#feeling some kind of way about art and the internet as of late

[apencilandpen]

Okay, not to hype on the drawfee train again, but I've been watching their most recent art critique stream while I've been sick and like. They are just such excellent critics. I feel like a lot of "art critiques" on the internet are like "PRO ARTIST FIXES YOUR GARBAGE ART" and then they just draw over your work into their own style, but the drawfee team meets their learners where they are in their art journey. They recognize multiple times that style things aren't flaws, and intention is important. They also don't ever come down in people who are less experienced artists in a way that ever comes off as condescending or "just practice more." They always find something to compliment and gush about, and every critique attempts to be helpful to the person who submitted the art. It's a asked for critique, not an uncalled for roast, which I feel like the distinction between has been lost on the internet a lot.

ALSO they just make art so fun. I actually think that them talking about how art literally doesn't have to be "realistic" bc it's just a drawing, you can make up whatever you want is changing my mindset. Like, you wanna add a secondary light source but it doesn't make sense in the context of your drawing? Who says! You're the one making this up! You can do whatever you want! AND the phrase "it's just a drawing, nothing bad will happen bc you drew it/messed up/did something that 'didn't make sense'" is so important! Ita just a drawing! Art is just lines! Art is just lying! It's not always that deep! Drawfee just makes thinking about art so low pressure, and I feel like a lot of internet artists make it seem like really high pressure. It makes me so sad to hear artists I like on the internet talk about their sketchbook like an obligation or a task or a checklist when like...it's a sketchbook. It's for sketches. Idk, I just really love how drawfee doesn't treat art as this sacred practice that is so serious all the time. It's just lines!

[meownotgood]

my very first fictional crush vs my current one what do you think they'd talk about if they met

[valeisaslut]

⭒࿐COLLIDE - c. five teaser

redits for the fanart: nramvv - edited by me

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 - 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐑

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔.

← 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑟 | 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 | 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑖𝑣𝑒 →

⚢ pairing: Rockstar!Ellie Williams x Popstar!Reader 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ word count: 1.9k 𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⭒ content: MAINLY TO BAIT AND GROW SPECULATION FOR CHAPTER FIVE OMG SORRY YALL, LOTS of tension, fake dating, cursing, modern au, mention of cigarettes, alcohol and drugs, afab!reader, multiple part series, MEN AND MINORS DNI, likes and reblogs are deeply appreciated 𖥔 ݁ ˖

“She” hit first. And it hit hard.

No one saw it coming—not the industry, not the fans, not even you and Ellie.

One morning, it was just a melody. A quiet hum against warm skin, a song born from tangled sheets and late-night whispers.

The next, it was everywhere. 

Tearing through the charts like a wildfire, devouring streaming records before you could even blink. It was the song. The one no one could escape. The one that made people stop mid-breath, their hearts stuttering in their chests. Billboard #1 in hours. Millions of streams in days. Headlines scrambling to catch up with the sheer force of it.

And it wasn’t like people weren’t already obsessed with you two. But this? This wasn’t just a sneaky tabloid photo or a blurry Instagram story.

This was a confession.

The way your voice cracked on the bridge. The way Ellie’s guitar solo cut through the final chorus, sharp enough to scar. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was desperate in the way only truth could be. The kind of song that made the world wonder if they’d stumbled onto something too intimate, something they weren’t supposed to witness.

And then came the music video.

The barely-there touches. The weight of Ellie’s gaze, dark and all-consuming, like she was seconds away from ruining you. The way you let her. The way your body leaned into hers like the camera wasn’t even there, like none of it was staged. It didn't feel like a performance at all.

Millions of views in just an hour. People analyzed everything. Every glance, every breath, every shadow cast between your bodies. The debates were endless, scorching through Twitter threads to late-night talk shows. 

And then—before the chaos even had time to settle—your album dropped.

It wasn’t your debut. That one had been dreamy, wrapped in soft edges and rose-colored longing. This one? This was a gut punch. It was messy, vulnerable, exposed. A love letter soaked in gasoline, tossed into the fire for the whole world to watch it burn.

It tore through the charts like an unstoppable phenomenon, instantly much bigger than your first album. Critics and fans alike scrambled to dissect every lyric, every melody, searching for hidden meanings, unraveling the concept behind the album.

Theories flooded the internet—who was it about? What moments were immortalized in those verses? Each song felt like a puzzle piece, and the world was desperate to put it all together.

But the answer of everyone’s questions was at the center of it.

In only one song.

And y’all already know which one.

The one with the moans.

TikTok flooded with reaction videos—shocked expressions, wide eyes, hands covering mouths. Fans obsessed over every second, every aching note, every gasp laced between the lyrics. 

But then came the audio breakdowns. The pitch analyses. People isolating your voice, then isolating the other one behind you.

The low hum. The breathless murmurs. The unmistakable rasp of someone else's voice tangled in the melody.

It sounded way too much like Ellie.

And that’s when the world stopped breathing.

The theories came fast, dissecting every possible explanation. Was it really her? Was the song even about her? The fans knew. They had always known. Because the way the song teetered between ecstasy and devastation, between surrender and destruction, was undeniable.

Some called it art. Others called it a scandal. 

Was it real? Was it an act?

Did that even matter anymore?

Because that was the thing about you and Ellie.

No one could tell what was real anymore.

Not even you.

Ellie listened to your album the night it dropped.

You didn’t know when—if she did it alone in some dimly lit studio, headphones on, mind unreadable, or if she was sprawled across some worn-out couch with her band, Jesse and Dina cracking jokes, drinks in hand, the whole thing some chaotic, half-drunken listening party. Or maybe she wasn’t alone at all. Maybe someone else had been there, whispering in her ear, asking questions about you.

But you knew the exact moment she finished it.

Because your phone buzzed in the middle of your album release party.

You were in the VIP section, drink in hand, surrounded by producers, your team, friends—people cheering, dancing, celebrating you. The whole club pulsed with your voice, lyrics slipping through flashing lights, weaving between camera flashes, shaking the walls.

“Ellie - slide to answer”

Your stomach twisted. Your pulse stuttered.

Rachel, half-drunk beside you, caught the name on your screen and let out something between a gasp and a scream, gripping your wrist. “Oh, you are absolutely answering that.”

“Not here,” you muttered, but you were already slipping through the crowd, ignoring the calls of your label rep as you pushed past swaying bodies, the music drowning out your racing thoughts. You found an empty hallway near the back exit, the bass from the club still rumbling through the walls, and exhaled before swiping to answer.

Ellie’s voice—low, rough, teasing—slid through the speaker instantly, wrapping around you like smoke.

“So” she drawled, “Is this where I get a thank you?”

You frowned, pressing your back against the cool brick wall. “For what?”

A chuckle. “For inspiring at least half your album.”

Your fingers tightened around the phone.

She let the silence stretch, letting you stew in it, savoring the way you struggled to find a response.

“You did real good, popstar” she finally murmured. “The whole thing’s fucking stunning.”

Heat curled in your stomach as you murmured, "...Thank you"

But you knew Ellie. Knew her well enough to hear the smirk in her voice. Knew this conversation wasn’t over.

“But that song?” she continued, voice dipping lower. “The one everyone’s freaking out about?”

Ellie hummed, and fuck—fuck—it sounded just like the hum in the song.

“Dunno, babe. Kinda sounds like me.”

You blinked hard. “Kinda?”

A small, amused exhale. “Oh, yeah, not kinda. Definitely”.

“Those moans tho? Damn, didn’t even remember you sounding that good…” She let the words hang. “Can’t blame people for freaking out over it. You stole the show.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. You knew exactly what part she meant.

You scoffed, but your voice came out weaker than you wanted. “Maybe they’re freaking out over your voice in the background. Pretty reckless of you, Williams. Letting the whole world hear you like that.”

Silence. A charged one.

Then Ellie muttered something under her breath, like she didn’t mean to say it out loud.

You smirked. “What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“No, no, you totally just said something.”

A long, suffering sigh. Then—begrudgingly—"I said… maybe you like that.”

She was baiting you. She wanted you to bite.

So you did.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I liked something you did with your voice"

Silence.

Then— “Holy fuck.” Ellie groaned. “You’re actually evil.”

You grinned. “Oh, come on. You walked right into that.”

“I did not—”

“You called me,” you pointed out. “At two in the morning. Just to talk about that song.”

“I called you to congratulate you on the album.”

“And to tell me how good I sound moaning in your ear.”

A sharp inhale. “...Jesus Christ.”

“Hey, your words, not mine.”

You laughed, and she groaned again, but this time, it was softer. Playful.

Ellie sighed, something softer sneaking into her voice. “Really, though. It’s incredible.”

“You should be proud,” she added, quieter now. “Even if you did kinda put my voice on a sex song without my permission.”

“Oh my God—”

“Night, popstar” she cooed, voice dripping with amusement. “Try not to dream about me too much.”

Then she hung up, leaving you standing there, heart hammering, face burning, wondering how the fuck she always managed to win.

Just as the world was still catching its breath—The Fireflies struck back.

They had always been big. But this? This was dominance. A calculated move wrapped in chaos, their album detonating like a bomb at the peak of the frenzy. It rode the shockwave of She, fed off the obsession the world had with the two of you, twisting it into something even bigger.

And at the center of it all—her.

Gritty. Hungry. Unapologetic. Ellie’s voice cut through the speakers like a blade. The songs were restless, starved. Each lyric dripped with defiance, sharp enough to wound. The melodies hit like bruises, the guitar riffs torn straight from something primal. It was sex and recklessness and longing, a live wire of emotion that crackled under every chord, every note.

But more than anything, it felt like a challenge.

Because this wasn’t just any album. This was Ellie answering yours, a response carved into sound waves, a conversation neither of you had ever spoken aloud. The lyrics—too pointed to be coincidence, too raw to be fiction—hung in the air like a dare, a fire set ablaze for the whole world to watch.

But one particular track stopped you cold.

You had known The Fireflies’ album was coming. Had seen the press releases, the teasing interviews, the cryptic tweets. You had prepared for it. Braced yourself for whatever storm they were about to unleash.

But nothing—nothing—could have prepared you for that song.

You weren’t even listening in order. The whole club was playing their music at full volume, but somewhere between dodging cameras and downing another drink, you slipped into a booth in the corner, threw in your AirPods, and started skipping through the tracklist.

And there it was.

"For Your Love."

The moment the first chords hit, something in you froze.

It wasn’t as raw as the rest of the album, not as brutal or reckless. This one was different. The melody curled into your ribs, burrowed under your skin, something quiet and agonizing and tender.

And the lyrics—

Jesus Christ, the lyrics.

Ellie’s voice, rough around the edges, singing about a love that clawed its way under her skin. A love that was too much, too consuming, too dangerous, and yet—she would do anything for it. Burn every bridge, tear herself apart, just to hold it for a little longer.

The song writing credits? only one name: Ellie Williams

Your throat went dry.

Because it didn’t sound like a challenge. Didn’t sound like reckless, cocky Ellie with her knowing smirk and sharp-edged voice.

It sounded like something else. Something real.

Your fingers hovered over your phone, heart hammering. Then, before you could think twice, you pulled up her contact and typed.

You: slick move, williams. real slick.

You: congrats on the album. it’s a fucking masterpiece. like fr. and tell Jesse and Dina I said hi

You stared at the text. Considered unsending it.

But before you could, your phone buzzed.

Ellie: you listened already? damn, didn’t know you were my biggest fan

You rolled your eyes, thumbs hovering over the keyboard.

You: only a couple

You: one in particular caught my attention tho

Ellie: yeah? which one?

You hesitated. Then—

You: we’ll talk about that one later

She read it immediately. The typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

Ellie: tease.

The Grammy nominations dropped at midnight. 

Five for you. Seven for The Fireflies.

But the ones that truly made your heart stop beating;

Record of the Year and Best Duo/Group Performance.

For She.

The reaction was immediate.

Your phone was already vibrating off the nightstand before your brain even processed the words glowing on the screen. Notifications flooded in like a tidal wave—texts, tags, tweets, news alerts. Your name and Ellie’s were already trending worldwide, once again tangled together like a force of nature.

By morning, it wasn’t just social media that was on fire—it was the entire goddamn world. Every talk show, every entertainment segment, every late-night monologue had something to say about it. Everyone from Rolling Stone to the New York Times was running the same story: Ellie Williams and Y/N are taking over the industry.

And yet, despite all the discourse, despite the endless debates and breathless speculation—there was one question burning hotter than all the others.

Would you and Ellie perform together at the Grammys?

It was too much to even think about. Because if She had already sent the world spiraling. If a song, just a song, had caused this level of obsession, of hysteria, of tension so thick people could barely breathe through it—

What the fuck would happen if you and Ellie brought it to life on the biggest stage in the world?

No one was prepared.

Least of all, you.

← 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑟 | 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 | 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑖𝑣𝑒 →

taglist (tysm for supporting, hope you enjoy <333): @st0nerlesb0 @willurms @vahnilla @mancyw1214 @rxreaqia @laceyxrenee @antobooh @annoyingpersonxoxo @haithone @lofied @sunflowerwinds @xojunebugxo @reidairie @piscesthepoet @elliewilliamskisser2000 @pariiissssssss @mxquelo @elliesbabygirl @xx2849 @kiiramiz @mikellie @brooks-lin @kaykeryyy @lovely-wisteria @marscardigan @elliesanqel @lovelaymedown @gold-dustwomxn @ilovewomenfr @seraphicsentences @mascspleasegetmepregnant @raindroprose23 @creepyswag  @jujueilish @elliesgffrfr @kirammanss @liztreez @catrapplesauces @livvietalks @furtherrawayy @thatchosen1 @kanadadryer @littlerosiesthings @eriiwaii @firefly-ace @redlightellie @elliepoems @sabrinathewitchh982 @shady-lemur @jubileexoxo

࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ OMFG GUYS. I POSTED THIS MOSTLY SO CHAPTER FIVE WOULDN'T BE THAT LONG AND TO GROW SOME EXPECTATION IM SO SO SO EXCITEDDDD. I did like 30 proofreads, but there might still be a few grammar mistakes here and there—sorry in advance, english isn't my first language and I will be happy to receive constructive criticism!.

