#it's angst-a-palooza day | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aftgficrec · 1 year ago

Note

Any neil& aaron recs? Not with a relationship with them necessarily as endgame but something like triptych or the one where they're on the hunt for andrew (cant remember the name rip, but i love that one)

There are a good amount of fics for Neil and Aaron — their relationship is fertile ground to explore angst or growth! The stories run the gamut from mutual disdain to familial warmth, from bad or awkward situations to quests (like hunting for Andrew together in ‘I'm leaving this town…’), from friendship to lovers and even plain ol’ sexual experimentation (see ‘triptych’).

Though you weren’t keen on Neil/Aaron as a couple, you might enjoy ‘Every Sinner Has A Future.’ It’s friends to lovers and spends significant time developing their relationship. Find it and the fics you referenced among those featured below. -A

Neil & Aaron in situations/working together

Aaron & Neil stranded together here

Aaron & Neil stuck in a bad situation here

‘Calm down. I look a lot worse than I am.’ and ‘climb a mountain (hold his hand)’ here

‘they who made you/they made me too’ here

‘Identity Theft’ here

‘Apart from Your World (A Part of Mine)’ (selkies) here

‘The World Beneath Our Feet’ series here

‘Crossfire’ here

‘For You I'd Bleed Myself Dry’ here (updated)

‘If Neil, Then Fox’ here

Neil & Aaron relationship because of Andrew

Aaron & Neil rapprochement here

Aaron accepting andreil here

Aaron & Neil's talk at the cabin here

Neil meets the in-laws or foxes here

‘Did You Get What You Deserve?,’ ‘The Ash is in Our Clothes,’ and ‘common ground??’ here

‘Married To Annoy,’ ‘head case (what to do with you),’ and ‘AJMICKEY56's Fanfiction Palooza!’ chapters 2 and 82 here

‘Hold each other...ch 8: Time Does Things’ here

‘Muscle memory’ (completed) and ‘The Memories I Never Can Escape’ here

‘No More Fucks To Give’ here (updated)

‘Neil Fights the Foxes’ here

‘on the tip of my tongue (say something)’ parts 7 & 8 here

‘No straighter path than to struggle,’ ‘The Road Trip,’ and ‘An Olive Branch’ here

‘what even is baseball anyway’ and ‘Holding On and Letting Go’ here

‘Hold me close (in fact, bury me)’ here

‘a girl so bright she'll blind you’ here

Neil & Aaron friendship

Aaron & Neil = Andrew/Neil here

Neil & Aaron friendship 2 here

domestic fluff w/twinyards bonding + Neil & Aaron friendship here

the tumblr posts in Neil/Aaron or Neil & Aaron ask here

‘Make This Leap (Geronimo)’ here

‘Math, Exy and Middle Ground’ here

‘every piece of you, it just fits perfectly’ here

‘i just wanted you to know (this is me trying)’ here

‘togetherness’ here

‘More Than Words’ here (updated)

‘Ten Percent’ here

‘Tachycardia’ here; ‘Tachycardia (the My Own Soul's Warning Remix),’ ‘It's going tibia okay,’ and ‘What the fuck happened to you?’ here

‘Aaron is Neil’s doctor in the pros’ here

‘Shards of Glass’ here

‘Et tu, Doctor?’ here

‘Art Hoe’ here

‘Beach Bois’ here

‘just a footnote’ here

‘I'll Follow You’ here

‘Call the doctor ( I may need help)’ and ‘we're inside out’ here

‘Andrew Goes to Hogwarts’ series here

‘Minyards' Magical Mischief’ here

Neil/Aaron rarepair

Neil/Aaron or Neil & Aaron here

‘In The Forest (Burning Bright)’ here

‘Winter Banquet’ here

you may also like

new Katelyn/Aaron here

Katelyn & Neil friendship here

Katelyn & Neil as siblings/lookalikes here

Katelyn-centric hurt/comfort here

Aaron protective of Neil here

Neil mistakes Aaron for Andrew here

Andrew & Katelyn rapprochement here

‘the prettiest blue’ and ‘The Photo Strip Predicament’ here

‘Nor are we forgiven’ here

‘Give Me Another Minute (to Lay Here in Your Echo)’ here

‘coming loose’ here

‘the roads I traveled with you’ here

‘One day we'll reveal the truth’ and ‘i'm getting static from my better sense’ here

‘you're not next before forever’ here (completed)

‘Before You Drown’ here

‘Five Years to the Day’ here

‘Twilight and Daytime’ here

‘Whispers in the leaves, shadows in the moonlit night’ here

quests and situations

halloween series by zweimam [Collection, Rated T, 44426 Words, Incomplete, Updated Sept 2023]

NB: Part 1 reviously recommended in new twinyards bonding ask

Part 1: I'm leaving this town (and I'm changing my address) [40309 Words, Updated Sept 2023] Aaron tries to assimilate everything, nodding, "How do you know he didn't mean it?" "It wasn't a thought, or anything," Neil says, looking everywhere but at him. "He told me to go away, to leave and run, and I did. I'm very good at running, you see." Or: Aaron has been looking for his brother for six years. Right when he's beginning to lose all hope, he meets Neil Josten.

tw: child abuse, tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: heavy suicide themes, tw: implied/referenced suicide attempt, tw: implied/referenced drug addiction, tw: detailed discussion of drug use, tw: implied/referenced overdose, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: panic attacks, tw: dissociation

Part 2: I know that you'll come if you want [6170 Words, Updated Aug 2023] If Aaron has been looking for his brother for six years, Andrew has been waiting for him for longer.

The Most Unorthodox Way of Fighting Back by orphan_account [Rated T, 1683 Words, Complete, 2021]

Neil Josten is forced to pick up his shoes and run. If not for him, than for the ones who can’t.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: murder, tw: blood/gore

Tumblr Bits by gluupor [Rated T, Collection, Complete, 2019]

Chapter 8: Neil Josten: Accountant Spy [2316 Words] Whenever anyone asked Neil what he did for a living, he responded by saying he was a spy. This always was met with impressed faces and probing questions about his job.

till the bitter end on a flat tire by thewintersolstice [Rated M, 10000 Words, Complete, 2022]

neil & aaron end up stranded on the side of the road in the desert. neil wants to talk homophobia. aaron wants neil to shut up for once in his life. aka: my attempt to turn aaron minyard into someone i want to like

tw: homophobia, tw: implied/referenced child abuse

Growing Sharp Edges by Leocante [Rated G, 10218 Words, Complete, 2022]

Aaron just needed some wiggling room. He didn't think he was asking for that much - a few inches of freedom, a miniscule amount of life outside of school and exy, an ounce of control over his day. Well, thruth be told, he wasn't exactly asking asking. Questions like that resulted in a knife under his neck and an unyielding 'no'. But Aaron needed some goddamn wiggling room, and he was desperate enough to ask Josten for help.

tw: attempted sexual assault, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced drug addiction, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: recreational drug use, tw: alcohol

Who is the man in the relationship? by sugaroto [Rated T, 6986 Words, Complete, 2022]

"I'm your type." Neil went on. "Then I'm yours." Aaron shot back, "You're literally fucking my twin, asshole!" "High five!" Neil said, his eyes lightening up, "We're type buddies!" Neil started laughing. "What? What's so funny?" Aaron asked. "We should get married!" Or The time Neil and Aaron got drunk and thought it'd be funny if they got married.

tw: alcohol

NB: fic meme by @sugaroto here

Momentary Disaster by JostenlovesMinyard [Rated T, 1305 Words, Complete, Twinyards Appreciation Week 2022]

Day 2: Disaster Aaron and Neil are sent to do a grocery run but Neil loses something along the way. Aaron is there to help him.

