#found out my flatmate is going to be away for a few days after they left and bc id had no warning my anxiety spiked so hard

[phagodyke]

ykw actually I am angry + disappointed w them. I've been pushing how I feel aside and trying to make it my own fault so it's all contained but I think theyve just been mean. and they really should know me better ik I try to pretend I don't expect more from them so I feel less hurt when they do things that upset me but we've been friends for years by this point. like come on.

[steampoweredskeleton]

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Ignore

[moondirti]

Hellloooo🖤 I’m the anon who asked about the Safehouse story!

My brain, unfortunately, is not nearly as wrinkly as yours so I cannot come up with creative ideas like you 😂 BUT! I have a few ideas? Maybe? If you can call them that lol.

Was the spanking the first physical interaction they had? What did the morning after that look like?

What happens if reader has a nasty mental health episode & tries to hide it from Ghost?

Does the pet thing progress? I think we all know that Ghost has a thing for the pet play. I don’t even care, that’s totally canon for me at this point.

Would you ever consider writing about the general dynamic they have? Like the “rules” Ghost might have for them?

Totally and completely a self indulgent ask from someone who just had to pull themselves out of a nasty mental health episode lmao I’m so sorry please ignore this if it’s annoying or dumb!

shh i love all of these. i have so many thoughts now / prev

cw: dubcon d/s lifestyle. petplay. controlling behaviour. possessiveness. panic attacks. toxicity. noncon collaring. financial manipulation. mention of self harm. brief fluff.

Your thing with Simon is hard to contextualise.

Or even understand, really.

Parts of it are welcome. He asserts himself in a way you haven't found in the nobodies you've hooked up with previous, happy to fuck you dumb if it means you'll surrender yourself completely. Which you do. You listen intently and follow every direction he gives in bed, and as a reward he wrings orgasm after orgasm from your squirming body. You cum more in one week than you have in the past month, never not naked and sore, wrists tender from where he anchors his hand to keep them pinned above your head. You hear puppy more than your own name, at this point. And it's a concerning because– Well...

You don't mind it.

But you still don't like him.

It isn't like you necessarily need to like your partners in order to have a good time, but it certainly helps if you can tolerate them beyond a dick-in-hole condition. Simon is an anomaly in that he is the worst person you know, whilst also serving as the best lay you've ever had.

That is to say, his habits haven't changed. He's a fucking terror to live with. Nightmare flatmate, the type you see strangers complain about on reddit forums or hear in a friends story from their sister's husband's cousin. Not something you would take seriously until you live the experience – now existing as a sore, precautionary tale you'll no doubt be pitching to anyone also considering subleasing their place as a safe house.

Perhaps it's made worse by the sexual element you share. Before, he had just been your average perverse man, stealing clothes and walking in on you in the bathroom. Now, it seems that sleeping with him has given him the go-ahead to push that behaviour to an extreme. He'll pat your ass while you go about your business, or tug your hair when you raise your voice. Treats you like a pet that has yet to be debarked; just a silly, sub-human way of entertainment.

You can't help but feel you enabled it. But no–

The pet play is cute when he's drilling your brains out – and perhaps only because you can't think straight enough to raise concern – but you're not a dog. Nor do you want to be treated like one throughout all hours of the day. The onus is on him for not catching the hint.

But of course, accountability isn't in his lexicon.

Things only get worse from there.

"An' where d'you think you're going?"

You're halfway out of the door when he catches you leaving.

If you had been more iron-willed, you would slip out and scurry away before he can continue whatever spiel he has stirring. Instead, it's instinct to shrivel in on yourself, clicking the door shut before turning to face the behemoth waiting in the foyer.

"Out." You huff, intent on cold-stoning him. But it's a fools game when your opponent in the broad-shouldered lieutenant – for he merely cocks his head, waiting your silence out with more silence, and it's all you can do to bite your tongue against the deluge of excuses that pile up. "My mates thought it would be a good idea to catch brunch. Y'know– to celebrate the start of summer break. It's a nice day out so..." You gesture to your attire, like you have any reason to justify a sundress to some man you are in no way committed to.

But you can read the possessive gleam of his eyes as they take stock of your appearance: from your expensive mules, up your moisturised legs, to the low cut of your décolletage. It's easy to connect it to that look he had when you came back home that fateful night, the look of warning before he'd taken you over his lap and slapped your ass raw.

And for some odd reason, you're compelled to dig yourself out of trouble.

"Hm. It is a nice day, innit?" You nod a bit too quick. He stalks closer. "Lots of people out." Your nod is a little less enthusiastic. He's centimetres away now. "Some bad, bad men too."

He lifts the ends of your dress, slowly. Your next words quiver on their way out your chest. It's alarming to find that they don't sound nearly as assertive as you intend for them to be, not like they do horny.

"Where are you going with this?"

Your skirt pools around your hips now, held up by one hand as the other smooths over with the gusset of your panties.

"You plan on lettin' them have at this puppycunt? Have I not been givin' it enough attention?" He mockingly coos, pressing harder against the mound between your legs. Your knees grow weak. Not of your own accord, but weak nonetheless, and you have to hold onto his wrist to keep yourself upright. "Is tha' it?"

"N-No–"

"No? But that's what they'll think seeing you walk around like this, silly thing. Poor, neglected mutt, they'll say. Don't have a firm hand to keep 'er in line." Simon tuts, releasing his grip on your dress to pull something out of his back pocket. With the way he crowds into you, you can't crane your head to see what it is. "Now we can't have tha'. I spoil my girl rotten, wouldn' you say?"

"Yes. Yes but–"

"No buts, pup. Have ta stake my claim on you somehow." Something clicks. All too suddenly, you're made aware of the new weight on your neck. It tightens against the column of your throat – not enough to constrict your airways, but enough so that it hinders the way you move. "There we go. So pretty like this."

Panic seizes you, the steel fist of paralysis capturing your muscles in a vice-like clutch. Even as Simon pulls away, you're almost scared to find yourself in the nearest mirror. Scared of what you'll find dangling between your collarbones. There's no mistaking the textured leather that presses against your skin, nor the soft clink of metal hanging from it. No fooling yourself that this is all some cruel joke, not with the sick leer of satisfaction that warps his face.

Stumbling, you navigate to the bathroom and blindly turn on a light.

That cruel fuck.

"Simon," Your voice is devoid of the anger you feel roaring through your veins, circuiting through the frenzied stutter of your heart to find new passion. Instead, you sound horrified. Near hysterical, choking on your own pleas as you run back to the foyer. Your hands tug at the collar clasped around your neck, desperately searching for a buckle that will aid you in ripping it off, despite seeing the lock latched right at the centre that tells of its permanence. What's more, he had it engraved with a crude variation of a dog collar tag. If lost, leave alone. Or else count your days. "S-Simon, Simon please. Fuck– take it off. Take it off, take it off! I don't want this, I don't want... This isn't funny. I'll change if that's what it takes. Please."

Snot bursts from your nose, cheeks wet with a hot mess of tears. You can't suppress the hiccups that interrupt your begging like pathetic shots to the chest, or the weak hits you beat across his pecs. If you could, then perhaps he would give your tantrum more weight.

As it stands, you're nothing but a feral creature resisting training.

"Shhh. Pets can' speak. Pets don't cry." His thumbs press to your under eyes, tamping the flow of brine that mark steady tracks from your lashes. "You'll ruin your makeup like this."

"Si–"

He stare hardens into something dangerous. Against your better judgment, you clamp your lips shut.

"That's it. You're s'good when you listen to me, pup." Once he's sure you've stopped crying, he removes his thumbs to instead push one into your mouth. You can taste the salty residue of your tears on his fingertips. "Now, this is the bes' of both worlds, see? You can go see your friends with this on. I know pets need their playtime, af'er all."

You arch your back in protest, but all that does is bring you closer to the lieutenant. He misinterprets that entirely, of course, and a small smile breaks his face like you've agreed to his terms. A heavy palm pats your ass.

"S'jus' so you don't forget who you belong to." He chuckles. "An' if your friends like the idea, then I have a few friends for them."

You make it one block before hightailing back home.

Nothing in you wanted to give that bastard the satisfaction, but he made it so that whatever you chose to do – stay home or leave wearing a symbol of his ownership – he'd end up triumphant. Naturally, then, you opted for the lesser of two evils: to leave his vicinity immediately. Besides, you'd promised your girls you'd see them after going AWOL the past fortnight, and you knew you'd get an earful if you decided to reschedule at the last moment.

You thought you would convince them it was a bet. That the collar is just some silly joke you have to bear for the day after a football match didn't go in your favour.

But you make it one block before a tradie on his lunch break catcalls you (you about that freaky ting, beautiful?) and decide to change course completely.

You arrive back at your flat without further incident. Ego stung from the various odd looks you received on your way, but nothing as egregious as being singled out as a freak in the midst of a crowd occurs again.

Still, your hands shake as you push your key into its slot.

Which progress to full body tremors as you turn it in place.

Thankfully, Simon isn't waiting on you on the other side of the door. He sits, manspreading on the couch instead, focus zeroed in on the telly that broadcasts Fulham v Man City. When he doesn't look away, you allow yourself to hope he hadn't heard you come in. But it's a naive pool to place your faith in. Nothing escapes the man, and soon enough, his tone of humoured indifference shatters the silence you've been precariously trying to keep.

"Miss me 'lready?"

A wretched sulk, pit of anger hollowing out anew. You swiftly snatch your laptop from the breakfast bar before storming to your room, making sure to lock the door firmly behind you.

The website is bookmarked. Taunting. Sublet your home as a safehouse for our armed forces. Serve your country and help soldiers find refuge. You would laugh if you weren't so single-minded, typing in your email and password upon being prompted to. You don't have to deal with this shit any longer, nor do you intend to. If you remember correctly, there had been a way to report any problems you face. If you phrase yours right, you might just get Simon pulled from your services.

Good dick be damned.

But when you hit enter to sign in, an error message blinks in red.

Account does not exist.

Which is fine. Shit like this happens all the time. There's no reason to work yourself into a panic, you probably just used the wrong email.

So you try your alternate. Account does not exist.

It feels unlikely, but maybe you'd created it under your school email to give yourself credibility. Only–

Account does not exist.

Your blood pressure is no doubt sky high by now. Other symptoms of stress already start to wrack through you – blurry vision, chest aches, difficulty breathing. Your hands sweat excessively as you dig for the customer care number you're sure exists somewhere, efforts impaired by the ever-present weight of the collar around your neck. You wonder if Simon can smell your anxiety like a predator does its prey. If he's in the other room, salivating, waiting for you to wobble out of your room to go for the kill. Some part of you – a needlessly paranoid part – rests on the conclusion that this is somehow his fault too.

Your phone already rings in an outgoing call once you blink back to the present. While you've been functioning on autopilot, you must have found a number to call that related close enough to your issue.

And your suspicion is confirmed when an automated voice picks up. You are currently... second... in line.

It takes five minutes. When a placating woman speaks up amidst the nauseating music they have queued, you can hardly contain yourself from word-vomiting onto her. Safehouse signup. Lost account. Need to report an issue. Please. It's urgent.

"Okay ma'am. If you could give me your name, I'll be happy to find the source of your problem today." You can't spell it out any faster. "Alright. One moment, please."

"O-okay." You sniffle miserably.

"I see. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but it seems that you've been pulled from the program after a complaint was lodged against you. Unfortunately I can't provide more detail than that, but if you need anything else, I would be happy to assi–"

You hang up. The poor thing doesn't need to hear the incensed scream that tears from the deepest parts of you, or the following crack as you chuck your cell at the wall. She'd done what she could. It isn't her fault. It was that self-serving bastard that had you blacklisted from the only thing keeping you financially afloat. It is that that self-serving bastard that continues to occupy space inside your home, despite having no real right to it now.

The tantrum isn't near cathartic enough to unfetter you from your prison of aggravation, and you continue to take it out on everything in your near radius. Your duvet and pillows. The lotion you keep by your beside table. Your own skin, nails piercing into the soft flesh of your palms.

And especially the collar constricting your throat, like vines that tighten at the first sign of struggle.

You have to get this collar off. Even if you fail at everything else, you have to get this collar off.

Scrambling off your bed, you turn your room upside down looking for a bobby pin or a knife. One is unquestionably the safer bet, but you know you'll sit for hours trying to pick the lock that keeps you shackled – so when you find the boxcutter sitting at the bottom of your junk drawer, you immediately take it to your neck.

Just as Simon barges into your room.

You're so far gone, you don't even question how this must look to him. In fact, it doesn't occur to you that you locked your door, and that the only way he could've gotten in is by having a replica of your key. No. You merely twist away from the all-encompassing hold he wraps around your arms, determined to keep the boxcutter away from his confiscation until you can slice through the leather.

But you're crying. Visibly, alarmingly unstable. And Simon's breaths are a little faster than normal, faltering in a way they only do when he's close to climax. He must be worried, which is a funny thought, seeing as he's the reason you're in this mess.

"Alright thas– that's enough of that." He grunts after managing to pry the blade from your hand. You hardly mourn the loss, rather crumbling in on yourself as your sobbing escalates. No longer frustrated, nor determined. Just primed into a suffocating panic attack.

Somewhere in your auditory periphery, you hear the clinking of glass. It doesn't register until he holds a vial of lavender extract you keep under your nose, forcing you to inhale the medicinal aroma. Soon enough, your mouth opens to swallow gulps of unscented air alongside it, and the imposed breathing exercise calms you to a point of blubbering calm.

(For someone so apathetic, you admit he handled that expertly.)

That isn't the end of it, though. Moments later, you're lifted off your feet. He cradles you in both arms as he makes his way to your bed, sitting up against the headboard and placing you on his lap. Safe. Undisturbed.

You say nothing, pressing your wet face into his shirt. For comfort, first and foremost, but the makeup that'll undoubtedly stain the white fabric is an added bonus.

"Know this is hard for y'to understand, pup." Simon begins. "Hard for you ta wrap your head around ownership after bein' alone for s'long. I won't punish you for tha'."

"Y-You don't own me." You accuse.

He shakes his head in response, like your mind is truly as little as he claims. Like you're a dog, complete with two ears and a tail, and he plucked you off the street on the condition that you heel.

If anything, he's the stray.

"Oh, but I do." A large hand rubs circles on your back. Never have you been so conflicted, so torn between leaning in and biting back. "Just don't see it yet, pet. Bu' you will, in time. And in the meanwhile, we'll establish some ground rules to help you adjust."

