#andrew is determined here

[itsagutthing]

top ten theater performances of 2024

eden espinosa in lempicka

audra mcdonald in gypsy

brandon uranowitz in ragtime

kelli o'hara in the south pacific reunion

sarah pidgeon in stereophonic

zoe winters in walden

allison russell in hadestown

grace mclean in suffs

jennifer simard in death becomes her

shoshana bean singing pawn it all in hell's kitchen

[odoraful]

𝐈 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒

even in their relationship with you, they still have their moments of jealousy every now and again

⟡ content: zayne/sylus/xavier/rafayel x gn!reader; established relationship; luke & kieran appearance in sylus’ scene; new receptionist in zayne's scene; andrew appearance in xavier's scene; a little silly and a lot fluffy; 0.8–1k words per scene

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ZAYNE ⟡

Every situation requires an assessment to determine the most logical course of action. Zayne embodied this statement in his work, and even in parts of his relationship with you. One such part was when it came to jealousy. In all his assessments, 99% of the time, there was no threat, and, therefore, no intervention required. In any case, if a guy were to approach you in such a way, he trusted you entirely as well to not entertain him. However, as he opened his office door to call you from the waiting room, he was confronted by that 1%.

The new receptionist hired to work alongside Yvonne was young, charming, and far too friendly. Especially towards you. You stopped by quite regularly. Sometimes for your scheduled check-in appointments, and oftentimes to simply visit Zayne during his downtime. That was enough for the young man to recognise you, his energy ignited by your presence.

Zayne could only see your side profile as you stood by the receptionist desk, engaged in a conversation with the young man. You appeared to be all smiles with him today. Whatever story he was telling seemed to be so thrilling. Zayne’s face remained calm, aside from the twitch of his jaw when he clenched his teeth. If anybody had been watching, they would have likely jumped at such a sign of vexation by the cardiac surgeon.

Until that point, he thought he had known what jealousy was. He had read it in books and seen it in TV shows, all of which portrayed jealousy leading to several outbursts and stand-offs. However, as he felt something rising from the pit of his stomach and burning in his chest, he understood that the purest kind of it now flared inside him. It was a dangerous emotion that clouded his mind and, before he knew it, his feet had carried him right to your side.

Mr. Chatterbox regarded Zayne with disbelief at his approach, standing up to properly greet him.

“Doc! What a rare sight seeing you personally greet a patient at the desk.”

Zayne paid only a cursory glance and the slightest nod of acknowledgement to him before his attention was narrowed on you.

“If you’d like to come in now, Y/N,” Zayne said, his voice smooth and warm.

You nodded. “Of course.”

As you walked, he placed his hand at the small of your back, pulling you closer to him by just a fraction. He turned his head to the side, enough so the young man could see his sharp eyes. Zayne wasn’t one for outbursts, so he hoped this calculated display was enough of a warning.

Watching Dr. Zayne disappear with you into his office, the receptionist muttered to himself, “Why does it feel chillier in here than before?”

Yvonne, a bystander to everything that just occurred, quietly approached her freshly hired colleague from behind. She delt a swift smack on his head with the edge of her palm. He yelped out in exaggerated pain, rubbing at the spot as if she had just given him a bruise.

“Could you be anymore oblivious…” she sighed, shaking her head. Her gaze then turned fiery as she began to scold, “And how many times have I told you to stop yammering around patients!?”

At the sound of Yvonne’s voice, he immediately redirected his efforts. Not even addressing his colleague’s prior criticism, he clasped his hands together.

“Miss Yvonne! How are you doing on this lovely–”

“Fax this, please,” she interrupted, holding a referral letter up directly to his face.

He gave a mock shiver, taking the paper from Yvonne’s hand. “So cold in this division.”

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“It seemed like you were making good conversation with our new hire,” Zayne commented, closing the door behind him.

You breathed a laugh. “He’s quite chatty. I guess it’s good to have someone so energetic working at the desk.”

That sensation within Zayne turned molten, though, you couldn’t have known with the coolness of his palm. What would be his intervention here? Maybe he needed to have a stern conversation with the young man, or perhaps he had to be more obvious in his affections towards you. He could never match the energy the receptionist had, so it would be impossible to achieve such a feat.

In his momentary stewing, you let out an uncertain hum.

“To be honest, he kept talking about himself... it was a little overwhelming,” you confessed sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck with your hand. “I couldn’t be impolite to him, so I just smiled and nodded at whatever he said!”

Instantly, Zayne’s mind cleared. His jealousies dwindled into nothing more than ashes. A part of him even felt silly at how intense he was feeling just a few seconds ago.

Unexpectedly, he rested his head on your shoulder with a sigh. Your eyes widened with confusion before you chuckled.

“Isn’t this a bit unprofessional, doctor?” you teased.

“Feel free to file a complaint to the hospital’s human resource division,” he retorted, not missing a beat.

Your mirth readily turned into concern at the affectionate display.

“But seriously, Zayne, is everything okay?” you asked, poking at his cheek.

Zayne lifted his head. He seemed to be, surprisingly, relieved. Though, you couldn’t figure out what exactly he would be relieved about.

“Yes, everything is perfect now.”

SYLUS ⟡

There was nothing that a deathly glare or a good shove couldn’t do to resolve Sylus’ jealousy. Warding off any unsuspecting parties was his speciality, especially if it involved them getting too close to you. However, the leader of Onychinus was thrown for a loop when his very own henchmen were sparking these feelings.

“You are… going out with Y/N today?” Sylus spoke slowly, as if sounding out syllables to a baby. “Is what I’m hearing correct, Luke?”

Kieran not-so-subtly kicked Luke in the shin. Luke stifled a groan. Rather than be on their way to Linkon (and to you), they were here being confronted by the boss. It was an unfortunate slip-up from Luke as they were about to leave, which caused Sylus to sternly halt their exit.

“Yes, boss.” Luke replied, trying to stand up straighter with only one good shin.

“And for what reason exactly?” Sylus asked.

Luke resignedly sighed.

“They wanted someone to–”

“Help clean their apartment!” Kieran quickly finished.

He turned and gave a pointed glare to his twin brother. You better follow along, it seemed to threaten.

Luke began nodding profusely, “Yep! Gosh, boss, you wouldn’t even believe the mess!”

“This type of menial work was probably too peasantry for you–”

“So, they invited us instead!”

Sylus’ henchmen stood there, looking quite proud of themselves and their innocent display. Sylus rolled his eyes at their dramatics. Luke and Kieran could do any task Sylus asked, no matter how dirty, and yet they were quite terrible at lying. Maybe he needed to teach them some skills in deception later. He dismissed them sharply with a wave of his hand.

“Go. Make sure to return before I leave this evening.”

The henchmen bowed, preparing to scurry away, but before they could, Sylus spoke again,

“Don’t take your eyes off them for even a second, do you understand?”

They turned back to Sylus and nodded, bowing once again.

“And–”

Sylus’ continual interruption of their exit left them in an awkward position right at the threshold of his office.

“–they don’t enjoy mopping, so I trust one of you will play the gentleman and take up that task.”

“You got it, boss.” Luke and Kieran said in unison before finally departing.

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Sylus was planning on sleeping before your date in the evening, but that was completely out of the question now.

Hanging out with Luke and Kieran? To, supposedly, clean? He knew what they had told him was a lie. However, a small, burning part of him was frustrated. If that had been the truth, he naturally would have been the far better partner. With the time you had shared together, surely you had not so quickly found his own company lacklustre in comparison to his henchmen. He could have been in your apartment, with you, cleaning together. Instead, he was in his mansion, alone, and grumpy. Grumpy enough to open his tablet, and switch to his camera feeds connected to Mephisto.

He had asked if his skilled companion could do a bit of reconnaissance at your apartment to confirm what this ragtag trio were doing. As the camera feed loaded, he saw that your home was empty. Internally, he cursed. Mephisto flew down to street level, and, as luck would have it, three familiar people stepped out of the apartment complex. Luke and Kieran were there (wearing face masks and caps that disguised their faces as opposed to their crow masks) along with you.

Sylus sat up in his bed. 

He followed this trio as they walked to a nearby clothing store. Unfortunately, it would be considered odd for a crow to be indoors, so all Mephisto could do was perch atop a bench in front of the establishment and watch the three of you retreat inside behind the automatic glass doors.

Tossing the tablet aside onto the silk sheets, Sylus crossed him arms. If the thought of not being able to clean with you had made him grumpy, then seeing that he was not invited to shop for clothes with you truly made his blood boil with jealousy. As he attempted to get some rest, he thought about casual ways to mention on this evening’s date how he could rent out entire department stores for you if you wanted.

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Sylus tapped his dress shoes rhythmically against the floor, awaiting your door to be opened after he had rung the bell. He had arrived at exactly 5 o’clock to pick you up, and although he was always well put together, he put in a little extra effort on his hair this time.

He heard the door unlock, slowly opening to only reveal your head poking out. He cocked his head to the side.

“Sweetie, are you trying to hide from me?”  

“Mmm, think of it more like I’m building anticipation,” you explained with a grin on your face.

Sylus laughed fondly. He leaned his own head against the wall beside the doorframe, turning to look at you.

“Consider me sufficiently anticipated,” he replied. “Now, may I see you?”

You gestured for him to move back so you could give a grand reveal.

“I just bought this today.”

The door swung open, and you stepped outside.

“How do I look?”

Very little could surprise Sylus; however, you had utterly blindsided him in this moment. You were wearing a dress that Sylus didn’t recognise from your current wardrobe. He knew then that the outing with Luke and Kieran had been to surprise him with a new dress for your date.

Flowy, ruby fabric draped against your figure, reaching down to your ankles. His eyes followed the heart-shaped neckline that framed the pearl necklace that rested at your collarbones, matching the accessory in your hair. All this prepared just for him.

“You look absolutely radiant,” he breathed.

Closing the distance, he snaked a hand around you, toying with the smooth material under his warm fingertips. Seeing how gorgeous you were almost alleviated his earlier frustrations, until he came to a sour realisation.

“Though, I can’t help but be… annoyed that Luke and Kieran saw this surprise before me.”

You bit your lip. Of course, Sylus had figured out what his henchmen were doing throughout the day. His voice grew deeper as his lips brushed against your ear.

“Next time, kitten, you should invite me to go with you instead.”

XAVIER ⟡

It took very little to spark Xavier’s jealousy, as much as the man himself would want to deny it. Strangers, colleagues, and acquaintances could cause his unassuming appearance to transform into a hostile front if they got too friendly with you. But today was another ordinary workday, so there would surely be no situation where Xavier should feel such a way.

There had been a string of quiet days at the Hunters Association that meant that Team Alpha could finally make use of their office. Namely you and Xavier, who usually were assigned to field missions. Your neglected chair squeaked under your weight as you stretched your body, lifting your arms high into the air then relaxing. Twirling the pen in your hand, the words on page about recent energy fluctuations seemed to swirl in your vision. Xavier turned from his own desk to observe you.