Please leave a comment if you’re interested in being on the permanent taglist for this series!

see ya'll soon, stay tuned ;)

[txttletale]

hey what DO you watch on youtube? seems like you'd have some neat recommendations :3

i really loathe the like super-highly edited sound effect post-mrbeast slop most of youtube is now so i mostly like stuff that's like... calm and sedate. stuff i've been watching lately in no particular order:

northernlion vods and clips. he's an OG. i especially like his react court series, i must have watched all of them like five times.

speaking of OGs i've been watching zero puncutation (now fully ramblomatic) for like ten years and if anything it's only gotten better. best game review content on the internet. been really enjoying his more recent, slightly longer and more thoughtful 'extra punctuation/semi-ramblomatic' series too.

any austin's skyrim unemployment rate videos. instant classics to me, it's just a guy going around in skyrim trying to figure out the unemployment rate in every town. it's a very dry kind of humour, he plays it admirably straight, and it's weirdly calming.

kitten arcader's foot the bill videos. in a kind of similar vein, he watches the saw movies and then produces an itemized bill for everything jigsaw needed to buy to make his traps. it's kind of like... if cinemasins was fundamentally curious instead of fundamentally incurious, it scratches a similar sort of nitpicky detail-oriented quantifying itch but without inimical to the concept of art.

shuffle up and play. it's a magic the gathering play series that has enough editing that the gamestate is actually legible but not enough editing (or at least, not enough obtrusive in-your-face editing) that its annoying. i also like that they reguilarly play non-edh formats like cube and pauper.

spice8rack. i'm pretty picky about video essays but spice8rack has very obviously actually read books and has interesting things to say about the topics it discusses (mostly magic: the gathering). sometimes it has a kind of grating Theater Kid Energy but the fact that it actually meaningfully structures essays and analysis to earn the silly long runtimes is a rare delight from a video essayist.

jenny nicholson is a long-time favourite and another permanent fixture in my rotation. she's just extremely, remarkably funny which makes her the only 'basically just summarizing a thing' youtuber i think is worth the time of day.

i watch some sketch comedy, mainly wizards with guns and aunty donna, who both consistently put out really funny stuff that's kind of ITYSL-adjacent in its barefaced absurdism and contenmpt for concepts like "stopping a joke at the logical punchline". i also really like alasdair beckett-king and binging the old clickhole backlog for short-form comedy on youtube.

wolfeyvgc is right on the edge of the level of editing i find tolerable but as a long-time fan of multiple esports he Has It, he's absolutelyt fantastic at t elling the narrative of a tournament, explaining plays clearly, and generally making competitive pokemon esports thrilling and interesting ti someone (me) who#s never played it and doesn't care about pkoemon that much

i religously watch every elliespectacular/dathings YTP, the absolute best in the game right now, top tier snetence mixing and really good at actually setting up and paying off jokes in a way it feels like a lot of ytp doesn't. verytallbart is also pretty good.

trapperdapper is a channel i recently binged, it's a really fucking funny parody of minecraft challenge content that veers slowly from obvious angles of parody into pure absurdism with tons of blink-and-you'll miss it subtle visual gags.

too much future is a great youtube series where the two guys from just king things/homestuck made this world play through every fallout game and analyze them in that context. extremely funny and also just top-tier very sharp analysis. really good

another one of the rare good video essayists is jan misali. they're really funny and will go into topics that kind of seem narrow or strange to begin with in such depth and make them so interesting that it's consistently astonishing.

oh and finally sarah z makes pretty good videos. 'the narcissist scare' is an absolutely brilliant deconstruction of one of the most annoying pop-psych phenomena of the last couple years. and remarkably well script supervised i think did anyone else watch it and think 'wow the script supervisor on this must have been, a mind geniuse'

ok i think that's all i've been watching lately. hope you like whcihever of these recs you check out :)

[kiwiqueen13]

 My thoughts have been preoccupied as of late worrying about https://www.tumblr.com/queenkatluv @queenkatluv ‘s whole situation. She’s the voice actor for Earth from The Sun and Moon Show / The Lunar and Earth Show, and has recently been relentlessly harassed and criticized by her so-called fans about the quality of her work to the point that she decided to quit working on the Lunar and Earth Show as a writer. I wanted to draw something special in honor of her, to kind of say sorry about how all the awful bullies have been treating her, since I haven’t done any art of Earth yet and the character is currently going through something that I personally relate deeply to.

Long story short, Earth has been hurt by Lunar in a way that’s left her in crippling pain that will likely linger with her for the rest of her life. I too have chronic pain in the form of daily migraines, and I have never related so closely to another character before. In fact, I have a headache as of writing this post, and I’m just so used to the pain I don’t notice unless I point it out to myself. The scene where she was talking with everyone else in bed about her condition - wondering what to do, wondering if it can be fixed, wondering what will happen if it will NEVER be fixed, feeling claustrophobic overwhelming dread as reality begins to sink in that the pain will never leave – it struck a chord because of how closely it reflected how I felt when I was diagnosed. It was just so scarily real to me, in a way that shows the true mark of an incredible writer.

I want to say to Kat, thank you so much for what you’ve done for this fandom. The people who don’t appreciate it just have standards too impossible to reach. You’ve done a beautiful job, and having Earth effected like this has evoked so many powerful emotions in me that I never thought possible. You’ve crafted a wonderful story, even if some stuck-up brats on the internet don’t see it ❤️

[the-peak-tmnt]

Hey The Neon Void readers, quick update from the author's sister!

(art commission by @kaysdenofchaos)

Hi readers of The Neon Void fanfic. This is the author’s older sister. She’s been getting a lot of fan art and asks lately. She’s sent me screenshots of a few unanswered ones looking for advice on how to respond.

While all the love and support of TNV is genuinely appreciated, my sister @sugarpasteltmnt is not equipped to respond to a small handful of these asks/comments that are, quite frankly, inappropriate.

Sugarpastels is not a therapist, and she’s certainly not an internet stranger’s therapist.

She’s an adult with an extremely demanding and stressful job for a very large client. Some of you have already experienced and enjoyed her work IRL without knowing it. Her company is close to finishing another project that will bring a lot of joy to hundreds of thousands of people every year, but working on a project of that scale is extremely stressful.

She is writing this fanfic for fun. TNV is a way for her to decompress and put her creative energy towards something other than work.

What’s not fun is coming home to asks/comments from readers who are projecting their own struggles/mental health onto TNV, and even Sugarpastels herself, and demanding some sort of attention from her over it.

Let’s be real: it’s fun to watch our blorbos suffer! So much of fandom is just us putting our favorite characters in Situations because it’s fun. Simple as that. But I think another reason TNV has resonated so strongly with readers is because of the way Sugarpastels writes the internal struggles of these characters.

We are both aware that TNV deals with mental health topics. Since the early days of “modern” fandom, fanfiction has been a way for people to explore complicated, difficult and sometimes even taboo subjects. There’s no shortage of complex feelings being explored in TNV, which is why we’re all having so much fun reading it.

But that’s all it is; an exploration. Sugarpastels is not a mental health expert. I’ve read a handful of books on PTSD and mindfulness for research while writing my own fanfic, and I would never consider myself prepared to help someone else.

It’s okay if you relate to things from TNV. I know I do! Again, fanfic has always been a way to read about things rarely dealt with (or handled poorly) in published fiction/tv shows/movies. I will always argue one of the greatest things about fanfiction and other fanworks is being able to see ourselves and our own struggles through our favorite fictional characters.

But Sugarpastels is not a fictional character. She’s a real person. Most importantly (to me at least) she’s my little sister, and this big sister cannot handle watching some of her readers expect more of her than is appropriate.

So I’m asking you to please be mindful of what you ask/say to not just her, but literally everyone on the internet. Unless you’re chatting with someone regularly, they do not know you. Whether it’s friends, family, teachers, coaches, etc, there are people in your life who know you personally, and are therefore better equipped to help you than a stranger on the internet.

Sugarpastels is so full of empathy that it’s hard to not feel for you when you send things like this. But it just isn’t fair to put that kind of unnecessary pressure on someone who is, at the end of the day, just trying to have some fun writing about ninja turtles bein’ sad.

(That being said, PLEASE DON’T BE SCARED TO SEND HER ASKS AND FAN ART!!! They make her day every single time and are seriously so, so appreciated. She’s texting me about it constantly how much she loves all of TNV’s readers. This whole post is really directed at an extremely small percentage of her readers, but there have been enough I felt something needed to be said.)

[theveryworstthing]

I'm Alive

I posted this on patreon so I might as well post it again here. Hopefully current and past patrons see this as well as people who have just been generally curious about where I've been.

I'm very sorry for not being around and I'm very grateful to those who stuck around. To those who didn't, I get it and I truly appreciate you passing through. 

Last year and the beginning of this year have been pretty bad. Some of you might have heard about my grandma's death and sadly, she was just the first of the family losses in the time I've been gone. There was also a friend's death discovery, my parents' health tanking, my friends Going Through It, and my own physical/mental problems. I didn't want to talk to the internet about these things because they were/are very overwhelming and private and tbh I used all my energy to help with the household and make sure work got turned in on time. When I had spare time after dealing with the near constant disasters, I didn't really feel like interacting with the internet at all beyond using it as a way to talk to far away friends (mostly to give them the thumbs up that i was alive) or watch/read things when my brain was less scrambled. Social media was an absolute no go and I didn't have any non-work art to post so I just kind of mentally crawled under the porch to die lol. 

I only drew work related things for months due to extreme burnout and it took me almost a month off after my last job to remember how to create again. I couldn't draw or write, it was kinda like art block except it was more like nothing was there at all? It's hard to explain. 

Things are still happening but I need to get back in the saddle eventually so here I am. 

I'm going to post the little art I did in June and all the sketches I did in January when I re-learned how to draw for myself. Again, I'm so sorry for being away without saying anything and I'm grateful to whoever threw me a buck, or even just casually enjoyed my art. Leaving like I did was really irresponsible and there's no excuse for not at least making a post about all of this sooner.  Every month I got a patreon payment was another wave of guilt because I literally couldn't give y'all anything but at the same time that money was letting me book flights to funerals and keeping my mom comfortable while she recovered from surgery right after I spent a lot of my savings in 2022 trying to fight my late cat's cancer. And then not posting about what was going on made me more anxious as time went on because there was more guilt every month so I felt like I needed to come back with a bunch of art and energy and good reasons and it was just. A Mess. 

But anyway.

I'm alive, I'm back. The Horrors persist, but so do I.

Thank you for your patience.

[gingerteafairy]

i want to thank @marchsfreakshow for encouraging me to post it. this is insanely long, had to be divided into other chapters, this is the first one. hope you guys like it because i loved to write this fic. sorry for the mistakes here. english is not my first language. special thanks for @ikkyfics!!

THE GREAT GUIDE FOR JAILBIRDS IN LOVE

warren lipka x fem!reader part two

summary: tough times shows up after prision. His only alternative? Working miles away from home. The name of the place was almost faded, but he could still make it out: Last Chance Market.

tags n warnings: postprison!warren, singlemom!reader, language, age gap (late 20s/early 30s), suggestive, complicated family scenario. word count: 13k

Rule #1: Make a Good Impression

Warren was cornered. Spending time in prison wasn’t as tough as what came after: having to rebuild his life from scratch, with that stupid criminal record hanging around his neck like a weight. There was no place for him anywhere, not even at street corner markets selling stolen cigarettes. He felt useless. He’d been turned down even for a job at a sleazy motel, where not even the criminal underworld seemed to want him anymore. Rent was overdue, and his last meal of the month was expired cereal from a month ago and a warm bottle of beer, which he was still deciding whether or not to drink to numb the pain a little.

He had almost given up on looking for more opportunities. Maybe selling art on the beach, like Spencer, or getting rid of all the junk in his place until he was left with just a bed and a fridge. Because, honestly, even a wood-burning stove could come in handy these days.

What was there to do now? The answer was simple: absolutely nothing. Just shrink. He slouched on the couch, legs stretched out, eyes glued to his phone screen, as if it were his last lifeline. The internet bill was the only thing he had managed to keep up with. Funny. He could be broke and starving, but funny videos were a relief. Reality, no matter how harsh, could wait. He mindlessly scrolled through the feed, as if in some way postponing the inevitable, until a message flashed on the screen, snapping him out of his stupor.

Spencer:

Hey man. My buddy’s market is hiring. Cashier. Male. $1,720. Fuel help. Only requirement is knowing how to count change. No small talk. Just show up today at 3 PM.

It was impossible not to feel an immediate sense of relief, like life had suddenly given him a second chance. This had to be some kind of miracle. But of course, there was a catch. It was already 2 PM, and the market was on the other side of the city. So, what did he do? Like an automatic reflex, he glanced at the dirty mirror on the wall. He needed a shower, at least.

He grabbed his phone again without thinking twice. Before stepping into the bathroom, he sent Spencer a message.

Warren:

Thanks, man. I know this could be my last shot before I fade into invisibility.

Spencer:

I know things are tough. Good luck. I know you’ll nail it.

With that, Warren rushed into the shower, doing the bare minimum to look like someone who hadn’t completely lost himself. He thought about his clothes. His first option was what was left of the most “decent” outfit— the T-shirt and jeans he’d worn the day of the robbery. “Great, perfect impression, Warren Lipka,” he muttered, staring at himself in the mirror. The shirt was wrinkled, and the jeans had a hole in the pocket, but deep down, he didn’t care anymore. Ironing? Maybe another day. If he had to go, he might as well go in style. A style that was wrinkled, but still, style.

He checked the GPS and entered the address. The drive would be long, the kind of trip that makes you see parts of the city you only know by name. It felt like a tour, but of a place you didn’t want to know. The city stretched out, as if it couldn’t quite handle its own misery. Finally, he reached a run-down market and parked in a secluded corner. The name of the place was almost faded, but he could still make it out: Last Chance Market.

“Last Chance? What a joke,” he muttered to himself, laughing quietly as he stepped out of the car. He locked the door quickly, not wasting time. What kind of neighborhood was this? You never know when a bigger problem might pop up, something worse than a simple job interview.

He took a deep breath, trying to stay calm, but a strange wave of nervousness hit him. It was just another job, he told himself. Just another one, a way to get things moving, even a little. If he was lucky, maybe he'd even come out with some dignity. If he was unlucky... well, he was used to that.

The one thing he knew for sure was that, somehow, life wouldn’t wait for him to figure things out. He had to try. Even if it was at a place called Last Chance.

He pushed open the door, hearing the little bell ring, announcing his entrance. The place was so quiet that the sound seemed to echo in the emptiness. As Warren had expected, no one was in sight. He let out a low, almost scornful laugh, twirling his car keys in his fingers before slipping them into his pocket. "This place looks like it’s been forgotten," he thought, feeling an odd sense of discomfort, but he knew there was no choice but to press on.

“Is anyone here?” he shouted, hoping no one would answer. That way, he could just turn around and leave this bizarre place behind, a bad judgment call.

The silence lingered for a few seconds, but no answer came. With nothing else to do, he shrugged and began walking through the narrow aisles. Hands in his pockets, Warren scanned the area, his eyes sharp, looking for any sign of a security camera. No security in this place? Typical. He gave a crooked smile, and as he passed a shelf, he grabbed a chocolate bar and slipped it into his pocket with a quick, almost natural motion.