[asimplearchivist]

𝓢𝓹𝓮𝓮𝓭 𝓓𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰

𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘 𝐈𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐗𝐗𝐕

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ you're down in the dumps about the disheartening lack of prospective romantic partners interested in initiating a long-term relationship with you. your ever-helpful coworker amy decides to give you (and a highly interested would-be suitor) a nudge in the right direction—just not in the way you might expect. pairing(s) ☽ steven grant/reader-centric | constellations!verse word count ☾ 4.8k a/n ☽ ⤏ my second entry for the moon knight bingo hosted by @juneknight and @spacecowboyhotch over at @moonknight-events. I will eventually crosspost this to the main fic for constellations on ao3 when it will best fit the chronological progression of the chapters. this takes place post-chapter ii. ⤏ this takes place right before chapter two while steven is preparing for his interview, so before he works up the nerve (courtesy of both his agreement with and coertion from marc) to ask you out. ☽ MASTERPOST ☾ ☾ PREVIOUS ENTRY ⤎ ☥ ⤏ NEXT ENTRY [TBA] ☽

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into that, Amy. What was I even thinking?”

“You were thinking of living a little instead of hermiting away in your flat like you do every conceivable chance you get—you look absolutely stunning, by the way! Tell me how it went!”

You hunkered in on yourself, folding your arms around your torso and pursing your chapped lips. The humid, dusk breeze hurtling through the street tugged at the hem of your dress, the cardigan draped over your shoulders doing little to fend off the early autumn chill. You’d texted her while wrapping up business at the bistro a block over and had walked over to the coffeeshop to clear your head after the entire ordeal and to check in before heading home.

“Horribly,” you said flatly. “I took one of my few vacation days and was subjected to an hour-long lecture on the growing value of cryptocurrencies before being asked if I intended to give up my career once I found a spouse—like I’m just spending the money on uni for funsies.”

“...Oh.” Your coworker’s face creased with equal measure of shame and sympathy. “My flatmate told me he was a decent bloke, save for a couple of rocky breakups the last year or so—I had no idea he was a wanker to boot…and probably at fault for those situations to start with, since that’s the case—but I should have given it more thought before roping you into it. That explains a lot about what little I heard about him. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” you sighed and leaned against the humming lamppost at your back, “you had no way of knowing how he’d be in person, and you were trying to help me step out of my comfort zone a bit. It was kind of nice to have an excuse to dress up and go out for a bit, if nothing else. He insisted on paying, too, even if it was an underhanded attempt to woo me…so no money was wasted on my part, at least. I was going to buy myself a pint of ice cream on the way home to distract myself from the crushing reality that no one worth the effort could ever find me attractive and want to pursue a meaningful, long-term relationship with me, but now I’m not so sure. I’m exhausted, and I couldn’t even get a word in edgewise for a solid twenty minutes—I just did a whole lot of nodding along and ‘mmhmm’ing.”

“Firstly, you should treat yourself—I’ll even pay for it since you were the one who had to tolerate all that shit, undoubtedly like an angel because I know you and you’re a painfully polite person—and secondly, I’m not going to unpack…all of that statement, but I am going to tell you right now that you are a prize who deserves the best treatment a girl could ask for and shouldn’t have to. You’re worth it, even if you don’t feel like it—don’t try to deny it, I’ve heard all those little self-deprecating comments you’ve made over the months—and I’m sure there’s someone out there just dying for you to grant him a chance at making you the happiest woman alive.”

“I’m sure—he’s liable to just walk around the corner at any moment.” You rolled your eyes, but your expression softened into one of gratitude when you spotted the conviction on the barista’s face. “...Thank you, it helps to hear that occasionally. Maybe one day I’ll believe it, too.”

“Of course. It’ll stick eventually.” Amy opened her arms to offer you a hug, and you accepted it gratefully. Cheek pressed on top of your head, she rubbed and patted your back in a few soothing sweeps before releasing you and stepping back while drawing the shop keys out of her apron with a grin and a lingering gaze toward the main plaza across the street corner. “...But I honestly think you’re a little more oblivious than I thought if you really haven’t noticed.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, brow furrowing as you fiddled with the thin leather strap of your crossbody resting across your chest. Had she changed topics without you realizing?

“It’s a wonder what a little…gentle prodding can do in the long run,” she continued idly, eyes glittering with mirth as she twirled the jangling keyring on her finger and returned her attention to you. “There’s a reason I talked you into all that—well, besides getting you out on the town for an evening, of course. I think primping yourself did you a lot of good—you’re glowing.”

You blinked and opened your mouth to question her further, but approaching footsteps captured your attention due to their familiar scuffling cadence. You turned and spotted Steven’s slumped silhouette emerging into the ambient, watery light casting a cone around the coffee shop’s entrance. He’d already spotted you, evidently, and his face lit up in an infectiously warm smile as you recognized him. You found yourself returning the gesture subconsciously.

“Hello, mate,” Amy chirped, waggling her fingers at him. “How’d the application process go today? Did you pass the assessment?”

“With flyin’ colors!” Steven crooned, his back unfurling as his shoulders pushed back and his chin raised. He came to a stop near you, hands tucked into his pockets as his chest pressed forward against his otherwise gargantuan jacket. “The lady who looked it over seemed shocked that I knew so much, but that just goes to show you—I told ‘em for months that this ol’ noggin’ of mine wasn’t empty!” He knocked his knuckle on his temple with a toothy grin.

“You’ve got a sponge for a brain, darlin’,” you told him with a chuckle, reaching out and squeezing his elbow affectionately. His eyes softened as he refocused on you, his smile smoothing into a closed-lipped one. “I think you could talk circles around all those stuffy professors at the university, honestly—half of them haven’t updated their sources since the nineties. And it’s not your fault that your old manager had her head crammed so far up her ass.”

“Yeah, well,” he responded, color building beneath the high arches of his cheeks and gilding his tawny skin with rose-gold even under the otherwise unflattering fluorescent bulb of the streetlight, “I just like to read, is all. And I haven’t had to deal with her, thankfully—different divisions and all that.”

You shook your head fondly. He certainly didn’t have to remind you of that fact—the countless hours he’d spent in the coffee shop and the bookstore with his aquiline nose buried in books were proof enough of that. “Did you get all the paperwork filled out? It didn’t give you any trouble?”

“Got it all sorted. I, uh—” He cast a furtive glance towards Amy. “—got help when I needed it.”

Ah. Marc likely had to help him fill in the gaps. You often wondered if Marc was the one that got him his job in the gift shop to start with, but…Steven didn’t talk very much about what he was able to remember from the tenuous times he fronted before he met you while Marc was trying to wrap up all of his personal affairs in attempt to flee from his problems.

Steven didn’t go out of his way to advertise their situation to others, as he and Marc were still trying to iron out all of the kinks with their living situation and attending therapy sessions, but you had the feeling that Amy sensed something was remiss with him because of how often she was around him in proximity to you. She hadn’t ever said anything besides the occasionally affectionate, “He’s a little odd, isn’t he?” but you were always able to distract her with a casual, “We’re all a bit strange.”

“That’s good.” Another breeze skated through the street, blowing over your exposed legs and causing you to shiver. You hunkered into your cardigan and glanced up at the pitch black sky. “I’d probably better hit the store and head home. I can hear a hot shower calling my name, and I intend to sleep in after that entire disaster.”

Steven perked up. “After all what, love?”

“Oh.” Heat crept into your cheeks. “I, uh…had a date. It didn’t go so well.”

He blinked, brows inclining upwards for a tick in a surprise that he wasn’t quite able to conceal. ���I—oh. I-I didn’t realize. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It was sort of last minute.” You cleared your throat. “The guy was an ignorant prick anyway. I was lucky I made it out of there with my intellect still intact.”

That managed to draw a chuckle from him, at least, but you couldn’t shake the way his eyes lingered on you, slowly traversing over your silhouette—you felt terribly vulnerable, laid bare under the gentle weight of his troubled umber gaze. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but you couldn’t quite read the expression on Steven’s face—an unusual occurrence, to be certain, as he was an open book to you most of the time—so you weren’t certain what to make of his reaction.

It didn’t help that you were terribly insecure about the situation to start with, given the fact that you would have much rather had Steven as your date instead.

With that desire, however, came an entire Pandora’s box of complicated emotions. Negative past experiences had left you extremely hesitant to initiate romantic connections of any kind. And, despite how much you trusted Steven, you had an extremely difficult time trying to shake off your doubts. The sliver of boldness in you wanted for nothing more than to grab the lapels of his wrinkled, oversized jacket and kiss him breathless to avoid the awkward song and dance of treading that tenuous line between friendship and romance when it came to people who had grown inextricably close as the pair of you had…but the overwhelming majority of your mentality, insecure and timid and wounded, would rather keep him at arm’s length to secure his platonic affection at the very least. If that was all you could ever have of him, you’d take it gladly—but the heart wants what it wants, and you longed for all of him, as selfish as you knew your feelings to be.

He was in a difficult place, trying to rediscover himself and having to reassess his entire worldview, and here you were pining for him like a teenager with a helpless crush on someone far beyond your league. Steven was everything you had ever wanted—so very smart and sweet and sincere—but who were you to think he’d ever be interested in you of all people? When he could have anybody he wanted, far more gorgeous and intelligent and better than you could even dream of being?

A needlessly poetic notion, perhaps, but…you always had been a romantic.

That is why you had never tried your (admittedly poor) luck. You liked Steven, more than anyone else whom you’d ever before met, but…he’d never made a move. He was naturally open with his affection with everyone, amiable to a fault at times, so you couldn’t assume that his behavior indicated any particular favor on your behalf.

Still…you couldn’t bear it to pull yourself away now. He’d become your best friend within a couple of weeks of meeting him, and he was the only one with whom you felt completely safe in this sprawling, suffocating cityscape. You knew without a doubt that you could rely on him for anything—he had proven himself reliable time and again over the last few months, dropping everything when you needed him. You’d give him everything you had in a heartbeat in return—including your heart, although he’d unwittingly taken possession of it long ago.

“I, ah…” Steven cleared his throat, placing his closed fist over his mouth while tipping his head down to look at you through his lashes, “...would you like me to walk you home, love? It’s awfully late for you to be goin’ to the mart by yourself.”

Although you and Steven had fallen into the habit of catching the bus together on the instances that he got stuck taking inventory before he’d gotten fired, given that you both closed up shop about the same time, that routine had fallen by the wayside. He still offered to almost every night, though, oftentimes texting you to check in around closing time (and he’d held you to a promise to let him know when you got home when you refused his offer). You missed your quiet, late night bus rides, honestly, but the last thing you wanted was to inconvenience him by having him make such a long round trip across London.

Tonight, though, with him standing there with those watery, sympathetic puppy-dog eyes, knowing that he understood poor dates better than most (nevermind the fact that he hadn’t mentioned going on any lately, now that you thought about it)…you couldn’t resist him even if you wanted to. Your self-esteem, already dangerously low, had suffered a severe toll tonight, and you needed Steven’s reassurance more than anything (even a scalding shower to scrub your woes away).

“That would be greatly appreciated, darlin’,” you said, smiling wearily. “There’s a store a block away from my apartment complex, so it’s not too far of a walk from the bus stop.”

Steven bobbed his head, and you turned to hug Amy, who patted your back. “Sorry again he turned out to be a wanker,” she said. “Maybe you’ll have better luck on the next one.”

You pulled back and raised a brow at her glittering eyes. “If there even is a ‘next one’,” you chuckled wryly. “I’m just about ready to give up at this point.”

“Bad luck’s bound to turn into good luck eventually,” she said, then turned with her keys. “I’ll see you Monday—have a good weekend.”

“You, too.” You readjusted your purse strap and glanced at Steven, tilting your head towards the other end of the sidewalk. “Shall we?”

“I think so.” He offered you his elbow, and you took it with a quiet sigh of relief. His frame offered a welcome reprieve of a blockade against the wind, and his warmth seeped even through the plethora of loose layers he favored wearing.

Mutual comfortable silence followed your stroll to the bus stop, and you leaned against his arm when you both settled on a bench near the back of the bus when it rumbled through. It didn’t take long for him to readjust in his seat and you straightened on reflex, embarrassed that you’d done it subconsciously without asking him for permission first.

“No, no, love,” he murmured, lifting his arm over your shoulders, “here. Figured this would be more comfortable for you. You’re still shiverin’.”

“Oh.” You bit the inside of your lip, fighting the flutter of your stomach. “Thank you.”

You accepted his embrace, resting your head upon the cradle of his shoulder and sinking into him. His fingers curled lightly around your arm, squeezing absently. You closed your eyes as the tension drained from your body, taking a deep breath, and—in so doing—drew in a lungful of his cologne.

He had no right to smell so damn good.

“What do you need at the mart?” he asked quietly. “So I can help you look.”

“Just some snacks,” you mumbled. “Ice cream, maybe. I have leftovers in the fridge I was going to reheat since he made a comment about what I ordered.”

Steven’s arm tightened around your shoulders. “...He what?”

You shook your head. “It doesn’t matter. He insisted on paying, so I guess he was just watching his budget.”

Steven scoffed, and it was one of the only times you’ve ever heard his tone slip into open disdain. “The gall.”

“It’s over now. I consider it a reward for wasting my time, at least.” You turned your head and tucked your nose under his jaw. “I don’t really want to think about it anymore, if that’s okay.”

“That’s perfectly all right,” he told you, tugging you closer. “Just let me know if he gives you any trouble, yeah?”

“Oh, I already have him blocked, don’t worry.” You let out a snort... “I don’t think he was particularly impressed, anyway.” …and a sigh. “Can’t really blame him.”

Steven sucked in a breath. “Now why would you go and say a silly thing like that, love?”

It had slipped out, honestly. You’d meant to internalize that lapse of self-deprecation, but you found it hard to conceal your thoughts around Steven. You had no answer for him, so you attempted a hamfisted effort to divert his attention. “I have enough food for you, too, if you’d like to stay. I figure you haven’t had much to eat this evening, and you can crash at my place since it’s so late.”

“...Do you want me to stay?” he asked softly. “So you won’t be alone?”

You laughed under your breath. “I don’t know how you do that. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re able to read minds, Steven Grant.”

“No telepathy to be had,” he said mildly, the pad of his thumb beginning to draw circles on your bicep over the chunky knit of your cardigan. “Just…I know how it feels.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll be happy to stay, if you’ll have me.”

You wished you could kiss him. You wished you could get away from him before your heart ended up shattered once again by your own helplessness. “Always.”