“I’m going to get a drink from the vending machine.” He stood up, the wheels of his chair clattering against the hard floor. “Do you want one too?”

“Green tea, please,” you replied.

“Warm or cold?”

“Cold,” you decided. You clapped your hands against your face, squishing your cheeks. “I need to shock my system to wake it up.”

Xavier’s face broke into a smile. “Sounds like a good plan.”

Before he could walk away, a voice called out your name.

“Morning Y/N!”

Xavier narrowed his eyes slightly at the approaching man.

He was tall (though not as tall as himself), with ashy hair precisely tousled to reveal his forehead, and friendly eyes. Xavier’s senses heightened in the same way as they would in a battle with a Wanderer. The unfamiliar man had greeted you with such familiarity. Only two words had been spoken, yet it was enough to irk Xavier. If he had called you less kindly, that would have helped to lower his guard.

To his surprise, the man turned his attention towards him.

“Ah, you must be Xavier! I’ve heard much about you.” He extended his hand. “I’m Andrew, head of the Data Analysis sector.”

Xavier stared at Andrew’s hand for a moment—blinking and discerning. Head of Data Analysis… Is this some kind of power move? He gave the hand a brusque shake.

“Excuse me, I need to get some drinks for the two of us,” he said, turning on his heel and walking away to the office’s break room.

Andrew furrowed his brows as he watched Xavier leave.

“Quite elusive, isn’t he?”

You shook your head.

“Maybe when you first meet him. But once you get to know him, you’ll see just how reliable he is.”

The tenderness in your tone came unconsciously to you, but it always happened when you spoke about Xavier to others. Especially towards those who might misinterpret his neutral disposition.

Small talk continued over the next minute between you and Andrew, until he suddenly looked at you with a slight frown.

“There’s an eyelash on your face,” he said, pointing vaguely to the left side of your face.

You used your fingers to swipe across your skin, yet Andrew still shook his head.

“No, no. It’s right here.”

He brought his finger closer to show you exactly where it was.

The dull thud of plastic bottles falling to the ground could be heard a couple of metres beside you. A blinding light zipped through the air, alongside a gust of air that swept your hair back. Before you could even register what had caused this phenomenon, Xavier appeared between you and Andrew. Your wide eyes stared at his hand gripping Andrew’s wrist.

“Xavier?” you called in surprise.

Xavier seemed equally shocked at how instinctually he acted. One moment he had seen Andrew’s hand move closer to your face, and the next he was face-to-face with him.

“I-I don’t know what came over me.” He released Andrew from his iron hold. “I'm really sorry”.

With a small bow, Xavier braced himself, ready to receive the full brunt of anger from the Head of Data Analysis. He shuddered at the thought that this might be reported to Captain Jenna. Instead, Andrew shook his head calmly.

“Don’t worry about it.” He gave an understanding smile, observing your worried expression towards Xavier. “In fact, I do believe this was my bad.”

The abandoned green tea bottles rolled lazily beside the desks, and Andrew picked them up. “I’ll be heading off to my office now, I’ll see you two later.”

Handing the drinks to you and Xavier, you both expressed your thanks. As Andrew left, you turned to Xavier.

“Xavier,” you spoke slowly, “what exactly was that?”

He scratched his head and diverted his eyes from you.

“I saw he was getting too close, and my body moved faster than my head…”

It was hard not to react at how adorably guilty he looked.

What am I going to do with you? You thought, sighing in affectionate amusement.

“I know how it must have looked from afar, but there was just an eyelash on my face that Andrew was trying to point out,” you explained.

Again, you swiped a finger across your face. “I still don’t know where it is though.”

Your movements were halted as Xavier gently grasped your wrist. He leaned in close, examining your face. You felt his light touch against your eyelids as he took off the lash.

“You know, there’s a superstition about this,” he began, handing the lash to you.

“They say if you have a stray eyelash, you can use it to make a wish.”

He cleared his throat, the tips of his ears turning red believing his next words to perhaps sound a little childish. 

“So, I wanted to be the one who would give you that wish.”

RAFAYEL ⟡

Rafayel’s jealousy would make itself known to you the moment he felt it. Though he would hide it between clever, teasing remarks, it was cute to see how clingy he got when it happened. And there was no better situation to provoke such feelings than at a gala hosted by Flux Arts. Admittedly, it was difficult to get the artist himself to attend these gatherings that featured one of his own paintings, so Thomas had to devise a convincing reason for him to go. That reason, naturally, being you. If you were his plus one, Rafayel could certainly face any battle.

You stood in front of Rafayel’s painting now as he had left you for the moment to speak with Thomas. Even after being exposed to his work many times (both mid progress and completed) they still managed to instil awe within you.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?”

The voice pulled you back into the room, and you looked over at the stranger beside you. He appeared to be slightly older and was likely a wealthy, enthusiastic patron of the gala.

“Yes, it is,” you agreed. “It’s one of my favourites.”

In truth, you favoured it because you were there when Rafayel painted it. From start to finish, he had you at his side. Though abstract, upon closer inspection, one could extrapolate details of a city with glorious towers and vibrant, thriving coral. It held a special place in your heart.

The man’s eyes were glued to the painting.

“Rafayel truly is an artist you get once in a lifetime.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the sincerity in the gentleman’s compliment.

“It’s hypnotising to witness the scenes he creates,” he continued. “He seems to bare his soul in each painting.”

“He is quite an expressive man,” you commented, breathing a small laugh.

From picking out the perfect outfits to the perfect paint materials, passion infused every part of Rafayel’s life, including in his relationship with you. It was one of his greatest traits you adored about him.

The familiarity in your tone was lost on the man, who believed you to only be an admirer of the artist, and not an admirer of a different sort.

The conversation continued, and you discovered the man to be a professor of history. He had discovered Rafayel through his own interest in ancient civilisations such as Lemuria. You couldn’t help but beam with pride listening to the man speak so highly of Rafayel, and the impression his works had left on him. The man soon took his leave, thanking you for entertaining his enthusiastic ramblings.

You were so engrossed that you didn’t notice Rafayel with his arms folding behind you. He graciously gave you a few seconds to detect his presence. Though, his frown grew as you continued to be, supposedly, too starstruck from your earlier conversation with that stranger.

He cleared his throat loudly.

You spun around at the familiar voice.

“Raf! How long have you been standing there for?”

He shrugged with as much nonchalance as he could muster. However, anyone with two eyes could have guessed the annoyance on his face.

“Enough to hear the last bits of your conversation.” He strode to your side, arms still folded tight across his chest. “Found interesting company so soon after I left?”

You closed the gap between the two of you with a step, preparing to explain the true nature of that conversation. Not letting you interrupt his sulking, Rafayel continued,

“I need to be more wary. There are too many people here wanting to whisk you away from me.”

As soon as you walked into the gallery arm-in-arm, people’s eyes were drawn to the two of you. At his mention that you were the centre of attention, you had dismissed it, saying it was him everyone took interest in.

Tilting your head to the side, you placed your hands your hips, almost as if to say: Are you going to let me speak?

Rafayel quickly conceded, spluttering out his next question, “And why were you being so chummy with that stranger, anyway?”

“That stranger said he was a professor of history specialising in ancient cities, and that he’s been an admirer of your works for a long time,” you answered.

Poking at his cheek with your finger, you attempted to remove his pout that remained affixed on his face.

“I was being chummy because he was complimenting your work! It made me happy to hear that people have such high praise for you and your paintings.”

Rafayel’s pout disappeared.

“It just made me think… how proud I am to have you as my partner,” you smiled. “You leave a profound impression on people.”

Your words resonated in his head. He stood motionless, with only the slow blink of his eyes.

His lack of reaction made you flush.

“Ah, that was pretty cheesy, wasn’t it? I’m sorry–”

The apology stopped short in your throat as you were scooped into a tight hug. Rafayel’s arms wrapped around your waist. A few gala attendees looked over at the young couple with admiring gazes, wondering what could have happened that would cause such open affection.

Rafayel nuzzled his forehead into the curve of your neck, mumbling right by your ear, “Jeez, here I was trying to be jealous…”

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[dorothylarouge]

US Presidents as Dril Tweets

George Washington: another day volunteering at the betsy ross museum. everyone keeps asking me if they can fuck the flag. buddy, they wont even let me fuck it

John Adams: "ah boo hoo hoo i want to post Foul comments to content leaders" Fat Chance, Dimwit. I will annihilate you under bulwark of the Law and God.

Thomas Jefferson: Q: If your post was proven by a counsil of wise men to be racist, or bullshit, would you bar it from the record? A: I do not delete my posts

James Madison: (sniffing a crumpled up one dollar bill i found on the floor of a dog kennel) ah.. thats greenbacks baby

James Monroe: for decades i have traversed the unforgiving mountains and rivers of south america, hoping to catch a glimpse of the fabled "ass downloader"

John Quincy Adams: "This Whole Thing Smacks Of Gender," i holler as i overturn my uncle's barbeque grill and turn the 4th of July into the 4th of Shit

Andrew Jackson: handing Faves over to my enemies is FRAUD !! base, contemptible FRAUD!

Martin Van Buren: Food $200

Data $150

Rent $800

Candles $3,600

Utility $150

someone who is good at the economy please help me budget this. my family is dying

William Henry Harrison: (spends all of 7 seconds skimming some blog posts) yep. just as i knew all along. having pnuamonia is good

John Tyler: fuck "jokes". everything i tweet is real. raw insight without the horse shit. no, i will NOT follow trolls. twitter dot com. i live for this

James K. Polk: thhere is no such thing as charisma, and art is fake. the only metrics by which we must determine the worth of a man are Strength and Wisdom

Zachary Taylor: the doctor reveals my blood pressure is 420 over 69. i hoot & holler outta the building while a bunch of losers tell me that im dying

Millard Fillmore: trying to heal..... please donate to my go fund me... $10 will make me less racist... $100 will make me extremely less racist...thank you...

Franklin Pierce: blocked. blocked. blocked. youre all blocked. none of you are free of sin

James Buchanan: #NationalGirlfriendDay please cherish your gal's.. in honor of us, the single Boys who must sacrifice all companionship to #CarryTheBrand...