"Why are you stealing?" The sudden, sharp voice of a child cut through the air, making Warren jump back, knocking the candy off the shelf. They fell to the floor with a small clatter, creating an absurd scene. "Shit, that scared the hell out of me."

"Jesus, kid. Where did you..." He muttered, instinctively raising his fist, as if it were an automatic reaction, but quickly lowering it when he saw the child. It was just a little boy, there was no way he could hit someone that young. "I wasn’t stealing, man. I was just saving it to pay later."

"Luke, who are you talking to?" Her voice came in soft but firm. Warren turned, his eyes widening, and there you were: so beautiful, it almost seemed out of place in this dead-end town. You appeared so suddenly he barely had time to process it.

"Talking to this guy who was..." The little boy began to reply, but you interrupted him with a calm smile.

"Warren Lipka." He quickly introduced himself, extending his hand to you. He wanted to make a good impression, or at least seem less pathetic than he felt. "I’m here for the job interview they said was going on."

You paused for a moment, then let out a short laugh, gentler than he expected. "Oh, you’re Warren, I should’ve guessed." You shook his hand politely, with a confidence he couldn’t even pretend to have. Then, with a motherly gesture, you turned back to the boy, who was still staring curiously at Warren.

You bent down and kissed the boy on the top of his head, the gesture so natural, like it was something you did every day. Afterward, you turned and started walking toward a door behind the cashier. "Come on, or are you going to steal another chocolate?" You asked, your voice laced with light teasing. Warren almost wanted to bury himself right then and there, embarrassed for being caught.

"How..." He began to ask, unsure of what exactly to say.

"Hidden camera," you explained, flashing a mischievous smile. You watched as he began scanning the room with his eyes, trying to piece together what had just happened. "I’ll show you later. Now come on."

With one last glance around the place, Warren, still confused and wearing an awkward smile, followed you to the door.

The room revealed was simple, with white walls and a large shelf on one side covered in folders and a few books—most of them children’s books, others Warren couldn’t identify, but from the titles, he could tell they were probably boring. You gestured for him to sit, and then took a seat across the desk. Warren distractedly looked at the small photo on the desk: the little boy outside, smiling beside you in a park filled with trees. Their smiles, so natural, reflected a moment of happiness.

"You two look alike." Warren started the conversation, pointing at the photo with one hand while the other fiddled in his pocket.

"They say he has my eyes. But I think it’s the hair, maybe the shape of the face." You smiled softly, stretching your neck to look at the photo more closely, the movement light and effortless.

"Maybe it’s the eyes. They really do look like yours." Warren said, shaking his head with a somewhat awkward smile. "You’re a really great older sister."

You let out a soft laugh, masking a smile that slipped out for just a moment. "Thanks, but Luke’s my son."

Warren froze, his jaw dropping at the revelation. He widened his eyes, unable to believe it, then quickly disguised his shock, putting his hands to his mouth like he was trying to wipe the look of disbelief off his face. "Now it all makes sense," he murmured, unaware of how visibly stunned he was.

"What?" You asked, raising an eyebrow, curious.

"I’ve never seen a sibling so affectionate. I used to fight with mine all the time." Warren laughed, still in disbelief, furrowing his brow casually as if trying to make the moment less awkward.

"Really? I had Luke when I was really young, 18 years old to be exact." You added, your hands folding on the table, your expression now more serious, as if you were sharing a piece of your story.

"Damn. God, I’m sorry. Shit, I feel like such an idiot now." Warren muttered, running a hand through his hair, clearly uncomfortable.

"It’s fine. You don’t need to get nervous." You quickly reassured him, your voice calm and soothing. You leaned forward slightly, as if trying to show empathy for him in that moment.

"And I even called you beautiful. Shit, I’m really not cut out for this." Warren placed his hands on his head, leaning on the table with a heavy sigh. He lifted his eyes to you, his gaze now loaded with guilt. "You think your husband would kill me if he knew?"

"Maybe he would, if I had one." You joked, tilting your head lightly in a playful way, trying to ease the tension in the air. Warren noticed a slight sadness in your voice that didn’t go unnoticed, but for some reason, he decided not to bring it up.

You sighed, straightening your posture and sitting up straighter as if shifting the conversation. "Alright. You’re hired."

"What? Already? What about the interview..." He paused, scratching his head, visibly surprised at how quickly the decision had been made.

"You were hired the moment you walked through that door." You laughed softly, stretching in your chair casually. "Not many people make it out here."

"No wonder. A dump like this..." He scoffed, mocking the place, but his eyes widened when he realized what he’d just said. "Oh my god. Again. Shit, I just say the dumbest stuff. Sorry."

"Don’t worry about it. It really is a dump." You laughed, getting up and walking around the table with light steps. Out of nowhere, you surprised him with a quick, almost warm hug that left Warren feeling momentarily disoriented. "Welcome, Warren."

"Thanks. I won’t let you down." He said, offering a weak smile, but mentally cursing himself for noticing how good you smelled as you pulled away. The feeling of being an idiot didn’t leave his chest.

Warren opened the door for you, and you gave him a gentle smile, your eyes sparkling with a kind of genuine warmth. He followed right behind you, closing the door with a soft click, breathing deeply as he watched you walk through the market, seemingly immersed in something only you knew. He wondered if it was something related to the boy’s father or if you were just worried about something missing from the shelves.

"Did you pay for the chocolate?" Little Luke inquired, a confused expression plastered on his face.

"How old are you, kid?" Warren questioned, furrowing his brow, briefly glancing at you before returning his gaze to the boy.

"Seven. But I’m almost eight. In nine months and thirteen days." Luke declared proudly, crossing his arms like an adult.

"Weird kid." Warren thought to himself, silently laughing at the little one with big, curious eyes. Something about him seemed strangely familiar. So he pulled a dollar bill out of his pocket and handed it to the boy. Maybe it was a desire to please you or to apologize to the kid. "Here. It’s for the chocolate."

"It’s $2.35. You’re short $1.35." Luke blinked, extending his hand toward him.

"Oh, kid. Just take the dollar and be quiet, alright? I’m struggling here." Warren hissed at the boy, but instead of crying, the little one just smiled.

"You’re weird. I like you." He chuckled, a funny, purely childlike melody echoing through the small space of the market.

Something warmed in Warren’s chest as he watched that toothless smile. The thought of being a dedicated father flooded his mind, creating false scenarios of an idealized life – a family smiling, him hugging his wife, holding his son in his arms, walking him to school, giving him a dog, teaching him how to shoot. Damn, he’d do anything to be the best dad for Luke, and it wouldn’t even be just because he wanted to win over the beautiful mom from the market. That was the one thing missing from his life, maybe that’s why he was born.

"If you start today, I can give you a tip." Your voice, breaking the idealized moment, brought Warren back to reality. He was an ex-convict, semi-in-love with a single mom, and still trying to figure out if any of this even made sense.

"You don’t have to. I can help." He tried to hide the silly smile that was about to appear, taking the uniform you handed him.

"I insist. The salary’s not great, and you’re practically the only employee here." You remarked, with that radiant smile Warren had already memorized. The sincerity in your tone was palpable.

"No, seriously. Don’t worry about it. It’ll be a pleasure working with you." He stated without thinking, quickly clearing his throat with a small gesture. "Working with you. You get it."

"Yes. Thanks. I owe you one." You waved your hand, heading back to the room with Luke happily trailing behind you, both walking away while Warren stood there, eyes fixed, his heart still beating harder than usual.

"Alright… time to work." Warren stretched lazily, raising his arms above his head before shuffling toward the employee bathroom.

The space was small and functional, a far cry from the public restroom, which for some reason, was absurdly large and had a strange smell that didn’t leave, even with air freshener. He grabbed the uniform you had given him—a yellow shirt with the store’s name printed on the front. Since there were no pants in the package, he decided his own would do the trick.

When he came out of the bathroom, he closed the door with a quiet click and, with a swift motion, tied his hair in a tiny ponytail. He walked to the register, where you were already standing with a notebook in hand. The moment you heard his footsteps, you looked up.

"Looks good on you." Your tone was kind as you pointed to the shirt identical to yours. He hadn’t even noticed when you had changed—maybe it was when you went into the back room.

"Now we match, look." The voice emerged from behind him. Luke appeared beside him, wearing the same uniform, which, even in the smallest size, was still too big for his tiny frame.

"Yeah, kid. Now we’re coworkers. A real man." Warren smiled and lowered his hand for a high five with the boy, who tried to slap it with all his might.

"Wow. You’re strong. You gonna tell me you’ve been training secretly?"

"I train. I watch fight videos on YouTube." Luke replied proudly, striking a boxing guard pose.

"Luke, we’ve talked about this." Your voice came with a warning tone as you approached.

"Ah, mom. I don’t watch blood. Only sometimes." He pouted indignantly, and you tilted your head before pinching his nose with two fingers.

"Ow, mom!"

"Didn’t see that coming, huh?" Warren chuckled without thinking, his eyes meeting yours for just a moment longer than necessary. In the brief silence that followed, something in his expression made his heart skip a beat. Warren Lipka didn’t seem like the dangerous criminal from the TV—just a guy with a big heart and an intensity that even he didn’t realize he had.

“Yeah... we have a routine.” You cleared your throat, shaking off the unnecessarily sweet thoughts and handing the sheet over to him. “Monday is deep cleaning day, Saturday we count the stock. I’m here at 8 AM every day, except Thursday, when I pick up Luke from his grandparents’ house and drop him off at school. I get here at 10 AM that day. The rest is pretty easy, not much movement. Here, take this to memorize.”

“Got it.” Warren took the notebook, noticing how detailed your notes were.

“Today is Wednesday. You’ll be in the deli section.”

“Just checking expiration dates?”

“Yep. Luke usually helps me, but today he has homework.”

“Can I stay with Warren first?” Luke inquired, his eyes shining with expectation.

You gave an indulgent smile before raising an eyebrow. “Promise you won’t fight with your classmates at school tomorrow?”

“I promise.” He nodded firmly and raised his pinky. “But only tomorrow.”

Warren let out a low chuckle, and you gave him a playful disapproving look.

“Don’t encourage him.”

“Sorry. I couldn’t help it.” He laughed even harder, covering his mouth with his hand. “Let’s go, Luke. Let’s see if this meat is still good. Did you know that a lot of good meat gets thrown away here in the US? I used to collect it.”

“Seriously?” Luke’s eyes widened as he walked alongside him to the refrigerators.

“Yeah. I’d go to markets like this one and take the ones that were still good.” Warren opened the fridge and started checking the labels. Then he paused, blinking as if realizing too late what he’d just said. “…But don’t do that.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s wrong.” He tried to hold back his laughter but failed miserably. “Hey, what do you think of this one?” He picked up a steak package and held it up for Luke to see.

“I think it’s still good to freeze. It’s got 10 days left.”

“A deal, then. 50% off this stuff that’s about to expire.” Warren shrugged, smiling and tossing the package back into the freezer.

…

Warren paced restlessly back and forth in their usual café, his hands moving nervously, his nails gnawed down to the quick, until a small piece of nail polish chipped off. He could feel a tightness in his chest, as if he were about to burst. His body swayed back and forth, his gaze locked on the clock on the wall, the anxiety consuming him. The weight of the conversation he was about to have was crushing his mind. When he finally saw Spencer walk through the door, the relief was instant, but it didn’t ease his nerves. His snack, the one he’d ordered earlier, lay forgotten on the table, untouched. He didn’t even notice it was still there.

Spencer greeted a few people in the café with a disinterested wave before walking over to the table. He sat down, casually tossing his backpack into the chair beside him, and extended his hand to shake Warren's.

“I want to be a stepdad.” Warren blurted out, not wasting a moment, before Spencer had a chance to say anything. The words came out fast, clinging to his chest like gum, almost as if the pressure had reached a point where it could no longer be ignored.

"Hey, how’s it going, Spencer? How’s work? Good. Thanks." Spencer mocked, rolling his eyes at Warren’s approach. He leaned back in his chair, letting out a sarcastic laugh. "We haven’t talked in two weeks, and that’s the first thing out of your mouth?"

Warren didn’t care about the teasing. His mind was already fixated on what he had to say. "It’s been two weeks since I met my son." He slammed his hand on the table with conviction, the slap of his palm echoing in the otherwise quiet café. The tension in his body was palpable now, his shoulders tight. He quickly ran a hand through his disheveled hair and pulled a nicotine lozenge from his pocket, placing it in his mouth almost mechanically.

"Since when are you quitting smoking?" Spencer asked, raising an eyebrow, an almost amused smile tugging at his lips as he reached out to grab one of the lozenges and popped it into his own mouth.

"Since I realized innocent people suffer from the crap smokers exhale," Warren replied in a serious tone, biting down harder on the snack, the crunch almost matching the stress he was feeling. "I saw it in the paper."

Spencer frowned, skeptical, but chose not to comment. Instead, he flagged down the waitress to put in an order. The conversation was starting to take a curious turn, and he didn’t want to miss his chance to figure out what was really going on with his friend. The café bell rang, and suddenly, Eric appeared at the door, casually waving to the crowd before heading straight to the table.

"Hey, guys." Eric greeted, throwing himself into a chair and locking eyes with Warren.

"Warren wants to be a stepdad." Spencer said, his tone bored, hiding a smirk of irony, and Warren smiled broadly, relieved to finally say it out loud. It was a mix of nervousness and excitement he couldn’t quite suppress.

"Dude, that’s a bad idea." Eric shook his head, disapproval written all over his face. He leaned forward slightly, as if preparing to explain himself seriously. "Those things never work out. Once you get attached to the mom, she’s never gonna let you go. You’ll regret it."

"That’s sexist, Eric." Warren hissed, grabbing Spencer’s coffee cup and taking a sip without caring that it was someone else’s drink. He knew he was breaking the unspoken rules of the café, but he needed something—anything—to relieve the pressure building inside. "And what’s wrong with her getting attached? I like her."

"When’s her birthday?" Eric shot back, his voice relentless, eyes narrowing as if he were conducting an interrogation.

"I don’t know." Warren replied quickly, but a hint of doubt crept in.

"And the kid’s?" Eric pressed, staring at Warren, waiting for a response.

"Wait, I remember, he told me..." Warren trailed off, trying to recall the details.

"What’s her favorite color, and why is it blue?" Eric fired again, a mocking edge in his tone.

"That’s not the point!" Warren snapped, throwing his hands up in exasperation, his frustration growing. "I don’t know, man. It’s the way she looks at me. Her and that weird kid. The little pest knows everything, he rattles off stuff I don’t even know. He answered 37 + 53 like it was nothing."

"90." Eric responded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"That doesn't count, you're a robot." Warren muttered, shaking the snack bag with frustration as he glared at Spencer. He noticed the bag was almost empty. "No, seriously. The kid’s really smart. I know he’s not mine and everything. But I’d make an effort. He has the same nose as me."

