeks, you and Bucky had grown much closer than you both anticipated. Bucky knew that you felt something for him too, he knew you did, he’d seen the way you reacted when so close to him earlier. He smiled to himself as he thought about it but he knew that nothing could ever happen. You were Steve’s girlfriend and Bucky didn’t want to step in the way of his best friend’s relationship. For now though, Bucky would enjoy the fact that it was just you and him for a while longer.

It took you around 40 minutes of staring in silence out of the forwards facing window. Your eyes burned at the lack of blinking and your throat hurt from the hoarse crying, you cleared your throat and Bucky’s head snapped to you, “Hey,” he said quietly, “Lost you for a while there.” When you didn’t reply he told you that there was a bottle of water in the bag at your feet, “I didn’t have time to grab much so there’s just some water in the bag.”

You reached down, grabbing the bag and finding the water. It reminded you of the trip here. You’d cried so much that you had almost given yourself a migraine and Bucky had packed water. Now, not three weeks later, you were leaving although much sooner and in much worse condition. You downed the water before settling into your seat. Bucky reached behind him, grabbing his knitted blanket that you’d got him and his jacket, he set them on your knees gently, “I’m going to be driving a while so if you want to go back to sleep, feel free.” At the mention of sleep, you shot upwards, eyes wide with panic and heart immediately beating faster.

Bucky did a double take, “Whoa, whoa, what’s going on?” He asked, seeing the immediate panic in your eyes and all over your face.

“If I’m sleeping, what- what if you’re not there and something happens? What- What happens if they come back and find me?”

God, Bucky just wanted to hug you. He wanted to hold you close and tell you that he wouldn’t let anything happen to you. The way you looked, so sad and scared, made his heart absolutely ache. He shook his head, “I’m not going anywhere, I promise. I’m driving to the next state and then I’ll find a payphone and call home. When I get out of the car, I’ll be no less than two feet away from you, I promise you.”

You were terrified, terrified of him leaving, terrified of anything happening again, “You’ll stay the whole time? You’ll-You’ll stay with me?”

Bucky nodded, “I promise,” his voice was soft and so gentle, he knew how badly you needed that comfort and he would do anything to give it to you, “Get some rest, (y/n). I promise, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

After taking a deep breath, and making Bucky promise he wouldn’t leave two more times, you settled into your seat, the blanket draped over your knees but it was Bucky’s heavy leather jacket that you pulled around your torso and your face. You had the jacket gathered around your face, breathing it in. You didn’t really register what you were doing, too much in shock to really pay close attention, all you knew was that Bucky’s jacket smelled nice, it smelled of leather with a mix of pine, citrus and cologne. It was a comforting smell and soon, you were fast asleep cuddled into his jacket. Bucky glanced over at you one last time with a smile.

It was a few hours later when Bucky had driven well into another state that he felt comfortable stopping for a short while. He stopped on an empty highway which conveniently had a payphone. He pulled up a lot closer to the payphone than he should have but since he’d promised you no more than two feet then he really didn’t want to break that promise. He hoped that in stopping for a while, he wouldn’t let Hydra catch up but he’d driven hundreds of miles by now in a much faster speed so he hoped that it would be okay. He stretched when he got out of the car before checking his gun and knife were still in place before pulling out some money and punching in the one number that he knew by heart. It rang twice before they answered.

“Hello?”

“Steve, it’s me.”

“Bucky?” Steve Rogers said incredulously, “Why are you calling? What’s happened? Is (y/n) okay? Are you okay?” Steve fired question after question at him. He hadn’t been expecting Bucky to be in contact for at least a month and yet, not even three weeks later, he was calling him up.

“They found us,” Bucky said as he looked around, making sure no one else was there, “Two men broke into the cabin we were at during the night. (y/n)’s alive but... god, Steve, she’s really shaken up.”

“What happened? Can I talk to her?”

“She’s asleep just now,” Bucky watched you through the car window as he spoke, “You need to send a jet for us. We need to come home. It’s not safe now.”

“What happened, Buck?”

"Later,” Bucky said gruffly, “You need to send us a jet.” He didn’t want to waste time talking, he needed someone to come and get the two of you. Bucky glanced at you through the car window, he needed to protect you. As Steve’s questioning relented, Bucky recited the exact route he was on.

Steve told him that Nat, who had been in the same room as him whilst taking the call, was on the phone to Fury and, “Nat’s taking the jet, she should be there in around thirty minutes. Can you wait that long?”

Bucky glanced around, “We’ll wait, I’ll call you if anything else happens.” They hung up without exchanging another word, Bucky hadn’t wanted to stay on the phone too long. When he heard Steve’s voice, he had an overwhelming sense of guilt. He felt horrible about everything, about what happened, about his feelings for you... it was awful. Bucky hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. He was perfectly okay seeing life without colour if that meant things weren’t awkward and complicated. He just couldn’t bare it. He looked at you through the car window again and for a split second a thought appeared. She’s worth it. 

After a minute of getting fresh air, Bucky went back into the car. He let you sleep another twenty minutes or so before he gently began to say your name to wake you up,  “(y/n)?”

You shot upwards, terrified thinking that someone else was about to attack, Bucky was quick to calm you, “Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s just me. (y/n), everything’s okay.” God, he hated seeing that fear in your eyes.

Your hands reached out, grabbing onto his arm tightly, “Bucky,” you whispered as you tried to catch your breath, “Everything’s okay?” You looked at him with worry in your eyes.

Bucky was quick to nod, giving your hand a small pat, “Everything’s fine.” He let you take a few calming breaths as he watched you carefully. He felt responsible for all of this, he should’ve eliminated the risk before you even knew about it but he couldn’t and he didn’t, “I called Steve.”

The mention of Steve made you frown, Steve... it took a few seconds before you remembered Steve. You were still in shock, too focused on what had happened mere hours ago so Bucky doesn’t take it to heart when you seemingly don’t remember your own boyfriend. When it hits you, you look up at Bucky,  “He’s coming?”

Bucky shook his head, “He’s sending a jet and it’ll take us to the hospital.” Your panic spiked again but Bucky explained it would be routine, “You’re in shock and you need to be looked over. Me too. Hospital’s the safest place right now.” You nodded slowly and asked when they’d be here, Bucky shrugged and gave you a rough estimate of half an hour, “Are we safe?”

Bucky nodded, “Yeah. We are. I didn’t stop driving until we got here, we’ve been here for a while. I predict that they’d still be a couple hours behind us.” That estimate was a guess, he hoped that they’d be a couple hours behind but Hydra were sneaky and you could never truly figure them out.

It was then you realised that you were still holding onto Bucky’s arm. Quickly, as your cheeks burned, you let him go, apologising softly, “Hey,” Bucky said quietly, so gently and so carefully, “It’s okay, doll. Everything’s going to be okay.” You looked up at him, looking into those dark blue eyes, feeling yourself getting carried away in thoughts that could not ever happen. You felt as though he could really see you when you looked at him, like he could see into your soul, read your thoughts; it was silly, it was extremely ridiculous but that’s what a soulmate felt like. It felt like the last piece of your puzzle was right there, sitting in the car beside you, eyes boring into your own...

“(y/n)...” Bucky murmured softly. He had stopped himself from kissing you once before and now, he wasn’t sure if he could stop himself again. The pull was too strong, the pull was too much. You looked at him with the kindest eyes that he hadn’t seen in a long time, not since the 40s at least and all he wanted to do was tell you how he felt. He wanted to tell you that he was in love with you, tell you everything you made him feel and that he was wholly and irrevocably in love with you and you know what? You wanted him to. You wanted him to kiss you, you wanted him to tell you every feeling he felt for you, every reason why he felt it...

As Bucky moved closer, eyes fleeting between your lips and your eyes in a silent question of ‘is this okay?’, you began to hear a distant noise that began to get louder and louder. You and Bucky pulled apart, leaning forwards to look out of the window, “It’s the jet,” you said, recognising the S.H.I.E.L.D owned jet. You didn’t know why you felt a pang of sadness. Without a word, Bucky got out of the car, waving at arm at the jet to make sure it knew that you were here and grabbed the bags out of the trunk. You watched him get out and sighed before following suit and leaving the car as well. It took another minute or two before the jet had landed safely about 50 feet away from you.

You and Bucky stood beside each other, Bucky’s hand was on his gun just in case but a moment later, a familiar face appeared and was soon walking towards you. It was Nat. She wore a large smile, “When Steve told me that you were coming home, I had to be the one to come get you,” she said, loudly over the noise of the jet as she approached. Natasha Romanoff was not a very emotional or touchy feely person but when she got up close, she wrapped you in the tightest hug imaginable. You didn’t hug her back. You were thankful that she had came but you couldn’t give her that sort of emotion yet, you were in shock; you were traumatised. She pulled away with a frown, “You okay?”

Quickly, you glanced to Bucky who recognised your look as one of ‘help’ and he took over the conversation, “We need to get going,” he told Nat gruffly, “we don’t know how far out they’ll be.” Nat nodded, glancing back at you once more before she opened the back of the jet for you and Bucky to climb into. The other pilot was a S.H.I.E.L.D agent that you didn’t recognise.

“Strap yourselves in,” he instructed, “make sure the bags are secure as well.”

Bucky strapped in the bags as you strapped yourself in and he went to sit across from you but quickly, your arm shot outwards, grabbing his metal hand. He instinctively wrapped his vibranium fingers around your hand, “Sit beside me,” you said quietly, “please.” 

Bucky nodded, dropping your hand, choosing not to think about how nice it felt to have you touch his metal arm and strapped himself in beside you. There was about 8 spaces in the back of the jet to sit and yet, you and Bucky were pressed against each other. You didn’t know why but you needed him beside you, you needed to feel him next to you, needed to feel that he was there with you always. You blamed it on what had happened, that you were still scared and fragile and needed someone there but as Nat prepared for take off, she looked at the pair of you and realised that it was far more than simply being scared; it was called being in love.

As Nat began to ready for take off, you dropped your head onto Bucky’s shoulder and closed your eyes. There was something so comforting about him, so peaceful and gentle, a side that he rarely got to show the world these days. Bucky hated planes, he hated flying and jets and all of that but when Nat took off, he barely registered that you were all in the air and instead, was more focused on the fact that you were falling asleep on his shoulder. He rested his head on the headrest, closing his eyes and enjoying the short while of peaceful time that the two of you would have left together.

He thought of Steve and what would happen when you saw him again. Would you completely drop Bucky? Would your feelings have changed for Steve? He had no clue. It was selfish of him to want you to stick around but he didn’t expect you to. What was three weeks with you to Steve’s year with you? It felt nice that you were so comfortable around him now, that you were depending on him to help you.  For now, he would enjoy what little time he had left with you.

Getting from the jet to the hospital was all a bit of a blur. You and Bucky were rushed from the jet and rushed into the hospital. They had tried to separate the two of you but you refused point blank to go anywhere without him there. You lost Nat in the crowds of people who were checking you both over, forcing you to drink water and making you do all sorts of reaction tests. After that, you and Bucky were taken to a room with one hospital bed in it and a chair.

“Mr Barnes, if you’d like to follow me I’ll take you to your room,” the nurse said.

“No!” You exclaimed grabbing at Bucky and tugging him to your side. The way you gripped his arm and pulled him with all of your strength surprised Bucky, that you were so desperate to keep him there beside you; he was the only comfort right now, the only thing that stopped you from spiralling.

“Mr Barnes has a room of his own, it’s just beside yours. You can visit whenever you like.”

“No, he stays.”

“His room is next door.”

“Then wheel the bed in here.” Bucky couldn’t help but smirk at your stubborn responses.

The nurse, who was becoming more and more irritated by your demands, looked at Bucky and Bucky stepped forwards. Your hand fell to his and he wrapped his fingers around yours immediately. The two of you couldn’t help but notice how right it felt to be touching each other and to be holding hands but Bucky snapped out of it quickly, “Look, Nurse...” he trailed off reading the name on her badge, “Owens. Nurse Owens, we’ve been through something pretty awful and we’d appreciate it if we could just share a room. I’ll wheel the bed in, I’ll set it up, you won’t have to do anything.”

“I’m under orders from Director Fury to-”

“Who gives a shit about what he says, am I right?” Bucky scoffed out a laugh, “If he has an issue with it, tell him to come and see me.”

After a few more back and forths, Nurse Owens relented and asked two student nurses to wheel Bucky’s bed into your room, “Thank you, Nurse Owens!” Bucky called from the door once the student nurses were finished. You heard her huff ‘bloody superheroes’ from down the hallway. He closed the door behind him before taking a couple of steps towards you, “How you doing?” He dipped his head to meet your eyes and his voice, god, his voice was so soft and gentle like warm syrup drizzling over some pancakes on a warm Sunday morning.