Abraham Lincoln: unloading an entire belt of ammo at me with a minigun or some such device will now get you "Blocked"

Andrew Johnson: who the fuck is scraeming "LOG OFF" at my house. show yourself, coward. i will never log off

Ulysses S. Grant: i regret being tasked the emotional burden of maintaining the final bastion of morality and Nice manners in this endless ocean of human SHIT

Rutherford B. Hayes: using the toilet when i hear Our national anthem start to play. i do what i must. i stand tall in complete agony; as shit runs down my leg,

James A. Garfield: too much truth in such little time. feeling the heat cominh down to silence me... signing off........ for now

Chester A. Arthur: i WILL wise the fuck up. i WILL super charge my content for 2017. i WILL get blue check mark

Grover Cleveland: the way i see it, people who come on here and submit content that is not up to par, could possibly be considered the "Villains" of this site

Benjamin Harrison: i help every body, im not racist, i keep myself nice, and when i ask for a single re-tweet in return i am told to fuck off, fuck myself, etc

William McKinley: boy oh boy do i love purchasing large amounnts of Fool's Gold. wait a minute... fools gold fucking sucks. this stuff is no good..!! Fuck !!!

Theodore Roosevelt: IF THE ZOO BANS ME FOR HOLLERING AT THE ANIMALS I WILL FACE GOD AND WALK BACKWARDS INTO HELL

William H. Taft: ah.. the perfect Souffle! cant wait to dig in to t(*EVERY PIPE IN MY HOUSE EXPLODES AT THE SAME TIME, COVERING ME IN SHIT AND BOILING WATER*

Woodrow Wilson: the conflicted supersoldier stares over the horizon as he smokes a cigarette. "war is the most fucked up thing ever." he takes a sip of beer

Warren G. Harding: somebody please Bribe me

Calvin Coolidge: aggressively joyless oaf hhere. painfully obnoxious respect demander checkign in. extremely dim witted frowning man looking for pals

Herbert Hoover: it is really quite astonishing that I have yet to win The Lottery, given how good I am at selecting six numbers and saying them out loud

Franklin D. Roosevelt: ive never heard of this “europe” but it sounds like a big bunch of shit to me

Harry Truman: everybody wants to be the guy to write the tweet that solves racism once and for all because it would look good as hell on a resume

Dwight D. Eisenhower: my "F*&k It!! Let's Go Golfin" t-shirt maintains a tenacious stranglehold on my life. after 1,125 days of Golf my body is twisted, deformed

John F. Kennedy: when you do sutuff like... shoot my jaw clean off of my face with a sniper rifle, it mostly reflects poorly on your self

Lyndon B. Johnson: incredibly handsome , charismatic famous boy credited with ending income inequality after saying that slumlords should be called "dumblords"

Richard Nixon: i attribute the complete failure of my brand to the actions of detractors, oor my “trolls”, as it were, as well as my own constant fuckups

Gerald Ford: shutting computer down until the shitty moods & attitudes can fuck off., if you need me ill be on my other computer, sititng 60° to my right

Jimmy Carter: i warnned you all that bad things would happen if you kept letting your wives wear jeans. AND NOW LOOK! the damn gas prices are up again

Ronald Reagan: spend a lot of time thinking about how sometimes even war criminals can be heroes sometimes... Dont like it? Click the unfollow buttobn

George H.W. Bush: just thought off an idea i believe to be bad ass. lets find the address of the leader of isis, and mail him/ her pieces of our SHIT

Bill Clinton: were at the point now, that when i offer to impregnate my girl followers, people assume my motives are sexual. disgusting, grow the fuck up,

George W. Bush: friday night gathering up together a big pile of things i like to respect (flags, crucifixes ,etc) and just roll around in it ,give kisses,

Barack Obama: my IQ has increased 10 points ever since i stopped tollerating people mucking about, on the time line

Donald Trump: THERAPIST: your problem is, that youre perfect, and everyone is jealous of your good posts, and that makes you rightfully upset.

ME: I agree

Joe Biden: I will shut the fuck up , IF , it will restore the Harmony. I will get on my knees like a dog and make that sacrifice, for the sake of Calm

[foxesscramble]

in honor of the holidays here's some foxes and co going home for the holidays (set sometime in the future)

Somewhere in Wisconsin:

Matt Boyd just won his last game before their winter break officially started.

Dan and Matt make their rounds to say goodbye to everyone as the team dispersed to various cities.

They head out and grab a taxi, making a quick stop by their house to grab their luggage.

They’re headed home for the holidays.

Back to where their family was gathering.

Back to South Carolina.

They were unbelievably excited to see everyone.

They had a secret that they were finally telling the foxes when they got them all together.

Dan cradled her growing belly

Somewhere in Colorado:

Renee compiled a list of care advice for her neighbor who is petsitting for her while she’s in South Carolina.

It’s a hefty list and Renee is once again grateful for her kind, elderly neighbor who had volunteered herself immediately after hearing Renee was going to be traveling.

She made her rounds saying goodbye to all her pets before grabbing her suitcase and keys and heading to the door.

She sent a text to Allison to let her know she was about to hit the road.

Text sent she said one last goodbye at the door before locking up behind her.

South Carolina, here we come.

Somewhere in New York:

Allison carefully packed her clothes into her bag.

Had she possibly packed too much for her two-week trip? Probably, but she hasn’t seen anyone in a while, and she likes to look good.

Allison checked her phone for the time before grabbing her suitcases and putting them by the door.

She did one last walk-through to make sure she didn’t forget anything before turning all her lights off and grabbing her luggage.

She closed the door and locked it before making her way out of her apartment. 

She sent a text to Renee to let her know she was leaving and got in her car.

Somewhere in Germany:

“Nicky, Liebling, if you don’t get your ass down here we’re going to miss our flight!” 

Nicky swears as he collects his bags in a hurry, his feet pounding down the stairs of his and Erik’s apartment.

Germany had done Nicky a lot of good but he was undeniably excited to head back to the States.

Back to his family.

“I’m ready! I swear!” 

Erik laughed and herded him out the door.

They made it through the security check with 15 minutes to get to their boarding area.

They laughed as they ran through the airport, their luggage flipping and bumping into the back of their legs.

They were the last people on the plane, but they made it.

Nicky was going home.

Somewhere in California:

Kevin lugs both suitcases into the trunk of his car before he helps Amalia into the back seat and gets her buckled into her car seat.

They were driving all the way to South Carolina because Amalia had recently become deathly afraid of planes.

Settling in for the two-day drive, they'd barely made it 30 minutes into the trip before Amalia determined it had been a long time and it was time for snacks.

With a deep breath and a silent prayer to all things holy, Kevin pulled into a gas station to get snacks and have a bathroom break.

He knew the drive would be rough but 'Grandpa Coach' and 'Gran Abby', as Amalia had taken to calling her grandparents (maybe Kevin should have stopped calling them by name), would be more than willing to take Amalia when they got home.

Amalia spent the rest of the 36 hour drive rotating between excitably talking about seeing her aunts and uncles, singing the entire Frozen soundtrack at the top of her little 4 year old lungs, and sleeping.

Somewhere between Kansas and South Carolina:

"If you touch the stereo one more time, Josten, you're losing your hand."

Hands held over the console.

Hand kisses.

Smoke breaks.

Lots of snack breaks.

Neil gets fruit cups and Andrew gets candy.

Their cats joined them for the trip.

Sir sits in Neil's lap the entire ride but King gets the zoomies every 30 miles.

Andrew has to repeatedly remove him from his feet so he stops getting close to the pedals.

They call Bee halfway through the drive to make sure she’ll be there when they get there. She and Andrew chat while Neil takes a bathroom break.

When Neil comes back Andrew’s frame has relaxed a bit further. 

They were both excited to see everyone but that didn’t take away the anxiety of having that big of a group together again.

But the foxes were family and they couldn’t wait to see their family.

Somewhere in North Carolina:

"Okay, and you packed the girls' blankets?"

Katelyn and Aaron may resemble headless chickens trying to get their 13 month old twins together and ready.

Katelyn has been tasked with the girls' things and Aaron has been tasked with actually getting the girls in the car.

One of the twins is passed out in their car seat and the other is sobbing and throwing a fit.

Aaron is trying to calm her down and Katelyn is driving.

It took about an hour to get her to stop crying and when she did Aaron took a deep breath and fell back in his seat.

He rested his head back and closed his eyes, letting the quiet sounds of the road soothe him.

That calmness lasts for a good minute before Katelyn lets out a loud, FUCK!

"I forgot our suitcase!"

Somewhere in South Carolina:

Abby fluffs the decorative pillow for the hundredth time in the past ten minutes. 

She’s already vacuumed and swept every room in their house. She’s gotten all the spare bedrooms ready and taken out all of the blowup mattresses. Most of the kids were staying with them with the exception of those that had kids.

They hadn’t all been together in so long and it felt imperative that the house looked good for everyone.

Wymack came up behind her and gently took the pillow from her hands before setting it back on the couch.

“The place looks amazing, Abby.” 

Abby turned around and shot him a doubtful look.

Wymack laughed roughly and leaned forward to place a careful kiss to her forehead. 

“They’re just going to be happy to be here. I don’t think they’d care if it looked like a pigsty in here. Everything is okay, and you know why?” 

Abby leaned her weight against Wymack’s chest. “Why?”

Wymack pulled back slightly so he could send her a fond smile.

“Our kids are coming home."

[padfootagain]

Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Pairing : Hozier x fem!reader

Professor! AU

Warnings: hurt-comfort, angst, fluff, no smut but suggestive scenes so 18+ only

Chapter 1 : 'And that orange, it made me so happy, as ordinary things often do just lately'

Chapter 2 : 'Through me the way to the City of Woe'

Chapter 3 : ‘I miss him in the wheeping of the rain; I want him at the shrinking of the tide’

Chapter 4 : ‘For he gave all his heart and lost’

Chapter 5 : ‘But here comes the lyrebird passing through the sky’

Chapter 6 : ‘I’ll lie here and learn how, over their ground, trees make a long shadow and a light sound’

Chapter 7 : 'And so I still wait, like a lonely house, for you to see me and inhabit me again. Until that time, my windows ache.'

Chapter 8 : 'I hope she never learns how to peel oranges'

Chapter 9 : 'I think I will always be lonely in this world, where the cattle graze like a black and white river-- where the vanishing lilies melt, without protest, on their tongues'

Chapter 10 : '[I] was angry that my trust could not repose in the clear light, like poetry or freedom leaning in from sea'

Chapter 11: ‘Lived to see you throwing me aside.’

Chapter 12 : 'Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again'

Chapter 13: ‘So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish.’

Chapter 14: ‘Why should I blame her that she filled my days with misery’

Chapter 15: ‘He’s bored- I see it. Don’t I lick his bribes, set his bouquets in water?’

Chapter 16 : ‘Only the things I didn’t do crackle after the blazing dies’

Chapter 17 : ‘Dear pine cone, let me hold you as you open’

Chapter 18 : ‘What the devil do I care what I know, and what I say?’