You Are So Much More Than Your Father's Son by phan_taloon [Rated T, 3143 Words, Complete, 2021, Locked]

In which Nathan Wesninski has fanboys and Neil Josten doesn't want to deal with them, but Aaron is there to save the day.

tw: panic attacks, tw: flashbacks

A Pain Never Meant to be Felt (I really suck a titles, just pretend its good.) by transandsad [Rated M, 14187 Words, Incomplete, Updated Aug 2023]

Aaron is mistaken for someone he is not and has to figure out how to pick up the pieces in the aftermath.

tw: gang rape, tw: nonconsensual touching, tw: assault, tw: graphic descriptions of csa, tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: blood, tw: flashbacks, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: ptsd, tw: panic attacks, tw: suicidal thoughts, tw: murder, tw: drug addiction

Neil and Aaron swap body’s AU bullet fic by @sadboyayeron [Tumblr, 2020]

AFTG Neil & Aaron Gender Swap hc by @sadboyayeron [Tumblr, 2020]

friendship

Oblivious series by greencherrybomb [Rated T, Collection with 2 complete works, Updated July 2022]

Part 1: Oblivious in love (3152 Words) Andrew has been pining after Neil Josten for months, but knows it wont happen. Neil doesnt even swing, so he does the only thing to protect his feelings. Ignoring Neil and eating ice cream. Part 2: Best Friends Brother (3930 Words) Neil has been harboring a long time crush on his best friend, Aaron Minyards, brother Andrew. Too bad Andrew has been avoiding him at all costs and is dating the hottest guy in school, Kevin day. Or at least thats what Neil thinks.

Dear Little Ghost by choisunsanie [Rated G, 4650 Words, Complete, 2022]

Neil Josten starts to be haunted by a naughty blond ghost.

tw: previous major character death, tw: car accidents

And I Swear And I Swear, I Was Burning Alive by Miss_Fun_Fun_and_Fun [Rated T, 1477 Words, Complete, 2022]

Neil is confronted by his ex-best friend's twin brother while still reeling from his mother abandoning him. - A one-shot, alternate universe for Fortheloveofexy's fic, "More Than Words".

tw: implied/referenced drug addiction

NB: ‘More than Words’ was previously recced here (updated)

sexual experimentation

triptych by likearecord [Rated E, 12805 Words, Complete, 2023]

Three parts, three POVS. Aaron, wondering, picks up a guy in a bar. Neil, having learned something, wants to try again. Andrew, knowing nothing, sees something he likes.

tw: explicit sexual content, tw: nonconsensual touching

friends to lovers

Every Sinner Has A Future by OfficialStarsandGutters [Rated E, 29864 Words, Complete, 2021]

Canon divergent Neil x Aaron. - Neil Josten. A shock of red hair and ocean blue eyes. Pretty faced, but nothing special. Except he makes a throwaway comment about Andrew being off his meds and it’s like everyone in the room forgets to breathe. Even Aaron, his body still and tense with surprise that he can tell them apart. Without even having met Aaron, he knew Andrew wasn’t him. That shouldn’t mean anything. Aaron rubs his sweaty palms on his skinny jeans and tells himself it doesn’t, it doesn’t, it doesn’t.

tw: recreational drug use, tw: implied/referenced drug addiction, tw: nonconsensual drug use, tw: graphic description of overdose, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced murder

Art

monsters cuddle pile art by @emry-stars-art

au where aaron and neil are best friends first comic by @02511213942 also on twitter

when Neil tells Dr Aaron he’s fine art by @srslyarts

get in loser we’re going shopping art by @ouijacine

Josten and Aaron on press duty comic by @paradoxolotl

Aaron is a godfather comic by @paradoxolotl

89 notes · View notes

the-blind-assassin-12 · 1 year ago

Text

Every Color Illuminates

1200 Words for 1200 Followers #1

Warnings: none really, just a smidge of angst

Requested by: @haylzcyon - Song Choice: Spectrum - Character Choice: Marcus Pike (thank you SO MUCH for this one, Hayley!! I know he’s your numero uno, so I hope you enjoy this! 💚)

Summary: Your job keeps you surrounded by some of the most stunning pieces of art known to man. Too bad you can only see them - and the whole world for that matter - in black and white.

I need a break.

Closing your eyes, you sank into your chair and sighed. It was only 11:30, but you were considering taking your lunch an hour early. You had no meetings that day, and your next tour wasn’t until 2. None of the emails in your inbox were so time sensitive that they couldn’t wait for you to get back.

I need to clear my head.

The morning tour had been an inquisitive group, wringing you dry with questions and requests for detailed descriptions. They were precisely the kind of guests that you took the job as CA to accommodate - passionate, longing for connection, searching for understanding, new means of expression. You were proud to be the one to guide them, privileged to be the one that got to see them moved to tears when they found what they were looking for in the works in gilded frames or on marble pedestals. Art was a wide, wild world of beauty and sorrow, romance, revolution, pain and pleasure. The waters were deep for anyone to navigate, especially those who hadn’t matched and were limited to shades of gray.

You were grateful to be able to gift them color, even if only for a few moments. Even if it left you feeling drained and achingly alone sometimes.

As someone who still saw the world in grayscale, you were uniquely suited for the position. Everything that you knew about color had been painted for you by someone else, too. You were the first Graysight Color Ambassador that the National Gallery of Art had ever employed. If guest satisfaction surveys were any indication, you were also the best, Graysight or not.

You loved your job, even when it reminded you that out of everyone you’d ever met, none of them had been your match. None of them had made such an impact on your life that your eyes had opened to the full spectrum of light and color. For as good as you were at translating hues into feelings, you’d never actually seen or felt them yourself.

There were some days when you wondered if you ever would, or if you would remain in monochrome solitude forever.

Not all matches were romantic. They happened whenever two souls that were meant to share their lives with one another met. Sometimes they were instantaneous, a flood of shining color crashing through both of you the moment your match said your name or touched your skin for the first time. Other times it was gradual, grays giving way to muted tints until eventually they became red, blue, orange, green and every variation and combination.

You’d witnessed it happen, two people meeting for the first time at the museum - whether predetermined or by chance - and immediately being surrounded by colors, swaths of new sensations. You watched as people fell into one another’s arms, their faces seeming to glow with the knowledge that they had found their match, they had colored their world. And you were overjoyed for them when it happened - like it had that morning in your Graysight tour of the Rothko exhibit.

That didn’t make it easier, that happiness you felt for others who found their way out of the shadows while you were still relegated to them.

I just need to go for a walk.

You’d been in your office for less than five minutes, and were about to leave it again to take your break when you heard a knock. The director’s voice accompanied the sound, your name coming through the mahogany door that you knew was a reddish brown but could only see as grayish black. “Are you in there?”

Yes, but I don’t want to be.

Trying not to groan, you rubbed your eyes and nodded, giving your response. “Yeah, Michelle.” You dropped your hands to your desktop, releasing a breath.”Come on in.”

“Oh, good, I-” The door swung open and your boss appeared, her face falling when her eyes landed on yours. “You okay?” She came into your office and closed the door behind her, forehead furrowed in concern. “Your eyes are red.”

You waved one hand and gave her a smile that you hoped would cover the sting you still felt. “There was a match on the morning tour.” Rolling your still-watery eyes, you let out a stunted laugh. “Always gets me, you know?”

That seemed to be a good enough response, Michelle’s lop-sided frown being replaced by a grin. “Oh! Wonderful!”

“Yeah.” You nodded, melancholy still lingering in your chest. “It was.” Clearing your throat, you blinked. “I was thinking of taking my break early today, unless you needed something?”

Please say no.

“Actually-”

Fuck.

“I know you just finished the Rothko exhibit, and I know it’s hard for you to dive right back in, but-” She sucked air through her teeth. “There’s someone who needs a private tour ASAP, and I need you on this one.”

Your silence spoke for you, so she went on.