“Sorry, I know I keep grabbing you and pulling you,” you apologised quietly, “I just...” You didn’t know what to tell him without telling him too much, “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

Bucky nodded, “It’s okay, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. I’ll stay as long as you need me to.”

It was a while later when Natasha knocked on the door and walked in. She had been pre-warned by Nurse Owens that Bucky was in there with you also, “I brought you both some clothes,” Nat said holding up two bags, “(y/n), I stopped by your apartment and lifted some of your own clothes. Barnes, I didn’t go to your apartment instead I got Clint to give me some of his for you.” She smiled sarcastically at you both.

“Thanks, Nat,” you said quietly. It was Bucky who got up to collect the bags from her. Nat frowned, you weren’t acting like yourself. She didn’t know what happened, no one knew but whatever it was, it must’ve been bad for you to not be able to look her in the eye.

“Oh, there’s toiletries and things in the bags as well. I thought that you’d probably want to take a shower. Barnes, I was told that you can go shower next door so that (y/n) can shower in here.”

Your head shot up, “No,” you said quickly. Nat’s frown deepened. She knew that fear in your eyes, she also knew that look in your eyes when you looked at Bucky... that was the look of love. 

“I’ll stay here,” Bucky said, glancing back at you. He could tell by Natasha’s face that she was trying to figure out the relationship between the two of you, trying to figure out what was going on so he quickly said, “I’ll let (y/n) shower and get ready first, I’ll wait out here and then I’ll take a turn.” Natasha eyed the two of you carefully. Something was going on between you and Bucky and as your friend, she was determined to find out what was going on.

“If you need anything, I’ll be around.” She left with one last glance at you. Bucky closed the door and came to give you the bag of clothes that she’d brought for you. You thanked him quietly.

“You want to shower first?” He asked.

You nodded, taking your bag and walking into the adjoined shower room. For some reason, you were terrified as you walked into the shower room. You closed the door behind you before popping your head out a second later. Bucky looked over at you, “Can you pull that chair over and sit outside the shower room?” You asked him quietly, “Just so I know that no one will come in or-”

Bucky cut you off by dropping his belongings on the bed and pulling the chair over to sit outside the shower room. He gave you a soft smile as he did so, “I’ll be here, I promise.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that he’d be there to keep you safe, and you felt comfortable to shut the door and turn on the shower. As you turned to take your top off, you realised that there was a slight spray of dried blood over your clothes. It was still a dark red though it was turning that sickly dried brown colour. Oh I wish I couldn’t see that colour. Bile rose in your throat as you looked at yourself before you quickly pulled your clothes off, dumping them in the bin before looking back to the mirror. You almost didn’t recognise yourself. You had dark bags under your bloodshot eyes, blanched skin and bruises on your body. The bruises would’ve been from jumping out of the closest and landing on that Hydra agent. It was your body, the same curves, the same stretchmarks and freckles but it was different now; it had been through something unbelievably terrifying. With a sigh, you stepped under the shower, letting the scalding water wash away some of the trauma.

As you showered, Natasha walked into your joint hospital room. She had a couple more bags, “Brought food, where’s (y/n)?”

“Showering.”

She frowned, “Why are you sitting directly outside?”

“She asked me to.” The two assassins stared each other down, stubborn as each other, “Thanks for the food.”

“Listen, Barnes, I don’t know your game plan here, I don’t know if you’re trying to break up (y/n) and Steve but they don’t need you interfering with them.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, “I’m not trying to interfere.”

“You’re in love with her, that’s so freaking obvious.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Wait until you stay awake half the night, not because you can’t sleep or because of a nightmare, but because you can’t stop watching her. Then come talk to me about who’s in love or not.” She gave him a sarcastic smile, “Just know that (y/n) is one of my closest friends and she’s been through enough. She might have gotten confused when you were away because it was only you and her and you’re apparently soulmates but don’t let that fool you. She loves Steve.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows and took a step towards her, “Why don’t you let (y/n) decide who she wants?”

Natasha smirked slightly, “So you do love her. Okay, just checking.” With that, she turned on her heel and left, leaving Bucky more confused than ever. With a sigh, he went back to his chair and sat down, thinking about what that exchange was all about.

You weren’t sure how long you showered for; minutes? Hours? Who knew? All you knew was that the feeling of the water hitting your skin, warm and fast, was therapeutic. You scrubbed at your skin until it was red raw and washed your hair once, twice, three times until you were certain that there was no grime, no blood and no trace of last night on your skin. Once you felt sufficiently clean, you turned the shower off. You glanced towards the door, “Bucky?”

“Yeah, doll?” He called, he sounded close, he was still sitting outside.

“I like that,” you replied, “I like when you call me that.”

“I like calling you it.” He smiled. God help me, I’m in love with my best friend’s girl. 

As you got your bag with all of your clothes you couldn’t have been happier. Thank you Natasha Romanoff! She had packed your skin care and moisturiser along with some perfume and your own clothes. She was a saint. You moisturised your face before pulling on your own clothes. As you pulled them over your head, you realised they smelled like home; like you and like Steve. You inhaled the smell deeply, god, you forgot how much you missed that smell. Before you left the shower room, you looked at yourself in the mirror and realised that you looked and felt a lot better; you felt and looked more like yourself. The bags were still prominent under your eyes but you didn’t look so pale and didn’t look so terrified. Plus wearing clothes that were your own that suited your body and your curves was always a bonus.

You left a moment later to see Bucky sitting just outside. He got up and pulled the chair out of the way before drinking you in, “Wow,” he said softly, “you look... you look beautiful.”

“Oh, shut up,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes, “I’m wearing Christmas pyjamas in the middle of May!”

“No, I mean it,” Bucky said seriously, “You’re just lovely.”

You sucked in a deep breath as you looked at him, relishing in the way that he looked at you before snapping out of it, “Your turn,” you said, passing him a towel, “Do you mind if I sit here when you’re in too?”

He shook his head, giving you a smile, knowing that you needed to feel safe and if that meant you would be sitting right outside as he showered, so be it, “Go ahead.”

Bucky showered quickly, he was never a ‘stay and think’ in the shower kind of guy, so it wasn’t long before he was back outside, sitting on the foot of your bed as you sat at the top playing cards which he’d managed to get off one of the nurses.

The rest of the night went by peacefully. Steve hadn’t visited yet because he was in the middle of safeguarding the apartment again and getting things in place for that. Natasha was in the hospital, monitoring you and Bucky and checking on you routinely. You and Bucky played some cards until you started to yawn,  “Don’t tell me that you’ll be sleeping on the floor in here,” you said to him as he climbed off of your bed and let you get settled.

He gave a short laugh, “Nah... I’ll be lying on the bed. Hospital beds are just as uncomfortable as the floor.”

As the pair of you settled into your beds, you found yourself staring up at the ceiling, staring into the darkness, “Bucky?” You asked.

“Yeah, (y/n)?” 

“How do you deal with it?”

Bucky thought for a moment, “Therapy’s helped a lot, honestly. You know me, doll, you know that I still have nightmares. I didn’t deal with it for a long time and that shows. I go see my therapist and it doesn’t make everything perfect but it takes some of the mental toll away... To be honest, I don’t know if my nightmares and things will ever truly go away. I isolated myself from everyone... don’t do what I did.”

The two of you were silent for a long time, “You’re not going to leave after this, are you?” You asked him, “You won’t go back to Wakanda or anything?”

He peered over at you, seeing you looking at him, “I’m not going to leave, I promise.”

“I know that when we found out we were... you know,” soulmates, “that we were going to not see each other but...”

“Sweetheart, I don’t think I could stay away from you if I tried,” Bucky scoffed, turning to lie on his side so that he was facing you, “You’re under my skin, (y/n). No going back now.” It was some form of admission but the laugh that accompanied it made it feel a lot less serious than what it was.

“Tell me I’m going to be okay.”

“You’re going to be absolutely fine, (y/n).”

“Night, James,” you yawned, rolling over so that you were facing him. You gave him a smile before closing your eyes. Surprisingly, it didn’t take you too long to fall asleep. You thought that you’d struggle but your mind was a lot clearer and with Bucky there, you felt a lot safer.

Bucky watched you, listened to your breathing and your slight snores, he looked at the strand of hair that had fallen in front of your face, tickling at your nose and he cursed Natasha Romanoff for being right. He watched you for a long time, finding you so peaceful even when you snored, before he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

You woke up in the same exact position that you’d fallen asleep in. You woke up to see Bucky sound asleep which surprised you. You thought that he would’ve been awake before you, usually he was up and ready by the time you were just stirring. He looked strangely peaceful when he was sleeping, no frown lines, no seriousness; just peaceful. It was almost as though he could feel you staring at him when he frowned and opened one eye, “Why are you watching me?” He asked, voice groggy

“I am not watching you!” You rolled your eyes, sitting up, “I just happened to be facing that way and opened my eyes!”

He rolled over, “Yeah, okay, doll. You were too busy ogling me again.”

“Shut up, Barnes.”

After getting up and getting dressed, Director Fury walked into your joint hospital room, “Now, who in the hell was arguing with my nurses?” He asked, arms crossed over his chest. He was intimidating; reminding you of when you were at school and were caught chatting to your friend when you weren’t meant to.

“Uh... the two of us?” You offered.

“Nurse Owens is now demanding a pay rise telling me that she doesn’t deserve to be looking after demanding superheroes.” Ugh, we’re not even superheroes.

You and Bucky glanced at each other, trying to hold in laughter. Director Fury rolled his eyes, “I’ve been told that the two of you are fine to be discharged this morning. We’ve been unable to track down Rumlow and his men but we’re still looking.” At the mention of Rumlow, your smile fell and you remembered all of the shit that had happened, “We’ve not figured out how they tracked you both down yet, Agent Hill is sourcing the car as we speak so I’ll update you soon on that front. Any questions?”

The two of you shook your heads.

“Good, ain’t got no time for stupid damn questions,” Fury grumbled, “I need to take your accounts of what happened but you have a very persuasive boyfriend, Miss (Y/L/N). Captain Rogers has asked on both of your accounts to get back home, get settled and then tell us tomorrow.”

“Steve?” You asked quietly, “Is he here?” Bucky’s face flashed an unreadable emotion but quickly changed to that of his normal stony look.

Fury shook his head, “He’ll be here later with Agent Romanoff to collect you both.”

“Is home safe?” Bucky asked, “Will (y/n) be safe?”

“Rogers is setting up more precautions, we’ve evacuated half of the apartment building. The whole floor that you and Steve live on is full of SHIELD agents. We have a new door entry system, new cameras with facial recognition technology. If anyone comes in or out, we’ll know about it and we’ll know everything about them in twenty seconds.” 

It honestly made you feel a little uncomfortable. All of this protection for you. You weren’t that special that you deserved this treatment. You didn’t feel as though you deserved this much attention or time. Steve would’ve pressed for Fury to put more guards and more security in the apartment building. This seemed a bit like overkill though but you wouldn’t say no to extra protection.

Fury left after telling you that he’d be in contact the next day. Bucky glanced at you, “Jeez, he’s a bit serious, isn’t he?”

You smiled slightly, “Just a bit.”

After having breakfast, unbeknownst to either of you, Natasha Romanoff stood down the hall, looking into the window of your joint room. She watched as you and Bucky played cards, laughing and smiling. Footsteps came up from behind her, “Are they here?”

She turned to meet Steve Rogers, “Yeah. They’ve been checked over and monitored all night. Fury was worried about (y/n) because she was really shaken up but she seems to be doing better now.”

Steve tapped his foot impatiently. It wasn’t like the Super Soldier to be nervous but he was terrified. He needed to make sure that you were okay, he was terrified in case you weren’t and he was terrified in care you were okay... okay with Bucky that is, “Can I see her?”

“Steve, before you do, I think you need to know something,” Nat said with a frown. Steve’s heart sank and his shoulders sagged, “Now, I don’t know what happened but it was bad. (y/n) wouldn’t look at me, wouldn’t hug me, would barely speak to me. She only wants him by her side, she refused to leave his side, fought a nurse over it as well because they tried to give them separate rooms. I don’t know if it’s a trauma related thing or a soulmate related thing but I wanted to prepare you for it just in case-”

Steve glanced up, spying you through the window. You looked beautiful as ever as you sat on the bed playing cards. He’d missed that sight, you with your hair down and laughing. Bucky sat at the end of the bed and he was... laughing? In recent years, Bucky wasn’t one to open up to anyone much and he rarely ever laughed but as Steve watched the two of you, he saw the little details. He saw Bucky lean forwards, closer to you to put down a card and you didn’t move away, he saw you touch his hand and Bucky didn’t flinch but most of all, he saw the smiles the two of you wore.

