#escaped the notes app trenches

[boneles-ss]

The blogs I follow are experiencing convergent evolution.

Three of them separately now have their pfp set to a different manga panel of the tuxedo cat lady from dungeon meshi and I keep mixing them up because of it.

I had heard of this phenomenon but hadn’t seen it myself before. The wonders of tumblr never cease.

[boneles-ss]

Sweetheart!!!!!!

when spiders put their little pedipalps together

[loserlvrss]

꒰ 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 ꒱ 王奕翔

summary : jihye has been in an unrequited love with nicholas since seven years old. come one random february day of their senior year, and she confesses for the sake of her sanity

genre : fluff, non-idol!nicholas x original character, childhood-friends to lovers tws : language, weird plot (idk either), kiss author notes : scarce &team content on this app word count : 3.7k

a sigh escaped the girl's mouth, as she readjusted the bag over her shoulders. the winter air was just starting to become bearable once again, with spring on its way. however, the light breeze still made the girl bury her face into the oversized scarf wrapped around her neck, as if she was a turtle threatening to hide in its shell.

"you know," a voice caught her attention as she pulled the sleeves down over her mitten-less hands, "you don't have to wait here every morning for me."

into view came her bestfriend of almost twelve years, nicholas. his sharp eyes looked down at her, before he took the corners of her coat-collar and pulled them closer than they already were, jolting her body forward. she yelped in protest, grabbing onto the man’s elbows to steady herself. but, underneath her skin, roses bloomed a pasty red, followed by goosebumps at his contact.

to everyone at the seoul highschool the two attended, they were the inseparable pair. fate had always been on their side, putting the two in the same class every year, so their schedules would align, ultimately making the two grow closer than they otherwise would have solely being neighbors.

"and risk losing my position in the hierarchy," she replied, looking him up and down, studying the way his black-hair was perfectly parted in the trendy curtain-bang that recent kpop idols had made resurface. "i'd rather drop out of school."

"you'd rather do that than even go in the first place, it's not much of a threat."

her eyes narrowed playfully, and he took her side, "very funny, nicho."

the blush deepened under his gaze, though she was prepared to fight the claim with just being cold. though, even if he noticed every time, he never said anything, and jihye couldn’t tell if it relived her or annoyed her more.

the peaceful walk to school was lined with slightly frosty trees and the sing-song chirping of the remaining city birds. barely any cars were out this early in the day, most parked at their owners occupations or residences still. it was only about to be seven forty-five, the sun just beginning to rise and replace the dim moonlight of dawn.

a fondness overcame the girl as a gust of chilly air brushed between the pair. she honestly wanted to daydream they were the leads in a romantic movie though, she knew he wasn't thinking the same.

jihye looked over to nicholas, who was removing one of the airpods he'd put in just before they started their punctual walk to school.

"jihye," he stated, audibly clicking the top back on the case. he then shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat and raised his shoulders in an attempt to conserve body-heat, "can i tell you something?"

"what if i said no?" but, her heart picked up pace in anticipation.

he laughed, "you wouldn't dare."

"then why did you ask?"

"because, it's the nice thing to do," he started, taking a pause to seemingly collect his thoughts, "and besides, maybe you would say no one of these days." though, he had no idea that she’d never in a million years say that word to him.

jihye felt her phone vibrate inside her pocket, cursing whoever it was for ruining his moment. she weaved through her coffee-colored trench-coat until the piece of machinery touched her fingertips.

nicholas took a step back, metaphorically, as he heard the familiar ringtone literally buzz straight to his ears. he waited for the girl to pull it out, looking at the contact that said grandma, embellished with a white heart. she gave him an apologetic but irritated smile, and brought the phone to her ear.

"no, i left with nicho already — like every morning." he couldn't make out the replies from the mumbling on the other end, only hearing what jihye said and trying to piece the rest together. "grandma, i leave every morning at the same time. i can't turn around now, i’ll see you after school... yes, yes. i'll pick up your medication on my way."

jihye hung up the phone with another deep-sigh after spewing i love you's down it a couple of times. then it made its way back into her coat, and she looked at nicholas, apologizing for the interruption and telling him to continue.

per contra of his desires, by the time he was about to begin again, the stone-building came into view. the bustling of teenagers running past, and getting ready for class being too much of a distraction to keep his mind on-track. he told her he would just wait until after school, because it, quote-on-quote, wasn't that important but, jihye’s heart raced on still.

the cliché chatter of the school corridor filled the pair's ears, and eventually jihye broke from her other-half and stopped by her friend’s locker before they’d make their way to their respective classes.

actually, jihye wasn't even sure if her athlete friend would show up to school today; mostly because the coach of her fencing team had made a deal with the principal some time back, and now she didn't have to attend class if she keeps her rank above (or, really, below) ten.

it was always a gamble, but eventually she saw the naturally crimson-cheeked girl skip to put her things away.

"jihye!" she was always awfully cheery — deemed as so by her peers — a bright smile plastered to her features, "what are you doing here?"

"an i not allowed to see you, mijoo?" jihye replied, resting her arm against the blue-painted metal, "we're friends, and this is the first time you’ve been here all week."

"it's only wednesday!"

jihye pouted her lips, "i'm also not allowed to miss you?"

"i guess i am better than spending every waking second with nicholas."

jihye shied away from her friend. the image of him flashing through her mind like a picture book written only for her, "i do not spend every second with him."

"damn near," she retorted jokingly, 'if i didn't know any better i'd think you guys were already dating." instinctively, jihye's hand shot out and hit her friend, who proceeded to playfully swat back until they were both giggling, “honestly, just make out already.”

"i'd rather bite his lips off." the girl exchanged a knowing-glance as her reply, shutting the locker loudly, though nothing much was heard over the sounds from the rest of the hall, "i've known him for too long… that thought is, i don't know -- "

she hummed in dissatisfaction, “that's kinky, jihye." she joked, turning and mirroring her lean against the locker, "you probably know him better than anyone, if anything, wouldn't it only make sense that he’d eventually fall in love with you? there's no way he hasn't seen the hearts you shoot at him with every glance."

it was true, she probably knew him better than anyone, but it was also a two-way street because no one knew jihye the way nicholas could claim he did. so, it would make sense, however jihye would never admit to being the juliet to his unrequited-romeo.

"i don’t want it to ruin our friendship," she sighed out in reply, “what if we break up? besides, he probably likes someone else. i’m just being delusional, mijoo — tell me i am.”

"you know, i’d never pass up that opportunity and, i may be a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one — except that one time… or that other time." mijoo threw her hands out to cut herself off, smirking, “besides the point! i'm not blind! from an outside perspective, i see the longing looks.”

jihye rolled her eyes, exchanging her goodbye's instead of arguments and began to walk away. mijoo continued spewing out more to the back of the girl’s head. "do something before someone else does! and, someone else will, jihye!"

the words rang in the back of her head, echoing like a bad rumor. it's something jihye has always known would happen: nicholas would get a girlfriend, a wife, a life — without her. though they had promised to marry each other under the pillow-fort the two had messily made at the age of seven. they were almost nineteen now. almost adults now. the reality was that nothing as innocent as that would last forever, and it will break her little seven-year-old-heart into pieces once faced with the arch of that bridge.

throughout the day, she'd not forgotten about mijoo's comments, or nicholas' awaited confession, despite her attempt to have her focus locked on the midterms that were coming up quickly. jihye was the third best in her class, which didn’t go hand in hand with her hatred for school, but she planned on moving up a place or two with this coming exam season.

on the contrary nicholas wasn't top or last, only average in comparison to the girl his name is constantly attached to. however, he still never had to try very hard to impress the people — mostly women — he'd come across. he never dated any of them, but his looks were enough for them to instantly be infatuated, whereas his manners made the older folk swoon. all around, people deemed the man straight out of a drama they swear they've already seen before.

after school had let out, jihye made her way from the building. walking across the street to quietly wait until nicholas met her on the bench. she hugged the coat around her body, making sure the bottom half laid over her tights-covered legs. she watched the door open and close a couple of times, every one making her heart pick up an irregular pattern.

eventually, nicholas came hustling out the door, it swinging against and testing the hinges strength. jihye cringed as the boy carelessly ran over the frosted pavement, only stopping once he reached the red-walking-sign at the edge of the car-filled street.

he waved stupidly at the girl, as if she hadn't noticed him running towards her quickly. the action caused jihye to smile like a dork in return, as she was literally not mentally capable of holding it back.

the squeak of breaks audibly cued the slowing of the cars, and nicholas bounced eagerly for his right to cross. the signal then changed to green, and he practically jumped from one end of the crosswalk to the other. her anxiety and heart rate rose further when the boy slipped, catching his balance before he had a chance to become acquainted with the floor.

he laughed, stumbling the rest of the way and rocking her to the side slightly when he harshly sat next to her. she looked to him annoyed, but reality was that she relieved he hadn't actually fallen.

"you're gonna kill me one of these days," she held the back of her neck jokingly, scolding the man who happened to be older than her by a couple of months, "please, be careful."

"it's not my fault that i'm excited to see you." he sulked in her direction, nudging her shoulder with his own, "you missed me too, don't lie."

too?

jihye shook her head, turning her nose to the air in protest. he whined lowly in annoyance, and leaned into the side of her face. she held her breath, the feeling of his against her skin instilling shivers down her spine. she awaited his next move, him planting a light kiss on the side of her cheek in retaliation. he's done it before, and usually she could keep the roses at bay, but the words mijoo had said came rushing back like a midsummer tide. her face instantly got hot at the thought and she shied away, hiding her features into the scarf she was now more than glad she wore this morning.

jihye choked the feeling back, causing a lump in her throat and a faster heart rate that made her nauseous. she got from the bench abruptly, leaving the man with a confused expression.

"i almost forgot," she played it off, hoping her voice sounded as smooth to him as it did in her own ears. "my grandmother's medication. go ahead without me, nicho. i'll meet up with you later to study."

nicholas' eyebrows rose, "i'll just walk with you, i wasn't going to study anyways."

she knew it was useless to try and fight with the man who had no regard — idea — of her desire to clear her head from his previous behavior. he had his own ideals and morals. she knew full-well that he would never really allow her to walk alone, despite his implication this morning for her to do just that.

the inside of her cheek found the undersides of her molars, and she ground down slightly, trying to suppress another grin.

"fine, let's go fast."

"can we get something to eat?"

she huffed, looking up to the man who was dead-serious. "you're hungry? did you skip lunch again?"

"you're not?" he voiced in disbelief, "well, in that case, neither a — ”

a growing guilt inside her cut him off, "get something for my grandmother too."

he looked off as he pondered for a bit, "i already was." he stated matter-of-factly, "i'll also get something for you, jihye. it's a date."

said girl stumbled, blinking like a fish a few times. her throat was dry, and she questioned why her palms started sweating in the low temperatures of early february.

she brushed it off as mijoo getting into her head, convincing her of something that was so fairytale-like that it wouldn't ever become a reality outside of a story books she’d read as a kid.

her mouth fell open, contorting into a mock-disgusted face, "don't ever say that shit to me again. ew, i don't wanna imagine you like that."

she lied. that’s all she ever catches herself doing.

he smirked, pausing his steps as she continued forward, "why not?" jihye's body jolted in shock, and she stopped dead in her tracks. hesitantly, she turned to face him, but wouldn't meet his eyes no matter how hard he bore his own into her.

"if you don't want to imagine me like that, they why were you blushing? why won't you look at me now?"

her stomach twisted with his words. truthfully, she has seen him in that light for a long time — and, he looked beautiful. too beautiful. he always captured her attention, finding a way to consume her thoughts until they all basically belonged to him.

rent-free was an understatement.

"do you secretly hate me?" he joked, beginning to walk again, like he hadn't just flustered his bestfriend. “we’ve been together for twelve years and you’re only going to tell me now that you actually despise my presence.”

maybe he didn’t mean what he said to her at seven years old, but it was hard to forget in jihye’s mind. and, an innocent crush was the outcome; but, jihye and everyone knew it would be cliché for the two to end up together, so in middle school she swallowed it down until eventually she could look at him the same every day. only allowing her mind to, more than occasionally, flutter into a daydream or three.

her drowning-fondness for him faded into the background noise, and with much convincing the butterflies retreated. she felt a chill run up her body, and hugged her arms around herself before walking quickly to catch up with him.

“i do hate your presence — hate for you to find out this way, nicho.” she shrugged.

“yet, you still use that nickname.” he cooed, slowing his speed to match jihye’s subconsciously, “you love me.”

“you should be honored i even tolerate you, love is a stretch.”

jihye swallowed thickly before pushing on with confident steps, a march he tried to keep up with. she questioned the reality of the situation, the reality of the feelings that grew deeper since this morning — and every morning — she tried to calculate the probability and, the bittersweet-truth laced her own mind, wrapping around her constricted heart.

“jihye,” nicholas had stopped again, rippling into effect as she did too. he stared down at her through eyes that she pretended shot hearts her way, “i never got to tell you that thing this morning.”

she let her arms fall to her sides, the sleeves dangling over her oddly-warm hands. another breeze passed between them, nicholas veering every-so-slightly closer to the girl.

it was now nearing six-thirty, the sun slowly beginning to lower to allow room for its soulmate to shine. the streetlights were seconds from their synced illumination.

“what is it?”

he stared for a while, looking right through her when all she wanted was for him to be looking right at her. then, her heart picked another irregular pace once she realized the vicinity they happened to be in. her mind wanted to take a step back but, her heart had stronger control.

her emotions were overwhelming her, and she hated feeling so out of synch with herself. she knew that he jokingly flirted, knowing or not, the effect he had over her. however, she always knew how to overcome it… until this damned day.

maybe she hadn’t realized how badly she had fallen for him, in between calling him her bestfriend and pretending to be over him.

but the tide was strong, and she feared going down with the ship more than anything.

their friendship, in jihye’s eyes, was the most important thing on her list of priorities. she didn’t want to ripple it — or worse, rip it to shreds. she wasn’t sure how to live without him, and truthfully, she never wanted to learn.

it was an ultimatum she feared leaning too far to either side on. so, until the day he hypothetically fessed up, she was convinced she had to swallow her own heart-wrenching ache for him.

well, she was trying to, at least.

he opened his mouth a few seconds before any words even came out, “never mind.” he finally said. and, to say the least, if drove jihye up the nearest wall, “it’s not important. i don’t even really remember.”

she scoffed, her prior strength blowing away with the breeze, earning an amused look from her best friend, "are you serious right now? don't do that again, nicho."

"do what?" he asked innocently, halfway between a smirk and a smile on his lips.

"leave me hanging, you literally have no excuse this time." her arms motioned around them, "there's no one here to interrupt you."

"why are you getting upset with me, jihye? let's just go get your grandmother's medicine and go study."

she grumbled, "i'm not upset."

"you are." he said plainly, and even if it was true what jihye said, his action were only furthering the opposite. "you must actually hate me."

"stop saying that."

"why? it was about time honestly, we've been together for twelve years." he backed up a little, causing jihye to want to follow.

he said it again, the word lingering her mind; together.

"if i'm annoying you can just say that, you've never had a problem voicing your thoughts before."

she bit her lip, not knowing how to form a reply when he stared so confidently at her. it was getting harder to believe he was oblivious to her — her feelings for him.

he grabbed her hand, pushing his fingers to slot between her and pulled her along the sidewalk with him. "then, if that's not it, what's wrong?" he asked as the pair rounded a corner.

jihye felt a nausea creep up her throat, and honestly she didn't know if she could be diagnosed with love-sickness or heartbreak. she were hit with a sense of anticipation, or maybe it was adrenaline, she weren't really sure. her vision was blurring with the shadows the moon casted and the frustration-tears that threaten to fall just as hard as she did all those years ago.

it was childish to keep running inside this dark tunnel. and whether, at the end, it be hand in hand or not she couldn't keep up the act.

she had to stop.

so, jihye did. she dropped his hand, and stopped walking. she stood with your her down, but, no longer to hide the blush. nicholas stopped at the moment he lost contact, feeling his heart drop into his stomach.

she was admitting defeat, surrendering, raising the white flag.

"nicho..." he walked up to her, his eyebrows knitted together with concern but before he had a chance to speak. his hands smoothly fit against jihye's cheeks, moving her face up to look him in the eyes. she took a shaky breath, continued and cut the life-support, "i like you."

nicholas didn't drop her face, like she feared. he didn't back up and somewhere deep-down she hoped it was a confession he'd just as desperately been holding back all day.

“jihye…” he practically mocked, deja-vu clouding her, “you have no idea how long i’ve held back from you. i like so you much.”

the girl felt a little mad at yourself for having waited this long, if all he was going to say was what she’s convinced herself he never would.

he was so close to her now, breaths practically morphed into one. she could finally let him fill her senses without having to feel bad about it.

“i was honestly not sure if you were just blushing because i was a guy flirting with you or — “

their eyes met, jihye’s abrupt change making him stop speaking and look at her with another hint of concern.

“nicho, please stop talking and finally kiss me.”

his grip on her skin tightened just a little as he whispered against her parted lips, “fuck, okay.” and then, as if fireworks went off, they finally went from bestfriends to something more — something that made that little girl inside jihye hopeful of the future.

a future where she got to call him, hers.

she could practically hear the groan from mijoo, who would be secretly happy she could arise her front row seat to their movie. she wasn’t even fully convinced the athlete wouldn’t clap as the credits played.

jihye pulled nicholas closer without protest. she vowed that because she’s fucked up the friendship there was no way she could physically let him go. she was bonded to him, she has been for twelve years, and she prayed for twelve more — and then twelve more.

their tether was strong, and it was cliché that they ended up falling for each other.

yet, all that seemed like a thought for another time.

reblogs, likes and comments are greatly appreciated! thank u!

