#i am stuck on the project-less job

[ninanirina]

everytime it seems like i am composing my life again, the world seems to say 'haha no, not for you'

[ladylooch]

Messing Up a Good Thing - Jeremy Swayman

Summary: Jeremy and his best friend have been in love with each other since college. With a new, secure future on the horizon, suddenly taking this new leap seems as inevitable as them.

Word Count: 4.5k

Main Trope: best friends to lovers

If there is anything I’ve learned about life in the 26 years, I’ve been on this Earth it’s that life really is all about timing. 

Both the right time and the wrong one. 

Since I met Jeremy Swayman, we’ve always seemed to fall into the latter category. 

Jeremy and I met at the University of Maine our freshman year in college. I was the quiet, reserved wallflower and he was the athlete running into our literary class at the last possible second. He sat down next to me and immediately asked to borrow a pen and piece of paper. I took one look at his Maine hockey jacket and resisted an eye roll.

Another athlete skating his way through a college degree on his way to the NHL.

But the next class, Jeremy brought in my “borrowed” pen and a piece of fresh, notebook paper.

“I know you have college ruled notebooks, but I only have wide so… let me know if you want two pieces.” He said as he tossed his own notebook onto his part of the table. I stared down at the two, torn sheets of notebook paper, unsure what to do with them or him as he pulled out the chair to sit next to me again. The room was still mostly empty.

“Um, there’s more spots open. You don’t have to sit here.” I point out to him.

His hazel eyes had stayed on me for a beat too long and then he shrugged. 

“Why mess up a good thing?”

Our “good thing” extended out into being partners for any small group discussions or projects. Jeremy would have the most ridiculous takes on the dystopian novels we suffered through that had me belly laughing so hard I was crying. Then when the professor would call on him, he would present this wildly accurate portrayal of literary themes. He would get kudos and I was left breathlessly in awe of how funny, smart, and talented he was. 

I don’t think I really need to say this, but yeah, I fell in love with him quickly. 

Through college, we never even got close to dating. I pined after him agonizingly for the first year we were friends, but he did what college athletes do and built up a decent roster of prettier girls than me. Rather than compete with that, I took my place by his side as the friend. It’s a place I’m more comfortable in anyway. Jeremy had a girlfriend or two throughout college. I had a few boyfriends, but between the two of us, nothing really stuck.

After his junior year, Jeremy turned pro. The distance sucked but we made it work. Whenever I could, I dragged myself up and down the East Coast. But more than that, we FaceTimed every single day that we were apart. We still do now, even though we live in the same city again. As I was wrapping up college in Maine, my entire job search focused on Boston. I ended up getting a job at a local engineering firm in an entry level position right as I graduated. Jeremy came to cheer me on and gifted me the most gorgeous Louis Vuitton brief case as a token to my hard work.

Although it’s never been spoken between us, I’m smart enough to know that we’ve both had more than friend feelings for each other over the years. It’s just never been the right time. One of us was in a relationship. Or Jeremy was too busy. Or he was going to turn pro. Or I was contemplating a move oversees to London with my company. 

The timing has never fit. As I go through another swing of being hopelessly in love with him, his contract situation is the latest road block. What if it doesn’t work out between him and the Bruins? Am I going to uproot my life for someone who isn’t even mine? I hope it doesn’t come to that, but the longer this drags out, the less it feels like Jeremy really has control in this situation.

I rub at my eyebrow as I work through editing an important, department wide email about a new process change. I pick at a few stray eyebrow hairs above my eye lid, trying to ignore the consistent thump of a tennis ball against the wall. 

Thump. 

The ball pops off the neutral paint to my left and my dog, Grizz, rushes after it. He snaps his teeth a second too late then runs back across the room to try to catch it before it hits Jeremy’s hands.

Thump.

Grizz’s paws scratch against the floor. 

Thump. 

“Jer?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you not?” I ask without removing my eyes from the screen.

“Is this bothering you?”

“Yes.”

Thump.

“Does it make it hard to work?”

“Yes.”

Thump.

“If I keep going will it mean we get lunch sooner?”

“You really need to go back to being employed.” I mutter to him.

“Hey! I’m trying here… they’re being obstinate.” He huffs.

“You’re trying?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow and looking over at him.

Thump.

“Yeah.”

“You’ve picked up the phone and talked to them?”

“No.. Lewis said I shouldn’t.” He speaks of his agent that I worry is playing more hardball for his own interest and less for Jeremy’s.

“I think you should.”

“Are you saying that so I stop throwing the ball?”

“Yes.”

Thump.

I grab a stress ball from my desk and whirl it at him. He catches it as effortlessly as he catches 99 mph slap shots. 

“Get out.” I point towards the front door to my apartment.

“No! I can’t be alone!” He wails dramatically, falling to the rug. Grizz bolts over to him and begins lapping at his face aggressively. His tail whips and flails at Jeremy’s bent legs. “Ow! That thing is a weapon!”

With the ball discarded away, I am able to go back to editing my draft communication memo. In a few clicks, I send it off to my manager to review, then lock my computer screen.

“Lunch?”

“Yes. See what happens when you let me work? I get done faster.”

“I’ve learned nothing from this.” Jeremy says from the floor where Grizz is still licking his face.

“You know he licks his butt right?”

“Dogs mouths are cleaner than humans.” Jeremy insists.

“I know what that dog eats. There is no way.” I shake my head, then head over to the door to grab Grizz’s leash. He’s a great patio dog and will be happy to come with us to a dog friendly spot down the block. “Let’s go. I have to be back by 1 for a team meeting and you’ll have to decide if you can be quiet enough to stay or if you’ll need to go back to your place.

“Booooo.” He wails. I throw him a look to silence his complaining. “I’ll take a nap with Grizz in your bed.” 

My stomach flip flops at the thought of Jeremy in my bed. He’s been there plenty of times, both with me and without. The thought of sliding into those sheets again tonight and inhaling his lingering scent has a low buzz forming in my body.

“We need to get this contract done.” I mutter. As much as I love having Jeremy around more, he has been incredibly distracting the last week. It’s been hard for me to avoid my feelings with his constant presence. He’s been paying for all my meals, ordering groceries for us, taking Grizz out for walks, and doing odds and ends tasks around my apartment. It’s like we are a couple. Except we’re not.

Nothing reminded me of that faster than when he was showing me different hydroponic herb gardens and his Raya notifications kept blowing up from some girl named Ava. That’s such a hot girl name. Ava. Ugh.

With Grizz leading the way, Jeremy and I head down to a lunch spot with good soups, salads, and sandwiches. It is a hidden, unknown spot in a quiet part of the city so our chances of being bombarded by fans is slim. I head up to the counter to order for us and Jeremy sits with Grizz on the patio. Grizz loves all things patios, sunshine, and Jeremy, so his happy, signature smile takes over his whole face as he lazily lays sunning himself on the concrete. The man holding his leash looks equally as adorable with his black sunglasses, tightly trimmed beard and dark hair. 

From beneath those dark lenses, I can feel hazel eyes on me. They watch my approach in a way that has my palms starting to sweat. Moments like this, I wonder if we could ever be more. What it might be like to sit across from him as more than just friends. But then the worst case scenario smack me out of fantasy land. 

I’d rather have Jeremy as a friend than lose him to circumstances or realities of how difficult relationships are for professional athletes.

“Did you get my son his bowl?” Jeremy asks.

“Your son?” I snort.

“He’s practically mine too.” 

“Yet you’re never around when he’s suddenly barfing at 2:00am after giving him too many table scraps.”

“Alright. Fair. I’ll sleep over every night I’m in town so we can co-parent this dog.”

“I doubt Ava would like that.” I purse my lips the second the words are out of my mouth. Fuck. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. 

“Ava?” He asks, shaking his head slightly. “Who is that?” 

“Seriously, Jer?” I whine back slightly. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Say what? Who is Ava?” He holds a confused hand up, palm lifted to the sky.

“The girl who was blowing up your Raya inbox the other day.” 

“Oh.” He shrugs as a staff member comes to bring our meals to us, Grizz included. He starts scarfing it down quickly. “I’m off Raya again as of yesterday. Guess I don’t remember that one.” 

“He’s off Raya again, folks.” I make a joking type announcement to the patio. 

“It doesn’t seem to have what I want.” Jeremy says with a shrug after a bite of his turkey sandwich.

“You’re picky.” I point out to him.

“Okay, what’s your excuse?” He asks as he chomps on a chip.

“I’m career driven.” 

His eyebrows shoot up and he laughs.

“You try to quit every other week.”

“I could too if Grizz’s food wasn’t so expensive.” Never mind the rent in Boston.

“Ah. Blame the perfect dog. Mama is so mean to you.” Jeremy scratches between Grizz’s ears. “Dad would never.” He whispers to Grizz who licks his chops after demolishing his bowl. 

“You’re weird.”

“We have a connection. Also you only have this dog because of me. So I feel like I get to claim half of him.” It’s true. My first winter in Boston, I struggled. Jeremy helped by encouraging me to look at dogs for companionship. It helped for the lonely nights and to make friends at dog meet ups, pet stores, and neighbors in my apartment building. 

“I guess I should be asking for puppy support then? Mr. Millionaire."

“Send me a bill.” He chuckles around another chip. One hand stays between Grizz’s ears, scratching at him there until he sighs heavily, leaning into Jeremy’s leg. 

Jeremy is the only guy Grizz has really shown interest in my life. Of the few dates I’ve had here or there in Boston that have made it to meeting Grizz, he hasn’t liked a single one. Jeremy is a little too smug about that fact. It adds to his puppy daddy complex.

We continue to banter easily to each other as we finish lunch. Jeremy grabs a refill of his Arnie Palmer then we walk home to my place so I can get back to work. The rest of the afternoon, Grizz and Jeremy disappear into my room. I have to wake Jeremy up at 3pm because his phone has been buzzing non-stop on the kitchen counter where it had been charging. He groggily comes out, hair mused, eyes soft from sleep. 

“Oh! Damn!” He mutters, rubbing at his face as he clicks on his phone, bringing it to his ear. “Sorry I was- yeah?” He stops, listening. Slowly, a huge grin breaks out onto his face. He starts silently fist pumping, giving me a thumbs up and a smile that makes me melt in my spot. 

I love when he’s happy. I love when he’s this happy because I know what’s going to happen next.

After he clicks off the phone, he starts to laugh and cheer excitedly.

“Staying in Boston, baby!” He exclaims, crossing the kitchen to me. I throw my arms around his shoulders and he picks me up. His hands go to the back of my thighs to support my weight. Grizz barks and yelps excitedly, pawing at Jeremy’s thighs. “8 more years here!” He fills me in.

“Wow!” I exclaim with a bubbly laugh. “Wow, Jer… Congratulations.” I rest my cheek on his shoulder as he slows us down to sway together instead of of spin. “I’m so proud of you.” He stops his movements completely, causing me to pull away. We both realize how close our faces are. Yet we don’t move. Our lips hover mere centimeters apart. His part slightly. Our eyes search each other. I blink, looking away first. He clears his throat, releasing my thighs so my feet touch the floor again. 

“I loved fun-employment with you.” Jeremy says as I avoid his eyes by petting at Grizz to calm him down. He still pants happily, jazzed by our excitement.

“I can’t say the same.” I tease for a moment. Then shake my head. “I loved it too. Now, back to reality.” We look at each other. 

I mean it in a few more ways than hockey. Back to the reality of pining for each other and never doing anything about it. Back to sharing him with the world. Back to missing him when he’s all over North America. 

Back to business as usual. 

+ + +

I haven’t seen Jeremy in a few days now. He went right from my place to his place so he could take care of what needed to be done. The next day he was back at the Bruins offices, making social media videos, chatting with the media, and putting ink to paper to solidify the next four years of his life.

He texted, telling me we will celebrate soon. 

I’ve worked, walked Grizz, and tried to push aside this weird, grey sadness that has filled me since. I’m happy about this. I’m happy for him. But something is still missing. His life is molding firmer into all his dreams coming true and I feel like I’m lagging behind… being left behind is maybe a better way of saying it. 

Tonight, Jeremy played in his first game back in Boston. He asked if I wanted tickets - I guess they’re in high demand with the rest of his friends too. He wanted to make sure I could be there if I wanted to be. I said yes. 

He won, but admittedly looked a smidge off on his timing. A few snuck through that he normally would have had easily. It made me nervous sitting in TD Garden, wondering what Boston fans were thinking. Were they blaming him? Were we all moving forward? 

If so, why did it feel like my feet were stuck in cement.

After the game, I waited for him. He had a bunch of other people wanting to chat with him and congratulate him. They were all going out after the game with some of his teammates. I watched from the sidelines, soaking it all in. The way he makes sure everyone feels included. How he makes sure to ask every person something about their life and what they are up to. When he gets to me, he hugs me and exhales heavily. I can feel him relax in my arms. He holds on a few moments too long- we both do- then he pulls away, rubbing my back.

“Are you coming out with us?”

“No.”

“Yeah, I figured. Work.” He murmurs, understanding completely. I’m always tired on Friday from the work week. I’m a much better version of myself on Saturday mornings. 

“Thank you for the invite though. I’ll see you…?” I trail off because I’m not sure. He’s about to head on the road again.

“I’ll bring you coffee tomorrow?” He suggests.

“At noon?” I chuckle, knowing he’ll be out late and unavailable earlier.

“Fair.. I’ll bring you… something.” He chuckles.

“How about you call me when you’re up.”

“Better idea.” He confirms. “I’ll walk you to your car.” 

“No, I’m good!” I park in a special lot garage for families, so there is no need for concern of safety. I don’t even have to go outside. Jeremy frowns, glancing back at the group of his friends then he nods.

“Okay. Text me when you get home.”

“I always do.” I murmur, reminding him of our agreement, no matter where we are in the world to tell each other when we are safe. I toss a small wave to him, then a bigger one to the group who tries to get me to stay as I spit out excuse after excuse. But I do need to get back to Grizz. 

No one is more excited to see me than that fluff ball and he practically takes me out at the legs when I get home. We go outside so he can get his bathroom break and some sniffs in. Then it’s time for the couch and a mindless TV show. I pick Brooklyn 99 and despite the chuckles it pulls from me, I’m falling asleep before I know it. 

I’m not quite sure how long I’m sleeping, but it feels quick when a knock at my door is awakening me. I jolt, disoriented and confused at who it might be. I glance at my phone, blinking the sleep away. I see a few texts from Jeremy, heading to the door, assuming it’s him. 

I look out the peep hole and am confirmed with the sight of my best friend.

“Hey?” I say, opening up the door. I squint at the hallway light, hating how intrusive it is to my sleepy eyes. Jeremy stands on the other side in a jacket, black T, dark jeans and gray sneakers. In his left hand is a bottle of champagne.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” His voice has a huskiness to it. I briefly wonder if he is drunk. My eyes float up to his but they’re clear and sober.

“Um, I fell asleep watching Brooklyn 99 on the couch.” I admit. “Long week.”

“I probably didn’t make it easier.” He murmurs, hazel eyes softening as he takes in my tired face. I shrug in response then move aside for him to enter the apartment. No he didn’t make it easier. But I wouldn’t have traded this week with him for anything. It was magic in the way time with him always is.

“Thought you were going out tonight?”

“I did.” He says, setting the bottle on the counter. He motions to it, asking if I want some. I nod. He leaves the chilled bottle there then goes to the cupboard my glasses are in. He pulls out two stemless wine glasses, then goes back to the bottle. “But turns out, you’re the only one I want to celebrate with tonight.” A small, meaningful smile tilts the corners of my lips up. 

“Mhm.” I murmur as Grizz comes over, tiredly nudging at Jeremy’s hand for some scratches. “You sure it’s not for him?”