The supermarket was just short of empty when you both shuffled in, rubbing your arms to wring the growing chill from your extremities. The pop music from a top-forty station gave the aisles a melancholic quality, and Steven trailed you with a basket as you picked up the handful of necessities that needed restocking. A cursory glance at him on the freezer aisle, tilting his head back and staring up at the fluorescent lights thoughtfully, prompted you to grab a pint of raspberry sorbet instead of your normal go-to flavor of ice cream. If he noticed the change from your usual purchase while the sleepy teenage cashier rang up the handful of groceries, Steven didn’t comment on it. You’d rarely seen him so pensive.

Your apartment was blissfully warm when you let yourself back in, locked the door behind you, and turned the television on. You took the paper sack from Steven (having insisted that he carry it even though it wasn’t that heavy) and tipped your head to the living room. “Make yourself at home. There’s more blankets in the coffee chest. I’m going to put these up and grab a quick shower.”

“You wanted a long one, yeah?” he prompted. “Don’t rush on my account. I know where everythin’ is. I can take care of myself, you know.”

You nodded and turned. You were too tired to quibble with him—you knew he didn’t mind you not playing the perfect host all the time. “Okay. Watch whatever you want. My kitchen’s yours.”

“All right.” His hand grasped your elbow. “I mean it: take your time.”

You flashed him a small, appreciative smile. “Yes, sir.”

You watched the color bloom under his cheeks with more than a little fondness. He wrestled the sack back out of your arms. “I know where all this goes,” he blurted. “Go on, then.”

Maybe it was a little selfish of you, but…letting him take care of you just this once wouldn’t hurt anything, right? You chuckled. “Okay, okay—I’m going.”

You retreated to your bedroom and shut the door. Your shoes came off first, then your cardigan and your dress. Everything else followed shortly thereafter—all of it was tossed into the hamper as you tread silently into the bathroom. Frissons broke out over your bare skin as you stepped onto the cold tile, reaching around the glass divider to start the water so it would warm up while you went ahead and started your bedtime routine.

You took Steven’s advice, although with no small amount of guilt at not entertaining him (in spite of the fact that he was a grown-ass man and could very well occupy himself, as he’d said). You hated being separated from him, even through two measly walls, but the urge to get that other man’s lascivious, if critical, gaze off of you as soon as possible was far stronger at the moment.

You stood under the steaming stream for a long time, listening to the music you’d selected to play from your phone. You washed your hair and body with a certain degree of clinicism, doggedly avoiding looking at yourself in the mirror lest your mood deteriorate even more. His skepticism over your ‘generous’ choice of entree shouldn’t have mattered—he’d ordered a meal that would have made bulking bodybuilders jealous—but the subtle comments he’d sprinkled throughout the meal had taken down the carefully constructed walls surrounding your appearance. You’d worked hard to repress your hangups, dammit, and all it took was one lousy date? When he was just an asshole and didn’t even deserve to get under your skin like that?

You growled under your breath and shut the shower off, ringing out your hair and swiping the extra moisture from your skin before stepping out to towel off. You finished up with your skin care routine and went back into your bedroom to put on your favorite sweatpants and t-shirt, topped with a baggy hoodie. When you reemerged into the living room, Steven was nowhere to be seen, but the opening titles of The Mummy were playing on repeat on the television with the case open on the TV stand.

You stepped into the kitchen, following your nose and ears, and found him standing over the stove reheating the leftover vegan shakshuka you’d experimented with the night before.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said softly, lingering in the doorway and fiddling with the ends of your sleeves. “I was going to.”

“You’re dead on your feet, love,” Steven admonished you lightly, glancing over his shoulder with a small, lopsided grin. “I can handle it. Wouldn’t mind a drink, though.”

You wanted to point out the dark circles beneath his eyes and the fatigued slump of his shoulders, but you refrained in order to save his dignity. “Would you like some tea, or soda, or…?”

“A cuppa would be lovely.”

“Is chai okay?”

“Sounds perfect.”

You set the electric kettle on (bought just for him, as you preferred iced tea, but you’d never admit that to him because you knew he’d feel guilty about you spending money on him) and pulled the box of tea bags out of the pantry, as well as a pot of honey, for him to fix it how he preferred. You grabbed a mug from the cabinet, as well, and set it out for him. You opted for a bottle of water, pouring it over ice.

“Think it’s ready,” Steven said, and you grabbed a couple of plates for him to ladle portions of the dish onto. You grabbed some cutlery and napkins, as well as your glass, and followed him into the living room.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, setting down the plates on the coffee table before straightening. “Mind if I borrow the loo first?”

“Go ahead,” you told him, sinking down into the couch with a tired groan. He disappeared into the shadows of your room, and you rested your head against the cushion at your back as your eyes drifted shut.

You remained still, listening to the music coming from the TV and to Steven’s movements as he soon came back and stepped into the kitchen. Water poured, clinking of metal on porcelain, socks scuffing on flooring. The cushion next to you dipped and creaked under his weight, and his knuckle brushed your wrist. “Not hungry, love?”

“Just waiting on you.” Truthfully, you didn’t have very much desire to eat, but your stomach was protesting the insufficient sustenance of the salad you’d opted to order instead of the club sandwich with chips you’d wanted. You sat up and pulled the plate into your lap. The inviting smell certainly helped. “I hope it’s okay, I don’t know if it’s any good.”

“Anything you make is mana on earth, love,” Steven assured you. He grabbed the remote and started the movie before sipping his tea tentatively.

“There’s always room for failure,” you responded wryly, but bringing up a mouthful proved that your endeavor had been successful, thankfully. “Oh, thank God. I ended up snacking while I cooked last night and got full before I could try it. It’s okay.”

Steven tried it himself and hummed with pleasure. “It’s more than okay, love.”

“I’m glad.” You turned your attention to the screen and hunkered against the arm of the couch. “...Thank you for all this.”

You felt Steven’s gaze fix itself on your profile. “...You’re welcome.”

The night outside grew darker, and when the both of you finished eating, Steven bullied his way into taking the dishes and washing them while ordering you to stay put. You paused the film in the meantime, tugging the blanket off the back of the couch and curling up beneath it. He turned off the lights and took the other end when you offered it. Other than the occasional chuckle, neither of you spoke again until the credits began to roll. By then, you’d grown sleepy. Steven had anchored you into his side once again, resting his cheek on the crown of your head. You’d started to doze off when the rumble of his chest roused you.

“...You know you really shouldn’t say such cruel things about yourself, love. You looked extra gorgeous tonight.”

You swallowed, and in the safety of the apartment’s darkness you let your expression fall. “I know.”

“You really are somethin’ special.” His fingers drummed slowly against your arm. “I mean it. I’m honored to know you. And I want you to know that I’ll always be here for you.”

“You don’t know how much I appreciate that,” you murmured, even if that traitorous, if scarred, part of yourself denied his claim automatically. It wasn’t fair to him, but old habits die hard. “Thank you for staying with me.”

“It’s the least I could do,” he responded, “you know, as an apology on behalf of all men for that sorry wanker wasting your time.”

You laughed in the midst of a yawn. “It’ll be a story to tell on holidays, if nothing else.”

“Tired?” he asked.

“Yeah.” You pressed your face into his shirt. “You can take the bed if you want.”

“Now, you know how this debate will end.”

“I do. I still wanted to offer.”

“All right. I will need to shower first, though, if you don’t mind. I still smell like the cleaner they use in the museum.”

You sat up to give him space to stand. The smell of the museum suited him, but you didn’t exactly want to reveal that you’d been discreetly huffing his collar for the last hour. “I don’t. I have your spares in the same drawer.”

“Thank you.” Steven extricated his arm, but after a moment’s hesitation he placed a kiss on your temple. You looked up at him, shocked, and that seemed to be his intention, because despite the outlines of his face matching your flusteredness, he appeared deadly serious. “You mean more to me than you’ll ever know, poppet,” he whispered. “And you deserve all the happiness in the world, bad dates be damned.”

“I…” You swallowed roughly. “Th-thank you, darlin’.”

His mouth opened as though he’d intended to say more, but hesitation won out in the end. He shook his head and patted your knee before straightening to his feet. “Go ahead and go to bed, I’ll take everything with me in there. You need to sleep as much as you can.”

“All right,” you murmured, watching him go. He fidgeted with his hands all the way of his retreat into the bathroom. You couldn’t breathe until you heard the shower whine to a start. Your heart didn’t stop pounding against your ribs until after he exited, curls damp and pajamas draped over his lean form, told you good night, and shut your bedroom door behind him to give you privacy.

When you woke up the next morning and wandered into the kitchen for something to eat, Steven was waiting for you with two bowls of sorbet ready, and you decided then—much to the distress of your frightful heart—that you were in love.

[sweetprfct]

Is It Over Now?

Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: Fake dating your flatmate, Joe, should be a simple thing. It meant you get to help get his ex back, and it meant you get to stop your parents' nagging about bringing someone home for once. But what happens when fake dating turns into something unexpected? Now, what?

Author's Note: Part 2! :) Enjoy ! I actually am editing these chapters as I re-upload them so it's better but not much will change.

Disclaimer: Mention of violence, 18+

Wordcount: 4.4K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven - part eight - part nine - part ten

Joe’s head pounded the second he woke up the next morning. He slowly fluttered his eyes open, adjusting his vision from the bright light that was coming through the window. He couldn’t tell where he was at the moment until his eyes caught the sight of the coffee table and the television in front of him. He was still in the living room just like the blur memory he remembered from last night. He groaned softly, rubbing his temples and pinching the bridge of his nose to try and get rid of the throbbing headache, but it was no use. He drank too much last night, and he still remembered every detail of it. Every pain and every word that Ivy had told him. 

Shifting his eyes back on the coffee table, he found a glass of water, a paracetamol, and a yellow sticky note. Slowly, he pushed himself up from the sofa and let out another groan. God, he was starting to feel old. His body felt sore from sleeping on the sofa all night. He picked up the yellow sticky note and read:

Thought you might need it.

He knew that handwriting from anywhere and that was from you. He looked around the flat and found that it was quiet and empty. You were nowhere to be found. Taking the medicine and immediately washing it down with the water, he let out a sigh and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He could still hear Ivy’s voice echoing in his mind from last night. He couldn’t help but wonder where he went wrong in showing her how much he wanted to be with her. Pulling out his phone from his back pocket, he stared at the screen for a moment before pulling up his messages from Ivy. He hasn't seen her for two months, and he was really excited to spend some time with her last night. 

“Hey, are you okay?” He asked. 

His mind flashed back to the memory from last night. He had taken her to a nice restaurant for once and not a pub, and he wanted the night to be a special night, but Ivy hasn’t said much ever since he picked her up from her flat. To make matters worse, she also has just been sitting there across from him barely eating her dinner. He had been telling her about what happened on set for his new film, and she barely listened. She was zoning out the whole time just staring into the empty space in front of her. 

“I don’t know if I can take anymore of this, Joe.” Ivy blurted the words out, cutting off the story that he was telling her.

Joe knitted his brows, confused as to what she was referring to. He reached for her hand on the table, but she was quick to slide it away. 

“What are you talking about, babe?” His voice was full of concern.

“I mean I can’t take anymore of barely seeing you. Whenever you come back, you’re only in town for a few days, and you leave again.”

Joe knew that his job was complicated, and it even got more complicated when his career had started going up. Flying to the States, other countries and different cities for conventions and events was what was taking up his life lately. Booking a role after another and attending fashion events and shooting commercials for them was the definition of his life for the last however many months. 

“Ivy, I know it can get so hard and complicated, but I’m trying my best to balance it all. It’s hard for me too, not seeing you everyday.”

Ivy didn’t buy what he said though. Instead, she scoffed and shook her head as she took a sip of her drink. 

“Don’t even get me started with that flatmate of yours.” She added. 

Joe furrowed his brows, confused. How did the subject of you suddenly enter this conversation? What was Ivy talking about? He hasn’t even shown any interest towards you nor had he seen you in months because he was barely home. Whenever he was in town, he would stay at Ivy’s most of the time. So, what was the problem when it came to you?

“She’s just my flatmate.” Joe reassured her. “There’s nothing going on between me and her. I barely see her.”

“And how do I know that? How can I be so sure?” Ivy’s eyes were full of jealousy. “She’s pretty, and I’m sure she’s better than me right? Because she’s smart and works at a lab. A fucking chemist, and I’m just a model.”

Joe shook his head in disbelief. He couldn’t put together how Ivy was comparing herself to you. Hasn’t he shown her all this time that he only wanted her and no one else? What more could he say or do?

“Babe, we’re just flatmates. You’re the one I want to be with.” Joe said sternly.

Watching Ivy throw her napkin on the table, she got up from her chair as Joe followed her. He wanted to stop her from leaving, but he couldn’t. 

“No, Joe.” Ivy stated. “This isn’t working out anymore.”

She had made up her mind, and Joe knew when Ivy made up her mind, there was no going back. But how could she just leave like that? How could she choose to believe the insecurities that were screaming in her mind than the actions he had shown to her several times? Not once had Joe broken his promises to her nor tried to disappoint her. Even when he was away, he always tried his best to make sure they talked every single day, so she didn’t feel like she was far from him. Now, he watched her walk out that door as if what they had the last several months was nothing. 

It was over. 

She was gone. 

Joe sighed at the memory as he made his way towards the bathroom. He smelled like alcohol and cigarettes, and his head was pounding even harder the more he thought about her. What else could he do? What could he do to get her back?

The sound of the coffee mug hitting the glass table echoed softly through the room. The place was crowded with people having a Sunday brunch with their friends or families. The gloomy January weather didn’t help with the mood of the conversation you were having with your friends.

Sara’s eyes widened in disbelief as she said, “Really?”

You nodded your head, looking at her through your lashes as you took a sip of your hot coffee. The hot liquid warmed up your throat and made your body relax. It was cold and gloomy, but you never wanted to miss your weekly Sunday brunch with Sara and Abby. It was a little tradition the three of you started ever since Sara had moved out. It was something you found comfort in every week. The day of the week that you would feel more at ease because Sara tends to balance you, and Abby was the most calm person you ever met. 

When Sara had met Abby at the art gallery three years ago, you immediately knew that she was the right person for Sara. Her wavy brown hair, green eyes and soft smile definitely caught Sara’s eyes at the beginning, but it was Abby’s calmness, patience and warm persona that made Sara fall in love with her. You weren’t going to lie that you also felt comfortable and at ease when you first met Abby too. You could understand why Sara had fallen for her. Now, every Sunday, the three of you would catch up and hang out, especially because life would get busy and chaotic from time to time. 

“I don’t know.” You shrugged. “I feel sorry for him.”