— perm tag list .ᐟ send an ask to be added c:

[tallytals]

actually I need to know how that playlist is going for you just in general any thoughts

ok so i was listening to the playlist all day in school so i wasnt thinking too deep on the songs besides “wtf wtf this is SICK” but!!!!

im on a pearl by mitski and here’s some other songs that stood out to me

everyone by mitski. rori you are fucked up for putting this. botw zelda. shaking sobbing on my knees jumping out a WINDOW. SHE HELD BACK THE CALAMITY FOR A CENTURY WHAT IF I DUCKINF LOST IT. “but it didnt want me yet” THE GODDESS. IM DEAD

i want you by mitski.

im ignoring garden song bc you already know how insane it makes me an i cant hit the image limit yet

FROM EDEN BY HOZIER OH MY GOODDDDD i will never shut up abt pre-botw link and zelda they’re so fun (awful terrible im going to cry) to think abt

wasteland baby by hozier. botw zelda is playing this as she pulls up at the castle me thinks

sunlight by hozier (NOTE: there is so much in like all these songs that drive me crazy but im just pulling my fav lines) OUGGGGGG. i could say so much.

i bet on losing dogs by mitski. you didnt have to do this

we’ll never have sex by leith ross. shaky thumbs up

like real people do by hozier MY GOOODDDDD THIS LINE THIS ONE RIGHT HERE. CRAZY. hateno house 💥🔫

about you by the 1975 THIS ENTIRE SONG MESSED ME UP. SHE DIDNT THINK HE WOULD REMEMBER HER BUT HE DID AND I JUST KNOW HE COULDNT WAIT TO TELL HER I JUST OUGOUGHHHHHH AND ME PERSONALLY. i love the hc where the sheika slate can replay the memories like holograms in game so. that hurts me.

seven by taylor swift. SERIOUSLY WHATT. “passed down like folk songs the love lasts so long” HELP ME.

kiss goodnight by idk how but they found me. genuinely dont ever send me links again

shrike by hozier. ough. “i was housed by your warmth thus transformed” “remember me love when i am reborn” ok. totk. i jump in a lake

carefully steps over forth of july like its a landmine

line without a hook by ricky montgomery. I CANNOT ESCAPE THIS GUY. pre botw they were both so messy im gonna die i cant DO THIS

cosmic love by florence + the machine. im literally so sorry jjk fucking stole this song you im SORRY. thinking abt fake zelda so hard i might fuck around and write something

punisher by phoebe bridgers. i just think its crazy how everyone know them through each other. im soooooo normal abt this

gold rush by taylor swift. I ACTUALLY DIDNT GET THIS SONF UNTIL THE END??? i seriously cannot think of anything but fake zelda here. i really might just write the fic. like. he followed her ALL OVER THE KINGDOM AND IT WASNT FUCKING HERE. “so inviting i almost jump in” WHAATTTTTTTTT. “cause it will never be gleaming twinkling eyes like sinking ships on the water” WHAATTTTTTTTTT (PLEASE YELL AT ME ABT THE SONGS TOO)

i guess by mitski. ngl. jjk also got this one. apologies. im in the trenches. BUT. how often to you think they’ve sat somewhere thinking about the second chances they’ve both offered each other. casually slides this to notes app

francis forever by mitski. need i say more. once again i think its fucking insane how tied to each other they are like. oh my god. don’t think abt them in hateno don’t think hateno

first love late spring by mitski. ough

iris by the goo goo dolls. THIS RUINS ME

a pearl by mitski RORI WHEN I CATCH YOU

[palmettoshenanigans]

Going through my notes app, find deep in the trenches:

"Don't have the wherewithal to write it myself but I'm imagining a fic where Mary didn't succeed in running but Neil never became a Raven, instead he was punished heavily for the intended escape - dead mom and all (that way he gets all his Post Baltimore look but only from Daddy Dearest - no Riko involved) BUT THEN The foxes are fucking around after a game and they see this kid just,,, covered in blood looking like he just got out of a cheese grater. Abby does her thing and Wymack does his "I'm definitely not a father figure or anything but do I have to adopt you to keep you safe?" postering and Neil is like "Nah bro, I gotta go home" and the foxes are not happy about that and are trying to convince him otherwise cus he's literally 18, you can come with us kid wtf, and then Kevin - shaking like a leaf - says

"Let him go."

Cue Campfire Horror Story of Dear ol' Dad and suddenly Neil accidentally rallies the Foxes into being a family in one sitting but "

Note Remains Unfinished, don't remember where the fuck I was going with this,

[boneles-ss]

the top ones, are terrestrial crustaceans, ie have gills, require sufficiently watery air to breathe, etc while on the bottom, those are insects like you’d expect, and the two are NOT RELATED!

i love rollie pollies and evolution does too

[inlovewithaspiderguy]

tua: the Trench AU

I’m writing this here because I can’t be bothered to open my notes app rn and if I don’t write it down I’ll forget abt it

Edit:

The Hargreeves siblings live in Dema. They are in a kind of bourgeoise social class due to their old money but some of them (Diego, Klaus, Viktor) fell down a class, purposely or not. Ben is dead because I can’t write him but Klaus hallucinates him around due to drugs and alcohol. Their father is dead too. They’re adopted and the same age as in season one. Five is 13 years old but he’s very mature for his age. D, F, and K live together in a small apartment and have shit jobs: Diego is a taxi driver, Klaus is a minor, Five is a minor (pun). Luther and Allison are respectively a cop guarding the Dema border and an actress in propaganda movies. Those two live together in the old Hargreeves house but they aren’t necessarily a thing. V lives alone, he’s a music teacher.

The fic starts when Five goes missing after school. Viktor first notices because Five is at his school and skipped his class, the last of the day. Diego and Klaus realize (through a note Five left for them) that he intends to join the banditos. The whole family has the same bishop who will start looking for him as soon as he knows of the escape, however his brothers aren’t fond of that idea because they’ve seen people be dragged back to Dema and they were hurt by their bishop. They’d rather they got him back by themselves. They contact Luther and Allison, she wants to go looking for him but he doesn’t, as a border cop this would be bad for his reputation if he left his position. They convince him to at least keep quiet abt it. Allison, Diego, Klaus, and Viktor pack and leave Dema.

They trek through the countryside for a while. Allison and Diego’s biggest concerns are what the banditos are going to do to Five if he gets to them, and what will happen to him if he gets lost. Klaus and Viktor worry about the bishop’s punishment on Five. There have been a lot of escapees recently and the ones who got caught by their bishops were treated as examples for the other citizens. After a day of walking, they realize someone is following them, and attack him only to find out it’s Luther. He didn’t want to let down his family and besides it would be good for his rep if they got Five back before anyone (even the bishop) notices his absence. They’re all together now, except for Five.

While they’re crossing the country, they start to rethink their views on vialism. It is the reason why Five left after all. They all more or less subscribe to this religion, be it in a genuine way or a self loathing way, i guess it’s both. but they discover how life can be outside of Dema and wonder if vialism is worth it. Everyone is sort of having an existential crisis.

On the second night they camped and are asleep except for one guarding them, when that siblings hears someone. It’s the family’s bishop (Idk if I should invent one or not) who knows they all disappeared. He rides his horse past them without noticing them and goes away. The siblings have a conversation, because now it may look like they planned to leave with Five when really they wanted to get him back. Some want to return to Dema, some want to get Five then go back to the city, and some want to find and stay with the banditos. They figure out they’ll stick together for now and make a decision when/if they find the banditos.

The banditos are much closer than they think. They have a settlement nearby Dema, where Five took shelter when he left. He’s on his way to the main camp but he’s not alone at all. A bandito has been following them from afar ever since they left Dema, that rebel doesn’t know that they’re Five’s family so they don’t interact with the Hargreeves. They just keep an eye on this group of Dema citizens.

I’m there so far. I wanna write about the bishop attacking the banditos and Five getting out alive but smeared and eventually finding his family, but I’d have to make this post even longer.

[the-rad-pineapple]

substance abuse

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Supernatural fanfiction: Set in season 8, Sam and Dean get into a big fight, so Dean turns to alcohol to solve his problems.

Words: first 2k words are here, the rest of the 13k word story can be found on

ao3

fanfiction

wattpad

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: I had a crazy depressive episode in January this year, and the only thing that brought me serotonin was Destiel. So the result was me not leaving my room for three days and writing the majority of this story on the notes app on my phone. I have some ideas on how to finish this, but I haven't had inspiration to continue since March. Maybe I'll finish it someday, but I hope you enjoy what's there. Thanks for reading!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dean was finally in a good mood. The bar near their motel was surprisingly decent. It had good music, but it also helped that Dean had one too many drinks. So that meant everything was just a little funnier. He was well past the stage of being buzzed and dangerously tipsy. He and Sam had gotten into a little fight earlier, so he was solving it the only way he knew. Alcohol. He took another couple shots against his better judgment. Hey, the more alcohol he was drinking, the better his mood was getting, so why not?

He just finished setting his last shot glass down when someone sat down beside him. It was a guy around Dean's age with dark stubble and bleached blond hair beginning to darken at the roots. He had colorful tattoos swirling up his arms. They were pretty. The man turned to look at Dean, and the way he had to brush his hair from his eyes made Dean feel...something. He smiled playfully at Dean, and Dean felt his heart flutter.

You know what? Fuck it. He was having a good time, and this guy was hot. It had been a while since Dean had been with anyone, let alone another guy... Dean shoved that thought away and winked at the man sitting next to him.

The man raised a playful eyebrow as he took a sip of his drink, his eyes wandered down Dean's body. Dean felt his cheeks heat up, but he had enough alcohol in his system for the shyness to pass quickly in place of confidence.

"I'm Marco," the guy—Marco—introduced.

"I'm Dean."

"What are you doing here, Dean?" The way he drew out Dean's name made Dean shiver.

Dean shrugged casually. "Nothing much." He looked pointedly at Marco. "Looking for something fun to do."

Marco smirked. "Like what?"

Dean slowly looked down Marco's body. He was wearing a printed button-up shirt, with too many buttons undone, so Dean got a decent peek at his chest hair. He wanted to see more. Dean trailed his eyes back up to Marco's. "I'm looking at it."

Marco grinned. "Wanna drive back to my place for a bit?"

Oh fuck, was this really happening? He didn't picture his next time being with a stranger. With a guy, yes, but a guy with blue eyes and a trench coat.

"Yeah," Dean heard himself answer before he realized he had spoken. It was all happening so fast, and he could tell his grip on time wasn't exactly right. Maybe he was a bit drunk. But, did it matter? He was having fun and felt better than he had in a long time.

"I'll pay for your drink and we can go." Marco winked before grabbing the bar tender's attention and paying.

They were soon walking out the door. Dean didn't remember standing up, but they were suddenly halfway across the room. Dean also felt himself starting to stumble and grabbed onto Marco's arm without a second thought. Marco put his hand over Dean's as they stepped outside.

The cold air managed to make everything just a bit more clear. Dean's surroundings sharpened a little. Everything outside his direct line of sight wasn't just a haze now. It was just slightly out of focus instead. They stopped at an old truck. Dean tried to place the make and model, but the information was barely out of reach. It was fuzzy, and retrieving anything other than immediate thoughts felt like sifting through mud. But who cared anyway? He was about to get laid by some hot guy.

"Nice truck," Dean complemented. He did like it even if it was a bit plain.

"Oh, yeah?" Marco replied.

And before Dean really knew what was happening, his back was against the truck, Marco's hands on his hips. Hot breath hit his face before Marco's mouth was on his. Dean closed his eyes and let himself get carried away. The kiss was all tongue and desire. Dean grabbed Marco's hair, and he imagined he was kissing someone else. Someone with dark hair instead of blond.

Dean's head was spinning as someone's tongue was shoved down his throat and hands were underneath his shirt, touching every inch of his torso. He already had too much to drink, and now he was kissing some stranger outside. Or was it a stranger? He had envisioned kissing Cas, but that couldn't be right. Shit, shit, shit. Those last two shots were catching up. But now there was a leg between his thighs rubbing on him in all the right ways that took priority over everything else he was feeling.

"Dean."

It was Cas. And it was close. But it did not come from whoever he was kissing. He felt cold as he and—Dean glanced at who he was making out with, but the name escaped him—some guy broke away from each other. Dean looked in the direction of Cas' voice. The angel stood uncomfortably a few feet away. He glanced between Dean and whoever the other guy was. Dean was suddenly warmer as his embarrassment finally set in. He wished Cas hadn't caught him like this. With someone else when the only person Dean had been thinking about lately was Cas.

"I need your help," Cas said gruffly.

"Right now?" Dean asked, suddenly very aware that this guy's leg was still in between his, and his hands were under Dean's shirt.

"Yes, Dean," Cas answered, the annoyance in his voice was strong. "I wouldn't bother you otherwise."

Dean cleared his throat. Obviously. "Right." He glanced at the guy. "Sorry," he said sheepishly and pushed him away.

They disentangled themselves, and Dean made his way to Cas, trying to avoid eye contact from everyone. It wasn't too hard to stay embarrassed when Dean had to concentrate on walking in a straight line.

"What's up?" Dean asked Cas once he managed to find his footing. He ignored the sound of the truck's door closing, and its ignition. He was still disappointed even if it had been completely spontaneous.

"It's Sam."

Shit. Was Sam hurt somehow while Dean was out getting drunk? That was completely his fault. Dammit. "What's wrong? Is he ok?"

"Yes, he's fine," Cas said. "He just wanted me to tell you he left the motel."

Dean crossed his arms. Was that it? Seriously?

Cas went on, "He said you weren't answering your phone and asked me to see if you were ok. I called him when I found you."

"So, you're Sam's mediator now?"

"We were worried, Dean. You weren't answering Sam's calls." Cas' eyes bore into Dean's. There was a lot more anger in them than there should've been. Did something else happen? Did Dean do something? "I'm glad to see you're fine." Cas turned and took a couple steps away.

"Wait!" It was louder than Dean meant. He just had to get Cas' attention before it was too late, and time was moving fast while he was like this, so he wasn't exactly sure how much time had passed since Cas spoke.

Dean wanted to tell Cas that he and Sam had had a fight. And that was the reason why Dean had been so irresponsible. So stupid. So inconsiderate. But they were all excuses in the end, and trying to make thoughts into words seemed impossible at the moment.

Cas turned back. "Yes, Dean?" Cas tilted his head. Fuck. That was cute. "Cute?"

"Huh?"

"You said, 'that was cute'."

Oh my god, Dean had said that out loud. "Uh, yeah, I don't know." Dean laughed nervously.

He couldn't let Cas know he had...feelings...or whatever for him. That was something he buried deep down, but it was all threatening to come out. Shit. What was happening? Everything was still spinning, and things kept happening that took Dean too long to register.

"Are you okay?" Cas asked. The anger was gone, now replaced with concern.

"I'm fine," Dean quickly answered.

Cas' eyes narrowed in suspicion. That was also cute. Everything Cas did was kinda cute anyway, if Dean was being honest with himself.

"Walk over to me," Cas commanded.

Weird request, but ok. Dean frowned but walked in Cas' direction anyway. But walking was hard. Placing one foot in a steady position shouldn't be this much work. It felt more like tumbling from one step to the next, but Dean eventually made it to Cas. But he had struggled. A lot. Maybe Cas didn't notice.

"I noticed, Dean," Cas said.

Oh. He heard that, too. How much was Dean saying aloud? "I'm a little drunk," Dean admitted. Maybe this would absolve his behavior tonight, and they can go on like it never happened.

"You're more than a little drunk," Cas replied harshly.

"Are you mad?" The question was out of Dean's mouth before it was fully formed in his head.

Cas sighed heavily, but didn't look at Dean. "No, Dean, I'm not mad."

"Yeah! You are!" Oh, Dean totally had this. One of Cas' tells was avoiding eye contact. "You don't look at me when you're upset."

Cas looked at Dean wearily. "Let's go."

Cas started walking away. Quickly. Cas was somehow already by the sidewalk. Dean tried to catch up, but one moment he was following Cas, and the next he was on the ground. He didn't even remember falling. All he knew was he was now laying on the street looking up at the night sky.

"Dean!" Cas rushed to his side. Dean reached his arms up for Cas to help him up. Cas grabbed him.

"Sorry," Dean said and laughed. That probably looked funny.

"Are you hurt?" Cas frowned in worry.

Dean didn't feel anything, but he couldn't really tell. All he could focus on was Cas holding his arms. Cas was strong. "Oh, baby, don't worry. I feel great!" Dean said and grinned in reassurance. Wait... did he call Cas "baby"?

"Let's get back to the motel."

And then they were suddenly there. Dean laughed again and said, "I forgot you can fly."

Cas really was incredible. He was such a beautiful, strong angel. But also so cute at the same time. Dean saw his bed and tried to step towards it, but almost fell again. Cas' arm was around his waist. It felt really nice. Dean put both his arms around Cas. He was warm and smelled like rain. He was like a strong fortress. He was home. Dean wanted to stay like this forever.

"What are you doing?" Cas asked but didn't take his arm off Dean.

"Hugging you."

"You need to sleep."

"No!" Dean didn't want the hug to end, so he held on tighter. "You're warm." It was true. Cas was like the perfect bed. Soft and warm.

"I can hug you while you try to sleep."

Wait, really? "For real?" Dean made the mistake of looking at Cas while he still hugged him. They were close. Super, super close. Dean loved those blue eyes. "You're pretty." He didn't mean to say it. He thought it, then his mouth moved, and then he realized what happened.

Cas just moved him to one of the beds without saying anything. Dean tumbled onto it and stared at the ceiling. It looked like every other motel ceiling. He was sick of motels. Something tugged on his foot. He couldn't be bothered to look what it was. Cas was there after all, so everything was fine.

"Something is pulling me," Dean said.

"I'm taking your shoes off," Cas explained.

It was a simple gesture, but one of the kindest things anyone had ever done for Dean. Or one of the best that Dean could think of right now. Who else would do this? Cas always went out of his way for Dean.

"I love you," Dean said.