“I’m sure. It’s you.” He says simply. 

My heart seems to pause for a beat in my chest then begins rapidly pounding. Jeremy works open the bottle of champagne. 

“Woo!” He cheers at the controlled pop. Then he is rushing through pouring out two glasses for us. “Cheers, cheers.” He murmurs, handing me one. We clink our glasses together and take sips together.

“How did it feel tonight?”

“Good. Thank you for being there. I don’t think I got to say that at the arena.”

“You’re welcome. Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

“Yeah. You’ve always been there for the big stuff. It means so much to me. You know that?”

“I do.” I nod. “Not many people stick together through moves, new cities, new jobs… It’s like everything has changed over the years, but not us.”

“Yeah, not us.” Jeremy echos. “Why mess up a good thing?” He repeats like that second class we had so many years ago now. I nod slowly. That may have contributed to our friendship continuing over the years, but it’s also become my biggest excuse. Maybe his too. 

“Wanna sit?” He asks, flicking his fingers towards the couch. I follow him there, tossing the blanket I had around my shoulders to the side. I click at the TV, turning the volume down on the episodes that have kept rolling while I slept. 

“Do you want to watch something else?”

“No.” Jeremy says. He takes a sip of his champagne, then sets it off to the side. He grabs my cup, doing the same. I frown in confusion. “I got you something.” He informs me, reaching into the pocket of his jacket. He pulls out a black jewelry box, putting it between us on the couch. “As a thank you for putting up with my annoying ass all these years, but especially the last few weeks. This all would have been so much harder without you. Every time I was spiraling, or unsure, you talked me off the ledge. You’ve always believed in me and this feels… as much yours as it is mine.”

“I feel lucky I get to share all this with you.” I tell him honestly. My fingers touch the velvet box, then pop the top open as I pick it up. Hugged by the plush fabric is a necklace with his number. It’s gold with a sleek black filling- Bruins colors- and obviously expensive. 

This isn’t a gift you get a friend. I know this and as I raise my eyes to his, I know he does too. He slides closer to me on the couch. Our legs touch. He reaches for mine folding them into his lap to get us as close as possible.

“What are you doing?” My voice sounds foreign, laced with wonder and worry.

“I don’t want to be friends anymore.” He whispers. He hesitantly reaches for my face as I sit stuck to the couch. His fingers brush my jaw and I shiver. My eyes close briefly, trying to absorb the difference in his touch now. I can hear every hitch of his breath as he pulls in a deep breath. “Babe, I’m in love with you…” The last word trails off between us. 

I’m overwhelmed by the emotions that flow through me. Internally, I’m sprinting for joy. I’m throwing up from anxiety. I’m screaming like I just won the Stanley Cup. Then it all comes crashing to a halt as I realize this is it. He’s taking the leap. We’ll either come out of this together or lose everything. 

Despite that, I know what I need to say.

“I love you too.” My voice cracks a bit so I clear my throat. “I always have.”

“Like a friend?” He whispers back. He hangs on every sound coming from my mouth like I hold the key to his survival from this point on.

“No. So much more than that. But I’m afraid to ruin this.” I admit quietly as his thumb traces my mouth. He watches his appendage go around my lips, his slightly parting before his eyes raise to mine. His bright hazel orbs have a look of finality in them.

“I’m not.” 

Then his lips collect mine in a tentative kiss. That first touch of our lips rocks my world. It explodes planets. It shifts moons and stars across my galaxy until the center of the universe is Jeremy Swayman. His right hand comes up to cup my neck, then he rolls his tongue out of his mouth to taste more of me. 

“Yes.” He murmurs into my lips. “So good. So right.” He pulls me in tighter so I collapse onto his chest, then he lays back on the couch with me on top of him. My knees slide to the sides of his hips. I straddle him confidently and start to kiss him back in the ways I’ve been envisioning for years. His hands wander everywhere on my body. They don’t stay suck on my hips; he takes his purchase of me like he owns me now. 

Fuck, I want him to own me. 

My hips roll against his lap and his run down my back to my ass, taking a hearty squeeze.

“Shit.” He suddenly says as he pulls away. My heart leaps into my throat. “Too fast.” He says breathlessly. 

“How can that be too fast? We’ve been slow burning for seven years, Jer.” He chuckles, looking up at me above him. He reaches up to tuck my hair back behind my ear. His fingers collide with my cheek and he smoothes the tips of them down my face to my lips swollen from his.

“I want to be able to tell our kids in another seven years that I did this right.”

I still, eyes growing wide at the confidence he says those words with. I put a hand on the center of his chest, feeling his wild heartbeat beneath my palm. I swallow thickly, then slowly nod.

“For our babies.” I agree, then slide off his lap. 

He sits up next to me, chuckling as he does. Grizz sits over on his bed, watching us with curious eyes.

“Our first baby doesn’t seem surprised.” The nonchalantness of it all is so Jeremy. It’s so us, really.

“I don’t think anyone will be.” I answer as I tuck my feet under my thighs. Jeremy reaches for the necklace box that fell to the floor when we got carried away with our kiss.

“Probably not.” He finally answers my statement. “Turn, please. Wanna see me on you…” I hum in appreciation, holding my hair up so he can secure the clasp. The weight of the necklace can’t even hold me down as I float on cloud 9 from how right this feels - the resolution of his contract, the necklace, him.

Our dog lazily smiling at us across the room.

Jeremy wraps his hands around my stomach then pulls me back into his body so we are cuddling together. Our glasses of champagne sit forgotten on the coffee table. 

All we care about now is holding each other in this way for the first time.

Jeremey’s hand trails up to my face, cupping my chin to turn it so he can kiss me again. This one is softer, more patient, knowing we have time to explore all of this together. His fingers move from my chin to his number on me. He traces the single digit then quietly whispers. 

“Finally mine.” 

I smile, unwilling to pinch myself to know if this is all real or not.

“I’ve always been yours.” 

The way Jermey beams back at me is all the proof I need to know it is anyway. 

More hockey fics of mine are here for your enjoyment.

[dollypopup]

honestly? I think Antonia and Luke are really cute together

Now, let it be known I am NOT a shipper, and I'm not following her or digging into anything. Everything I know is basically through osmosis when people tag stuff about it in the spaces I actually follow, and I think shipping real people who I will never know is weird and invasive, so let's get that clear

however, considering the narrative they've shown us, they seem like a pretty healthy couple. As furious as people get about them (and honestly, it's JUST because Antonia isn't Nicola, and thus many fans can't project onto her the way they do with Nicola), I think it's sweet that they turn work events into dates. I don't see what people are spouting about how she's 'fame hungry' or 'using him'. The woman was wide-eyed at BOSS. When they walked out of the car, she seemed entirely floored. And who wouldn't be? You're being subject to constant flash photography and tons of people demanding things of you. But they showed up, had a good time, and then went back to eat pasta in bed. At his other work events, like BAFTAs pre-party or the actual ceremony, they seem to make a time of it. Cuddling up, holding hands, giving cheek smooches.

I mean. . .come on. She's coming with him to a work event. No matter how glamorous it may look to us, it's still a work event. A work event in which she will often be left on her lonesome. But she gets dressed up and she comes with him and she makes a time of it. They get their pictures taken as a couple professionally, wear cute clothes, eat nice food, and hold hands. That's sweet!!!

Whilst I do not know her, what I DO know is what she's faced, and this woman stuck around through horrible vitriol from the fanbase, constant misogyny, insults about her body, her work, her very existence. They attacked her on her personal instagram pages, went after her family, made up malicious rumors about her, misgendered her, body shamed her. She watched what felt like the whole world want her boyfriend with another woman. She's a civilian. This is not a celebrity who is accustomed to fielding that kind of situation.

But she stayed.

That is capital L Loyalty, okay? Like, she must really, genuinely like him. And I'll be real: I'd stick it out for Luke, too, I mean, the man is a gem, but if this isn't baptism by fire, I do not know WHAT would be. People talk about 'oh, where are the real ones? There are no more real ones anymore'- I think she's a real one. As a woman who dates other women, if she put up with as much as Antonia did, and decided to stand by me? You don't let go of her. That's pretty rare.

Because what has she actually gotten out of the whole situation? Is she suddenly rich? Getting all these jobs? Has magazine covers and exclusive interviews? No. She seems to be making her life out of her own merit for the most part. I mean, people make fun of her being a working dancer and model picking up the less glamorous gigs, but what is that BUT making her life of her own merit? That's what most dancers DO. No, mostly what she's gotten out of it all is abusive commentary and a need for a much more private life- but on the other hand, she got a relationship with him. If that's not devotion, idk???

But even if she DID get a few gigs from his connections- so what? What would be SO wrong with that? There's no proof she has, but why would it be horrible? That's what networking and making connections IS. Luke's known for giving his loved ones a hand. He's been given one from them, too. This is a man who couchsurfed in his best friend's apartment, bartending to make ends meet. He knows what it's like to go without, so why would it be such a bad thing for him to help out someone he cares about? I'm not saying he has, but after everything she's had to deal with, yeah, I think she's well within her rights to be cheesing on a red carpet getting her face smooched for the world to see. Good for her! All things considered, they seem like a couple who spends a lot of personal time together, vacations, date nights, running errands, who make the most of the situation they're in. They're loved up, happy, hot people attending events together. Most couples are significantly worse in real life.

idk, from where I'm sitting, people have made all these assumptions to build their meanspirited narrative on. This idea that Luke is so hungry for fame, and so Antonia is, too. But I think @rainybraindays put it best.

"They are not "begging for the camera" they're attractive, and hes popular so photographers at these events know they can get a good deal on their work that features them. Theres no nda or blackmail, they're just a more lowkey couple, likely because neither seemed to be really searching for the fame, shes just dating a guy she cares for, and hes just pursuing his passion and hit big"

People are so harsh and critical of these two. First it's 'he wouldn't claim her!' (like luggage. the misogyny of it all) Now it's 'ugh, she's everywhere'. First it's 'she's evil and using him' then it's 'what he's put that poor girl through!' but the reality is, no matter those criticisms and bullying, they're happy with each other, and they've decided their relationship is pretty serious

And honestly they're really cute together

Fight me

[cherryrikis]

ONE LESS LONELY GIRL - 014 ! im one less lonely girl

PAIRING idols riki x fem reader

SYNOPSIS fans always point out the chemistry between you and riki, and it only continues to grow after you become mc’s together on music bank. but as your feelings rise, so does the tension. and people begin to notice, so you try not to let riki know how you feel. but unbeknownst to you, he feels entirely the same way.

authors note so thats a wrap! just like that, its over. this is technically the last official part bc ep15 is more like an epilogue/can be read as a standalone, but its still just as meaningful to the plot. i had so much fun writing this and i gained so much support and so many new moots. i love you all and thank you for staying here even though i struggled to update while juggling school and work. 💗

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“i’m so sad to announce that today will be our last show together, as our contract has reached its end.” you read off the script, lightly patting your waterline with the pad of your pointer finger.

“but, i hope this won’t be the last time we see each other. i am very thankful for this opportunity.” riki spoke as he looked into the camera lens, before moving closer to link his arm with yours.

“this was newjeans’ y/n,” “and this was enhypen’s ni-ki! please look forward to our future projects. we may no longer mc together, but we will forever be a couple together. thank you everyone!”

the cameras stopped rolling, and the red light turned off which signaled the recording was over.

staff and crew rushed to the both of you, so you were immediately bombarded with baskets of fruit, chocolates, snd two flower bouquets.

“this is for a good few months of connecting together. thank you for your hard work and dedication.” the head of the staff greeted, as his assistants handed out your gifts.

“thank you sir. we look forward to seeing more of you in the future!” the two of you bowed, before leaving to head backstage.

“dani said she’s gonna come with everyone else to pick us up. they want to get dinner at that chicken spot to celebrate our contract ending.” you informed riki, turning to show the texts in the group chat as he finished changing out his stage outfit.

hyein! - ‘congrats, you’re free from the chains music bank had you bounded into!🥳🎉’

danii 💗 - ‘me and enjeans are gonna get u guys from work so we can get chicken. great job on mubank :)’

riki chuckled, before handing your phone back to you. “sunghoon and heeseung are gonna get so drunk. so, beware.” he emphasized.

“no worries. im stuck with you anyway.” you sighed, gently punching his shoulder.

“here’s to riki and y/n, for finally being free from kbs! i hope none of us ever have to mc again.” sunghoon toasted as he raised his glass, after jake poured everyone shots.

“for real. we barely saw you guys while you were signed to that contract.” minji nudged your shoulder.

hyein burst out laughing, almost spilling the drinks scattered around her place at the table. “if you guys weren’t dating, y/n would’ve been sobbing because she’d never see you again!”

“is.. is she, drunk?” sunoo raised a brow, gently pulling hyein’s hood over her head.

“sunoo! she’s underage! all i got her were 2 shirley temples.” danielle gasped.

“okay! enough. we’re in public.” riki announced. “baby? go ahead my love.” he gestured sweetly for you to make your speech.

“thanks ‘ki.” you smiled. “i’m pretty happy our managers decided to let us have a joint interview that day. if we didn’t, me and riki probably would’ve never met. so, i’m glad music bank happened. otherwise, i couldn’t call this kid here my boyfriend.” you spoke, moving to wrap your arms around riki in a soft hug.

“cheers!” everyone exclaimed in awe.

as your group members around you yelled out congratulatory speeches, all riki could think about was you.

because now that you could be in his arms in public with no repercussions, that was all that mattered.

you looked at him with a bright smile, and riki could feel his heart melt as your expression.

the world had one less lonely girl.

TAGLIST (italics = couldnt be tagged) @hannicorpse @luvvhaerin @chaevibes @en-verse @ren2jay @choppedballoondetective @heartheejake @imanalien143 @istglevi-gotmesimping @yndairy @eleanorheartschishiya @lonelylandofan @gweoriz @jaemified @onlyhyunjin @softpia @frecklesbrownies @riksaes @wensurr @rikifordmiami @brideslit @ant-onie @yumilovesloona @aeminju @hoonics @catecita @clampclover @rei4sunoo @addictedtohobi @rikidaze @baekxo07 @xotyla @melancholy-z @rikisgeef @jung1w0n @tocupid @onlyseung @i03jae @iheartshopping @istphanie @queenriki7 @academiq @1117promises @nctislifue @haechansbbg @rairaiblog @nabia-bia @pkjay @lixiebokie @hiekoo @r1kizerr @d-dilemma @kingofthekards @iilwji @hoonatic @woorcve @enhaz1

[agentsquirrelsgotrobots]

Cut tidbit from my Danny Phantom x Transformers au, that was too cute not to share

Ratchet groaned. His holoform was wearing a grubby Harvard sweatshirt and pj pants, his usual tidy braided bun messy and held together with pencils, a busted scrunchie around his wrist.

“Why. Are humans. SO DAMN COMPLICATED.” He moaned, looking up from his desk, his textbook leaving an indent on his protoform’s face. “I have all the information downloaded in terms of anatomy and theory and all the trivia you can imagine, can track vital signs without even touching a patient, but the surgical elements, actually doing my damn job, is the one thing I can only practice manually, and the worst part is, I have already maxed out my allotted unsupervised practice hours in the simulators for this semester. I got a warning from the dean to quote ‘stop risking your health and get some sleep’. I do sleep, I just don't need as much as humans to function. Thanks to the ground bridge, I can still do my job here. She already said that I am making the Dean’s list, whatever that is, and I am scoring in the ninety five to ninety eight range in all my assessments. However, those last five to three points evade me due to my less than stellar bedside manner. The professors even said that they are giving me undeserved slack, since my paperwork marks me as a retired army medic, but that they expect me to improve it for the next semester.”