"Alright, you're stretching it a bit now." Spencer warned, his voice taking on a serious tone as he finished his coffee with a sigh, setting the empty cup on the table. "What about the job?"

"Tiring. I lift boxes, stack them, store everything. I do almost everything. She helps with cleaning and sometimes takes the register when I'm organizing the fridges. The kid helps her with the change. Everyone who passes by loves him."

"Hmmm. Sounds good." Eric shrugged as the waitress approached with a new order, and he gave a distracted thumbs-up.

"What made you change your mind?" Spencer asked, his curiosity piqued as he looked at Warren with more intensity, his eyebrows raised in genuine interest.

"She’s a hard worker. Women like that are strong. She’s probably fought hard to get this far." Eric spoke with an almost knowing conviction, his tone calm but determined. "Just don’t screw it up, Warren."

"Now it’s my fault?" Warren defended himself, shaking his head in frustration as he stood up from the table, stepping back slightly while slipping his hands into his pockets.

"Where are you going?" Spencer looked up, concern now evident on his face.

"Home. I need to get some sleep for work tomorrow. See you guys." Warren replied quickly, his movements hurried, shoulders tight as he turned to leave. The tension still hung in the air, but he needed a moment alone to process everything.

Rule #2: (Try) Not to Stick Your Nose in Other People’s Business.

Warren woke up earlier than usual that morning. He felt surprisingly energized, a rare occurrence, so he made sure to take a proper shower before heading out for work. He knew that today was one of those days you tended to be late, so he planned to take care of everything until you arrived.

As he parked the car in front of the shop, his eyes immediately found you sitting on the doorstep, shoulders slumped, hands pressing against your head. Something was off. His chest tightened at the sight. You looked... desperate.

His brows furrowed slightly, and Warren stepped out of the car, walking toward you with measured steps, trying not to invade your space too abruptly.

"Hey, are you okay?" His voice was low, cautious, as if afraid of startling you.

You quickly lifted your face, eyes misty, and your chest rose and fell unevenly, betraying the anxiety trapped in your breathing.

"It’s Luke..." Your voice cracked, and you stood up, your hands nervously twisting in front of your chest. "My car broke down, I can't pick him up from his grandparents’ house, and it's almost time for school. He’s going to miss class, and his teacher already said he’s struggling. My brother isn’t answering, no taxis are coming, and..."

With every word, the weight in your chest grew heavier. You didn’t even notice your hands trembling until Warren gently interrupted your spiraling thoughts.

"Hey, hey." His voice was firm but kind, and without thinking much, he pulled you into an embrace.

The warmth of his body surrounded you, and the sudden gesture made your walls crumble for just a second. The woody scent of his cologne mixed with the softness of his jacket fabric made you realize how tense you were. Your heart, which had been pounding against your ribs, began to slow down.

"Sorry. I thought you needed this," he murmured close to your ear.

You exhaled the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and pulled back slightly, but without fully breaking the closeness.

"I did. Thank you." Your voice was steadier now, though there was still a lingering edge of panic. You quickly wiped your face with your hands, trying to erase the traces of tears. "Sorry for unloading all this on you, I’m just... desperate."

Warren tilted his head slightly, watching you closely, as if he were analyzing every layer of your nervousness before speaking.

"Where’s his grandparents’ house?" His voice was resolute, like he had already made up his mind.

You blinked a few times, confused by the sudden question.

"What?"

He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, taking a deep breath before repeating himself.

"Where’s Luke’s address? I’ll go pick him up."

You froze for a moment, unsure if you’d heard him correctly. Your instincts told you to refuse — he was just your employee, he didn’t need to get involved. But the desperation pressing down on you was heavier than the pride that wanted to hold you back.

"You’d do that?"

The smile that appeared on Warren’s lips was small, but genuine, his dimples barely visible as he grinned. His eyes lingered on them for a moment before you realized you were smiling too, even if shyly.

"Why wouldn’t I?" He raised an eyebrow, as though genuinely finding your hesitation puzzling.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Your chest warmed in a strange way.

"Come on. Let’s go." He gestured toward the car.

"And the shop?"

"Ah, no one comes here at this time anyway." He chuckled, as if the place was his to command. And for a moment, you found yourself wishing it was.

Warren walked around the car and opened the passenger door, waiting patiently for you to get in before closing it carefully with a swift motion. He settled into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

The silence stretched for a few seconds. You were still tense, biting your lower lip, trying to hold onto the last threads of control. Warren noticed and, without saying a word, turned on the radio. A loud rock song blasted through the speakers.

"Shit." He muttered, quickly lowering the volume and switching stations.

The sensual melody of Careless Whisper filled the car.

"Goddamn radio." He grumbled again, spinning the dial hastily. This time, soft instrumental music filled the air. "Better," he said, leaning back into his seat and relaxing.

You chuckled quietly. "Thank you."

"What for?"

"For this." You gestured vaguely at the radio and at him. Warren cast a quick glance in your direction before returning his focus to the road.

"Do you like the job?" You asked, trying to ease the weight of the moment, your fingers nervously tapping on the edge of the seat.

"Yeah, actually, I’m pretty attached to it. I think it was my last chance to be a decent citizen." He said with a playful smile, his eyes momentarily glancing at you before turning back to the road.

You tilted your head slightly, studying his profile for a beat, the soft tension in the air palpable.

"Do you like it just for that?" Your question came out more curious than you’d intended, a little more pointed than you planned.

Warren gripped the steering wheel with one hand, using the other to run through his hair, the hint of a mysterious smile curling at the corners of his lips.

"There are other reasons too."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly turned your gaze to the window, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. You weren't sure why, but the way he said it unsettled you, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

"What about you? Do you like your job?"

You let out a soft, nasal laugh, tilting your head back slightly. "Being the manager of a run-down market wasn’t exactly my childhood dream."

Warren chuckled through his nose, shaking his head in amusement. "How’d you end up there?"

Your smile faltered slightly, and you took a deep breath before answering.

"Well... I got pregnant with Luke."

The atmosphere in the car shifted subtly. Warren fell silent for a moment, as if processing the weight of your words, his hands firm on the wheel, eyes focused ahead.

"Do you regret it?" He asked quietly, his voice softer now, laced with genuine concern.

"In the beginning, it was hard. I didn’t have much support, just graduated high school. College seemed impossible." You glanced down at your hands resting on your lap, fingers twisting nervously. Warren nodded slowly, never looking away from the road. "But then he was born, and... everything changed. It was like my whole life suddenly had a new meaning."

Warren smiled, his thoughts clearly drifting to Luke. And as he did, he realized something interesting: his smile was almost identical to the boy's. That same genuine sparkle in his eyes, a light untouched by time, despite all the struggles life had thrown their way. Without thinking, Warren’s own smile softened, mirroring the one he had just seen.

"Can I ask you about his dad, or would that be too intrusive?" Warren’s voice was gentle now, eyes fixed on you, the concern clear in his gaze.

"No... no, it’s not intrusive." You shook your head, a quiet sigh escaping your lips. "Luke's dad is complicated. He was a great father in the first few months, but then he started saying that Luke was getting in the way of his career."

"What a jerk." Warren spat without thinking, his jaw tightening in indignation. He frowned, immediately realizing his own boldness. "Sorry."

"No... jerk is too mild a word." You shot back, your tone still sharp, but softened by the vulnerability that lingered beneath it. Warren relaxed his shoulders, relieved that he hadn’t crossed a line. "When he said that, I couldn’t take it anymore and ended it. Since then, it’s just been me and Luke. I ended up raising him alone with the help of my parents. Luke doesn’t even know who he is. I prefer it that way. If he asks about him in the future, I’ll tell him, but not now. I’m still angry about it, though."

Warren nodded slowly, processing your words, his expression softening with understanding. For a moment, the only sound in the car was the hum of the engine and the distant rumble of tires on the road.

Finally, Warren let out a small, knowing smile, his gaze gentle.

"I may not know much about you guys, but Luke is a really cool kid." Warren’s voice held a genuine tone of admiration. "Not many seven-year-olds can count the days until their own birthday."

"You really think so?" Your eyes lit up at the question, and a soft smile crept onto your lips, the warmth spreading across your face.

"Of course. The kid’s a little terrifying sometimes, I’ll admit." Warren teased, making you laugh out loud. "Seriously, I get freaked out when he starts doing mental math."

"He’s the best in his class at math." You said, the pride evident in your voice.

Warren rolled his eyes dramatically, his expression playful. "Of course he is. That kid’s going places. He’s going to be the next Einstein, and they’ll write books about him. Mark my words."

You laughed again, and Warren held onto that sound, savoring it, like it was a melody he didn’t want to forget. The sound was infectious, and his chest swelled with an unfamiliar warmth.

"He sounds like my brother. He was always super smart, too. Top of his class, just like Luke. He’s the one who owns the market and helped me get this job. That’s how I ended up there."

"So it’s in the genes."

"Maybe." You fell quiet for a moment, absentmindedly running your fingers through your hair, a warm feeling blooming in your chest. Your thoughts drifted as you absentmindedly added, "Does he have a girlfriend?"

The question came out casually, but it hung in the air with an unexpected weight, more serious than you’d intended.

"Me?" Warren raised an eyebrow, clearly caught off guard. He let out a surprised laugh, his face lit up with disbelief. When you nodded, he shook his head, still laughing. "That’s a good one."

"Why?" You chuckled, leaning slightly towards him. "What’s wrong with that? You’re good-looking, charming, funny. There must be someone."

Warren snorted, resting his elbow against the car window, the air suddenly a little heavier. "Oh, yeah, sure, women love a former convict who can’t even afford a Coke." His voice had a mocking tone, but there was something beneath the sarcasm—a hint of self-deprecation that made your chest tighten with empathy.

"No... no one." He answered quietly, his gaze now fixed on the road ahead. "What about you?"

"No…" Your response came out almost hesitantly, and for a brief moment, a flicker of hope danced in your mind before you pushed it aside.

The conversation fell into a heavy silence, the kind that lingered like a thick fog between you. You could feel the change in the air, the tension that wasn’t quite palpable but couldn’t be ignored either. You silently thanked the universe that you were close to your destination. As Warren parked the car, you quickly unbuckled your seatbelt and stepped out, eager to escape the weight of your own thoughts before they dragged you deeper into uncertainty.

You hurried up to the door, your hand moving quickly to press the doorbell without hesitation. Warren followed closely behind, stopping a step back, his body still tense, his eyes scanning the surroundings as if ready for something unexpected.

The door swung open.

And then, your blood ran cold.

"Daniel?" Your voice came out as a strained rasp, barely a whisper, your face draining of color instantly.

The man standing there, with his captivating green eyes and a charming smile, widened the door to let you in. "I was really hoping to talk to you. Come on in."

He then looked at Warren, sizing him up with a quick, calculating glance before extending his hand. "Hey, man. How’s it going? I'm Daniel Beavers, but you can call me Dan."

Warren held his gaze for a second longer than necessary, his jaw tightening, before he shook Daniel's hand with deliberate firmness. "Warren." His voice was cold, the warmth and ease from earlier gone completely.

Daniel laughed, a little too loudly. "Damn, you’re strong." He gave Warren a friendly slap on the back, but Warren didn’t flinch, keeping his expression neutral, only offering a polite smile before stepping inside.

Once out of Daniel’s line of sight, Warren leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, his breath brushing your ear. "Who’s that guy?"

You swallowed hard, keeping your gaze fixed on the floor for a moment before your voice barely escaped your lips, a whisper heavy with discomfort. "Luke’s father."

Warren went silent for a beat, his body stiffening as though the weight of your words had struck him physically. His chest tightened, and his next words came out as a low, almost inaudible murmur. "Shit."

Without thinking, his body straightened, as if some primal instinct had taken over. His shoulders subtly broadened, and he instinctively positioned himself a bit closer to you, as if shielding you from whatever lay ahead. The gesture was so natural, so automatic, it was almost like he was becoming a human barrier.

He didn’t have the right to interfere.

But something inside him screamed that he should.

“Hi, mom!”

Luke’s cheerful voice shattered the tense silence in the room. The little boy appeared, his backpack already slung over his shoulders, running to hug you before turning to Warren with a bright, wide smile.

"Warren!" he exclaimed, launching himself into Warren’s legs for a tight hug.

"Hey, little man. Hope I didn’t take too long." Warren grinned, gently messing up Luke’s hair.

Luke pulled away, furrowing his brow. "What happened? I thought you weren’t gonna come."

"The car broke down, buddy. Warren’s gonna take you to school." You explained, maintaining a smile, though out of the corner of your eye, you couldn’t ignore the way Daniel was watching the scene, his gaze quiet and calculating.

"Cool!" Luke cheered, raising his hand for a high-five with Warren. "Can I sit in the front?"

"Not this time, kiddo." Warren pretended to sound disappointed, crouching down to meet his eyes with a playful expression. "But next time, I promise."

"Okay." Luke whispered, clapping his hands excitedly.

You glanced around the room, feeling the house unusually quiet. "Where are your grandparents?"

"They went to the market. They’re planning a party for Daniel. For some celebration." Luke answered innocently, not noticing the way your shoulders tensed at the mention of Daniel’s name.

You inhaled deeply, trying to keep your composure. "Alright, let’s go. Luke’s gonna be late. It was nice seeing you, Daniel." The falseness of your smile was clear, but it was a necessary mask.

"Wait." Daniel stepped closer, pulling a shiny gold envelope with navy blue details from his pocket. He extended it toward you, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "I didn’t even tell you the big news."

Your stomach churned before you even looked at the contents.

"Daniel and Honey?" Your voice came out low, almost incredulous.

"I’m inviting you to my wedding." He announced as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "You can bring Warren too. It’d be great to have you both with us. Honey really wants to meet you."

Daniel then pulled out a smaller piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Warren, who hesitated for a moment before reluctantly taking it.

You laughed—not out of happiness, but out of pure disgust. "Yeah, Daniel. You really outdo yourself every day." You stuffed the invitation into your pocket without a second thought.

"It’ll be great to have you there." He softened his voice, his hand making an almost theatrical gesture as it brushed your arm. "Please, sweetheart…"

The silence was thick, suffocating.

Warren watched the scene unfold like a predator studying its prey. His jaw was clenched tight, and his fists were subtly balled at his sides, barely contained by the tension in his body. Something inside him had already pegged Daniel as a fool, but seeing this whole act up close... that was too much. His protective instincts kicked in.

He couldn’t hold back any longer.

"Dude, what’s up with this? Don’t you think this is a little weird?" Warren broke the silence, his voice a low growl that drew every eye in the room to him. His tone came out rougher than he intended, but at that moment, he didn’t care to hide his feelings.

Daniel blinked, genuinely confused by Warren’s reaction. "Weird? Why would it be weird?"

That question only fueled the fire inside Warren.