Cas finally pulled Dean's shoe off then started tugging on the other one.

"I love you, too." It was soft and so...genuine. Was this actually happening? And did Cas mean it? Or was he saying it to please the drunk?

But it didn't matter. Dean was in a good mood. He'd believe it for now. Everything else was tomorrow's problem—if he could even remember any of this. If any of this was real. His second shoe was taken off, and Dean held his arms up again for Cas. He felt the bed next to him dip before Cas put an arm around Dean. Dean held onto it like a lifeline.

"Goodnight, Cas."

"Goodnight, Dean."

[onyxinc]

                         DECEMBER  9TH   :   MISTLETOE

𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓  𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊  𝐃𝐀𝐘  𝐎𝐍𝐄  :   tell  us  about  your  character’s  first  kiss  .

mentions   :   frank  and  carol  sullivan  ,  rose  morrison  . content  warning   :   alcohol   ,   food   ,   and   kissing   .

new  years  eve,  2014.   you’re  fifteen  years  old  and  you  and  seventy - five  other  people  are  packed  in  like  sardines.   as  you  and  your  parents  step  inside  the  two - story  row  house  five  doors  down  from  your  own,   all  you  remember  thinking  is  that  this  is  definitely  some  sort  of  fire  code  violation.   received  a  whopping  four  hours  earlier,   the  invitation  was  the  definition  of  a  pity  invite.   your  dad  had  run  into  marci  sherman  while  perusing  foodtown’s  bleak  spreadable  cheese  section,   and  she  thought  it  was  just  so  sad  that  the  man  who  heroically  repaired  her  washer  valve’s  plans  to  ring  in  the  new  year  consisted  of  a  quiet  night  in  with  the  family.

historically  speaking,   sullivans  weren’t  exactly  a  social  breed.   your  parents  kept  their  circle  to  a  modest  handful,   just  a  rotating  cycle  of  family  friends  who  swept  into  town  a  few  times  a  year  to  sip  boxed  wine  and  gush  about  how  big  you’ve  gotten.   despite  the  innate  lack  of  blood  relation,   you  were  instructed  to  call  these  people  aunt  and  uncle;   carol  was  an  only  child,   and  frank  hadn’t  spoken  to  his  brother  since  he  caught  him  stealing  from  the  plumbing  business  twelve  years  ago,   so  the  pickings  were  about  as  slim  as  the  selection  of  non - alcoholic  beverages  at  this  party.

you’re  tired.   you’re  bored.   you  can’t  stop  refreshing  words  with  friends  to  see  if  rose  played  her  turn,   despite  the  fact  that  it’s  been  almost  a  year  since  you’ve  so  much  as  heard  from  her.   ever  the  attentive  host,   mrs.  sherman  catches  you  staring  at  your  phone  and  promptly  swoops  in,   ushering  you  towards  her  son’s  bedroom  to  play  with  the  other  kids.   well,   for  one,   you  were  far  too  old  for  playing,   and  for  two,   paulie  sherman  was  eleven.   years  ago,   you  were  recruited  to  babysit  with  the  promise  of  twenty  bucks  in  your  pocket,   a  dream  that  died  the  moment  he  threw  his  xbox  controller  at  the  screen  and  pinned  it  on  you.   the  so - called  others  were  around  the  same  age,   if  not  younger,   with  the  exception  of  a  girl  named  jackie  who  introduced  herself  as  paulie’s  cousin  from  pennsylvania.

she  was  nice  enough,   though  she  wouldn’t  stop  talking  about  her  boyfriend  and  how  his  best  friends  list  on  snapchat  kept  flip - flopping  between  her  and  a  girl  from  his  youth  group.   pretty,   too,   even  with  a  scowl  on  her  face  and  a  mouth  full  of  braces  adorned  with  pink  and  aqua  rubber  bands.   after  an  agonizing  twenty  minutes  of  watching  paulie  and  his  school  friends  play  russian  roulette  with  a  nerf  pistol,   jackie  comes  to  the  conclusion  that  said  boyfriend  is,   in  fact,   cheating  and  asks  if  you  want  to  go  outside.

“   it’s,   like,   20  degrees  out.   ”   you  point  out,   and  your  ears  begin  to  burn  with  embarrassment.   low  of  20,   your  weather  app  said  that  morning,   feels  like  8.   did  pennsylvanians  not  feel  cold?   “   and  mrs.   sherman  said   —   ”

“   no  one’s  putting  a  nerf  gun  to  your  head.   ”   she  fires  back,   and  slips  out  the  door  with  you  scrambling  on  her  heels.

much  to  your  relief,   you  find  the  adults  are  far  too  drunk  on  spiked  cider  and  mr.  sherman’s  famous  wing  dip   (   equal  parts  canned  chicken,   blue  cheese,   and  frank’s  red  hot   )   to  notice  two  young  teens  slinking  through  the  crowd.   across  the  kitchen,   you  spot  your  parents  joined  at  the  hip,   being  subjected  to  a  never - ending  slideshow  reel  of  someone’s  myrtle  beach  vacation.   a  sharp  pang  of  pity  jabs  you  in  the  gut,   but  you  quickly  dismiss  it.   they  were  the  ones  who  made  you  come  here  in  the  first  place.   you  were  perfectly  content  to  sit  on  the  couch  eating  crescent  dogs  and  watching  ryan  seacrest’s  valiant  attempt  at  moving  his  facial  features.

two  minutes  later,   you’re  sitting  shoulder  to  shoulder  on  the  steps  of  a  splintered  deck,   watching  jackie  smear  a  thick  layer  of  goop  all  over  her  lips.   the  artificial  scent  of  sugar  cookie  commingles  with  the  chill  in  the  air  and  you  shove  your  hands  into  the  kangaroo  pockets  of  your  hoodie  to  keep  warm.   as  she  caps  the  tube  of  gloss  and  flashes  a  shy  smile  in  your  direction,   you  remember  thinking  she’s  going  to  kiss  me   —   but  you’ve  been  wrong  before.   more  times  than  you  could  count.

“   what’s  your  name  again?   ”   she  asks,   fiddling  with  her  necklace.   it  was  one  of  those  wire  pendants  shaped  with  a  pair  of  needle - nose  pliers  to  spell  out  one’s  name.   jaclyn,   hers  declared  in  spray - on  gold  cursive.

“   jason.   ”

“   hi,   jason.   ”

before  you  can  even  progress  the  bizarre  turn  this  night  has  taken,   she  leans  forward  and  sort  of   .  .  .   places  her  mouth  against  yours.   there’s  something  expectant  in  the  way  she  lingers,   as  if  she’s  waiting  for  you  to  unleash  your  expert  kissing  prowess  upon  the  world.   a  foolish  part  of  you  had  always  wanted  your  first  experience  to  resemble  the  famous  upside - down  kiss  from  spider - man,   though  the  technicalities  seemed  a  little  too  advanced  for  a  newcomer  such  as  yourself.   instead,   hands  not  budging  from  their  pockets,   you  make  a  feeble  at  attempt  at  kissing  her  back.   the  two  of  you  sit  there  for  a  few  moments,   lips  repeatedly  bumping  into  one  another’s  in  some  strange  ritual  dance  that  in  no  way  resembles  kissing,   and  when  the  sliding  door  opens  and  mr.  sherman  steps  outside,   you’re  just  glad  it’s  over.

when  the  dust  settles  on  the  initial  shock  of  being  caught,   jackie  puts  her  number  in  your  phone.   you  both  know  she’ll  never  hear  from  you,   and  it’s  undoubtedly  for  the  best.   by  the  end  of  winter  break,   she  and  her  boyfriend  would  reunite,   and  soon  enough,   youth  group  girl  and  new  years  boy  would  be  little  more  than  a  footnote  in  their  love  story.

it’s  eight  minutes  to  midnight  when  your  parents  finally  escape  the  trenches  and  flag  you  down  in  the  dining  room,   where  you’re  chowing  down  on  a  plate  of  sweet  and  sour  meatballs  in  solitude.   they  ask  if  you’re  ready  to  leave  and  you  cannot  agree  fast  enough.   the  three  of  you  shuffle  home  in  silence  and  the  whole  time,   you  can’t  stop  yourself  from  feeling  that  by  kissing  paulie  sherman’s  cousin,   you’ve  somehow  betrayed  your  norwegian  pen  pal.   god,   you  wish  you  stayed  home  tonight.

just  as  you  reach  the  doorstep,   the  sound  of  muted  cheers  erupts  throughout  the  block.   fifteen  miles  west,   the  ball  drops  in  times  square  and  if  you  listen  hard  enough,   you  can  almost  hear  the  opening  notes  of  auld  lang  syne.

you  watch  as  your  dad  stops  fumbling  with  his  keys  to  lean  over  and  give  your  mom  a  tender  kiss.   so  that’s  how  it’s  supposed  to  look.

[19mrs-barnes17]

Assistance

Summary: Castiel find himself helping a stranger despite her background.

Part:1/1

Pairing: Castiel x witch!reader

Warnings: minor cursing, arguing, mention of hunting

Word count: 1,826

A/N: I selected a list of dialogue prompts and characters, @cantnkrusshedevil​ matched them. This is 1 of 9. (prompt in bold)

~

Your fingers slid along the spines and the binding, the covers rough beneath your touch. Letters ran through your mind as you mouthed the call number until your finger fell into an empty slot between books. Not there, but not checked out. Someone stole it.

“Bastard.” You muttered under your breath as you scanned the surrounding shelves, praying silently that you had misjudged the situation and the previous reader couldn’t comprehend the dewy decimal system. “I’m fucked.”

Walking up to the desk you took note of a gentleman in a tan trench coat emerging through the glass doors and immediately disappearing amongst the stacks. The elderly woman sitting atop a high stool glowered down at you unflinchingly, clearly not believing you as you explained her book was missing. She waved you off, slowly descending to the floor and making for the shelf you had just searched. When the woman emerged she was furious, shouting for you to leave her store immediately. 

You were too stressed about finding the copy of that book to care, it was of utmost importance you did. The lives of your family were in your hands, their protection fading as you ran around searching for it. 

A graveled voice calls out to you but you refuse to face it, no time could be wasted on some man who ‘just had to tell you how beautiful you looked’. 

“I have it.” Slowing to a stop you turned on the heel of your shoe to look the stranger in the eye, nearly forgetting to hold your ground as you almost slipped into the pools of crystal blue. “The book, I was the one who took it.”

“Who are you?” That book was a grimoire, one from your family in fact, and anyone desperate enough to steal it was not likely any friend of yours. You narrowed your eyes and took a single step forward, hands at your side for the time being. “What are you?”

“My name is Castiel, I’m an angel of the lord.” 

“You have got to be kidding me.” He tilted his head to the side, eyes betraying his polite demeanor clearly having had this conversation one too many times. 

“I am not.”

“Sarcasm, not very angelic.” He sighed, eyes moving to watch those passing by to their cars. “So… where is it?”

“It was taken from me.” You wanted to scream, of course it wasn’t going to be that easy. “Why do you want it?”

“Uh-uh, I speak the truth and you smite or something. I’d rather live to find another way, thanks.” He watched you curiously, gaze trailing to the sky as a soft sigh escaped his lips. 

“I promise I will not smite you if you tell me the truth.” You laugh and he returns his focus to your eyes, bewilderment painting his features.

“What, am I supposed to believe you just because you’re an angel?” You take a deep breath before tearing your eyes from his. “I don’t trust anyone, especially not a higher being. I’ve read that story too many times to believe it could ever change.” 

“I’m different.”

“Welcome to the club.” He stands silent, almost as still as a statue whilst his mind deliberated upon a thought. 

“You’re a witch.” 

“Clever boy, well done blue eyes. But, you really needn’t say it with such disdain, don’t forget that you too are classified as a monster.” He seems thrown off by the nickname, as you begin to walk away he calls out once more.

“I know where it is.” You stopped, glancing over your shoulder at the man as he began to catch up. “I didn’t mean to offend you, but I have yet to come across a witch who did not serve only herself.”

“Is that supposed to be comforting? I would’ve thought an angel would have more sauve.” You walked around him, his voice beginning to become a pestering annoyance as you made your way to your car. “Listen, if you have anything helpful to say then just say it. Otherwise, I’d rather not stand around as you accuse and insult me.”

“Why do you want it?”

“If you ask me that one more time I might just get a little less friendly.” You faced him one final time and the empathy in his eyes stuck a chord, but not well enough. “Why do you have to know? So you can determine whether I’m evil? Hate to be the one to tell you but nothing is that black and white, blue eyes.”

He said nothing, eyes studying you with more curiosity as the seconds pass by, unsure of what to think of you. 

“It’s my family’s grimoire, can we just leave it at that for now?” You opened the door to your car, turning to bid him farewell when his next words cut you off.

“Very well, but I am coming with you.” 

“Oh goody.” You roll your eyes and start the engine, shaking your head as the angel piles into the passenger’s seat. “Seatbelt, angel or not. House rule.”

“Yes ma’am.” Oh this was going to be fun, you could just tell. 

~

“If you give me one more wrong turn I swear I’m going to toss you out that door. You’re an angel, you’ll heal.” He grumbles something under his breath and you shove his shoulder. “Where is the actual turn?”

“On your left.” You chuckled to yourself, but he was simply left baffled at how directions were suddenly comical. “It’s from a movie.”

You shut off the engine, the light that guided you fading into the darkness as you emerge from the vehicle. One glance at the angel beside you and you were hit by a sudden wave of anxiety. Why were you trusting this guy, he claimed to be an angel and yet he directed you to this dump via an actual map. You hadn’t seen any powers yet, so you were still weary. But he knew about magic, so he was either a hunter or telling the truth.

“What’s in there?” The entrance resembled what you imagined a fall out or a survivalist bunker to look like. It was in the middle of empty land and appeared to be deserted.

“The hunters who took it.” That was not what you wanted to hear come from his lips, not when you were far enough out from the nearest town to be murdered in broad daylight. 

“Hunters?” He must have seen the fear in your eyes for raised his hands in peace and his features softened. “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you, not even as little as I did.”

“Hold on, they won’t hurt you. I swear.” He approached the door, hand on the knob as he turned to glance back at you. “I won’t let them.”

“Why?” 

“I don’t know. But I have a feeling you aren’t, how did you put it, evil.” He smirked, eyes watching you again with that same curiosity in them.

“Is that supposed to comfort me after you continuously insinuated otherwise?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to. Well, I did but I was not sure where you stood as a witch.” You knit your brow, locking gazes with the man. “I needed to know what you wanted spells for, some of those listed within are deadly.”

“Gee thanks, I just need it back for my family’s sake. Their lives are at stake without it. I need its protection.” You did your best to convey utter sincerity as he studied your eyes, judging truth from fiction within them.

“I believe you.” A fluttering in your chest had you breathless for a moment, and you allowed yourself a second to be lost in the pools of blue.

You sat at the table on your phone, scrolling through apps and trying to ignore the texts that screamed for you to hurry and not disappoint. The arguing in the adjacent room muffled by the door was becoming a frustrating obstacle. There was no time for this. 

Without feeling an ounce of remorse you began searching the shelves, but with no luck you determined they were intelligent enough to hide it. Room searching it is. You were beginning to wonder if you’d find it before they stopped arguing, however the angel appearing as you poked your head down another hall meant otherwise.

“You should have waited.” You rolled your eyes and continued searching the rooms, Cas placed a hand on your shoulder. “It’s not in any of these rooms, come with me.”

He led you back to the entry room, the Winchesters stood looking rather displeased to have a witch wandering their halls freely. Cas tries to defend you again but the two hunters don’t seem to buy what he is selling, their eyes on you.

“I wasn’t about to sit there and waste time listening to you all scream about who’s right in some macho match off. I need my family’s grimoire so they stay safe. I don’t care if you believe me, you’re welcome to continue the long line of hunters who refuse to see the supernatural as anything but destructive. But me? I’m going to live in reality and use our book to revamp the cloaking spell that keeps us safe from trigger happy hunters looking for an excuse to draw blood.” 

Your eyes land on the grimoire in the elder Winchester’s hands, his grip white knuckle tight and unyielding. An arched brow and an extended hand left him gripping the book even tighter. He wasn’t relenting.

“You said you’d help me blue eyes, was that a lie to get me here?” Cas met your gaze and shook his head, the two hunters perplexed at the response. “Your angel seems to trust me, but you never will. So just hand over what isn’t yours. Please.”

The younger Winchester nudged his brother, features still wary but trusting their angel friend enough. 

“Dean.” Those blue eyes never looked so assertive as he gripped the other end of the grimoire, slowly prying it from the man’s grip. He turned to you and placed the large, leather clad book into your arms.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell any witches. Your reputation is safe.” Dean simply nodded, watching you closely as Cas walked you out of the bunker.

The grimoire is safely locked in its chest, your trunk slamming shut to reveal a blue eyed angel still standing there. He remained silent, eyes a confliction of emotions as he shifted his weight on his feet. You placed a kiss to his cheek before sliding into your car and rolling down the window.

“Thanks for the help blue eyes, I owe you one.” A wink and crimson flushing his cheeks, you rolled the window up and sped out of the area in a hurry.

Perhaps you would come to regret such a promise one day, but for now you would dream of those hypnotizing blue eyes and the angel they belonged to.

~

Tags: @qtmeryr​ @broken-hearted-barnes​ @asphalt-cocktail​ @gstran18​

[boneles-ss]

Dashne

noun

1. The place one periodically finds themselves when following tumblr user “hopefullyababe,” also known as “Daphne.” It is a state of tumblr dashboard where a majority of said dashboard has been taken up by the same post or variety of posts that have been reblogged more than five times.

“I can’t fault her enthusiasm for that old man, but I’m trapped in dashne right now and I haven’t seen anything from my other mutuals in hours.”