“Ratchet. Did you just tell me that you are scoring ninety eights at one of the hardest medical colleges in the states, a premier Ivy League school, and the only thing that the professors are critiquing you on is that you are grumpy? That's a fucking incredible accomplishment for a full time student, and you have a job as the Chief Medical Officer of a whole ass army on top of it. Yes, I am aware that your current workload is smaller than usual, but you are still handling most of the paperwork on top of school work and making sure these tin cans don't die in the process. My man, take a goddamn bow, the fact that you still have the energy to complain is incredible.

“Yeah Ratch, just getting into an Ivy is a huge achievement, nevermind keeping near perfect grades.” Jack said.

“Hey, considering that my dream of working at NASA is out the door, it's nice to see someone I know going places.”

“Uh uh, I said that you aren't going to Nashville by yourself, not that you can't consult for NASA long distance under a pseudonym.”

“But I wanted to use the big telescopes and touch moon rocks! There were moon rocks, Ratchet!”

“And I want to not hear whiny children, but I guess neither of us are going to get what we want.”

Danny stuck his tongue out at Ratchet before disappearing into a wall.

Ratchet rolled his eyes, cracking a small smile as Optimus chuckled. :How are your wards always the sassy ones.:

:What do you mean, mine? You see more of him in a day than I do in a week, not for a lack of trying.:

:you are always checking in with the rbs and their liaison.:

: it's the only time I get to be a dinosaur because you don't like it :

: it eats through your fuel supply and erodes your joints. It's not good for you :

: But it's so cool.:

: remind me again how you managed to convince me to be your Amica?:

: By being your best and only friend since we were sparklings until you went to medical school. :

: Fair.:

The fic in question, updated today:

[androgynousblackbox]

A most exhausted king [Appleradio, Radioapple]

A03 link

Summary: After finally fulfilling one of his royal duties, Lucifer has no energy left for anything. Luckily for him, he can always count with a freakishly tall monster. I mean, boyfriend. I mean, Alastor.

A little something for the Radioapple San Valentine's gift exchange!

The meeting had lasted eight hours. Lucifer didn't even have the energy to try to feel proud for whithstanding what could only be described as torture without falling asleep on his seat. It wasn't even satisfactory as he portalled to a room that he was so familiar with that he walked all the path to the bed and let himself fall face first into it, lights turned off. Hours passed as his royal white figure kept unmoving.

When Alastor finally opened up the door to come inside, the chimney on the corner lighted out in a green fire. He was humming to himself, passing in front of the craft desk full of half started and half finished projects in duckie shapes, in the way to his library to pick his latest reading material. Only after he got the book on his hand he noticed what was on top of the bed. He stood next to the mattress and gave the black boots a small bump with his cane.

"Darling?" asked only after he didn't get any reaction. "If you are dying, could you be kind enough to not do it where I also sleep?"

A muffled grumble was his only response. Alastor tilted his head. The lack of a snarky remark was noteworthy. He sat next to the legs of the king and patted the ass still covered by the white jacket.

"Tough day?" asked just to further confirm.

A rumble answered him in a implied yes. There was a moment in time, when they started their private encounters, when Alastor played around with the fantasy of somehow taking the crown away from Lucifer after he had found their relationship had run its course.

But all that came crushing down the more time he got to spend around the monarch. Not only because the idea of doing anything to hurt him or restrain him somehow was less and less appealing, but also just seeing the effects of what having such a job could cause had effectively killed any lingering ambition left. Too much rules, paperwork, stuck up royals all demanding attention, regulations set in place that not even Lucifer could change because they were the foundation of Hell itself.

And then there was the meetings.

He had only assisted to one as a listener, after assuring Lucifer over and over that it was only natural to be curious about the job of his partner, and that was the final knife on the chest of his dreams of reaching that position someday. Being an Overlord, by comparison, was just infinitely more entertaining and relaxed. There was no actual rules for him, he could do essentially everything he wanted and more, without no one but his victims caring about it. Have Lucifer as his secret guard dog that would come out to help him if he ever chewed more than he could swallow was a good enough position to be in. He was content, as much someone could be in Hell. Anything before ever enduring another of those meetings would probably be better.

"I see" said with a sigh. "Well, staying in bed the entire day is not an option. Have you even changed since this morning?"

Now silence responded to him.

"Hmm!" Alastor stood up, putting his hands on the back. "That is unfortunate."

With one snap of fingers, tentacles raised from the shadows under Lucifer's body and elevated him on the air, over the bed.

"Al" groaned the king. They both knew that he could get free, easier than just snapping his own fingers. "What are you doing?"

"I am going to give you three seconds to change yourself and get into the bathtub" said Alastor casually.

"Since when are you my nanny?"

"Depends. Are you not going to move?"

"I am tired" Lucifer grunted, slumped against his tentacles. "If I am so annoying for you, I can move to my old room."

"I have a better idea. Three," said Alastor calmly, moving over to the bathroom and opening the door. His tentacles quickly moved the king through it and dropped him on the already half full tub, fully clothed as he was. "I will be waiting for you, dear!" announced Alastor cheerfully, closing the door the door to drown out the angry growls that resulted from the king.

The same ones that died not that long after, while Alastor was reading on his chair. After a while, the door opened up again and there came out Lucifer on his favorite fluffy pink robe, duckie slipper matching the one in his hand and towell wrapped around his head. The only thing breaking apart the image of perfect comfort that surrounded him was the grumpy expression he was stubbornly clinging to as he glared to Alastor. The same look that Alastor let slide over him like water off a duck's feathers.

"Ah, that is much better!" said the radio demon, leaving his book to a side. "Did that helped you out to wake up, dear?"

"It made me want to kill you so yeah, I guess it worked." Lucifer huffed on his way to his walk in closet, one of the features the king had brought in when they meshed their spaces together.

Despite being perfectly able of making appear any clothing he wanted on him, Lucifer still liked to have a physical space where he could do it the traditional way sometimes. In this case, using it as another excuse so he wouldn't need to aknowledge Alastor.

At the start of their cohabitation, Alastor would find such gestures to be so childish and stupid as to keep arguing about it. Now, he had stuck around enough to know to just let the temper tantrum to pass on like some harmless little rain. Lucifer was a petty man, for sure, but was also incapable of holding his grudges for long, as if his small frame didn't had enough space for it. That was still Alastor's territory.

A few minutes after, Lucifer came out with a casual black t-shirt and pajama pants stamped with duckies all over. To finalize the look, red crocs with duckie pins all over the front. An outfit that screamed he couldn't be bothered to do anything better. It wasn't the same one that he had used since that morning, so Alastor would just take it. Despite the frown still being there, there was indeniable a change on the whole posturing of Lucifer. For one, he was moving on his own.

That was what Alastor was thinking until he realized Lucifer was not stopping on his moving forward. Determined, Lucifer moved away the hand of Alastor that was holding his book and climbed to his lap, clinging to him with arm around the demon's neck and legs straddling him. Without another word, he had declared himself his cargo. Alastor sighed as he patted the blonde head.

"I was planning to go make myself dinner" said.

"Then go" was the muffled response against his shoulder.

"I would need to stand up for that, dear."

"Who is stopping you?"

"You are not going to move, are you?" When the only answer to his question was just a tightening of the hug the king was subjecting him to, Alastor rolled his eyes as he rubbed his back.

He should have imagined that when he noticed that the body of Lucifer was lighter than usual, not even the weight of a feather, something that of course he could control at will. Another one of the many powers that the fallen angel had and only found any use for in very specific occasions. Like now, apparently. If Lucifer wanted, he could also make his small body so heavy that it would crush Alastor's legs and destroy the chair they were on. Alastor had discovered it one time that he tried to pick up Lucifer with his tentacles and was unabled to move him from the ground at all. He had to wait until the king decided to come over to him instead.

With no other option in sight, Alastor rised up from his chair. He didn't even need to hold Lucifer for him to remain in place, still firmly attached against his chest, like he was meant to be there all along. By his death or life, Alastor sometimes could not understand what was that need of Lucifer to be touching so much. When they were eating, their knees had to be brushing. When they were in bed, Lucifer's hand had to be on him. When they were walking, sometimes, Lucifer would grasp him by the lower back and stay there until they something else called to them.

It used to irritate Alastor, mostly because of that same confusion. Now he had come to just accept it, like so many other things he had to adapt for, like how he imagined cat owners eventually tolerated their pets climbing on their laps while doing something else. That is what being on a relationship of their nature implied. A constant game of compromises where the pros had to stack up against the cons. If having Lucifer latched onto him like a literal monkey was a con, then the king relying on him, and only him, in a way he didn't do for anyone else, was the notion meant to balanced it out again. There was a subtle sense of pride on fulfilling that kind of role he had come to appreciate.

At the very least, this wasn't so intrusive. He could still walk with one hand over his mic and other at his back, down the stairs and through the hallways. In the kitchen, he hummed to himself as he gathered the ingredients for the meal he wanted to: sinner's flesh fresh from Cannibal Town, some guts from the last hunt of deer he could gather and, of course, spices to accompany it all.

"Do you want anything particular, darling?" asked, grabbing a pinch of meat with his fingers and delighting on it.

"Mmm." Lucifer rumbled for a bit, as it was a very serious consideration. "Pasta?"

"There is no pasta, dear" pointed out Alastor.

"Yes, there is" said Lucifer and made it true with one snap of fingers.

The box with the long noodles floated in front of Alastor, agitating itself as if demanding to be grabbed. He did with an eye roll.

"You could make it appear prepared already, dear."

"Yeah, but it always taste better when someone actually does it. It doesn't have the same love" Lucifer sighed, his arms ever so slightly tihgtening it up around Alastor. "I can still make it with magic if you want."

That would be more convenient. And faster. And less bothersome. And a million other things that Alastor could list. But if Lucifer haven't done that already, he didn't truly wanted it like that. Leaving the only true question if Alastor was going to indulge him on this bit of laziness.

The answer apparently was yes. Make a spicy delicious sauce to go with both his meat and the pasta wasn't the most hard enduring task he ever took. As the pots started to let out a fragant smell and the red liquid bubbled up to the surface, some of the residents of the hotel started to appear. If Alastor haven't seen them through his shadow, he would have known by how Lucifer hide against his chest, not one to want to socialize for the moment.

First curious, then looking over what he was doing with clear interest. Even Niffty, the usual cook for the hotel, came crawling from somewhere under the table and climbed on Alastor's back to sniff the closest pot. She was just as light as Lucifer, like a hollowed out bug, so it didn't bothered him.

"Needs salt!" said the maid, grabbing the whole bag off the counter and about to dump it in before Alastor could pick it up with his tentacles.

"You are very right, dear, thank you." Alastor picked her up easily with his shadows and put her on the floor again, patting her head. He picked just a pinch of salt and put it on, revolving for a bit before taking out a spoon to offer her a lick. "How is it?"

"It didn't burn my mouth!" Niffty celebrated with a smile. "Want me to add some rat eyes for more flavor?"

"Maybe later, dear" said Alastor when Lucifer suddenly pulled slightly on the straps of his chest, the same one that kept his suspenders in place. "Yes?"

"Can I try?"

"Sure."

As Alastor was giving Lucifer a spoonful of sauce to tast himself, Angel Dust appeared on his side.

"Can I be fed too?" asked with a cheerky grin. "I accept mouth to mouth."

"I can feed you the ground outside of a window, how does that sound?" asked Alastor calmly, picking up a small drop left at the corner of Lucifer's mouth with his thumb and cleaning it up with his tongue. Without caring at all for how the spider demon reacted huffing in place. "More spices" determined Alastor, looking for those.

Lucifer nodded before pressing his face again against him, seemingly very content where he was. Angel Dust crossed all his four arms.

"You two make me sick." The porn star sighed before looking into the fridge something for himself.

"Dad?" called Charlie carefully, coming closer to Alastor. She had seen them enough to each other to not be shocked or escandalized by it anymore. "Are you okay? Is there anything I can do?"

The chest of Lucifer, pressed against him, rumbled with a silent groan. He still offered a thumb up over the shoulder of the radio demon. Alastor patted his back as he kept working on the pot with his other hand.

"His Majesty is perfectly well" said without giving it more importance. "Just a long day of actually fulfilling his royal duties for once. Anyone would be exhausted after being so out of practice, I suppose. If anything, it's a miracle he still has the will to be clingy. Imagine if he did that in the regular! What a different world would that be," added with a chuckle.

Lucifer grumbled, louder this time, but otherwise didn't argued with him. He did pull on his bowtie for Alastor to incline his head and listen to a soft murmuring. His ears flickered softly for a few seconds before he nodded.

"Your father wants to know if you would like to eat with us."

"Oh, it's okay, dad" Charlie moved closer to place her palm over the arm of Lucifer wrapped around Alastor's neck. The other hand of Lucifer found her and squeezed her back. "Vaggie and I were going to go out anyway. Unless you want me to stay?"

Lucifer shook his head and lifted himself ever so slightly, over the shoulder of Alastor. Between the two Morningstars and Niffty, a lot of people lately were using him as their wall. But far from him to being the kind of impolite beast that would disrupt a father and daughter small moment. At least not since he was sure he didn't hate the father anymore.

"Oh, it's okay, sweeetie" said the king, managing a soft smile that only came out so easily when it came to his daughter. "I am just tired, nothing else. Will probably have a bite and go straight to bed anyway. Have fun."

"Are you sure?" asked Charlie.

Lucifer nodded and gave her hand a good final squeeze before returning to his previous position, letting his cheek rest against the radio demon's cheek. Closer and lasting longer than any other creature ever had in Hell.

"Well, alright, if you say so" Charlie sighed and then gave a small pat to Alastor's back. "Let me know if something happens. We won't be far."

"Oh, please, dear, it will be fine" said Alastor with a light shrug. "Do enjoy your outing. Do not do anything I wouldn't do."

"So when you want to kill someone, use a meat knife, not a butter one!" said Niffty, already up in the counter, bag of salt under her arm. Alastor put her down again with his shadow before she could drop it over his cooked meat. He took the bag and put over the tallest shelf.

"Exactly. Unless you want to make it really painful, then by all means, use a spoon at least. For some extra humilliation."

Charlie chuckled, already used to their exchanged by now.

"Will keep it in mind," she said and got on her tip toes to kiss Alastor's cheek before she ran away, as if to avoid dealing with any consequences from it. Alastor didn't move from his place, though. He had food to take care of anyway. "Love you, guys, see you later!"

"Can I get some when it's ready?" asked Angel Dust.

"No."

"Can I?!" asked Niffty, lifting her hand.

"Of course."

Angel Dust groaned.

"Whatever! I will go eat some place without nepotism!" declared, getting out of the kitchen.

"I won't even bother asking" Husk sighed before rolling his eyes and following him.

Without so many distractions already, Alastor could relax as he kept working and Niffty made sure to prepare the table. Once everything was ready, they prepared everything. Alastor had his own plate with the meat cut and the pasta. He poked the head of Lucifer with a finger.

"Dear, are you not going to sit on your own?"

His answer came out a few seconds later, through a rumbling.

"Can I just… stay with you? I won't impede you eat, I promise."

Alastor pulled out his tentacles. First the arms were wrapped up, then the legs of the monarch, until all the small body of the king was suspended in the air as Alastor took his seat. Niffty cooed fascinated by the display, which made the whole face of the fallen light up in gold. Lucifer barely had time to protest or to attempt to get free himself when, just as quickly, he was left to sit on Alastor's lap, his legs hanging at the left of his thighs. As if mocking his shocked expression, one of the tentacles patted his head before dissapearing in the air.

"There we go" declared Alastor, rising one hand of Lucifer and getting him to close around a fork. "Is this what you had in mind, is it not?"

"Yeah, but you could have warned me" said Lucifer with a pout.

"Like how you warned me before chosing me as your personal climbing pole?"