“The FBI is sending someone from their art crimes department.” She shook her head, gesturing with one hand. “They’re investigating a fraud case, but the Agent in charge isn’t familiar enough with real Rothkos to be able to spot the fakes, so he needs a crash course. Since we’re the closest museum currently showing the collection…” She trailed off, shrugging.

You tried not to wince. “Michelle, can’t Charlie or one of the regular guides take him through?”

She clicked her tongue. “Sorry, but it has to be you.” Before you could ask why, she continued. “The Agent requested our Graysight CA.”

That means…

You assumed someone working for the FBI’s art crimes division would have to have matched, would need to see color. But then, most people would say the same about you and your profession. It seemed that you had at least one thing in common.

“O-okay. What time?”

She tilted her head from one side to the other, giving you a sheepish look. “He’s here now.”

Oh.

Standing, you smoothed out your top - a blue one, or so the label told you. “Well, can’t keep the FBI waiting, right?”

You followed Michelle down to the roped off exhibit. “He’s right through there. When you’re finished, take the rest of the day off. Charlie can do your 2:00.”

With that she left, and then you saw him.

A tall, broad shouldered man in a dark suit walked towards you. Even from a distance you could tell that he had a kind face. His eyes started smiling before his lips did, but they caught up as soon as he was in front of you.

“Agent Marcus Pike.” He introduced himself, right hand extended for you to shake.

You smiled and told him your name.

But the moment he repeated it back to you, when your palms met, both of you gasped as the room around you exploded in prismatic color.

Brown. His eyes are brown.

“Marcus?” You whispered his name as purple and red swam in your peripheral, safe and warm overwhelming your thoughts. “I… don’t think you need me to-“

“No. I do.” He said your name again to send another shimmering rush through you. “I definitely do.”

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be added to or removed from the tag list, please feel free to let me know. You can also fill out the form on my Masterlist! :)

Tags: @something-tofightfor @littlemisspascal @mishasminion360 @nyctophiliiiiaaa @alraedesigns @practicalghost @tanzthompson @amb11 @harriedandharassed @woodlandmouth @swtaura @thescarletfang @trickstersp8 @princessxkenobi @imtryingmybeskar @wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80 @theredwritingwitch @silverstarsandsuns @pedro-pedrito-pascalito @jedi-in-crocs @hannahkatharinee

#12 a palooza!#1200 followers 1200 words #marcus pike x female reader #marcus pike x f!reader #pedrostories #marcus pike x you #soulmate au #marcus pike the mentalist #marcus pike fic #pedro pascal character #every color illuminates #SoundCloud

90 notes · View notes

gizkasparadise · 1 year ago

Note

Should I watch lost you forever? Is the ending satisfying?? Also, can you recommend some wuxia dramas with warrior FLs?

lost you forever is currently my top cdrama for the year! some highlights:

interesting and nuanced female lead

a lil something for everyone as far as shipping goes

great character dynamics and development

great set design, esp if you're kind of burned out on all the CGI-palooza of a lot of xianxia dramas

awesome ost

the political plot is interesting and actually character-driven

refreshing take in that the male lead is not necessarily who the female lead ends up with

surprisingly queer in some areas?

confession: im holding off on watching the last 5 eps of s1 until s2 comes out, because a ship breaks up and there's a lot of angst with it and im not strong enough to watch it without being able to immediately proceed to the Fix-It stage :'D

some wuxia dramas with warrior FLs (didn't include any modern-day dramas)

love and redemption!!! it doesn't seem that way at first, but TRUST. xianxia not wuxia, though, if that's a dealbreaker

the legends (xianxia-ish but not as much as some of the others). bonus points for this one having a FL on the demon side!

havent seen it yet, but legend of fei i believe operates on this premise

admittedly, i did not like this drama as a whole much but who rules the world has a cool female lead! (iirc the second FL also is a warrior and they are besties)

straight-up didnt like this one, but and the winner is love has a FL as the heir apparent to her sect. my memory is indicating that she's more a warrior-on-paper though

they're oldies at this point, but if you're cool with c-movies these are must-watches for me: wing chun (w/michelle yeoh and donnie yen), house of flying daggers, hero

if you're willing to branch out into kdrama...

DEFINITELY check out empress ki. it's mostly set in the yuan empire, so it has some cdrama vibes to it

gu family book. fantasy elements, but the FL is a warrior

hotel del luna features an immortal FL who was a warrior/thief/bandit during the goryeo era

mr sunshine's FL is a gunman/sniper, and second FL is adept at fencing

river where the moon rises unfortunately had some production issues due to real-life scandals, but it's still a pretty solid drama imo with an action-girl FL

#lost you forever #asks!#cdrama #kdrama

16 notes · View notes

m1ckeyb3rry · 4 months ago

Note

FR!! I love the whole universe that’s been established through all the characters and dynamics like >>>> and it’s also not just ships palooza which is honestly refreshing

No because sometimes I find some Naoya memes funny where people are shitting on him and even his character is sometimes SO ridiculously misogynistic it’s funny like how do you even exist?? I love naoya slander jokes fr though (I forgot but it’s literally so ironic apparently the way Naoya speaks is a bit lost in translation and he kinda talks like a little girl according to some jp users who’ve pointed it out?? Like BRO) but yeah the only thing he has going for him is his face card maybe (also I originally thought his hair was gonna be green but)

Oh I was not aware oh that foreshadowing!!! Haha!! Self sacrifice!! Lol!! It’s ok y/n’s alive now though so!! But yeah anyways I’m also like…in the scope of jjk0 there’s quite literally only (including y/n) 5 characters/classmates that fit into like the friend group positions? And excuse the collateral slander one of which is a bear, the other quite literally cannot talk, one who acts like a bully, one who was BULLIED like adding ocs helps broaden the dynamic possibilities a lot more?? Like there’s ofc no problem NOT adding ocs but I don’t see how you can blame someone for wanting to add them because that’s literally the tiniest class of students I’ve ever seen?? Let’s give our protag some more friends…also if you don’t like it just close the tab and go for a different fic?? I seriously don’t understand the need to vocalize complaints like this when they won’t benefit the anyone in any way like also wait THAT WAS THE COMMENT?? Wow really came full circle with BLLK Karasu and PI but BRUH yeah maybe it’s just a wattpad thing….although this is kinda unrelated I’ve also seen some really rude anons here too? Like I’ll just scroll through a tag or a blog and I see like, someone asks anonymously and goes “you’re so fucking annoying and your work is shit” BRO WHO IS COMPELLING YOU TO SAY THIS??? The fact that they take the time of day to go find their ask box and submit something like what does this achieve?? The audacity of some people it was nice to see other blogs like quote reposting and calling anon out for doing such heinous shit but what even….

I’m laughing like theoretically when I put the puzzle pieces together…yes bf material..? But also my brain says um. LMAOAOA it’s so funny I mean I don’t doubt that he would be a good bf but I can’t wrap my head around bf material and todo being in the same sentence HAHAHA

The shitty familial clans always get me the fact that they kept refusing to heal sorcerers associated with y/n?? And then tullia was truly the final straw…but so real I know they aren’t l/ns but I mean dad’s side of the family smh the hiiragis too in hollyhock <<<<<<

“Quick and easy” LMAOOO sorry it makes me laugh sm because in the span that we’ve been talking there’s already been multiple incidents of “this turned out way longer than it was supposed to” HAHAHA yk…if you just make an approximation and multiply it by 2.5 i think you’ll be good LMAO bro really said lemme churn out the Walmart version for otoya so I can get cracking on masterclass version for Karasu (I say Walmart version lightly because I know it’ll still be top tier LOL) but honestly so real gotta do the best for our man karasu

Ok by association (?? Ik there’s a better word than this but I can’t think of it LMAO) if otoyas is at 10k rn does that mean Karasu’s is gonna but the 20’s /j