[artificialqueens]

Daybreak over Manhattan (Scyvie) - Phryne

A/N: Long time, no see AQ! I’m finally back after putting DOPS on a slight hiatus to work on Ficmas and this fic right here. It’s a coffee shop au with some cute fluffy bits, a little angst, and that classic DOPS humor (I hope) we all love. 

Also thank you to @scarletenvynyc for being incredible throughout the whole writing process and encouraging me to see this fic through, and to @artificialmeggie for being the most incredible beta. 

Enjoy!

Word Count: 13K

***

Yvonne Bridges tugged at the collar of her tan trench coat in vain, trying to shield her neck from the mounting October wind. It was cooler in the mornings, though she didn’t mind it. In fact she quite enjoyed it. It was the time of year when the sun was just peeking over the horizon as she flew down the steps of the subway stop a few blocks from her apartment, and was fully bright, making her reflection golden and stretching in the skyscraper windows she passed, when she arrived at her first stop before work: the Starbucks. 

It was part of her morning routine, which she followed religiously. She arrived at the same time nearly every morning, buttoned the bottom two buttons of her pantsuit jacket while waiting at the register, placed the same order, checked her emails in silence while standing at the counter, waiting about about the same amount of time—it was a fairly empty store around six a.m.—and then left, heading on her way to work, fully prepared to handle her caseload, no matter what her boss would throw at her. 

It was comforting to see her usual barista Brooke and follow through the same thoughtless exchange. She only learned her name when she broke away from routine a couple months ago to study the barista. Brooke wore her hair wound up in a tight bun near the nape of her neck, her hair perpetually shiny and well placed. She wrote her name on her tag in all capital letters. It was severe. It was pointed. So was she. 

Brooke began each conversation with ‘hello’ and a nod. Yvonne replied ‘tall triple latte, blueberry muffin’ and pulled up the Starbucks app, her phone raising to a blinding brightness as she brought up her card. Brooke pressed a few buttons and said ‘seven seventy-four.’ Yvonne scanned her phone. Brooke nodded and therefore Yvonne moved to the side. They said a total of nine words to one another, each day the same nine words. It had been long enough that she shouldn’t have to explain her daily order to Brooke, but they weren’t feigning the closeness of friendship over ordering coffee, so they continued on with their nine word exchange, over and over until Brooke wasn’t there anymore. 

And on that October day, when Yvonne came in from the whipping wind, smoothing down her collar and adjusting her grip on her well-worn leather briefcase, the sunlight pouring in from the windows behind her, brushing against the back of her exposed neck, warming her so deliciously, so palpably, she was taken aback. 

“Welcome to Starbucks! What can I do you for this mornin’?” 

The voice was warm, like a well blended whisky settling in her belly, though it felt grating after what had to be years of Brooke’s cool, monotone voice. This voice belonged to a woman with brunette hair clipped back haphazardly, shorter strands escaping to graze across her sharp cheekbones, full from the smile she spoke with. 

The first thing Yvonne thought was that she couldn’t be from here, that was for sure. If the voice didn’t give it away, the exasperated joy at six a.m. did, the way she went about beaming at strangers like she had no good reason to save a grin that wide for a more special occasion did. She had to be new to the city—new enough to believe in the magic of Manhattan and all the people in it. 

Yvonne would scoff, but it would be quite difficult to scoff at the sun itself, and she thought that assumption applied here. She didn’t think she was bitter enough to scoff at joy incarnate appearing in front of her, wearing a leopard print cardigan and a soft pink t-shirt under her apron. 

“Where’s Brooke?” she asked, diverting the new barista’s question. “She’s always here in the morning.”

The barista finally broke from her incessant grinning, looking almost softer, more real, though Yvonne could now see the harshness of her jaw, the delicate point of her nose. She looked like a sculpture. She let out a weighted sigh. 

“Brooke got cast in some dance thing.” The barista drummed her fingers on the counter, pondering. “Like a group thing. I think she’s got some kind of team?” 

Yvonne put her phone down, the words still sounding off. More off than the prospect of Brooke not taking her order anymore. “A team?” 

“No, I guess that makes it sound like sports, huh?” The barista exhaled a light laugh, nothing more than an airy, thin laugh. “Like a ballet team. A posse? A gang?” She rambled on, somehow still holding Yvonne’s attention with each iteration of team, as though her words had a grip on Yvonne. 

“I don’t know,” she ended decisively. “But she got cast.” A little snort. Definitely a little miffed, which seemed understandable. 

The barista blew some hair out of her face before snapping back into her original sunny disposition. “Brooke quit yesterday, so now I have the opening shift,” she said. “I’m Scarlet.” And then she pointed to her name tag, her index finger highlighting how she wrote Scarlet in cursive, wide, looping letters, with little stars drawn around them. Yvonne couldn’t help but notice the stark difference between Scarlet and Brooke’s tags. And the difference seemed quite fitting. 

So Yvonne nodded, hoping to let that information pass, maybe even establish the same routine with this Scarlet, though it seemed unlikely with all the talking they had done already, which had to have passed her and Brooke’s nine word conversations. 

“Okay. Tall triple latte, blueberry muffin.” Yvonne said, watching her rapidly input on the register, tacking on “please,” as though it were necessary to be more polite to her—she didn’t know Yvonne’s routine yet. 

“Oh that sounds so good,” Scarlet replied. “I would kill to have a triple tall latte right now.” 

Yvonne couldn’t let what had to be Scarlet’s standard reply to an order hang limply between them. It all happened without her knowledge, the words firing from her brain and out her mouth, landing between them before she even knew it. 

“You’re telling me you haven’t had any coffee yet? And you’re like this?” Yvonne gestured lightly, now gripping her phone. “I’ve had no coffee and I’m like this.” She gestured down herself. Her exhausted self really — though exhaustion was a constant enough state that she learned how to look like it wasn’t. 

Scarlet laughed. And yes, it was a laugh directed at Yvonne’s thoughtless reply. It wasn’t even a joke. But nonetheless the laugh registered as authentic for a barista laugh. There was an appropriate lightness to it, enough to note it as actually funny but too much. Not enough to let Yvie know she was so unfunny that she warranted fake laughter from this poor barista. 

“You’re funny, even for this early,” Scarlet reassured. She uncapped her Sharpie and took up the cup. “What’s the name for the order, funny lady?” 

Her throat was tight. “Yvonne.” 

Scarlet nodded and wrote on the cup, setting it aside, ringing Yvonne up, and holding up the scanner for her phone. She stepped to the side, expecting the transaction to be finished. She didn’t expect Scarlet to tell her to “have a good morning” after the fact, and the elongated pleasantries left her floundering. She checked her emails, hoping to bring about a sense of normalcy. 

“Yvie. Latte and blueberry muffin for Yvie,” another barista called out. He glanced around, noting only Yvonne and an older man in a windbreaker and running tights in the store. 

Yvonne continued sorting through emails, adding Silky’s ‘daily meme’ email to her spam folder.

“Order for Yvie.” The barista pointed at the muffin in the bag. The older man shook his head. 

“Yvonne,” Scarlet called over to her, now standing where the other barista stood, holding the same latte and muffin. “It’s your order, Yvie.” 

She should have been irritated by the nickname. Never in her adult life had she been called by a nickname — really, she didn’t think something as cutesy as Yvie could suit her. It sounded like a name for a well groomed Pomeranian, not a grown woman. 

But she nonetheless accepted her latte and muffin, finding herself glancing down at the way Scarlet wrote ‘Yvie’ in sprawling handwriting, the dot of the ‘i’ trailing off in her haste. It was endearing. 

Scarlet was quite endearing, and something she could get used to every day, she decided, walking past the window on her way to work, stealing another glance at Scarlet, only to find her waving goodbye, her fingers fluttering away. 

***

“Tall triple latte, blueberry muffin,” Yvie said, still buried in her phone. “Please.” 

Please had quickly become a part of her routine with Scarlet, as much as Yvie didn’t enjoy setting new routines. Through it didn’t feel correct to carry over the same practices with Brooke to Scarlet, especially when Scarlet always beamed back at her, especially when the October sunrise seemed to chase through the front windows to meet up with Scarlet, making her perpetual flush look warmer and the little frizzy hairs along her hairline look nearly blonde. It made the please deeply necessary, and therefore routine.

Scarlet pulled out a cup and wrote out Yvie’s name, chirping back, “the usual, got it,” before getting Yvie’s muffin from the case. 

Yvie continued typing away at her phone, feeling her face tighten and her brows thread together with no way of easing them. She scanned over the email from Silky, her coworker, with whom she was handling the Davenport case—a complex web of familial relations, undissolvable trusts, and heaps of old money. It was nearly all wrapped up, but Silky was now flip-flopping on their analysis for their client, A’keria. 

“What the fuck does this mean?” Yvie exhaled steam, rapidly typing back to Silky. 

Scarlet returned with the muffin, sliding it across the counter. “It’ll be $7.74.” 

Yvie groaned, swiping through Silky’s attachments from her last email. The message only said “please advise.” Yvie did not want to advise on what she’d already advised on for the past three months. 

“Capitalism, right?” Scarlet threw her hands up with a shrug. “But you still gotta pay, Yvie.” 

“Oh sorry.” Yvie pulled away, glancing up at Scarlet, looking more and more like a court jester with her puffy-sleeved shirt and exaggerated expression, as though she were on the set of I Love Lucy rather than behind the counter at Starbucks. She pulled up her app and Scarlet scanned her card. 

“What’s going on?” Scarlet printed the receipt, tore it off, and immediately threw it away. “You seem all tense today.” 

Today. Scarlet really did joke. “I’m a lawyer,” Yvie replied dryly, her voice gritting. Just thinking about Silky’s email made her grimace. “I’m always tense, Scarlet.” 

“Nuh uh,” Scarlet tutted back, clearly waging her bets and pressing further. She was a woman of nerve, that’s for sure, pressing at Yvie when she was in one of her moods. “You look more stressed than usual. I can see it in your face.” She held up her thumbs and index fingers perpendicular in front of her, making a frame for Yvie’s face, as though she were capturing a shot of the stress. 

Yvie gave in easily, turning her phone over on the counter, ignoring the email. She sighed. “Well, I have to go argue a big case. Like a big money case today. And my partner’s reconsidering our arguments like we haven’t been preparing our arguments for fucking months.” She let out a long exhale, meeting Scarlet’s intent gaze. “But whatever. I don’t want to just bitch to you about it.” 

Scarlet laughed, brushing her off with a flick of her hand. “Please. No one else is here.” She looked around at the nearly barren store, the lack of line behind Yvie, prompting Yvie to notice the same. “Bitch away, honey.” 

She walked on over to the espresso machine, released a hot spurt of steam from the wand, and grabbed a jug of milk from under the counter, then pointed at the stools that lined the counter opposite her. “Sit down and spill it.” 

And for no godly reason, by no logical means, Yvie felt compelled to do exactly that.  

“Also, Silky keeps this shit on her desk that I hate.” Yvie brushed her hair back. “Like she’s got this calendar of these hot firemen and their dalmations. And like, not to be gay, but I don’t get men and their dogs.” 

Scarlet peered up at Yvie while pouring the steamed milk over the espresso. Yvie broke her gaze, suddenly much more interested in flipping her phone over in her hands. 

“I’m more of a cat lady myself,” Scarlet replied easily, returning her attention to putting a lid on Yvie’s drink, scribbling something else on the side of it and sliding it over to her. Scarlet placed her elbows on the counter, leaning in on her hands, coming in closer. 

“Same.” Yvie took her drink, sticking a latte saver in it. “And she’s got a picture of Mr. Fuzznut on her desk—” 

“Who’s Mr. Fuzznut?” Scarlet could barely get it out without laughing. 

“Her dog. He’s a weiner dog. In the picture he’s wearing a wizard’s hat.” Yvie pulled up the picture and slid her phone over.

“Ugh.” Scarlet pushed it right back. She let her index finger rest against her cheek. “Why is she that way?”

“Beats me. I just listen to her talk about that dog and her men all—”

“Excuse me, miss?” A man in a suit called over from the register, the vein in his neck clearly throbbing from having to wait more than five minutes. He shouldn’t have even bothered with excuse me. “Can you take my order?” 

Scarlet tilted her head, staring blankly before snapping back into her usual cheer. 

“I gotta go anyway.” Yvie hitched her purse up her shoulder, readjusting the tuck of her silk button down into her gray trousers. “Big case and all,” she said, trailing off. 

“Of course. I’m sure it’ll—” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Yvie patted the counter before taking off, leaving Scarlet to tend to this customer, who did not care for waiting now six minutes to order his coffee and told Scarlet just as much as Yvie left, in what had to be a demeaningly measured tone. 

Yvie noticed a touch of feathering Sharpie poking out from under the coffee sleeve, which was peculiar, as Scarlet wrote ‘Yvie’ on the cup and checked all the proper boxes like usual, but this marking seemed new. Maybe she did something different to her coffee and had to check a different box, like adding or replacing something would help Yvie’s constant state of exhaustion and stress, like Scarlet the barista knew best. Usually knowing best referred to her ability to select muffins, as she picked through the muffins with her tongs to find Yvie what she assured was the ‘best muffin.’ ”It’s the one with the most blueberries, of course,” Scarlet once explained with a cartoonish wink as she stuck it into a bakery bag. 

Yvie took a swig of the now cooled coffee. Perfect, as always. 

She slid the sleeve down and her lips tugged into a smile. It said good luck!! In her same loopy handwriting. And she connected the exclamation points to make a smiley face. Under the sleeve just for her. 

Yvie took pause, considering that Scarlet really thought to put it under the sleeve instead of out in the open where she could easily see it. Maybe she did that because she knew Yvie would see it anyway. But then she would have just said something, no? Maybe it was under the sleeve so it wouldn’t look weird in court, this coffee cup with messages. She knew if Silky saw it, she’d have a field day — even though Yvie’s girlfriend literally worked feet away from them — spinning some story about Yvie’s secret barista admirer. Maybe Scarlet was just smart. 

It was possible that Scarlet the barista knew best. 

***

It was the morning of Halloween and Yvie’s thoughts were rampant and ecstatic. Namely, she was contemplating whether or not she should waste her good witch costume on Silky’s party and how rude it would be if she claimed food poisoning at the last minute, just to stay in and gobble fun-sized Snickers while watching Carrie. 

As she approached the counter, she saw Scarlet all giddy, her little clip-on witch’s hat flopping its pom-pom tip, her cream sweater adorned with sequined black cats catching the light as she shimmied around. 

“Happy Halloween, Yvie,” Scarlet said with a little clap before pressing down on the counter, sharing as though it were a well worn secret. “It’s my favorite holiday. I love it.” 

It surprised her a bit, hearing that Scarlet loved Halloween, though she seemed just as adamant as she did about the holiday, and looked far more festive than Yvie, who could only muster the festivity of an all black pantsuit. She didn’t look like one to enjoy the spooky season — Yvie could more easily picture her in a soft, pale pink sweater and jeans, stomping her boots around in leaves and enjoying spiced cider from an earthenware mug than reveling in the blood and gore of a slasher flick. 

Though it was a good surprise, a new image of Scarlet in the fall time for her to comb over at her leisure. 

“It’s mine too,” Yvie replied. “Do you have any plans for Halloween?” 

Scarlet broke into a smirk, hand over her heart, laying in the slight twang of her accent. “Oh Yvie, what are you asking me?”

Yvie stopped dead, blood lying still in her body. She fiddled with her jacket. “I… I wasn’t…” 

“I’m just teasing, silly.” She brushed it off. “I gotta get my costume together and then my roommate, Pearl and I, we throw this big party. So we’ll have people over. I’m going as a devil.” She stuck two pointed fingers behind her head and giggled. 

Yvie laughed right back. It was a little absurd, thinking of Scarlet, with all her gentleness and joy, posing as the devil, in some sleek red thing, probably trying her absolute hardest to look cold and mean, though couldn’t possibly have a cold, mean bone in her body. 

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Scarlet startled her out of her thoughts, leaning in closer, Yvie following her lead. “Don’t tell my manager, but I invented a new Halloween drink.” 

“Oh?” Yvie didn’t know if she was more taken aback by the proposition of a new drink order, her willingness to accept it, or Scarlet’s closeness and how the fine hairs of her body stood at attention with every word. 

“Do you want to try it? It’s super cute.”

Of course it was super cute.

“It’s also a little unauthorized.” She quoted with her fingers. “Not as unauthorized as the first drink I tried to make, but still.”

Yvie pulled away slightly, her face willing itself to twist, but finding that she couldn’t, not with Scarlet already reaching for a cold cup from the stack next to her. And Yvie was not a fan of cold coffee, no not really, especially in late October, especially when it was barely over 30 degrees outside and she was in the same jacket she’d been wearing since the much warmer beginning of fall. Not with Scarlet already uncapping her Sharpie, preemptively doodling a pumpkin on the side of the cup, finishing it off with a curly stem sprouting from the top, just waiting to write ‘Yvie’ and seal the deal. 

So Yvie nodded and Scarlet rang her up for $5.04 and Yvie scanned her app and stepped off to the side, watching Scarlet take off, throwing one last glance over her shoulder at the back room before pumping some liquid into the cup and adding a bit of milk, pouring the mixture into the blender pitcher, and adding thick orange sauce to it. 

Yvie did not know or particularly like the idea of the blender. Or the thick orange sauce. She didn’t know how she was supposed to walk into the office with some kind of blended drink and be respected as an orator and a woman of law. Nonetheless, she trusted the decision, gaze trained on Scarlet, who added some more liquid and a scoop of ice and maybe something else into the blender, allowing it to pulverize the ice while she coated the side of the cup in a dripping, deep brown sauce, which pooled at the bottom. 

She was concentrated and swift, almost holding her breath as she poured the orange slush into the cup, careful not to mess up her design, smile tense as she topped it with whipped cream and a smattering of chocolate shavings that she found under the counter. 