"Hey, if you want me to get up, you just have to say it!"

"Exactly" Alastor gave him a peck on the side of his head, ignoring the cooeing noises that came from Niffty while she stand in another chair, plate already full for herself. "So how about you start eating before it gets cold?"

Lucifer sighed. Without another word to say, he started eating his pasta from Alastor's lap while Alastor could go dig in to his own meat. One hand over the waist of the king, the other picking up with a fork after a tentacle had already cut the portion he wanted to.

As usual, Lucifer finished his first while Alastor was barely half into his. As soon the last bite of the king was made, Niffty grabbed his plate, put it under hers and ran to the sink to start cleaning up. Or try to before Alastor hold her up with a tentacle, her short legs still moving in the air.

"It's okay, I won't eat anymore," said Lucifer, relaxing against the radio demon.

"Very well."

Niffty was gently put on the floor again. As soon her restraints dissolved, she ran on her way to clean up all the dishes and used pots. Alastor kept eating, now using his other hand around Lucifer. Lucifer continue to relax in the same position, neither feeling the need to fill out the silence. Niffty giggled as he chased some cockroaches with a knife. When Alastor took the last bite, as if conjured by magic, Niffty swipped over the table to take out everything that was left and carry it on. Alastor placed a hand over the lower back of Lucifer. For a few seconds, the king didn't move at all.

Slowly, as if suddenly hesitant about it, Lucifer came back to the position that he was before, holding onto Alastor with both arms and legs. Alastor stand up rather easily, even more than before. A feather of a duck would have weighted more than the king's whole body. He patted his back as he passed next to the maid anxiously scrubbing the plates like she needed to clean them to a molecular level.

"Good night, Niffty dear. Save the leftovers and stab Angel Dust if he wants to grab any."

"Yes, sir! Does the scary pretty boy need anything?" asked Niffty, fluttering her eyelashes to Lucifer, who turned to her barelly separating from the chest of Alastor.

"No, sweetie, thank you. I think I will just go to sleep for the night."

"Can I watch?!" Niffty gasped, squeezing her own cheeks with soapy hands.

"No" said Alastor before Lucifer could. He still gave a pat to Niffty's head on his way to the hallway. "Only I do that."

He almost laughed out loud when Lucifer froze, making a line out of his lips.

"Aww" They could hear the pout of Niffty followig them out.

After a while, Lucifer spoke again.

"You were joking, right?"

"Mmm, which answer would make you sleep deeper?"

"Forget I said anything."

Alastor chuckled to accompany Lucifer's groan as he came inside the elevator. The king didn't have to know how truly beautiful he was when he finally won his battle against insomnia and let imself fully rest. He didn't have to know about how his shadow followed the transformation closely, intensively, only to later transmit it to the consciousness of Alastor when he woke up the next morning. And Alastor would die again before admitting he liked to keep track of how the eyebags on Lucifer's face had almost completely dissapeared. Or how he already knew that Lucifer would sleep faster and deeper if he let him be the bigger spoon, holding him against his chest until Alastor could feel the heartbeat of the king against his own skin.

The only way for him to see any of that was through his shadows, unfortunately. Alastor could not believe how easy he had moved past his initial reservation to share his bed with someone else, to the point that presence was all he needed to finally let his mind and body rest. Safe and protected on arms that could main, kill, destroy him like a twig, and yet never did, not even when they couldn't stand each other. His bed was now incomplete without the heat coming off the devil himself.

As he came inside their bedroom, Alastor snapped away his suit for his pajama and sat on the bed. Lucifer started to separate as soon they were down and looked up. Alastor's ears twitched, confused as to why he wasn't saying anything or what kind of expression was that one. Without giving him a chance to question it, Lucifer stroked his cheek and got up on his knees to reach his lips. Just one delicate lingering kiss that Alastor actually wished lasted longer.

"Thank you" whispered Lucifer with another hug, this time only using his arms. Weight back to normal, Alastor felt the strenght of those muscles squeezing tight, but never enough to actually hurt. "It was delicious, by the way. Best food in all of Hell."

Alastor hummed with approval. He ignored the way that his tail immediately started waggling behind him.

"You are welcome" said, patting his head. "Do you feel better now?"

"Yes." Lucifer inhaled once and let it go slowly. Alastor felt a slight and pleasant shock in his spine when Lucifer's claws scratched the buzzed portion of his hair. If only Lucifer wouldn't have opened up his mouth: "I am sorry for being so… pathetic. I know that must have been so annoying."

"None of that." Alastor moved slightly until he managed to see the eyes of his king. So Lucifer could look at him too and see, with that certainty only the father of lies could have, that it was nothing but the true. "Darling, don't apologize for what I openly decided to embrace on my own. If I accepted you, I didn't do it halfassedly or expecting anything less than what I already knew was coming. You aren't chaining me here or forcing me in any way, so please don't insult me by pretending like I don't have a good reason to stay with you in every state you are in."

Lucifer looked at his lips, as if he could read every word out of them. Never his eyes had looked so big and transparent as he slumped against him.

"You have the weirdest ass motivational speeches ever" said the king, as if speaking through something that got stuck on his throat. "I love you."

Even though Alastor knew it shouldn't at this point, it was still a surprise everytime he heard those words. Such a precise stab through the heart that forced another heartbeat instead of bleeding. Not many people had said those to him, either alive or dead. That is why his reply always came a second later, clumsy, like about to use a shotgun whose kick back he still wasn't sure how to handle.

"I love you too."

[see-arcane]

WARNING: Spoilers for The Vampyres, Dracula, and "Clarimonde" below the cut.

Also a bit of knife-twisting of the metaphorical variety. (Not that it hurts any less than steel.)

Rather than throw myself into another scribbling digression to take a break from other scribbling digressions, I’ve scratched a story itch via the sketchbook. This is the result.

I’ve gotten questions about what happens to ‘Quinn Morse’ aka a certain knife-swinging solicitor who God, the Devil, and Death itself won’t let die after the events of The Vampyres. The obvious answer is: dude’s still doing the job appointed to him by the Powers That Be. Poor guy is stuck paying a Faustian due of wiping out the predatory undead before he can ever put down the blade and hop in the grave himself.

Enter Clarimonde, from Théophile Gautier’s short story of the same name (also “La Morte Amoureuse” “The Dead Leman” “The Dead Woman in Love”) who’s still out here breaking hearts and ruining sleep schedules. The girl’s an undead party queen and a romantic hedonist, but is so terrible at the vampire part of vampirism she regularly drops dead(er) from being too hesitant about taking blood and/or conscripting. She takes barely a drop of blood when she does get to it; though that sin was enough for her own heart and physical form to get broken with betrayal. She got better—corporeally, at least—and carried on.

Until she crossed paths with Mr. Tall Dark and Sold His Soul for Love. And vice versa, our good friend the ex-Victorian psychopomp has finally run into a vampire it would be immoral to slay just for the sake of erasing another undead ‘to-do’ off the list…even if she’s temporarily the only one in the world. And therefore the only barrier between himself and finally getting to rest with his loved ones. He doesn’t even have the impetus of killing to save someone’s life as an excuse. Damn it.

I won’t say I’m not thinking about fully scribbling out the bizarre/sweet/likely doomed companionship that could exist between these two love-powered angst machines. The idea’s got teeth, pun intended. Plus there’s definitely an itch to be scratched regarding my old headcanon that Clarimonde was the Pretty Girl in Piccadilly that Mina and Dracula nearly broke their necks trying to get an eyeful of once upon a time. There’s some loaded ammo there for Clarimonde to really test her safety by mentioning, ‘Hey, your wife would have wanted it. I know, I read her mind that one time. We can break out a Ouija board and confirm.’

But I am trying to reserve the bulk of my writing juice for the current Big Project, so it’ll have to be something to poke at around the corners for now. Just wanted to share the concept with folks who might be interested.

Also, some deleted dialogue:

Clarimonde, posing in her sheerest funeral veil: “So, what are your thoughts on casual intimacy?”

Jonathan, sharpening the kukri: “I’m a big admirer of the praying mantis’ approach.”

Clarimonde: “The male’s or the female’s?”

Jonathan: “Either.”

Clarimonde: “So no romancing unless it’s to pull some psychosexual chess master mess on a villain?”

Jonathan: “Supposing the villain in question used said intimate betrayal on their own victims, yes. Also, they’d know something was wrong if I was ‘immune to their charms’ and—what’s this?”

Clarimonde, handing over several centuries’ worth of letters: “Documented evidence from members of aristocracy and clergy that I am a nefarious succubus in need of punishment for my preying on the morals and hearts of pious citizens. Look, they even included illustrations of how they’d do it.”

Jonathan: “…And were these documents attached to deliveries of jewelry or just sacks of gold?”

Clarimonde: “Both. On account of my evil coercing them into it.”

Jonathan, handing the letters back in a portfolio: “I’m afraid your villainy does not qualify for my services at this time. You’ll have to reapply with one or more proofs of murder and/or predation upon mortal innocents at a later date.”

Clarimonde:

[arthdoesart]

WIP Wednesday

Would like to thank @littlemarianah and @zenkor123 for the tag  😇 Normally, I'd draw, but WIP Wednesdays extend to writing too and this one is an old draft of an upcoming chapter I plan to update 🥴

Johanna could never forget about Finnick’s games, the same way every other Mentor was forced to gaze on painful replays projected on the screens of the Gaming Center. In her first year of mentoring, past all the sophisticated and high-tech passageways of automated sliding doors, Blight has led a generous tour towards the wide expanse of the Atrium where they’re mandatorily expected to interact with rabid fans — fans that could afford a VIP entry, and whom she thinks are there to personally annoy them. 

However, she’s only tolerant of one job, and that’s for meeting up and playing nice with potential sponsors. 

Johanna ignores the foyer leading to the glass roof on top, pretending not to see the floor withholding private bedrooms that are clearly not just for sleeping. 

“It’s alright,” Blight flanks her side instead of placing a comforting hand to her shoulder. A wise move, she thinks. Otherwise, he would have caught a nasty punch to the face. “Being less popular means less trouble.” 

Johanna appreciates his cautious approach. She fastens her back straight and abandons any unwarranted hostility from her end. “Good. I’m not really up for any kind of sleepovers right now.” 

Blight only clears his throat. “Well, easier for me to give the tour then. Anyways, most of the glass walls that are scattered around the Atrium are LED displays. As last year’s Victor, they’ll be occasionally playing your games in between a rerun of the parade this morning. It won’t hurt to try and scour a few sponsors here and there.”  

“The question is, am I popular enough for that?” Johanna testifies with a challenged brow, hoisting it rhetorically. She’s well aware that her triumph had caught the Capitol by surprise, and not in a good way. “I thought I wasn’t interesting enough after I destroyed a good portion of the betting pool.”

She spots Blight’s warning glare glint from the corner of her eyes. Instead of reasonably shutting up, she stubbornly crosses her arms and runs her mouth again. 

“The only thing they liked about my games was the arena. At least they put in the effort of redecorating this place after that hell hole.” 

The Atrium undergoes a makeover every year, depending which highlight of the previous games have particularly stuck with the audience. Apparently, it’s the Crystal Lake Forest. Osvaldo Starcourt is thoroughly particular with littering the halls with stone crystals that are nearly identical from the ones that jutted out from her arena. Instead of stunning passerbyers and causing them to have brutal seizures, the ones on decoration merely emit a casual glow that changes color every few minutes. 

Still, Johanna shields her eyes on instinct, remembering how fast her Tribute partner had succumbed to the florae muttation and how damaging his seizure was. 

Blight moves seamlessly and covers the display with his torso. He extends his hand and gestures with his head for them to take another route, but it isn’t like those stone crystals were easily escapable. 

“You don’t have to do that,” She mutters, uncharacteristically low. “I’m good. Really.”

“Sure you are,” He says, nodding toward an LED display with a sudden scowl on his face. 

Johanna trails where his eyes have glowered and is met by an old video of Finnick Odair, fourteen-years-old and bravely fisting a bronze trident in hand. On screen, he’s tousling with a mutt that’s zipping fast under the water, and a few feet away, his Tribute partner hovers by the surface, motionless and painting the shallow depths red with her blood.

There’s a bold, golden text that says ‘65TH HUNGER GAMES�� in the bottom left corner. A crowd has gathered, hollering and rooting for young Finnick to slay the mutt as if he’s never done it before. 

I'm not sure who to tag, so maybe just a few of my moots if you guys would indulge (completely your choice by the way :) ))

Tagging: @lorrainestea @effieotto @thegoddessprose

[girlwith15cents]

Oversharing on the internet about ADHD

I've been trying to write this post for awhile now. It relates to my previous post about mental disabilities. But it's proving difficult cause it keeps sounding too pathetic, but that's kinda the point.

I, in my present, have an idea of who I am. My interests, how I act, how I dress, who I associate with, my gender expression. These are all observable things. Ways that other people can form opinions on me. These are, by most means, who I am.

However, who I want to be is pretty drastically separate from that. I know a version of me that I can try and project but will always fall short of. I want to learn and enjoy makeup. I want a larger wardrobe of clothes that I genuinely like. I want to learn an instrument. I want to get into streaming games for fun. I want to be able to take my friends out to dinner and buy them gifts and go around the city with them. I have so many ideas for tattoos and I have piercings I want to get. There are so many things I want and yet cannot have and have no real avenue to get.

The reason I cannot reach for these (very reasonable) things is because of my lack of capital and personal agency. Extremely debilitating executive dysfunction has stripped me of any milestones of adulthood someone of my age might be seeing. I've never been able to hold a job without growing deeply suicidal due to the effort required. Hobbies cost money. Rent costs money. Expressions of the self cost money. I have always had to exist within the confines of someone else's generosity to take care of me. It has stripped me of opportunities to grow as a person. It has made me less and less who I want to be and more who I am.

All too often because of this people don't take me seriously. Financial burden that I am, I have learned to make myself small better than any other skill. I choke up when asked to assert my wants. I put others first. I'm quiet and guarded. Any strive to make myself the person I want to be feels deeply embarrassing. Like a child who is convinced they're something they aren't. So people who meet me see the child. They see the loser who won't take steps towards employment because they're lazy. They see the girl who orbits a social group but never belongs. They see a nice girl who has far less desirable qualities than the other candidate for this job position. It hurts so fucking bad to be condescended to without any ability to rebut it.

So when does it end? When I find work that won't end up being the death of me? When our government wises up and pushes for UBI or expands upon disability payments? When they invent adderal that doesn't have a million side effects? When I get sick of it and give up? There's no real end in sight, and every time ADHD gets laughed at as a pop-psych joke it gets further away. Am I doomed to be a child forever? When will I see the respect I know I deserve?

And sure, pathologizing behavior is 'bad'. Maybe the answer to all my woes is to grit my teeth harder than I already have been my entire life. Maybe the real reason I see no forward movement is because I'm projecting my own helplessness. But can't it be a little easier? Everyone else is having a rough time, but at least they're having a time. The behavior I exhibit is very normal to neurotypical people on a bad day, but it makes up my entire existence. And it sure feels a hell of a lot more severe than someone having a day of bad focus.

The fucked up thing about it is that I like me. The present me and the me I want to be. We both have so much to offer. We're both one of the best friends you've ever had. We both have skills and qualities that make us very likeable people. But these qualities have little to no monetary value. Any way that I could monetize it would also require investment. Investment that I cannot make without agency. So I'm stuck as a vague bundle of good qualities and talents that everyone sees so much potential in and is eagerly awaiting a moment where I channel it somewhere. A moment that will never occur without agency.

[aspd-culture]

Sorry ig in advance since you get questions a lot but got curious about a few things

1. Is it normal for pwASPD to view unbeneficial relationships as chores? I know I, a likely prosocial, when I don't see the benefit in a relationship, I have to view it as being a chore to continue it.