“She looks happy,” he said softly, “they both do.”

“She’s just as happy with you, you know,” Nat reminded him, nudging his side, “We don’t know what’s happened or what’s went on between the two of them so we can’t jump to conclusions.”

It was then that you happened to glance out of the window before looking back to your cards. Wait. You threw your head to the side to look out of the window again. There he was, in all of his six foot something glory, “Steve,” you whispered. Bucky’s head whipped to the side. You dropped the playing cards on the bed, the game abandoned as you clambered upwards, “Steve!” You threw open the hospital door, “Steve!”

You took off running for him, tears filling your eyes as your heart hammered in your chest. Steve’s face broke into a large grin seeing you rushing towards him, he opened his arms and readied himself for your impact. You crashed into him, throwing your arms around his neck, sobbing into his chest. You hadn’t realised how much you’d missed him, how much you needed to feel him, needed to smell his cologne and needed to touch him. He held you tightly, lifting you easily despite your weight because that’s the fun in having a Super Soldier as a boyfriend.

With one hand he stroked back your hair whispering soft words of encouragement, “I’ve got you, sweetheart, it’s okay now.” You wept into his chest, everything overwhelming you again; all of the trauma, all of the fear, all of the guilt over Bucky... everything was pouring out now. God, you missed him. Here he was, in the flesh, holding you tightly and telling you that everything was okay. You hadn’t realised how much you’d needed to hear that.

Bucky looked on as you reconnected with Steve. It hurt, it hurt a lot more than he thought it would. He wanted you to be that happy to see him, he wanted to hold you like that; he wanted you. Natasha watched him, gauging his reactions, before she approached him and casually said, “Get a good sleep?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, walking towards you and Steve. When you pulled away from Steve, Steve saw Bucky. They embraced for a moment before Steve went back to hold you, “Are you okay?” Steve asked you and then looked to Bucky, “Are the two of you okay?”

Bucky nodded, “We will be.”

Steve pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, “You ready to go home?”

You glanced to Bucky, locking eyes for a second. He wore an expression that you’d never seen him wear before... was that sadness? There was a look in his eyes, a look of pain or anguish and the way he looked at you almost screamed  ‘don’t go’.

“Sweetheart?” Steve asked breaking you from your trance.

You looked to him and back to Bucky but when you turned to Bucky, he was his usual stony self, no emotion and unreadable, “Yeah,” you said eventually, “Yeah let’s go.”

“You coming, Buck?” Steve asked as he took your bags off of Bucky, “I’ll drop you off at your apartment.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just walk it.”

“Your apartment is like five miles from here,” you said with a frown, “Why don’t you just come with us?”

Bucky forced a smile, “I’ll walk, (y/n). Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Could do with clearing my head a bit anyway... Will you let me know when you’ve got home safe?” He directed the question to Steve.

Steve nodded, “Sure. Tomorrow, Fury wants to get the full story from you both. We could talk after that, Buck, catch up?”

Bucky nodded, taking a step backwards, “Sounds like a plan. I’ll see you later.”

Steve began to walk away, his hand leading you in the opposite direction. You turned around, eyes meeting Bucky’s and there was that sad expression. God, you wanted to rush up to him and hug him, you wanted to stop him and say something; you wanted to do something but instead, you let Steve lead you out of the hospital and into his car.

Steve spoke softly to you, telling you some lighter pieces of news that had been happening, “Nat will probably want to tell you herself but she and Banner finally made it official...” You hummed in response, “Pepper found out that she’s expecting a little girl. Tony’s beside himself.” You hummed again. Steve glanced at you, concerned.

It didn’t take long before you were outside your apartment building and your heart began to speed up. You hadn’t been here in only three weeks but it felt like a lifetime ago that you were leaving with Bucky. Steve asked if you were okay to which you replied by shaking your head. He grabbed your bags and held your hand tightly, “It’s going to be okay,” he whispered as you slowly approached the looming building.

The new entry system asked your name and apartment number and scanned your fingerprints. Overkill. Soon, you were heading up the stairs and to your apartment. Your palms were sweaty and you felt like your heart was going to burst out of your ribcage at any minute. You didn’t know why you were so scared, was it because of what happened with Rumlow here or when you left? Whatever it was, it was taking all of your willpower to put one foot in front of the other and force yourself to walk to your apartment.

Steve unlocked the door and swung it open. You took a deep breath as the door opened to reveal... your apartment. You breathed out. There were no bad guys, no guns, no Hydra or SHIELD agents, it was simply yours and Steve’s apartment. Slowly, you walked inside. Steve let you test the waters first, he let you slowly re-enter your home and re-enter normality. He didn’t expect you to be instantly okay now that you were home. You’d had numerous traumatic experiences which had led up to this moment so he knew that you had to go at your own pace. 

“Can you check the rooms?” You asked quietly, “Make sure it’s safe.” Steve didn’t even question it. Instead, he scouted every room and made sure that he’d checked every possible hiding place, “Thank you,” you whispered when he’d finished.

Gently, he took your hand and led you into the bedroom, “Get changed into comfortable clothes and I’ll make us something to eat, how does that sound?”

You nodded, “Sounds great actually.”

Steve had dropped your bags onto the bed, neither of you noticed the open letter slipping out and landing on the bed. You rifled your wardrobe, picking our some pyjamas before telling Steve that you were going for a shower. You could hear him shuffling around the house, clanging of pots and pans reassuring you that he was still close by. You didn’t need him by your side at all times, not like with Bucky. You tried to push Bucky out of your head, tried to make yourself stop thinking about him but it was becoming a bit futile now.

You were in the shower for a while, enjoying the water hitting down on your body. You skipped washing your hair this time which cut down your time significantly but by the time you were out, Steve had whipped up a quick meal of pasta for the two of you, “Smells amazing!” You said as you walked back into the bedroom to see Steve sitting on the bed with something in his hands, “You okay?”

It was then that you realised what was in his hands; his letter. He had told you to only open it if you started to feel something for Bucky Barnes, his best friend, and it had been torn open confirming his worst fears. You had developed some sort of feelings for Bucky and there was nothing Steve could do about it. He looked up at you, eyes so sad, “You opened it...” he said quietly, “You opened it.”

Oh, shit.

[lunarharp]

a random draft where i was ramblingg about witch hat & art to myself for myself :)

rare time i feel like actually going off about the thing i’m having fun with right now in more detail ... but not on twt where strangers might try to discuss back at me lol sorry but that is scary. (not that you even have the room to soliloquy on there)

i love how there's characters for varying types of artists to relate to. people like agott who have been adept at drawing from a young age but feel overwhelmed by feelings of not meeting their expectations. and are driven mostly by feelings of wanting to prove their worth..

people like oru who have always been around the art but now are burnt out from commissions and wondering just what they're drawing for... and ones i relate to the most personally like coco and qifrey, who started drawing at an older age to the skilled people around them. like coco i'm so happy that i'm in the world of drawing(/magic) now and excited every day but also weighed down by fears that i'll never get to what i where i need to be after starting at this late stage and also whether i'm really cut out for this....

and like qifrey i only started drawing after a narrow escape from trauma... i started drawing to make sense of what my life is now, just as he was invited by beldaruit to become a witch because it was the only safe path he could take. (although i've not been through anything quite like what he's been through... ouagh)

and there’s tetia who just wants to draw to make other people feel happy about what she’s made, to have fun, and spread hope and happiness and gratitude. who feels so happy whenever someone thanks her for what she’s created - i understand now how it feels to want to thank them for thanking her and how making art, when you get a meaningful response, can be a truly warm communal type experience. but you do need that response - her overwhelming happiness when the dragon thing was happy and she said it was the first time she’d ever felt fully appreciated for her magic and it made her soooo happy. she had been drawing until then, but it was the last puzzle in place to make her realise the breadth of what magic can be for her.

and riche who is determined to not lose the “her”-ness from her art, doesn’t want to learn new techniques and become more regular and orthodox in style if it means she feels she’s losing something... i get that!!! precious autistic-coded child... the ways we feel about our art differ depending on our own mental landscapes. hahhhh... shirahama said she began this series because she was having a conversation with artist friends about how it feels like drawing just really is magic. i mean..... it is.

i think writing feels like magic too, and i’m glad i can do both now. any creation is total magic. i’ve drawn scenes that were in my head and that’s let other people see them and if i can trust their comments about it, has moved them in some way or at least let them imagine a scene or a situation that they wouldn’t have imagined otherwise. but it’s different from just telling someone about it. when you draw something, or write something it really exists now - outside of you. THAT’S SO WEIRD.

i liked drawing a lot of takarazuka things (before i realised i got kind of burnt out drawing all this transcore stuff that people were not exactly responding to because it’s so niche and weird lmao) but drawing fanart for something that also ONLY exists in art is so special. it’s not acted by real people. like.. they’re just little people that someone drew and now i draw them too. total magic. and she gets up and draws them every day the same as me...

i love that a manga isn’t just art, it’s storytelling too. doing both writing and drawing at the same time - it feels like such a perfect and fascinating combination of skills and facets of creation. i’m better at writing than drawing, so i don’t feel like i can express my original stories well enough in comic form just yet. but i might just get there.

the world is so confusing and overwhelming and terrible every day. only creation is something i can understand. sometimes i can’t understand it - when i feel REALLY bad, it’s definitely like, what’s the point. and i wish i had more things to experience at present than just creation - i want to be outside and just feel and be as well as create. and at some point i’ll definitely stop posting my creations online. but creating has become something that i don’t need to understand the reason for it - so at those times when i wonder what the real point to any of this is.... lately, i usually still create anyway. just as you’d still breathe and sleep even though you’re hurt and confused by the horrors of the world. it’s becoming how i express myself. i find myself drawing pretty much every day because it’s part of how i make sense of shit now and i naturally want to do it. not doing it is painful.

i hope this magic continues. i hope it becomes far more wonderful than i can even imagine from here.

and i won't lose.

[y0itsbri]

Hi Bri 🥰

C-16 if you'd like to 👀

Coffee dates and disasters

au with college!lip and barista!mandy where ian is a frequent visitor at the campus café and meets mickey under rather unfortunate circumstances. don't cry over spilled milk, buddy.

which also fits under a.u.gust for @gallavichthings

words: 2.4k

"never would have thought you the type to come to one of these places," ian mused, looking around the small café with only lamps and string lights illuminating the space. "can't believe college changed you, man," ian clutched at his heart dramatically.

"don't worry. 'm still the annoying bastard you love so dearly," lip squeezed ian's shoulder before he sauntered up to the counter.

the barista's bored expressed brightened when she saw them. her perky demeanor was matched by a high pitched voice, "hey lip," she smiled, dark lipstick striking. she appraised ian with a somewhat predatory eye, "hello, lip's friend."

"uh, brother," ian coughed.

lip rolled his eyes, "and he's gay so don't even try it, mandy."

she pouted and flicked her hair behind her shoulder, "not that it's any of your business, anyways."

ian chuckled besides him, drawing another smile out of mandy, this one kinder, sweeter.

"what can i get you boys?"

the pink highlights glistened in her dark hair as she whipped up lip's cold brew and ian's caramel macchiato, then proceeded to insist that this one is on the house. neither of them argued, but thanked her before they settled down in some stools by the window.

"fucking the barista privileges?" ian asked, raising his eyebrow at his slut of a brother.

"i think of it more like fellow south sider charity," he rubbed his bottom lip, "but yours works too," lip smirked around the edges of his coffee cup.

"you're an idiot."

"can a man who got us free drinks really be deemed an idiot?" lip philosophized.

ian paused, taking a moment of thorough consideration. he looked lip straight in the eyes as he answered, "if that man is you, then without a doubt."

lip tried to knock ian's cup out of his hand, but failed at his attempt. ian thanked his well-practiced jrotc skills and a lifetime experience of growing up in a house packed with annoying siblings for his victory.

they chatted about the robotics classes lip was taking, how he got full-time access to one of the labs, and his weird ass roommate who may or may not be gay if ian is at all interested. ian scrunched up his face. after hearing so many horror stories about the guy, ian didn't want anywhere near him. he wasn't that desperate yet.

the second that lip was out of his seat and heading to the bathroom, the beautiful mess that was mandy descended.

"hiiii lip's gay brother," she leaned against the table.

"it's ian," he spun his empty cup in his hands. he couldn't help himself from smiling at her charisma.

"well hi, ian, i just wanted to say sorry if i spooked you earlier. i just had no idea lip's brother would be so cute!"