Imagine it was angsty and karasu drowns (im joking no one dies in soccer!!!!!!!!!) but OMFG. I AM. SO. READY!!! LETS GOOO I LIVE FOR MEDIOCRITY COMPLEX KARASU ANGST!!! EVERYBODY CHEERED WAHOO ok but im fr so hyped for the lineup of BLLK fics you have in the works it’s been awhile since I’ve seen sm quality content being posted its such a change from the disappointingly inactive tags LMAO

This would be the crossover of the century y/n and her mom going to watch the BLLK u20 match causing and even BIGGER commotion with the press too like imagine all the cameramen who are there for the match swerving to look at the models LMAOOO I can imagine Yuki being really close to her and looking up to her almost like a mentor or cool aunt(kinda giving Gojo’s role to the jjk students except, well mrs l/n does not act like a teenager LMAOO) I bet Yukimiya would have to reign everyone in like a THATS MY BESTIE/BASICALLY MY SECOND MOM???? It’d be funny to see yuki kinda lose him temper like “no you stay TF away from them I will not allow you to taint them with your weirdness”

I’m ngl I was fr just a reader/lurker until recently, I actually used to just use the web version without an account because I was too lazy to set one up and have another thing potentially entering my email inbox until the site started forcing you to get the app which requires an account so I was like ok well gotta do what you gotta do….and then I proceeded to do exactly what I did before (literally just lurking and silently enjoying LOL) and not try to explore any of the app features and uh. Well here I am!! I’m sure I’ll figure it out someday when something prompts me to do so LMAO the platform in general is so interesting though especially compared to most other social media platforms out there!! I don’t feel like conquering that learning curve today oops

-Karasu anon

there def are some side ships (togetullia, mrs l/n and toji, elakshi and noritoshi) but for the most part yes there’s not a ton of romance going on!! plus of those three relationships only one even works out so 😓 truly the strength of pi imo is the platonic relationships it has (tullia and y/n will always be famous to me like it’s not at all romantic but the way they loved one another is so integral to the story it makes me emotional 🥹)

NAOYA IS JUST CRAZY TO ME LMAOAOA like he truly feels like a govt experiment…he kinda looks like raichi from bllk (or raichi looks like him idrk which one came first) but raichi is so enraged 24/7 that no one acknowledges his face card 😭💔

NO THAT’S WHAT I’M SAYING like sorry i want to have more than female character in my stories…sorry not every single character is in love w y/n…LMAO also yeah idk why people haven’t grasped the concept of just clicking another story HAHAHA like?? if you don’t like it then read something else!! why would i change how i like to write because some random on the internet is annoyed, esp considering how many people love my stories?? the entitlement is weird to me but i try not to complain abt it a lot because ik that in terms of hate i’m very lucky in that i’ve never gotten anything too bad…i have seen those types of anons it’s insane!! personally somehow i’ve avoided getting any myself HAHA idek what i’d do if i did 😩 i try to stay relatively unproblematic and in my lane on here so i haven’t ever gotten involved in tumblr drama like a lot of other accts have but i live in fear of the day that someone comes in my inbox and is a jerk 😰

when you think about it objectively todo is a good bf but when you see him you’re like “well…” HAHA i think having him as a weird rival bestie is the best in between because you get the benefits of him hanging out w you without it being romantic

THE DAD’S SIDE OF THE FAMILY IS ALWAYS THE ENEMY KFKFJDJD the hiiragis are so l/n coded too LMAO

please i need to just stop having expectations atp because i KNOW it’s going to be crazier than what i think…LMAO the otoya one is silly and unserious and more along the lines of the last part of fwtkac but i’m planning on having something a bit closer to the instrument for the karasu version where it’s more serious (we’ll see though because something abt tabieita brings out the crack fic writer in me so there’s a chance it’ll end up silly as well) HAHA as much as i love otoya i fear karasu deserves the best so my time love and energy will be going into his version

atm i’m hoping for something in like the 6-9k range for the karasu version?? so make of that what you will…the otoya version (which i should be posting in the next hour or so i hope) is almost 13k words so obviously i’m way off in my guesses as it’s over 3-4 times longer than i initially thought 😭 if the karasu version ends up being 20k words i might cry HKDJDJSK i think i’ll have written more for him than even nagi w peregrine at that point 😩

omg ykw just because you said that i’m going to make him drown LMAOAOAAO not permanently though but like 😏 mediocrity complex karasu my beloved…i’m so excited to get working on that HAHA i need to get the otoya version over with so i can focus on my main man 😢 HAHA i’m doing my best to contribute to the fandom i think i’ve written over 100k words of bllk fics since may so yk i’m putting in the work

LITERALLY omg y/n and her mother are the WAGs of all time 😭 everyone in the crowds in shock because it’s the most random soccer match ever and for some reason famous former model mrs l/n is there?? and her daughter is equally as pretty?? i feel like having endured the modeling industry mrs l/n would def take yuki under her wing and try to help him through it (maybe he was signed to the her old agency or smth) and she absolutely would NOT let y/n anywhere near that whole scene even though agents keep trying to scout her 😩 omg yuki would be sooo pressed it’s like that one tik tok sound that’s like “how old is your dad—” “TOO old for you!! and he’s married!! stay away from my dad guys he’s married!!” HAHAHA and if yuki and y/n are just friends and not dating at that point i bet otoya and aiku would try to rizz her up and she’d be so uninterested 😰 honestly besides yuki i could maybe see her going for hiori LMAOAOA so like imagine karasu’s face if he tries to flirt with her and she’s like “cool 👍 abt your friend though…😏🤩🥰” (the friend in question has zero clue what’s going on and is completely confused when she tries to talk to him)

it def is a learning curve but once you get it it feels intuitive ig?? until they throw another curveball at you 😰 even now i’m still discovering features that i didn’t realize existed 😳 i was def a silent reader/lurker for a while too!! i feel like i still am a lot of the time haha it doesn’t help that i rarely read other people’s fics because i’m usually working on my own 😓 if you ever need help w anything on here lmk though i will do my best to give advice 💪🏻

#answered asks #pomegranate ink

1 note · View note

invisibleraven · 3 years ago

Note

Have you got any angsty pre-canon sunset curve head canons? 🥺

Ooof nonny, you asked for it, this got super angsty and long, so h/c under the cut

Alex was the golden boy all his life, someone you would be proud to call your son. "Why can't you be more like Alex?" is something his church friends often heard. He knew he was lucky and loved, and thought nothing could change that. Then he came out, and he lost everything. People steered away from him at church, the sermons revolved around hellfire until he couldn't bear to be there anymore. Until he didn't believe any more. His parents, who he thought would love him forever, no matter what, turned frosty. They turned his sisters away from him, telling them he was a sinner, and God would punish them as well for condoning his choices. They started talking about sending him away to get 'fixed'. Suddenly things they used to praise him for weren't good enough ("How come you only got an 90% as opposed to 100%?"), or the reason behind his 'illness' (drumming, spending time with the band). They started using his anxiety against him, they refused to pay for his meds anymore, to give him anything aside from a roof over his head and food on his plate, even though he wasn't welcome to eat with the family any longer. He spent his last summer alive living with Luke in Bobby's garage, and his parents claimed that he was visiting relatives to change his ways. They never claimed his body, and between Bobby and Luke's parents, they paid for his burial.

Bobby was the last of the guys to join the band, having met Luke in detention and getting railroaded into auditioning and then giving up his grandparents garage as a studio space. Bobby was a bit of a loner, afraid to form relationships, after his parents all but dumped him on his lola's doorstep so they could travel and work without him as a millstone around their necks. He was terrified of being abandoned, of being left behind. But these guys wormed their ways into his heart and refused to let him shut them out. They made him feel safe and connected, and unafraid to live for once. He never told them how much they brought him back to life, but paid them back by offering an ear to listen, a shoulder to cry on, a fist to defend them. He let Alex and Luke live in the garage after they left home, and always let Reggie know there was a space there for him too. So when the guys went and died on him, Bobby essentially died too, having been left again yet again. No friends pestering him, no one making him live. So he used their music to make sure the guys got to live, in some capacity, even if bad decisions left their names off of it. Bobby Shaw didn't survive that night, even if his body was still breathing. He died with his boys, and didn't live again until Carrie was placed in his arms.