2. If a connection is established between harming others and being harmed, will a pwASPD, for lack of a better term, be able to mimic empathy or remorse?

3. Do you know if pwASPD and another comorbid disorder, if the other disorder causes already low or fragile self esteem (like another cluster B), can seem like they don't have ASPD?

These are mostly for project research but also out of curiosity because I can

Nothing to be sorry for!!/gen

1.) Oh yes. So very, very much yes. And honestly, it's even worse than a chore - more like if a dead-end job decided to stop paying you but you'd go to jail if you quit. If you've ever seen a kid stuck dress shopping with their mother on TV, that's the way I would like to act through every single interaction with an equal part useless and annoying but unavoidable prosocial irl. Every single non-Exception prosocial is that coworker you hate who won't leave you alone./hj Joking aside, not all prosocials are actually that annoying actually. So it kind of depends; sometimes it's fine at least for me.

2.) Yeah, I'd say so. This goes differently for all of us, but for the most part "connection formed" would probably go in the direction of an Exception, and that's where some symptoms of ASPD are lessened for those of us that have them. That includes often having some degree of effective empathy and/or a desire to work on cognitive empathy with them in particular (I use them as practice to make the necessary use of cognitive empathy less annoying with non-Exceptions). Ditto with remorse for some pwASPD, though for me in particular that depends on the Exception in question. Some still do not bring out remorse in me for whatever reason. This is a good place to note that actually, since I don't think I've mentioned this elsewhere. Exceptions do not all have to be the same even for the same pwASPD. Two friends may have different symptoms they alleviate vs don't affect vs worsen, and of course platonic vs sexual vs romantic Exceptions often vary in that as well. For me and a few other pwASPD I've met, this may also occur with some groups of people who aren't Exceptions but cause an Exception-esque response. For me, kids get that as most do other people struggling with mental health disorders beyond just depression and anxiety (nothing easy about those two it's just in our current world most people have those). If I hurt a kid's feelings, 25/10 times I am going to cry with them or force myself not to. And that will vary for each pwASPD based on how much social neurological development was completed before it was fundamentally changed and started developing antisocially too. Some of us have more empathy than others, or more remorse than others (and vice versa) in general, so that'll impact those situations too.

3.) So this depends on what you define as "seem like they don't have ASPD", though it won't be self-esteem that affects that. Generally I'd point that more in the direction of NPD. But yeah, looking at the symptoms of ASPD, there are a few specific disorders that cause someone who very much has ASPD to not be diagnosed and/or believed both professionally and personally. In personal relationships, it's honestly just not being a serial k*ller that will get most to think you don't have it. Professionally, you're looking at disorders that cause social problems (such as autism, SAD - social anxiety, and GAD - generalized anxiety), impulse control (ADHD mostly), emotional instability (bipolar disorder, IED - intermittent explosive, ODD - oppositional defiance, and yeah your other cluster b PDs). There are others that make a whole lot less sense imo to get in the way of an ASPD diagnosis too. Schizophrenia comes to mind, with some professionals thinking that it's just... so many episodes of psychosis that it starts to look like ASPD which, don't even get me started on how much of a medical failure it is that I have heard of that specific thing happening. But mostly, it's going to be the ones I listed previously. None of these are mutually exclusive with ASPD, but they have symptoms that overlap with or mimic ASPD's, and so you'll have genuinely good professionals who are trying to avoid over/misdiagnosis where it applies to a *very* stigmatized disorder, and you'll have lazy ones that don't care to try and pick out which it is if not both. That will all just depend on the pwASPD's presentation of symptoms. I had more than one professional refuse to believe I had ASPD, and my (very lovely and dilligent/gen) psychiatrist was also leaning to just diagnose autism until I said some line about the reason I try for social interaction not being because I want to but because everyone has to to be able to get what they need in life. Once she realized I see it as an irritating requirement to associate with other people - even ones I kind of like - she quickly turned on that and diagnosed both. That's why it's important to speak openly and with as much of the mask removed as possible without getting yourself in trouble. They will try and avoid labelling you with something like this unless they are 1000% sure because of its connotations and the social and professional implications of having ASPD. It is very possible to pick out which is which or if it's more than one with overlap in regards to any set of comorbidities even outside of ASPD, but it takes a lot of work for that to be done properly especially if you're still masking in front of them.

I have no issue with anyone asking just out of curiosity by the way. Seriously like I guess I see why some people feel weird about it, but genuine interest is the reason why disorders get looked into, researched, and potentially normalized and accepted. There is nothing wrong with being interested in any topic as long as you're respectful in your interactions with sensitive subjects, and this ask was completely respectful, so I'm happy to answer it./gen

Plain text below the cut:

Nothing to be sorry for!!/gen

1.) Oh yes. So very, very much yes. And honestly, it's even worse than a chore - more like if a dead-end job decided to stop paying you but you'd go to jail if you quit. If you've ever seen a kid stuck dress shopping with their mother on TV, that's the way I would like to act through every single interaction with an equal part useless and annoying but unavoidable prosocial irl. Every single non-Exception prosocial is that coworker you hate who won't leave you alone./hj Joking aside, not all prosocials are actually that annoying actually. So it kind of depends; sometimes it's fine at least for me.

2.) Yeah, I'd say so. This goes differently for all of us, but for the most part "connection formed" would probably go in the direction of an Exception, and that's where some symptoms of ASPD are lessened for those of us that have them. That includes often having some degree of effective empathy and/or a desire to work on cognitive empathy with them in particular (I use them as practice to make the necessary use of cognitive empathy less annoying with non-Exceptions). Ditto with remorse for some pwASPD, though for me in particular that depends on the Exception in question. Some still do not bring out remorse in me for whatever reason. This is a good place to note that actually, since I don't think I've mentioned this elsewhere. Exceptions do not all have to be the same even for the same pwASPD. Two friends may have different symptoms they alleviate vs don't affect vs worsen, and of course platonic vs sexual vs romantic Exceptions often vary in that as well. For me and a few other pwASPD I've met, this may also occur with some groups of people who aren't Exceptions but cause an Exception-esque response. For me, kids get that as most do other people struggling with mental health disorders beyond just depression and anxiety (nothing easy about those two it's just in our current world most people have those). If I hurt a kid's feelings, 25/10 times I am going to cry with them or force myself not to. And that will vary for each pwASPD based on how much social neurological development was completed before it was fundamentally changed and started developing antisocially too. Some of us have more empathy than others, or more remorse than others (and vice versa) in general, so that'll impact those situations too.

3.) So this depends on what you define as "seem like they don't have ASPD", though it won't be self-esteem that affects that. Generally I'd point that more in the direction of NPD. But yeah, looking at the symptoms of ASPD, there are a few specific disorders that cause someone who very much has ASPD to not be diagnosed and/or believed both professionally and personally. In personal relationships, it's honestly just not being a serial k*ller that will get most to think you don't have it. Professionally, you're looking at disorders that cause social problems (such as autism, SAD - social anxiety, and GAD - generalized anxiety), impulse control (ADHD mostly), emotional instability (bipolar disorder, IED - intermittent explosive, ODD - oppositional defiance, and yeah your other cluster b PDs).

There are others that make a whole lot less sense imo to get in the way of an ASPD diagnosis too. Schizophrenia comes to mind, with some professionals thinking that it's just... so many episodes of psychosis that it starts to look like ASPD which, don't even get me started on how much of a medical failure it is that I have heard of that specific thing happening. But mostly, it's going to be the ones I listed previously. None of these are mutually exclusive with ASPD, but they have symptoms that overlap with or mimic ASPD's, and so you'll have genuinely good professionals who are trying to avoid over/misdiagnosis where it applies to a very stigmatized disorder, and you'll have lazy ones that don't care to try and pick out which it is if not both. That will all just depend on the pwASPD's presentation of symptoms. I had more than one professional refuse to believe I had ASPD, and my (very lovely and dilligent/gen) psychiatrist was also leaning to just diagnose autism until I said some line about the reason I try for social interaction not being because I want to but because everyone has to to be able to get what they need in life. Once she realized I see it as an irritating requirement to associate with other people - even ones I kind of like - she quickly turned on that and diagnosed both. That's why it's important to speak openly and with as much of the mask removed as possible without getting yourself in trouble. They will try and avoid labelling you with something like this unless they are 1000% sure because of its connotations and the social and professional implications of having ASPD. It is very possible to pick out which is which or if it's more than one with overlap in regards to any set of comorbidities even outside of ASPD, but it takes a lot of work for that to be done properly especially if you're still masking in front of them.

I have no issue with anyone asking just out of curiosity by the way. Seriously like I guess I see why some people feel weird about it, but genuine interest is the reason why disorders get looked into, researched, and potentially normalized and accepted. There is nothing wrong with being interested in any topic as long as you're respectful in your interactions with sensitive subjects, and this ask was completely respectful, so I'm happy to answer it./gen

[queenjunothegreat]

Hi!!!!! Hello everyone!!!!!!!! I have more words for you!!!! These ones are about Wilderness-Leo being So Fucking Normal And Heterosexual About His Buff Mysterious Roommate. Get ready for a breathtaking display of hormonal teenage courtship rituals. Ahem. Also! Eleena said I have to include this message in my A/N so here you go

This Wilderness fic is WEIRD because Piper and Leo are normal, but Jason is WILDLY out of character because he's NOT Jason. He's Leo's (who's half in love with the dude) imaginations of what he COULD have been like if he was actually there. He doesn’t have ANY of the earnest kindness that Real Jason has because Leo wouldn’t be able to conceptualize that kind of earnest kindness surviving at Wilderness, much less being directed at him.

Moving on! This was, of course, written for @lost-trio-week so I am happy to share my day six contribution: Unfold Your Paper Heart (And Wear It On Your Sleeve)

“I dunno what it is about him,” Leo sighed, finally dragging his eyes off the other boy. “I’m just drawn to him, I guess. He compels me.” Piper arched her eyebrows. “Do you think he’s hot? You got a crush on him or something?” Leo considered that, and he deliberately didn’t look over at Jason again because he wasn’t really sure how long he was allowed to stare at him before it got weird. Was Jason hot? Well, obviously, and Leo knew it, seeing as he had eyes. But that wasn’t it. Not the extent of it, at least. “No, it’s more like I wanna put him in a glass jar with a stick and some leaves. And maybe pick the jar up every now and then and shake it so I can study him.” “It can never just be ‘I have a crush’ with you, can it?” Piper drawled. “You always gotta say peculiar shit.” *** Leo is trying SO hard to befriend his new roommate. It is not going as well as he'd like Lost Trio Week 2024 - Day Six: Roommates

“I just don’t get him,” Leo seethed, stabbing at what was probably meant to be salsbury steak with his plastic spoon. “He’s just so! You know?”

In response, Piper just huffed and rolled her eyes, clearly already bored of the subject. “Are you talking about Jason? Again?”

“Yes!” Leo finally managed to cut his food in half. Underneath the simultaneously thick and runny gravy, the mystery meat was an odd shade of gray that could have either been beef that was cooked beyond all salvation, or something Leo wasn’t quite ready to really think about just yet. He considered telling one of the school admins that Piper had convinced him to go vegetarian along with her. She was usually stuck with cheese or peanut butter sandwiches because there was no universe in which Wilderness was going to make her a specialized menu, but at least her food was identifiable. He dismissed the thought to focus on the task at hand. “I’ve tried everything to get through to him! I’ve tried inviting him to eat with us, I’ve cracked jokes–”

“Well, there’s your problem.”

“–I’ve even offered some of my candy to him! Nothing works!”

“I don’t get why you’re so hung up on this guy,” Piper scoffed. “He looks like he knows how to play polo.” Her tone was dismissive, but Leo would have needed to be blind to miss the way her eyes lingered on Jason’s broad shoulders before she went back to pushing her over-blanched broccoli around on her plate.

“First off: Your dad owns a plane. You are not allowed to make fun of people for being rich. That’s my job.” Leo told her matter-of-factly before he let his gaze wander over to where Jason was sitting alone, just like always. When he had first shown up a couple weeks before, everyone, especially the girls, had flocked to him, but each and every one of them was met with a hard scowl that sent them packing. At first, Leo had planned on leaving the dude to do his own thing, but three days after Jason’s arrival, the teachers had finally gotten tired of Leo and Piper rooming together. Piper just went back to having their room to herself like she had before Leo had shown up, but Leo had been buddied up with Wilderness’s newest sideshow attraction. Normally, Leo wouldn’t have bothered trying to befriend the guy, he hadn’t with any of his other classmates or any of the many, many roommates he had over the years (Piper obviously didn’t count because she was Piper) but Jason was different.

“I dunno what it is about him,” Leo sighed, finally dragging his eyes off the other boy. “I’m just drawn to him, I guess. He compels me.”

Piper arched her eyebrows. “Do you think he’s hot? You got a crush on him or something?”

Leo considered that, and he deliberately didn’t look over at Jason again because he wasn’t really sure how long he was allowed to stare at him before it got weird. Was Jason hot? Well, obviously, and Leo knew it, seeing as he had eyes. But that wasn’t it. Not the extent of it, at least. “No, it’s more like I wanna put him in a glass jar with a stick and some leaves. And maybe pick the jar up every now and then and shake it so I can study him.”

“It can never just be ‘I have a crush’ with you, can it?” Piper drawled. “You always gotta say peculiar shit.”

Leo scowled at her, his cheeks growing warm. What the hell is wrong with you? I literally just told you I don’t have a crush on him.”

“Yeah, because what you just said was super normal.”

“Actually shut up. You’re so annoying.”

“Bet you wouldn’t say that if I was a foot taller and blond.”

At that exact moment, Jason looked up, and Leo realized he’d gone back to staring  at him without realizing it. Bright blue met brown from across the crowded cafeteria, and Leo was frozen in place like a rabbit in crosshairs. He held Jason’s gaze for a moment, then two, before he forced himself to look at Piper who had her eyebrows arched up near her hairline. He stuck his tongue out at her, ignoring the heat in his cheeks. “Shut up.”

She rolled her eyes and stabbed a broccoli. “Whatever. Come on. We should get going if we want to avoid Tyler. Assuming you’re done gawking at Prince Charming, that is.”

Leo felt the urge to tell her that Jason was in their Spanish class and that they probably wouldn’t have to leave lunch early if Leo could figure out a way to get Jason to walk with them (or hell, even just talk to him), but he wasn’t sure he’d survive the humiliation that was sure to follow. Instead, he looked back at Jason, only to find Jason still staring at him from their earlier eye contact. Leo’s eyes widened and his heart thumped in his chest, and he had to swallow down a very masculine squeak. “Uh, yeah. Alright. Let’s get out of here.”

He quickly stood, hardly waiting for Piper to catch up, and made his way to the door, ignoring the weight of the gaze on his shoulders. 

*-*-*

“That’s not how you conjugate that.”

Leo smothered a shit-eating grin as Jason jolted violently and turned on him with a scowl. “What?”

“Quedar,” Leo explained, gesturing at the homework in front of him. “You have it as Vosotras quedaremas, which is just wrong. Quedar is just literally never spelled that way. Plus, you’re using the wrong pronoun; it should be Nosotras quedaremos for ‘we will remain.’ Vostras is basically ‘you guys.’”

Jason’s scowl deepened and he furiously scrubbed at the paper with his eraser with a quietly muttered, “Thanks.”

Leo sucked his teeth for a moment before saying, “You know, I can help you with that. If you want. I’m basically the only reason Piper’s passing Spanish as is. It wouldn’t be a big deal for you to sit with us when we’re studying.”

“Yeah? What makes you think you’re so good at Spanish?”