"his ugly mug's not too hard to beat." ian laughed. "he got the short end of the gallagher stick, literally."

"cute and charming. you're funny, ian gallagher, i like you." she placed her hand on his shoulder for a moment, a movement so soft compared to her rather frantic appearance. "come back here anytime and it's on the house, yeah? i work most evenings after three."

"oh. uh- okay," ian scrambled for words, "thanks."

she squeezed his shoulder once before lip returned with a rather obnoxious entrance.

"ayo mands, stop harassing him!"

ian ducked his head in embarrassment.

"oh, shut up! i'm just clearing your cups," she winked at ian as she left.

mandy was something else. but she was kind and good company. ian could get used to the chill atmosphere over the chaos of the gallagher house anytime. he might just take up her offer.

--

"you'd think with all the time you spend here, you'd be offered a scholarship or something by now." mandy sipped on her chocolate frappuccino as she laid her feet across ian's lap. he always made sure to come visit during her breaks at least twice a week during the past couple months.

ian shrugged, "guess they only had room for one gallagher."

mandy hit his arm in a way that hurt. lip was fucked if he ever broke her heart.

"does fiona even know that this is where you sneak off to?"

"yeah." mandy's look said she didn't believe him. "well, kinda. she thinks i'm visiting lip, brotherly duties and all."

"yeah? how are those brotherly duties?"

"fuck if i know."

she laughed.

"i still think you should apply here for next fall," she encouraged, "could take some art classes."

"i suck at art."

"chemistry?"

"failed that."

"business?"

"yeah, no thanks."

mandy flipped him off, "fine. botany?

"ya know what? sure." he had always wanted to grow tomatoes.

"really?!"

"heart wants what it wants, mandy. we can't all be psychology brainiacs."

"brains and beauty, what can i say?" she teased. ian laughed, eyes glistening towards his friend. mandy made things better.

"hey," she continued, "there's this concert on the main campus lawn this weekend, you should totally come!"

"isn't that just for students?"

"they don't card, dummy."

"right, right, i knew that."

"sureeee. you in?"

ian mentally checked his work schedule.

"i'm in."

--

lip and ian strolled into the café a few days later. okay, maybe ian had felt a bit guilty for abandoning his brotherly duties lately, but at least this way he could hang out with both his best friends. well he could have if he remembered the fact that mandy had the day off for her behavioral neuroscience midterm. they had literally spent her previous shift reviewing the terms, he should have known.

ian's couldn't help his face from falling as another blonde barista took their orders, mostly eyeing lip the whole time.

"hi lip," she smiled a little too sincerely, "what can i get for you today?"

ian had ordered something new at the recommendation of the blonde and he was not a fan. and to make matters worse, he had to actually pay for the atrocity that he wouldn't even be able to finish.

"so how's your little coffee dates with mandy?" lip asked over his cup.

ian nearly choked on his god-awful americano. "how'd you know?"

"please. she's obsessed with you. every time i see her, it's 'ian this,' 'ian that,' 'ian might apply here in next year.'"

"oh."

"yeah, oh. when were you gonna tell me?!"

“it’s all mandy’s idea, i’m not even sure i want to,” ian muttered, refusing to make eye contact.

“dude, i’ve literally shared a room with you since the day you popped out of monica’s wretched womb, you think I can’t tell when you’re lying?”

okay maybe ian had been getting increasingly more excited about the idea of attending school and actually learning things that he wants to learn. something that might actually lead him somewhere real since rotc was looking more and more like a poor man's fantasy the more that he thought about it.

“I was gonna tell you, swear on it.” and he was. once he convinced himself that lip wasn't going to straight up laugh in his face. but the look in his eye seemed genuinely supportive.

“mhm, i gotta catch my english lit class," lip stood up, swinging his tattered tan backpack across one shoulder. he patted ian's shoulder in his big brother ways, "don’t be a stranger, yeah?”

“yeah, yeah for sure! have fun learning a language you already know!” lip flipped him off at his smartass remark.

soon after, ian stood up to return his drink to the counter, the anxiety from the conversation making him entirely lose whatever appetite he might have had. plus, it wasn’t the same here without lip or mandy. he just wanted to be wrapped up in a cocoon in his own bed. but that was so far away. maybe he could catch an early ride—

thump.

ian crashed into a guy’s sturdy body.

the remnants of his shitty drink spilled in an americano nightmare over both of them, ceramic pieces shattering on the floor in a truly horrific manner.

ian yipped and the other man let out a grunt of irritation.

they were fucking soaked. well, at least the coffee wasn't hot? ian tried justifying the situation, but, nah, this was bad.

"shit! i'm so sorry, lemme," ian reached out and the shorter man flinched away.

they were now far enough apart that ian got a good look at him. a leather jacket.. now covered in ian's drink -- shit. and shockingly piercing blue eyes that lingered too long on ian's before his cheeks turned a shade of pink that made ian's stomach flutter.

he might have seemed cold if he didn’t make ian feel so warm.

"it’s cool, man. i gotta go, uh," and he walked out of the café without looking back.

fuck.

ian smelled like coffee the entire train ride to the back of the yards. he laid in his bed regretting his entire life.

no mandy. no lip. no dignity.

--

the day of the concert that mandy had invited him to rolled around. ian wouldn’t admit it, but he was nervous to spend a coffee-less evening with mandy, their entire friendship built inside that one room. his little bubble of safety was bursting.

well, to be honest, the bubble had burst the moment that his disaster of a coffee was spilled onto one of the most ridiculously pretty guys that he's ever seen. every time he closed his eyes, he remembered the guy’s face shift from hostile to something else. he was torn between wanting to know the his name and also on never seeing him again in fear that he would simply pass away of embarrassment.

hopefully mandy hadn't heard about it. they may not have been friends for a long time, but he already knew that she would never let him live it down.

"hey ian!" her familiar voice called. that sounded promising.

his face fell with relief as he finally spotted her at the corner. she embraced him in a warm hug before pulling back and giving him a once over.

"huh, could have sworn you'd still have coffee behind your ear or something after the description karen gave me of your little disaster the other day." she smirked, quite literally double checking behind his ears as they turned hot under her gaze.

"ugh, fuck, how much did she tell you?" he itched his forehead and scrunched up his nose.

"oh, calm your tits, it's funny as fuck." she giggled, punching his arm in a way that still unintentionally hurt.

"whatever. are you excited for the concert tonight?"

their reunion conversation lulled eventually, and ian noticed that they weren't necessarily standing alone.

no. fucking. way.

just his luck, if he was being honest. he probably deserved this.

there he stood. the man that has plagued his dreams the past few days. in a light wash jean jacket that was a little tight on the biceps, leaning casually against the wall, kicking the pebbles on the ground with his boot.

"uh, what's he doing here?" ian gestured towards the victim of The Coffee Incident.

“what, you know him?” mandy asked, walking them towards him.

“vaguely.” if that wasn’t the understatement of the year.

"huh. i didn’t think my idiot brother had any friends."

brother? how did ian not realize she had a brother?

"what, did you think i was going to babysit you all night? i can't let everyone here thinking you're my boyfriend, no offense or whatever, but you're in good hands!" she kissed his cheek, clearly not helping her own not-looking-like-her-boyfriend rule.

ian eyed said brother's good hands only to see the faded letters of FUCK U-UP on them. oh.

mandy pushed ian over to her brother, "ian, mickey. mickey, ian," she introduced before pushing and shuffling her way through the crowd of college students to find herself someone’s cheap ass fruity alcohol to mooch off of.

mickey. ian's brain repeated over and over, a chime against the murmuring sea of voices they found themselves enveloped by.

"nice jacket," ian pointed out, an awkward attempt to converse before shoving his hands back in his pockets.

"it's my second favorite." the corners of his mouth lifted like there was more to the statement. ian took the bait, as if he could resist.

"what's your first?"

"first is still airing out the fuckin’ coffee smell," he smirked as ian groaned. "oh c’mon, man, don't go crying over spilled milk."

how could he not? on the bright side, he didn’t seemed to hate ian for it.

“if it was anyone else,” mickey drawled, “they’d have to get a beat down for it.”

“why do I get a free pass?” ian mused.

“well, you’re mandy’s friend, right?”

“yup,” ian tried to suppress his disappointment. he really did. but fiona always told him he wore his heart on his sleeve.

“yeah, that ain’t why, though,” his eyebrows waggled suggestively and ian nearly felt his heart drop out of his ass.

ian blessed whatever coffee god was out there for sending him both mandy and the beautiful man in front of him.

“you wanna go listen to the band?” ian nodded his head towards the stage with passionate players jumping around like they were playing lollapalooza or some shit.

“lead the way, stud, just try to keep your drinks off of me this time,” mickey knocked into ian’s own flannel covered shoulder.

yeah, ian couldn’t believe his luck. maybe karma was finally on his side.

—

mandy smirked at her brother and best friend not-so-subtly checking each other out over the course of the night, bopping their heads to the music and downing whatever free booze they could get their hands on.

she hoped that adding mickey to the equation would be enough incentive to convince ian to stick around. things were better when he was near.

the way that ian followed mickey around like a lost puppy with that dopey moon-eyed look, it seemed like her hopes would come true.

and when both ian and mickey strolled into the café to come visit her at work the next week, mickey in his worse-for-wear leather jacket and ian in borrowed denim, she thanks the coffee gods for her luck.

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

Part 1 of ?????

Started writing this fic a while ago and then lost faith in it. Should I continue? Feel bad for not posting much lately so I thought I'd share this. Read on and weigh in.

COME OUT TONIGHT

NO

You don't have to fucking shout?

Said the pot to the kettle?

Oh you grandmother The caps were an accidental by-product of voice-to-text Blame Siri if you're going to blame anyone

You have a Samsung Galaxy S20.

HAD. It got smashed. Worst luck. Listen, come out with me tonight.

Urghhhhhhhhhhhhhh I'm tired!

https://www.boots.com/wellness/vitaminsandsupplements/vitamins-supplements-shop-by-ingredient/echinacea

Hah (indifferent)

Just come out with me! Isaac has to go see some godawful student performance of the Antigone in wherever the fuck Chichester is and it's Sirius's flatmate's birthday party so I have to go and I don't know any of his weird mates

You don't HAVE to go.

Have to/want to Semantics

I'm not in a birthday party mood. I'm having a stressful week. My arse has been tense since Tuesday.

I will wade into the deep and massage your arse if I have to, just come It's a swank pad in Belgravia! I bet they'll have all sorts of expensive nibbles!

I read that as expensive nipples.

Those too!

Partying it up with the children of wealthy Tories. Sounds super fun.

Just come out with me, for fuck I'll pick you up at 7 and we can steal their silverware if it's boring as the grave

URGH I'll go but I'm NOT dressing up!

You don't have to dress up!

FINE!

*

take the drawings down please i'm begging you i'm actually begging you

Nah mate

siriusssssssss pleeeeeease

Nah

PLEASE

Nah

PLEASE ffs it's MY birthday!!!! there are going to be PEOPLE there! standing around! AT EYE LEVEL

I don't see what the problem is.

EVERYONE will see what the problem is! they literally will not be able to IGNORE what the problem is!

Sounds like a recipe for lively discussion to me tbh

that is NOT what i want people talking about at my birthday!

If I take them down, I'll have to take all the nails out and that'll leave nail marks all over the walls. It would be unsightly.

MORE UNSIGHTLY THAN YOUR DICK, SIRIUS?

My dick is bewitching.

DIE

*

She walks in expecting to find herself the infiltrator of a Made in Chelsea/Royal Ascot/Henley Regatta netherworld, filled with a gaggle of giggling, SW-postcode socialites wielding suspiciously powder-edged Harrods Amex cards in the place of horses and boats, but that's not what actually greets her on the other side of the lacquered front door.

What greets her is really quite ordinary.

Aside from the naked drawings of Kingsley's mate, which aren't.

Otherwise, the whole affair is pretty relaxed. People her age are clustered in their small groups, swigging beers. There's a table of oven-heated party foods, salty snacks and rapidly depleting ramekins of guac. She spies more band shirts than there are dress shirts. There's a round of Fortnite in full swing on the TV.

It's all just...startlingly normal. A normal birthday party.

And that's sort of embarrassing, really.

Where are all the visible Tory toffs, she wonders? Where is the braying laughter? The Eton alumni reunion? The glimpse of hunting-happy tweed and shotgun barrels as a coat cupboard door swings shut? Where's the indelible air of sneering superiority, of "we're richer and more privileged and better than you, so fuck the NHS and death to foxes!" that she'd been expecting? There's a fucking Henry Hoover in the corner of the hall, for Christ's sake. Lily came here to smile through her teeth at them all, to listen to the champagne problems privilege that bubbled from their lips and tell herself that she was the one who knew better, who thought better. Her plain white tee and skinny jeans and scuff-toed, high-top trainers were supposed to be a statement, a subtle setting-apart, but she's not even the most underdressed person in the room.