Luke didn't get why his parents refused to accept his passions, but he always felt like he could do no right with them. His mom always claimed she was 'just worried' but maybe she was worried about appearances, how others would judge her. Luke wanted to be a rock star, he lived and breathed music, so he didn't care about classes or grades, and no amount of drag out fights with his mom would change that. He dropped out of school right before Christmas, that was the source of the fight we got to see, with Emily livid that he would be so foolish. Luke claimed that she would never understand, and she sighed, telling him he sounded like a child, with childish dreams. If he could give up the band and get his life back on track he would realize that. But Luke also knew that as much as he loved the band, the boys needed it more. They needed it as an escape or distraction from their turbulent home lives. As a way to feel like they were worthy of love, of respect, of being treated as a person. He could never give that up, not when his boys needed that lifeline just as much as he did. So he ran away, determined to show his mom that he could and would make it. And if they made it, well then she'd finally see him for who he was over who she wanted him to be. Emily never forgave herself for not trying harder to find him before he died, and she understands why Bobby-Trevor glares at her all through the funerals.

Reggie lives at home until he dies, refusing to leave his parents, even if all they do is fight, because they still love him, right? Even if any of his friends would tell him that people who love you never talk down to a person like they do, or argue over whose fault it is that he turned out 'like that', whatever that's supposed to mean. Reggie knows all this, deep down, but he thinks it will get so much worse if he leaves. They hurt each other through words, but if he's not there, the fights get physical, an it's better that he stops them early rather than let them hurt one another. A few times they were too far into it, and he got caught in the middle. Nothing bandages and alcohol wipes can't solve right? Reggie learns to live with the sound of breaking glass, the scent of booze, the constant yelling. He learns to keep his friends away and a smile on his face, because the last time the neighbours showed up to help, it almost ended in a fist fight. Best not to tell anyone anything other than they were still fighting, no, he didn't need to stay but thanks for asking. Eventually he learns to live in layers, the jacket good at keeping his arms and back safe from flying dishes and covering the marks left if he wasn't quick enough to avoid getting them. He adapts to sleeping where and when he can, and shoplifts concealer to disguise his dark circles. Yet he still loves his parents, hoping that one day he can be enough so they stop fighting, even if he blames himself when he's the cause. His parents don't even look at each other at his funeral, and the divorce papers are signed before his headstone is erected.

#angst-a-palooza #headcanon a day #nonny asks #sunset curve

4 notes · View notes

bernthirst-events · 2 years ago

Text

BERNTHIRST PALOOZA 2022

Welcome to our thirstiest event yet! Due to circumstances and being busy, we’ve fallen a little behind this year, but we couldn’t let pass the opportunity of doing something extra special to celebrate what everyone is referring to as ‘jon’s slut era’. The event will take place during the first week of 2023, so you have plenty of time to write, gif, draw, or create whatever you want. Have fun!

Given the nature of this event, you can only participate if you’re 18+

THEMES & PROMPTS

Missionary Monday | Lazy fucking, vanilla, established relationship, gazing, sweet, holding hands, first times, kissing, making out, beds, cozy, fluff, domestic.

Tushy Tuesday | Backside, playful, biting, pinching, spanking, bondage, anal play, plugs, marking, underwear, hips, thighs, against a surface, crack, doggy position, pegging.

Wet Wednesday | Thirst, fingering, showers/hot tubs, mass of water, body worship, sweat, workout, chemistry, unsafe sex, cock warming, squirting, oral sex.

Torture Thursday | Teasing, toys, begging, over stimulation, remote, fantasy, BDSM, orgasm control, breath play, secret dating, injuries, blood, violence, weapons, mutual pining, angst.

Filthy Friday | Porn without plot, hookup, hate fuck, revenge fuck, rebound sex, rough, adventure, party, friends with benefits, bars, 69, rim job, trying new things, supernatural creatures, fan service.

Sensual Saturday | Tongue, celebrating, gifts, lingerie, romantic, massage, vacation, wax play, hotel, dating, dinner, strip tease, breeding kink, soulmates, passion, role play, confessions.

Scandalous Sunday | Public sex, affair, being caught, threesome, orgy, enemies to lovers, bed sharing, love triangle, sex pollen, fake dating, confrontation, break-up, shocking.

Deadline: January 2 - January 8.

Tumblr Tag: BernthirstPalooza

AO3 Collection: BernthirstPalooza2022

Prompt Rules: Prompts are mostly suggestions. If you come up with something that fits the overall theme that we didn’t think of, you’re welcome and encouraged to use that too. And if you miss a day, you can enter a few days after if you need.

POSTING GUIDELINES

#jon bernthal #the punisher #daredevil #the walking dead #american gigolo #frank castle #shane walsh #julian kaye #bernthirstpalooza #bernthirst palooza 2022 #mod post #info post

150 notes · View notes

mystic-sky · 4 years ago

Text

welcome✨

SFW

Gojo realizing he loves you while you’re on the brink of death (angst)

POC s/o with curly hair (flirty gojo)

HCs: POC natural hair wash day

NSFW

gojo proposes to you

One Night Stand part 1

One Night Stand part 2

Candy Girl (stripper reader) part 1

Candy Girl (stripper reader) part 2

Candy Girl (stripper reader) part 3 and 4 on ao3

Friends With Benefits part 1

Friends With Benefits part 2

Friends With Benefits part 3

Friends With Benefits part 4 (coming soon)

lip balm palooza Drabble

12/7 Birthday Special

College dorm threesome with Shoko Ieiri

SFW

HCs: POC natural hair wash day

your confession could’ve changed his mind (angst)

NSFW

limousine sex drabble

Friends With Benefits part 2 (initially a gojo fic, but contains the sugar smut you’re looking for lol)

SFW

period fluff Drabble

soon I swear

a touchy s/o

✨Two Words, One Drabble Event Follower Event ✨

future characters soon to be added💖

#jujutsu kaisen

298 notes · View notes

allthevmff · 3 years ago

Video

tumblr

Angst & Solving A Mystery won their brackets!

Check out all the content created/shared for They Love Each Other & Everything Is Going To Be Okay, Angst, 180 Days & Solving A Mystery: X.

Follow the match ups: X

More info about Trope-a-palooza & how to participate: X & via @vmficclub’s Discord.

#vm fanfic #vmtap21 #tropeapalooza #veronica mars fanfic #veronicamarsfanart

7 notes · View notes

the-blind-assassin-12 · 1 year ago

Text

As Clear As Day

1200 words for 1200 followers #11

A/N: Hi friends! Welcome to the 12-A-Palooza! This event is my way of saying thank you for sticking with me. Your support and kindness toward me and my writing is out of this world and I’m grateful for every last one of you! This was actually the very first request that I got, and I have been sitting on it trying not to let it get too angsty... I might have dropped the ball on that one. Please don't hate me. The song chosen for this request is about a dream the singer had about her grandmother after her death, so I took that as inspiration for this piece. This is not connected to anything else I've written for Frankie and Reader and is meant to be read as stand alone.

Warnings: descriptions of a funeral, mention of death of a grandparent, fear, angst, language, nightmares

Requested by: Anonymous Song: Only If For A Night Character Choice: Frankie Morales - anon, I hope you can forgive me for this... but the song demanded it. Thank you for sending this in. <3

Summary: A terrible dream wakes you in the middle of the night and you're left to wonder if it was just that... or something darker.