Leo barked out a bright laugh at the joke, but Jason’s scowl just deepened. “Wait, are you stupid?” Leo clapped his hands to his mouth. “That is not what I meant to say!”

Jason looked torn between his desire to laugh and his desire to deck Leo in the face. Unsurprisingly, this expression was yet another scowl. “So, what did you mean to say?”

Instead of answering that question (he didn’t have an answer he was willing to give) he answered the first one. “I speak Spanish, dude. Like, fluently. That’s how I learned to talk.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, man. The Valdez tacked onto my name isn’t just there for decoration.”

“Oh.” Jason blinked at him for a moment like he was rebooting. “That’s, uh, that’s cool.”

“‘Uh, that’s cool,’” Leo mocked in a stupid little voice. Jason just rolled his eyes instead of getting mad at him, though, so Leo gave him a big, toothy grin. “But, yeah. I’m basically a walking, talking Spanish dictionary, if you ever need one.”

“How do you say ‘constable’ in Spanish?”

Leo froze, wracked his brain, and then glared at Jason. “Fuck you.”

Jason just grinned at him, totally unrepentant.

Leo waved his hands around like he could knock the words out of the air. “Literally whatever, that doesn’t count. You cheated. I don’t even know what that word means in English. I’m pretty sure you made it up–”

“I definitely didn’t.”

“Anyway!” Leo shouted over Jason’s obvious amusement. “What I’m trying to say is that I can help you with your homework. If you want.”

Jason considered him for a moment, and Leo had to fight the urge to hold his breath. “What’s in it for you?”

Leo wrinkled his nose. “What do you mean?”

“I mean what’s in it for you?” Jason repeated. “What are you getting out of this? Did someone put you up to it, or do you just want me to owe you a favor? What is it? What’s your angle?”

“Dude, what? No. Haven’t you ever heard of someone doing something nice, just to be nice?” Leo winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth, knowing from experience what a loaded question that was. Before Jason could reply, he plowed forward. “Look, I’m really, really not trying anything. If you don’t wanna, you can just say no, and I’ll drop it.”

“Yeah, because the last two weeks have shown how well you can take no for an answer.”

Leo recoiled at the words and shrank back. His fingers twitched where they were wrapped around his bicep and his eyes were trained solidly on the ground on the opposite side of the room. “Sorry.”

Jason was quiet for a moment before he sighed. “No, I’m sorry. That was a dick thing to say.”

Leo shrugged, still not looking at him. “Wasn’t wrong though, was it? I’ll leave you alone now, though. Promise. Sorry, again.”

Jason made a frustrated noise, and Leo looked up to see that he had a near-murderous scowl on his face, though this one was directed at the hands folded in his own lap. “You… don’t have to.”

Leo’s brow puckered in confusion and he tried not to let too much hope enter his tone. “Don’t have to what, man?”

“Leave me alone.”

Leo flinched at the sudden rebuke, and he clenched his jaw. “Look, I’m getting some really mixed signals from–”

“You don’t have to leave me alone,” Jason interrupted. “I don’t want you to.”

“Oh.” Leo blinked for a moment as the words finally sunk in. A grin started to slowly form on his face, and he didn’t even care that his cheeks were getting warm. “Alright. I won’t, then.”

“Right.” Jason cleared his throat, and Leo was about seventy-two percent sure that his ears were turning pink under all that fluffy blond hair. He wondered briefly how everyone in the school had been sent running from this almost bashful boy who was nervous around Leo of all people. “Um. Good.”

“Good,” Leo parrotted. He was pretty sure that all of his teeth were visible from how wide his smile was, but his heart was thumping too fast for him to pay it any mind. “You wanna start now?” Jason gave him a puzzled look, so he nodded at the homework still on the desk. “With that. No offense, but I highly doubt quedar is the only thing you managed to fuck up.”

Jason chuckled, and Leo marveled at the sound. “Yeah, okay.”

“Cool,” Leo beamed. Then he hopped up on his bed and patted the spot beside him in invitation. “Come on, dude. Take a seat. I hate studying at the desk. Are you hungry? I’m starving. Do you mind if I eat beef jerky while we study? Piper’s vegetarian, so I try not to eat it around her, which kinda sucks sometimes. I’ll even share if you say yes.”

Jason hummed contemplatively as he parsed through Leo’s word salad for a moment. He stood at the edge of Leo’s bed, just studying him, before he shrugged and climbed right on in. He settled down next to Leo, their sides pressed together from shoulder to knee in a way that made Leo almost breathless.  “I like beef jerky.”

Leo’s heart continued to do its hyperactive tap dance from before and he had to bite back a giddy little giggle. “Well then, Jason, I believe you and I will get along beautifully.”

*-*-*

This was a bad idea, Leo thought to himself as he came skidding out of the boys’ laundry room, a wide maniacal grin on his face. Piper was standing exactly where he'd stationed her as lookout, looking incredibly confused, so he grabbed her hand as he ran by, shouting, “Come On! ¡Vámonos! Move it, move it, move it!”

To her credit, she started running without question, which was good, because Tyler Dungan came barreling out into the hallway a second later, looking just as big and dumb and dangerous as always. He still had his ruined jersey in his hand, damp and dripping on the floor. When he caught sight of Leo, his face twisted up into a maroon snarl of fury. “Valdez!”

“This is what you needed the bleach and RIT dye for?” Piper shrieked, looking incredulous and almost as mad as Tyler. Leo just tipped his head back and laughed, picturing the gobsmacked expression on Tyler's face when he'd pulled the jersey out of the wash. Worth it.

The three of them ran through the halls, ignoring the shouts of teachers and the way students physically jumped out of their way. Tyler was fast, but he was also stupid and didn’t exactly have state of the art handling, so any time he got a little too close for comfort, Piper and Leo would just make a hard turn down another hall, and Tyler was left tripping over his feet in order to stop.

“Valdez, I'm gonna kill you!”

At those words, Leo's eyes lit up in challenge, and on his next step he turned with a flourish so he could start running backwards, just to be a show-off. “Ooh, you promise?” he cooed, leveling Tyler with a wide grin. “Sounds festive.”

Piper scoffed and grabbed the back of his shirt to yank him down another corridor. “We've got to lose him for good,” she panted. “We can’t keep running forever.”

“Are you kidding? This is the fun part.”

Only, the fun part was about to come to a very quick, unpleasant end, Leo realized with an awful sinking feeling. He'd known from the start that messing with Tyler Dungan was a Bad Idea, no matter how satisfying it was in the moment to knock him down a peg or two. Everyone at Wilderness was there for one delinquent reason or another, but Tyler was special, seeing as he was in for beating someone half to death over a game of pool. There was a reason Tyler basically got to do whatever he wanted to whoever he wanted, and Leo and Piper, who were already on the long list of people Tyler didn’t like, had gone and poked him with a very sharp stick. And to make matters worse, in their attempts to flee, they'd taken a wrong turn. They were at a dead end. No hallways to run down, no classrooms to hide in. Just them and their certain doom. 

There's an open window, Leo thought, a little hysterically. At least we can punch our own ticket before Tyler gets the chance.

Tyler burst through the doors before Leo could offer his one suggestion, and when he saw his prey cornered at the end of the hall, he let out a victorious war cry and charged. Leo felt his heart pounding in his throat as his eyes darted around, desperately searching for an out. If it was just him, he might have been tempted to just sit back and accept whatever beating Tyler had planned for him, but he couldn’t. Not with Piper there. Piper, whose only crime was ever staying by Leo's side when everyone else on the planet would have given up on him a dozen times over.

Leo reached out to blindly grasp for Piper's hand and breathed a sigh of relief when he found it, their fingers tangling tight enough to ache. They could get out of this. Surely. Somehow. Maybe they could run around Tyler on either side of the hall. That would probably confuse him, and Leo could make sure that he ran a little closer, so if Tyler did manage to grab one of them, Piper would be the one to get away. He could do this, but he’d have to be quick. It was too late to be clever. He thought about rabbits. Of a story, spoken in a gnarled old woman’s voice, about a cocky little rabbit, hunted by coyotes and eaten because he thought he could outrun anything. He couldn’t be a rabbit. He had to—

Then Tyler's feet flew up through the air in a graceful arc as he came to a very sudden stop. He went fully horizontal before gravity finally caught up with him and he slammed into the ground, back first. His skull cracked on the tile floor hard enough that Leo could see it visibly bounce, and he was surprised at the lack of blood it left behind. 

Before Leo could even begin to wonder what the hell just happened, Jason was there. His face was twisted up into a near bestial rage as he planted his foot on Tyler's chest, and bared his teeth.

“Stay down!” he barked, glowering down at Tyler until he got a furious nod of confirmation. Then his gaze flicked over to Leo and Piper, and his expression softened. He looked them both up and down before those intense blue eyes locked on Leo’s face. “Are you two okay?”

Leo gulped, feeling a bit like he'd been pinned in place just like Tyler, before he realized that Jason wasn't going to let him go without an answer. “I— Y-Yeah. We're, um. We're good.”

Jason nodded before he knelt down on one knee and got very close to Tyler's face, though he kept his foot planted to keep Tyler where he put him. His voice got a lot quieter then, but Leo could still hear the way each snarled word dripped with threat. “If you ever even look at either of those two again, I'll fucking kill you. Do I make myself abundantly clear, Dungan?” Tyler looked furious, and for a second Leo thought he might try to fight Jason (not that Leo would put much money on him after this), but then he gave a single sharp nod. Jason smiled at him, but it looked more like bared teeth than anything remotely friendly. “Good.”

“Jason! Mr. Dungan! What is the meaning of this?”

Leo's head whipped up to see Mrs. King power walking down the hall towards them, the sharp click-click of her heels showing just how serious she was. Jason just stood, dragging Tyler to his feet along with him. “Sorry, ma'am. My friend here tripped and fell, so I was helping him up. Isn’t that right, Dungan?”

Tyler's face screwed up for a moment before he nodded. “Right,” he spat, the word sounding like venom.

Jason clapped a hand on his shoulder with an expression that would have been kind, if not for the murder in his eyes. “Better be careful, man. I'd hate for something like this to happen again. Could be even worse next time.”

Tyler snorted and shrugged out from under Jason's hold and stomped off, and Mrs. King followed close behind, saying something about the nurse’s office. Jason watched them both go for a moment before he stepped over to Piper and Leo. His features weren't angry, not at all, but his eyes were still intense as he looked them over like he didn't trust Leo's assessment from before, and Leo could only stand there and let himself be looked at. When he was done with his inspection and found them to be up to code, his gaze locked with Leo’s. “I'll see you back in our room.”

Leo nodded furiously and squeaked out, “You got it, dude. See you later.”

Jason dipped his head in acknowledgement, the gesture oddly formal like some kind of honorable knight in a fairytale movie accepting a quest from the prince or whatever. “Later, then.”

And then he was gone.

When he was completely out of sight, Leo heard Piper let out a deep, shaky breath at his side. He turned to look at her and saw that her cheeks were as red as his felt. “Okay, yeah, I get it,” she said, squeezing her eyes shut. “You’re allowed to be obsessed with him.”

After the adrenaline rush and the, well, everything that had just happened, Leo could only tilt his head back and laugh.

[tilebytiles]

star treatment - a.t. (part 5)

summary: there’s a strange man named alex that has a strange obsession with you, and he makes the strangest offer of your life. word count: 3.8k warnings: none part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4

your time on the moon was almost over.

with the close of your galactic journey came a bittersweet feeling; you’d had a lot of fun at the hotel. although you neglected the casino aspect (you’d never been much of a gambler and didn’t intend to start), you took multiple dips in the pool, perused the library countless times, and even ventured into the gym once or twice. the fitness jungle was intimidating, so you only really used the treadmill, but it was still something. you’d gotten to talk to alexa and miles a lot more, and they both agreed to keep in touch with you once you were all back on earth.

the person you’d miss the most, though, was alex.

you hadn’t seen much of him over the last few days, despite your stay being extended; james had been sent back to earth prematurely, and a round trip for the rocket was at least six days, so you were more or less stuck up there until further notice. although alex’s glances towards you had become more tender, his touches more like caresses, his words spoken in a soft tone he didn’t use with anyone else, you hadn’t spoken much to each other since your impromptu sleepover. you were hesitant to ask him about it; you yearned for his attention, but you also understood how it might look if he was suddenly doting on you every hour of every day. you’d be proving james right, more or less. you would rather step out the airlock than do that.

you also knew talking to each other once you got back home wouldn’t really be an option; he told you once that he’d open the hotel to the public within the next month, meaning his attention would be entirely consumed by his project. you would return to your regular job, and he would remain an unfinished canvas, a story never to be completed. would he even come to the café anymore? would he want anything to do with you?

"what's got you all worked up?" you jumped at the sound of miles' voice and whipped around. he was leaning against the doorway of your room, his arms crossed over his chest and his left eyebrow cocked up.

your own eyebrow rose at his question. "i'm not worked up. i'm just standing here."

"you get worked up in your own ways," he said with a shrug. "you tend to zone out. in this case, i've been here for nearly three minutes trying to get your attention, and you've just been starin' at the clothes you've got on the bed."

you cringed at the mental image his words painted in your head. "sorry. i'm just thinking."

"about what?" when you didn't answer and instead looked back down at the clothes — the tee, joggers and socks you hadn't worked up the courage to give back to alex yet — realisation seemed to hit miles like a truck. "oh. about al?"

miles was the only one that had approached you directly about whether or not there was anything between you and alex. alexa had taken a more subtle approach, nudging you with her elbow and winking whenever alex smiled at you in passing, but miles had been much more direct, his curiosity regarding your relationship coming in the form of an abrupt "are you shaggin' him?" over lunch one day. you told him no repeatedly, probably so much so that it could be read as yes. you didn't dare allude to what had really happened between the two of you, but you were honest with him in admitting there was something there. something you both felt.

"why don't you just talk to him?" his words dragged you back to the present.

you sighed. "i wish it was that easy," you mumbled. "but what am i supposed to say? for all i know, i might just be some fling of his."

miles barked out a laugh at that. "you're kiddin', right? he's bloody obsessed with you."

"he could just be playing it up."

"y/n," he said, his voice taking on a much more serious tone, "if alex was fuckin' around with you this whole time, i would seriously harm him. that's a major 'if', though. i've never known him to be that kind of person, and neither has alexa. he isn't the type to toy with someone else's feelings."

a voice rang out from somewhere down the hall. "hey, miles, have you seen my camera?" it was alexa.

miles sighed and offered you one final sympathetic glance. "i mean it," he said softly. "right now, i think you're the last person he'd think of leavin' behind." and with that, he left your room, shouting down the hall about how he hadn't seen alexa's "bloody fuckin' camera".

you looked back down on the clothes you'd neatly laid out on top of the bed. you'd been planning to give them back that day, actually, but every time you finally worked up the courage to do it, you quickly convinced yourself it would be a bad idea. you hated how insecure you suddenly felt; you were positive that even if alex was obsessed with you, someone better would come along. someone more deserving of his obsession and unwavering affection. the more desperate side of you wanted to believe miles, but the more rational side of you knew that whatever existed between you and alex right now would be gone as soon as you set foot back on earth and returned to your routine lives.

your time on the moon was almost over, and you hated it.