“Here it is!” Scarlet placed the drink in front of her, using her elegant fingers to highlight each component, as though she were selling the drink to her on a home shopping network. “It’s a pumpkin spice frap with mocha sauce on the sides of the cup, whip, and chocolate shavings.” 

Yvie studied it for a moment. It was a very cute drink. 

Scarlet must have noticed Yvie’s quizzical look. “It’s Halloween because it’s orange and black and also it has pumpkin.” 

Yvie nodded, as though that answered some questions she had yet to form about the drink. 

“Try it.” Scarlet inched the drink forward. “I wanna see if you love it.” 

So she took a sip, the thick slurry like lead paint on her tongue. The pumpkin was combative with the chocolate, if she were putting it nicely. She swallowed, still finding the aftertaste of spice in the corners of her mouth, between her teeth. It was horrific—definitely a Halloween drink. 

But Scarlet was leaning on the counter, looking at her expectantly with her head resting in her balled fists, little witch hat flopping as she stirred while waiting for Yvie’s response. Usually, Yvie would have no problem bursting someone’s bubble; really, she did it for a living, and humility aside, she was quite good at it. But Scarlet looked so proud of herself and was so clearly excited over the drink, as much of a monstrosity it was. 

“It’s the cutest drink.” Yvie settled on, immediately rewarded by Scarlet bouncing around the prep area behind her, doing some kind of little dance that looked partially like a shimmy and partially like a medical emergency before coming back to the counter. 

“See? Aren’t you glad I convinced you to get it?” It wasn’t a question, it was just Scarlet excited to receive the compliment, and Yvie was happy to give it. 

“I am,” Yvie reassured her, slipping a sleeve over the drink to keep her hands warm from the frozen drink. And she was. She couldn’t bring herself to miss her latte, not when Scarlet was so pleased like this. She certainly couldn’t bring herself to remember her daily muffin, now absent from her hands.

And with that she left the store, absently taking another sip, immediately regretting the all-out assault she brought upon her taste buds for the second time that morning. She passed countless trash cans on the way into work, but on principle, couldn’t throw out Scarlet’s unauthorized special Halloween drink, even if it definitely qualified as a war crime, in her legal opinion. It would be far worse to throw out this piece of Scarlet’s joy. 

***

“Good morning, Yvie.” Scarlet began putting in her usual order—now that Halloween was over and Scarlet hadn’t had the time to come up with a comparably cute Thanksgiving drink—upon seeing Yvie enter the store.

However cheery Scarlet was, which was very, as per usual, she was incorrect in her assessment. It was not a good morning, and it likely would not be for a while, no matter how convincing Scarlet’s wholesome, toothy smile and strawberry red sweater were. She was not going to have a good morning and that was final.

“Actually, no muffin today.”

 Scarlet stood stiff as a board, grasping a muffin between her tongs, looking Yvie up and down. She was probably scanning over her to see if she was hurt, dying, hit her head — anything that would account for this sudden change in routine. All Scarlet could find would be a sad, brokenhearted lawyer requesting only a triple tall latte.

Scarlet finally stuck the muffin back into the case, her face still all screwed up like a lemon in a juicer, probably deep in contemplation.

 “Why don’t you want the muffin?” She returned to the register, making no moves to take it off the tab. “You’ve wanted a muffin every day for like a month and a half.”

 It was likely closer to two months, if Yvie really thought it through, thought back to when she started seeing Scarlet in the morning, when she thought back to the shock of her honeyed voice and her leopard print cardigan. It was exactly nine months and four days if she thought back to when she started getting a muffin every day.

“Well, I don’t want it anymore.” She could feel herself growing tighter, unable to fathom her stomach becoming any more tightly wound, any smaller than it had been since last night. 

Scarlet frowned. Fair. Yvie knew she was being harsh. “I’ll give it to you for free if you’d like.”

“No.” Yvie sighed, and allowed her thoughts to form sentences, gifting them to Scarlet, hoping to ease her tension.

“The muffin was for my girlfriend.”  Yvie shuffled her feet, back and forth over either side of the grout between the tiles. She stared at her hands. “And now I don’t have one of those, so I’m not going to get a muffin.”

She finally looked up again, only to find Scarlet’s flat lipped smile contrasting with her classic red lipstick. Only to find Scarlet’s downcast eyes, all blue and murky. Only to find Scarlet’s outstretched hand, laying on the counter, palm upwards, waiting for Yvie’s to join it, which she so thoughtlessly did.

Her palm was warm, so obviously softened by some kind of lotion, punctuated only by a few thin, plain stacked rings on her fourth finger. She curled her fingers around Yvie’s half smoothly, abruptly, and they just crested over the edge, Scarlet’s pale fingers with their short, blunt nails. And her thumb. How it rubbed the back of her hand. How it washed over her knuckles as though it could pull tension out of her. It could. Scarlet could. 

They stood this way for a moment, maybe more, with Yvie transfixed on their joined hands. And though she did not look up at Scarlet, though she could not tear herself away from the gentle palm under her own, she was sure Scarlet was looking at her the whole time, hoping against hope that she’d look up to meet her gaze. Yvie slipped her hand away.

 Scarlet nodded, the slightest dip of her sharp chin, and rang her up again.

 “I’m sorry.” It was weighted. It lay between them. Yvie didn’t want to pick it up. “That has to really hurt.”

 It did. And it was the best way Scarlet could have said it really. It did hurt. It was a dull ache between her ribs, something wet and scalding in her throat. It hurt. So, she nodded.

 “Would you like something from the bakery case? No extra charge.” Her voice was much lower now, as though they were words that needed to be spoken in the dark rather than a proposition about scheming her workplace out of one baked good.

 “Just the coffee.”

 But Scarlet was adamant. She already stood in front of the case with tongs in her hand again.

 “No really. On the house. Pick whatever you want,” she reassured, waving the tongs about to highlight the selection of pastries.

“Scar—”

“—And on God, you are not going to get a blueberry muffin.” She now pointed at Yvie, clamping her tongs a couple times, like a lobster snapping its claws. “That’s like the sad, drunk texting your ex of baked good selection and I can’t let you do that.”

Yvie laughed. She felt it warming her throat as Scarlet’s silly assertiveness made way for a return to her usual joy. That little smile, the crinkling of her eyes; she had to be pleased with herself. 

“No, really, I’ll pay for it.” She ceded all too easily, and upon further thought, far more willfully than she typically would, and for no apparent reason. She could analyze over and over, trying to figure out what did her in, if it was something about the joke Scarlet made, the tongs, the soft lights above both of them, breaking through the continual darkness outside, or maybe it was about Scarlet’s hand in hers and how her fingers ached for that touch again.

“Nope,” Scarlet said with a pop. “Just pick something.”

“Okay, a slice of that lemon cake.” Scarlet had the makings of a smirk spreading across her lips as she reached for a bag. “But Scarlet, please let me pay for it. I want to pay for it.” 

Scarlet placed the bag on the counter, quickly uncapping her Sharpie and writing “Yvie” on the bag, making a smiley face out of the curve of the “Y”

“Yvonne,” Scarlet admonished, setting her Sharpie down, catching her attention, refusing to allow her to draw away. “I’m not taking your sad, just dumped money. You’re just gonna take this free lemon cake.” She slid the bag over, practically pushing it against her hand.

So Yvie paid for her coffee, and as Scarlet turned away to place her cup on the line, Yvie reached into her purse, pulled out a fist full of crumpled ones and stuffed them in the tip jar. And as Scarlet caught her red-handed, Yvie pointed down at the jar and then at Scarlet, with a chuckle, and Scarlet rolled her eyes.

She wasn’t just going to accept a completely free slice of lemon cake without Scarlet getting something out of it. She didn’t need lemon cake charity, though she’d be lying if she said Scarlet’s insistence on cheering her up with the free lemon cake wasn’t highly endearing and somewhat helpful.

Yvie stepped to the side with her bag, watching as Scarlet made a little drawing on the side of her cup before sliding a sleeve over her Sharpie work and making the drink as usual, which intrigued her. 

Upon receiving her drink, the typical “Yvie” with the smiley face, all the proper boxes checked, she slid the sleeve down only to find a little drawing of two crocodiles standing upright with their splayed out feet and dragging tails. The first had a little speech bubble, complementing the other’s purse, while the other held up its purse and said “Thanks, it’s my ex!” It was stupid, a stupid joke with the cute little drawings, all crosshatched to show scales. But today, Yvie laughed at those dumb little crocodiles in such a hearty way, it almost felt as though she was clearing out her throat, finally unclenching her jaw. 

“Wow.” She drew Scarlet’s attention, even as she was making another customer’s drink. “That’s actually really good.” 

“Thanks,” she called over her shoulder. “Maybe if I can’t catch my big break in acting, I’ll try to make it in latte jokes.”

Of course that’s what Scarlet was after in life. Surely she could feign cheeriness at any sight, could have known that reaching out to her and taking her hand this morning was the right thing to do. And yet none of it seemed artificial of her. There was nothing method about it, surely. 

Yvie stopped herself from thinking about Scarlet becoming a star, accepting a Golden Globe in some shimmering, heavenly draped gown. 

She shrugged. “I think you could.” 

“Well, if my audition for corpse on SVU falls through, I’ll really consider it.”

The chuckle chased Yvie as she left the store, enjoying the little cartoon on her cup. Scarlet would continue with the jokes and drawings for weeks, until Yvie found herself struck with a new joy, walking the last couple blocks to work, watching the day break over Manhattan, sure this was exactly what Scarlet saw in this place.

***

Yvie now ordered “the usual,” as Scarlet had begun referring to her triple tall latte without blueberry muffin she purchased every day for $5.08 as “the usual.” And Scarlet paired this phrase, and Yvie’s growing affinity for this phrase, her affinity for having someone who consistently knew what she wanted, with her usual, all encompassing grin, from the moment she spotted Yvie entering the store, her head shooting up at the opening of the door at six a.m. This grin, which had a brightness rivaling only the sunlight bouncing off the reflective skyline and filtering through the storefront windows—which she deeply missed and would trade the late November haze for any day, continued as Scarlet picked through the bagels, rearranging them with her tongs.

Yvie was quite enjoying this new routine with Scarlet. 

Today, Yvie sat off to the side of the counter, perched on a metal stool, phone abandoned due to the miraculous sight of Scarlet’s concentrated face as she made Yvie’s latte. The bridge of her nose formed a couple wrinkles, three little canyons on its pointed form. Her eyebrows, unruly as ever, were tightly pulled together as her eyes became slivers. And her lips. Her bottom lip, bare and pink, chapped from the cold, crushed between her teeth. All this was shadowed by the little pieces of hair that fell free from her ponytail and now hung limply in front of her face. She held the cup up, inches from the counter while her left hand worked up and down, wavering the pitcher in slight, rapid movements, pouring out the milk with care. 

“Here, look Yvie.” Scarlet pushed the cup forward. “Isn’t it beautiful.”

Scarlet marveled at her own work and Yvie felt prompted to pull away and do the same. It was quite beautiful, this rounded thing that almost looked ribbed with the precise movements Scarlet made to produce it. It also almost looked like a vagina, though she wasn’t going to say that. She only nodded because it did look beautiful. 

“It’s a tulip,” Scarlet explained. “Or at least that’s what it’s called.” 

Okay, so same difference.

Scarlet scrubbed a hand through her piecey hair, letting the strands fall back in front of her face, not bothering to secure them in her gold scrunchie. 

But before those hairs fell forward again, Yvie noticed a teasing smear of brown across Scarlet’s forehead, glistening and decadent, far darker than the golden brown of her hair, especially in this light.

“Yvie?” Scarlet tried again, her look puzzled, and rightfully so—Yvie knew she was staring, though for how long, she wasn’t sure. 

“Oh, uh…” Her voice staggered before she straightened up, regaining composure. “You have a bit of… a little something on your face.” She pointed up at Scarlet’s forehead, circling her finger around the general area as Scarlet’s eyes went wide.

“Oops, thanks.” She swiped her arm across her forehead, only smearing it further. She raised her brows, peering up at Yvie. “Did I get it?” 

It was now only a thin film, it’s edge beading over her right eyebrow. She shook her head adamantly, endeared by Scarlet’s pout in response, and pulled a napkin from the dispenser. 

“Here.” She edged closer to Scarlet, motioning with her hand for Scarlet to follow her lead, drawing her closer. “Let me get it.” 

She didn’t know what made her say it, but whatever it was, it made her feel like her veins were filled with champagne, popping feverishly at every movement, circulating evenly within her. She glanced down at the napkin, looking up only to find Scarlet closer than before, held up by her left hand splayed on the counter, her arm straight, locked, and her eyes soft, unquestioning. And now that she said it and she was this close and she had the napkin in her hand, she willed herself not to tremble as she brushed Scarlet’s stray hairs from her forehead, holding them back with her overextended pinky, swiping the napkin across the liquid—what looked like chocolate sauce—resting her wrist against the curve of her full, perpetually pink cheek. 

She patted the napkin gently, though she knew it wasn’t clearing off more of the syrup, if for nothing but an arguably weak justification for why she was studying Scarlet like this. She dabbed and noticed the smattering of freckles across Scarlet’s nose, lingering, wandering off across her cheeks. The stray hairs under the arch of her brow, just dark at their tips, not visible at any further distance. 

She’d been staring too long. She knew this, though Scarlet made no move to indicate this. In fact, her eyes were closed and she somehow forced herself forward, as though she needed to be closer than before. So, she folded the napkin to a clean edge and gave it one last pull across her forehead before setting it on the counter. 

“It’s all gone,” Yvie whispered. She couldn’t muster anything louder. Especially not with how Scarlet’s eyes finally opened again at Yvie’s voice. 

Scarlet glanced down at her hands for a moment, her giggle like pennies splashing into a wishing-well breaking the cozy silence, before looking back up at Yvie. 

“Thanks.” It was warm and sincere, broken only by Scarlet noticing Yvie’s coffee, still without a lid, the tulip wilting into mere spirals of faint white. 

“That’s a hazard,” she muttered, pressing a lid over her creation and pushing it back to Yvie.

She was close enough that Yvie could smell a faint floral perfume on Scarlet’s neck and wrists, close enough that Yvie couldn’t bear to think about how fitting it was, how it all made sense with the green wrap shirt she wore, all sage and vital, dotted with splays of white flowers, without the burgeoning warmth in her core showing itself across her cheeks. 

Scarlet frowned a bit before pushing back against the counter. “Well, there you go, Yvie.”

Yvie nodded, slipping a sleeve on the coffee and heading out, gripping the cup tightly as she left the store and headed toward the office. Today, she was thankful for the chilling morning air, ensuring she’d be free of this excessive warmth by the time she arrived at work.

***

The store was crowded for the first time Yvie could remember. As she stood in line, she tried to figure out how there could possibly be a crowd, just today, when at six a.m., it was usually only her and Scarlet, occasionally some other business person or man who just finished an early morning run. She could count on one hand the times there were more than five people in the store when she was there.

But today there were far more than five. Yvie tried not to let this bother her, though if she had to rationalize two people in front of her in line, she also had to rationalize that while she could see Scarlet at the register, her hair held back by a red bandana, her voice strident, bringing forth a mounting warmth in Yvie’s core from a what felt like mile away, she wouldn’t really get time to talk to Scarlet. But it was silly to ponder such things, especially when her only real goal was to get her latte. 

Maybe there was a convention or some larger company was having a conference. She fidgeted with the belt on her black wool coat before stuffing her hands into its pockets, trying to warm them. It had to be something the store was planning for, as Scarlet was only taking orders while two other baristas filled those orders behind the counter. 

It didn’t matter. She was here to get her latte and head to work. 

Still, she couldn’t help but wonder what she’d miss by not having time with Scarlet this morning, if Scarlet would have to save some new wild story or additional details about shopping for the perfect Christmas present for her roommate, Pearl, who was the type of person who went on about how she didn’t need anything, though Scarlet knew she’d be upset if she didn’t receive a nice gift, so Scarlet took to prodding her over what she wanted, which wasn’t terribly fruitful, ending with the realization that the best gift she could get Pearl was tickets to Atlanta to visit her girlfriend, Violet, though she knew she couldn’t afford them. And then she added that she knew Pearl got her this beautiful, buttery soft red leather wallet she’d been eyeing from Coach for months, which she only knew about because she was ‘a bit of a rascal’ and ‘spotted the bag under Pearl’s bed while looking for her other winter boot because Pearl never returns shoes when she borrows them.’ 

Which is to say that Yvie would be very disappointed not having something like flights from JFK to ATL to look up during her lunch break. 

Not that it mattered or she had to be particularly concerned about Scarlet’s musings about maybe getting Pearl a pair of her own snow boots or possibly just some money stuffed into a festive card if she really couldn’t figure out something good. 

“You didn’t mark that right,” the man in front of her said bitingly,  pressed up against the counter, pointing directly at Scarlet, finger inches away from her chest. 

Scarlet stood paralyzed before spinning the cup around, gripping it a tad too tightly. She read it off, though she waivered, her voice staggered as she looked over her markings. “Grande three pumps vanilla, three pumps caramel soy latte?”

“Two,” he gritted out fiercely. “Two pumps of caramel.” 

“Okay.” Scarlet nodded and rang him up. “$6.05 please.” She stared down at the register, drawing in open-mouthed breaths. 

“Write it down because you’re not going to remember it.” His voice was scorching. Highly unnecessary. Yvie found her fists tight in her coat pockets. Attentive. Vigilant. 

“I’ll remember, sir,” Scarlet muttered, voice small. Body small. She still held the cup and her Sharpie in her hand, frozen. 

“I’ll write it myself. Fucking incompetent,” he fumed, a furious whisper he thought could only be heard by him and Scarlet, reaching over the counter to grab the cup. 

Yvie saw the mounting fury building behind her eyes, scorching her chest. And before properly surveying the man lunging forward, the line growing impatient over this man’s fit, she saw Scarlet flinch, swore she heard her breath hitch, cutting through the din of the store, and roughly drew the man’s arm back, grasping at a fist full of his jacket. 