Your dress is scratchy. It didn’t feel that way when you grabbed it off the rack at the store or when you tried it on in the fitting room. It’s been years since you bought it, though, and nearly as long since the last time you wore it, so maybe you’re misremembering. Maybe it’s always felt this way. Stiff. Like a canvas sack with a zipper along your spine.

Stepping up to the food table, you stare down at the array of casseroles and salads in mismatched dishes. You recognize Lori Miller’s yellow pyrex, and you’re pretty sure that’s Mariella Garcia’s blue one next to it. Some are still wrapped with foil or covered with lids. There’s too much to be eaten all at once so they’ll go into the freezer for the coming weeks. You’re not hungry and you can’t imagine many others are, either.

And that’s when it hits you - you’re not sure who this funeral is for. You haven’t even seen anyone yet. A pit opens in your stomach as your eyes fly around the room, searching for a face you know, heart pounding as you hope to find the one you love. But you don’t see Frankie anywhere.

In your peripheral you spot Benny. He’s talking to Pope, both of their expressions bleak, their eyes on the brink of vacancy before Santi notices you and starts to head in your direction. Faceless strangers populate the rest of the room - apart from Will, who you can see stepping out the back door with a beer in his hand.

Your heart slams against your ribs and your palms sweat and your goddamn dress is like sandpaper on your skin. And you still can’t find Frankie.

The walls start to spin as a wicked thought weasels its way into your brain. Maybe there’s a reason why you can’t find him. Maybe he’s -

“Hey. C’mere.”

Santiago reaches out and wraps you in a hug, his large hands pressing against the abrasive fabric covering your back. You hold onto him, unsure of yourself if you were to let go.

“Santi, where’s-”

The question never makes it past your lips. It’s replaced with a gasp as you bolt upright in the dark.

“Frankie!”

Chest heaving and cheeks wet, you reach for the lamp on your bedside. The walls of your bedroom come into view - deep forest green. Splotches of the paint still stain the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing in lieu of the black dress. It’s one of his and even though he’s been gone for a week, it smells like him. You clutch at it with shaking fingers, balling the worn material in your hands and letting it ground you.

It was a dream. Not real.

But that icy feeling doesn’t go away, even as your eyes land on the framed photo next to the lamp - the two of you at Murphy’s, Frankie’s arm around you. You had just stolen the hat right off his head to stick it on your own, leaving his curls in disarray and a laugh frozen on both of your faces. That was the first night Francisco Morales had told you that he loved you. It was the happiest you’d ever been.

Looking at it now, in the immediate aftermath of the dream, it does little to put you at ease. You’ve had a similar dream once before, long ago.

You were nine and had never been to a funeral before, but that hadn’t stopped your brain from conjuring up details like the color and texture of the stone marking your grandmother’s grave or the way the bright green grass in the cemetery looked against the brand new fabric of your dress. You’d had that dream three days before she died and had been too afraid to tell your parents. The night she passed away she’d come to you in another dream, her voice soft and warm, not weak or brittle anymore. “Everything will be alright, sweetpea,” she’d said. “Everything will be as it should be.”

You never had another dream like it. Until now. And you’d never told anyone about that dream. Except for Frankie.

You take a breath and sit back against the headboard. Bringing your hands up, you run them over your hair and grab the base of your neck, trying to steady yourself. You go over the details again.

Benny, Pope and Will were there. Tom and Frankie weren’t. You weren’t familiar enough with Tom’s ex-wife to know her casserole dishes but you noticed dishes belonging to Pope’s sister and Benny and Will’s mother. None of your own, though. And no one would expect a widow to bring food.

A sob bubbles up at that thought and you stare down at the diamond Frankie put on your finger before leaving for Columbia. Is widow the right term if you’re not even married yet?

You don’t fall back to sleep that night. The next two are just as restless. In the middle of the third night, your phone rings. A quick glimpse at the screen shows the call is coming from a restricted number. But it’s the time that gives you pause - the numbers read the same as they did when the nightmare had woken you up.

“H-hello?”

Your brain goes numb when you hear your name. In Pope’s voice.

“Santi?” Your breath comes in gasps. “Why… why are you calling me?”

He sighs heavily, swearing under his breath. “Fish is okay. Fuck, I’m sorry I probably scared the shit outta you.” His words are an instant balm and they let you take another breath. “Took one to the shoulder, he’s gettin’ it looked at right now. Asked me to call you, let you know he’s…”

He’s alive. He’s okay. He’s coming home to me.

“W- what about… everyone else?”

There’s a pause and when Pope speaks again his voice is strangled. “Tom.” He swallows and you feel a weight drop into your gut. “Tom didn’t make it.” He clears his throat. “Listen, I should go. Home soon, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You whisper the word and the call ends.

Another three days pass before Frankie is at your front door. There’s a shallow cut across the crest of his cheek, two steri-strips holding it shut, and his right arm is in a sling. His eyes are wide and you know he’s only seconds away from losing it as they lock with yours. You’re already there, tears flowing like rivers from your lashes to your lips.

He steps inside and you wind your arm around his middle. For a long time it’s silent, the two of you holding one another, your hair growing damp where he rests his face against it. When he finally speaks, his words shock you.

“I had a dream, the night I got shot.” He sighs shakily. “You came to me. Told me to come home.” His one good arm tightens around you. “Told me to fight to get back to you and-”

That’s when he breaks and you both sink to the floor. You stroke his curls, pressing your lips wherever they land. “Shh, it’s okay, Frankie.” There’s too much to talk about but only one thing that matters. “You’re home.”

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be added to or removed from the tag list, please feel free to let me know. You can also fill out the form on my Masterlist! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor @paracosmenthusiast@cannedsoupsucks @dihra-vesa @disgruntledspacedad @littlemisspascalwrites @alraedesigns @mishasminion360 @stevie75 @nyctophiliiiiaaa @practicalghost @tanzthompson @amb11@harriedandharassed @woodlandmouth @thescarletfang @trickstersp8 @princessxkenobi @imtryingmybeskar @wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80 @theredwritingwitch @silverstarsandsuns @competentpotato @pedro-pedrito-pascalito @jedi-in-crocs @hannahkatharine @anoverwhelmingdin @chiyo13 @myloveistoolittle @spishsstuff @noisynightmarepoetry

#12 a palooza #1200 followers 1200 words #frankie morales #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier fic #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x female reader #frankie morales x reader #santiago pope garcia #pedrostories #pedro pascal character #tw: funeral #tw: family death #frankie morales one shot #as clear as day #only if for a night

59 notes · View notes

shannie-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Distress Call [Siren/Pirate AU]

Word Count: 965 Genre: Angst Pairing(s): Seth/MC Warning(s): Death, Murder, Blood A/N: Day 1 of short daily AU fics with Seth for his Route Release-palooza!!! You can read more about the Siren/Pirate AU here.

It was the tremble in his soul that told Seth that something was wrong.

The jolt of wrongness had him jumping to his feet from where he had been wrapped up in Alice’s softest blankets. He was already tugging a shirt over his head and yanking a pair of pants up his legs by the time tendrils of warning pain spread from his chest. He knew what this meant and he hoped that these two feet would allow him the speed he needed. How he hated being a fish out of water.

Shoes forgotten, he slammed through her front door and took off through the late night air. It burned his throat and underdeveloped lungs, but it didn’t hurt as much as their bond did, his muscles fighting off the trembling worry. Neither did the pain in his feet outweigh it as he ran over rock and stone, telling himself to push harder, push faster. He was quicker than lightning in water, he had to be just as fast now.

What had Sirius said to him again? Seth couldn’t remember the words now, but the memory of the concerned frown and compassionate eyes remained. There had been chastisement for it. He was told that he would likely regret his decision. Sirius had told him that he would help take care of him if anything happened to her. "Take care" of him. He knew what would happen to him if anything were to kill her. In return, his death would be just as swift. Sirius would take care of him.