•••••

miles had delivered the clothes in your stead. now that they were finally out of sight, out of mind, you found yourself laying face-up in the pool, staring at the vast expanse of stars above you. the water was cold, uncomfortably so, but you didn't care; you just needed to think. you needed something else to focus on, something that wasn't the man with the heavenly northern accent and the well-kept goatee and the shoulder-length hair that was always an elegant mess and the crisp suits and the smile that could charm god. you felt a little pathetic, if you were being honest with yourself — this time, you didn't do that as reluctantly. maybe self-degradation came to you a little too naturally. technically, you'd known alex for months, but it was mostly his existence you knew of, not who he really was. well, that and his favourite kind of coffee. still, that didn't really tell you much about the kind of person he was. knowing he liked his coffee burning hot didn't tell you his favourite colour or favourite food. knowing his surprising disdain for pumpkin spice lattes didn't tell you his favourite book or his hobbies. knowing the only pastry in the display case that he ever ordered (on the rare occasion he did order something besides coffee) was the pain au chocolat didn't tell you his middle name, his hometown, his favourite music, his dreams as a child, the things he was nitpicky about, his favourite animal, his greatest fear, how he wanted his body to be dealt with when he died, or whether or not he'd seen blade runner.

you would be lying if you said you hadn't imagined his response to all of those things before. you guessed his favourite colour might have been something like orange or yellow. his favourite food was something savoury, no doubt; he never struck you as the type to have much of a sweet tooth. his favourite book was definitely one of the classics. his hobbies had to be reading (that was an easy one), perhaps writing, maybe even playing an instrument. his middle name was something prim and proper, his hometown was somewhere like newcastle, his favourite music was the oldies, his dreams as a child were to be an astronaut in space, he was nitpicky about his appearance and having everything in perfect order, his favourite animal was something predictable like a dog, his greatest fear was being forgotten, he wanted to be cremated upon death, and he had most certainly seen blade runner and would consider it criminal for anyone else not to have. those were all just guesses, though, and you knew some of them were probably painfully inaccurate. but you didn't think you would ever get the answers.

somewhere nearby, you heard a door open and then close, and for a brief moment, it dragged you out of the monotonous trance you'd placed yourself in. you quickly slipped back into your lull, though, continuing to stargaze and letting the water around you prick at your skin, giving you goosebumps. you didn't notice the door to the changing room shut, nor did you notice the small splash that accompanied the unidentified individual lowering themselves into the water. you were beginning to think you were perfectly content with staying in that pool forever when the water around you began to rock and bob, bouncing you with it. a figure came into your periphery, and the small glimpse you got made you turn your head, water instantly flooding into your right ear. alex was wading beside you, casting small ripples into the pool water as he stroked his arms across the surface, keeping himself afloat. you slowly turned your head back to its previous position, feeling the water dribble out of your ear as you continued stargazing.

he was the first to speak, and you hated how your heart lurched at the sound of his voice, as if it would burst from your chest and wait for him to take it. "you've been avoiding me."

his voice remained neutral, but the underlying hurt in his words was glaringly obvious. "i wasn't trying to," you said quietly. "there just haven't been chances for us to talk."

"that's bullshit, y/n, and you know it."

you shifted and struggled in the water for just a moment before assuming the same wading position he was in. for a few seconds, ones that suddenly felt uncomfortably long, all you could do was stare at him. his expression was neutral, too, but his eyes betrayed his emotions. they always had. you were reminded of the quote about the eye being the window to the soul. "i'm sorry," you finally said.

he let out a small scoff and looked down at the water between you. "at least tell me why."

"i can't."

"why not?"

"because you'll think it's stupid."

"what's stupid is thinking i'll think it's stupid." his gaze darted back up to meet yours, and you could tell he was having a difficult time keeping himself contained. you were reminded of the look of anger he'd had the night of the party, and how horribly it contrasted with his features. you didn't think he was built to be angry, and you hated the thought that you were making him feel anything close to that.

you sighed and tilted your head back to look up at the stars again. not looking him directly in the eye made it easier to confess what had been weighing you down so much recently. "i'm scared you'll forget me, alex."

silence followed, then, "what?"

"you're going to get famous because of this hotel. you have to know that. you won't have time for me anymore, which is fine because i'm just the girl that made your coffee, anyway. even if you did have time, there's a chance some other girl will come along that's way better than me in every aspect. she'll be prettier, nicer, more successful, more important. i won't even be jealous of her, because i'll know she'll be far more deserving of your attention than i am. you'll fall in love with her and forget about me and i'll force myself to move on and maybe, eventually, i'll fall in love with someone else, too."

more silence punctuated your words, but this time, alex didn't fill it with objections or utterances of confusion. although you were staring up into space, from the very bottom of your line of sight, you could tell he was still staring at you. his mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, as if he was struggling to think of exactly what to say. you didn't blame him; how could you? you'd just dumped an absolute boatload on him.

it felt like an eternity had passed before he tried to form an answer for you. “i could never forget you, even if i wanted to.”

slowly, your head lowered again, and you stared at him, unsure of what to say in response. now it was your turn to be stunned into silence. you looked off to the side, then at the edge of the pool behind him, then back at him. “why?”

he sighed and ran a wet hand through his hair. “the first time i saw you,” he began slowly, “i was ready to worship the ground you stood on. you might think yourself to be plain, y/n, but in less than a few weeks, you became my whole world, only leaving enough space for …” he gestured around the two of you, his eyes widening a bit, much as they always did when he wanted to emphasise something.

your brows knitted together at his confession. “why didn’t you say anything?”

“because i was well aware i’d sound mental,” he said bluntly, dropping his arms back into the water with a small splash. “because i knew you’d think i was a creep. i was obsessed, and i felt guilty for that, even if i wasn’t tryin’ to stalk you or anything.”

you considered his words. although you wanted to deny it to make him feel better, you knew he was right; you probably would’ve told your manager if one of the customers tried to confess his undying love to you. “but …” you trailed off, trying to think of what to say next. your gaze dropped to the water again. “who’s to say you still feel that way, now that you know me?”

he let out a short laugh. “fuckin’ hell, y/n. you’re quite stubborn, aren’t you?” when you didn’t respond, he continued. “when i told you how i felt the night of the party, i meant it,” he said quietly. “i wasn’t lying to you or trying to comfort you. i’ve always had feelings for you, and as far as i’m concerned, i always will. nothing will change that.”

you didn’t say anything and looked away a little shamefully. you felt a bit silly for being so doubtful up to this point; it was clear alex liked you, a lot. he called it an obsession, but you didn’t know if it really was as dramatic as he was making it out to be or if he was so inexperienced that having feelings for anyone qualified as being madly in love. then again, he’d never struck you as the inexperienced type … quite the opposite, really, especially when you considered the ease with which he’d eaten you out.

alex seemed to pick up on your remorse. he let out another sigh before saying, “let’s get out of here, yeah? i don’t know about you, but i’m fuckin’ freezing.”

the two of you clambered out of the pool, heading into one of the changing rooms to dry off as best you could and wrapping yourselves up in robes. you’d have to shower later, you thought to yourself. you wondered if you could shower with alex, and the mere thought tinted your cheeks a light shade of pink. although you didn’t vocalise any of your thoughts, he seemed to be thinking the same thing as you, for he entwined his hand with yours and said, “shall we go to my room?” all you could do was nod.

inside his room, things were the same as they’d been the last time you were in there. you followed him into the bathroom, watching as he gently shut and locked the door before turning to face you. he offered you a small smile, a gesture that made you feel comfortable enough to shed your robe and strip out of your bikini. he followed suit, letting his robe and his swim trunks hit the floor in a circle of damp fabric around him. you refused to let your gaze wander to any part of his body that wasn’t his face, and at the sheer effort that seemed to take on your part, he couldn’t help but laugh.

one of the things that scared you the most about taking a shower with another person was the possibilities. as alex turned on the water and tested it a couple of times, making sure it was warm enough before stepping inside with you following suit, your mind immediately jumped to the possibility of alex rearranging your insides against the shower wall. did that idea come into your head a bit too eagerly? yes. were you embarrassed by it? 100%. would you ever tell alex you had that idea? fuck no. were you a little scared of it happening because alex was the only man that had ever touched you and you weren’t even sure if you’d like having sex? absolutely.

to your surprise (and perhaps relief), though, nothing of the sort happened. alex let you shampoo his hair first, letting out small sounds of contentment as you massaged his scalp. you worked slowly, not wanting this moment between the two of you to end anytime soon. once his hair was adequately shampooed, he washed the suds out of his hair, then grabbed the bottle off the shelf and squeezed some into his hand. he snapped it shut on his wrist, set it back down, then began massaging the apple-scented shampoo into your own hair. you didn’t have to lean down like he did, considering you were shorter than him and he could access your scalp much easier than you could his.

you two had been in a rather comfortable silence, and he was the first to break it, although not jarringly so. “d’you like cookies?”

a small laugh erupted from you. “who doesn’t?”

“fair point,” he mumbled. “i was just askin’ because the café made too many yesterday, and i was gonna steal some for you.”

“well, what kind are they?”

“chocolate chip. close your eyes.” alex seized the shower head, and you quickly did as you were told, feeling the water and shampoo rush down against your head. every so often, the water would hit your hairline, and it tickled. as he worked, he continued talking, although the torrent made it a bit harder to hear him. “i might steal a dozen, then we can split ‘em.”

when he finally pulled the shower head away from you, you reached up to dry your eyes. “bold of you to assume i would share.”

“ah, well …” he looked off to the side, then back down at you, his hands settling on his hips. “you’re talking to the hotel owner, so i don’t think you have much of a choice.”

“it’s a bit cruel of you to use your position against me.”

he merely hummed in response, unable to hide the smile your words generated, and grabbed the bottle of conditioner.

the rest of the shower went smoothly, and you were a little sad when it ended. it was, arguably, the most intimate you’d ever gotten with him. you two had helped each other wash, and gradually, you became less shy about touching each other. it made you realise something; you’d been viewing this kind of physical contact as sexual for an embarrassingly long time, but now that it was happening, it wasn’t sexual at all. you regretted the lewd circumstances your mind had tried to frame a shared shower in.

you’d gotten dressed following your shower, and now you found yourself back in alex’s bed. this time, he was laying with his cheek pressed against your chest, listening to your steady heartbeat. on occasion, his fingers would begin to tap out the rhythm against your sides, although they’d stop a few seconds later. your own fingers worked absentmindedly through his hair, and at some point, you’d begun to work on a small braid. you didn’t think he could feel it; if he did, he didn’t say anything. it would be amusing to see him discover it later.

his voice was a low rumble, and you got the idea he was more tired than he let on. “thank you.”

your fingers halted their movements. “for what?”

“for existing.”

those two words made you want to cry, and you had to force yourself to blink back tears. you worked more urgently on his braid, trying to keep yourself distracted, but this meant he could feel you tugging at his hair now. his head lifted from your chest, and his expression softened into one of understanding as he shifted his body upwards and pressed a kiss to each of your cheeks, catching tears that weren’t there. “i mean it,” he murmured. “and … thank you for giving me a chance.”

that brought out the waterworks, and the tears, hot and heavy, poured from your eyes before you could stop them. his hands left your sides and came up to cup your cheeks, his thumbs wiping away your tears. he kissed your forehead, your nose, and then your lips, lingering there longer than the rest. when he pulled away, he pressed his forehead to yours, staring deep into your eyes. “stay with me.”

your eyes widened a little. “what?”

“stay with me,” he repeated. “help me manage the hotel. or … hell, if you don’t want a thing to do with this, i understand, just —” he sighed and screwed his eyes shut. “stay in my life,” he whispered. “please.”

he didn’t have to ask that of you. the answer would always be yes. in a million universes, a million more lifetimes, the endless aisles of circumstances that were lined up neatly in the library of what could have been, you would always follow him. maybe in one world, you would meet as a biker / florist duo. in another, he’d be a dazzling musician, and you’d be an awestruck photographer. in another, he might be a damn vampire, trying to navigate the world without being killed and while shunning the daylight and wearing sunglasses positively everywhere. he could be some eldritch horror, and you would still follow him to the ends of the earth. you knew that even if you were under a horribly strong curse, he would always find a way to break it. he would always find a way to make sure you could follow him. “of course i will,” you whispered in reply. “always.”

his eyes slowly peeled open, and he managed a soft smile at you, kissing you once more. “the day after you stole my heart,” he murmured against your lips, “everything i touched told me it’d be better shared with you.”

tags: @elexnorislingtxn / @edandmollydeservebetter / @sagegreensimmr / @billyseye / @not-a-big-slay

[frodothefair]

Positive personal updates.

I am finally enacting small positive behavioral changes that I've been meaning to make for years, except I did not have spoons. Here are a few of them:

--still doing some laundry folding and some putting away of dishes almost ever day

--blushing teeth nearly every day. Ordinarily, I'm not very good at doing so unless I have the natural cue of going to work in person.

--I've got the calorie counting down, I think, so now I'm focusing on improving what I eat: more protein in the form of cottage cheese and yogurt (I make my own stracchiatella yogurt by mixing plain, unsweetened yogurt and melted dark chocolate), more legumes in the form of homemade hummus, more vegetables overall.

--last summer my body rebelled even at 20 minute walks, and I'm probably the only person whose sleep and anxiety get worse from physical exertion. So instead, I'm sneakily adding more activity into my day via the aforementioned chores, a brief yoga routine with several poses meant to stretch the hips and legs (which may eventually decrease menstrual cramps), and ordering a set of leg weights such that walking and climbing stairs takes more effort. Finally, I've started the world's slowest deep-clean project: I've been wiping down all the baseboards, doors, window frames, and banisters, because they accumulate a surprising amount of dirt, dust, and other debris over time.

--sleeping less... bimodally shall we say. My body's natural propensity is to sleep from 2 am until noon, but there are few jobs in my field that would accommodate such a lifestyle. As such, I would sleep 6 hours per night during the workweek and 9-10 hours per night on the weekend, but after a while the oversleeping on weekdays got counterproductive. So now, I'm getting to sleep a little earlier (it's still a miracle if I'm in bed before midnight - I have to be exhausted for that to happen), but the reduced back and forth has my body a lot less stressed and a lot more energized (read: not exhausted all the time).

--Since my COVID infection in January, I'm stuck at 12 lbs down, and 10 lbs from my goal weight, but hopefully some of the changes above can help. I don't want to further cut down my calories. I suppose I could, but I'm already eating 1450 per day, and that ain't much.

--sometimes you find Kenneth (inside joke: a "Kenneth" is an elusive bra that fits), and sometimes you really find Kenneth. I've found a model of bra that fits transcendently well: it immediately fits like a second skin, no breakin period required. I returned all the other bras, and got several iterations of this miracle-Kenneth, and now, I'm enjoying my clothes like never before. (The weight loss may also have something to do with it .)

--I've vetted some of my clothes and shoes according to the KonMari principle, and will let an acquaintance who is depressed, transitioning, and recently moved to the area take a look at them, to see if there's anything she can wear. Then, to the consignment shop it goes.

--I've taken over the budget tracking from Mr. Nisilë (to be honest, he fell of the wagon doing it, and has too many other responsibilities as it is). Apps unfortunately don't work so well when you shop at stores that sell multiple types of merchandise, so now I manually enter every purchase into a spreadsheet. My perfectionistic, pedantic self is incredibly happy.

[bluechissbrain]

The wave-particle duality of the self in highly masked autism

I don't post my thoughts here often but here goes

With my involvement in disability advocacy and love for neuroscience and psychology reading (I'm working on my PhD in neuroscience), I don't know why it took me this long to finally read "Unmasking Autism" by Dr. Devon Price, but I finally did. I think I would recommend it for anyone interested in neurodiversity, especially for those new to the idea of themself as a potentially autistic person.

It's full of great stories, information, and advice. For me personally, I felt struck with the realization that the people-pleasing mask I have worn all my life to be as successful as I am goes much deeper than smothering my outwardly autistic traits or even the internalized ableism and other deep underlying struggles that I work on with my therapist.

My "self" is like a photon.

When I'm being observed, I exist in particle form whether I like it or not. I have an idea of what kind of person I am or at least the message/aesthetic I am putting out to the people around me. There's something concrete to who I am and what I'm doing. It doesn't have to be direct observation either; working on something that I know others will see or grade is also sufficient to draw me into some reality or some idea of what my goals and values are.