“How dare you believe you have the right to insult her, let alone touch her” Yvie spoke fiercely, pulling the man roughly to face her, to meet her gaze as she looked down on him, at least an inch taller than the man in her heels. “Do you believe it’s in your right to attempt assault upon her?” 

The man looked shaken, making no moves to free his arm from Yvie’s grasp. “Well, I was—” 

“That’s not an answer,” she whipped back, feeling the store fall silent, save for the click of Scarlet’s Sharpie hitting the tiled floor. 

“I was just going to write it. It’s not assault to—” 

“You were going to grab something from her hands after an escalating exchange of language on your part. Assault is defined as an intentional act by one person that creates an apprehension in another of an imminent harmful or offensive contact. That is what you attempted.” She saw the smirk wash from his face as she recited the textbook definition of attempted assault. Practiced. Authoritative. Highly believable, and really she should be, having used it nearly daily. “Now, you are going to apologize to her for your attempted assault and hope she’s kind enough to make your ridiculous coffee. Do you understand me?” 

The man nodded, still making no move to face Scarlet, his eyes blank, still wide. 

“Use your words.” 

“Yes.” 

She came up close, lowered her voice to just above a breath, ghost quiet. “You’re just a little bitch yelling at a barista over a little bitch drink. Do you understand me?”

He nodded and Yvie released him and gave him a shove to face forward, allowing him to deliver his apology.

Scarlet still stood still, staring off past the man, mechanically accepting his cash and sliding his cup off to the side, surely still terrified. She preened over her piecey hair, tucking it and letting it fall, tucking it again as she waited for him to move away from the register to wait for his drink.  What she wouldn’t do to comfort her, to bring her in close, to wrap herself around Scarlet. 

As Yvie came up to the counter, she noticed Scarlet’s flush deepened as she stole glances at Yvie before pulling her focus back to tugging a tall cup from the stack. 

“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you or something,” Yvie said, pulling up her app to pay. “It just wasn’t right how he was treating you.” Yvie took a deep breath, willing her blood to quit its boiling at the thought of that man in his suit and gray coat. 

“No it’s…” Scarlet trailed off, rubbing her fingers with her thumb, steadying her breaths, trailing her eyes upward, over Yvie. “Fine.” 

Yvie let it go, not wanting to press her further. Scarlet rang Yvie up for her usual order, chewing at her lip, accidentally knocking the empty cup over with her frantic movements. And whenever she caught Yvie’s gaze for a split second, she drew away like a wounded animal, looking down at her hands. 

Yvie could take one, hold it in hers as Scarlet had done for her weeks ago, though she might be far too stimulated for touch. Instead she simply paid and added a hefty tip for Scarlet, if for nothing but to make up for that man’s behaviors. 

As she moved off to the side to wait for her drink, she caught Scarlet following her moments, having to snap back into focus to help her next customer. 

Yvie stood next to that man, who stood shuffling his feet, stiffening at her presence. Good, Yvie thought. If he makes one more move, I’ll have his balls rolling around in my Michael Kors. On Scarlet’s behalf, of course. 

***

“Yvie Yvie Yvie Yvie Yvie.” Scarlet bounced a bit in her spot, calling out her name incessantly from the moment Yvie exited the slowly falling flurries outside and entered the warmth of the store. She repeated her name, pulling her ever closer with only words before Yvie could bother to shed her scarf, so that the warmth of the store wouldn’t overwhelm her senses.

“Well, good morning, Scarlet.” Yvie chuckled at the woman’s excitement, placing her phone on the counter, unbuttoning her coat and unwinding her scarf. Somehow it was always a good morning for Scarlet, and though Yvie knew correlation did not necessitate causation, it generally meant she had a better morning as well.

“We got the holiday cups. Look.” She gestured toward them exaggeratedly, throwing her whole body into the movement, nearly knocking herself over. And Yvie was going to look, of course, though she wasn’t typically one to get excited over holiday Starbucks cups. 

Silky usually got excited over the cups and would get angry when she got a repeat within the first week or so. She ranted on and on for almost an hour in 2015 when they only had the plain red cups, as they ‘removed all festivity from Christmas, which could be considered culturally unsafe as defined within human rights law,’ which was not even the slightest bit true and made Yvie spend a bit of every day that December combing through all the choices that brought her to this desk in this law firm in New York. 

“I always like to rank the cups when we get them in,” Scarlet explained. “That way when people are rude or have children who are rude and shout about the amount of whipped cream they get, as though a cup can fit infinite amounts of whipped cream, I can give them the bad cup.”  

Yvie tilted her head at Scarlet cloyingly. 

“Yes, I have been yelled at by children. And, no, I do not like it.” 

“Right…” Yvie drew out as Scarlet’s frustration washed from her face, replaced with that same smile Yvie saw nearly every day, consistently took comfort in. The comfort of the toothy smile and the way her lips pulled back and her high, full cheeks, all pillowy over her sharpened cheek bones. She could run through the litany of Scarlet’s features by memory by now and she was sure they would never cease to bring her comfort. 

She held up the one with thin green and white stripes, pulling it close to try to make out the letters between the stripes before holding it out for Yvie to analyze. She gave it a passing glance. 

“It’s fine.” Yvie shrugged. She wasn’t one for games. But she was one for judging things, which made her a fan of Scarlet’s idea of a game. 

Scarlet put it at the end of the counter. “You’re right, like okay, still artful but not explicitly holiday-y.” 

She pulled another green and white striped cup out before retrieving a new design. This one was red and white striped, like a candy cane with ‘Starbucks’ written all over it. Again, she concentrated on the print, squeezing the cup a bit, as though to test the give of the coated paper, as though all the cups weren’t the same material. 

“6.5” 

“Okay, but how holiday-y is it?” Yvie retorted. “Is that not a pivotal measure of holiday cup goodness?” 

Scarlet lowered herself to a whisper, inching the cup closer to Yvie’s face, right until it was nearly touching her still frosty nose, a hair’s width from its tip. She leaned over the counter. “I don’t want to say this Yvie, but…” She poked Yvie with the rim of the cup, sparking something warm and electric inside her. “Is it possibly too festive? And therefore too festive to be holiday-y?” 

Yvie drew back with a gasp, clutching her chest. “Miss Scarlet!” 

“I know.” She pouted, playing into the idea that her language was vile, septically disgusting. 

“The blasphemy!” 

“I know!” 

It was silly, a silly game. And Yvie couldn’t remember the last time she played a purposeless game like this. Maybe when the M train was all backed up from god only knows what a month ago and she passed the time playing sudoku on her phone. But even that was numbers and patterns and some kind of mental gymnastics. Here, it was just saying whether the two liked the colors and patterns. It almost felt like playing as children. 

And as much as she could rationalize Scarlet needing this kind of fun in her menial job, especially with how she explained to Yvie that it was ‘so typical New York of her to make coffee until she got cast’ and how she likes to pass the time behind the counter making up characters to go with the people she waited on. Yvie probably needed this kind of fun too. 

“I see we’re doing this Merry Coffee thing, which is fun…” Scarlet trailed off, squinting at it. “Not that I’ve got important say here but I remember Brooke telling me about the time when they had just the plain red cups and oof.” Scarlet let out grunt with a quirk to her lips.

“It was apparently a hell shift. It was my first day and we were unpacking the holiday cups and she was on edge about them being Christmas enough for ‘Mothers of two-point-five kids and their husbands to not throw hot coffee at her’ like they did the year before. And then I was like ‘are they gonna throw coffee at me?’ and she looked me up and down and said absolutely.” 

Scarlet threw her hair over her shoulder. “And they have.” 

Yvie nodded, running through the math in her head, the idea of Scarlet covered in scalding coffee occupying only a second. If Scarlet started after that whole red cup, war on Christmas thing, then she had been here for years. Literal years. Yvie couldn’t figure what she had to be doing all these years to have never seen her, never taken note of her. She was sure if Scarlet was there the whole time, for years, Yvie would have noticed, no? 

Especially with how notable Yvie found her. Yes, that was what she would stick with. Her little cropped fuzzy sweater and her high waisted jeans, the ponytail and pink speckled acrylic hoop earrings. Notable. 

“I used to work nights only,” Scarlet added, turning the coffee cup about, as though she could read Yvie’s mind. “Actually, nights and weekends.”

“Oh.” Yvie felt completely slack, heat prickling at her cheeks though Scarlet was still studying the cup. Like she’d been found out. Like Scarlet had some kind of intuition for when she was on someone’s mind. Like Yvie had to be careful of something. “I’m always just here at six.”

“I’ve noticed.” A lilting exhale. 

“I’m not sure how to make coffee merry…” She trailed off, placing the cup to the side and deciding that she’d “try her damndest to make all coffee merry.”

She paused as the spotted the last one, with green polka dots on the red background, mouth open in a little O as she held it up to Yvie, the side of her hand brushed against the collar of her silk blouse, the touch perfect and chaste and yet Yvie found herself dumbfounded by the closeness of Scarlet’s to her chest, even with so many degrees between them. “Oh this one is perfect. It’s the exact same color.” 

Yvie glanced down, fully unaware of what she was wearing. She usually just got up and threw something together from her closet, sure she didn’t indulge in enough variation for anything to clash with anything else. 

But it was a perfect match between the red of her blouse and the red of the cup. 

“Huh.” Yvie couldn’t pull enough words together, especially with how Scarlet lingered, though they already matched up the reds.

But she didn’t move and Scarlet didn’t move, so they lingered on like this for a moment, up until Scarlet tore herself away to dig through tall cups to find this exact design. 

“I just think it’d be perfect for you to have everything all matchy.” Scarlet finally retrieved it and rang her up. “Like, it’ll be a fashion moment, for sure.” 

Yvie didn’t bother fighting against Scarlet’s excitement anymore. Instead she watched on as she marked up the cup and got to making the latte, pressing her hip against the counter, feeling the padding of her winter coat sink inward, finding herself staring at Scarlet and her meticulous movements, but not bothering to correct her gaze.

“You know, usually I hate when people order extra shots in their lattes.” 

“Oh, really.” Yvie’s lips curled at their ends. “You hate it?” 

“Well…” Scarlet pondered. “I surely don’t like it.” 

“Scarlet, is this your way of trying to get me to try some new Christmas drink you’ve come up with?” 

“No.” She steamed the milk before ceding to Yvie’s suspicions. “That’s still in its prototype stages. It’s just so hard to make things really green, you know?” 

Yvie could only imagine what kind of flavor combination was giving Scarlet such difficulty with making it green, shuttering at the returning thought of Scarlet’s Halloween drink, the thought alone turning her stomach. 

“Yes, I do know.” 

“See, Pearl told me that it needs more food coloring and less peppermint and caramel, but I’m just starting to think ‘making things green is hard’ might just be a fact of life.” 

“Well, when it’s here and green, I’ll try it.” Yvie said, somewhat hoping it would never become green enough for her to try, somewhat hoping it would, just so she could see Scarlet that excited again. It was cute how much someone loved the holidays, enough to make a drink for their own workplace. “You know, to save you from making all those extra shots.” 

Scarlet waved her off before pouring the milk, wavering just so, espresso rippling to create a leaf. 

“Wow,” Scarlet whispered to herself, setting the pitcher down. “God, I’m good.” 

Yvie came in closer to look at it. And it was exquisite. It looked effortless. Scarlet covered it with a lid. 

“I’m not supposed to tell you this, but this is my favorite latte leaf in my favorite cup and you’re my favorite customer.” Scarlet pushed the coffee across the counter before tending to another customer, now waiting at the register. 

She took the latte into her hands, relishing the warmth still so apparent through the cardboard sleeve, so cozy in her hands as she prepared to face the elements one more, though as she glanced back out the window, the snow seemed to have slowed down in the time she was talking with Scarlet. 

She turned over the conversation once more, staring off, half interestedly watching some city workers wrap the scraggly little trees that lined the sidewalk, shooting up from their gravel filled grates, in Christmas lights. 

Scarlet had been here a long time. At least three years. Three years of her menial coffee job. Three years of children yelling about whipped cream and making extra shots and business men with no manners and watching coworkers like Brooke finally get their big break, a break she’d been waiting her whole life for, hoping endlessly that she’d get called back for some minor role and that she could spin it into a career. 

Yvie craned her head back toward Scarlet, who counted change at her register, handing the man a few loose bills and a handful of coins.

It had been years, and that woman still had the nerve to get excited about cups and holidays. She had the nerve to have favorite latte leafs and customers, and tell them about it. The nerve to believe they cared as much about her as she did about them. 

And Yvie did. She was sure of it now. There was no way not to care about a woman with such a divine combination of grit and tenderness.

As Yvie left the store, she caught Scarlet mouthing to her “not my favorite” while giving a snappy tilt of the head to the man who just paid for his coffee, her grin snarky.

Yvie was sure Scarlet was her favorite barista. 

***

“Did you know that the mermaid on the latte stick is called Melusina. Well, it’s the mermaid that’s everywhere, but it’s also on the latte stick, you know?”

Yvie, now sat on the edge of the counter—after Scarlet assured her over and over that it was fine, no one was going to see her, and if her manager did see and yelled about it, Scarlet would wipe off exactly where her butt was, should her butt not be clean enough for Starbucks standards—stopped fiddling with the Christmas mug filled with those little green sticks. 

“No, I…” Yvie pulled one out and studied it, rubbing her thumb over the plastic embossing. “How do you know that?” 

Scarlet shrugged, pouring an espresso shot into Yvie’s cup, which this time was a green one, as Yvie insisted she didn’t need Scarlet wasting cups looking for one that matched Yvie’s ‘vibe,’ before Scarlet reasoned the green one did in fact match her vibe if she closed one eye and looked at her at a forty-five degree angle. Yvie supposed this was how vibes were checked nowadays. 

“I don’t. I was totally just lying to you.” Scarlet glanced up at Yvie, flashing that mischievous look at her before adding another shot. “If you say anything with enough confidence, you can make anyone believe you. Even a lawyer extraordinaire like yourself.” 

Yvie chuckled, shifting around on the counter, accidentally kicking her briefcase resting on the ground over on its side. “Gosh, I must be losing my touch.” 

“I sure hope not, or else you’re never gonna be a woman of the law in this here town again.” Scarlet leaned forward across the counter, slipping into a thick southern accent with ease, words dripping like molasses. Yvie played with the splash stick, staring down at her lap to hide how the heat prickled in her chest. Scarlet was very talented. 

“Nope, I must be losing it. If one little Lettie can lie to me and get away with it, imagine how many bad guys can?” Yvie faked a sniffle and a quivering lip. “If my firm finds out, I’m surely done for. They’d fire me on the spot, surely.” 

Scarlet scoffed. “I hope not. I got a feeling I’d like you less when you’re not in that whole lawyer-pantsuit-heels getup you got going on.” 

Yvie then felt very conscious of her clothing, of every pinstripe on her charcoal gray pants, of the white, silky blouse, of Scarlet’s eyes clearly scanning her clothing at the same time she was. She wrung her hands together. 

“I’m kidding. Gosh.” Scarlet shoved at her shoulder. “I’d like you in anything, nothing, all the inbetween.” 

Before Yvie could process, Scarlet ran into her next sentence. “Besides, not that I know how to make it as an actress, but I wouldn’t give up my lawyer job to follow that spastic lip quiver, wherever you think it’s going.” 

She slapped a lid on the cup and haphazardly pushed it across the way to Yvie, then moving to fix her hair. “Here’s your latte, Yvie, Ms. Lawyer Extraordinaire.” 

“Please, I’m sure you know enough about how to make it as an actress.” Yvie accepted the drink, fiddling with the sleeve on her cup. She made no move to lift herself from the counter, pick up her briefcase, and go about her day. “I know you have it in you. I’m so sure everyone’s gonna see it soon enough. I believe it.” 

And she did. Yvie didn’t expend energy lying, gassing people up, stumbling around fragile feelings. She never had the time for it and knew she probably never would. They were new words to her, assuring someone that their superficially outlandish dreams weren’t actually outlandish, but they felt correct to say. They felt like the most honest sentence she could say to Scarlet as the barista fiddled with her hair, trying to fit it into a suitable bun with a pout struck across her lips. 

Scarlet huffed. “You believed me when I said the mermaid was called Melusina and then you believed me when I said I was lying.”

“What does that have to do with anything, Scarlet?” 

Scarlet took the splash stick from her hands as Yvie looked up, following her touch, only to find Scarlet with her hair down and draped over her shoulders, those brown curls haloed by a golden friz, resting against the deep plum of her knit sweater. She cursed her body for acting as though she never saw a woman’s hair before, for picturing how it would feel as she grazed it, how Scarlet could just melt at Yvie’s fingers against her scalp. 

She would curse her mouth later for how it opened, how her lips parted at the thought. 

“I’m just saying, you’ll believe anything I say, even if it’s just me being delusional and really thinking I’m going to make it.” Scarlet gave the splash stick back. “Also it really is called Melusina and you should actually believe that.” 

She placed her latte back down on the counter. “Scarlet, I really do think—” 

But she was cut off by her fumbling hands as she tried to stick the splash stick into her latte without holding the cup firmly, tipping it over with her course movements, scrambling to stand it upright as the latte spilled out. 

“Fuck,” Yvie groaned, trying to pull a fistful of napkins out of the dispenser. 

“Hey, it’s fine” Scarlet reached over to steady her hand. She took a cloth to the mess. “I’ll just make you another.” 

“No really, you don’t have to. I spilled it and there’s probably still a lot left and I don’t want to trouble you.”

Yvie tried to take the cup but Scarlet was quicker.

“No really. I want to.” Scarlet walked back over to the register and pulled out another cup. “And besides, if I don’t remake it, I’m gonna spend all day thinking about you how you don’t have your latte and I’m gonna be sad over it.” 