A siren’s protection was incredible but would quickly become a curse to the one who outlived the other.

But she hadn’t died yet. He still had time.

Like a beacon calling to him, Seth ran toward Alice, passing by drunk sailors and scantily dressed women, nearly as a blur. He was close, so close. He needed to hurry.

He passed the tavern she worked at and panicked thoughts took over as he realized it was closed and she wasn’t there. It was misty tonight, but that didn’t stop him as he ran into the foggy clouds closer to the wharf. She was in danger and he needed to find her, needed to save her, needed to keep her alive.

A muffled yelp had him baring his teeth and it wasn’t more than another second that he found her. Them. A man had pinned her into a corner between buildings. She sat on the ground with her back against a wall, flailing arms and legs and fighting him off as best as she could. The man oozed sick superiority. He barely flinched as her blunt nails reached for his eyes and her blows glanced off his wide torso, a hand pressed to her face to block both her yells and her breathing.

It was easy to dig his hands into the man’s jacket and throw him back over his shoulder into the loose gravel of the street. The man cried out as he rolled, the surprise of the movement too fast to react to.

“Seth,” Alice croaked, a fresh round of tears pouring down her cheeks. Her eyes glanced behind him at the man and widened. “Seth!”

He looked back to watch as the man stumbled to his feet, pulling a knife from his pocket. Heart pounding and entirely livid, Seth quickly took Alice’s hands and put them over her ears.

“Plug your ears.”

“Seth, wait--”

“Promise me,” he hissed through ground teeth. She saw something in his expression that had her trembling, but she tightened her hands over her ears and tucked her head between her knees.

“What a load a’ shit,” spat the man. “Some pretty boy like you’s gonna rough me up? I’d like to see ya try.”

Calmly, his mind set, Seth stood straight and turned to face the man. Examining the man's face through the mist revealed red marks along his cheeks and neck where his lover had fought to keep him at bay. Seth's powers pushed against his thoughts, urged him to drag this man into the water and drown him.

Drowning was too kind a death for this human scum.

A ripple ran through him, skimming his skin. He took pleasure in the man’s fear and confusion as he watched Seth’s scales erupt across his arms, camouflaging him in the thick fog. He could have laughed at the man's pitiful panicked attack with the knife that did nothing but scrape across his scales. He clutched the man’s throat in one hand, raising him off the ground. He felt nothing but justification as he let out a powerful soundless screech directly in the man’s face, not stopping until blood ran down from the man’s nose and ears. It was silent, almost peaceful.

Everything else rushed back in at once. There was a cry from waking children coming from one of the buildings around them and the splatter of vomit on stone somewhere down the street corner. A sniffle of wet tears and snot behind him had him dropping the man’s lifeless body and moving quickly to pull Alice up into his arms, making sure she was okay. She trembled, but clutched at him to bring him closer and he sighed in relief, the pain of his roaring heart and abused feet finally coming to attention as he relaxed and shifted back to his human skin.

“I’m here, angelfish. I’m here.” He swung her into his arms and tucked her face against his neck. “Let’s go home.”

With a slight limp, he walked back the way he came, confident nobody could have seen the truth through the fog. He prayed Alice hadn’t seen him either, and did his best to not think of his first kill he had made outside of the ocean.

#ikemen revolution #ikerev #ikerevo #seth hyde #ikemen revolution seth #ikerev seth #ikerevo seth #my writing #distress call #siren!seth #siren/pirate au #i haven't written for so long i make no promises that this is good asldkjf #seth route release-palooza!

22 notes · View notes

today-only-happens-once · 5 years ago

Text

the only exception

Title: the only exception

Word Count: 4,549

Summary: College!AU, Musician!AU. Patton shows up to a music festival that Virgil—along with his twin brother, Roman—is headlining, hoping to surprise him. Turns out, it’s Virgil that surprises him first. Romantic Moxiety, brief background Logince. Song-fic.

Warnings: lots of fluff and softness and sappiness, mutual pining elements, declarations of love, description of crowds, cursing, discussion of anxiety, mention of anxiety attacks, kissing, Virgil “writes” a song that’s actually written irl by Paramore but ssshhh Paramore doesn’t exist in this AU, please let me know if I forgot anything.

A/N: Someone on tumblr once made a textpost that said “The Only Exception” was a Moxiety song, and weeks later I listened to it and realized they were right. And then I had this image in my head that wouldn’t go away for like. Months. And then eventually I decided to write this. It’s basically a song-fic. Crazy self-indulgent, heh. Also, I’ve never written Romantic Moxiety before, nor have I written a Patton-POV focused fic. So writing this was a whole boatload of new. I hope it turned out okay! Edited by yours truly, so all mistakes are mine.

You can listen to the song Virgil sings at the end here!

Tags: @creativenostalgiastuff, @helloisthisusernametaken, @ren-allen, @quoth-the-sparrow, @princelogical, @random-pianist, @ravenclawicecream, @erlenmeyertrash, @milomeepit, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes, @rileyfirstname, @pinkeasteregg, @sassy-in-glasses, @vigilantvirgil, @generalfandomfabulousness, @lacrimosathedark, @thepoolofthedead, @monikastec, @heir-of-the-founders, @yourworstnightmare999, @artistictaurean, @kanejandkruge, @cdragontogacotar, @damienswifeolicitydallysgirl, @angst-patton, @savingshae, @noneed4thistbh, @awesomelissawho, @unikornavenger, @bopthesnoz, @spiralofsilencetheory, @finger-gunsss, @crownswriter123, @swlotakulady34, @gaylotusthatexists, @analogical-mess, @dolphidragon, @flix-net, @narniasfinestavengingsociopath, @friedlieb-ferdinand-runge, @bibbidy-bobbity-booyah, @procrastinations-my-middle-name, and also @randomslasher because moxiety! ^u^

…

Present. March. Junior Year.

Patton shoulders his way through the crowd as rock music blares loudly over the speakers. The late March air is cool, and the breeze tugs at the COLLEGE-PALOOZA MUSIC FEST banner hanging from the amphitheater’s stage. A few people he recognizes from his classes wave to him as they nod their head to the music. Patton slows as he finds a small gap in the crowd, not particularly keen on getting into the tightly packed mosh pit that had formed right in front of the stage.

The sun is beginning to set, casting the sky in a light purple hue. Perhaps ironically, it reminds Patton of the guy he’s actually here to see perform. Patton glances at the stage, but there’s no sign of him. He checks his phone for the time. The group was supposed to be on now, but perhaps he’d missed them already.

He looks at the guy beside him—leather jacket and sunglasses, holding a Starbucks cup—and asks over the music, “Which group is this?”

The guy takes a long swallow and then jerks his head towards the stage. “Planets Align. They had trouble getting the sound system working, so they’re running behind.”

Patton nods his understanding, smiles, and thanks him. Planets Align was scheduled to go on right before them, if the pamphlet he’d found on Virgil’s desk was anything to go by. He’d felt terrible at the time when he realized that the band Virgil had formed with his twin brother, Roman, would be headlining a music festival the same day Patton had already promised to help with a group project.

But the other members of his group canceled the meeting earlier today and rescheduled it for next week. So Patton really didn’t see any reason why he couldn’t come support Virgil. And if he maybe didn’t tell Virge in the hopes of being able to surprise him… well.

Besides, he had a feeling Virgil could use a nice surprise. He’d seemed really nervous about the festival when Patton was talking to him about it when he found the pamphlet. Virgil often seemed nervous, but… more nervous than even Virgil’s normal.

Patton smiles a bit to himself when he remembers when they first met.

…

September. Sophomore year.

“For the purposes of this research presentation, I will allow you to choose partners. We will need one group of three, but that certainly seems manageable.”

Patton glances around the stuffy lecture hall. It was only the third time the class had met, so Patton hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to many of his classmates yet. On top of that, it was a pretty big class. Patton had a feeling that he wouldn’t know everybody even by the end of the year. The professor waves her hand to indicate that they should select a partner and begin discussing the project.