She pre-judged a house full of people. What's that about?

There's a lesson to be found in this. Perhaps.

*

James covered all of the dicks in Paw Patrol stickers that he bought from the newsagent on his way home from his mum's, but Sirius peeled them all off while he was taking a soothing lavender bath, so what's the bloody point in birthdays anyway?

It's early in the evening, and he's wedged—against his will—between the dining room bar and Shane Ruttle, who has just pointed at one of the many lamentable dicks and asked, "Is this one of yours?" which James kind of wants to thump him for. It's bad enough that he looks like a madman who stuffed his house with naked drawings of his brother, now people are actually assuming that he drew the damn things, even though most of the compositions are appallingly far beneath his skill level. He's a professional illustrator, for the love of god, and Shane is really standing before him like the posturing prick he is, asking him if he's the one who drew Sirius with one arm disproportionately longer than the other.

He knows that he should cheer up.

It is his birthday. There is cake.

Good cake, too, not the kind that gets buried in too-thick fondant that he has to pick off before he can eat what's underneath.

The problem is, there's also a party, and his friends are his friends, Peter and Sirius included, and Peter and Sirius can both get drunk much faster than James can. When Peter and Sirius get drunk, serious injuries tend to follow, Remus tends to fuck off in a flash and James tends to be the one who calls for an ambulance or mothers them back to health—physical, mental or otherwise. He has just turned twenty-six, and these repeated, drunkenly dramatic medical emergency scenes are starting to wear a little thin.

Can't a man get comfortably drunk and have a laugh at his own birthday party?

No, he can't, because Peter's already halfway to trashed, wobbling unsteadily towards the French doors that lead to the terrace, wearing that look on his face that says I'm definitely going to vomit or maybe even shit myself like I did on that one night we all spent in Munich with the Belgian handball team and the creepy tour guide who couldn't keep his sleazy hands to himself. For the sake of sparing the lawn such a punishment, James hastily removes himself from Shane, grabs Peter by the collar, shoves him in the direction of the downstairs loo and retreats to the safety of the living room, where there are, at least, no naked drawings of Sirius gracing the walls.

Most of the people in here are transfixed by Saffy Stephens, who is down to the last three in her Fortnite game and cursing like a sailor, but there are a small pile of birthday cards on the end table where James and Sirius normally keep their keys. He perches on the sofa arm, sets his half-drunk beer bottle on the carpet, pushes his dark, disheveled hair away from his forehead and begins leafing through them. It's a necessity when one lives with Sirius, who thinks nothing of swiping gift cards when the mood strikes him and he's had enough to drink.

They're mostly from his female friends, and all pretty standard, until he reaches the middle of the pile and finds a card bearing a picture of a moustached tabby and the caption: Have a Purr-fect Birthday!

The inscription inside is written in a lovely, swirling hand.

To Jasper/Jack/Jason/maybe Ja Rule?/J-something idk

(see above: everything I've learned about you from the friend* I came here with, verbatim)

(*who can't remember your name)

Happy Birthday! Thank you for (not) specifically inviting me, a stranger, to your party to celebrate this momentous event in your life. Please enjoy this festive card/social nicety/convention from me to you. My friend brought rum which you may prefer.

I'll be around. Not that you'll know.

LE

James lowers the card and twists on the sofa arm at once, eyes darting around the room in search of its author, as if they might be laying in wait to watch him read it and see how he reacts. Nobody appears to have ducked behind the couch, however, so the situation merits further scrutiny.

Obviously, he needs to meet this person.

A mystery! At his birthday party!

He perks right up after that.

*

She's coming out of the downstairs loo when a short, blonde man in a garish Hawaiian shirt barrels past her and pukes all over the chequerboard tiled floor, narrowly missing her jeans.

"Oh no," he moans into his wet hands. "Oh no—"

"There there, mate," says Lily consolingly, never one to judge somebody for getting drunk early at a party. She pats him on the back before squeezing past him and rejoining Kingsley, who is standing in one of this meandering Georgian house's many hallways, chatting to a bloke in a houndstooth sweater vest and holding two glasses of something very, very sparkly that she must try at once.

"It's like...it's like everything and nothing at the same time," Houndstooth Bloke is saying when Lily draws close, gesturing to a huge canvas painting of a rain-soaked fairground at night.

"Is it?" Kingsley asks.

"Mmm. Very." Houndstooth shakes his shoulders like he's slipping out of a robe. "Meant to be esoteric, I suppose."

That sounds suspiciously like pretentious bullshit to Lily, who doesn't find the concept of a merry looking fairground all that difficult to absorb. Kingsley knows more about the art world than she does, but he must agree with her assessment because he grunts and shoves her glass into her hand when she stops beside him, and more roughly than she deserves, as if she's the one who landed him in this mess of a conversation to begin with.

Trust him to find himself stuck with the only dick (not etched by a 4B Steadtler graphite pencil) in the building, and trust her to be stuck with the person who got himself stuck with King.

"What are we talking about?" she asks brightly, just to fuck with him.

"Drink your champagne, there's a good little hen," King mutters, his teeth clenched together, hallway lights bouncing off the smoothly waxed dome of his bald head.

"We've been discussing this piece." Houndstooth nods to the painting, but his limpid eyes narrow on Lily's face. "Christ, you're very redheaded, aren't you?"

It's decided. She'll wait 'til Houndstooth is drunk and trip him up with Henry Hoover's hose.

"Ergo soulless, yes," she agrees.

"And you...enjoy that?" he asks, as if being redheaded is her profession.

"Very much, thanks."

"Hmmp. Well. I came here with Saffron," he announces, pronouncing it Sef-ron. As if Lily is supposed to know who that is. "Platonically, of course. Actually, we're some sort of cousins, I think. What do you think the artist is trying to convey?"

He's very pointedly asking her, so Lily blinks at the painting, her eyes on the outstretched arm of a child on the carousel.

"I like the pretty colours," she decides aloud.

"Right," says Houndstooth, "but that's not—"

"And the lights, too. The lights are really pretty."

"But—"

"I love funfairs, actually," she brightly continues, finding a strange satisfaction in playing dumb in front of Houndstooth and his overbleached fade. Although she does really like the colours. "Haven't been to one in years!"

"Yes, good, whatever, but what is the artist trying to convey?"

"What artist?" comes a voice from behind them.

Lily glances over her shoulder and finds herself looking up at the man whose penis she's spent the past thirty minutes avoiding eye contact with, though he is taller, better proportioned and infinitely more beautiful than any of those crudely drawn depictions could possibly convey. He is also beplumed and bejewelled like a pirate, wearing a sumptuous velvet jacket over a loose white shirt, numerous rings on his fingers and an assortment of silver chains around his slender neck, while his grey eyes and elegantly high-set cheekbones are framed by a tumble of black hair that genuinely looks like silk.

The man is so beautiful, in fact, that Lily immediately wonders why he's been taking sketches home from the life drawing class that he and Kingsley pose for—hence their acquaintance and Lily's presence at this party—when nothing she's seen tonight has done him any justice.

Most happily, his penis is tucked safely out of sight.

"Alright, Sirius?" says King.

"Alright, Marvel?" Sirius claps a hand to the taller man's massive shoulder. Kingley's muscles bulge in a way that cannot be hidden by modern habiliments. "What are we talking about?"

"Not much." Houndstooth looks put out by the arrival of yet another person. "We were just mesmerised by this piece."

Lily refrains from gesturing to the painting with both hands and a "ta-dah!" choosing instead to sip her champagne.

It's very good champagne. Mmm. Yes.

"Oh, yeah, it's really something," Sirius agrees. He brushes past Kingsley and runs a finger over the illegible squiggle of a signature on the canvas. His nails are beautifully manicured. "Local guy, young up-and-comer. I assume you've heard of Algernon?" he asks Houndstooth, fixing him with a steely-eyed stare.

"Er, yes." Houndstooth's gaze slides from Sirius to the painting. "I know him."

Sirius's eyebrows lift. "Know him personally?"

"Well—"

"That's so weird, I heard he never speaks to people."

Houndstooth chews on the inside of his cheek, weighing up the challenge. "How…funny."

"Funny?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just, I know I've spoken to him before, and since you've bought his painting I assumed that you'd have—"

"That is funny, actually," Sirius interrupts, "because the artist is my brother, and Algernon is the name of his cat."

Kingsley has been tugging on his earring and almost rips it out of his ear as his body convulses, champagne spraying from his nostrils, while an alarming red flush sweeps across Houndstooth's face and he begins to sputter on his own self-importance. Sirius has clearly decided that he's done with all of that noise, however, because he turns back to Lily instead, looking her up and down with great and sudden interest.

"Who's this then?" he asks Kingsley, cocking his head to one side. "James's present?"

The champagne glass swings down and Lily fixes him with a deadpan stare. "Excuse me?"

Sirius slants a grin at Kingsley, a quick flash of teeth. "This one's queenly, isn't she?"

Kingsley wipes his nose with the back of his hand and laughs again. "Hardly."

"This is Primark, mate," Lily retorts, tugging on her t-shirt.

"Queenliness is a state of mind," says Sirius, "not a state of wardrobe."

"You had me marked down as a prostitute not ten seconds ago."

"Oh, that. I was only joking," he sighs, and grips her arm at the elbow, his long fingers cool against her skin. "But still, you're far too attractive to stand here talking to this clown. Come with me and I'll find you someone better."

*

James's friends are useless.

And drunk. Useless and drunk—or sort of drunk, in Saffy's case. Remus is certainly already pissed, but Remus is on meds so often that he drinks but once in a blue moon. One cocktail is usually enough to set him off, and he's been hard at the gin since he turned up with Peter at six.

"I don't know anyone with those initials," Saffy declares, once she has read, examined and even sniffed the birthday card for clues. "Except for Lisa Edelstein."

"Who's Lisa Edelstein?"

"Cuddy from House," says Remus, lowering the negroni from which he has been drinking deeply.

James pulls a face. "What the fuck is a Cuddy?"

"Oh, actually, it could mean le?" Remus suggests.

"Yes!" Saffy points at him like he might be onto something. "Like the French word for the?"

"Exactly, like—"

"It doesn't mean that!" James interrupts, unwilling to allow such profanity in his home. "That doesn't make sense, why would somebody sign their name as the?"

"Now you're asking me to explain how French people think?" says Saffy derisively, adjusting her bra strap beneath that burnt orange waistcoat she loves, the one that makes her look like she's directing a pornographic movie in the 70s when she pairs it with her tortoiseshell-framed aviators. It clashes wildly with her electric blue buzz-cut. "Am nooooo drunk enough for that."

"They could be one of those one word moniker pop stars, I suppose," Remus pipes up, smiling slyly. "You know, like Madonna?"

They think James doesn't realise that they're taking the piss out of him, but neither of them are sober enough to attempt their gambit with any kind of subtlety or grace.

"You know that's actually her real Christian name?" says Saffy.

Remus turns towards her with interest. "What, Madonna?"

"Yeah!"

"Really?"

"Yeah!" Saffy repeats. "I thought it couldn't possibly be her real name because, I mean, Madonna, yeah? But then I looked it up and apparently that's the name her mummy gave her, just goes to show—"

"I'm sorry," James interrupts, "but is Madonna relevant to this conversation?"

"Yes, always," says Saffy.

"She's an international pop megastar," Remus seconds.

James stares at his friend incredulously. "Drinking really chips away at your wit, y'know?"

"Does it?" Remus grins lazily and jiggles his cocktail in the air. "Oh, well, I'm negronly joking."

Saffy does a spit-take without the spit and clings helplessly to Remus's shoulder as she laughs, knees buckling, bangles tinkling, but James fights his own urge to start snickering.

"It's not that funny," he lies, and Remus eyes him with an alarmingly teacher-like shrewdness, despite the tellingly intoxicated flush that has crept into his thin, freckled face.

James's love of puns is tragically well known.

"You didn't get it." Remus points at his drink. His speech is starting to slur. "This is a negroni, what I said was—"

"Yeah, I got that part, I just—"

"Jesus fuck, look at her!" Saffy suddenly hisses, staggering sideways into Remus and sending him into the wall in a flurry of giggles—Remus giggling?—her voice hushed and urgent. "Who the hell is that?!"

James does look, following the direction of Saffy's gaze. Sirius has just entered the living room, casually clutching the elbow of a……

……goddess.