You just finished telling Sara and Abby about what you dealt with last night when Joe came home. Both women had met Joe before, and they knew he was a decent guy, but he was never the main subject of most of your conversations until now. You didn’t really know what to do or to think, so you wanted to seek out some advice or opinion from your best friends. 

“Honestly, Ivy sounds sort of insecure.” Abby commented. 

Abby was right. Even if you have dealt with your own insecurities, you could tell that Ivy also had a fair share of hers because really? Jealous of you? You were literally nothing but just a normal person trying to get through life, while her modeling career was quickly rising. She had nothing to worry about when it came to you. 

“Maybe Joe isn’t showing her enough reassurance?” Abby added, shrugging her shoulders.

You watched as Sara turned to you and tilted her head, brows all furrowed. “Are you sure that having Joe as your flatmate is a good idea?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes with how many times you have heard that line. 

“You sound like my mother.” You retorted back.

Sara chuckled softly at your comment and said, “No, but seriously… because do you really want to get caught up in their drama?”

Drama? That was the last thing you wanted in your life, especially in a drama that involved someone else’s relationship. You knew what Joe was going through, but you weren’t about to cross boundaries. What was going on between him and Ivy was their business, not yours. 

“I’m not really caught up in their drama. That’s their own problem, you know? My name just happened to get dragged into it.” You casually said as you shrugged your shoulders.

It was the truth. You weren’t. 

“Yeah, but what if she drags you even more in her little insecurity?” Abby addressed.

You knew what was going on between them. Even if your name was dragged to their conversation last night, you weren’t the big issue here. Joe had told you that, and you knew there were other issues they were dealing with. Ivy just happened to include you into it. Maybe to cause more excuses not to be with Joe. You really didn’t know.

“I don’t care what she feels about me because I’m not doing anything to her.” You took a bite off your waffle and decided to change the subject. You were sort of over this conversation about Joe. 

Whatever was going on with him, that was his business. All you did was comfort him and listen to him, hoping you’d make someone feel better. That was all. 

“Anyway, enough about me. How are you? How is married life treating you both?” You asked, a small smile creeping up on your face. 

You watched as the two women exchanged looks before both of their lips tugged into a smile. 

“Great!” Sara replied. “We’re settling in the new place, and Abby is back to work. Though, we sort of started talking about something the other night.”

Your eyes watched as Sara and Abby held hands, giving each other a warm smile. It made you more curious as to what Sara was talking about. 

“Tell her.” Abby murmured, squeezing Sara’s hand softly. 

Your eyes widened in curiosity as you waited for one of them to tell you whatever they were planning, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit impatient as Sara tried to find the right words to say to you. 

“What is it?” You asked. 

“I don’t know.” Sara suddenly felt shy as she gave Abby a hesitant look, which in return, Abby kept giving her an approval look. “We were sort of talking a lot of things about our future last night, and we know it sounds a bit crazy…” 

You raised your brows, wanting Sara to just spat out the words. 

“Yea?”

“We sort of want to adopt.” Sara finally said. 

You couldn’t help but almost jump out of your seat from excitement as soon as Sara said those words. 

“Ohmygod.” You covered your mouth with your hand. “Are you serious?”

Abby and Sara glanced at each other with excitement. They really were serious, and you could tell how thrilled they were by just how they were talking about it. They both turned back to you and nodded their heads. 

“I’m so happy for you both.” You took both of their hands in yours. “Please let me know if I could help with anything.”

“Thank you.” Abby smiled. “We both knew we wanted this even before getting married and the fact that it’s happening, we are very excited about it.”

“Then, you both should go for it!” You encouraged them even more as you all laughed softly in unison. 

“And you should go look for a new flat!” Sara teased you, squeezing your hand softly.

“Stop it! I’m fine.” You rolled your eyes, sliding your hands away from theirs. “I’m perfectly happy with my situation, and it’s not like Joe is bothering me. They’re broken up. I have nothing to worry about.”

Abby took a sip of her coffee and a playful smile tugged on her lips. “Who knows… Maybe you’ll end up with Joe.”

Oh, here we go again. 

Why did everyone keep pushing this idea of you and Joe? He literally was nothing but just your flatmate. Just because he was a man didn’t mean that you two would end up together. A woman and a man could be flatmates together. Just like a man and a woman could be friends. 

Right?

“We’re just flatmates. That’s all.” You argued.

You just wished everyone was going to drop this subject already because you and Joe weren’t going to happen. Ever.

Coming home later that day, you found the flat quiet and empty. The sofa was back to the way it looked. Pillows fluffed, throw blanket folded and hung at the back of it. The kitchen was clean, and the dishes that Joe promised he would wash were all clean and put away. Joe was nowhere to be found, and you figured maybe he had gone out. Maybe he went to go talk to Ivy or pick up his things from her place. Who knows.

As you walked down the hall towards your bedroom, floorboards creaked, and you heard a quiet rustling that came from Joe’s room. 

Oh, he was home. 

You passed by his bedroom and paused in your tracks as soon as you saw him organizing his room. He looked better. Not his usual normal face, but he looked better than last night. 

“Hey.” You gave him a soft smile, leaning against the doorframe.

Joe never set boundaries like you did with him, but you tend to respect his own private space. He didn’t have to set rules with you because he didn’t really care that much about his own boundaries, but you respected him as your flat mate. It was his bedroom. You never tried to step into it. 

“How are you?” You asked.

Joe shut his closet doors closed and took a deep breath, turning his attention to you with a smile. 

“Good. I have been thinking a lot all morning.” 

He looked… enthusiastic?

“Oh, yeah?” You raised your brows. “How’d that go?”

Joe started walking towards you as he said, “I really like Ivy.”

You nodded your head in understanding, trying to figure out where this conversation was going.

“And you know that, right?” Joe asked as if you were out of the loop about this whole thing.

Of course, you knew. He was probably mad over her.

“Right, but Joe if she doesn’t want this anymore–”

Joe cut you off as he stopped in front of you. It looked like a light bulb switched above his head as his lips tugged into a devious smile. 

“So, I was thinking that Ivy was just being Ivy, and she just wants attention. I know she wants me to chase her.”

What the fuck was he on? 

You furrowed your brows, wondering what that mind of his started thinking all morning that all of a sudden he was saying all of these things. If he wanted her back, then so be it. It was his life, and you couldn’t stop whatever he wanted to do with his life. You weren’t his mother. Though, from the look of his expression, you didn’t think his own mother could also stop him from doing whatever he wanted anyway. 

“So, I’m going to try and get her back.” Joe continued.

Well, good for you, mate but good luck. 

“Can I ask a favor though? No, not favor… But I need your help.”

Now, you were scared–no–terrified.

You stood there without saying a word as you blinked your eyes and stared at Joe for a moment. You didn’t want to say anything or ask what he wanted because you had a feeling in your stomach that it was going to be something you weren’t going to agree on. You could just feel it. 

“What is it?” You steady your voice, trying not to stumble on your words. 

“I need you to be my fake girlfriend.” Joe said sternly, his chocolate button eyes staring right into your eyes.

Oh, fuck no.

Absolutely fucking not. 

Your eyes widened in disbelief, trying to repeat Joe’s words in your head. Did he really just said that? Did he really just asked you that? When he said he had been thinking all day, you didn’t realize that he hadn’t been thinking at all! Where the fuck did he even got this idea from? Did he put that paracetamol somewhere other than his mouth, or did that medicine went up to his brain? 

You understood that he was going through a difficult and rough time due to the fact that he liked Ivy that much, but did he completely lose his mind? Was this the situation that Abby and Sara were afraid of when they said that you really needed to look for a new flat? Because it was starting to look like your flatmate had gone mad. 

“E…Excuse me, what?!” You finally found your words as you looked at Joe in disbelief. 

“I know that I probably sound mad but–”

“Uh… yeah, you got that right!” You scoffed, shaking your head as you took a step back from him. 

Maybe your mother was right. What else was he going to do next? Stab you just like what that boyfriend of your mother’s friend’s daughter did?! 

Joe saw the horrific look in your eyes as he tried to calm you down and showed you that he wasn’t actually going mad but all you wanted to do was run away from where you were. 

Joe sighed and looked down at his feet and said, “If she saw you and me are dating, then she’d get jealous and she’d ask me to get her back.”

You really need to go find another flat. 

You shook your head and started making your way towards your bedroom. “Absolutely not! You’ve gone mad!”

Joe followed behind you, and you gave him a “don’t you dare” look as soon as he was about to step inside your room. Joe, however, caught himself and stood by your doorway with pleading eyes. 

“Please? I know that this is crazy, and you probably think I’m crazy, but I really like her. I just…” Joe’s voice was soft as he let out a sigh and said, “I really thought she was the one.”

You weren’t going to lie. You have known Joe for a year, so you knew this was just him going through a breakup. Maybe losing his mind a little but everyone loses their minds when it comes to someone they love, right? Did Joe even love Ivy? You understood why he was doing this, but you were already on Ivy's hit list, and Joe thought this was going to be a good idea?

There was no way you were going to bring yourself in this drama. You already told yourself that. You even told your friends that earlier. 

God, Sara and Abby were right. 

“If she’s the one, then she’ll come back to you without you doing all this crazy shit.” 

Joe pursed his lips and nodded his head in understanding. He wasn’t going to press you with this subject because he knew it was mental in the first place. He was just hoping that maybe you would say yes, but he also understood that you weren’t going to put yourself in a situation like this. How could he drag you into his own problem?

“I understand.” Joe murmured. “I’m sorry for making up this idea in the first place, and I’m sorry for trying to drag you into it.”

You watched as Joe gave you an apologetic look and walked away. You sighed and flopped yourself on your bed face down, letting out a small groan. Suddenly, your phone buzzed in your back pocket. You flipped yourself over, so you were laying on your back, sliding your phone out and saw that your mum was trying to facetime you.

Oh, fucking great. 

Whatever she wanted to say wasn’t really something you wanted to hear tonight. You didn’t need her to add into the craziness. You stared at your phone for a moment, hesitating on what to do, but you knew she wasn’t going to leave you alone, so you decided to answer the call. 

“Hey mum.” Your voice sounded tired. 

The second your mum appeared on your screen, you saw how she looked excited and there was a big smile plastered on her face. 

“It’s not really a good time, mum–”

Your eyes widened when a man about your age appeared next to your mum. He waved hello to you as your mum started introducing you to him. 

What the hell was she doing? Was she really trying to set you up with a stranger right now? Joe wasn’t the only one going mad tonight. Though, you retracted that thought because your mum was already mad. 

“This is Alex. He’s our new neighbor’s son. I thought maybe you two could get to know each other.”

God, this was so embarrassing. 

How could she fucking do this to you? You were 28 years old, and she was setting you up with some man you never met. Not only was it embarrassing, but you didn’t need your own mother to set you up with someone. If you wanted to date or be in a relationship, you could find a man for yourself. 

“Mum, this isn’t such a good time.” You looked at Alex through the screen and said, “It’s nice to meet you, but I have to go. I’m sorry.”

Just like that, you immediately hit the end call button and grabbed your pillow to muffle a scream. Everything was just making you so frustrated, and you were even more frustrated with your mum. Her actions were starting to get into your last nerve. You didn’t know if you could take anymore of this from her. Even if you were far away, she still managed to piss you off. 

Staring at the ceiling, your dad’s voice echoed in your mind about when you were going to bring a man home. Were you really that much of a disappointment to your family? Did you really need to marry or be with someone for them to feel proud of you? Because that was just wrong. You were a chemist for fuck’s sake. You were literally out there dealing and mixing chemicals and synthesizing DNA just so this world could find cures for illnesses and diseases and all your parents could care about was you getting in a relationship? 

You were so sick of it! 

Then, your eyes darted towards the empty hall just right outside your door. Joe’s offer echoed in your mind, and you were starting to ask yourself if you also had gone mental too. Maybe you have. 

Letting your feet lead you, you got up from your bed and slowly walked down the hall towards Joe’s bedroom. His door was open, and you quietly peeked and saw that he was just sitting there at the edge of his bed, thinking deeply with a melancholy look on his face. His hands were playing with the empty beer bottle, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes because all of this was so stupid. 

“So…” You stood by his doorway, getting his attention. “How long is this fake dating thing?”

Joe froze where he was and stared at you in disbelief. Were you really offering an approval to his crazy idea? Honestly, you were asking yourself the same thing. 

“Just until I finally catch her attention and would want me back.” Joe answered.

You bit your lower lip, playing with your fingers nervously for a moment before taking a deep breath and said, “So, here are the rules...”

Joe’s full attention was now to you as he waited for you to continue. 

“If you get to use me as your fake girlfriend then I get to use you as my fake boyfriend at any upcoming family gathering.”

Joe set the empty bottle on his bedside table before getting up from his bed and walked over to where you were. He was trying to comprehend the offer that you just made. 

“You mean… introducing me to your parents as your boyfriend?” Joe asked, brows all knitted together. 

“Yes, that’s right.” 

“Then, you have to go to party events with me, especially if Ivy is there.”

You tilted your head, giving Joe a look. “Joe, I have a job. I can’t just ditch that for stupid party events.”

“Then, how are people going to believe we’re dating if we’re not seen together?” Joe argued. 

The man had a point but there was no way you were going to agree with this without getting anything in return. 

“Fine, but you get to pay for the dresses and shoes that I have to wear to these stupid events, and I get to keep them all.”

“Okay, deal.” Joe gave you a smile. 

You weren’t done yet. 

“And one more thing, you could only kiss me and hold me but there’s no sex.”

The small chuckle that escaped from Joe sort of insulted you, but you ignored it because this was all fake anyway. Besides, you both were using each other for both of your benefits, so you didn’t have time to feel insulted that Joe was quick to agree that he didn’t want to have sex with you. 

“No problem.” Joe agreed, reaching his hand towards you. 

You stared into his eyes as you shook his hand firmly in agreement. 

You were so going to regret this, weren’t you? 

Taglist:

@palomahasenteredthechat @sunvick @eddies-acousticguitar @demonsanddemogorgons @joesquinns @mmunson86 @ghostinthebackofyourhead @corrodedcoffincumslut @figmentofquinn @tlclick73 @browneyes8288 @bylermaxmayfield @ali-r3n @ficsbypix @capricornrisingsstuff @missonlypost @ali-in-w0nderland @amberolivia666 @lalalala-melmosworld @niallersfreckles @nanas-lasagna

[icallhimjoey]

i neeeed soft!joey x reader sleeping with their head in the others lap. dont mind which way it is but still 🥹 too soft i cannot

okay so, i know that this request asks for me to write something new but, i've got things planned and i didnt want this to drown and disappear into my inbox to maybe be found months later, so, TO MEET YOUR NEEDS, here's an excerpt from all goes south that i wrote early feb 2023. hope it suffices!! Wordcount: 0.9K

---

Taken From: All Goes South

excerpt taken from part four You thought everything was going to change when Joe texted you, “Are you busy tonight?” and you looked around your small, dingy flat before answering,

“Other than falling asleep to bad TV and sleeping off this splitting headache, not really”

You’d just finished doing dishes and were quite literally excited to lay down on your sofa and not move for the rest of the evening.