Chapter 19: ‘I knew winter cold like the nuzzle of fjords at my thighs’

Chapter 20 : 'My heart has made its mind up and I’m afraid it’s you'

Chapter 21: ‘I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where, I love you directly without problems or pride: I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love’

Chapter 22 : ‘And if you missed a day, there was always the next, and if you missed a year, it didn’t matter, the hills weren’t going anywhere’

Chapter 23 : 'Even the dearest that I loved the best are strange – nay, rather, stranger than the rest'

Chapter 24: ‘Sometimes, when I’m pleased, I let out a little sound. A poet noticed this and it made me feel I might one day properly be loved. Because no one is here to love me, I make tea for myself and leave the radio playing’

Chapter 25: ‘They will think of ways to make you smile so you can be happy for a while’

Chapter 26: ‘Well, how else are you to live except by denial’

Chapter 27: ‘They loved music and swam in for a singer, who might stand at the end of summer’

Chapter 28: ‘You are neither here nor there, a hurry through which known and strange things pass as big soft buffetings come at the car sideways and catch the heart off guard and blow it open’

Chapter 29: ‘My lover’s words were shooting stars which fell to earth as kisses on these lips’

Chapter 30: ‘You liked me well enough in black; I make you a gift of these objects’

Chapter 31 : ‘Six billion tons sounds impossible until I consider how it is to swallow grief’

Chapter 32 : ‘How dense it is, how it carries inside it the memory of collapse. How difficult it is to move then’

Chapter 33 : ‘The scent already in the air’

Chapter 34 : ‘One morning the wind turns, and there is a thaw. And so I must still have hope.’

Chapter 35 : ‘Love comes quietly, finally’

Chapter 36: ‘So I imagine such love of the world—its fervency, its shining, its innocence and hunger to give of itself—I imagine this is how it began’

Chapter 37 : ‘I found the other half above the pillow where you lay’

Chapter 38: ‘They are elsewhere beyond the night way higher than day in the blinding brightness of their first love’

Chapter 39: ‘He grew so tender and I so grateful which maybe tells you something about how it was’

Chapter 40 : ‘Where I does not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.’

Chapter 41 : ‘Just one candle burning on, shadows lurking everywhere: some one came, and kissed me there’

Chapter 42: ‘Love in such a way, as I… love… you.’

Chapter 43: ‘The whole world depends on your pure eyes and all my blood flows into their gaze’

Chapter 44 : ‘I go up to the stone wall for a friendly visit.’

Chapter 45 : ‘Nobody, but nobody can make it out here alone.’

Chapter 46 : ‘Both of us, of the love which makes us one.’

Chapter 47: ‘To whom I owe the leaping delight that quickens my senses in our wakingtime and the rhythm that governs the repose of our sleepingtime’

Chapter 48 : ‘It’s love almost too fierce to endure, the bee nuzzling like that into the blouse of the rose’

Chapter 49 : ‘I am the blossom pressed in a book, found again after two hundred years’

Chapter 50 : ‘And I’d wonder sometimes if I’d ever find you.’

Chapter 51 : ‘Here begins a new life’

Chapter 52 : ‘I love you. I’m glad I exist.’

[three--rings]

What we need is a new social movement. Not a political one. An artistic one.

We need people to make rebellion cool again. To idealize free thinking, free loving, free choices about our bodies.

We need influencers on the opposite side from the Andrew Tates and Manosphere.

We need music and fashion and film glorifying freedoms that oppose right wing authoritarian ideals. That embrace feminism and queerness and being a freak.

And we need a unifying identity for all these things. We need an identity like hippies, punk rock. The right is so good at coming together and the left is far too good at fracturing.

Modern media and social media companies have divided us all up into smaller and smaller social circles. Micro-identities. "Youth" used to be a social group. "Voice of a generation" was a thing. Now everyone is expected to be the voice of like...30 people.

What I'm saying here is just what I keep thinking about. What is the alternative to the tradwives and the Alpha Male podcasters? A bunch of intellectual politics nerds? Yeah, I mean thanks and all, but we need excitement. We need art.

Things are going to get worse and worse. The right is going to be selling limitations and restrictions and we need to be selling the alternative.

So if you're an artist, a writer, a musician, a filmmaker, an internet personality...get together with everyone you know who is also creative. Start talking with each other about how you create rebellious art, and how you create community in that art.

There's so much emotion floating around, so much fear and dread and exhaustion and we need to channel all that into art. It's the only way we win. Art is always how we make progress. But if you're making it alone, it doesn't build steam, it doesn't become a movement. You have to gather together. You don't all have to make the same thing. But you do need to have the same spirit. One determined to uplift what is good and fight what is evil.

Make art, people. Create an identity from it. Welcome everyone who is lost and scared. Lonely, sad, scared people get sucked into right wing circles because there's no alternative. Be the alternative.

[herpsandbirds]

trick or treat! got any cool lizard facts?

Here are some facts about one of my favorite lizards! Happy Halloween!



Komodo Dragon (Varanus komodoensis), family Varanidae, found on Koomodo Island and other nearby islands in Indonesia

Venomous.

ENDANGERED.

It was once thought that Komodos subdue prey with a heavy and noxious array of mouth bacteria that infect bite wounds of prey after being bitten, but... it was never really determined scientifically if that's what was happening (conclusively, at least).

It turned out, they're venomous! Research was done in 2009 that found a primitive venom gland at the back of the mouth.

This is that largest species of lizard in the world, growing to a maximum total length of up to ~ 3 m (~10 ft.) long and a max. weight of up to 8~ 81 kg (180 lbs) (in the wild).

Photograph by Andrew Yates

[elliespectacular]

Do you still have that Jellicle name generator saved anywhere? Some friends and I used it for our OCs and it was an absolute blast!

The name I got was Callio the convivial cat, which is short for Calliope, who I played in Xanadu. She has a whole costume and everything now!

Even if you don't have it anymore, tysm for making it ;-;

Xanadu mention! Also I do still have it saved! This one is revised a little and I might make more changes later, but here it is in text form:

Jellicle Name Generator

This will give you a name that is relatively in-line with the naming conventions seen in Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats by T.S. Eliot and later adapted into the musical Cats by Andrew Lloyd Webber - and unlike those shitty "last name and your birth month" name generators, this one won't doxx you in the process.

Before we begin, a bit of terminology we'll be using: - Portmanteau: Turning multiple words into one word linked by a sound or letter. Compelling Television = Compellevision. Punk Squid = Squnk - Smoosh: Combine words by simply removing the space and (optionally) changing the word positions. Country Jester = countryjester - Prefix: Goes before the name, like Mr. or Captain - Suffix: Goes after the name, like Jr. or The Great - Cat-like term: Something associated with cats. Meow, Whisker, Bell, Claw, Scratch, etc.

FIRST: Roll a D20 to determine your base name

An uncommon person’s first name

First syllable of a common last name + a unit of measurement. Portmanteau 'em.

Short, dangerous noun + a non-dangerous profession. Smoosh 'em.

Two Latin words. Portmanteau 'em.

A simple present-tense verb + sophisticated person's first name. Smoosh 'em.

Cat-like term + sophisticated person's first name. Smoosh 'em.

Combine two short nouns, then add "-er" "-ie" or "-est" to the end.

Think of an actor you like. Shorten their first name to its shortest nickname.

A medical term spelled incorrectly.

A food you liked as a kid + a pretentious word. Smoosh 'em.

A figure of legend/myth. Remove one syllable and any spaces.

An older person's first name that isn't common today.

Last name of a historical figure + a silly word. Portmanteau 'em.

A kids' name with 2 or more syllables + that name again without the first syllable + an onomatopoeia. Portmanteau 'em if you can.

A silly word + the first name of a former coworker. Portmanteau 'em.

A kind of public event + a cat-like term. Smoosh 'em.

Something from ancient history. Shorten what you came up with into a single word.

Something you do when you're nervous. Take that verb and add "-er" to the end to make it a noun.

Silly word + hostile-sounding verb. Portmanteau 'em.

Two silly words with 2+ syllables each. Smoosh 'em.

SECOND: Roll another D20 for flavor

Before you roll, consider how your name sounds without any additional flavor. If it's fine on its own, feel free to leave it as-is. Otherwise, roll on!

Suffix - An upsettingly average last name

Suffix - Think of a hobby. Your suffix is "The _____ Cat"

Prefix - A short adjective

Suffix - Think of an adjective. Your suffix is "The _____ Cat"

Prefix - Choose Mr. Mrs. Ms. Mx. or something similar

Suffix - Think of a color. Your suffix is "The _____ Cat"

Prefix - Any one-syllable word. Repeat the word a second time, adding or replacing the first consonant with that of your base name.

Suffix - Think of any non-proper noun. Your suffix is "The _____ Cat"

Suffix - it's the word Cat

Suffix - it's the word Kitty

Suffix - it's the word Kitten

Prefix - Choose "Sir" "Madam" "Captain" or something similar

Prefix - Choose "Lord" "Lady" "Noble" or something similar

Prefix - His/Her/Their Majesty (or any pronoun you prefer)

Prefix - His/Her/Their Grace (or any pronoun you prefer)

Prefix - Mc

Prefix - Van

Prefix - Von

Prefix - De

Suffix - Any cat-like term

And you're done!*

*This is as much a creative exercise as it is a "generator" so feel free to mess with the formula and/or let your result inspire something more original. Add multiple layers of flavor if you want. The rules are not rigid. I recommend generating a few names and picking your favorite!

[bisexualchaosdemon]

Twins run in the family.

Aaron and Katelyn get married after graduating from Palmetto, before they go off to med school together. It takes them pretty far from Andrew, but they work to keep in touch.

In the last year of their four year MDs, Kate gets pregnant — A happy accident. Then, they find out they're having twins, just, holy fuck. Kate is determined to not let it slow her down, though, because she's a bad bitch. Then Andrew suggests that they move closer to him and Neil once they graduate.

This leads to a few long and difficult conversations. Andrew admits that he would like to see Aaron more and to have a relationship with his nieces. Aaron admits that he does miss Andrew being close by and that they could use the extra support. In the end, they agree after Andrew actually apologies to Katelyn for the way he treated her in the beginning.

No one regrets the decision. Aaron and Katelyn are beyond grateful for the support as they start their careers. Andrew absolutely adores his nieces, more so than he ever thought he could. Neil is happy because Andrew is happy.

But it isn't always easy. It's hard because they both see it; the girls are what Andrew and Aaron could have been if they were never separated. If Tilda had been capable of being a good mother to her twins. And it fucking hurts.

Somehow, this pain leads to Aaron planting a seed in Andrew's mind — What if Andrew and Neil were to start fostering? Andrew thinks his brother has finally lost it. It's ludicrous, insane, impossible, but– Is it? Helping foster kids could be nice, and it's not like they can't stop if it's too much.

Once Neil has his own separate crisis about it, they decide to go for it. Andrew and Neil sure as hell know how not to raise a kid and they have yet to completely traumatise any of the kids in their lives. So a fuck ton of paperwork and hoop-jumping later, they find themselves in a group home to see if there's a kid there they can help.