An actual. Like. Goddess.

A goddess. In James's house. In his living room. In the place where he eats his chocolate boulder cereal and rewatches Scrubs (even season 9, which is hilarious, and very unfairly disparaged by Joe Public) on Saturday mornings.

She's a goddess. A real one, and cleverly disguised as a mortal, sure, with her slouchy white t-shirt and her big hoop earrings and her light blue jeans that are torn at the knees, wearing her shoulder-length red hair half up, half down and slightly messy, but that doesn't hide what she is.

"Oh my god," he murmurs. His heart is pounding all of a sudden, which is so...utterly bloody stupid, but Saffy's right, bloody look at her, Jesus fuck.

"Surely she can't be with Sirius?" Saffy murmurs back.

"No, she—" He watches Sirius lean down to mutter something in the redhead's ear. A ghost of a laugh flits across her beautiful face. "She's not his—he isn't—"

"D'you think—"

"No, I—"

"Good," says Saffy firmly. She lets go of Remus and rises, lengthening her spine. It is a battle stance of some sort, presumably. "Because I saw her first."

"No!" James cries, wounded, and the redhead shoots him a curious look with a pair of eyes that are startlingly emerald green, even from all the bloody way over here. He spins to face Saffy and lowers his voice, face burning. "It's my house!"

"What are you arguing here, ownership rights?"

"No but it—it's my birthday!" James retorts, jabbing at his own chest. "And, actually, and—"

"It's in the bloody post!"

"—you didn't get me a present!" he finishes in triumph, not that he knows what he's arguing for, because the likelihood is that his tongue will glue itself to the roof of his mouth if he even dares to look in her direction one more time. "Plus I set you up with Vanya Petrich, with whom, as I recall, you enjoyed four years—"

"Stop throwing that in my face!"

"—four blissful years—"

"Is it my fault that you've never fancied any girl I've set you up with?!"

"—promised me an Easter ham for setting you up with her and I never got it—"

"So now you'll trade a woman for a ham?" Saffy accuses, though her face is too lit up, her brown eyes too crinkled at the corners—she's having fun with this and she isn't going to fool him and she knows it. "That's so low, even—"

"Don't start with that," James scathingly cuts in. "You offered me Sean Connery's autograph for Bonnie Grogan's number—"

"Which you never gave me!"

"Because you forged the bloody signature!"

"And now she's bloody married!"

"Yeah, well, Isabella wouldn't give me a counterfeit present, would she?" he retorts, and Saffy lets her shoulders drop, smirking. "This is pointless, Saf, we can't—"

"She's just left with Sirius," Remus informs them, and burps.

[dameronology]

love in the time of p.t.a meetings {marcus moreno} - 2/5

summary: your kid has taken a liking to marcus moreno - and frankly, so have you {series masterlist}

warnings: swearing, mentions of divorce & very brief mentions of his wife’s death 

i don’t normally update series this quickly but this was originally one imagine that reached about 11k words lmao so it’s all written, just being split up. i’ve also decided it’s gonna be 5 parts instead of 3, cos i reread the ending and realised i was not done by a longshot. enjoy!

- jazz

Mondays. You hated ‘em.

Everything just seemed so...amplified. The peace and relaxation of the weekend was over and everyone had to go back on the grind. The traffic always seemed worst, the clock seemed to tick backwards and you just wanted to be at home, in bed. After an incident involving the dog, a toaster and a small pan fire, you were already running twenty minutes late and you knew in your soul that your child’s shoes weren’t on the right feet. That, and also he was wearing a Chewbacca onesie to school. It had been a compromise. As in, he was refusing to go to school unless you let him wear the damn thing. It was a compromise. You’d lost. 

On the bright side, the past weekend had been the best you’d had in a long time. Jack had spent all of Saturday afternoon at the Heroics headquarters and he was so worn out, he’d slept through all of Sunday. Marcus Moreno must have a been a fucking wizard, because you’d been trying to tire the kid out for five years. You made a mental note to do something in return, though you sensed there was nothing on God’s green earth that could possibly amount to babysitting the world’s most exhausting child for six hours. You were allowed to say that, because Jack was your world’s most exhausting child and you wouldn’t have changed him for anything. 

‘New week, huh buddy?’ You glanced at Jack in your rear view mirror. He was sat on his booster seat, legs dangling back and forth and a power ranger action figure in his hand. ‘A fresh start.’

‘Can we listen to the song from Cars?’ Jack ignored your comment.

‘You gotta try and behave yourself this week. You’ve seen what happens to people who do follow the rules, right? They get to go work at the Heroics-’

‘- I wanna listen to the song from Cars!’

You wanted to have a deep conversation. Jack wanted to listen to Life Is A Highway. That was...actually, it was exactly how you’d expected that to go. It wasn’t that off of the time you were trying to explain your divorce to him and he’d interrupted you to demand that you put Toy Story on. 

‘Sure thing, kid.’ You rolled your eyes, reaching across to hand him on your phone. ‘D’you know how to spell it-’

Your sentence was cut off by the sound of guitars blaring from the speakers. At least he could work out Spotify.

By some miracle, you managed to make it the school with a few minutes to spare. Because most people had dropped their kids off earlier (see: on time), the lot was pretty empty. That meant you could once again dump your car without regard for the painted white lines -- who had time to park properly on a Monday morning? That was for people who had their shit together.

Leaping out the car, you almost cursed when you tripped over your heels. You didn’t have to wear them, but since you’d started working in a managerial role at your office, you figured it made you look a little more professional. And what was the harm in being a few inches taller? It made you feel powerful.

‘C’mon, J.’ You pulled open the back door, helping Jack leap out the car. 

‘You know, I’m starting to think you can’t park your car at all.’

‘Marcus!’ Jack practically flew out the car, his tiny body suddenly jolting with excitement. 

‘Morning, buddy.’ He replied; he then moved his brown eyes to gaze at you, offering a smile. ‘Hey.’

‘Hey, how you doing?’ You greeted him. ‘I don’t normally see you here in the mornings.’

‘Yeah, I normally drop Missy off at the front but it was one of those mornings, you know? She was taking a little more convincing than usual to go in.’

‘My kid is in a Wookiee onesie and backwards Thomas the Tank Engine shoes and you have the audacity to ask me if I know those mornings? I am those mornings.’ You replied.

Marcus chuckled. ‘I think it’s a look. I especially like the Lightning McQueen sunglasses.’

‘Do you have a super suit?’ Jack asked. ‘Can I try it on?’

‘C’mon, Jack. You’ve already managed to get a tour of the HQ.’ You ruffled his hair. ‘And we gotta get going to school.’

‘But I wanna ask more questions.’ He muttered. ‘I have over a hundred.’

‘Don’t I know it.’ You murmured under your breath. ‘But school is more important.’

‘I don’t wanna go anymore.’

‘I let you wear the onesie. That was our agreement, remember?’

‘All good superheroes have to get an education.’ Marcus reasoned. ‘And if you go in, maybe I can show you my suit at some point?’

'Okay!’ Jack grinned. He wrapped his arms around your waist in a quick hug, before peering up at you with a toothy smile. ‘See ya later!’

He turned on his heel and ripped his backpack from your hand, suddenly speeding up the path and towards school. Had...had that just happened? For once in your life, had you not had to wrench him from the car and wrestle him through the school gates? Move aside, Harry Potter, because Marcus Moreno was the new wizard in town. You might have been a little jealous that he was so good with your son but at the same time, it made you like him even more. He was the first parent at the school that had leant into Jack’s wild tendencies. And, whilst you tried not to think too much about it, even his own dad had struggled to do that. It made your heart warm a little. 

‘You are seriously my favourite person.’ You chimed, leaning back against your car. 

‘Kids with character are way more fun than kids who are well-behaved.’ Marcus replied.

‘I spent forty-five minutes scraping string cheese out the USB port of my computer yesterday, but sure.’ 

He chuckled. ‘No, I’m serious. I don’t encourage Missy to misbehave but she does get herself into some situations. I choose to see it as a testament to her intelligence rather than disobedience.’

‘I refuse to believe for a second that Missy ever misbehaves.’ You shot back back. ‘She seems so well-behaved.’

‘What you see in the parking lot is not a reflection of our whole lives.’ He reminded you.

‘Right, because despite appearances, I’m actually a very put together parent.’ You snorted. ‘But I get what you mean.’

‘I gotta get to work now, but it was good to see you.’ Marcus pulled his car keys out his pocket. ‘I was serious about that suit thing, by the way. He saw my katanas on Saturday.’

‘Katanas?’ You spluttered. ‘My kid managed to start a fire last week out of nothing and you want to give him katanas?!’

‘Maybe I can show you how to use them.’ He flashed you a smile. ‘And then you can pass on the knowledge.’ 

‘That’s probably an even worse idea.’ You shook your head with a laugh, pulling open your car door. ‘I’ll see you around.’

‘You as well. Have a good day, pretty lady.’

--

Did you stop thinking about your exchange at any point during the day? Absolutely not. In fact, you’d already written an email to the local deed poll office to change your legal name to Pretty Lady. 

No, but in all seriousness, you’d been a little giddy about it. Had he been flirting? That didn’t seem like a long shot. You got on well, you’d hung out a bit over the weekend and not to toot your own horn, but you were by no means bad looking. Tired and a little frazzled, sometimes? Yeah. But anyone would have been lucky to have you and you were doing a better job at recognising that, especially since your divorce. 

You were almost ecstatic when it got to 4PM and you hadn’t received a single call from Jack’s teachers. That meant that he had behaved, and what Marcus had said had worked. Because you worked past his finishing time, he usually went to the after-school club till you could come to collect him - it had been a lifesaver, especially since you couldn’t always leave early. He usually came home with some kind of weird arts and crafts. Last week, it had been an unidentifiable item made of dried macaroni and glitter. He’d placed it pridefully on the old fireplace in your lounge. 

After saying goodbye to your co-workers, you headed out the building. Your office was right in the city centre and not too far out from the school. It was a nice place to be; your lunch hour, when you could head out to a street cart and eat your food in the local park, was usually the highlight of your day. It was when you could exist just as you. When you were at work, you were in charge on your entire department. When you were home, you were a parent 24/7. That time to yourself was vital.

As you were heading to your car, your phone began to ring. Your heart almost jumped out your chest when you saw Marcus’ name - he hadn’t called you before, only texted to sort out the previous weekend’s plans with Jack. You quickly organised yourself (he couldn’t see you, dumb ass) and cleared your throat.

‘Hey, everything alright?’ You brightly greeted him.

‘Hey! Are you out of work now?’

‘Yeah, I’m literally just leaving. What’s up?’

‘Look, I hate to do this but I’ve had an emergency at work - superhero related, you don’t wanna know - and I’m not gonna be out for hours.’ Marcus sounded stressed. Yeah, I feel that you thought. ‘Would you be able to pick up Missy and possibly have her for a few hours? If not, that’s totally-’

‘- I’d be glad too!’ You interrupted him. ‘I owe you one anyways for the weekend. And this morning, actually.’

‘You don’t owe me anything.’ He sounded surprised that you’d even imply it. ‘But I will definitely owe you for having Missy.’

‘Hey, it’s cool!’ You insisted. ‘Do you want me to drop her off at yours later?’

‘I can come and collect her if you text me your address?’

‘Perfect.’ You smiled. ‘I’ll see you later then?’

‘You’re a lifesaver.’ Marcus said. ‘I’ll text Missy to let her know to find your car instead of mine. I would ask for your plate number, but your car is...’

‘...bright red, covered in dents and hard to miss?’ You finished his sentence.

‘Exactly.’

You’d been in the same situation before; pulled between work and parenting, with Jack stuck at school and an important meeting that felt like it was never ending. It was hard to get a sitter on such short notice - or afford one, sometimes - and it was just another one of the million, stressful situations that single parenting could get you into. If you could help Marcus even a little bit, of course you were going to. You knew he’d do the same for you. Heck, he had done the same for you.

Jack and Missy were both chatty on the way home. Given that she was a little older than him, her conversational skills were strikingly better. It was nice to ask someone about their day and not get where are my Cheetos? as an answer. From what you gathered, she hated science class, enjoyed gym, and her favourite subject was lunch. That didn’t come as a surprise to you - her dad was a literal superhero and probably encouraged physical activity.

(You’d seen his arms, okay? They were more than enough to go on. I digress).

The only thing that made you wish you’d had a little more notice on having her for the evening was the state of your apartment. The place wasn’t bad; you’d lived there for the better part of eight years, and it was crammed with soft furniture and millions of blankets, as well as photos of you and Jack and his questionable art projects. It was just that you hadn’t done the dishes that morning, there was a mountain of shoes by the door and the pancakes from the previous night were still stuck on the roof.