“Sounds lush, come do that here”

Joe hadn’t yet been over to your place, and you’d been weird about it that first night, so Joe had never asked to come over again. You were glad; your place was a filthy shoebox compared to Joe’s home. A real grimy one, all sorts of drab, with a messy flatmate, because who the fuck could afford their own flat in central London as an undergrad?

You sent Joe a pic from your position on the sofa, your legs spread out with your ankles crossed on the coffee table.

“Don’t wanna move”

“Text your address again?”

Joe made that sound all kinds of casual. You’d never texted Joe your address before, and him coming over to your place was definitely not what you had planned for.

You probably would’ve hoovered had you known earlier in the day.

Now? Not a chance.

Joe’d dropped you off after a photoshoot once, so he vaguely knew whereabouts your lived, but he’d never been over.

You knew you’d hate yourself for it later. Joe had no business being in your dirty little flat. But you didn’t reply with a joke, or a sly comment, or even something flirty. You just texted your address, because, actually, you really fucking wanted to snuggle up to Joe, even if that meant Joe was going to see your unhoovered flat, and maybe meet your flatmate.

When Joe entered, it was obvious to him why you needed a proper job. He didn’t comment, but you could see him look, which was fine - you’d looked around his place the first time you’d seen it too.

Different reasons, of course, but, whatever.

He joined you on the sofa, and tried to make polite conversation. Said he brought gin, because he knew it was your favourite, but you hardly reacted. You weren’t joking before when you said you had a headache. And so Joe dropped it. Just sat next to you and was happy he got to be close.

That was all he wanted anyway.

To be close.

It didn’t take long before you found yourself nodding off, head bobbing, jerking itself back up every time it fell forward. You were fighting off yawns and kept rubbing your face in a weak attempt to stay awake. It was hard work, and your headache started getting worse, but you had a guest over, and it was rude to just fall asleep next to them, so you fought against all instincts until you heard a soft chuckle from Joe.

“You’re allowed to sleep, you know? Come, lay down,”

And then he offered you his lap.

So much for taking things slow.

Sure, you weren’t about to deep throat him exactly, but that was some close penis-to-face interaction you were about to get involved in.

But you were so tired.

And you really liked Joe.

So you moved, and scooted, and your head found Joe’s lap. Four arms worked together to cover you with the throw blanket, and before you knew it, Joe’s hand was patting your hair, and then a kiss got pressed into it before he sat back up.

His hand remained, and fingers raked, brushed and softly played and all of it made you fully relax.

Turned you into putty.

Made you melt into Joe’s touch. 

Nothing was going to beat this. 

Ever.

It only took you a few seconds to drift away. To float. To hover in flight, the wind keeping you stationary.

Somehow you felt yourself slipping away from Joe whilst simultaneously moving towards him more.

Joe made small comments about whatever you were watching, but his voice was a faraway, deep thing that melted over you a little.

You drifted and floated and hovered until you found yourself in this bubble where it was just warmth, comfortability and tingles from scalp scratches.

Your thoughts went fuzzy, and you didn’t think about how you always seemed to self-sabotage everything in your life. How you always pushed away whoever was trying to get close. In your bubble it was safe, and Joe was allowed inside, and nothing could hurt you in there, in Joe’s hands.

Teetering on the edge of falling asleep, of fully slipping under, Joe noticed your breathing had become steady and slow, so he pulled his hand away, afraid that his touch would wake you back up.

But the second his fingers stopped playing, you stirred, hummed, and then blindly reached behind your head to find his hand and placed it back. It made Joe’s chest swell. Made him think things, like he wanted this forever, like he wanted to kiss you silly. Wanted to cuddle you close until your individual smell became his and his became yours. Wanted to inhale you, fill his lungs up the to brim with you. 

Be close. 

Forever be close.

Joe was in trouble.

Trouble had found him in the form of a pretty girl and Joe was absolutely fucking gone for you.

You thought everything was going to change then, but it hadn’t. Not at all, actually.

---

read All Goes South here

(skipping the taglist on this one because posting this feels like cheating since it's not new writing)

[maximotts]

𝙻𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝙾𝚗𝚎; 𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 :: 𝙲.𝚘.𝚆.𝙼.

a/n: alright, here we go! I think I've mentioned it already, but most of these chapters are written and in my drafts so knocks on wood the schedule should stay as planned. I hope you all enjoy this series as much as I do and big special thanks to @furys-eyepatch for sending me the idea for Kinktober uh... obviously it got Quite Long

✎— priest's daughter!Wanda x college student!reader

✎— confessions AU; it's only been a few weeks, but Wanda won't get out of your head. With how small your campus was, you thought sure you were bound to run into her; until you realize she's the one person never on the invite list

✎— warnings: this is an 18+ series, minors DNI; this first chapter is pretty tame tbh, but we've got name calling, mentions of Wanda being an innocent little bean, allusions to bullying, and Brock Rumlow being a jerk

✎— words: 2.5k

series masterlist. || main masterlist.

That semester, you shared three classes, but your Folklore and Terror class was where you’d first seen her and just for that, it was your favorite. Three times a week you’d walk into the small lecture hall, barely on time, and Wanda Maximoff would already be settled at her chosen spot with her notebook open, books stacked neatly, pen and highlighters ready to be picked up as soon as your professors opened their mouths. She was like that for every class no matter what; from day one it was clear Wanda enrolled in college to learn, not socialize. 

Upon first glance, she’d single handedly convinced you she was the standard: focused, task-oriented, and studious. And just as quickly, you’d found Wanda was the exception instead of the rule. The rest of your classmates were exponentially more relaxed, talking to one another about anything from their massive workload to the current flatmate drama between dormitories. It was a tight-knit campus, most of the students having gone to school together since kindergarten and grown up in the tiny isolated town of Westview about an hour away. 

You’d expected to turn into a loner for a while, especially with transferring here in your third year, but new people were exciting front page news to young adults who’d seen the same faces for two decades and soon enough, invitations for study sessions over coffee, bonfires, and late night parties with weed brownies came pouring in. Everyone was surprisingly welcoming and you were grateful for the introductions, the companionship, all of it.. but wherever you went, Wanda was absent.

Eternally polite and quiet Wanda was nowhere to be found outside of class, and it only piqued your curiosity further.

After some casual prodding, you found out Wanda also grew up in Westview, but she was only a topic as an excuse for a few particularly annoyed girls to roll their eyes and sneer. Smart as she was, Wanda wasn’t ever invited to study groups, not that she asked either, no, she didn’t speak a word to anyone besides instructors and a few select people you recognized from your transfer orientation— the only kids that didn’t know her from town. 

A handful of times you’d caught her staring your way, but as soon as she noticed you looking back, she whipped around or turned her eyes back to her notes. For the first few weeks, you tried to pretend her avoidance didn’t bother you, but seeing her chat with other students made you wonder why she wouldn’t do the same with you. Sure you hadn’t approached her yourself, but honestly, you hadn’t worked up a good enough excuse to past “hey you’re pretty cute, please talk to me” and it just sounded too weird in your head to say aloud. 

Unfortunately, before you’d gotten a chance to think of a better conversation starter, Wanda started walking to your desk after class and your brain went into panic mode not only wondering what to say, but also what she could possibly want after seemingly avoiding you since the semester started. It was fine, everything was fine, she didn’t look mad at all, maybe… nervous?

You were moments away from speaking up as she made her way over… only to stop dead in her tracks when Brock Rumlow slung his arm over your shoulder. Just as soon as he began running his mouth about the next soccer game, Wanda spun around and made a beeline for her chair as if she hadn’t acknowledged you at all. While he ranted on and on, you tried to quell the disappointment, but it tugged the corners of your mouth down into a frown anyways. Not that the loud athlete noticed. “Shut up for a second… What do you know about Wanda?”

He only scoffed, both of you turning your attention to where the shy brunette now hurriedly packed her stuff into her red messenger bag. With all of her notebooks and pretty stationary, you wondered if her bag ever felt heavy… and if she’d let you carry it to class for her some time. “That religious little daddy’s girl? Stay away from her.” 

The strong reaction shouldn’t have caught you off guard, not when anyone who talked about her did so with the same distasteful tone, but it never failed to feel kind of… harsh. You didn’t need to grow up with a group of people to know how easy it can be to target one person and exaggerate every aspect of them until they grew to be a much bigger monster than they ever were in the first place. 

“She seems sweet though… Is she really that bad?” It was hard to believe anyone could dislike her that much when she was all oversized knit sweaters and gentle enough smiles to make you melt from across an entire lecture hall.

“Hey! Put those heart eyes away!” Brock poked your hip until you looked at him instead, ignoring your annoyed huff, “What’d I just say? She’s a total narc who goes running to her father as soon as she hears anything. I’m assuming you’ve never been to Westview?” You shook your head; the drive to your new school didn’t take you past the town and you’d been too busy with classes to explore yet. “Right, well Wanda’s dad runs the church, the one all our parents go to; whenever he got wind of something going down, all of us got a speech at home. Bit of a shame, she’s kinda cute, but can’t tell that bitch anything unless you want it blown to shit-” 

You might not have been friends with Wanda yet, but that didn’t mean you’d let someone, especially anyone as sleazy as Brock, demean her so boldly. It was in that sentence you discovered Wanda most likely kept her distance because of your new friend group. If so many people treated her how he did, you couldn’t blame her for staying away.

A hard elbow to the stomach left him choking on his own words, killing two birds with one stone to both shut him up and force him to let you go; you never liked how touchy he was anyways. “We’re all years into college now. She can’t still be like that.” 

“I’m not gonna chance it,” he shrugged, slinging his bag over his shoulder as if you hadn’t just knocked the wind out of him, “She goes home a lot more than anyone else, heard Mr. Maximoff picks her up too even though he pays for her apartment here. Something about her needing her own space to stay focused without ‘distractions’... weirdos, don’t know how her brother turned out normal. Trust me, the most you’ll get with her is maybe a walk through the courtyard.” 

A walk didn’t sound too bad right about now, particularly far away from this eye-opening, but awful little chat. “Well her dad doesn’t know me or my parents…” Maybe one day, hopefully, if you played your cards right, he would. 

Clumsily grabbing your stuff, you rushed out the door Wanda crossed through just a few seconds prior, looking around and finding her rushing down the stone path. “Wanda!” She had to have heard you, stopping briefly before continuing on, walking purposefully away even as you yelled out her name again. “Wait up a sec!”

It was a quick sprint to catch up with her, speeding a little ahead to jump ahead, forcing her to stop so as not to collide with you. “Wanda.. Hey!”

“Hi,” Even after weeks of lectures, you’d never seen her this close and already Brock was wrong; Wanda wasn’t just kinda cute, she was beautiful. Green eyes regarded you cautiously, narrowed ever so slightly. Her stiff posture showed she was already on guard, so different from the easy way you’d seen her open up to anyone else and you couldn’t lie, it stung a bit. You didn’t want her to be so worried; maybe the people you sat with didn’t like her, but you’d never said a mean word and even if you tried, you couldn’t think of one to say.

You could barely think of a coherent sentence to offer her.

“Hi… sorry for yelling,” You were a little out of breath, weighed down by your bag and still groggy from your professor’s boring lecture. For a second, you were scared Wanda would simply side step you and keep walking, taking advantage of your fatigue to avoid you entirely, but her expression softened, turning almost apologetic for her hostility. She even had a cute pout. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

Faint laughter sounded out behind you and the classroom was a ways away now, but Wanda’s eyes darted over her shoulder, catching Brock and a few of his various pals now on the grass, waving your way. You would’ve shouted at them to quit it, but you heard Wanda’s sigh and chose to ignore the ruckus for now, not wanting to accidentally egg them on further. “I hear a lot of things. Doesn’t mean I should pay attention to them.”

“Right…” Shit. She must’ve caught bits of your conversation, Brock wasn’t exactly a subtle guy. Wanda was gone by the time you cut him off; given how openly disliked she was, it couldn’t have been the first time she’d overheard herself being talked about. No wonder she practically ran out of the room. “Sorry about that.”

You felt for her in a sense, could empathize with being ostracized from your peers. Typically, going away to college fixed that, but Wanda was still stuck with the same group of people. Not that you wanted to talk to her out of guilt, not even close; the first thoughts you’d had about Wanda were far more lustful than pitying. All you wanted was one chance to get to know her for yourself. “Can I walk you to your next class?”

Wanda didn’t even try to hide her shock and you tried to pretend her reaction didn’t scare you that your other classmate was right about the courtyard walk. “That was my only class today.” 

“Mine too,” In truth, you had two long classes filling your afternoon; missing them just once wouldn’t hurt. Besides, you’d still be learning, replacing Wanda Maximoff for Governmental Statistics and World Literature. “Have lunch with me then?”

You could see her working through the proposition in her head, gauging your persistence against your seemingly genuine smile. She’d wanted to talk to you just as long as you had her, but there were…obstacles. Not only the crowd that drew you in, but also the beginnings of what she was just recently coming to terms with as a crush. Initially Wanda brushed it off as you being brand new, but when she caught herself making excuses to look your way and thinking about you while she grocery shopped, she knew her feelings wouldn’t pass by so easily. 

As much as she knew her inexperience combined with her bottom tier social status meant she had about zero chance with someone like you who she’d seen flirting with more than one girl already in your short time here, Wanda couldn’t get herself over it— over you. 

And Wanda wanted to have faith in you, to trust this wasn’t some awful prank you got roped into after you and her constant tormentors somehow sussed out her growing feelings and decided to poke at her new weakness for a laugh, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d fallen into that trap. 

The first experience was traumatizing enough, Wanda would rather not have to relive it as an adult. If the words religious little daddy’s girl weren’t still ringing in her head, she wouldn’t have thought twice. “You want to have lunch with me?” 

“Well I’d ask you out to dinner, but it’s only 1pm.” Not to mention, you’d been helpless thinking of some introduction that wasn’t clearly leading her on. Your usual smooth pickups felt too forward for a girl like Wanda, given what you knew about her; she’d take a lot of work to get to where you got with some people in just a few minutes and you really, really didn’t want to mess this up. 