When I'm not being observed, then I'm the wavelength, suddenly non-corporeal. Untethered. I behave differently. I don't follow the same rules. Maybe that's partially being unmasked. Maybe it's partially internalized ableism that I don't like being in this state. But I find myself seeking external observation to be able to interact with my self concept and the physical world, or else I get stuck inside my head. It's paralyzing.

I need to work on projects that can be assessed or seen by others. I need my husband in the room while I do basic tasks around the house. I need to have in-person events or meetings to attend where I can think about how I want to present myself in order to conceptualize what I look like.

Here I am, typing this out here where I know other people might see it, so I can enter particle-mode just enough to put my feelings into words.

There are many things I know help me and make me feel better (yoga, brushing my teeth, etc.) when my mental health is low, but the moment I am unobserved and attempting to do these things at home, the moment I am alone with only my own thoughts, it feels impossible to do anything that involves physically operating my flesh mech.

I'd like to think I have strong values and strong ideas of where I would like to go in my life. But does that constitute who I am? How do allistic people have a sense of who they are? Do autistic people who don't mask so strongly have a sense of selfhood outside of the observation of other people? Do other formerly high-masking autistic people have any advice or relate to this metaphor?

I'm sure growing up in a very rigid environment that discouraged self-exploration as a teen doesn't help with this issue. But I can't help but feel a deep concern that it's too late for me to do the exploration it would take to figure out who I am. I'm an adult with a serious job and serious relationships. And the people in my life have a defined idea of what kind of person I am.

It's exhausting to be so tired and stressed by interacting with others, but yet needing to be observed by others to be able to interact with myself and be productive. Neurodivergent communities (and my amazing neurodivergent husband) have been helpful for this because they are less exhausting to interact with, but still: I want to know who I am when no one else is around.

Maybe the fact that I even care enough to try to find out means I'm headed in the right direction.

[prolix-yuy]

Chapter 3: That Was the First Time I Lost Her

Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x F!Reader “Sugar”

Summary: It only takes a little digging.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: More angst, insinuations of creep behavior, making shit up about Westworld, a million questions and no answers, will be E in later chapters so full series is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: Sugar's got some soul-searching to do, and there are very few people who can help her with that. Where Cognitive Dissonance had a lot more Westworld characters in it, this series is gonna have a few cameos from Kingsman characters and you better believe this is one of my favorites. Enjoy!

Cross-posted on AO3

Decoherence Masterlist   ||   Whiskey & Westworld Masterlist

It takes you three weeks before you say anything about Jack to anyone. Three weeks of going back and forth from your job, sitting in front of the large glass screen your work is projected on. Three weeks of seeing the world you live in - advanced far beyond Sweetwater’s rustic charm - in a new light, knowing there’s someone living in it that feels so out of place. Now, you feel out of place too. 

In that time you argue with yourself back and forth over what happened that fateful morning.

He’s a delusional man who violated your trust.

But he didn’t act delusional. Didn’t try to push you to come with him, didn’t try to get your number or find out where you live. He gave you a way to contact him, but didn’t press when you didn’t promise to.

But how did he find you?

That thought twists your stomach. Had he used some database to scour personal records for you? Had he been trailing you and you never even noticed? It clearly didn’t go to plan for him, but what had he planned? 

He wants to “explain.”

The most you would do is call him. Only to tell him to be prepared for a lawsuit. Maybe to scream at him a little more about how violated you felt. Definitely not because you want to know what he could possibly say to make this make sense.

Why are you entertaining this?

This is where you always come to a halt. You can reason around most of your internal arguments, make good decisions that would make your parents proud, but it’s when you get to this question - why are you still thinking about this? - that you falter. 

Because his plea - let me explain - and the furtive way he looked at you - I am a host - tug at something you hid away for the year since you saw him. That there was something more to Jack, but not this obvious of a betrayal. 

I didn’t get to tell you something that night. Something important. 

He tried to tell you something that day on the train platform. What was it?

I was a coward, and I wanted you more than anything Sugar. 

He was going to tell you he loved you. And it was going to shatter your heart to hear it, so you showed him the photograph. Because it would hurt less to prove him a fantasy. You forced him to reveal the machine behind the man, because he was going to tell you he loved you.

Right?

But if this is the last moment I get to say it before you leave my sight, I have to. 

I need you to know.

Was this it?

It’s Dina that helps you gain some clarity, though not in a way you imagined.

“I had my trip to Westworld refunded, ruined my whole vacation,” she says nonchalantly over lunch. The “cool bridesmaids” actually stuck together after the bachelorette, and you see Dina every few months for a boisterous lunch and catch-up. This particular revelation, two weeks after Jack sauntered into your life and left you with a handful of mirror shards for memories, makes you choke on your drink. 

“You were going back?” you finally ask once you can breathe again. Dina smiles knowingly, swirling her iced matcha latte loudly in her glass. 

“I’ll admit, it’s pretty fun. Only went once since the party, it’s damn expensive, but I was really looking forward to my third visit. Sounds like there’s some operational issues.” You listen with as much nonchalance as you can muster, but Dina smiles coyly at your ruse. “Didn’t see your man there last time. Maybe he was just for you.” 

You scoff, a clammy sweat on the back of your neck sending goosebumps down your arms.

“They probably rotate them,” you say weakly, thumb smearing away a drip of coffee from the lip of your cup. 

“Listen, baby, maybe this isn’t my business, but if Jack still gets you this fired up, it might be worth talking to someone about it,” she says gently. Your heart leaps into your throat, worrying that your face has given it all away.

“What, like a therapist?” you laugh, trying to put on a bright smile but you’re practically thrumming now. Dina scoffs instead.

“Hell no, my girl Ginger. She used to work for Delos, doing…programming or something. One conversation with her will definitely ruin the magic for you. Like seeing Mickey without his head on in Disneyland.” You both giggle at the image, trying to school yourself into a calm that won’t betray how close to the truth she is.

“She left on bad terms, so she’ll tell you the truth about shit. Doesn’t care about her NDA, or much else for that matter. She’s a badass,” Dina says, scrolling through her phone and typing quickly. “Ask her your questions, get your dreams dashed, and move the fuck on.” Dina means well, but the worry gnawing in your stomach draws much of your attention away.

Former Delos staff could definitely tell her if Jack was a host, or a fucked-up guest, or a host based off a guest that is now playing a terrifying game of switcheroo. 

“Promise she won’t think it’s weird?”

“She loves to dish about it, you’ll be making her week.”

Ginger doesn’t want to meet in a public place - I’ve seen a little too much of what can be done to risk it - so she invites you to her condo instead. You almost back out, shame and nerves getting to you, but the need to know grows at a greater pace. So, bringing two coffees and pastries (not from the shop where you saw Jack, you don’t think you could go back there), you climb her third floor walkup.

She’s business chic with a dazzling smile, a collared shirt under a sweater with dark-washed jeans. Her hair is spiked through with honeyed highlights that compliment her brown skin. A pair of serious horn-rimmed glasses frame her face, but look fresher on her than any academic. 

“Hi, I’m Dina’s friend,” you start as Ginger leads you into her home. Dina mentioned she was a programmer, and her design aesthetic screams “I care more about my processor chips than artwork.” Stacks of hard drives on tables, large manuals of computer code on shelves, all neat and tidy in a controlled chaos way. She brings plates for the croissants as you sit at her table, rolling your opening remarks in your mind as she settles across.

I had a strange experience in Westworld that made me question everything. Can you tell me if I’m crazy or not?

Before you get the chance Ginger speaks. 

“Dina told me a bit about your situation,” she says simply, regarding you with rapt attention and sparking intelligence. The confusion must have slapped across your face, because Ginger barks out a laugh just shy of impolite. “I made her spill the beans, I’m too suspicious otherwise.” 

You sigh audibly, covering your face with your hands.

“Great, now I’m just pitiful,” you bemoan, joining in on the laughter. Slouching back in your chair, you share a look that radiates I guess we’re here now.

“So, you had questions about hosts. Maybe one in particular. I haven’t worked for Delos in a few years, but I’ll do my best to help. God knows those assholes keep their mouths shut tighter than their assholes,” Ginger says, waiting for you to lay out your questions. So many bubble up, but you let the most important come to the forefront:

“How can you tell a host is a host?”

Ginger’s smile turns conspiratorial, cocking her head to one side.

“One really got to you, huh? Made you think he - or she - was real?” 

You twist your hands in your lap, shoulders tensing for laughter.

“It’s silly, right? A host is a host and a person is…completely different.”

Ginger talks as she darts around the room, gathering items - a laptop from a desk, a silver and orange hard drive, a handful of cords. She gestures with her hands while she speaks, face softening with the passion that shines through,

“It’s a testament to how well we programmed them. They’re supposed to trick you, keep you in the illusion. I was more in design and aesthetics, moved into expressive programming before they culled my team.” When she catches your eye, the first etchings of confusion on your face, she backtracks. “I designed the exteriors - faces, bodies, you know - before I moved into writing code for their facial expressions and body language. Cram years of what we as humans would observe and develop over a lifetime into a little computer chip. They learn too, just not the same sorts of things. They’re designed to interpret our body language, give us what we need before we think we need it.”

What had Jack read from your body?

Ginger plops down at the table, fingers moving quickly over the keys and eyes trained on the glowing screen. 

“But Delos axed my team, said something about ‘new coding avenues,’ the assholes. Just didn’t want to pay us if they could automate us. But!” She hits the last key and folds her arms, finally looking at your nervous posture. “They didn’t pay me well enough for my IP, so I took everything I could get my hands on. Most of it’s too outdated for them to care about, but I’m pretty goddamn proud of it.”

She motions for you to sit on the same side of the table as her, waiting until you’re settled to drag a window onto the screen. It looks like tiny image thumbnails all neatly stacked, face after face scrolling by.

“So who is it?”

You steel yourself for whatever answer may come next.

“Jack Daniels.”

Waiting for a confused noise, for a bad search return, for some reason to hate the man who came back to you, instead you get a knowing laugh.

“Ah, I’m pretty proud of that one,” she says, typing in Jack’s name and pulling up a profile. “I was going through a very dashing cowboy phase, wanted something a little Burt Reynolds, a little Robert Conrad, flirtatious but a disaster at it, smooth talker.” As she talks she tabs through sketches, achingly beautiful pencil drawings of his hawkish nose, the pout of his lower lip, the tilt of his head up to look at something. 

“Then fucking Sizemore dumped him in that shitty Golden Circle timeline, which was a goddamn waste. Gave him a terribly written, cliched backstory and half-assed his motivation to make a shockingly underthought double cross villain arc seem edgy.” Ginger pauses on a dystopic photo, Jack standing in a glass and concrete cube, hand on his jutted hip and a smile you’ve been in the path of aimed right into the camera. You can almost hear his voice.

You can have all the Whiskey you want.

“Our cowboy deserved better than that,” she sighs. Managing to break from your reverie, you try not to stumble too badly through the most important questions.

“And he’s not…based on anyone else? There’s no Jack lookalike wandering the streets?” You try to make it airy, joking, unsure of your success. Thankfully Ginger skims right over the tremor in your voice, tapping into a file that details every scar and freckle over the expanse of his skin.

“If only. Unfortunately, the best men are designed by women. I’ve never met someone quite like Jack.”

Neither have you, and the implication settles heavy in your chest. 

You spent an hour more with Ginger, peeking into the secret workings of Delos and picking at flaky pastries without appetite. It’s more out of politeness than interest. Half of the things she shows you flow right through your consciousness and into the ether. 

Jack is a host. 

From the mouth of his…creator? Herself?

Maybe that combination of features could find its way in nature, but not his story, or the intimate details you both know in very different contexts. The groove she drew in his lower lip pulled softly across your stomach. The graphite glint in his eyes lifting to capture yours. The thick strokes that built a hand you’d felt hold your face so gently. 

Ginger knew him as well as you did, certainly more so, and there was no better explanation for what this means. 

He’s not a man. So what is he doing here? How is he here, in a world you never thought he could enter? 

Thanking Ginger for her hospitality and her patience, you take the longest way home possible. The rhythmic beat of your feet on concrete lets you ruminate. The air is warm across your cheeks, errant breezes dancing around your aimless path. The “park” has never been your favorite place to soul search, the lack of trees and tightly governed shrubs clashing against what you consider wilderness. Today, however, it’s so stark and blank as to clear your mind.

If not a host in a world built for pleasure, what is Jack? How can he survive in this world without a narrative, a directive, a fucking charging port for his battery? Does he run on batteries or did they slap a solar panel in that gorgeous head of hair?

Dropping onto a bench you bury your face in your hands, fighting the urge to laugh madly. You've seen under the facade and now you’re left with even more questions, and there’s only one person who can answer those. 

“Jack Daniels.”

“Hi. It’s…”

“Hey. It’s…it’s you.”

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner.”

“I didn’t know if you would at all, after all that.”

“I wasn’t sure either.”

There’s a pause while you gather courage, but Jack jumps in first.

“Listen, I just wanted to say I’m sorry about last time. I saw you and I meant to sneak out before you saw me, but…it was just a perfect mess, huh?”

Right to the meat of it then. Somehow that makes it easier.

“Did you know I would be there?”

Another silence, but you wait for this one to end. Jack sighs heavily, and your body aches.

“I knew you could be there.”

“And you were…what? Waiting to get up the courage to talk to me?”

“Something like that.” Jack sucks in a breath. “I had some questions of my own. I wasn’t sure I wanted the answers.”

This admission dazes you. All Jack knew of you in Westworld was a lie. The footing feels more even knowing he’s just as trepidatious as you. 

You sigh deeply, pressing the palm of your hand against your forehead.

“I think I should let you explain.”

A softer sigh tickles your ear.

“I’d really like to do that, Sugar.”

You scoff.

“You still call me that.”

“Sweetest thing I’ve…”

“Please, Jack. Don’t. Not right now.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s not…I’m not sure how I feel about everything yet. This is all frankly terrifying to me, and I need some time to understand it.”

“I understand. I had a feeling this wasn’t going to be the same rodeo as before.”

Lips curling up, you warm to his words. Same old west charm. Same teasing lilt. 

Same old Jack, but maybe more than you thought.

“Can I see you Friday?”

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[justleaveacommentfest]

it's hard to pick a favorite from her, but my wife writes THE MOST amazing comments. it's 100% sentimentality, but the best comment I've gotten from her is the 4-part (yes she hit the character limit that many times) comment on the last chapter of my longest work. I couldn't share the entire thing (though I really really want to) so a highlight:

I am very normal about this fic as you’ve known. The pandemic got me stuck in my soulless retail job where I had to be up at 3am for that 8 hour grind—it was exhausting. I had no energy to do anything ever, and even less motivation when my days off rolled around. But then atone came back to life!! And it was something fun to look forwards to! It was something I would reread on my breaks at work because it made me so happy! And while it was so hard for me to do art between all that exhaustion, atone got me some motivation. It was at least getting me to do SOME drawing and painting even if it was just pumping straight through something in an hour and sending it to you. AND EVEN WHEN THEY WERE REAL STINKERS, THEY AT LEAST MADE YOU HAPPY!!!! That’s what we call community baby. I did hardly any art work 2021. I was so blasted tired but at least I had ATONE to keep me going. I love this type of content and I love YOU. You’re the best and I’m so glad we get to chat now :)

with no exaggeration her enthusiasm made the fic 11x longer than I ever intended it to be. i really wanted to break it off early and just consider it done but her comments got me thinking about the fic more and more and pushed me to really put the time in for it. her comments got us talking and now we get to inspire each other with projects and create TOGETHER! she's the best 🥰🥰

THIS IS ADORABLE OMFG 😭😭😭😭