That's when they find not one kid, but two. Tucked away in a corner they find twin girls, maybe a year younger than Aaron's girls, who only speak Russian. They hadn't intended to jump in at the deep-end like that, but something about them puts Andrew on alert. So they take the girls home with them.

And it is so, so much harder than they had expected. They had only prepped for one kid, but that's easily fixed. It's not so easy to fix the fact that the girls absolutely do not trust them. But Andrew and Neil are persistent; they don't push for trust, but they make sure to prove to the girls that they are safe at every turn.

Slowly, achingly slowly, the girls start to relax. They start to open up. And Andrew realises something so much worse than the pain that got them here.

Andrew realises that his twins are like him and Aaron too, but if Tilda left them both in the system. They are the real life result of his own worst nightmare.

MASTERPOST

[mimi-0007]

Jennie Dean founder of “Manassas Industrial School for Colored Youth" Jennie Serepta Dean (1848–1913)

She was born a slave in northern Virginia’s Prince William County, but by the late 1880’s she finagled enough money from people like tycoon Andrew Carnegie to build an entire educational campus: classrooms, dormitories, dining halls, libraries and shops to teach both academic classes and trades like carpentry, animal husbandry, cooking and sewing to male and female black students from across the region, who had few other options for continuing their education.

Opened in 1894 with a small group of students and lasting in various forms until the original buildings were torn down in the 1960’s, Jennie Dean’s “Manassas Industrial School for Colored Youth” is testament to one woman’s determination and leadership. Her legacy lives on through the hundreds of students she touched, and their families.

What vision she had. What persistence in the face of extraordinary odds, from “ordinary” obstacles such as lack of money to the everyday insults of segregation and discrimination. What a gift she gave to so many generations of classes.

Frederick Douglass himself delivered the school’s dedication ceremony address in September, 1894. Here’s what he said, noting the location near major Civil War battles fought over whether people in certain states had the right to own slaves:

“No spot on the soil of Virginia could be more fitly chosen for planting this school….it is a place where the children of a once enslaved people may realize the blessings of liberty and education.”

Before they were torn down,the Manassas Industrial School buildings housed segregated classes during decades of Jim Crow.

[nebty]

Neil Gaiman is still following the PR playbook

I'm so sick of how Neil Gaiman is continuing to manipulate the conversation while displaying ZERO accountability or remorse.

Do you think him leaking that he's apparently offering to step back from Good Omens Season 3 is a sign that he realizes he fucked up and is trying to make it right? Absolutely not.

What he's doing is making the first moves to launder his reputation so that he can keep making money off of his IP and, eventually, return to the spotlight. All of the overjoyed reactions here and elsewhere are part of that plan.

One part of that Deadline article really stuck out to me.

[Highlighted Text: Deadline understands Gaiman’s offer is not an admission of wrongdoing...

Gaiman’s position is that he denies the allegations and is said to be disturbed by them.]

This is what makes me think that it is actively irresponsible to publicly celebrate or advocate for the continuation of any media project that involves or enriches Gaiman. The fact that Amazon has even announced that Good Omens is on hold shows the credibility of the accusations. And yet Gaiman leaking this information suddenly puts them on the backfoot. "Just take the deal!" cries the fandom. Neil is no longer the bad guy, it's Amazon who are now denying you your comfort show. It's blatant manipulation and it sickens me that it might actually work.

Boosting Good Omens or Sandman or Coraline at this time is not a victimless crime. True, no one person is going to be the difference between Gaiman facing consequences or not. But it's public opinion that will truly determine whether his legacy will be impacted. That's why he's spent a considerable amount of money on the same PR firm as Russell Brand, Prince Andrew, Danny Masterson, and Marilyn Manson. Their specialty is helping rapists get their lives back.

So please think of the long-term implications of breathing a sigh of relief and going back to posting about Good Omens, or signing a petition that gives Gaiman a way out of finally facing the consequences of his own actions.

Yes, none of these shows were 100% made by Gaiman. It sucks that this is going to affect people other than him. But maybe he shouldn't have chosen to sexually abuse at least 5 women and very likely more. In a just world, you fuck around and find out.

[growthhyp]

An accidental muscle theft here, hi 🫣.

Now, im a 50 years old stepdad i wanted to buy a gift for my stepson maybe those black boxers can work.

The Black Boxers

The warm, early autumn sun shone down on the cluttered garage sale, casting a golden glow on the assortment of forgotten treasures and knick-knacks. You, a 50-year-old man with a heart that had learned the meaning of true love and loss, meandered through the labyrinth of tables, each one groaning under the weight of discarded memories. The air was filled with the aroma of dust and the distant chuckles of neighbors swapping stories and bartering deals. The leaves whispered a soft lullaby as they danced in the gentle breeze, a poignant reminder of how life's seasons change.

Growing up, you had been the shy, unassuming boy, the one who often went unnoticed by the fairer sex. Yet, in your 30s, the universe had thrown you a lifeline in the form of the most enchanting woman you had ever laid eyes on—your future wife and Andrew's mother. The moment you saw her, something inside you had ignited. With trembling hands and a racing heart, you had mustered the courage to approach her, and to your astonishment, she had looked at you with kind eyes and a welcoming smile. Her acceptance of your feelings had been like a breath of fresh air, a new beginning you hadn't dared to dream of.

And now, with her gone, Andrew had become the very essence of your existence, the reason you woke up every morning and worked tirelessly at your job as a restaurant server. The bond between the two of you had grown stronger over the years, despite the stark contrast in your physical appearances. You had never been one to boast about your physique, but Andrew—his mother's son—was a towering testament to athleticism, a force to be reckoned with on the football field. He was a young man you were incredibly proud of, even though his interests had taken him on a path far removed from your own.

The muscular frame that Andrew now flaunted was a stark reminder of his biological father, a man you had never met but had heard tales of. His mother had spoken fondly of his athletic prowess, how he could command the attention of any room with his sheer presence. Yet, as you watched Andrew from the sidelines of his games, you felt a strange kinship with the man you had never known. It was as if the genetic legacy of strength and power had skipped a generation, landing squarely in the hands—or rather, the muscular embrace—of your stepson.

You approached the garage sale with a sense of purpose, knowing that Andrew's birthday was fast approaching. Despite the meager wages from your job as a server, you were determined to find something that would bring a smile to his face. You rummaged through piles of t-shirts and shorts, hoping for something that screamed 'football' without being too cliché. And there, amidst the sea of discarded goods, the muscular man emerged, a beacon of hope with his table of sporting goods.

His biceps bulged as he folded a faded jersey, drawing your eyes to his sculpted physique. "What would you like to purchase?" he asked, his voice deep and resonant. You felt a twinge of nostalgia for your youthful aspirations, the days when you had dreamed of muscles like his. "Actually, I'm looking for something for my son," you replied, trying not to betray the hint of longing in your voice. "He's on the college football varsity team, so I'm not sure what to pick."

The muscular man's eyes lit up with understanding, a knowing smile playing on his lips. He reached beneath the table, producing a black boxer with a subtle silver trim. "This," he said, holding it up with a flourish, "is perfect for someone in his position." The fabric looked durable, the kind that could withstand the rigors of athletic activity. "I guarantee he'll love it," he added with a wink. You nodded, hopeful that this simple piece of clothing could somehow bridge the gap between you and Andrew, remind him that you knew what it was like to be a man, to strive for something greater.

With the exchange of a few crumpled bills, the black boxer became yours to give. You tucked it away safely in your bag, feeling a sense of triumph. It wasn't just any old gift; it was something that screamed 'I support you' in a way that only a fellow sports enthusiast could understand. As you walked away from the table, you couldn't help but feel a pang of envy for the life this stranger led—his body a canvas for power and dominance. But you pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the excitement of giving Andrew something that might just make his day.

The sun had set by the time you got home, your mind buzzing with anticipation for tomorrow. You wrapped the black boxer in simple, yet elegant, paper, careful not to crease or damage the fabric that now held such promise. You placed it on Andrew's bed, a silent sentinel of the transformation that awaited him. When the morning light streamed through the blinds, he found it, his eyes lighting up like a child's on Christmas day. "Thanks, Dad," he said, his voice filled with genuine warmth. You felt a swell of pride, knowing that despite the challenges of your past, you had managed to make a real connection with the young man you had vowed to raise as your own.

That night, the garage sale's mysterious magic began to unfold. As Andrew donned the black boxers, a strange sensation washed over him. His muscles, already formidable, began to swell and pulse with newfound power. He felt a surge of strength and vitality that seemed to emanate from the very fabric that clung to his growing physique. He flexed his biceps in amazement, watching them balloon before his very eyes. His chest broadened, the crevice of his six-pack deepening with each grunt of exertion. His legs thickened, the veins becoming more pronounced as if they were trying to escape the confines of his skin. His cock grew too, standing tall and proud, demanding his attention.

Andrew couldn't believe the transformation. He had always been athletic, but this was something else entirely. The black boxers had unlocked a potential within him that was both thrilling and slightly disconcerting. He tried to contain his excitement, not wanting to alert you to the sudden changes. But as he jerked off, his mind racing with thoughts of unbridled power and virility, he couldn't help but feel a sense of euphoria. His moans and grunts of pleasure filled the quiet house, echoing down the hall to your own room, though you remained oblivious to the cause, attributing the sounds to his natural development.

As the weeks passed, Andrew's football performance soared to new heights. Coaches and teammates alike took notice of the burgeoning beast on the field, his aggression and dominance becoming the talk of the town. Yet, off the field, his personality had begun to shift, mirroring the changes in his physique. The once shy and gentle giant was now a cocky, arrogant presence that seemed to command attention wherever he went. You couldn't help but worry, though you brushed it off, chalking it up to the pressures of college life and the natural progression of a young man's hormones.

One fateful day, while doing his laundry, you stumbled upon the torn black boxer in the trash. The fabric looked as if it had been stretched to its limits, the seams strained by the sheer power of the muscles beneath. You picked it up, examining the damage with a furrowed brow. "I don't need it anymore," Andrew had casually said when you asked him about it. "It doesn't fit anymore because of my muscles." You nodded, understanding his need for new clothes but feeling a twinge of disappointment that your thoughtful gift had been discarded so quickly.

But your thrifty nature wouldn't let you throw away something that could still be used. You took the boxer in your hands, turning it over to assess the damage. The tear was small, but it had clearly been under immense pressure. You decided to fix it, pulling out your sewing kit from the drawer and carefully threading the needle. With meticulous precision, you stitched the fabric back together, making sure that it would hold against the relentless growth of Andrew's body. After all, the boxer had cost you a pretty penny, and it was only right that it served its purpose for as long as possible.

The following morning, you stepped out of the shower, feeling the cool tiles against your bare feet. You grabbed the repaired black boxer, noticing how baggy it had become. It was almost comical, but you shrugged it off, sliding it on. You were about to leave for your shift at the restaurant when you felt a strange warmth envelop you, a heat that grew more intense with each passing second. The tremor started in your fingers, a gentle vibration that grew to a quake, rushing through your body. You stumbled backward, the world around you a blur, and fell onto your bed with a thud. Your body convulsed as if you were being electrified, muscles contracting and expanding without your consent.