Wanda’s cheeks blossomed pink at your cheeky comment and you were glad to have caught even a glimpse of it before she could hide her face behind her notebook. At least you could bank on her not being too extremely prudish, that gave you some wiggle room. “To make up for that asshole back there, please? We can get whatever you want, I’ll even pay.”

The terms sounded like a date, a lunch date, but it was all the same to Wanda who’d never successfully been on a date as well as to her fluttering heart. You learned right then Wanda was beautiful when annoyed, but positively gorgeous when she smiled at you. There were a million and one ways she could’ve responded, from disgust to polite rejection to even an overly gushy yes, but Wanda had to at least try to reply with a fraction of your ease. “I didn’t say no the first time.” 

“Well then, take us to your lunch spot of choice, sweetheart.” You stepped aside to let her go ahead, just missing Wanda’s cheeks darken to a tomato red from the sudden nickname, following close behind as your date led the way to her mystery destination. 

“There’s not much around here, you probably know where you’re going…” She was right, all walkable campus things were familiar to you now, but you could care less. 

“Shh, let me have this surprise-” Your phone buzzed in your pocket and unlocking it revealed an obnoxious text from Brock filled with kissy faces and laughing emojis. By the end of the day, it’d surely get around that you decided to hang out with their Public Enemy No.1, but you’d choose watching Wanda’s pretty pleated skirt bouncing ever so slightly as she walked with her adorable cautious glances, making sure you were actually still behind her, over the smell of sports sweat and hefty doses of Axe body spray any time. “I think you’re taking me the prettier route there anyways.”

Wanda’s mouth fell open when she realized your gaze wasn’t on the sidewalk or the leaves, but her, bashful yet again as she whipped back around. With less self-restraint you would’ve pulled her in for a hug, maybe nuzzled into her hair if you thought she’d accept that out here in the open. But girls like Wanda were a special kind, requiring time and coaxing and just the right words. 

You were willing to give her all of that and more. If no one else wanted her, you’d sure as hell take her before some other idiot could.

[morporkian-cryptid]

On gender, confusion, and labels

I want to talk about my experience of gender, because it’s been a long and complicated journey and I’m finally at a point where I’m not having an identity crisis every six months. I haven’t seen many people with a similar experience in my years on the Trans Website and I kinda wish I had people tell me this earlier. This is not meant to be catch-all advice for all gender-confused folks, just my own story; if others can resonate with it and feel a little less lost, then I’ll be happy.

(This is gonna be pretty long, be warned)

I experience little to no dysphoria, and that’s probably why it’s taken me so long to accept that I’m not cis. What tipped me off to the whole Gender Situation was mostly the euphoria of being perceived as a masculine woman, or mistaken for a guy.

I came out as genderfluid years ago, to about two persons. Six months and a lot of thinking later, I went back on it because it turned out it was just a phase.

Well, not a phase, more like a cycle. After that, I kept deeply questioning my gender every six to twelve months. Most of the time I’d feel like a woman (albeit without any clear idea of what “being a woman” actually meant), and every now and then I’d get clear flashes of “I’m something else” feelig and start to question my entire identity for a couple months; then go back to “nah actually I’m cis”. Rinse and repeat.

I kept cutting my hair increasingly short, event went as far as a buzzcut. I rarely wear makeup. I like when people mistake me for a boy or are confused about my gender.

Every year or so, I found myself looking at binders. Every year I flaked out. At some point I bought compression bras but barely wore them because they were uncomfortable. I like my chest in and of itself, but sometimes I don’t like the way it looks with dresses or frilly tops – I like my chest but I don’t want it to be perceived. (I did buy a binder eventually, for the few days when I want my chest gone. I don’t wear it a lot, but I’m happy to have the choice.)

For a while I played with using different pronouns; I asked my friends to call me he or they for a few days, or I’d introduce myself with those pronouns in talking groups. But most of the time I went back to “she” like an old comforting jumper.

I even changed my name for about six months, then went back to my birth name. That was a very difficult time. I didn’t want to change my name. I like my birth name a lot. What happened was, Elliott Page came out, and I heard the name Elliott and my brain kinda went, “huh I like that name, it fits, I kinda like being a girl named Elliott”; and then it was like an itch that wouldn’t go away unless I scratched it. The weight of that decision scared me. It wasn’t like pronouns or a haircut: a name is what I present myself to the world with, and I was terrified of changing such a big thing about me.

My friends were very supportive, and switched without problem. I was lucky enough to move abroad for a six-month exchange program right when that identity crisis happened, so I got the very rare occasion to introduce myself as Elliott to people who didn’t know me at all, and whom I wouldn’t see anymore after six months. My flatmates were great and called me Elliott without question.

Six months later, the name stopped fitting. I don’t know how to describe it, but it just didn’t feel like me anymore, so I went back to my birth name, and all my friends were chill with that. (I still use Elliott as a pseudonym online.)

The reason the early years of questioning my gender were really complicated, is because for a lot of my life I’ve been really into labels. I wanted to understand things and put them in neat little boxes; and my identity was no different. If I’m not a woman then I must be trans. But I feel like a woman 75% of the time. Can I call myself trans if I identify with my AGAB most of the time? Do I actually identify as a woman, though? Or am I okay with being perceived as one? What does “feeling like a woman” even mean? Technically, by definition I must be genderfluid, which means I’m trans, but that’s a word that doesn’t feel like it applies to me. I can’t be part-time trans. But I’m not exactly cis either. Then what the fuck am I??

I wanted a word to put on my identity, because if I didn’t have one then I didn’t know what I was, and that was really difficult to live with.

It took me years to shed that need for a label, and to get to the point I am at today. Today I see my gender as feelings rather than identity. My gender is too big and complicated to neatly fit into a word, or even ten. My gender is the way I dress, the way I talk, the emotions when I am called miss or sir, the feeling when I look at myself in the mirror after a fresh haircut. It’s a hundred interconnected tidbits that all shift day to day.

The best way I’ve found to describe my experience of gender, is this:

I am not a woman

I am fine with being perceived as a woman

I do not want to be perceived as feminine

These are the three things I’m certain of right now (and they might change later! And that’s okay!), and my day-to-day gender presentation hinges around them. I no longer try to look inside myself and ask “What is my Gender?”, because I’ve never found a straight (ha!) answer, and that’s only ever brought me anguish. What I do now, is look in the mirror and ask myself “Do I like this outfit?”, look at a sentence I wrote and ask myself “Do I like these pronouns?”. I’ve kind of applied the Marie Kondo method to my gender: does this spark joy? Then I’m doing it. In this text I’m sending to my friend, does calling myself “handsome” spark joy? Then I’m calling myself “handsome”. Does wearing a binder under this dress spark joy? Then binder it is. If I want to try out a new name, I can tell my friends and they’ll try it out with me, and if it turns out I don’t like it, I can always ask them to go back to the old one. The gender feelings I’m feeling right now are as real as the ones I felt yesterday or the ones I’ll feel tomorrow, they’re as important and I am allowed to indulge in them.

With labels, I do sort of the same thing, although I’m not quite there yet. The best word I’ve found to describe myself is genderqueer, because it’s vague enough to not imprison me inside a box. Sometimes I’ll say I’m non-binary if that’s relevant to the context of the discussion. I still don’t actively describe myself as trans, because the vastness of that word and the experiences it comes with is still a bit scary for me – but I don’t forbid myself anymore from taking part in things labelled as “trans”, like talking groups, pride events, Tumblr posts and Discord servers. Even if I don’t identify with the word, I identify with many of the experiences, and I do technically fall under the definition of transgender. I’m allowed to be part of that community, even if I kinda just lurk around the doorstep. Maybe one day I’ll be comfortable enough to actually come in, and proudly call myself transgender.

I have been sort of toying with the idea of maybe one day going on T. If I had had that idea a few years earlier, I would have freaked out and had another identity crisis over it, like I did with the name change. As things are right now, I’m just sort of considering the idea and giving myself time to think about it, do research, try alternative ways to change my body first. There’s no rush at all. I know now that my perception of my own gender varies over time, and that I can take years to get comfortable with aspects of my identity or presentation. I can take my time; I can go on T in a few years when I’m certain, or I can decide I don’t want that. I don’t have to make a big decision now.

Seeing transition this way is incredibly freeing.

I’m very lucky to experience minimal gender dysphoria, but because of that, I conflated “being okay with people perceiving me as a woman” with “actually being a woman”. I mostly use she/her and my feminine birth name, not because they describe my gender (they very much don’t), but because they’re comfortable. It’s like I’m goth but I don’t find goth clothes comfortable, and displaying my identity as goth isn’t worth the discomfort of wearing itchy clothes. So I prefer to wear this old sweater that’s super comfy even if it doesn’t reflect my tastes, and stick a couple of skull pins on it so other goths know I’m actually one of them. Just because the sweater isn’t goth doesn’t mean I’m not goth inside. Just because I go by she/her and a feminine name doesn’t mean I’m not non-binary inside. Explaining my actual gender to the people around me isn’t worth the hassle, misunderstanding and possible debates about my identity; the people who understand know, and the others don’t, whatever.

(TL;DR) So, yeah. This is a lot of text to really just say, if finding a word for your gender hurts, don’t try to find a word. Focus on the experiences, do what makes you happy, gender-wise. Labels can be helpful, but if they’re not, you are not obligated to use one. Gender is incredibly complex and cannot be easily summarized by words. At the end of the day, what’s important is your feelings, and trying to make them good feelings.

[alexbkrieger13]

this is cute ☺️

ann-Katrin Berger met Jess Carter when she joined Birmingham City FC in May 2016. Despite being teammates, they didn’t speak much during the first six months. “At the beginning, I thought she was arrogant, but as I got to know her, I found myself really drawn into her character,” says Ann-Katrin.

At the time, Jess was living at home with her family in Barford, Warwickshire, but was keen to spread her wings. “By 2017 I wanted to move out, and found out that Ann was looking for a housemate,” says Jess. “In February, we moved in together in Solihull.” They quickly became great friends, sharing their passion for football and films. “Jess was chilled and there was no drama at all,” says Ann-Katrin. “We like all the same TV shows, so there’s never any fighting over the remote.”

Although they built a strong friendship, Jess hadn’t considered the possibility that there could be more. “I had broken up with my boyfriend when I moved in, but as far as I knew I was straight,” she says. That summer, Jess went away for training, and the pair missed each other’s company. “She’s a naturally flirty person, which is the opposite of me,” says Ann-Katrin. Wondering if it could mean she was interested in something more than friendship, Ann-Katrin planned a night out for them when she returned. “A friend encouraged me and I thought, if I didn’t try, I might not get other chances.”

In August 2017, Ann-Katrin took Jess out for the dinner date she had planned, but Jess had no idea it was meant to be romantic. “When she used the word ‘date’, I thought she meant as friends. Even when she paid, it didn’t click, because she’s one of the most generous people I know.”

Mutual friends asked Jess how the evening went, but she still didn’t think romance was on the cards. “Ann-Katrin has all the qualities I’d look for in a partner, but I’d never dated a woman before, so I hadn’t really thought about it like that,” she says.

A few days later, they were relaxing at home when Ann-Katrin took a risk and initiated a kiss. “I was quite nervous because I didn’t know what her reaction would be. I always knew she was quite an open person, and she’d never ruled out being with a woman. At the same time, I heard her talk about guys, so I wasn’t sure.”

nitially, they didn’t speak about the kiss, but when it happened again a few days later, they had a frank discussion.

“I definitely sensed something was shifting, but it wasn’t until we kissed that I really thought about things in a different way,” says Jess. “Ann is not a serial dater, she needs to be emotionally invested. So for her to kiss me was a big thing. I cared about her so much as a friend, but I wasn’t clear on romantic feelings at the start.” She told Ann-Katrin that she wanted to give things a go, but couldn’t commit quickly. “I wasn’t sure if it was a phase for me, and didn’t want to lead her on,” she says.

Ann-Katrin may have been more certain about her feelings at first, but Jess quickly caught up. “It developed really quickly and naturally after that,” she says, and within months they had told each other “I love you”.

Not long after they became a couple, Ann-Katrin underwent treatment for thyroid cancer. “I was scared it would be too much for Jess, but she was so supportive,” she says. In June 2018, Jess moved to London to play for Chelsea. Ann Katrin joined the club in early 2019, and the pair now live together in London. When sport was paused during the lockdown, Jess says Ann-Katrin motivated her to carry on training: “I wouldn’t have been able to do it without Ann.”

In this year’s Uefa Women’s Euros, both women were in their team’s squad for the final – Jess for England and Ann-Katrin for Germany. “There wasn’t really any direct competition because we are both really chilled people,” says Jess. Ann-Katrin agrees: “I’m happy for her success.”

[phagodyke]

completed the game btw 👍

laptop crashed on me trying to open elden ring the final straw 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[phanfictioncatalogue]

College/University Roommates (2) Masterlist

part one

And it's all gonna be wonderful (ao3) - INeverHadMyInternetPhase (BirbWatcher)

Summary: Dan knows he and Phil are 'together'. There's no doubt in his mind about that. He's just... not quite sure how exactly to situate what they are, and especially not when something as stressful as Valentine's Day was coming up.

begin and never cease (ao3) - palomeheart

Summary: Dan is a grumpy second year law student living with reclusive, perpetual grad student named Phil. When the holiday season brings out a side of Phil that Dan’s never seen before, Meanwhile, when Phil finds out Dan hates all things festive, he makes it his goal to change Dan’s mind before Christmas. And also to find the perfect mince pie.

Flatmates (ao3) - intoapuddle

Summary: oh my god they were flatmates / the fuckboy!phil au we all deserve

forgetful (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Phil always forgets the keys to the dorm room; luckily dan always has his back

gold & green (ao3) - lightninghowells

Summary: dan is a student at the university of manchester and he just moved into his first flat. now all he needs is a roommate.

Law Exams - amazingdanielhowell

Summary: Dan and Phil attend the same Uni. Phil catches Dan cheating on assignment/essay and blackmails him. 

Meeting You (ao3) - developerdaniel

Summary: "I guess I know the answer to my worries," Dan whispered, alcohol still lightly on his breath but Phil didn't care. All he wanted to do was kiss Dan again – and so he did. He tilted his head just enough to press his lips to Dan's, starting a soft and slow kiss, their lips moving together like they'd been doing this for years while his body lit up like there was a fire in every one of his nerve endings.

~*~*~ aka dan and phil are roommates in college this semester and end up pining for each other and then having a good romp together. ft top phil, bottom dan, and some hq sexuals

My Homophobic Roommate - wordsofphandom

Summary: Phil is the best college roommate that Dan could have imagined, but things get awkward when he walks in on Dan with another boy. Is Phil just a homophobe or is there more to it?