Missy barely blinked an eye; the minute she saw your dog, she’d abandoned her bag and was playing with him. 

‘Hey buddy!’ She grinned. ‘What’s he called?’

‘That’s Oppy.’ You replied, hanging your jacket up. She didn’t need to know that it was short for Optimus Prime. No guesses on whose idea that had been. 

‘He’s so cute!’ Missy continued. ‘I’ve been asking dad for a dog for ages but he won’t budge.’

For some reason, that surprised you a little. Marcus might have been the leader of a super-hero team and a public figure, but you could tell he would do anything for his daughter. You knew because it was the same for you with Jack. He might have ruled your whole life but you would have hung the damn stars in the sky for him if he asked 

‘They’re a lot of work.’ You reasoned. ‘I have to wake up every morning at 6AM to make sure he gets a walk. Then there’s the matter of-’

‘- mum! Optimus Prime pooped in the bathroom!’

‘The matter of that.’ You murmured under your breath.

The rest of the evening went pretty smoothly. You fed the kids some leftover takeaway and between the dog and Netflix, they were easily entertained. Jack seemed to take a liking to Missy, which was good because it meant he wanted to sit with her the entire time instead of bouncing off the walls. She had the same patience as her dad, especially when he asked her a million questions about superheroes. It took her twenty minutes to convince him that Batman wasn’t her uncle, and a further fifteen to make him believe that she hadn’t met Captain America. 

Jack had asked you a few times about whether or not he would get siblings. Of course, it would be different to any interactions with Missy because he would have been the oldest, but it did get you thinking. You were finally in a place where you were moving past your former relationship and healing from the wounds. Time wasn’t much of an issue either - you’d had Jack when you were young and barely out of college. You couldn’t possibly imagine having any more kids right now, not when it was just the two of you, but in the future? You’d never rule out meeting somebody new. If anything, you were hopeful. Your first relationship had been your only one, and it had ended badly. You wanted to experience love for what it actually was, and not what you thought it was supposed to be. 

Not long after 7PM, there was a knock on your door. By that point, both Missy and Jack had passed out on the sofa with Star Wars playing quietly in the background. It had been her idea to watch it - she had good taste. Marcus had clearly done a good job.

‘Hey!’ You greeted him as you pulled open the front door. ‘Come in quick, it’s fucking freezing out there.’

‘Thank you.’ Marcus came inside, dusting a few snow flakes out his hair. ‘Seriously, I can’t say it enough-’

‘- it’s fine!’ You shook your head, offering him a smile. ‘Missy’s been great. She’s really chatty and it was nice to have a coherent conversation with someone that isn’t about Paw Patrol. But was everything at the office okay?’

He was quiet for a minute. ‘Yeah. We uh, we lost someone. A hero.’

‘Shit, man. I’m sorry.’ Your voice fell quiet. ‘You wanna come in? You look like you could probably take a moment.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course! Missy and Jack are both asleep on the couch anyways.’ You pointed through to the living room. Marcus leant over to have a look, smiling slightly at the sight. 

‘Thank you. I’d appreciate that.’

He took a seat at the kitchen counter. Your old bar stools were a little old and wobbly, but Marcus didn’t seem to notice. If anything, he admired the place. It was cluttered as hell and filled with useless, old items - cook books you didn’t use, random magnets, assorted toys - but it was nice. His house always felt a little cold and clinical. He’d moved a lot over the course of Missy’s life and now that he was retired from the field, he’d sworn to her that their current house was going to be permanent. Whether or not it felt like home was another question entirely. 

‘I would offer you a drink but all I have is..’ you paused, opening the fridge. ‘Nesquik, vodka or apple juice.’

‘You know what? A Nesquik doesn’t sound too bad.’

‘I like your thinking, Moreno.’

After quickly fixing up the two drinks, you slid into the seat beside him and handed him one. You had never in a million years imagined a situation where Marcus Moreno would be in your kitchen drinking chocolate milk, but here we were. It had clearly been a long day for him and you had enough of those to last a lifetime, so you knew how it felt. Coming home after a day that had beat your ass into the ground and having to put on a brave face for your kids was difficult at best. 

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ You gently asked.

‘Yeah, I’ll be okay - it just always fucks me up a bit.’ Marcus murmured quietly. ‘Hits a little too close to home.’

He wasn’t an idiot. He knew that you knew what had happened to his wife. You knew why he’d retired, and why he and Missy had moved away from their original city six years ago.

‘Sorry, that was too deep-’

‘- it wasn’t!’ You quickly cut him off. ‘I’ve had random women come up to me at pick up time and say they’re sorry to hear about my divorce. People I don’t even know. So really, after that, nothing is too much.’ 

He smiled slightly. ‘They always say they’re sorry but why would you bring up a subject if you have to apologise for it?’

‘Exactly!’ You replied. ‘Especially when I’ve moved on. It’s been a year.’

‘It’s the same with me. Missy and I miss her everyday but we don’t mope about it. We just...we look back with fondness on the good memories we have. You can’t move forward if you’re stuck in the past, no matter how much it sucks.’

‘That’s...that’s wise.’ You blinked in surprise. ‘S’pose that means I should take down the dartboard I have with my ex’s face on.’

‘From what I’ve heard, he seems like he should have more than a dart board.’ Marcus snorted - then he froze. ‘Wait, not that I’ve heard stuff, I mean...I don’t listen-’

‘- Marcus!’ You whacked his arm. ‘It’s fine. One of the other kid’s mums started telling me about the terrible divorce someone was going through but she realised she was gossiping to the one who was going through it.’

‘I don’t know how much of what I’ve been told is true, but it sounds like it was bad.’ His hand hovered over where yours was rested on the counter. 

‘The rumours pretty much get the gist of it.’ You replied. ‘But we were talking about your thing, so I don’t wanna take away from that.’

‘Hey, it’s okay.’ He finally moved his hand, fingers gently curling underneath yours to intertwine them. ‘If even half of the whispers are true, he sounds like an asshole. You and Jack both deserve better than that.’

Whatever people had said, it had sort of covered the gist of it. You’d married too young and had a kid too young - your ex had been a terrible husband and an even worst husband. He’d chastised Jack for being...well, being Jack. He’d stay out late with his friends, spend money on things neither of you needed and tried to make you take the blame for it all. After giving him a few too many chances, you’d finally reached breaking point and kicked him out. Filing for divorce and taking on being a single parent was single-handedly the hardest and bravest thing you’d ever had to do. In a way, you were glad you’d done it when Jack was still so young - he didn’t really understand any of it, even when you’d try to explain it in child friendly terms.

‘I think people judge me for it a little sometimes.’ You confessed. ‘They see me struggling but they know I made the choice to separate from him, like I brought it all on myself.’

‘That’s bullshit.’ Marcus plainly stated. ‘Parenthood isn’t a dependent thing based on whether or not you’re still married to the other parent. It’s unconditional and permanent.’

‘I should tell him that, but I also don’t want him back in our lives.’

‘I know it’s none of my business, but he doesn’t deserve Jack. He’s one of the best and brightest kids I’ve ever met.’

‘Thank you. I’m glad he doesn’t seem like a complete lunatic.’

‘He doesn’t deserve you either.’ Marcus continued. ‘Again, I might be out of place saying this but you are...you’re amazing. I was a wreck when I was suddenly on my own and you’re still holding everything together and working your ass off.’ 

‘You’ve noticed?’ You quirked an eyebrow.

‘Yeah, in passing.’ He admitted. ‘I remember I once saw you carrying three separate science projects at once and then Carol made a passing comment that you were on your own and...I just kinda admired you from afar.’

‘You, Marcus Moreno, admired me?’ You blinked at him in disbelief. ‘I find that hard to believe.’

‘I wish I’d had my shit together half as much as you did when I lost Missy’s mum.’ 

‘But the difference is you didn’t have a choice in your situation. I chose to boot his dad out-’

‘- you gotta stop discrediting yourself.’ He shook his head. ‘And stop blaming yourself. You did what was right for your kid and that is the most admirable thing of all.’

‘You really think so?’

‘I know so.’

The conversation slowly drizzled away, leaving you two to just look at each other. It was hard to tear yourself away from his brown eyes - there was a lot going on behind them. Fear, pain, anguish, admiration. He was one of the most mind-blowingly impressive people you’d ever met; single dad, superhero, electric car owner. He probably didn’t have a mortgage too and that was kinda hot. You were none of those things and yet, here he was, with you, managing to connect on a level that you never had with anyone. Both of your situations were tough, but they’d brought you together. 

Marcus Moreno was pretty fucking fearless (came with the job, you figured), and he wasn’t afraid to make the first move. He slowly inched his head forward and in return, you gravitated towards him. Your lips met halfway in a soft kiss, his hands moving to firmly hold your waist as he pulled you closer.

You almost stumbled out your chair with the movement, but his grip on your hips meant you didn’t slip. Instead, he placed you up on the counter, standing up as he did. It took you a moment to adjust to the position, but with your legs resting on either side of his, you could reach forward and lean on him. You had one hand tangled in his hair and the other on the back of his neck -  you’d surprised yourself with that. It had been months since you’d kissed anyone, but you weren’t as rusty as you thought. 

‘Oh my god, is the superhero gonna be my new dad?!’

Marcus suddenly jumped backwards at the sound of Jack’s voice. He was stood in the doorway, post-nap hair covered by a lopsided Chewbacca hood. His eyes were like dinner plates, even though he was grinning from ear to ear. 

‘Uh...’ you glanced between him and Marcus. ‘We were just...we were...’

‘I had something in my eye.’

‘He had something in his eye.’ You quickly agreed. ‘But now it’s out, so Marcus is gonna go home.’

He knew you didn’t mean it rudely - it was more of a desperation thing. The longer he stayed, the more questions Jack would come out with. Missy could have overheard too and that would have been twice as much to explain. So really, the sooner he got out, the better.

‘Yeah. I’ll uh, I’ll grab Missy.’ Marcus said, scratching the back of his head. ‘Thank you again for looking after her.’

‘You don’t need to keep thanking me.’ You shot back. 

He disappeared into the living room for a moment, reemerging with a sleeping Missy in his arms a moment later. Your eyes met again, and he gave you a soft smile.

‘I’ll call you.’

‘Yeah, sure.’  You nodded. ‘See you, Marcus.’

--

True to character, the next hour was spent being pelted with questions from your over-curious son. He didn’t shut up once when you were bathing him and he got even louder when you were reading him his best time story. On the bright side, you’d managed to get him to change out of his slightly manky Wookiee onesie and into a clean Buzz Lightyear one. Normally, you would have argued that he couldn’t live in pyjamas, but if it kept him quiet? It was a price you were willing to pay. 

‘Night, kiddo.’ You pressed a kiss to his forehead, switching on his nightlight. ‘Remember our deal, yeah? If I buy you a Happy Meal tomorrow, you won’t mention what you saw to any of your friends?’

‘You said library was bad.’

‘No, it’s bribery.’ You corrected him. ‘And do as I say, not as I do.’

‘Sounds bad, but okay.’ He sleepily murmured. ‘Night.’

‘Night.’ You stood up, flicking out his bedroom lights.

‘Wait, mum!’ Jack suddenly sat up, as though he’d remembered something. ‘You never said no.’

‘No to what, buddy?’

‘When I asked if the superhero was my new dad.’

Well, fuck. 

taglist: @naivara-duneimith @1-2-3-4-5metalfingers @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky @lyanna-the-giantsbane @phoenixhalliwell @crazycookiecrumbles​ @bitchin-beskar​ @comphersjost​ {message me to be added!}

[andrea-lyn]

The Recs (Less Travelled)

I’m excited to bring you the first installment of my ‘roads less travelled’ recs! I will be doing another round of this, probably once the Ted Lasso fic tag hits about 25 pages, and then I’ll also grab a couple more fandoms to collect in there! 

The Rules:

Each fandom/pairing was sorted on Archive of Our Own by completed works. Anything recced here was not in the first ten pages when sorted by kudos at the time of reccing. There may be some more well-known authors on this list, but the specific fics I’ve picked are ones that didn’t crack that top ten or just didn’t get much traction and I think deserve it, so hopefully I have also balanced it out with other under the radar (and still great!) works. As ever, I have a pinned post of my other recs (none have been duplicated from there), so you can also check those out! Under the cut you’ll find 10 recs in each fandom for:

Raven Cycle

Roswell New Mexico

The Old Guard

Inception

Star Trek (mainly Kirk/McCoy)

The Raven Cycle

savor all the little pieces by littlelionvanz

“Since when do you garden?”