Yvie couldn’t argue for Scarlet being sad all day, especially if what could prevent that sadness was her getting to remake the latte. So she nodded, though she considered if Scarlet did think about her before deciding not to bother herself any longer with following such a silly train of thought. 

Scarlet handed her the new latte after sticking a splash stick in herself. “Because now I know you can’t handle the Melusina splash stick,” she teased. 

“I’m gonna handle the Melusina splash stick tomorrow.” 

“Yeah you sure are. And I’m gonna get cast.” Scarlet rolled her eyes and flicked a strand of hair over her shoulder. 

Yvie picked up her briefcase and turned to leave, tossing “You’ll see. It’ll happen.” over her shoulder as she walked out, surely not referring to the silly little splash stick. 

Upon taking a good look at Melusina, she now saw Scarlet wrote Yvie’s name with what had to be a heart. She could spend all day convincing herself otherwise, but that was a heart and the end of her name, small and filled in with black Sharpie. And she was very sure she was going to spend all day thinking about that. 

***

It was all wet. The clouds broke ever more, leaving the street slick and oily under lamps and strung up lights outside little bistros, against the roving reds and purples filtering through the window of the nightclub Yvie passed before crossing the street, shouldering people aside, hoping to get inside somewhere, hoping to charge her phone, call a cab, and forget this whole night had even happened. 

She pulled her trench coat tighter, cursing the flimsy fabric in the January chill. She hadn’t thought to dress warmer, walking down a now well worn path in her unsensible heels and smart black dress, feeling her feet soaking through as she dodged sidewalk grates. 

She was only thankful for the crowds and the downpour to hide her tears, to smear her makeup further, to allow her night—or what should have been her night of getting dinner with that girl from finance, maybe a few drinks afterward — blur into the collective night of Manhattan, filtering out of anyone’s care or consciousness but her own. 

She came past those same mirrored windows, tearing her gaze away when she saw her hair stuck to her forehead, how she shivered and looked so small in her coat. She kept walking until she landed on the Starbucks, the one she knew so thoroughly, knowing that it was a tad past closing time, but, God, she hoped the doors would open at her needy tug. 

They didn’t. It was locked. Barely past 10 p.m. and it was already locked.

Fuck. God fuck. She just wanted to charge her phone a bit, hail a cab, and maybe get in from the cold for a moment. But she shouldn’t have bothered in the first place. Or at the very least, she shouldn’t have waited for hours for her to show up, sipping water from a sweating tulip glass, obsessively checking her phone for a text, a call, anything, deleting old emails to pass the time between unanswered, frantic calls, until she was asked to give up her table, battery hovering around five percent, swallowing to keep her lip from quivering, unable to swallow back her hot tears the minute she left the restaurant. Fucking stupid.

“Yvie?” 

She looked up, meeting Scarlet’s concerned face, head tilted as she fiddled with the key to the door, unlocking it, pushing it open, and pulling Yvie inside by the arm. 

“What happened? You—” Scarlet looked her up and down from an arm’s length. Yes, it had to be bad.

“I just gotta charge… Can I charge my phone here?” Yvie paused. “Since when do you work nights?”

Scarlet didn’t answer. Instead, she wrapped an arm around her waist and lead Yvie over to the couch — this well worn cognac leather thing with a couple rips down the side, sat in front of the window — and lowered her down, resting her hands on Yvie’s shoulders, fiddling with the lapel of her coat before smoothing her shoulders. 

“You stay here and I’ll be right back, okay?” She waited for Yvie to nod before she scurried off behind the counter. 

“Can I charge my phone?” Yvie called back, feeling her voice waiver. It was even more apparent in the empty store, nothing more than two people and the sound of hot liquid hitting a paper cup, lifting her head to see Scarlet tearing open a tea bag and shoving it down into the water with a wooden stick.

Scarlet jogged on back to the sofa, swearing every time the water sloshed over the edge of the cup, and placed it down on the table before sitting next to Yvie on the couch. “Sorry, yeah I work closing on Saturdays and yeah of course you can. I have a charger somewhere, I just thought you’d like something to warm you up first. I didn’t know how you took your tea though so I—. 

As Scarlet rambled, Yvie found herself growing all the more worked up, as though her throat were swelling and her chest had this raging, prickling burn until she spilled over again, until she felt fat, hot tears running down her face, until she heard Scarlet mutter “oh no, Yves,” until she felt the soft, warm, faded cotton of Scarlet’s striped long sleeve shirt against her cheek and Scarlet’s arms wrapped around her waist, fingers interwoven and resting on her back, anchoring her down. 

She let out a heaving sob, but tried to pull away. It was pathetic. She was acting pathetic. But Scarlet wouldn’t let her go, just pulled her in again, shushing her as she cried. 

“It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.” Scarlet’s voice was smooth, soft, with the texture of a cello’s vibrato. “What’s wrong, Yvie?” 

“She didn’t show up.” Yvie mumbled against Scarlet’s shirt, sniffling. She was probably staining Scarlet’s shirt with her damn mascara. “She was supposed to show up and she didn’t.” 

“What happened?” Scarlet pressed her cheek against Yvie’s wet face, nearly speaking into her hair. “Who didn’t show up?”

“My date. She worked in finance. She was a friend of Silky’s friend. She just…” Yvie pulled herself back, tearing the heels of her hands across her eyes. “I waited hours and she never showed up and she never said why and I…” Yvie felt smaller now, sinking into her coat. She felt like a smashed porcelain doll, all shards where her body should have been. 

“Why didn’t she show up?” Yvie asked, much quieter now, like the words were cursed. They did haunt her though. Why didn’t she show up? “I just want to know why.” 

“Hey,” Scarlet soothed and took Yvie’s hands, now clenched, and smoothed them out, holding them in her own, resting their clasped hands in her lap. 

“Well, Yvie,” Scarlet began as Yvie looked down at her lap. “It could have been traffic. Or maybe a rogue taxi driver took her to Long Island by what had to have been a mistake or maybe some evil plot because, like, it’s Long Island. Or maybe her cat died? Does she even have a cat? Maybe she got stuck at work late? Does she work Saturdays? Or maybe her phone died too.” Scarlet gave her hands a squeeze. “You know, two people can have a dead phone at the same time. My phone’s probably dead right now.” 

Yvie giggled lowly. 

“But probably she got stuck in Long Island and she’s suffering double right now because she missed a date with you, and you know…it’s Long Island.” She laughed to herself and Yvie couldn’t help but join in, falling forward, shoulders shaking. 

“It’s the Florida of New York,” Yvie added meekly. 

“Please, it’s the Tampa, Florida of New York.” Scarlet laughed again at her own joke. “I don’t know if that’s worse. I don’t know a lot about Florida, but it sounds worse. I feel like shit happens in Tampa.”

Yvie couldn’t help but join her, couldn’t help but look up to capture the image of Scarlet’s joy in her mind’s eye, let it wash over her, let it wash over her thoughts, only allowing the pressing, increasingly present thought of Scarlet and how she wouldn’t have wanted to be here with anyone else, how thankful she was that she answered the door, how she couldn’t picture enjoying her date more than she enjoyed Scarlet.

And she was staring at her lips, Scarlet’s lips, with their ChapSticked sheen, as she spoke. And her hands were in Scarlet’s. Oh, how she did that thing with her thumb, as though she could ease all of Yvie’s pain with a gentle massage to the knuckle, as though that was where the hurt was, just like she did when she’d just been dumped, months ago. She couldn’t have remembered how it calmed her, that metronomic, even touch, how it eased her hurt with its ceaselessness. And yet, if anyone would remember, it was Scarlet. 

It was always Scarlet, wasn’t it? Why was she fucking around with some other date, some woman who worked in finance, when the best part of her day was sitting right in front of her, holding her hands, rambling on about how Florida alligators probably got to Long Island via underground sewer channels that spanned the entire east coast.

“Scarlet?” Yvie pulled a hand out of Scarlet’s grasp to rest it on her leg, taking Scarlet out of her speech. 

She snapped down to stare at her hand before meeting Yvie’s gaze again, failing miserably to hide the blush that had spread across her cheeks, right up to the tip of her sculpted nose, illuminated by the string lighted trees and their honeyed light filtering through the window and the flush of the lamps flanking the couch. 

“Yeah?” 

Yvie swallowed. “May I…” She shook her head a tad. “Fuck, I—” 

“Hey, it’s fine,” Scarlet said, rubbing Yvie’s shoulder, water still beading on the sleeve of her jacket. She rested her hand on her forearm. “We don’t have to talk about tonight anymore. It’s all fine, Yvie.” 

“No, it’s just.” Yvie pushed her hair away, leaving her fingers caught in her still dripping hair, heavy sigh escaping her parted lips. She locked eyes with Scarlet. “You make every day better. You make all my days better. Every morning I start with you is better and every day after is better. Even rotten, horrible days are better. And just… I just want more of that. I want more of you.” 

“Scarlet.” She pulled her hand out of her hair and placed it over her and Scarlet’s interlocked hands, wrapping herself around them. “Can I kiss you?” 

Scarlet pressed her lips together, closing her eyes and exhaling into a smile. She nodded eagerly, so Yvie brought her hand to cradle Scarlet’s face, fingers grazing her jaw, thumb swiping across her cheek. Scarlet’s eyes roamed, first to their hands, still connected, still in Scarlet’s lap, then around the store and through the window, then back to Yvie. Yvie was sure she was looking directly at her now. 

“What are you looking at?” Yvie ended with a hum, leaning in closer. Their legs brushed together. 

Scarlet’s free hand shifted from Yvie’s arm to rest on her hip, teasing at the knit fabric of her dress. “I’m just taking it all in, is all.” She halted her movement, tilting her head back down to look at her lap. “Just… I’ve been here before, wanting you to kiss me for a while. And now it’s real.” 

Yvie now rubbed over Scarlet’s knuckles with her thumb, watching her chin tilt up to release a breathy giggle, like rings of smoke floating into the air. “It’s real, Scar.” 

With that, she captured Scaret’s open lips with hers, feeling Scarlet’s hand inch upward to rest on her waist as she deepened the kiss, feeling Scarlet’s hair brush against her neck, feeling her nose against her own, feeling Scarlet’s fingers stretch in their interlocked hands before gripping tighter in an attempt to pull her closer, like she was hers. And she was. 

They parted, foreheads still touching, fingers still intertwined. Yvie pressed her lips against Scarlet’s once more. 

“I—” Scarlet began, eyes still closed for a moment, breathing still deep and calm, fingers pressed so ardently into Yvie’s waist. 

“I want to be with you,” Yvie cut her off, letting her hand fall from Scarlet’s cheek to play with a tendril of Scarlet’s hair, fitting it between her thumb and index finger. 

Scarlet mashed her lips together before responding softly, her voice plush and full. “I want that too. I want to be with you too.” 

Upon hearing that, upon processing that Scarlet wanted her as well, that she was wanted, the severe elation of being wanted after being so aggressively unwanted moments ago, how her slick coat and soaked hair reminded her as much, she broke their hands apart and grabbed Scarlet roughly by her hips, pulling her into her lap and kissed her again and again and again, kissed until it all felt well-worn and new in the same breath, until all Yvie wanted to do was fit her chin on Scarlet’s shoulder and revel in the closeness she’d wanted for so long in the exact spot she’d wanted it. 

They sat together, the hours passing, thin as gossamer, fractured only by their words and the smattering of rainfall outside, far too intimate in the empty room to be anything but whispered, if for nothing but the reassurance that they were theirs and only theirs, openly, finally, and ceaselessly.

[paradoxesofgalaxies]

For the ask thing all of them :) if you don’t have the spoons 5, 7, 8 and 23. I hope you’re a good day :)

1. How old were you when you found out you had DID/OSDD?

28

2. What symptom disrupts your day to day life the most?

It varies a bit but a mix of flashbacks and time loss. Dissociation in general can also suck but most of the time it just kind of is. 

3. What is your favorite grounding tool?

Hmm… probably strong scents or interesting textures

4. What has your experience with therapy been like?

We’ve been in and out of therapy since age nine and it’s been a mix of good and bad experiences. Looking back, there were definitely previous therapists who suspected at least some of what was going on, but most of our symptoms were chalked up to a schizoaffective diagnosis. 

We’re not currently in therapy as we don’t have health insurance and can’t afford therapy. Our partner is in the process of finding a new job as his current position pays abysmally and once he finds something, we’re hoping to move to the next state over that has a much better healthcare system and actually has therapists who specialize in dissociative disorders. 

5. How often do you switch?

We switch at least a few times a day, though the frequency varies quite a bit. There are two littles who come out every day at pretty predictable times, though they also will pop out at random. Others will front sporadically but it’s pretty unpredictable. 

6. What does recovery mean for you?

That’s something we’re still figuring out. Right now, my primary goal is increasing communication between parts and helping parts feel comfortable expressing themselves. 

7. What aspect of recovering do you look forward to the most?

Hopefully, feeling ok. Like, I can’t remember a point in our life when we haven’t been struggling. We’ve experienced depression and trauma symptoms for so long that I really don’t know what it’s like to not experience that. I hope that one day we’ll be able to find peace and contentment.

8. What is a day in the life of your system look like?

Pretty dull, lol. We don’t have our drivers license right now, so we’re not able to leave the house independently which pretty much means we only get out of the house on our partner’s days off and he’s been having to pull a lot of overtime lately. 

Our neck’s been acting up again so for the past week or so our days have mostly been watching YouTube and gaming when we’re able to be upright for a bit. 

But it varies a lot depending on where we’re at physically. The past week and a half has been pretty rough so we haven’t been able to do much, but when we’re doing better physically, we like to craft 

9. What is your external support system like?

It’s pretty limited. After everything that happened last fall and having to move 4+ hours away and back in with my parents, we’re separated from most of our support system. We pretty much just have our partner here and our best friend back in NY. 

Where we are now, our options for meeting people are pretty limited and we’re stuck in a pretty conservative area so the idea of trying to make friends here is…daunting. Plus, with idea that we’ll hopefully be moving soon, I’m kinda just waiting until we’re in a new place to try to make connections, especially because the area we plan to move to is a lot more progressive. 

10. How do you record system activity?

Until recently, we just…didn’t. We’ve tried a variety of ways but have struggled to find a method that stuck. However, the other day I found a journal app that I really like and I’ve been doing pretty well so far at actually writing in it throughout the day though I’ve yet to have anyone else add to it. 

11. How does dissociation feel for you?

Lots of different ways depending on the moment. Sometimes it feels like dreaming. Sometimes it feels like being really tired. Sometimes it’s frightening. Sometimes it’s comforting. Sometimes it feels like not knowing who I am. Sometimes it feels like I’m not real. Sometimes it feels like everything is around me is just slightly out of reach. 

12. What music do you relate to your disorder?

I don’t really know. There’s a few songs by Marianas Trench that feel like they relate to me, but like, it’s usually not in a way I’m able to actually explain lol. But I guess the songs Astoria and Who Do You Love feel connected to me. 

13. What has your experience with the DID/OSDD community been like?

It’s mostly been as an observer. I watch a bunch of systems on youtube and follow a bunch of people on here and on instagram, but I don’t interact much. I post about stuff on here occasionally, but I haven’t really interacted much, mostly because I get to anxious to actually reach out to people. 

14. What media comforts you the most?

Probably Steven Universe, though we have a bunch of different comfort shows. 

15. Are there any popular coping/grounding tools that don’t work for you?

A lot of common breathing techniques like box breathing cause us to panic rather than calming us down. I don’t know why, but feeling like we can’t breathe, even momentarily, causes panic so any breathing exercises where you’re supposed to breathe out and hold don’t work for us. 

16. How does DID/OSDD affect you physically?

That’s something we’re still sorting out. I’m pretty our physical tics are related to it. 

17. What aspect of recovery are you working on right now?

Increasing communication

18. What co-morbid conditions interact with your DID/OSDD the most?

Probably our physical health stuff. Some physical symptoms affect different alters to different degrees so our pain levels and other symptoms often affect who can front. For instance, one of the littles experiences pain a lot more intensely than I do so lately, they’ve been having a hard time fronting even though they want to. 

19. Are you a trauma-over-sharer or a take-my-trauma-to-my-graver?

It varies amongst alters and traumas.

20. How much progress towards stability or recovery have you made since finding out about having DID/OSDD?

Quite a bit, though we still have a long way to go. 

When we first figured things out, it was in the midst of escaping an abusive situation that had gotten really bad. For awhile after escaping, we were a mess. The main host at the time had mostly stopped fronting and was incredibly distressed when they would come forward. In their absence, a revolving door of alters began fronting, many of whom were very angry or very depressed or terrified. We were lashing out and crying a lot and losing a lot of time. 

Out of this chaos, I emerged as the new host. I think I split off then to be the new host. At first, things were pretty rough and I would lose time when others fronted and we were getting triggered a lot. 

However, since then, I’ve gained decent communication with a couple alters and am starting to develop contact with more. We’re a lot more stable now I’m losing a lot less time. 

21. What does safety mean for you?

Being able to get a place with our partner away from our family.

22. Are there any emotions you struggle with experiencing or are isolated elsewhere in the system?

Most of them, lol. Like, I’ll start to experience an emotion but that often triggers someone else out, so *shrug*

23. How do you comfort distressed alters?

It depends on why they’re distressed. If it’s something that can be fixed, I’ll do what I can to fix it (like keeping a low level of light on at night to help those who are distressed by the dark). A lot of times, I’ll put on a comfort show to help redirect. 

24. Do you prefer internal (like thought and feeling) or external (like written notes) communication with alters?

So far, I haven’t gotten a lot of response with external communication, so it’s pretty much just internal communication for us. I sometimes get full thoughts from the others but a lot of times it’s feelings or songs and, occasionally, images.

25. What makes you happy?

Snuggles, spending time with our partner, crafting

***

holy crap that was a lot of questions! but that was really interesting, so thank you! 