Pictures Of You (ao3) - CanDanAndPhilNot (enbycalhoun)

Summary: Punk Phil and (softish) Dan find out they are roommates after a couple stressful encounters.

robot in the dorms (ao3) - itsmyusualphannie (itsmyusualweeb)

Summary: dan goes to university in florida and meets his roommate phil. after a few months, and despite dan's facade of disinterest, he begins to actually like phil and his nerdy ways. the robot that phil designs doesn't help.

or: another "oh my god they were roommates" fic but COOLER because robots

spilled intentions (ao3) - ordanary (ghostsofjersey)

Summary: It’s Dans first day of uni and everything is going decently until a black haired boy in his year spills coffee all over his jumper– and then it’s suddenly going wonderfully.

Temperature. (ao3) - heyitsnxel

Summary: Dan's first day of uni isn't exactly how he pictured it to be. But, in the end, maybe that's okay.

This Could be the End of Everything (ao3) - rainbowchristy

Summary: Dan’s finally starting university, the phase of his life he’s been waiting for since he was a small child. His first real chance at freedom, away from his parents. Unfortunately, the universe has other plans for him.

Prompt: au where dan and phil are college students who get separated when they're sent home bc of coronavirus. potential dan isn't out to his parents angst + general ldr angst + fluffy reunion when they get back to campus and everything is over pls

What We Lac (ao3) - phan_anon

Summary: Alpha!Phil might just have found what's been Lac-ing from his life in his housemate Omega!Dan...

[borrowedtimeandspace]

The Secret Flatmate

3. Impulsive

From this list of gt prompts.