"Don’t you realize how completely bizarre it is to invite your ex to your wedding without even giving a heads-up? You abandoned this kid, and now you show up years later like everything’s fine?" Warren narrowed his eyes, his muscles visibly tensing as his posture became more aggressive, as if he was ready to jump at any moment.

Daniel let out a nervous laugh, trying to downplay the situation with a dismissive gesture. "Relax, man. I just thought… I don’t know. We’d be good friends. Didn’t know she was already seeing someone again." He shrugged, giving you and Warren a mischievous look, as if he was enjoying the discomfort he was causing.

The statement caught Warren off guard for a moment, making his eyes narrow even further, but he quickly recovered, his expression hardening. "Yeah. Exactly." He reaffirmed without hesitation, crossing his arms firmly. "And even if she wasn’t, you can’t just keep popping in and out of people’s lives like it’s a game. Look at yourself. How old are you?"

Daniel was slightly thrown off, the first crack in his confidence showing in his hesitation. "Twenty-seven."

Warren let out a dry laugh, almost sarcastically. "Twenty-seven." He repeated, savoring the irony of the situation. Then, he stepped forward, forcing Daniel to retreat until his back hit the wall. The intensity of Warren’s presence was palpable. "Listen, man to man. I’m thirty-one. But I had a grip on things long before that."

The discomfort on Daniel's face was unmistakable. He tried to recover his posture, but Warren wasn’t letting him off the hook.

"Alright, man. No need to get all upset or rude." Daniel hissed, attempting to regain his composure as he pushed lightly against Warren’s chest. Warren instantly lifted a fist, ready for any reaction.

It was only then that he remembered you and Luke were still there, silently observing the scene. Warren took a deep breath, cracked his neck, and relaxed his shoulders before speaking in a more controlled voice, though still firm. "Stay out of our lives again, alright?"

Then, with a sharp smile, he straightened Daniel’s perfectly aligned suit jacket as if he were adjusting a porcelain doll, his touch almost mocking. "Are you a lawyer?"

"Yeah." Daniel replied automatically, quickly wiping where Warren had gripped him, trying to salvage his composure.

"I hate that kind." Warren muttered between his teeth, his gaze hardening, but he quickly turned to you, softening his expression. He gave you a more serene smile, almost affectionate. "Shall we go, babe?"

Your heart skipped a beat at hearing him say “babe.” Not out of fear, but because, in that moment, you realized something different. The way Warren said it felt... right. As though he had claimed a piece of you without even realizing it.

"For sure." You smiled, your eyes softening as you started walking toward the door. But then you stopped, turned around, and walked back to Daniel with steady steps.

Without hurrying, you took the invitation from your pocket with a smooth motion and extended it to him, without any emotional appeal. "Keep it for someone who actually wants to go. Best wishes!" Your voice was sweet, but the sarcasm beneath it was impossible to ignore. Every word carried a subtle criticism, something you could no longer hide.

Daniel stood there, frozen, holding the invitation as if he had finally realized it was irrelevant to you, his expression draining of any confidence he had left as the reality hit him. He was out of place. And that seemed clear to everyone in the room.

Warren opened the door for you to pass, but before you stepped out, he gave Daniel one last threatening glance. A silent, but clear, warning.

You both walked toward the car, no longer needing to hide the smile on your faces. The tension from the earlier conversation still hung in the air, but somehow, the whole situation seemed to have brought you even closer.

"Alright, all set..." Warren murmured as he buckled Luke's seatbelt in the back seat. "Now, school."

He was already turning to head to the driver's seat when Luke's curious little voice caught you both off guard:

"Are you and mommy dating?"

The silence that followed was instant. You and Warren froze for a second before exchanging a knowing glance.

Warren raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Well... I'm a pretty nosy guy," he said, looking directly at you before turning to Luke. "So, I guess we are."

He twisted the key in the ignition, but before pulling away, he cast a quick glance your way. "Is this alright with you? Us... this."

The question came without hesitation, but with a genuine undertone of concern. You held your breath for a moment, feeling the weight of the silent exchange between you two. Then, you smiled. Not just any smile, but one of those effortless, warm, and real smiles.

"Great." You replied, feeling a lightness in your chest.

He studied your face for a second longer than necessary, as if he wanted to lock that expression in his memory. Then, he nodded, a small smile forming at the corner of his lips.

"Great." He repeated, turning his attention back to the road before accelerating, as if the whole world had just fallen back into place.

Rule #3: Your friends aren’t always right.

After school, you drove to the grocery store. The car’s engine hummed softly before going silent as you turned the key in the ignition. The sound of the seatbelt undoing echoed in the silence between you. You opened the door and climbed out, unlocking the passenger door without looking back. Warren stepped out soon after, his hands stuffed into his coat pockets, his gaze scanning the storefront as if something was different, even though everything looked exactly the same.

Inside, the muffled sound of an old radio played some generic music as you made your way to the checkout. Warren, on the other hand, detoured to the warehouse, his steps slower than usual. The smell of dust and cardboard filled his nostrils as he entered. The shelves were crammed, the boxes stacked chaotically, as usual. But Warren didn’t care about any of that. 

He just needed a moment here, alone, to gather his thoughts. 

With a heavy sigh, he pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, unfolding it with trembling fingers. His gaze ran over the words written there—how many times had he read them?—but before he could get lost in his own thoughts, the creak of the door opening made him quickly shove the paper back into his pocket.

"Can I come in?" Your voice sounded hesitant, head peeking through the crack in the door. He blinked a few times before forcing a smile. 

"Of course you can. You own the place." He gestured with his hand, a relaxed movement, but his shoulders remained tense. 

You walked in, closing the door behind you, the dry sound of wood echoing through the small space. Your eyes wandered around the warehouse for a second before returning to Warren, who was now swinging his foot on the floor, his right hand still deep in his pocket. 

"I just came to say..." You began, walking slowly towards him. "Thank you for what you did today." 

He let out a short, humorless laugh, looking away from you to the floor. "Oh, that?" His shoulders lifted in a casual gesture. "It was nothing. In fact, I think I was kind of stupid." 

"No." Your answer came out firm, quick, taking him by surprise. You cleared your throat, trying to soften your tone. "It wasn't stupid. It was... it was really good. Really helpful. I lost my mind, I didn't know what to do in that situation. He was such an asshole." 

Warren tilted his head to the side, watching your expression for a moment before asking, "Has he always been like this?" 

You let out a tired sigh, leaning against the wall behind you. "I guess he always has. I just didn't want to notice." 

"That sucks." He muttered, biting the inside of his cheek. After a second of hesitation, he walked over to stand next to you, leaning against the wall as well. "I guess we always have that in life. Not realizing the right person was right there." 

You frowned, lifting your chin with a hint of indignation in your voice. "Why do we do this, huh? All the signs were there. The way he ignored me, how I had to ask him to the school dance..." 

Warren turned his face towards you, blinking slowly. "You asked him to the school dance and not the other way around?" 

"Yeah! Can you believe that?" You huffed, crossing your arms. "He said he forgot! When we were picking out my dress the night before!" 

Warren closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a long sigh before muttering, "What an idiot." He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling, the fluorescent light above casting soft shadows on his face. With a slow movement, he licked his lips before speaking again. "I would never do that to you."

Your chest tightened, your breath catching for a second. 

"What do you mean by that?" Your voice came out low, almost reluctant.

He pressed his teeth against his cheek, looking away to the floor, as if seeking courage there. When he finally looked back at you, his expression was more serious.

 "I would never treat you like that." His voice was firm, but there was a certain hesitation in his gaze. "I'm not exactly a good guy, you know that. But I’d never leave you hanging like that."

"Really?" You leaned your head against the wall, still looking at him, your fingers tightening the hem of your blouse with an unconscious reflex of nervousness.

Warren nodded, a slight smile playing on his lips, almost as if he was amused by your reaction. You snorted and went back to staring at the ceiling. The silence that followed was almost palpable. Your breathing seemed to echo in the small warehouse, while the dust danced in the air under the yellowish light.

"Oh my God..." The laugh came low, exhaled along with a sigh.

"What?" He frowned, but the corner of his mouth still carried a trace of amusement.

"Now I want to go to Daniel's wedding with you just so he can see that I'm okay." You admitted, covering your face with your hands, feeling the heat rise to your ears. "That's so immature. I'm such an idiot."

Warren let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Oh, come on, I don't care." Without hesitation, he took another step towards you, leaning in slightly as he gently removed your hands from your face. "I still have a password, we can say it's yours and that I'm following."

"No, Warren... That's not right." You protested, but the lightness of laughter was still present in your voice. "I'd be using you and that's so wrong..."

"Do it. I just don't want you to look like that because of that idiot." His voice lowered slightly, seriousness seeping into his tone.

"He doesn't deserve even a second of your emotions, of anything you have to offer. So use me. Do whatever you think is best, because you have a hard enough life to worry about anything else and I'm willing to do anything to help you."

Your heart stumbled in your chest when you felt his warm touch against your wrists. Warren gently lowered them, letting his hands rest on either side of your body. The space between you was decreasing with each passing second without anyone making an effort to break it.

He bit his lower lip, his gaze flickering between your mouth and your eyes. You felt your breath catch at the realization, heat rising in your stomach, in your cheeks. Your own attention followed suit—his lips, then his brown eyes, intense, filled with something unsaid but completely understood. The atmosphere was heavy in a way that seemed impossible to ignore.

Warren's heart hammered against his ribs as he raised one hand, bracing it on the wall beside you. The other still held yours. The space between your bodies slowly disappeared. He leaned toward you, his lashes lowering as your faces came closer, your breath mingling.

Then, the doorbell rang.

The sound cut through the moment like a sharp blade, making you both pull away in an instant. You took a step back, your chest rising and falling with your ragged breaths. Warren ran a hand through his hair, staring at the ceiling as if cursing the universe.

"I better... you know... go outside." He nodded, his voice thick with something that sounded like disappointment.

You nodded, crossing your arms over your body as if that could contain the wave of feelings that were stirring inside you. He hesitated for a moment before leaving, closing the door behind him. But he didn't leave right away—Warren leaned his back against the wood for a few seconds, exhaling slowly, trying to regain control. Only then did he pull away and walk to the cashier.

You stood there for a few more moments, your fingertips brushing your lips, as if trying to feel something that had never happened.

If you had kissed... would it have been wrong? Or was the doorbell a signal not to?

You shook your head, muttering "Stop it" to yourself, trying to push the thought away. But the knot in your chest was still there as you left the warehouse and headed back to the market.

Across the way, Warren was handing over the customer’s groceries with automatic movements, but his mind was elsewhere. When his eyes met yours, for just a second, something flared again—a question, an uncertainty, a regret.

Without saying anything, you looked away and walked into the office, busying yourself with anything that felt like work. You needed to distract yourself, needed to convince yourself that this didn’t mean anything.

The customer left, and Warren stood behind the register, still holding the last bag as if he’d forgotten to let go of it. His mind raced in circles, trying to find a way to talk about what had almost happened. To tell him how he felt without ruining everything.

He walked slowly to the office door and raised his hand to knock, but hesitated. His fingers hovered over the wood for a second before curling into a fist and pulling back.

This didn’t make sense. It wasn’t supposed to happen.

And if it did, he was sure it would ruin everything.

Eric was right. It was better to just give up.

Rule #4: Don't hold back an emotion for too long, it might take over you.

The doorbell rang, and Warren didn't even need to look up to know who it was. The familiar jingle of keychains rattling in his backpack and the sweet smell of grape candies in the air were enough to recognize Luke.

"Hey, little man. How was school today?" Warren beamed, walking around the counter with lazy steps to talk to the boy.

"It was nice." Luke replied excitedly, throwing his backpack on the floor before wrapping Warren in a brief, tight hug. Soon after, he pulled away and stuck his small hand in his pants pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. "Look, I made this today."

"Awesome, a frog." Warren took the green origami between his fingers, studying the careful folds. He turned the piece from side to side, smiling. "Where did you learn that?"

"On the internet, look. Come see, it jumps." Luke took it back, placed it on the counter, and pressed it lightly on the paper. The little frog jumped. "See?" 

Warren raised an eyebrow. "Boy, you're scary." He tested the frog, squeezing the paper as Luke had done, and the creature jumped again. "This is witchcraft, isn't it? You put magic in it and didn't tell me, you little brat." 

"No!" Luke laughed, shaking his head. "It's just origami. If you fold the paper the right way, it moves, like a lever." 

"I see..." Warren feigned distrust, crossing his arms. "So it's pure skill and not some dark pact?" 

Luke laughed, shaking his head. "Wanna make one?" 

"Tsk, I don't know." Warren leaned back a little, as if it were a risky challenge. "I'm pretty sure I'll ruin it before I even touch the paper." 

"Stop being a wimp." The boy, however, didn't take the refusal lying down. Luke took his hand with determination and pulled him down the hallway to the office. The air grew heavier as Warren walked through the door. 

His eyes met yours for a moment too long. Something unresolved hung in the space between you, and you both looked away almost at the same time, disguising it with silent discomfort.

 It had been a week. 

Seven days since what almost happened in the warehouse. 

Since then, conversations had been limited to short sentences about work, polite words that didn't fill the awkward silence. You spent as much time as possible in the office, while Warren remained at the cash register busy with anything other than talking to you. Always busy. The only close interaction happened when it was time to restock the shelves or when one of you left. And even then, you both avoided looking each other directly in the eyes.

"Hi, sweetheart. How was school today?" You broke the silence first, forcing a smile as Luke let go of Warren's hand and ran over to you.

"It was cool, but Warren and I are really busy right now." He explained excitedly, grabbing two sheets of paper from your desk.

"With what, exactly?" You asked, your gaze falling on Warren more than the boy.

"We're gonna make frogs." Warren answered casually, twirling the sheet between his fingers.

"Frogs?" Your brow furrowed slightly.

"Of paper, Mom." Luke rolled his eyes, as if your question was absurd. "I made one in class and now I'm going to teach Warren how to make one too. Sit here, facing Mom."

Warren hesitated, his eyes meeting yours again, almost as if he was asking for permission. You held his gaze for a second before nodding, pointing to the chair across from you. He sat down, looking guilty, shifting in his chair as Luke stood beside him, full of excitement.

"Here's how it is, follow everything I do or you'll get lost and do it all wrong." The boy began to fold the paper with precision. Warren imitated the movement, frowning in concentration.

"That's it. Now you're going to fold it here... like this."

"Okay..." Warren replicated the fold, narrowing his eyes to check if he was doing it right. "And now?"

"Do it like this, like this. Now fold it like this... Now turn it over. Don't let it get wrinkled, it has to be right. Turn it over again, fold it."

"Easy there, Luke. I'm old." Warren laughed, his hands fumbling to keep up with the boy's agile movements.

Luke snorted, but held back a smile. "You're slow, Warren."