On the other side of the house, Andrew stirred in his sleep, the tremor jolting him awake. "What the fuck is happening?" he whispered, his voice barely above a croak.

As you lay on the bed, the tremor grew stronger, your muscles stretching and swelling with an intensity that was both painful and exhilarating. You watched in awe as your biceps grew, the two heads bulging outwards to form the peak of power you had always envied in others. The veins on your forearms became more pronounced, the brachioradialis flexing with each involuntary contraction. Your triceps, once hidden beneath layers of flab, began to take shape, forming the horseshoe that signaled true upper body strength.

Your chest expanded, the pectoral muscles pushing against your skin, creating a broad, intimidating silhouette. The growth was not limited to your arms and torso; your back muscles, the lats, began to spread wider, pulling your shoulders back and giving you the illusion of a smaller waist. The deltoids grew round and firm, capping your shoulders and making them seem even broader from the side. Your traps, once unnoticed, started to thicken, lending a sense of power to your neck and upper back that you had never experienced before.

The tremor grew more intense as the muscles in your stomach contracted and expanded, sculpting your abs into a defined six-pack. The lines between each abdominal muscle grew deeper, your stomach becoming flatter, more chiseled. The transformation was not just in your upper body; your legs also began to bulk up. Your quads stretched the fabric of the black boxers, the muscles becoming more pronounced as they grew. The hamstrings on the back of your thighs started to take shape, balancing the powerful look of your legs and contributing to your newfound athletic appeal.

In stark contrast, Andrew's body began to experience the opposite transformation. As the night wore on, his muscles deflated, the power and definition that had once made him the envy of his peers slowly dissipating. His arms, once bulging with the promise of victory, grew leaner, the veins retreating beneath his skin. His chest, once a bastion of strength, flattened, the pectoral muscles shrinking back into obscurity. His back, which had once boasted an impressive 'wingspan', now appeared narrow, the lats retreating to leave a less defined silhouette. The cockiness in his stride was replaced with a tentative gait as the very essence of his athletic identity was siphoned away.

You watched the mirror, your newfound confidence surging through your veins like a potent drug. Each flex of your newly-honed biceps sent waves of pleasure through your body, a testament to your newfound power. The tremor had subsided, leaving you in the aftermath of your transformation. You felt alive in a way you hadn't since your youth, a fiery determination burning in your eyes as you surveyed the landscape of your new physique. Your mind raced with thoughts of dominance and conquest, a stark departure from the timidity that had once been your hallmark.

Andrew's transformation, however, was a mirror image of your own. The once towering pillar of strength was now a shell of his former self, his muscles retreating to reveal the soft, submissive boy you had met all those years ago. His shoulders slumped, his chest deflated, and his eyes held a quiet desperation that tugged at your heartstrings. The arrogance that had so recently consumed him was gone, replaced with a shyness that seemed to shrink him before your very eyes.

You felt the urge to reach out, to comfort him, but something held you back—something primal and unyielding. Your hand found its way to the bulge in your own black boxers, and you began to stroke yourself, the fabric now taut against your newfound size. It was as if the very essence of Andrew's vitality was being transferred to you, filling you with a power that was both intoxicating and slightly terrifying. Your cock grew harder, longer, and you couldn't resist the urge to take it in hand, to revel in the sensation of your newfound virility.

Hour after hour passed, your strokes becoming more vigorous as the transformation neared its peak. Sweat beaded on your forehead, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you edged closer to climax. The room grew thick with the scent of musk and male power, a scent that seemed to fuel your desire. Your eyes remained locked on the mirror, watching as the last vestiges of your old self slipped away, replaced by the sculpted physique of a man in his prime. The tremors grew less frequent, your body now a finely-tuned instrument of power.

As you reached the precipice, you felt your cock pulse in your hand, swollen and heavy. With one final, desperate pull, you erupted, your cum shooting through the air in ropes of white-hot pleasure. The release was more intense than any you had experienced in your life, a testament to the changes the black boxers had wrought.

In the quiet that followed, the only sound was the slowing of your breath and the steady drip of cum onto the floor. Your body felt alive, charged with an energy that seemed to resonate through every fiber of your being. The tremors had ceased, and your transformation was complete. You looked down to see the once-baggy black boxers now stretched tightly over your massive thighs, the fabric clinging to your bulging muscles like a second skin.

Andrew's transformation had been swift and dramatic. His cock, once a symbol of his newfound virility, had shrunken back to a more modest size. The deflation was as sudden as the inflation had been, leaving him looking slightly lost amidst the sheets. His breath grew shallow and his eyes closed once more, his body succumbing to exhaustion from the ordeal. His sleep was deep, a stark contrast to the restlessness that had plagued him since the onset of his own transformation.

You, on the other hand, felt more alive than ever before. The tremors had subsided, leaving you with a body that was the embodiment of masculine power. You pushed yourself up from the bed, the mattress groaning under the weight of your newfound muscular frame. The black boxers that had once been baggy on you now clung to your body like a second skin, highlighting every bulging contour. You took a deep breath, feeling your newfound chest muscles expand, filling your lungs with confidence.

Walking over to the mirror, you couldn't help but admire the reflection staring back at you. The softness of your former body had been replaced with a sculpted physique that would make any bodybuilder proud. Each flex of your bicep sent a shiver of excitement down your spine, the peak of the muscle threatening to rip through the fabric. You turned to the side, admiring the 'V-taper' of your back, the lats spreading like wings that had been unfurled for the first time. Your shoulders looked broader, more defined, and your waist, once thick with age, had cinched in, giving you the appearance of a chiseled statue.

As you continued to flex, the reality of your new life as a professional bodybuilder sank in. The countless hours of training, the strict diet regimen, and the dedication to sculpting your body had paid off. You had always been proud of Andrew's academic achievements, his intelligence a stark contrast to your own physical prowess. The scholarship he had earned was a testament to his hard work and a relief to your wallet. Now, as you stood before the mirror, you felt a sense of pride in your own right, a pride that had been missing since you had last felt truly strong.

[themdera]

Wait for me

In every life. I’ll find you. 1540 Words.

The stage lights were blinding, as they always were. You stood at the back of the crowd, heart pounding in sync with the bass reverberating through the venue. George was on stage, mic in hand, his voice making the audience laugh. There was something transcendent about watching him perform—he commanded the room with ease, his charisma radiating across every laugh and cheer.

This wasn’t his usual setup of gaming videos or commentary. This was his podcast tour—live, raw, and intimate. Watching him like this was like seeing a different version of him, one that the rest of the world adored but you knew better than anyone.

At one point, his eyes swept the crowd and landed on you. His lips quirked into a small, private smile before he looked away, continuing his bit with Max and Andrew . That tiny moment was yours, a tether in the whirlwind of flashing lights and screaming fans.

As the show wrapped up, the crowd erupted in applause. George and the boys waved goodbye, bowing theatrically before disappearing backstage. You lingered by the side door, the crisp November air biting at your cheeks. The venue lights glowed dimly behind you as you waited, the hum of post-show chatter fading into the distance.

The door creaked open, and George appeared. His hair was damp from the heat of the stage, his cheeks flushed and his smile tired but genuine.

“There you are,” he said, pulling you into his arms.

“You did amazing,” you murmured, your face pressed against his chest.

“You always say that.”

“And I always mean it.”

He chuckled softly, his voice low and warm. “Let’s mcget out of here.”

The tour was grueling. The pace of travel, rehearsals, and endless fan interactions was wearing on George. You could see it in the way his shoulders slumped when he thought no one was looking, or how he fell asleep mid-sentence during quiet moments.

“You need a break,” you told him one evening as he sat at the hotel desk, his laptop glowing faintly in the dark room.

“I can’t,” he replied, not even looking up. “The next show’s sold out, and I have edits due for the channel for a few brand deals too, It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine, and you know that. You’re running yourself into the ground.”

“I’m okay,” he insisted, but the cracks were showing.

You watched helplessly as he pushed himself harder, your protests bouncing off the wall of his determination.

The collapse happened during a recording session in his makeshift studio. You heard the sound of a chair scraping and a heavy thud, and when you rushed in, George was on the floor, pale and unresponsive.

The ambulance ride was a blur. His friends arrived at the hospital shortly after you, their faces pale and tense. The waiting room was suffocatingly silent, the only sounds the faint buzz of fluorescent lights and your own uneven breathing.

Hours passed before a doctor finally emerged. “He’s stable,” they said. “But his body’s been under immense stress. He needs complete rest.”

Relief flooded through you, but it was short-lived. When you saw him lying in the hospital bed, hooked up to monitors, his usual energy replaced with exhaustion, your heart broke.

“You scared me,” you whispered, gripping his hand tightly.

He cracked a faint smile, his voice barely above a whisper. “Sorry, love.”

“This isn’t funny, George. You have to stop.”

“I know.”

But you weren’t sure he truly did.

Recovery was slow and frustrating for him. George hated being idle, hated feeling like he was letting people down. But you were firm, forcing him to rest even when he protested.

One evening, as you curled up on the sofa, his head in your lap, he sighed deeply.

“I don’t know who I am without this,” he admitted, his voice soft.

“You’re still George, you’re still you” you said, running your fingers through his hair. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Not to me, not to them.”

He looked up at you, his eyes glassy. “What if I’m not enough?”

“You are,” you said firmly. “You always have been.”

But just as things seemed to be getting better, he began to withdraw again.

One night, he told you about a dream.

“We were together,” he said, his voice low, “but then you were gone. I kept calling for you, but I couldn’t find you.”

“You’ll always find me,” you promised, cupping his face.

“Promise me something,” he said, his eyes searching yours.

“Anything.”

“No matter what happens, don’t stop fighting for me.”

“I promise.”

One day, as you were tidying up his studio, you found a note tucked between the pages of his planner. It was scribbled in his messy handwriting, and your heart clenched as you read it:

“What if I can’t do it anymore? What if I’m not good enough anymore ?”

Tears blurred your vision as you clutched the note to your chest.

You tried to talk to him that night.

“I found your note,” you said, your voice tentative as you sat beside him on the sofa.

He tensed, his eyes darting to the floor. “I didn’t mean for you to see that.”

“George,” you said, placing a hand on his arm. “You don’t have to carry this alone.”

He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” you pleaded, your voice breaking.

For a moment, he looked at you, his eyes filled with so much pain it made your chest ache.

“I’m scared,” he admitted finally. “What if I let everyone down? What if I let you down?”

“You could never let me down,” you said firmly, cupping his face in your hands. “I love you, George. That’s all that matters.”

But love wasn’t enough to stop what came next.