AU: Unknown BAU

Note: Two prompts in one day??? Yep! ^^ this prompt and a few others have given me a bit of an excuse to actually post some things that have been floating around in my WIPs for a good while now. Enjoy some bonus pocketlock!

~~~

John Watson was a creature of habit. That was to the advantage of one Sherlock Holmes, who carefully watched the man from the safety of the walls.

221B Baker Street was an odd place for someone less than four inches tall to hang their hat– or long wool coat in Sherlock’s case– but Sherlock loved it. He’d been a drifter for quite some time, always shifting around London. One thing Sherlock had never been able to do was sit still.

Until he stumbled upon this humble flat in Central London. At first glance it didn’t seem like much; the most interesting thing about Mrs. Hudson the landlady who lived on the ground floor was that she was apparently married to a drug lord, and he wasn’t even in England anymore. Bored, he decided to explore the flat one floor up. From the second he saw it– with its kitschy wallpaper, rubbish carpet and mismatched armchairs– he was enamored. How he ached to be able to live in 221B Baker Street properly, like a human.

And then he remembered he was human. At least he used to be. He’d given up on wishing for his old life back ages ago. Things would never go back to the way they were.

He ended up settling for the next best thing. After a few weeks of absconding with food and supplies from Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock considered himself fully moved into 221B. It was empty, but someone would rent it out eventually, and then he could live off them.

Sure enough, John Watson moved in, and he was at least a little more interesting than the landlady. 

Sherlock had a hobby in childhood that became an instinct as an adult. Extraordinarily observant, he could pick apart even the most minute of details in a person-- their clothing, their posture, even their accessories-- and from them glean an understanding about their life. This was all the easier when observing human beings, whose relatively massive statures rendered all those details plain as day to Sherlock.

While peeking in on his first conversation with her, Sherlock observed that the man was ex-military, wounded abroad if his limp and tan were any indication. Just returned from either Afghanistan or Iraq (confirmed later to be the former) and clearly hadn’t found a job yet. There was no way he could afford rent in Central London on Army pension alone, so it stood to reason that he must be getting help. Perhaps a loan, or a bit of aid from a family member. Taking a wild guess on a hunch after a closer look at the human’s mobile phone, Sherlock thought John’s brother might have lent him a little. Judging by the other things Sherlock deduced about the brother’s failed marriage and drinking habit, it wasn’t the easiest thing for John to reach out to him.

John took the flat– Sherlock’s flat– right away, and the smaller man kept a watchful eye on the new human. It took John a while to find a steady job, solidifying a schedule for Sherlock to take advantage of. He fell into his own habits, patterns of going through his flatmate’s things to learn more about him. It didn’t take him more than a week to learn about John’s career as a doctor, his shoulder wound that got him discharged, and the psychosomatic limp and tremor that came out of that.

This was a man lost in his own world, his own thoughts and nightmares, especially in the comfort of his own home. A perfect human for someone trying to avoid detection.

Or so Sherlock thought.

A few months after the doctor moved in, Sherlock was raiding the cupboards for enough to last him the week. John had long since gone to work, so the flat was quiet and peaceful.

Sherlock took full advantage of Dr. Watson’s recent grocery run, snitching a little from each freshly opened box and package. It was almost boring, how easy pickings were that day. He decided to climb down to the counter, make the rounds of the kitchen before heading back to his hidden home.

No sooner had he emerged from the cupboard sliding smoothly down his hook and line, than the smell hit him. Dark curls whipped around as Sherlock followed the scent to the table in the middle of the room where a plate of homemade scones sat. Sherlock’s stomach clenched with longing; it was around lunchtime and, while the bits of cracker and cereal and dried fruit in his bag made for a successful haul, it had been ages since he’d had the chance at a proper scone.

He longed for the days when he could hold one in hand and carry it along his merry way as he ate.

As it was, no one was home and the plate was hardly touched. Sherlock reasoned that it’d be a shame to let them go to waste, landing efficiently on the counter and giving his line a pointed flick to disengage the paper clip he’d twisted into a hook. The second he caught it, he was on the move to dig it into the edge of the counter. From there, it was a short jog along the floor, a sharp toss of his hook, and a quick shimmy up the dark thread.

The smell was even stronger on the table surface. Sherlock usually exhibited a lot of self control when it came to what he ate, whether it be out of necessity due to a shortage of pickings or a voluntary fast to aid his brainwork. But for some reason, this scone was different. Maybe it was the sheer nostalgia of the treat or the rare opportunity for something fresh, but there was absolutely no hesitation in his step as he made a beeline for the plate. 

He had to give Mrs. Hudson credit: her scones were heavenly. The pastry crumbled easily enough and melted in his mouth, interspersed with the sweetness of the fruit that had been baked into the dough. For once, his ever-running mind stood still for a moment, drawing him back to childhood.

Shoving his older brother aside to snag two handfuls of scones before school in the morning.

Opening his eyes to regard the crumbs in his hands, Sherlock forced himself to push those memories away. That family was lost to him forever, and he would never get that life back.

Not while he was under four inches tall.

[firespirited]

Got screwed by LaPoste again. Flatmate woke me up to pay €11: more than the cost of the item with postage: I'd already paid import taxes, it was tracked so they could have emailed me for the €3 custom fee, it had a CN22 that said both these things but it was folded inwards so their shoddy machines didn't scan it.

A few years ago this would have ruined half my day. But I've been doing whatever therapy technique it is to take your strong emotions and break it down into every single component and examine every facet until it's something you understand, can accept and form solutions

Here's a little peek at what comes out after lots of uncomfortable moments of digging down:

ANGER because this is ethically wrong and entirely avoidable:

If they'd bothered to open the CN22, i wouldn't have to pay. As is I was presented with losing the item and reorder (with wait time) or hand over the money. Their corner cutting on personnel led to this.

Customs fee was actually €3. The extra €8 is a handling fee for laposte. If your parcel has tracking, customs contact you by email and you pay online. I did it last week for the Japan parcel. I was not sent an email for this.

None of that €8 handling fee goes to the postie who has an extra five minutes to make up for. I wouldn't mind if it was a tip, we cash-tip regularly for difficult deliveries.

There's no receipt and most people pay in cash so an unscrupulous postie could ask for whatever whenever. Half of my spam is claims from various delivery companies claiming my parcels are held up and need money, they opened a terrible can of worms

Laposte is not great at what they do and have not operated as a public service for a long time now with massive inflation on the cost of sending stuff. A postcard stamp (in country!) will set you back $1.6

RESENTMENT because I was extremely strict about hobby money.

A €11 loss would have meant two yarn or partial reroots to make up for it. Possibly selling one of my personal collection. At least four hours of work.

Every single supply and unexpected expense like parcel loss or extra fees came from the hobby fund which would be in the red if it wasn't a current sales moment. (My first rotary tool was bought with hobby money even though it had non doll purposes for example.)

I knew at the time that it was unhealthy thinking but hadn't found an alternative or ways to mentally unblock.

IMPOTENCE:

recourse is nearly impossible the post office system is designed that way: no receipt and they can claim bad formatting of the CN22 masked the barcode. It's always something. They sent my australia parcel to austria, billed me, i opened a case and checked in every month and nothing.

poverty mindset: if you've ever felt the sting of removing an item from the conveyor belt to afford the total, you know that someone else's small change is something big and important and painful. Even once you have some money it doesn't go away: donating to others is easy, being cheated by a system is awful.

Solutions:

As much as possible, I don't use LaPoste and their extortionate prices for sending to France and the EU. My two posties get regular tips and cash gifts at Christmas but I don't use the post office unless I absolutely have to. Mondialrelay or Point to Point get my money whenever possible. That feels good and makes losses feel less bad.

I treat unexpected expenses like a lost parcel, disgruntled client or new fees as a tip to myself. I put in the work, did everything I could and something out of my control happened. The expense is marked down but cancelled out from my personal kitty. I have been inconvenienced: I'm not going to let it hurt or work it off.

Hobby supplies that are multipurpose are a third category. I was putting glues, chemicals, thread and needles under expenses when I use them for all sorts of repairs.

More importantly: the hobby money spreadsheet became a guideline not a business expenditure book.

Since about 2019 I've also been trying to integrate the idea of the joy of the hobby having its own cost and reward built in:

If i make no money back from a €30 gunky bundle of dolls, there was still €30 worth of enjoyment in fixing them up. The experience of practising even if it comes out all wrong is also valuable. And you often get a tutorial out of it 😁 (see my "mistakes I make so you don't have to" tag)

There was a time before handicap benefits where every cent counted but even then we all managed to make tough choices so we could save small amounts of 'cushion' money - We'd all learned to be so cautious that the cushions went mostly untouched until benefits hit and something unlocked despite still being under the poverty line: the cushion had gone from €30 (100 if we had a good series of months) to €300 emergency funds and no medical expenses were paid out of pocket (as opposed to upfront with a potential refund later) and that made all the difference.

But also a big change was the mindset:

Normal people's unwinding experiences often aren't free even if it's just eating your own snacks at a local bit of grass.

Really throwing out the idea that hobbies should be monetized (that part was hard to unlearn, not just because it was so prevalent but because of shame at not "having a job"- i know now that my full-time job is to keep this body alive and I get maybe 3 hours max to not be about surviving)

Even in poverty you deserve treats because those make priceless memories. Hobby time is valuable because it's what's makes us human not just productivity/survival machines.

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

Anyway I've also been trying to apply this to my rejection sensitive dysphoria, knowing I'm going to lose Lily soon, frustration with how slow core muscle rebuilding is taking, as well as the very real fear of alienating my sister by accident or just clashing needs (NGL I spiralled most of the day when we had the odd confrontation last week).

but I'd rather break down something less personal in public. ^^;

Here's hoping this little thing that would drive me batty from feeling powerless, which now doesn't sting as much helps someone

[mareliini]

On my Proper Adult Years I've spent all christmases alone in my flat. Flatmates and friends go visit their families and most places are closed, so most logical (and funniest) option is stay indoor 4 days, watch movies from my watch list and do something stupid. I always look forward to it.

This year's hitlist:

1. Took the legs out of bed. The bed is almost uncomfortable tall and I want my leisure place back. I can surely just lift it up and put the legs back when I'm done right? Right? Haha.

2. Christmas eve... our most celebrated day of the year. Sun is setting at 1pm when I'm scampering towards a grocery store to hunt down fancy prailines. I didn't buy them, because after seeing them finally I didn't feel like it.

3. Started new bobbin lace project and went through one movie (glass onion, i didn't know it's some Big Movie. It was watchable.), one very, very stupid miniseries (inside man. Almost unbearable to watch), and several puppet history episodes while preparing the thread and bobbins. It is not a fast hobby, unfortunately.

Started making the lace finally, and realised I don't know how to make it, actually. Gotta wait a few weeks till bobbin lace lectures start again.

4. Spent christmas night fervently talking about childhood toys in chat. Found and bought this lil babe to replace the one that got broken and trashed when I was kid. (Please note, if it was up to me I almost never threw any toy away. They were held together on old gum and super clue but by god, I kept keeping them. I've only ever consented on two barbie funerals and that was years after they'd lost their limbs.)

Excited to see her clone again after all these years!! I'm gonna tear it to pieces immidiately!! Something that next generation belville dolls weren't able to do.

5. Slept through my alarms but it was fine since no one else does laundry on christmas day.

6. Finally stopped procrastinating and inked plant pages. Hurray.. Watching some swedish crime drama series.

7. Tried to lift my bed, unable to get a hold of it. i'm in trouble.png

Finally after some aid from various household things and raw power, I got a book under it. Added this bag strap (patented rope solution) to make future lifting easier.

8. Noticed there are bugs again in my monstera. It's their word and I'm living in it. Chugged aome poison at them and went to bed. If the plant dies, it dies.

[kage-no-sonzai]

Stammering Awareness Day Post

I missed Stammering Awareness Day this year because I was at a Sales Conference for work so here's my belated post.

"Therapy. It's not right for everyone"

I made a very similar decision to Paul Gaskin when I turned 18 and moved away to university. I was in a different city, far away from my parents, with nobody I knew. Away from every comfortable thing possible to hide behind. So I thought fuck it. I will not do this anymore.

Speech therapy is often not a choice for children like me.

I have stammered since the day I started talking, late, at age three. And even then my first word was 'no'. A testament perhaps to the personality that was hidden for years and years beneath the appearance of someone who was 'shy' or 'withdrawn'.

I did not speak between the ages of 3 and 14 in school. And if I did, they were one word answers. I am surrounded by memories of school reports my mum's kept with the teacher's feedback, 'she's quiet in the classroom, she should put her hand up more' or 'she'd be a clever girl if she wasn't so quiet'.

In those formative years, I had few, if any friends. And at the age I am now I realise just how damaging that is to someone. In uni, I didn't go to fresher's week, I rarely came out my room and I found myself emotionally and socially exhausted just because I walked through the kitchen to wash my pots and one of my flatmates was there trying to chat.

What has speech therapy ever done for me, if it hasn't helped me socialise and become the kind of person who just speaks without thought?

Speech therapy, in my case, was not to try and make my life better. It was to try and hammer the stammer out of me by any means necessary. I even kept the folder, which I found recently.

I missed out on classes and break times in Primary School, because I had Speech Therapy, organised by my school. And I remember feeling confused, when at the age of 8, one such speech therapist decided that my stammer was so bad, she sent me back to class, with an A4 sheet of paper. 'A-Z, Sign Language'.

I've never seen my mum so livid.

The ones who came after weren't as bad. But they never felt less patronising. They would put cards in front of me and say 'this is how you say this word correctly'. I know how to say the word, and correctly as well. Just not in the manner they wanted. Not in the way that proved to my parents, that all this therapy, all this money, was working.

Every day, I'd still come home with a stammer.

At age 13, I was gifted a device, called a VoiceAmp. A company now who doesn't operate. It was a small MP3-like device that fed my voice back into one ear, half a second later, at a higher pitch. And it worked mostly.

The teacher's knew about it. Let me use it. And I thought that maybe, maybe, it would be alright. I loathed having to carry it around with me everywhere, but it was something.

Until one day, class hadn't even begun yet, when a teacher berated me in the hallway for 'listening to music'.

And whatever confidence was built. Was shattered.

Around the same age, I found my passion, languages. I did German before, yes, but this was Japanese. This was different. Difficult. 3 alphabets, thousands of characters, fast-paced speaking?

I don't know why I really kept on at it.

It is the only GCSE I ever got an A* in.

It is the only time, I ever really truly felt supported by a teacher, and she didn't even teach at my school. She paid for my GCSE, out of her own pocket, because she saw how much I loved it.

Of course. My parents saw this and thought 'oh all that speech therapy worked, she loves languages'. When that's not entirely true.

I struggled, mentally I now know, throughout the entirety of my school life, extending into Sixth Form. Wondering, 'where am I going to fit in the real world? Who in their right mind is going to hire someone who, yes, speaks, reads, writes Japanese, but can't even say their own name without tripping over the syllables?'.

Having completed my first year at uni, something loomed in second year. My Year Abroad to Japan.

I was fucking terrified.

But I'm alive, I made it! But that, I believe was the turning point. That I was forced into situations that were uncomfortable, forced into speaking a different language to people who realistically had never seen anyone who wasn't Japanese before. And fuck yes it was awkward sometimes but when I came back to the UK, I felt totally different.

I felt that I could do this, without having my parent's hanging over me, waiting to detect the tiniest block, the smallest of repetitions, just so they could be all smug and say 'well that speech therapy was useless, you're not even using it'.

I felt like I could be a person, make my own decisions and do what I want. And with that freedom, it became less and less about my stammer and more about me.

That is why this TedTalk by Paul Gaskin, resonates with me.

I've had speech therapy, breathing exercises, coping mechanisms. I've had devices, sign language, even a band tied around my chest to control my breathing (which bloody hurt btw cos I had tits coming in).

Nothing works better, than just, letting go.

I am not cured. I never will be. I still stammer. And it's worse on some days, some weeks, more than others.

But that is not my problem.

It is the way I speak.

Stammering cannot be hammered out of a child, an adult. My parents could have flung all the speech therapy at me and it would not have changed a thing. But why does it need to be hammered out? Sure it might hurt my parents to watch me struggle, but how do they thing I feel?

Years in silence, tripping over words, verbally and physically abused, out of breath, facial ticks. It hurts me more than it hurts them.

I don't know if my stammer is neurological but does it matter? It's here now, and it's not going anywhere, contrary to popular belief. I'm still allowed to be frustrated, saddened and put down sometimes by it, because it's something that's been with me from day one.

That doesn't mean I've taken a step back.

My pictures above, refer to a moment, a pivotal one, where I was first aware I was different. It was a new school, and we were all introducing ourselves. And when I stammered, everyone laughed at me. And too anxious to cry outwardly, I stuffed my head into my jumper and cried as quietly as I could, until the class was over.

They're important pictures to keep, I think. To remind me of the little girl I was. I like to think I've made her proud.

But I'm proud of her.

Not only because of all she went through.

But because, when asked by the speech therapist how we could realistically ease the bullying (something she probably shouldn't have been asking me anyway 🙄), she responded with this.

Sorry for the long post. I need to get this off my chest every few years (and it's my blog I do what I like, jokes on you for reading this far lol).

Next year I hope to attend my first Stamma Fest. If this topic is something you've never thought about or something that interests you, I highly suggest you check out the Stamma website.

Thank you for coming to my (not) TedTalk.

[audaciousamadeus]

Self-pity, the post

Ladies and gents, what a week.

It's been 6 months. 6 months since I found out the method I was using to answer the first question of my PhD project wasn't well-established and the person I got it from in the lab was also trying it out. 6 months of troubleshooting. After promising results indicating that I managed to fix the protocol, I processed a huge amount of samples, not only for my project but for many collaborators. 

Now the data was finally here (as of the previous week), and I had my lab meeting presentation the week after the arrival of the new and shiny data. The presentation was one day after my 30th birthday. Exciting and frightening times. 

On the week I got my data, I also got a proposal from a colleague to catsit and housesit while her and her boyfriend were away on a festival for 4 days. "You should see it as a little getaway" she said. Thinking about how much work I needed to get done and how little that would happen if I stayed home and got distracted by my flatmate, I accepted the offer. Went to her place on Tuesday for dinner, picking up the keys and meeting the lovely cat who looked like the pathetic pleading emoji. Their garden looked perfect for my data analysis getaway, and I was looking forward for the weekend.

Very little analysis was done that weekend (pre-processing takes time) and instead I bought some cheap vintage clothes from a store that was closing in Camden, went to a local bakery in Nunhead and walked in the Nunhead cemitery with my newly bought tradwife cosplay of a dress. Maybe some people must've thought I was an apparition. When waiting for my data to get ready and choosing which experiments I should prioritise for my presentation I sang to the cat, who loved it. This weekend I was completely obsessed with Real and Rain, both songs by Unprocessed, and by Alibi from Sevdaliza, Pabllo Vittar and Yseult so that's the repertoire that the cat got to listen to.

On Sunday I also walked to the lab to feed some cells and got my ass literally kicked by a homeless man in Peckham. This was probably an omen, if not a visual metaphor of this week kicking my ass. Also, I couldn't find my bike lock keys. Just grand really.

While looking at the initial quality control of my data I was faced with a very depressive image. The degree in which the problem in the protocol was indeed solved varied to insane degrees depending on the sample. And the useful percentage of the data was usually too low. Considering that I was going to watch a film the next day with an amazing bioinformatician from my lab, I decided to ask in person whether she could meet me to discuss my data for the lab meeting.

Usually, I would say no to social outings so close to my presentation, but I really look up to her and feel like we have a bond. Due to a part of the lab having a different location we barely interact. A few more people that I had similar feelings towards were going to join as well. I felt like I couldn't decline the opportunity to meet them and that I would deal with my presentation stress and tiredness later. 

We watched the best worst film: Troll 2. The one in which there is no Troll 1, no trolls (there are goblins though), and one of the actors was some guy that was an outpatient from the University of Utah psych ward. It was gloriously trashy. The Bioinformatics Goddess told me to come over to their part of the lab so we could discuss things the next day.

Getting to the fancy part of our lab the next day, I first saw Mr Genius, who was also there in the Troll 2 watch party. Something about him tells me that he can handle my sense of humour and that we're quite similar, but I'm always reminded that this is not fully the case. The mismatch isn't big, but it always gives me a weird sense of unease and anxiety amidst the joy I get when talking to him. Him being intellectually intimidating doesn't particularly help, but still, I quite like our interactions. After some light banter about the film, I told him that soon I was going to talk to the Bioinformatic Goddess about my data and he decided to join.

Going through my slides and data their silence intensified until both cut that with indignation at our boss. They were both furious at our boss for the lack of adequate supervision that I have received so far, and the amount of hard work that I put for almost no reward. It takes me a lot of mental effort to show them my work and have discussions, as I feel slightly inhibited towards them due to me seeing both as inspirational people, but I think I managed to calm myself down a bit and to have a proper discussion with them. My fears were confirmed. the way that the data looked, I would only be able to detect biological phenomena that were quite pronounced. And perhaps this could be the case with one of the collaborator's projects, but it was most definitely not mine. It felt reassuring to see that they both felt that I was competent actually and that they both had my back. "You are truly excellent, and this is a waste of hard work and intelligence, I'm sorry but this just makes me so angry", Mr Genius said. It feels a bit delirious to write this down, even. We spoke a bit about what analysis I could do with what I currently have in order present something on Thursday, and they were both very helpful.

After work I went home to make sure I had some analysis pipelines running for the pre-processing of a few datasets before heading off to Pizza Tuesday (with the people from the Bosnian wedding). I took an apple strudel that I baked that morning as a little birthday thing. We spoke briefly about the dancing blog guy, and they told me something vague about reasons for him ditching me. I couldn't really put their bits of information together, but something about him "not being that social" and them thinking that I "deserved better" (as if anyone deserves anything. As if there should be the need to diminish the person who is not your friend, the person said friend is attracted to and decided to like based on their own assessment, just because this friend got hurt) and that in reality he most likely just couldn't "handle it". Whatever "it" means. The prospect of commitment? My feelings? His feelings? I decided to not ask any further, but somehow hearing that from them intensified my heartache. I almost preferred to think of my previous hypothesis that he just didn't care about me and thought I was physically unattractive. Hope I don't care about people ever again, 4/10 experience.

I wanted to spend the night working on my presentation and analysing data, but the wise Bosnian Pizza Tuesday host told me it would be better to sleep and to work on it in the morning. Feeling emotionally exhausted, I don't think there was anything else that I realistically could do.

At last, it was my birthday, and I decided to go early to the bouldering gym as a treat. That felt great and I even found my bike lock keys there! I felt like the universe was finally smiling at me. My Persian ex sent me happy birthday wishes, we spoke a bit about my lab struggles, and he said "Good luck with all of that. Never forget: you came a long way and you have done great things. You are also gonna be even better and go higher!". I cried a bit in the middle of the gym and was very thankful that it was empty. His support has always been invaluable, and I will forever be grateful and resent the fact that I am not attracted to him. Went back home and got some presents from my flatmate's parents (for tolerating their deranged ape son. Just kidding). Went to work and found some more goodies on my desk from colleagues.

People kept asking me for celebrations and what I would like to do on my birthday. I decided to go out for drinks in a cute pub close to the lab as a celebration after my presentation. I felt like I didn't have energy to organise anything else and that I would need the drinks. I'm definitely not on the path to become a raging alcoholic. 

Also, early March I had bought one ticket to watch the Spirited Away theatre play on my birthday, with the original Japanese cast. I feel a bit guilty that I did not invite anyone to come with me, but I truly wanted to have this experience alone and treat myself. Back then however I did not know I was going to have a presentation the next day. And truly, it was magical! And it was all in Japanese! When it was over I returned home and spent most of the night finishing my presentation.

I concluded that I shouldn't lose all my sleep over this and that if there was any interesting bit of data to show, there was not enough time to properly prepare slides in a way that I could communicate something meaningful to the lab. It would just be a show-off of how much I had done and that only thing that would accomplish is for me to feel like I am not useless. I refuse to do such meaningless self-soothing behaviour ever again. It was painful, but I decided to make a presentation based on how the method that I was using was indeed not usable, what are the exact issues, ideas of how to proceed, some optimisations on other methods. The main focus was to inform other lab members and my boss if they wanted to either use the method or suggest it to collaborators, and to gather feedback and ideas of what I could possibly do. Personally, the whole thing was painful to me and gave me a feeling of failure and not being smart enough to know when to quit optimising and switch to something else. But I received reassurance from peers that things are ok and that's how a PhD goes.

I am still, however, feeling that sort of numb sadness. Indeed, good that I had drinks afterwards. Good job, past me.

For the celebratory drinks there were some people from my lab, my flatmate, two London besties, and a guy adjacent to my Brazilian friend group who moved to London before I hanged out with these people. We talk quite often on Telegram but I think that my texting style became too European to keep up with Brazilian texting (but it's still too Brazilian and intense for the European standards). I got lovely cards, a few gifts and an AMAZING vegan (so that my Witchy Muse could eat) chocolate and raspberry cake from Konditorei, organised by my tasteful and thoughtful flatmate. 

Celebrations didn't stop there. Two people joined me for climbing on the next day, and on Saturday my flatmate gave me the surprise present of watching episode 6 of Star Wars in the cinema, a perfect ending for our Star Wars craze we had for the past weeks watching every main film in the franchise. I'm incredibly thankful for all the lovely people that consider themselves my friends. Highschool me would never once have thought that one day people would care as much. Considering that she never had that, I didn't have a lot of practice with saying no and finding a balance. It's especially hard considering that it's not easy for me to immediately access my emotional feedback on things, so if something is too much it usually hits me consciously way later than for most people. It was getting obvious though (at least for me) that my interactions were getting stunted and unnatural the entire week. That was not very 365 party girl of me. 

I'm just...

Tired. 

Exhausted really. 

I want nothing more than to stay in bed, watching nonsense on YouTube, or some series, or to casually read a fiction book, and to sleep for 9 hours every night for 1 month. Surrounded by pillows, preferably with cuddles every so often. And that would be the only contact with people that I would want in that ideal one month.

But that fantasy is far from happening in the foreseeable future. You see, I started writing this from a Starbucks at the London Gatwick airport with a large cappuccino. I had a flight to Geneva at 7:45am and woke up at 3:30am to come to the airport and be on time. With a pack of discounted babybels in my pocket so that they wouldn't go bad in the fridge.

Said flight was overbooked. I will now fly at 4:55pm. It was 8:36am as I started writing this. I stayed in that Starbucks for almost 6 hours writing this and reading a paper to make slides for a summer course in the Swiss Alps. The flight was also 2 hours late and now my earphone batteries ran out. I'm finishing writing this on the plane to Geneva. Woe is me.

When Mannequin Pussy said, "Everyone says to me 'Missy, you're so strong' but what if I don't wanna beeeeeeeeee" I really felt that.

This is just the beginning of frenetic two weeks. And It's me and my pocketful of babybels against the world.

Exhausted salutations,

Drained Amadeus

PS: The timeline is probably very confusing so I'll simplify it here:

Week of the 12th of August: At some point in the middle of the week, my data arrived

15th to 18th of August: Catsitting in Nunhead

21st of August: My birthday

22nd of August: Lab meeting presentation