"Hey, that was unnecessary." He made a playfully offended expression.

"Now just this one more and it's done!" Luke showed off his perfectly aligned frog, proud.

"Congratulations, honey!" You clapped your hands, amazed at your son's work. “It looks exactly like a frog. Good job.”

Warren looked at his origami, then at Luke’s. He held up his creation—a crumpled, shapeless ball—and raised his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, it looks just like mine.” 

Luke laughed loudly. You put your hand over your mouth, trying to hold back your laughter too. “Sorry, Warren. It’s just so funny.” 

“It looks like a frog that got run over!” Luke laughed, placing his hands on his stomach. 

“I know, I know. I should’ve seen that coming. You two are against me.” Warren sighed dramatically, tossing the paper ball aside. “It’s definitely not for me. I’ll leave that to the little man and his super smart mom.” 

But even though he failed miserably at origami, the smile on his face seemed genuine for the first time in a week. 

“You don’t pay attention either, Warren Sillyka!” Luke laughed, sticking his tongue out at Warren. 

“Did you see that?” Warren raised an eyebrow at you, pointing indignantly at the boy. “The kid just gave me tongue!” And without thinking twice, he returned the gesture.

"Hey!" Luke protested, grimacing and pulling the corners of his mouth with his fingers.

"Now, you little criminal..." Warren narrowed his eyes before standing up, his hands ready to attack with tickles.

"No, stop! Stop!" Luke squirmed, laughing as he tried to escape. Warren, however, was faster, grabbing him easily and lifting him in his arms, swinging him from side to side.

"Serious infraction, young man!" Warren mocked, holding Luke tightly. "You have the right to remain silent! Hands where I can see them!"

"Never!" Luke challenged, laughing loudly, clearly enjoying the joke. "I will not give in to you, Sillyka."

"Oh, then let's go again." Warren took a deep breath and threw the boy slightly in the air before catching him again, eliciting more laughter. "What now? I’ll only let you go with an apology!’

You watched them, the scene unfolding before your eyes like something you never imagined you would see. Your son laughing freely, sharing such pure happiness with someone other than you. Warren holding him in his arms felt... right. Like this was where Luke was always supposed to be.

The laughter escaped your lips before you could stop it. And when Warren and Luke looked at you, your laughter turned into something else—louder, looser, more genuine. Your eyes grew teary, but not just from laughter. The emotions inside you bubbled up in a way they didn’t know how to express, that you had kept locked away under lock and key deep in your heart for many, many years.

"No... don't look at me." You tried to contain your laughter, quickly wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. "Keep going..."

"Mommy?" Luke frowned, his joy turning to instant concern.

Warren noticed the same and quickly put the boy down before approaching you. 

"Mommy, are you okay?"

You took a deep breath, blinking a few times to hold back the tears. "Yes, my baby... I am." You smiled, even though your voice shook a little. "I'm just happy." It was true. Partially, at least. "Can you go to the storage room and get me a tissue?"

Luke hesitated, still suspicious, but nodded. "Yeah." And then he left, looking back one last time before disappearing down the hallway.

The moment the door closed, the barrier you were trying to hold collapsed. A sob escaped your throat, followed by an uncontrolled sob. 

"I'm sorry." You buried your face in your hands, unable to stop the wave of emotion.

Warren's heart clenched, and before you knew it, he was kneeling in front of you, his arms wrapped around your shoulders in a firm embrace.

He didn't say anything. He just stood there.

Your face buried in his neck, your hands clutching the fabric of his uniform, feeling the heat of his body as you cried without reserve.

“I'm here. Shh..." Warren murmured against your hair, stroking your back in slow circles. "I'm here."

"I'm soaking your clothes…”

"Fuck it. I'll wash them when I get home."

He slid his fingers through your hair, brushing his lips gently against your temple, a silent gesture of comfort. Your breathing began to calm, still shaky, but less suffocating. You sniffed and pulled away slightly, staring at his face so close to yours. The way he looked at you... calm, steady. Like a beacon in the middle of your storm, guiding you back.

"I forget how incredibly perceptive he is." Your voice still cracked. "He always knows when I'm not okay. I can't hide anything from him."

Warren smiled weakly, running his hand over your wet face, brushing away the remnants of your tears with his thumb.

"You don't have to hide it from me either." He said softly, then leaned down, still on his knees, to press a soft kiss to your forehead. "Don't hide anything from me." 

The door swung open. 

"Here, Mom! I got it." Luke came running back, holding the box of tissues. "Sorry I took so long. It was really highI had to grab a chair to get up. But I didn't drop anything." 

You let out a shaky laugh, accepting the tissues and opening your arms to him. Luke fit into the hug without hesitation. You looked at Warren over your son's head, his gaze full of gratitude.

 "Well... I guess I'll be going now." Warren mumbled, standing up slowly. 

"Where to?" You asked, grabbing a tissue and blowing your nose. "Leaving already?" 

"To the cashier. It's my turn." He smiled weakly, watching Luke grab another tissue for you. "Take care of your mom, okay?" 

"I'll do it." Luke nodded with the seriousness of someone who takes the mission seriously. He held the trash can for you to dispose of the tissues. "It'll be okay, Mommy." 

You smiled, tightening your arms around your son. "I know it will, my baby. Thank you.

" Warren took slow steps towards the door, almost hesitantly. You watched him go, feeling a tightness in your chest as you watched him walk away. 

"See you later." He paused for a brief second, turning just enough to look you in the eyes. 

"See you..."

…

Warren turned the "Closed" sign on the door, taking one last look at the street before returning to the cash register and writing down the day's records. You always dropped Luke off before five, so you'd be back soon. He wanted to get everything done early to make his job easier.

After reviewing the checklist, he went to his office and left the paper on his desk. When he returned to the cash register, he heard the door open and looked up in time to see you come in. You walked over to him with a small smile on your lips.

"You look happy." He commented, resting his hands on the counter.

"I just found the perfect dress for Daniel's wedding." You said, leaning a little on the counter. 

"When is it?"

"Tomorrow, Saturday."

You walked around the counter, stopping next to him. "Do you have an outfit yet?"

"I have that damn thing I wore on my first day here. Will that fit?" Warren asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and crossing his arms.

"It'll do. It's perfect." You replied, placing your hands on your hips. "I can't wait to show you."

 "The dress?" He raised an eyebrow, and you nodded. "I want to see it too. What color is it? No, wait... Isn't that bad luck?" 

"What?" 

"To know what the woman will wear on her wedding day." He explained, confused. You let out a laugh. 

"No, Warren." He blinked, waiting for the explanation. "That's only for the bride. You can know." 

"Oh... sorry. I've never been to a wedding before." He confessed, relaxing his arms. "Are you excited?" 

"Nervous." You admitted, leaning against the counter. "I don't know how I'm going to react." 

"I'll be there." Warren comforted. "Do I have permission to punch him if he messes up with Luke?" 

"Luke isn't going. It's at night. It starts at eight, but these things always take a while. I don't want him to stay up until the early hours of the morning." 

"So it's just going to be the two of us?" 

The question came with a subtle but noticeable tone of curiosity. 

"Yes." You nodded, feeling an unexpected nervousness grow in your chest. 

"Do you want me to pick you up?" He asked, and there was something else in his voice—a hint of expectation. 

"Yes, it's okay. I was just going to drop Luke off at his friend's house and come back to get ready." 

"Deal. I'll stop by at seven-thirty?" 

"Seven-thirty is fine." You nodded, crossing your arms. He held your gaze for a moment, as if he wanted to say something, but he just smiled sideways.

"Shall we go out? It's closing time, and I don't want anyone knocking here." You changed the subject, walking to the door.

"Good idea." Warren grabbed his keys and followed you out, locking the store behind you.

Warren scanned the street, frowning slightly when he noticed one of the streetlights flickering, casting irregular shadows across the sidewalk. The silence of the night seemed to drag on with the cold wind.

"So... is it okay to walk home in this darkness?"

"Yeah, I always walk back after work." You answered matter-of-factly, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder.

He let out a short sigh, pulling the iron to cover the store window. "This isn't good."

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as he locked the door. "Since when did walking two streets over become a problem?"

"Since always. Anyone can run into the wrong person." He turned to you, glaring firmly.

"No problem. If anything happens, I'll scream and run." You joked, shrugging.

Warren chuckled and shook his head before approaching. With his hands firmly on his waist, he tilted his face, his eyes assessing you up and down.

“Come on. I’ll take you.” You hesitated for a moment, but ended up nodding and starting to walk. “Hey, what are you doing?”

“Going home?” You pointed to the end of the street.

“No. Get in the car.” He patted the hood of the vehicle twice with a half smile.

“It’s only two streets.”

“And I don’t know who’s coming around the corner. Do you know?”

“You’re so worried.”

“Baby, after you go to jail, even your neighbors are suspicious.” He joked, unlocking the doors. “Maybe you have your own criminal record and I’m here all by myself thinking I’m safe and sound.”

You smiled, getting in the car. “And what would my crime be?”

Warren started the engine and pulled out of the space, his eyes narrowing as if he was evaluating the response.

“Murder, for sure. In cold blood, plain daylight.” He teased, turning the steering wheel to enter the avenue. “Maybe poisoning.”

“And why?”

He gave you a quick glance before turning his attention back to the road.

“Because you have this innocent woman look, all pretty, cute eyes who make men fall in love at first sight… the perfect stereotype.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a crooked smile. “When I least expect it, I’ll wake up in an ice bath.”

You gave a short laugh and lightly pushed his shoulder. “How awful, Warren. I’d never kill you.”

“I don’t know… what if one day I make you angry?”

He turned onto your street and parked in front of your house. The engine purred softly before being turned off. Silence filled the car.

“Then I don’t know…” you teased, biting your lip as you pretended to think.

Warren chuckled softly and shook his head. “See? That’s what I’m talking about.”

“See you tomorrow.” You said, unbuckling your seatbelt.

But before you could reach for the door handle, you hesitated.

“Warren.”

He turned to face you, leaning in slightly. “Yeah?” His voice was lower, as if he already knew what was coming.

You hesitated for a second, your gaze locked on his lips. Your heart raced as your bodies leaned almost instinctively toward each other. Your hot breath mingled in the small space between you. But at the last moment, you pulled back, looking away.

“Nothing…”

“Fuck, stop saying it’s nothing.” Warren grumbled, letting out a short sigh before unbuckling his belt and cupping your face with his warm hands, pulling you into an unexpected kiss.

The touch was intense, a mix of urgency and pent-up desire. Your fingers tightened the fabric of his jacket, pulling him closer, opening your mouth for more of what you craved so much.

When you pulled away, a mischievous smile played on his lips. You smiled, still feeling his breath against your skin, your mouth damp from the trace of what had happened.

“Thank you.” You mumbled, trying to pull away, but he pulled you back, deepening the kiss without hesitation.

This time, you moaned against his lips and released his belt, seeking more proximity. Warren slid his hand under your shirt, pulling your waist closer and feeling the soft skin against his touch. His other hand went to the back of your neck, his fingers intertwining in your hair as the kiss grew more intense.

Time seemed to have stopped. You turned your body so that he had more access, your hand touching his face, the hairs of his growing beard prickling your skin, brushing against your chin. It stung, but it felt so damn good. When air became a necessity, you pulled away with a silly smile, your eyes shining under the dim light of the streetlamp.

“You’re very welcome.” Warren murmured, his eyes fixed on your mouth, his fingers lightly brushing your skin as if he still didn’t want to let go.

You smiled and looked away, opening the door.

“See you tomorrow, Warren.”

“Why?”

“I’m in front of my house.” You laughed softly.

Before you could leave, he pulled your hand and stole one last kiss.

“Just one more.” He murmured against your lips, sealing them once more. You smiled against his mouth before finally leaving.

Warren waited until you got in and closed the door to start the car. He licked his lips, capturing your trail. He frowned, smelling a strange smell in the air. Looking around, he decided to look at his pants and...

“Shit, Warren. What’s wrong with you?” He groaned in disgust, seeing his own situation. His jeans were darker, damp, soft. “I can’t believe this. One kiss! One kiss! I’m so fucked up. That’s the ending.”

Disgusted, he just decided to go home as soon as possible to resolve the outcome of the little moment between you. Even though he was uncomfortable with the sticky feeling between his legs, the satisfied smile didn’t leave his face.

And it didn’t leave throughout the entire night.

[homestuckreplay]

hey i really liked your post speculating on the kids' school lives. i havent seen a lot of people talk about what the kids lives were like pre-sburb and you mentioned having more that you hadn't written so i wanna know what you got :D

hello thank you so much! this is something I definitely want to put more thought into, I think it gives a fuller understanding of them as characters to have ideas about their 'baseline normal' pre-sburb that they're now departing from. so here's a bunch of thoughts for now, and maybe I'll do some more later :D

John – I think that Dad Egbert had a happy childhood with Nanna, and because he was so happy, he’s basically tried to replicate those steps with John, and then is confused when John doesn’t respond as well as he used to. He’s definitely tried teaching John to cook and bake, going for walks/throwing a frisbee around together near pipe lake, enrolling him in all kinds of extracurriculars, etc, but John has always found it hard to get motivation to do those things – piano lessons was the one thing he actually stuck with, probably because it was a solo activity, and he never wanted to perform or be in an orchestra. When he was young it was rare for him to get invited over to other kids’ houses for playdates, and even more rare for him to ask someone over – the number of people who have ever been inside John’s room is extremely small imo. In nursery/pre-k when the teachers were trying to teach sharing skills and collaborative play, John was over in the corner making up scenes with various action figures, dolls and stuffed animals and he did NOT want any help.

But it’s the 2000s and nobody is talking about therapy or mental health, and he’s a nice kid, he’s not causing any problems he’s just a little quiet and spacey, so nobody ever thinks to assess him for anything and he kind of flies under a lot of people’s radar. And then as he gets older, later in elementary school and going into middle school, he starts to feel a little different, lonelier, seeing for the first time the things he’s missing out on and growing too big for this imaginary world he’s constructed for himself, so then he starts trying to learn to mask and fit in, play games with the other kids at recess, but by then it’s kind of too late because he’s missed out on so much. And he always kind of gets it wrong, like if the other kids all saw idk Night at the Museum when it came out, John would be all “yeah I saw that too!” but then he goes way harder on it than everyone else does and ends up looking weird, or he tries to play basketball and he’s actually okay at running and jumping but he doesn’t know The Rules so he fouls. And so he retreats into himself again, this time a little sadder and a little more restless, because he kind of knows he wants something else, but doesn’t quite know how to get it, or why it’s not working – because he has internet friends by this point, and they’re great but feel so distant, and there’s a real part of him who wants someone other than Dad to just sit next to on the couch and watch a movie with.