Ronan snorted, “Since I grew up on a fucking farm, genius. Jesus who gave you permission to pursue higher education.”

the old grip of the familiar by littleseal

"There is a single black feather and a printed out picture of Gansey, Blue and Cheng standing in front of some fucking monument Ronan didn’t care enough to remember the name of. Gansey sent it to Ronan’s phone some time ago, but it sat in his messages until Adam picked it up and grinned at it so hard that, one afternoon later, Ronan cursed and kicked and glared his old printer back to life in order to print it out.

Fuck, he thinks, I’m in love with a hoarder."

Adam collects things. Ronan is in love with him.

No Sweeter Innocence Than Our Gentle Sin by gansey_is_our_king

Ronan Lynch has wanted to kiss Adam Parrish for a long time.

(alternately titled: four times that Ronan could have kissed Adam)

Cheers to Another Seven Years! by skyermirth

Adam left Henrietta for Harvard and never returned. Now, seven years has passed, and an unexpected work assignment has brought him back to a place and people he hardly recognizes.

Row, row, row your boat by emmerrr

“What. Why are you smiling at me,” he says suspiciously.

Adam shrugs. “You’re cute.”

“I’m not cute, I’m terrifying.”

“Terrifyingly cute,” Adam says.

and now the world is ours to take / and every single move is ours to make by thatlittleblackcat

"Adam was the scientist, Ronan was the data, and Orphan Girl was the key that explained the strange outliers that Ronan presented, his previously unexplainable actions."

//

Adam sorts out his feelings, Ronan helps him, Gansey is the number one dad friend, Blue is the number one mom friend and Henry tries to make Ronan smile. Otherwise known as the story of how Orphan Girl became Opal.

All These Things You Make Me Feel by SilverOpals394

It was late. Adam could feel the long day catching up to him as he left Boyd’s, all his energy exhausted. When he started his car, the tape deck whirred to life once more. He sighed and raised his hand to turn it off, but before he did a soft melody began to play.

AU in which the mixtape Ronan made for Adam only plays the murder squash song until Adam realizes he's in love with Ronan, too.

Ways to Communicate by Jalules

Blue Sargent reflects on an early memory (and gets busy with her boyfriends.)

(The two things are related, trust me.)

Hold Me Closer, I'm Safe in Your Arms by actuallyronanlynch

“You wanna tell me why I had to hear from Henry Cheng that my boyfriend was at the hospital?” Adam hissed, though his voice wasn’t as acidic as it could’ve been. Ronan took small victories where he could.

“You don’t have a cellphone,” Ronan pointed out flatly. “It’s not like I could’ve gotten a hold of you.”

arts and crafts and the inevitability of death by sunshineinthestorm

Adam comes to the public library in search of a study spot, not a boyfriend. 

But it must be his lucky day—because he ends up with a bit of both.

 Roswell New Mexico

a conversation between insignificant others by Bellakitse

“Hey…have you noticed that our boyfriends are madly in love with each other?"

“You noticed that too, huh,” she answers dryly, letting out a huff of reluctant amusement.

***

Forrest and Maria share a drink and a conversation and start a friendship.

Own Personal Hell by BeStillMySlashyHeart

Now that Isobel's getting the hang of her telekinesis, Michael decides to test out his telepathic abilities. It backfires. Badly. Now Michael's trapped inside his own mind and only one person can break him out.

Drop the Hammer by brightloveee

Max makes a new friend at the shooting range, who turns out to be even more bad-ass than he expected.

(Takes place mid-S1)

Boys Like You by forgadgetsandgizmos

Curly, dirty blond hair (the mere description ‘curly’ felt like an injustice) twisted in every direction off his head, a sharp contrast with the scruff darkening his strong jawline and scowl-ridden face.

Alex made a mental note to compliment Maria on her excellent taste in men.

—

Or, Alex has coffee with Maria's one-night stand, a man who he definitely does not have a crush on.

let's exchange the experience by lostin_space

Michael decides they need to quarantine.

OR

Michael floods Alex with love and care over and over and over.

This Is Hardcore by Anonymous

Michael makes a proposal. Alex accepts. Michael wonders what the hell he’s gotten himself into.

i don't know what to think (but i think of supernovas) by Milzilla

michael discovers that the console can talk. then, he discovers it can do far more than that.

iridescence on skin by Lire_Casander

In a world where (almost) everyone has a tattoo on their right wrist with one set of coordinates that point to the place where their soulmate is born, Alex thought he wouldn't be any different. He couldn't be more mistaken.

He has two.

The Real Thing by elliebird

Max checks on Michael the morning after Michael saves Max’s ass from Wyatt Long and his dumbass buddies. He sees more than he’s supposed to.

Written for a Tumblr anon who one of their friends walking in on them or anyone of them finding out about Michael and Alex in an interesting way 

Sundering by romancandles 

“You know it was just an Air Force balloon, right?” says Alex.

Michael smirks. “That’s what they want you to think,” he says, with a wink.

The Old Guard

Peer Reviewed by ishandahalf

[From:] Journal of Medieval Studies (jms.eds@jms.com)

[Subject:] Ad-hoc note from the editor

I have noticed an uncommon level of animosity in your responses to your reviewers (or rather, one reviewer in particular). I am writing to ask if you would please do your best to keep your interactions civil. In fairness, I have also sent a similar request to the reviewer you seem to have this friction with. I trust you will both try and remain more professional in the future.

Again, thank you for submitting your work to this journal.

Sincerely,

James Copley, PhD

Editor-in-Chief

Journal of Medieval Studies

An (accidental) academic epistolary romance as (inadvertently) documented via a (theoretically) rigorously blinded peer review process.[citation needed]

third for a word and the song keeps going Macremae

It was honestly shaping up to be a pretty uneventful year before the Vatican got on Nicky’s bad side.

Or: three times in 2008 that the team genuinely thought about killing Nicky if only to get him to shut up about the changes to the Catholic English Mass and his unrelenting opinions on them, and one time Nile did.

Apex Predators In Island Ecosystems (Freeman et al., in press) by Sixthlight

Palaeobotany PhD student Nile Freeman and her supervisor Joe al-Kaysani are invited to billionaire Stephen Merrick’s new project – a theme park full of cloned dinosaurs. What could possibly go wrong?

This Rough Magic by Marivan

When Joe came to Scotland to study the sea, he did not expect to also encounter a beautiful man claiming that A. he’s a selkie and B. they’re married because Joe picked up his scarf.

It sounds like a fairy tale and that’s a problem. Because Joe’s a scientist. And selkies don’t exist.

Wars for the broken by Yuliares

Five years into his exile, Booker is joined by a companion he never expected to meet. Together, they try to work on healing.

Sometimes they go down to the sewers just so she can scream and scream. “I like to hear it echo,” she explains. “Underwater, you can’t hear anything. Here, at least I can be heard.”

“I don’t feel like a warrior anymore,” she tells him, throwing bread crumbs at pigeons. “I feel broken.”

“You’re still a warrior,” he says roughly. “This is still fighting.”

a good (eighth) impression by deanniker

Over the next few months, Joe runs into Nicky every so often at the farmer’s market. Some weekends Nicky doesn’t make it, because of his work schedule - Joe doesn’t understand it because he doesn’t ask, though he does start to recognize when one of those missing weekends is coming up because Nicky will stock up on things with longer shelf-life. When they do run into each other, they make small talk and move through the stalls together.

Joe doesn’t mention it to Lykon when he stops by, because it is kind of weird, that Lykon’s ex-boyfriend texts Joe things like - If you’re here, the apples look particularly good this week and thank you for that recipe, I did not know what I was going to do with that much couscous

Or,

Joe wouldn't usually consider starting anything with his best friend's ex, but as long as they keep it casual, it shouldn't be weird... right?

get back to where you once belonged by tenderjock

Nile takes a sip of her cappuccino and closes her eyes.

(Booker and Nile get that coffee. Life happens, along the way.)

a house; a home by mehm

“Is this a kidnapping?” Joe asks as Nicky checks both their seat belts. “Like, I don’t mind. It’s just not quite what I expected for my birthday.”

In which Joe gets a birthday surprise, because that’s the stuff you have time for when you and the love of your life become mortal at the same time.

the ties that bind by damaskrose

“There’s a story I heard many times,” Andy begins, “in the Mediterranean. Threads of fate and three sisters. One to spin, one to measure, and one to cut.”

Clutter And Croutons by flawedamythyst

Joe and Nicky have an argument, and then Nicky talks to Nile about what it really means to be in a relationship for 900 years.

Inception

My Big Fat Slightly Annoying Wedding by jibrailis

Arthur and Eames elope for ~tax reasons. Certain people in their lives are not happy at the lack of a wedding.

Remember Sydney by pathera

When Eames shambles into the safe house outside of London, he finds a red light blinking on the phone.

For the inception_kink prompt:

Arthur is on a plane which is about to crash. No way anyone is going to survive. Instead of panicking he calmly calls the team's office and gets the answering machine. He hangs up before the plane crashes.

Give me Arthur's last message to the team.

 (TW: Character Death / Angst)

Of Such Deceitfulness and Suavity by delires

In which emotions manifest themselves in unusual ways.

YO, K2tog (it's like a code) by lazulisong

“Oh my God,” moans Arthur. “I’ve paid less for Somnacin. Good Somnacin.” A horrible thought strikes him. “How much is the yarn --”

“I want you to have an unguarded reaction,” Eames tells him, and pulls him up from the floor.

(They run an extraction on a knitter.)

hit the ground running by orphan_account

"I travelled halfway around the world for you. I dealt with the French for you."

Valley by wldnst

It's an old story: a knight, a prince, a kingdom in peril.

If This Is Rain Let It Fall On Me and Drown Me by Brangwen

We used to be so brave, Eames thought. Of the two of them, Arthur had always been the more fearless.

a gentle familiarity by jollypuppet

Two weeks later, Eames is on his doorstep with bad Italian takeout and a grin, and Arthur tells him he can sleep on the couch.

Your Crisis Cannot Be Completed As Dialed by sevenimpossiblethings

Arthur doesn't do snow, Ariadne is determined to be as Midwestern as possible, and blizzards make cell phone service unreliable.

Let’s Say I Do (I Do) by xsilverdreamsx

There were, perhaps some things worse that this, Arthur thinks, as he glares at the letter in his hand with his name printed clearly in bold ink, indicating his presence in two weeks for his esteemed marriage to one William H. Eames, III, at St. Catherine's Church in London, England.

Star Trek (predominantly Kirk/McCoy)

Show the World That Something Good Can Work by knune

Leonard McCoy is a doctor, not a personal assistant, and maybe that's why he can't stand working for Jim Kirk.

It's in the little things by winterover

Bones is bemused by a persistent secret admirer.

"Wedding" Away with It by pendrogon

One morning, Bones wakes up and he's single. By the same afternoon, he's married to Jim Kirk for Arbitrary Fic Reasons(TM).

How Long Will You Stay (For Your Whole Life) by withthepilot

Jim Kirk, deputy director of the Enterprise parks and recreation department, sees all of his hard work fall to pieces when budget specialist Leonard McCoy arrives from the state capital to cut Jim's budget and threaten the livelihoods of his colleagues. But thanks to a major parks project, Leonard finds a place in the department, as well as in Jim's life—and when all is said and done, Jim doesn't want him to leave.

All-Time Favorite by mardia

What to do when your best friend suddenly starts making new friends. 

Joy Ride by Cards_Slash

While running for their lives from an alien species Kirk had accidentally enraged, they come across a car. And well, if you were to come across a car while being chased by aliens that wanted you dead, and you possessed some lingering knowledge of how to drive a car similar to said car, you would have decided to drive it toward the nearest cliff too.

Also a gunfight.

Syncytia by epistolic

He’d signed up for Starfleet on an impulse, but Starfleet meant James Tiberius Kirk: the first – and second, and third, and fourth – big mistake of Leonard McCoy’s life.

Renovation by canistakahari

Jim has a whammy put on him by an alien death ray and he suddenly craves domesticity. He's crazy with longing to shop at space!Ikea and get potted bamboo and he starts looking into adopting AND HE HATES HIMSELF AND CANNOT CONTROL THE SHIT. Luckily, McCoy is drunk all the time and plays house.

17:08 by butterflycell

She'd watched the news holos with a sick feeling, searching for information that was completely obvious in its absence. Amidst the reports of the the Enterprise's miraculous recovery and the damages sustained, there had been next to nothing about the crew or her captain. Jim had been mentioned only in passing, his name shied away from as his first officer limited interaction to the bare essentials.

The Honey of Hybla by shrift

"Bones, prepare to be my date."