~rowen

[badpoetrygames]

15 July 2022

Discovered Apple’s GameplayKit this week and man it seems pretty amazing. Not sure why they’ve buried the documentation on this. After WWDC 2022 had more videos on Unity integration than SpriteKit a lot of people have been speculating that Apple may be moving away from their own separate kits. From my long history being a Mac Addict, that doesn’t seem right to me, although stranger things have happened in the past. Maybe we’ll see some updates in the following years or a whole different library (SwiftGameKit, perhaps?).

Another discovery (literally just now): Tumblr’s new line mechanics has issues on their iOS app. Just spent way longer than I’d care to admit stubbornly trying to make a single line return while keeping a signature below the text. Now I’m back writing in Notes like I should’ve done from the get go.

Only a programmer will understand, but handling newlines can be surprisingly tricky. Wrote a Linux she’ll script to process Jira X-Ray tickets for BDD tests once and most of the devs were working on Macs or Redhat so the standard “\n” was no problem (wondering as I type how Tumblr will handle that escape character, lol); but when one of the PDMs used their windoze machine to edit a ticket it inserted a new line with the stupid “\r” Microsoft likes and it took me three days to figure out the issue. It was worse than parsing a non-breaking space, lol.

It’s bad enough that Microsoft has to make their own version and deviate from existing standards whenever possible (I’m looking at you C “#” instead of “++”, or Java, or swift, or whatever they’re knocking off these days); but then people who don’t even know the format of their hard disk want to act like Microsoft is the standard and everyone should up and change. BSD for life, lol. Okay enough of that.

Spent a good half day writing cloud error handling for Trenches when I realized that I created a framework for generic CloudKit error handling half a decade ago. Apparently reusability requires remembering that a library exists.

Another week done, another blog post finished!

❤️ + ☮️ + 🐔Grease,

-James

[cha0ticmimzy]

Visiting

This was inspired by @keiid‘s absolutely amazing artwork! I just had to write something after seeing it earlier. I hope you enjoy!!  Rated: G Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia Characters: Dabi, Todoroki Rei, mentions of Todoroki Fuyumi and Todoroki Natsuo. 

The facility was large- larger than he’d expected it to be. But then again, considering who he was here to visit, it came as no surprise. Of-course he’d spare no expense for her. Hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans, he watched from across the street as the car pulled up. His heart hurt, watching as familiar snowy white hair streaked with red appeared from the front of the hospital, another head of pure white hair following after. Familiar spikes made the snowy locks stand up as the pair walked together, slowly. They were talking, he noticed, and looking rather remorseful. Then again, considering what news just broke, it was no surprise. Endeavor becoming the number one hero… It was laughable.

He took a step out of the shadow and paused, watching as Fuyumi looked up and over, turquoise hues meeting a matching pair. She looked like she recognized him for a second, before she shook her head and slid into the car. It wasn’t an Uber- no, that was one of Enji’s cars, he noted. So she was still being driven about like a princess… At least she seemed to be healthy, as did Natsuo. And Shouto… He knew how Shouto looked. He’d stared into his eyes, had taunted him as they took his friend.

Sighing, he pulled his sunglasses down to cover his eyes, pulled the black medical mask up over his nose and mouth, and made his way across the street. It was ironic that today of all days, he’d visit her the same time they would. Had he gotten here earlier, there might’ve been a small family reunion happening. That wasn’t something he wanted to deal with, not right now. Not when he was fulfilling Stain’s idea, when the League was growing in power. The closer he got to the entrance, the more anxious he began to feel. Rubbing the back of his neck, he paused outside the doors, glancing around. It’d been at least a year since the last time he’d popped in to see her, and even then, she hadn’t been in her room. So he’d left her a bouquet and left, and that was that.

Drawing in a breath, he entered the facility, grimacing at the scent of sanitizer and bleach. “I’m here to see Todoroki Rei; I’m a cousin. Seiichi.” He explained to the receptionist, who requested him to show identification. Pulling out the photoshopped ID, he slid it across the desk, and waited with baited breath as she studied it before nodding. Breath leaving him in a silent sigh of relief, he took his ID back and slid it into his wallet. “Thank you,” he murmured, walking past the receptionist’s desk and towards the elevators. The stairs would take too long, and honestly, he didn’t feel like bothering with them. Arms crossing over his chest as he waited for the elevator to descend, he studied his reflection in the metal doors. His scars were hidden, at least those on his face. It was too hot to wear a jacket or a scarf, and that’d be suspicious if he showed up dressed in a trench coat. If anything, he just looked like a burn victim.

The soft ‘ding’ of the elevator arriving drove away his thoughts as he stepped in, pressed the number 7 for her floor, and waited. The soft elevator music was annoying, but it was better than silence. The ride up was smooth; when he was younger, he used to be afraid of elevators, scared that they’d come crashing down with him inside it. The fear still lingered as it jerked to a halt, making his stomach drop and his hands shake. All but sprinting out of the elevator, he took a moment to lean against the crème colored wall, catching his breath. Fears were weird like that. The hallway was empty, thankfully, as he made his way towards her apartment door. The floors were soft carpet, muffling the sound of footfalls. A courtesy, he assumed.

Knocking twice on the door, he waited for a moment before the familiar, soft tone of her voice drifted through. “Come in,” she called, voice muffled by the thick wood of the door. Swallowing back the rush of anxiety, he turned the handle and let himself in, quietly closing the door behind him. The apartment was the same as it was last year, though he noticed a fresh bouquet sitting in her windowsill. “Did you forget something, Fu?” She asked, voice coming from the kitchen. Clearing his throat, he made his way past the entrance hall, pulling the mask and sunglasses from his face. She still hadn’t turned around, he noticed; maybe she thought he was Natsuo? That thought was swept away as she turned.

Stormy grey hues widened in surprise at the sight of him.

“… Seiichi?” She whispered, voice wavering as she stepped closer, leaving barely two feet of distance between them. Her eyes were filling with tears, he noticed. Her hair had gotten longer- well, longer than when he’d been younger. She looked better than she had in that god-forsaken house, healthy. The blue button down top she wore flattered her well.

“Hey, mom.” Dabi replied quietly, gazing down at his mother. She came to his shoulder- he really had gotten his dad’s height. He watched her as she took another shaking step forward, before she lunged, surprising him. Her arms were tight around his middle, her face pressed into his chest. He could feel her shaking, could feel tears dripping onto his chest. Slowly, he wrapped his own arms around her, face lowering to her head, breathing in the familiar scent. Cold, winter, mint. So very her. It was a comfort, to have that familiar scent fill his senses. “I’m sorry it took so long for me to visit,” he murmured, feeling her pull back.

She was smiling. Bright, but shaky. He reached up to wipe away her tears.

“You… Just missed Fuyumi and Natsuo,” she began, hiccupping part way through her sentence, though there was a hint of a laugh in her voice. “They would have loved to see you.” She sounded so sure of it, he realized. So sure…

“Yeah… I’ll have to drop by and see them. Sometime.” Clearing his throat, he moved over to the table, leaning his weight upon it. “… How’s Shouto?” He asked, as if he hadn’t just seen him months before, as if he hadn’t kidnapped his classmate and set a forest full of children ablaze. As if he hadn’t nearly killed them all.

“He’s good!” She exclaimed, shuffling over to grab the letters scattered across the table top. “He writes often. Did you know he’s taking provisional courses to become a hero? He’s doing really good at UA,” she gushed, grinning, as she held up the letters as if to say ‘see? See?’. Smile pulling at burned lips, Dabi nodded. “He’s gotten a lot stronger, too.”

“I’m sure dad would be proud,” he couldn’t help the bitter tone that seeped into his voice. “He’s still sending you flowers?” He noted, nodding towards the bouquet. Rei hummed, nodding as she gazed at the flowers for a moment.

“… You know,” she began, looking up at her son, “he’s sorry for what happened.” He couldn’t help but roll his eyes, pushing away from the table with a frown. “He wants to see you- at least, I think he would want to.”

“Do you see him?” Dabi answered with a question, brow raising. “Because you make it sound like you don’t.”

“No,” Rei replied with a shake of her head. “I’m told he visits, but I don’t ever see him. I think it’s best that way.” Best that way, he noted. So she wasn’t completely forgiving him. Good. “Your hair… Why is it black?” She asked, reaching up with hesitation, before burying her hand in his hair. He ducked his head down for her, letting her muse it.

“’S easier. Didn’t wanna look like him,” he mumbled, pulling away after a moment, watching her hands fall to her sides. “… I just wanted to make sure you’re still okay. I need to go- I… Have a flight to catch.” He lied, heart clenching as her shoulders fell. Her smile was sad, not reaching her stormy grey eyes.

“Of course… You’ll come back, won’t you? Visit sooner?” She asked, voice hopeful, making a lump form in his throat. Forcing a smile, he nodded, stepping close to pull her into his arms once more. Just a little while longer, he thought to himself.

“Yeah, I will. Don’t worry about that. I promise I’ll be back soon. America’s… Pretty cool, but Japan will always be my home.” He replied, feeling her squeeze his middle. A chuckle escaped him as he pulled away, patting her head. “… I love you, mom.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “I love you too, Seiichi. Take care now, alright?” She smiled, and watched as he grabbed hold of the sunglasses and medical mask he’d placed down. Was he sick? He didn’t sound sick. Maybe it was allergies? When he’d been younger, he had bad allergies this time of year. The door closed behind him, and she was alone. The scent of cinnamon and spice and smoke clung to her skin, to her clothes, to the air around her.

Dabi ran a hand over his face as he quickly left the building, heading towards the old motorcycle he had parked down the street. That is, until his phone buzzed in his pocket. Pulling it out, he read over the text quickly. Brows raising, he looked up at the sky, as if he’d be able to see feathers.

Text from: Bird ‘Fireman is looking bad. Check news, Rot Boy.’

Deleting the text, he quickly tapped on the news app and began to watch the live stream, turquoise hues widening behind darkened sunglasses. The sight of Endeavor plummeting to the ground, of the blood pouring from a head wound, made his heart skip a beat. His father… No. He wasn’t his father any more. He shouldn’t feel any remorse. Eyes narrowing, he closed the app and pocketed his phone, walking with renewed vigor.

Endeavour was getting what he deserved, after the living hell he put his family through.

[yahoo-big-league-stew-blog]

Welcome to Atlanta, where the marketers market: Inside SunTrust Park, the Braves’ stunning new stadium

COBB COUNTY, Ga. — SunTrust Park, the still-under-warranty home of the Atlanta Braves, presents a simple truth: you can have one hell of a fine time here without ever seeing a single live pitch. Whether that fills you with excitement or regret probably depends on how old you were the first time you brought your smartphone to a ballgame.

There’s no doubt that SunTrust Park, which opens for regular-season duty Friday, is a beautiful facility. Brickwork, forest-green seats and navy blue accents highlight impeccable sightlines and an intimate feel; if it’s not already the ideal image of a ballpark, it’s going to be in the conversation.

But this is also a shrine to Brands as well as Braves, a place where every delight has its price, a place where there’s always a little bit better time waiting on the next level … if you’re willing to pay up. It’s also impossible to even consider SunTrust Park without considering the conditions under which it was born … and the conditions which you’ll endure getting here.

Still, in these turbulent and negative times, let’s go positivity-first. For its most obvious purpose — giving baseball fans an opportunity to watch baseball — this is a damn near flawless facility. SunTrust Park seats 41,149, roughly a 20 percent drop from Turner Field’s capacity. The seats are terraced in five sections rather than three, with the net result being fewer seats tucked under overhangs and more seats closer to the field. Where many stadiums have rows of seats that extend outward from the field into infinity, the terraces at SunTrust Park form more of an enclosing wall. If and when the Braves can rally their fans, they’ll have a hell of a home-field advantage. (Until then, Cubs, Red Sox and Yankees bandwagoners will have the run of the joint.)

SunTrust Park is ready for its close-up. (Yahoo Sports)

SunTrust Park features Braves history around every turn, from the bat Hank Aaron used to hit home run No. 715 to the brace Sid Bream wore as he trundled around third base to win the 1992 National League Championship Series. Braves players must pass the long list of Gold Glove and Silver Slugger winners. There’s even a Braves alumni lounge tucked away on the suite level, where the many former Braves who live in the area can hang out when they’re in the park. Current players get the luxury of theater seating, wide lockers and a pool table in their clubhouse. The team takes care of its own.

The team takes care of its field, too; we’re a long way from the days when the Braves had to share a stadium with the Falcons, the occasional soccer club, and whatever turf-shredding motocross event came to town while the ballclub was on a road trip. The grass resembles the greens at Augusta National; the infield dirt is as delicate as Himalayan salt. You cringe at the thought of the first pitcher scuffing up the mound, the first baserunner carving a trench en route to second base.

There are fun quirks beyond, as well. My personal favorite: the strip of brick wall that runs above the padding along the right-field fence. It’ll require right fielders to play NASA scientist on the fly, judging the angle and velocity of fly balls and either reel in the highlight catch or risk a bases-clearing carom off the bricks. You can imagine that fence coming into play on a chilly October night, a highlight that hasn’t happened for a playoff-level team that doesn’t yet exist.

But this place does that to you. SunTrust Park isn’t authentic — no stadium that’s younger than the milk in your fridge could be “authentic” — but it gives such a convincing appearance of authenticity that you feel like you’ve been here before. Start with the fact that this place bears more than a passing resemblance to the joint it’s replacing, from the brick façade to the color scheme to the locations of some key holdover clubs and brands. It’s as if Turner Field lost a few pounds, hit the gym, had a bit of work done and moved out to the suburbs.

Not a bad spot to watch a ballgame. (Yahoo Sports)

From there, note all the many elements that SunTrust Park has poached from other stadiums: the Monument Garden, the center-field fountain, the glassed-in walkway allowing high-roller fans to watch the players taking batting practice beneath the stadium, the right-field party area separated from the playing field itself by only a chain-link fence. You may have seen one or more of them before, but you’ve never seen them all together. It’s the Avengers Theory of stadium construction, and you can’t deny it’s an effective strategy.

The Braves roiled the entire city of Atlanta three years ago when they announced they’d be leaving Turner Field after just 17 seasons, then roiled their new hosts in Cobb County when county leaders pushed through approval of the project in just two weeks, without a public vote. But if the Braves can pull off what they’re trying to do — a $1.1 billion development that includes the stadium, a mixed-use retail/residential development, a concert hall, and more, all owned by the ballclub — this will be a model of 21st century sports team economics.

Plus, there are clearly plenty of brands that want in on the action. Standing at field level, you have no less than 22 different brands ranging from lawn-care products to potato chips to heath care facilities to auto manufacturers, all adorning every visible flat surface and a dozen elevated ones.

Look, we’re all living in a sponsor-driven world here; you’ve had to scroll past or around or through half a dozen sponsors on this article, too. But the relentless nature of sponsorship at SunTrust Park pummels you to the point that you stop even wondering why, say, SunTrust would think it’s a good idea to have kiosks teaching people about financial literacy at baseball games, the one place you usually go to escape such day-to-day concerns.

Good times await on the SunTrust Park rooftop. (Yahoo Sports)

For all the wonders of SunTrust Park — and there are many, including the rooftop hangout site that features couches and foosball tables — there’s also the not-insignificant matter of actually getting to the stadium. Traffic in Atlanta was a nightmare long before a chunk of one of the city’s central highways collapsed recently, and SunTrust sits right at the elbow of two of Atlanta’s busiest megahighways. (Though, given how much concern about traffic woes revolves around this new park, it’s a touch ironic that the Interstate 85 collapse would have had a much worse effect on Turner Field traffic than SunTrust.)

The traffic at SunTrust is a locals-only matter, so unless you’re living here or planning to come to a game — in which case you should have started driving yesterday — the streams of headlights and brake lights around the stadium won’t much matter to you. But here’s where we start to see the subtle shift from sports as an on-demand experience to an appointment-driven one. The Braves are hammering home the point that fans have to plan ahead — hence all the nearby entertainment/dining options — to avoid hours of seething rage behind the wheel. The days of rolling over to the ballpark on a whim are, apparently, as much a part of history as the Glavine/Smoltz/Maddux rotation. Uber and Waze are now the masters of this realm.

The app-centered economy dominates SunTrust. Parents used to reserving Disney rides weeks ahead of their visit will have no problem reserving time on the zipline and rock climbing wall the day before their game. Millennials accustomed to living life through a smartphone screen will have no problem adjusting to the routine of, say, purchasing their tickets through one app, purchasing parking through another, getting a ride to the park via a third, and navigating the ballpark through a fourth.

For many, even most, fans, all this connectivity won’t diminish their game-day enjoyment. SunTrust Park is so wired that, according to primo sponsor Xfinity, every single person in a sold-out stadium will be able to watch a video simultaneously. The hyperconnected nature of SunTrust Park thus allows fans to enjoy live baseball as one more experience amid a curated buffet of entertainment options. If you live your life one app at a time, SunTrust Park presents an ideal content experience.

The simple fact is that this is an impressive stadium — more than half a billion dollars goes a long way aesthetically — that will provide you a carefully curated afternoon of Baseball-Themed Entertainment. It’s worth a visit for stadium road-trippers, if only to see what’s coming next to your town.

I’ll bring my kids here, and they’ll have a hell of a time, and I will too, because baseball rules. And I’ll try to keep all of us off the zip lines and away from the carnival games and out of the concession lines and away from the exhibits and off our damn phones long enough to, you know, watch some actual baseball.

And then it will be up to the Braves to win … or, in the brand-driven parlance of the times, deliver an epic, bleeding-edge content experience via continuous, sustained deployment of mobile assets in a bid for world-class lower-tier scoreboard activation.

More MLB coverage from Yahoo Sports:

– – – – – –

Jay Busbee is a writer for Yahoo Sports and the author of EARNHARDT NATION, on sale now at Amazon or wherever books are sold. Contact him at jay.busbee@yahoo.com or find him on Twitter or on Facebook.