Rose – Mom is a scientist and clearly super intelligent, and she taught Rose to read, write and do basic math at a younger age then usual and Rose took to it quickly, so she went into kindergarten already knowing all that stuff and she showed up Ready to Win. Like it’s a challenge, like she could do all of the kindergarten work within the first week and then she wouldn’t have to go back for the rest of the year. And she was really annoyed when it didn’t work like that, because it wasn’t fair, like why should she have to sit at a table and wait while other kids are trying to make their first letter shapes? So she feels talked down to by the academics and she isn’t interested in other areas, like art and music and sport and group activities, because she doesn’t see them as important when Clearly there is a library here. Rose absolutely begs her mom to homeschool her as a young kid and Mom eventually gives in and they try it for the third grade, but by winter they hate each other and it’s what sets their relationship down its current path of misunderstanding and is what made them so distant from each other even while living together. After that Rose had a series of private tutors and was offputting and weird enough to get all of them to quit, some accidentally and some on purpose, so then for fourth grade she just goes back to school, and she starts applying herself to things like the violin and softball even though she doesn’t actually care about them because she’s just straight up bored.

Rose was a super early adopter of video games, I think her mom got her a computer of her own when she was very young to help with learning and because Rose was VERY intense and demanding as a small child, always asking complicated questions. So she really gravitated towards video games as something that has a skill curve in a way TV and movies don’t – I’m actually not sure she’s ever seen a movie, though she has played some shitty 2000s video game adaptations of movies. She started out playing educational games like Reader Rabbit and Cluefinders and then moved to playing anything she could get her hands on from various mail order catalogs, same with books, she would leave her order forms in stamped addressed envelopes on the front doormat and Mom would take them to the post office when she went out, pre-massive internet marketplaces. And after their relationship broke down Mom stopped taking her out of the house except to school, so Rose would pull stunts like setting a tent up in the backyard and sleeping there and making a campfire for a couple days, just for enrichment. Overall I think Rose has been like 10-20% understimulated for her entire childhood and has constantly, always been looking for things to pull her up to that baseline and has never really found anything, until right now.

Dave – I think Bro might send Dave to school as one of many hazing mechanisms, in addition to however many sword fights and rooftop battles, nobody is better at bullying and social control than kids. I also think Dave spends a lot more time outside of his house than the other kids, Bro probably kicks him out if he wants to have people over / set up some saw traps / do some weird puppet stuff so Dave ends up just kinda wandering the definitely not super walkable city streets as a pretty young kid, and that’s where he gets his ability to monologue like crazy because he just has this stream of thoughts in his head constantly as he observes the world. He doesn’t have food in the house but he has some local places like a mcdonalds and a diner where he can go in and the staff are like “hey it’s kinda weird this kid has a credit card. oh well!” and they’ll let him sit with a big plate of chicken nuggets and an apple juice because they figure his home life isn’t great, and occasionally one of the staff will go up to him and ask if everything is okay and where his parents are, and he just shrugs it off and says it’s fine and then doesn’t go back there for a while. Observing other people in the city is definitely where he gets his first inspiration for comics and blog posts, since he does so much more looking at the world than participating in it.

Dave doesn’t always bother showing up for school, he kinda decides based on the day if he’s actually going to go there because obviously he thinks everyone wants to see him and, like, what are those other kids gonna do if they don’t have someone cool to guide them around? But at the same time, he struggles with routine, and even if he genuinely tries to stick to going in, a couple days a week he just finds himself getting on the wrong bus and ending up in a random part of town, and he’s never had safety drilled into him so he’ll do things like pick up roadkill off the street to preserve it in his specimen jars, or climb up the outside of a building because a cop saw him not being in school, or steal from a store just to see if he can get away with it. It’s mostly for the story – he knows he can get attention from Bro or from people at school if he can share some wild stories, but in truth nobody actually believes what he says, and even though it’s at least mostly true he just gets seen as a kid with overactive imagination. That’s a big factor in his adoption of irony, because if he’s gonna be misconstrued and not taken seriously, he wants to control the intent behind that and its effects on people as much as possible.

[danileepearce]

hey, do u miss forums

ive been meaning to post here for what feels like forever, but i've been so busy for so long now that i've just forgotten to until now

from october to november i got heavily involved with building a forum website alongside 5 others, as a very deliberate return to creating a new internet third space at a time where we are sorely lacking in them. it's called "yellowtealpurple.net." (link in image)

this site is built and designed with the intent of making a space for artists and creatives who don't want to deal with the chaos and uncertainty of social media. its entirely self owned and funded with yours truly as one of the central admins under the alias of "dani_phantump". its meant to be a guaranteed space where creatives can share their work and know that it will be seen, as well as a space meant to intentionally nurture a close sense of community online, which i also feel we are sorely lacking in the present day.

we also have a very clearly outlined policy about AI absolutely not being welcome, as we've seen that this is something artists everywhere seem to grieve over and we think we are greatly in need of a space that allows art to be art without trying to "generate" anything from it. social media circles/cliques for me just don't cut it. if you've been around online for as long as i have, you'll know on a deep level that this is the some form of real thing, warts and all. obviously forums are not for everyone, but what we have just has never felt satisfactory. corporate entities controlling online space has just never been what ive vibed with so this is essentially acting as my own lil circumvention

there's spaces here outlined for artists, writers, musicians, filmmakers, game devs, programmers, video artists, sound artists, even archivists. with social media and other sites being so corporate with their design, this site is deliberately made with a more old-school "homespun" online aesthetic. much of the direction of this site's purpose, functionality and look has been dictated by my instruction, as i approached this project with probably the clearest vision of all the admins. ive found lately that this kind of community organizing is one of my true callings and i want to use what i know from experience to try to make at least one site on the internet a more colorful and human place to be again.

as an admin i am deeply committed to maintaining a degree of safety, harmony and quality for my site and for the community that organizes on it. my dream is to rally together creatives of all stripes and have us cross pollinate in ways that social media doesn't really allow. we've already got some big site-wide creative projects underway that allows everyone to each show off our creative talents in cool ways, such as art quilts, a collaborative experimental film, and a lot of other stuff. i want people to feel like they're a part of something meaningful, as i also want for myself, because we all deserve that today.

sign-ups officially opened last November and we've already reached almost 400 members! i greatly encourage everyone i know, not just creatives, to consider checking this place out and all of our hard work. we would love for you all to join us and add whatever it is youre willing to contribute to this community!

[enjoythesilentworld]

2024 fandom review!

thank u for the tag @willesredlights sorry it took me literally ages to get to it

lets pretend we're not almost two weeks into the new year ok? and what a year it has been. holy shit.

~ Fics written ~

I'll be honest I did go a little batshit crazy this past year. 314k words across 19 published works, plus god knows how much more unpublished on tumblr. listen, I was deep in the ??? phase of my master's (still am, lets be honest) and desperately looking for a new creative outlet. I've always been a writer, always loved dreaming up stories, but I have never quite connected to a universe as much as I have to this one. I resonate with so many of the characters, and i just feel like there is so much room to play and explore. i will continue to add in old people OCs to my fics wherever and whenever i get the chance.

First fic: for the tree's sake (M, 48k) aka tree boys inspired by the trip that eventually led to my discover of young royals in late '23, and my darling baby. yes, that airplane ride that seems weird and random is based on truth!

Fav fic: just if for a minute (T, 53k) aka fake married idiots i greatly enjoyed making Wille suffer for just under 53k. that confrontation scene took days off my life and yet i am so proud of how it turned out.

Honorary mention to Growing towards the light, which was a dream to work on and create with my dear sweet friend Lia. there is one braincell between the two of us and it's full of nature facts and dick jokes. and beautiful stories about getting lost in the wilderness and finding yourself along the way. and tent-dick jokes.

Last fic: Wille på Hyllan (T, 13k) aka christmas shenanigans! another collab with my dearest friends which was hilarious to write and so silly and imo an example of one of the greatest perks of being in a fandom: meeting some of the most incredible people ever. also, dick-lights and dick-tomtar and dick-cookies. what more could you want?

~ Fics Read ~

if i tried to go through my history and tell you how many fics i read this year i would never make this post. i'd be here counting and trying to copy links forever. i read hundreds of fics. i enjoyed all of them, thoroughly. i got a lot better at leaving comments (sometimes). i was consistently and repeatedly blown away by the genius brains we have in this little Swedish corner of the internet.

if you are a writer i love you and i give u a kiss on the forehead.

also: i recently made a lil rec list here.

~ Other Stuff? ~

i had two big, busy months this year. three? : May, Wille's month & July, Simon's month i cannot believe i wrote 62 stories in 62 different universes (give or take a few). that's kind of stupid! but oh my god it was so fun!! some of my favs: -> Food, where Wille and Simon meet and embark on a mistakenly booked couples food tour in Barcelona -> Fashion/Style, aka the Met Gala AU aka the thing that turned into something so much bigger than i could have ever imagined. literally i thought people were gonna hate it. so, thank u for not hating it. and for letting it become 15k+ of pwp. -> Secret, friends to lovers RAHHHHHH -> Home (Improvement), aka grumpy home renovator Simon idk i just feel like this should become a full-blown fic one day

and oh boy who can forget about Kinktober from wax kinks in 17th century Italy to desperate love confession in the middle of wildfires to... whatever that was in the confessional (idk, that's between them and God).

2024...

I did some painting: x x I wrote some real weird lil ficlets: x x and I met dozens of incredible people. thank u for liking my stupid rambling posts from 3am and my silly little ficlets and for reading my stories and telling me about your stories and saving me from the Frankfurt airport and yelling with me about stuff thats definitely not in the Bible and sharing your time and space and art and care.

@bigalockwood @hergrandplan @gulliblelemon @saynomorefic @pagegirlintraining @skibasyndrome @sobadbad @impossibleknots @piebingo @theaviatorthatcouldnotfly @misfithive @sillylittleflower @zee-has-commitment-issues @purplehoodiesandclementines @justfriendsbestthings

giving u a big hug. and! this is by no means an exhaustive list. if ur reading this we are bffs. send me a message ok? ok. y'all keep me sane and happy and i am so grateful for you! live love wilmon

[dailyrothko]

Hi! I’m already drawn to Rothko’s art so much just by looking at his paintings on my tiny phone screen. But it is quite unlikely that I’ll get to see his paintings irl, at least not for a few years. Would you mind sharing your experience of looking at a Rothko? Thank you for putting in the work on this blog :)

Hi, I'm sorry I didn't answer this sooner but Tumblr has not been notified me that I have messages and I forgot to check. I've had a coupled of weeks of insomnia so you may have to forgive some languid prose.

In my early viewings of Rothko, I think my reactions were fairly standard exchanges with modern art when you're getting acclimated. Among these, were how big the paintings were, and I duplicated this surprise in my viewings of a couple of other abstract, expressionist painters, notably in my mind, Franz Kline, Jackson Pollock and Lee Krasner along with Rothko.

I think there's a hand in the hand reaction about the size that then you are aware the paintings are not hard edged, the way, say an Ellsworth Kelly painting would be. There's a plastic look effective in pop-art that Rothko strenuously avoided. They are undeniably sensual, almost romantic.

Once you get the size, you can really appreciate this because when you read art monographs or look at the internet, the lens is so reduced, one tends to get a constricted notion of color squares like you would see in a color theory book. However, the face-to-face confrontation reveals quite the opposite feeling of that kind of art.

It's a little hard to describe, but it's not that the paintings are completely soft. They have a lot of minor details, brushstrokes, stray lines and bits of splattered paint, but none of those colliding forces interfere with an overall limitless impression of the form that makes it very different from hard edge or gestural painting (like de Kooning). Part of what's hard to describe, is how it is not soft, but rather translucent, not vague, but flowering out to infinity.

I find with Rothko in particular that when you start looking, you want to keep looking. I suppose one of his detractors might say you're doing it because you're looking for something where there is nothing, but my experience with art is that, where there is nothing you quickly move on. Rothko might be equated in some minds with an Antonioni movie (Certainly Antonioni himself thought this) where it has a quality of nothingness but not one of no meaning. We read meaning into everything we are exposed to, it's part of how our brains process things, but perhaps Rothko's great skill is inviting you to look. i would not be the first to think so.

My tendency to invest in things I like leads me to unconsciously test myself as if from the outside, making sure that I am not fooling myself as to the merit of it (who wants to be a sucker, right?) and, I've seen a couple over the years that I felt didn't age well, maybe, something about them didn't look as alive, not the color combinations, but possibly something with the paint dulling overtime. I don't think galleries like to talk about it because the artist so valuable as an investment, but you do see, if rarely, paintings would you feel maybe age got the better of. Much of this, though can be attributed to the way light works with Rothko. The public tends to gripe when a gallery is not brightly lit, but Rothkos tend to wilt under bright lights and lose depth. This has a lot to do with the fact that Rothko painted in dim light like El Greco, and voiced his paintings to speak this way.

When they do work, which is quite often, it's pretty vivid, and I feel, entrancing. When I first got really interested in Rothko in my late teenage years, I did not know a single person who was interested in it among my group of friends and I bought a poster from the cover of Bonnie Clearwater's works on paper book and I hung it on my wall. It was a conversation starter because nobody liked it! I suppose that's the age where some people are geared towards something more classically punchy.

My feeling of the paintings, especially early in my life, remind me of an effect one might feel from music that you've never heard before, much like the response I had from the early rural blues music of the late 1920s. I didn't know how much I loved it exactly, I only knew that it was powerfully beckoning me to return. And, as one returns, you participate in a communion. You relax into it and the feelings you have rise to the surface, sometimes framing emotionally charged interchange between you and the art. I think that's a lovely thing to get from whatever kind of art you like.

Now, I am kind of an old hand at seeing Rothko paintings, but I rarely cease to be surprised by them and that maybe that is their finest attribute.

I can't imagine this helps much, but I hope that when you do see one in person, you will write and share your impressions, because after all, they are the ones that count

[ohbother2]

Hi everyone,

I know it's been ages and some of you have probably seen this notification and have hoped that this means the fics on this page will be updating, however, I've got some bad news.

This blog was a joint account between two friends who loved creating silly stories of some of our favourite characters in our free time and gushing over character details with one another. Beyond tragically, my friend, the co-runner of this account, passed away a few months ago. Obviously, I'm keeping the details private, but it was sudden and unexpected.

I know this is a shock to all of you, and not what you were expecting to hear after such a long hiatus. Understandably, I've not been active on tumblr, particularly this account, since. It's felt incredibly wrong to login to this blog and even attempt to re-read some of the stuff posted or your comments/tags, especially without her to talk to about all your lovely messages. She really did love reading them, and we'd call for hours to laugh and talk about your kind messages.

Although I acted as what you'd call the 'face' of this account, actually posting, reblogging, commenting and following others, she was integral to the heart of this account, to the ideas and writing and editing that made this account what it is, and I don't want to continue posting heacannons/one-shots/any kind of creative writing on this blog without her. This was our passion-project, and a massive chunk of it is now missing.