It happened one quiet afternoon, a rare day off where you were both home. George had been in his studio all morning, working on something he wouldn’t let you hear yet.

“I’ll come out in a bit,” he’d said when you brought him a cup of tea. “Just need to finish this.”

But when you checked on him hours later, he was slumped over his desk, unresponsive.

The ambulance arrived within minutes, but it felt like an eternity as you sat by his side, clutching his hand and begging him to wake up.

He didn’t.

The doctors said it was his heart, weakened from years of stress and neglect. You couldn’t process their words.

George was gone.

The man who made you laugh until your stomach hurt, who held you close when you were scared, who promised he’d always find you—he was gone. The world moved on, but you couldn’t. His absence was a void you didn’t know how to fill. His friends tried to help—Chris and Chip checked in constantly, Arthur sent you food, Freezy offered to cover your work responsibilities—but nothing could replace George.

The emptiness that followed was unbearable. The funeral, the condolences, the quiet that settled in the wake of his absence—it all felt like a cruel joke. His studio became a shrine, untouched except for the nights when you’d sit in his chair, headphones on, playing his last recordings.

One night, as you sat in his studio, the familiar scent of him surrounding you, you pressed play on his laptop. The screen lit up with a video file, the title simply reading: For Her.

George’s face appeared, his smile bittersweet as he looked into the camera.

“Hey, love,” he said softly. “If you’re watching this… I guess I’m not there anymore.”

Tears streamed down your face as his voice filled the room.

“I’m sorry,” he continued, his voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to leave you like this. But I need you to know that you were my everything. You still are. And I’ll always find you… somehow.”

As the video ended, you clutched the screen to your chest, his words echoing in your mind. That night, as you drifted into yet another restless sleep, you heard it:

“I’ll always find you.”

Your heart raced. “George?”

The air felt charged, as if he was there, just out of reach.

Desperation gripped you. You turned to myths, legends, anything that might give you a way to bring him back.

It was impossible, but so was hearing his voice.

“George!” you cried, running to him.

He turned, his face lighting up with a mix of shock and relief. “You found me.”

“I promised,” you said, throwing your arms around him.

But the reunion was fleeting. A voice boomed: “To take him back, you must follow the path and never look back. If you do, he will be lost forever.”

You nodded, your grip on George’s hand tightening.

The journey back was agonizing. The whispers grew louder, taunting you, but you kept your gaze forward. As you neared the threshold, the urge to look back became unbearable. You could feel George’s presence, but doubt crept in.

“Don’t stop,” his voice urged.

Finally, you stepped into the light. But the moment you turned, George’s face lit with love—and then dissolved into the shadows.

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed.

But his voice lingered, soft and unyielding: “I’ll always find you. In every life.”

[dykekarkat]

BUZZED NEIL IS WILD. How do u think poor Allison would react 😭😭 even better, neil walking into his dorm after a night practice just to see andrew smoking by the window (like he used to) and it's just a surprise moment for both cause like wtf is andrew doing here but wtf is neil's hair (since the media hasnt seen his hair yet) (or lack of it)

I think andrew would have a strange fascination to touch it (mmmm bald) (if nicky saw neil, his hands would itch to touch it i know)

unrelated, BUT JEAN'S REACTION WOULD BE HILARIOUS. We already saw his reaction to Jeremy going fully blond ("blond") I think it would be so funny to see him see neil with a buzz cut

allison refuses to step foot in the state of south carolina until it is back to a "respectable length" because otherwise she'd straight up kill him. like she put the WORK in to finding products for his hair and getting neil used to taking care of it (a struggle on its own). she does tell him that he doesn't look hideous (face card never declines) but also she makes it clear if he does this ever again she will not be speaking to him (mostly a joke).

andreil having a what the fuck moment if andrew surprised neil is so real tho 😭. it probably doesnt even register to neil he's just so happy andrew's back he's practically falling into his arms meanwhile andrew is like. stock still frozen solid what the fuck did he do to his beautiful luscious hair. his hands dont leave neil's head the entire time he's there he's just constantly rubbing them over it (i need to shave my head again the texture is truly so good). he doesn't think neil looks bad but he definitely prefers it long (he was probably daydreaming about coming home and braiding neil's hair or just running his fingers thru it. and then boom. bald.) i think if nicky visited from germany neil would give him like one single five minute period where he can go ham and nicky is so excited he screams and then starts petting neil like a puppy. neil takes this in stride tho.

ALSO JEAN 😭😭 i imagine he sees it on the news or something and just goes "BALD?!?!?!!" really loudly at the TV to the point where jeremy in the other room is like "??? what the heck happened???" and then he calls neil and they have a really long conversation filled with french cursing.

bonus kevin reaction is him going "thank god you cut it long hair is a weakness on the court" and neil vowing he's never gonna cut it again (andrew hears about this and laughs at him but neil is so shocked by the laughter it just makes him more determined to never cut it again)

[threewaywithdelusion]

The Golden Raven opened up so many fanfic possibilities. SOOOO many. Here are just a few off the top of my head:

Andrew and Neil's conversation when Andrew returns from LA with the knowledge that 1) Neil was there 2) Jean was raped by Grayson 3) Neil put a hit out on Grayson 4) Neil mentioned none of this

A Fox perspective on the brawl with the Ravens. probably Kevin. When Jean said Andrew's hand was limp at his side, I nearly had a heart-attack, so I can't imagine how Kevin feels for the few minutes he thinks the Ravens have broken Andrew's hand and ruined any chance of him playing again

The book already ruined this one, but before Thea appeared, I was thinking of a fic where she showed up at USC. The Trojans have had two Raven visitors at that point, Grayson and Zane, and are fully convinced any Raven that comes to visit must be trying to kill Jean. But instead, Thea calls him "Paris" and bitches about Kevin and takes his side unequivocally against their own team. Maybe third person POV from one of the Trojans (Cody? Jeremy? Derek or Derrick?).

How Aaron ended up driving the Maserati

A fic where Jean reveals to Jeremy, Cat, and Laila that Grayson is only dead because Neil put out a hit on him

The Floozies meeting the queer Foxes after a match. They don't explain the common theme in their friend group, but Andrew takes one look and immediately knows everything because his gaydar is unparalleled. The Floozies are absolutely gobsmacked to learn that Andrew Minyard and Neil Josten are dating.

Renee comes to LA. We get Jeremy's jealousy, her befriending Cat and Laila, her and Jean bonding, and the Trojans watching in confusion as Jean interacts with this pretty Fox girl when they were all kinda convinced he was in love with Jeremy

In an AU where the Foxes weren't beat to shit on the court, Jean finds out his home has burnt to the ground and calls in backup. Neil shows up with a British crime family at his back to defend Jean's Trojans

A world in which, when Kevin comes to LA for the interview, Jean kisses him. (So many options on where to go from there. Perhaps Kevin doesn't feel the same, and thinks of Jean as his "brother" like he said in the interview, but he finally realizes that Jean was punished not for staring at the Trojans, but for looking at/loving Kevin. Perhaps they hook up and it's perfect and awful and everything they both wanted but too late to save either of them.)

Unrelated to canon, but with Jeremy&Laila and Jean&Cat being platonic life partners, I want some kind of lavender marriage AU where the two “couples” become friends and there are shenanigans as they try to determine if the other people are actually in love or just bearding for each other

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XXXV)

Chapter 35 : ‘Love comes quietly, finally’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! Time to see how MC will react… please, read at your own risk… ;)

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 3139

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Love Comes Quietly

Love comes quietly, finally, drops about me, on me, in the old ways.

What did I know thinking myself able to go alone all the way.

Robert Creeley

You didn’t remember coming home. You didn’t remember anything from your drive, but somehow you ended up in your living room, which meant you had travelled back from the church to your place.

Andrew’s words echoed in your head still.

She’s standing right in front of me.

I’ve moved on for you.

I don’t want to stop them. I want you.

You?

You tried to put the pieces together, and you could see it now. The way he behaved with you, always gentle, always tender, always caring. The way he had reacted to that dress on you. And everybody else’s comments about you…

Andrew liked you. You were the woman he was falling for.

You had thought there was someone else, but there never was. It seemed obvious now that you played back countless moments in your head, almost comically so. It seemed obvious that he liked you.

And you liked him, obviously. But then you didn’t. You didn’t like him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it, to admit it. It was hard enough to accept that you could have a crush on someone else than Frank, but more…

You started pacing, digging holes in your carpet at this point. You needed to think, to be logical about this.

You had three possibilities now.

You could go back to the church, tell Frank everything. That you weren’t over him, that you wanted him back, that he was making a mistake with Sam, that you loved him… But as you formed the words in your head, you could feel it was all a lie. It used to be true, but it wasn’t anymore.

You could go to Andrew’s and talk about his confession. Tell him you liked him, but you needed time to get over Frank, that you didn’t want to rush things. That you fancied him, but you needed time to feel more than that. That would also be a lie.

Or you could stay here. You could choose none of them. You could decide to remain single, did you really want one of those two anyway? You knew you did. You did, and you already knew who you truly wanted, but it was so damn scary to love again… what if it all happened the same way a second time? What if…

What if you trusted Andrew, and then he dragged you along for years but never truly committed? And what if he left for someone else? And what if he broke your heart? Because getting over Frank was hard enough, but Andrew? Andrew could break you in ways you had never imagined possible. You knew that. You knew that if you let yourself love him, you could love him so much harder than you had ever loved Frank. If you let yourself fall for him, you would die at the landing.

Your eyes fell on your coffee table, you stopped your movements as you stared at the pair of books there.

The Divine Comedy

Death of a Naturalist

You would never have that kind of relationship with Frank. You would never… ramble for hours about art, never exchange books, never spend afternoons in bookshops, never analyse texts, never debate on politics for hours, never spend evenings discussing misogyny and the importance of female authors, never feel that soothing warmth in your chest every time you heard Andrew’s voice, never feel as safe as you did when Andrew held you in his arms, never let the fantasies in your dreams and head come true, never kiss Andrew a third time, never feel his gentle yet eager lips on yours ever again, his large hands on your body, his beard brushing your skin…

You would never have that with Frank.

And you wanted it. You wanted it all. And you wanted so much more. You wanted to find out the precise colour of his irises when he woke up in the morning, what his skin felt like under your fingers, what it was like to be held by him throughout an entire night, what he had to say about the next elections, and what he thought about that novel you were reading at the moment, and you hadn’t listened to that artist he had recommended, something about blues you couldn’t remember now but it was important, it was so fucking important and… and…

And Andrew cared. He cared. And he listened. And he was there. And you… you didn’t like him, that was a fucking lie, you didn’t have a crush.

You loved him. You were in love with him. You wanted Andrew more than anything in this world but you were terrified at the thought that he could hurt you as well, just like Frank did. That was the truth.

You sat on your couch, trying to find the courage to tell him…

How would you tell him?