I just wanted to let you guys know what the situation with this blog is and why, and I wanted to give a massive thank you from both of us for being the most supportive, kind-hearted, and tight-knit community we'd ever had or seen on Tumblr before. The fact we even had fan-art made of our writing goes to show how dedicated and incredibly talented this fandom is, how supportive and just genuinely excited everyone is to hype each other up and lift each other and appreciate all our passions. It's genuinely insane, and so rare in modern internet spaces.

Regarding the future of this account, because I don't want to leave unfinished fics floating around the website, and for personal reasons, I will be transferring all fics/one-shots over to AO3, marking them as incomplete, and 'orphaning' them. I've really debated this decision, and I believe it's the one she'd be most happy with. I'm just giving you guys fair warning, I'll wait a few weeks before I actually do anything. I don't know if I'll delete this blog, I'm rather attached, but I won't be active for a while.

Probably most importantly, if anyone wants to take our ideas or our unfinished fics/one-shots and complete them/edit the story/adapt our head-cannons/incorporate them into your own fics, please do. I think it'd be nice to inspire and help other fic writers, and see the ideas carried on in whatever way you guys choose. Everything on this account is effectively 'orphaned' already, so feel free to do whatever you want with it :).

This is getting long, but I also wanted to say thank you to everyone who sent in requests, funny comments, little anecdotes, and witty one-liners into our messages/asks, both that we did and didn't respond to, especially lately. We planned to do a great return to this blog after our exams responding to them all/clogging up your feeds. Someone even called us their 'favourite niche internet micro celebrity', and we both found it hilarious.

There's no gofundme or anything like that set up. Sometimes, things just don't go as we plan and there's nothing we can do. If I've learnt anything from this godawful situation, it's that you should do whatever you want as soon as possible. Don't wait to join that club. don't wait to take that trip, don't wait to watch that show, don't wait to visit friends or family, don't wait to begin doing a hobby that you think you'll love. Anything can happen, and the only time we know that we have for certain is now. (Master Uguay was right in Kung Fu Panda after all).

I won't be active for a while, but I'll check in to see how this post is doing now and again, and I'll probably post again just before I begin taking things down.

Thank you guys, and I hope you don't dwell on this post too long.

[ffc1cb]

new art blog

the short version:

1. i made a new art blog: @cbge;

2. @ffc1cb will stay up as an archive.

the long version:

hi everyone. this announcement is somewhat late, since the blog in question has been up for a few months now, and i’ve already started posting art on it. the reason it took me so long to “reveal” it is because i’ve been trying to figure out whether a new blog is something i actually want, or if it's just me throwing darts at a board, trying to make myself feel better somehow.

i don’t know when precisely it all started, but ever since sometime last year i’ve been going through a hard time, both emotionally and creatively. i’m not sure whether being depressed is what made art harder, or art becoming harder is what made me depressed (a bit of both, i think), but lately, drawing has been a struggle. 

i’ve found myself having less and less energy for art, and this lack of energy resulted in poorer quality of drawings, which resulted in me feeling like i’m getting worse at it, despite my efforts. i knew i could make good art, art that i’m proud of - i’ve done so countless times before, - but somehow it felt like i just couldn’t anymore, like my hands forgot how to. nothing looked right. 

i’ve been trying to experiment. i’ve learned some new things, tried this and that - it was enlightening, to say the least, and even though i kind of liked how it looked, it made me feel a sense of displacement. i was at odds with myself, my art, and how i felt about it, when previously i was always in sync. i was making art, yes, and it looked nice, but it felt like it wasn’t mine.

i suppose part of it was also the growing lack of engagement, and i don’t mean likes and reblogs - i never particularly cared about those. they are all just numbers to me; dry and impersonal. what i’m talking about is actual, human interactions: personal thoughts in tags, asks, replies, etc. a conversation. 

i don’t mean to sound “old” or anything, but i remember when talking to artists online was more commonplace. my wife tells me it’s because the internet culture has changed over the years, that people have become more reclusive, less willing to be open with their thoughts, and she's probably right, but in my slump i find it hard to believe. somehow it feels like it’s my fault for being less “engaging”, for seeming unapproachable or perhaps intimidating. maybe it’s “just a skill issue”, maybe it’s because i have stopped churning out fanart for popular fandoms, maybe it’s because i refuse to torture myself emotionally by having an art account on twitter (i can’t fucking stand the place anymore; i still post nsfw art there, but only because it’s literally one of the only places on the internet that allows you to do so. i miss when you could post female presenting tits on tumblr).

i have always, ever since i started posting art on the internet back in 2012, done it for human connection. i wanted to talk to people, and have people talk to me. i wanted to inspire people with my art, and i wanted to bring them comfort. i wanted to elicit an emotional response, and have people tell me about it. it was one of the main reasons i drew in the first place; having lost that, i’ve been struggling to stay passionate about making art.

i miss being a small artist on the internet during the 2010s. i remember when i could make a post going, “hey everyone, how are you all doing today?” and it would not seem weird to people in the slightest. it is just me? does anyone else feel that way? am i too deep in my own head? the internet feels so unwelcoming nowadays, especially to artists. we are all just content machines; people scroll by our stuff, or maybe look at it for half a second and leave a like before scrolling away. i know it’s unfair to demand people’s attention, especially now when our lives are already so overwhelmed by everything - no one has the energy to pay closer attention; i myself am not immune to mindless scrolling. but it feels bad. i wish we were all sincere and enthusiastic again.

anyway (sorry for rambling. i hope i haven’t bored you to death), you might want to say, okay, but how is making a new art blog on a “dying” social platform going to help with any of that? the truth is, i don’t know. i just felt like i needed a change. 

i’ve been running this blog since 2016 (that’s almost 8 full years!). i feel incredibly attached to it, but at the same time, i feel it weighing me down. 

there are people who followed me years ago for one specific thing, still expecting me to post about said thing (i still find it mindboggling that some people follow artists for a specific fandom only, but that is a whole other matter for a whole other post that i will never write). a third, if not half, of my following are probably dead blogs. and with my current struggle with trying to regain the joy i once felt for making art, looking back at all the art i’ve done over the years makes me feel tired. i still love it all; it’s all very dear to me. i’m proud of it; looking at it makes me mourn my younger and more passionate self.

so i’ve decided to make a new blog, where i will let myself post whatever i want, in whatever stage of donness i feel like. maybe it will help me, somehow. maybe it won’t. but if you care about my art, if you want to keep following me on my artistic journey, i welcome you to join me there. similarly, feel free not to - no hard feelings.

thank you everyone for your support over the years; it matters a lot to me. i’m not planning to delete or private this blog; it will stay up, and i will still be reachable on here. i will still answer asks, if there will be any. i’m just not planning to post any art here anymore. this is it for my dear old friend ffc1cb.

i can be found in other places:

@cbge, as mentioned earlier,

@k0nstanta, an art blog dedicated solely to my and my wife's ocs,

@inquisimail, a dragon age ask blog that has become my dragon age sideblog in general,

and multiple other blogs, none of which are art related, but feel free to ask, if you’re curious.

thank you very much for reading all of this. i hope you have a wonderful day.

[diamondcitydarlin]

'time for round two of making teenagers uncomfortable on the internet'

Listen. No one is shipping beetlebabes for the sole purpose of 'making teenagers uncomfortable on the internet'. Unless the adults in question are your parents/guardians, none of them are responsible for the stuff you might see while being 'on the internet'. None of them are responsible for your discomfort from what you might see. None of them are obligated to stop having fun in their own fandom spaces simply because a teenager exists 'on the internet' who doesn't like it (who is also perfectly capable of staying out of places they don't want to see, I PRESUME) no more than adults at a bar are obligated to not drink because there are people under the age who can't (fittingly, most bars in the US don't admit people under the age at all). You know who is responsible? Depending on your age of teenagedom, it's either to some extent your parents/guardians, but also you. Yeah, sweetie, you. I've been on the internet since the late 90's when I was NINE and I'm here to tell you right now that learning how to cultivate your own experience online is an extremely important tool. If you don't learn now how to keep your nose out of things that you don't like, you're going to have a very hard time filled with round-about arguments and constant drama and maybe worse when you could just be having fun with the things you do like and ignoring the stuff you don't. You see, my sweet summer child, feeling 'discomfort' about something benign does not inherently give you the right to shit all over whatever it is that made you uncomfortable or make up insinuations about the consenting adults participating in it. Unless there are people dropping shipping art into your inbox against your will or something (there aren't) it actually is none of your business at all, and doesn't concern you in the least. Like my goodness, you kids have ALL kinds of protections you can use to weed out things you don't want to see that we didn't have back when I was a 'teenager on the internet', blocking, blacklisting, browser extensions that can help with that, etc, and yet somehow we seem to have better understood back then how to mind our own business and stay out of fandom spaces we didn't want to be in. Nowadays all I see are children running into the devil's sacrament uninvited and claiming to be personally affected by said sacrament when all of us are wondering what the fuck they're doing there in the first place when there are clear signs denoting what sacrament this is. You don't have to see the movie, you don't have to see shipping content, you don't have to be 'exposed' to any of this at all; in this day and age, you choose to be, which makes any discomfort you feel as a result of that your own responsibility. The only person making 'teenagers uncomfortable on the internet' in this specific instance are the teens themselves.

And again, a little crash course in history here since the education system probably failed you, but using simply the existence of children as an excuse for why adults can't do consenting adult activities with each other has historically been used as a way to demonize and weaponize violence against marginalized groups. Yall are literally just stealing pages from homophobic/misogynistic/racist/transphobic conservative playbooks. That may not be your ultimate goal in coming after fandom spaces, but it's where that kind of behavior and thinking always ends up in the end. If you think alt-right entities won't harness that sense of youthful moral outrage for their own ends then I have a bridge to sell you.

Anyway, point being, no random adult on the internet or IRL is responsible for you. Random adults on the internet or IRL are not your parents/guardians. They have no obligation to eschew their own interests just because kids are wandering into places where they shouldn't. I honestly worry for any child on the internet who thinks this way, because there are absolutely predators out there that will abuse this sense of 'every adult is responsible for my comfort'. They aren't, and I'm sorry the adults in your life that actually are responsible for you failed you so much as to not teach you otherwise. Unlearn this now before you get hurt, please.

[nightcolorz]

I know you are not home (home being the internet) but you can answer when you are back

(hey! if you are reading this, welcome back!)

Anyway I've been thinking lately about Marius's handling of Daniel when he was "sick" (crazy) and what it says about him and his core values

Specifically:

Not informing Armand that Daniel was unwell and with him

And

Not tolerating Daniel's choice of creative outlet fully, namely not letting him use recycling and assorted objects to build his little cities and making him use only mass produced packs

I think both things are very telling of who Marius is as a person, he doesn't see Daniel and Armand's relationship as something valuable, he is blindsided when they get back together (which happens basically the second they are allowed the privacy to have a full conversation) and he doesn't think what Daniel is doing with his models as real art

I can't help but think he made sure Armand and Daniel didn't have contact those years because he knew if they did they would both abandon him, but he told himself (and maybe even believed that he was doing it to protect them both out of love)

He thinks love equals control and that love can not exist without hierarchy and subservience

Thoughts?

It took me so long to answer this bcus I have massive thoughts!

I think the way that Marius treats Daniel and Armand when it comes to their creative outlets is rlly interesting and telling and I’m so happy u brought that up. I’ve always gotten the impression that Marius is kind of pretentious about art. He has the whole “control = love” mentality and I think that’s plays into what he thinks art is/means. The way that Marius creates is by making exact replicas of real life or pre existing paintings with his vampire mimicking skills. So his art always comes off as very detailed and fascinating but also impersonal and in some way artificial. When he ends up accidentally inserting parts of himself into his work (like painting pandora into his piece when he’s thinking of her) he considers it in error and erases it. I get the impression that Marius considers art more the act of possessing smth preexisting and making it in his own image, taking control over it by immortalizing it, rather then expressing a part of himself or reflecting on some meaning.

he sort of pushes that perspective onto Daniel when hes under his care by making him use store bought items to create his models instead of letting him delve into his mind to sort through some creativity and make smth of his own. Marius likely thinks that by allowing Daniel to only build things in this specific correct way he is both teaching Daniel how to correctly make art and he is also controlling daniel and any kind of narrative that may be happening by restricting Daniel by exploring any of his self or emotions that Marius doesn’t have a say over. Daniel can’t delve into his “crazy” mind to create if Marius controls what he is creating, and I think Marius sees this as a good thing. The less access Daniel has to his sense of self the less likely he’ll go “mad” (and the less likely Marius won’t be able to keep him docile anymore)

when it comes to Armand, when Armand was a child he was very artistically skilled and inclined. He was so religious and faith meant sm to him that he only drew religious icons, which caused him to be taken advantage of and exploited by figures in his community. When he is sexually assaulted and sold into slavery he represses his childhood memories and his ability to paint. painting becomes traumatically triggering for Armand, and reminds him of how he feels like he’s lost his faith and connection to god bcus of what’s happened to him, and he refuses to do it. Instead of trying to encourage Armand to recontextualize his relationship with art and to use it as an outlet to regain his identity Marius instead takes advantage of the opportunity he sees of Armand being a blank slate and pushes his own views of religion and art onto him as to replace to old ones. I know Marius had good intentions there, and was probably like “by giving Armand a more positive view of this he will be less terrified”, but what he ends up doing is further depriving a slave child from his cultural identity and religious values by teaching him that his faith is the wrong type of faith and he should consume art the way marius does. Marius is once again asserting his control over someone in his care’s capacity for creativity by making sure his perspective is the one that is dominating the creation.

The way I see it, as an artist Marius understands the power of art and creation and knows that to keep his “love = control so these dudes I love need to be under my control” mentality he needs to limit how his loved ones r able to engage with their own creativity so that they aren’t tapping into a level of independence that is beyond Marius’s power.

I think this is also exactly why he limits Armand’s ability to interact with Daniel while he’s “sick”. Armand and daniels relationship is such a hurricane and Marius definitely knows that if he puts those two in the same room they r a force that he can’t push around to his will. But I think Marius is definitely telling himself that he’s separating Armand and Daniel bcus Armand is a mentally ill unstable lunatic who will ruin daniels brain and Daniel is too fragile to deal with that. I also think that since Armand and daniels relationship doesn’t follow this master and apprentice dynamic and is instead this emotional colorful hot mess crazy kid combo who can’t keep there hands off each other and r addicted to each others blood that it’s therefore Bad and Irresponsible (it is but it’s better then whatever Marius thinks is correct 💀) so he needs to be the big parent and protect them from themselves (keep them reliant on him so that they don’t leave him)

thnak u for the ask this is all so interesting !!