You started crafting a speech, and by the time you felt ready to leave for Andrew’s place, the night already covered the town.

It was almost midnight, and you knew it was ridiculous, that it shouldn’t be legal to go to someone’s place at such an hour, but it couldn’t wait. The wedding was tomorrow, in a few minutes it would be today…

You knocked on the door you knew so well by now, waited for the green paint to disappear so you could see the man you loved instead.

The man you loved…

You knocked again, louder this time, rang the doorbell a few times. You were pacing. Waiting.

The man you loved.

At long last, the door opened. He was wearing some old sweatpants and a Thin Lizzy t-shirt. His glasses were a little lopsided on his nose. His hair in a man bun, your heart skipped a beat at the sight. But he didn’t look like you had woken him up, and you weren’t surprised. A true night owl, that one…

“Y/N? You’re alright? What happened? Are you hurt?”

“Hurt?” you asked back, blinking, trying to regulate your breathing.

And as you stared at him bathed in the warm light of his home, you wondered how you could have been so stupid, how it took you so long to realise that it was him you wanted. You had wanted him all along…

It had always been Andrew. You couldn’t fight the truth anymore, not now, not after staring into his hazel eyes and acknowledging how much you longed for him to hold you close. Ever since that first day when he was blushing, when he poured his tea over your desk, and the cute look of his embarrassment as he apologized, and the softness of his voice, the kindness of his gaze…

“Well… it’s midnight, why else would you be here? Are you hurt? Did something happen to you?”

Andrew raised a surprised eyebrow as he stared at you, silently waiting for a reply that wasn’t coming. But he must have noticed that you weren’t harmed after scanning your body with a long, insisting glance, because he visibly relaxed.

“Come in, Y/N. What’s going on?”

You had thought of a thousand ways to talk about this. Had prepared speeches, had weighed the words to be used. No declaration of love, it was too early for that, instead a mere acknowledgement of an attraction… a like instead of a love. Don’t scare him away. You’re all over the place, no need for that. Instead, an explanation, calm and composed, almost logical.

You’re handsome, I’ve felt attracted to you the second I entered our office. And we grew closer during our planning against our exes, until we became friends… but to be honest, I feel more than friendship for you. I like you. I don’t want Frank anymore, I want you.

But all those words disappeared, now that you were standing in front of him, in front of an expectant Andrew who was still silently inviting you in his home, with the most adorable puzzled expression you had ever seen.

Everything disappeared before him, and you were left with nothing but the truth on your tongue.

“I’m in love with you.”

Andrew’s eyes grew round, so round you wondered how it was physically possible for him to do that. His mouth fell open, eyebrows shooting up. Still, you didn’t back down… it was too late for that. Instead, you waited for him to speak.

It took him a moment to come back to Earth, you saw it in his eyes. The way they finally found their usual shape again, how he blinked, how he nervously pushed his glasses up on his nose.

“Come in, Y/N. Please,” he invited you again, voice deeper than usual but soft still, a mere whisper.

You finally obliged, stepped inside his home. You let him guide you to his living room, but none of you sat down on his comfortable couch.

Instead, he turned to you again, and stared for a long while.

“You… what did you just say?” he asked, blinking again, rubbing nervously at his cheek, and then at the back of his neck.

“I love you,” you repeated yourself, and you heard him gasp.

He let out a nervous giggle.

“Are you serious?” he asked, but you merely nodded.

“Deadly so, I’m afraid.”

“And… why… I thought you wanted Frank. This afternoon at the church, you still wanted Frank…”

“Not really… or… like… I wanted the life I had with him. I didn’t want to move on. I wasn’t ready to fall in love again. But you have a special talent for messing up all my plans.”

You gave him a tender smile.

“I just… I’m fucking terrified, Andy.”

You blinked tears away, but you didn’t back down. It was now or never, the moment to be at your most vulnerable. You took it as a test for yourself and for him. Being able to show him how fragile you were. Seeing how he would react, if he would use it against you or not.

“I’m… I’m really scared to love someone again, and then have them take everything from me. And with you… with you it feels even worse than with Frank. I’m so scared to get hurt again… I don’t want to love you. But I do. I do, and I tried to convince myself I didn’t, but I do. But what if you break my heart like Frank did…”

You were interrupted by Andrew’s arms wrapping around your frame, holding you tightly to his chest, his large palm coming up to cradle your head.

And you felt safe all over again. Safe, and calm, like nothing bad could happen in your life now.

You let your eyes close, held him tightly too.

“I won’t hurt you, Y/N,” he promised in a whisper that was breathed against your ear. “You’re safe with me. I won’t hurt you. I will never hurt you. I… I love you too much for that.”

You looked up at him, expected him to take it all back, the way Frank would have. But Andrew didn’t. Instead, he let his thumb brush across your cheek, stared into your eyes with so much tenderness you felt overwhelmed by it. And he smiled. He had tears in his eyes, but he smiled still.

“I love you,” you said the words again, but Andrew rose to the test you expected him to fail.

“I love you too, Y/N. I love you.”

His smile turned into a grin, and you felt yourself breathing again.

“Let’s ditch the wedding tomorrow,” you offered, and Andrew raised a surprised eyebrow. “Let’s just… not go there. I don’t want to go, you don’t want to go... Let’s leave those morons to be married and waste their chance at having someone as cool as us.”

He laughed at that, bright and happy and a little too hoarse because of emotions. He shook his head fondly at you.

“I wouldn’t call myself ‘cool’.”

“You’ve finished Breath of the Wild eight times, that’s a record if I’ve ever seen one.”

“That is the most loser detail about my life you could have picked…”

“I think it’s neat.”

“I think you’re out of your mind. But you’re pretty cool, still.”

“Thanks. After all, I can cut an apple in two perfectly even pieces.”

“If that isn’t cool, I don’t know what is.”

“My real talent.”

“Without a doubt.”

He let his fingers travel across your hair, pulled your face a little closer to his, and you didn’t resist.

“You’re right though… Frank has no idea what he lost when he left you. The fucker.”

You giggled at that, making him smile.

“Samantha is the real loser here. She could have had you…”

Andrew bent down the rest of the way, until his lips were pressed against yours, until he could kiss you the way he had dreamt every night for weeks… the way you longed for.

You weren’t sure how you had found yourself lying on Andrew’s bed, but you were.

Staring at the ceiling in silence. You had spent a long time talking about your feelings, about what you wanted, about how scared you both were about this. There was quite a lot of kissing involved, too, you had to admit.

You were tired, maybe that was why Andrew had asked you to stay for the night, so you wouldn’t drive back to your place. You were both lying together now, side by side over the covers, holding hands. His was so much bigger than yours…

“Are you asleep?” he asked, although your eyes were open.

“Yes.”

“Hmm… thought so.”

You felt the mattress dip as he shifted, turned to lay on his side. You felt him staring at you, it brought a smile to your lips, but you kept your own gaze on the ceiling.

“The sun is gonna rise soon,” he whispered.

You loved how deep his voice was, how softly he always spoke. Christ… it shifted things into your soul…

“We could watch the sunrise,” you offered with a soft smile.

“Or we could fall asleep.”

“Are you asleep?”

“Obviously, it’s just my mouth talking.”

He raised your hand to his lips, the one he was holding, kissed the back of it and made your heart flutter.

“I want to go on a date with you,” your words came out of the blue.

You felt him smile against your skin. He kept your hand enclosed in his, moved it to rest on his heart now. You could feel the steady beat under your fingers.

“I want that too,” he murmured.

“Are you free tomorrow night?”

He laughed, bright and happy.

“So eager you are! Why the sudden rush?”

“I just… I don’t know,” you admitted. “I just feel like… these feelings have been sitting there in my chest for a long time. Now that they’re finally coming out, I really want to express them. I… it’s a little overwhelming.”

He slowly nodded, humming along.

“I understand.”

He took in a long breath.

“What about next Saturday?”

“In a week?”

“Hmm… I need to get a few things ready.”

You raised a surprised eyebrow, finally shifting on your side as well to face him.

“Have you thought about this before tonight?”

He blushed, but didn’t back down, staring into your soul as he nodded.

“Often, actually,” he hummed. “I have a whole plan set up.”

“Really?”

“I want to do something special for you.”

You felt your heart melting at his words.

“Really?” you asked again, your voice weaker now.

“Yeah… next Saturday? What do you think?”

“Okay.”

You exchanged a tender smile, he raised his fingers to your cheek, caressed your skin there. Every fibre of your being was alit, burning, liquifying…

How could Sam ever want anything else but this?

You turned around in a sudden movement, one that took Andrew aback. You reached for your phone set on one of his bedside tables.

“What are you doing?” he asked with a frown.

You didn’t answer at first, merely typed the text you meant to send. You read it once but thought it was good enough, you barely changed a thing before showing your screen to Andrew.

His expression softened as he read it.

Hi Frank,

I’m sorry for leaving during the rehearsal, but I’ve decided it would be best if we stopped seeing each other. I will always cherish what we had, but we are now both moving on with our lives, and I would prefer for us not to remain friends. It seems best for former lovers like us to go our own ways now. I wish you and Sam the best, and a happy wedding.

“What do you think, Mr. Poet?”

“Not too bad, for a break-up text.”

“Break-up?”

“You’re ending a friendship, cutting ties.”

You huffed.

“Frank and I were never friends. Not just that, at least.”

Andrew hummed in agreement, before reaching for his own phone. He showed you his text as well, before sending it.

Hi, Sam,

I’ve thought about us for a long time, and I think we should let each other go. After everything that happened between us, remaining friends seems impossible. You have a new life now, and I hope I can build myself one of those with someone else, eventually. But I can’t imagine being able to move on if I still have to carry the weight of our past. I wish you the best, and I hope you understand that I am only doing what I think will allow me to find happiness again. I wish nothing but the deepest happiness for you and Frank. Farewell.

“What do you think, Pr. Y/L/N?”

“Not too bad, for a break-up text.”

“Think so too!”

“Do you think we should have waited till after the wedding?”

“No… I don’t want to go. Do you?”

“No, absolutely not.”

“I’ll block her number, she’ll try to talk me out of it.”

You nodded, blocked Frank’s number as well. You felt lighter, all of a sudden. When you deleted Frank’s contact, it was like a burden was lifted from your shoulders. You looked at Andrew putting his phone away, turning to you again, and for the first time in months, you felt truly happy, truly human, like you were exactly where you belonged.

You moved closer, and Andrew was happy to let you snuggle against him, holding you close.

“You’re alright?” he asked in a whisper.

“Yeah… I’m happy.”

You felt him smiling against your hair, before he kissed your head.

“I’m happy too, right now,” he mumbled, his lips still resting against you.

You felt tears rising, your heart growing and growing until it was filled with too much love to fit in your ribcage.

“Thank you, Andy.”

“For what?”

You closed your eyes, let Andrew’s warmth lull you to sleep.

“Everything.”