Chatter rose up—most people leaning over towards people they were sitting next to, a few calling to friends across the room—and there was shuffling movement and the scraping of chairs as students milled about to find a research partner. Then Patton caught sight of a black and purple hoodie in the back row.

What was his name? Patton couldn’t remember, despite the ice breaker during their first class. He does remember the snort the guy had released when Patton had made a pun about his name when introducing himself. He also remembers the way he’d immediately ducked his head a second later when Patton grinned at him.

Patton gathers his things and squeezes through his classmates. “Hey,” he says. The guy in the hoodie looks up, seeming startled. “Wanna be partners?”

The guy blinks at him, then shifts in his seat and motions to the empty chair on the other side of his desk. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

“I’m Patton, by the way.”

“Virgil. What, uh, what are you studying?”

Patton pulls his laptop out of his bag. “Oh! I’m an early education major. What about you?” As he asks, Patton casts a quick glance at the laptop in front of Virgil and notices the stickers on it: SANDERS in messy black scrawl, a thundercloud with a bolt of lightning, a small circle with a paint-smear style gay pride flag, and a few music notes.

“Graphic design with a minor in music,” he replies. Patton notices him glancing at the buttons on Patton’s backpack that he threw in the empty chair beside him—some about cats, some about dogs, a heart with glasses that he thought was cute, and a pride pin from last year’s Pride week.

“That’s pretty cool. You play music?”

Virgil lifts a shoulder. “With my brother, mostly.”

“Wow. That’s… really awesome,” Patton says, sincerely impressed. He’d always loved music, but really only dabbled in the ukulele. He’d always thought musicians were cool: having skills like that took a lot of work, and a lot of dedication. That seemed pretty admirable to Patton.

Virgil smirks. “If you say so.”

“I do. I mean it.” For a fleeting moment, Virgil looks taken aback by the insistence in Patton’s voice. “What do you play?”

…

Present.

“Roman is totally the hot one,” Patton hears a girl behind him say to her friends.

“Elliot thinks he has a crush on Logan Berry, you know.”

“He’s gay?” The girl sounds surprised, but not hostile.

“Ace, I think. Panromantic, if the stickers on his laptop are anything to go by.” Patton recognizes that voice as one of the girls in the LGBTQ+ club that Patton was secretary for.

“You have class with him?”

“We had English 100 together freshman year. Elliot’s in class with him and Logan, though, and says they want to gag literally any time the two so much as talk to each other.”

Patton grins to himself. Subtlety when he had a crush had never really been Roman’s strong suit. That was another place where Virgil was markedly different from his twin brother. Both Roman and Virgil had ways of keeping their distance from others, but where Roman put up a front of fearlessness and confidence and friendliness… Virgil seemed more likely to withdraw into himself.

Patton had learned that, and many other things about Virgil, slowly as meetings for the research project gradually developed into hanging out regularly and casually. Patton picked up on things about Virgil relatively quickly. He gets quiet and irritable when he’s actually anxious about something. He tends to catastrophize, especially when it comes to academics. He hasn’t yet learned how to accept compliments—something Patton didn’t let deter him from giving them. He hopes that the more he’s able to expose Virgil to them, the easier it will eventually get for him to accept them.

Patton learned that Virgil is fiercely protective, too. The fastest way for Virgil to overcome his anxiety about a situation is usually when it’s related to someone he cares about. He still remembers the fire that had alighted in his eyes when someone had started harassing Roman when he, Patton, Roman, and Logan had been heading back from a party on a Friday night a couple of months ago. Logan had been the one to diffuse that particular situation, but Patton hadn’t missed the way Virgil hovered closer to his brother and looked ready to fight when he’d seen the shaken look in Roman’s eyes.

But then there were the softer moments from Virgil, too. The fleeting moments when Patton saw something gentle and relaxed from him that a secret part of Patton liked to believe were just for him. They were a sign of trust from Virgil, and Patton had always cherished that trust precisely because it was so rare.

…

April. Sophomore year.

“What time is it?” Virgil asks with a yawn. He’s sitting on the floor of his dorm, his guitar in his hands. His back is leaned up against the drawers of his desk. Patton sits on the floor across from him with his back against the cinderblock wall and his legs stretched out in front of him.

Patton digs his phone out of his pocket and checks. “Almost 1 in the morning.”

Virgil nods and strums a few chords softly. “You’re welcome to stick around, Patton, but… y’know. It’s chill if you’d rather go home.”

Patton shakes his head “I like it here,” he says. For reasons he is still figuring out, there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

Patton watches him; he watches the way Virgil’s bangs fall in a soft sweep across his face, the dark eyeshadow smudged under his eyes, the slight parting of his lips as he mouths unheard lyrics. He always loves watching Virgil play guitar. There’s something about watching him hold the light brown acoustic instrument—like it steadies him, like it’s a shield that protects him—that Patton can’t help but love. Virgil seems to… breathe easier when he has a guitar in his hands.

“Virgil? Can I ask you something?” Patton says suddenly.

Virgil glances quickly at him, then back down at the guitar in his hands. Avoiding his eyes. “Yeah. Sure.” His voice sounds oddly tight to Patton.

“Why do you play music?”

The question seems to catch him off guard. Virgil stops short for a moment, glancing back up at Patton. His hands still against the instrument, his eyes flit away in thought.

Then—to Patton’s surprise—he sets the guitar aside.

“It… gives me a space where I can… connect, I guess?” He rubs the back of his head, glancing at Patton as if unsure whether or not his own words made sense.

“Connect?”

“Well,” Virgil pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his chin on top of them, “Yeah. I’ve never been good at… at the whole…” He waves a hand and sighs. “At the whole ‘words’ thing that’s required for making friends or helping someone or… whatever. I’m always afraid I’m gonna say the wrong thing, or make them feel awkward, or… shit, I don’t know. But music is different. It…” He huffs a frustrated sigh as the words escape him. Then he tosses Patton a wry smile. “See what I mean? Words aren’t really my thing. Music is different, though.”

Patton nods. He glances around at the MCR and Dear Evan Hansen poster on walls of Virgil’s side of the room. “I think I get it. Music lets you speak from where you are emotionally at a given moment, and people can come to you—or your music—to find that connection and community. It… lets you express yourself, and by doing that, lets you connect to other people.”

When Patton looks back at Virgil, he’s looking at him with something like disbelief. But there’s a softness and light in his eyes that makes Patton’s stomach flutter. “Yeah,” Virgil says eventually. “Exactly.” Patton meets his gaze with a small smile, even as he feels suddenly like Virgil can see all the parts of himself that he wants to hide.

The corner of Virgil’s mouth quirks slightly and he digs a small purple leather notepad out of his back pocket. He grabs a pen from the top of his desk and scribbles something down.

“Whatcha writing?” Patton asks curiously.

Virgil folds it and slips it back into his pocket. “Nothing, Pat.” He still has that soft kind of smile and look in his eyes even as he grabs his guitar and pulls it back into his lap.

…

Present.

“Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Planets Align!” The emcee shouts into the mic as he runs on stage and the band waves as they exit to the cheers of the crowd. Patton applauds them and briefly considers moving closer to the stage before deciding against it. He’d never done well with tight crowds.

The sun has dipped below the horizon now, the sky darkening quickly. The lights from the stage bleed out onto the grass clearing, providing some lighting of the crowd itself as well. The air is a bit colder now, but Patton doesn’t mind. Besides, all the people around him moving and dancing have helped keep it from getting too cold anyway.

“Next up, the ones you’ve all been waiting for. Let’s hear it for… SANDERS!”

Patton lets out a cheer as the crowd screams. He sees Virgil’s twin brother—though you’d never know it from how differently they do make up and their hair—run on stage with his arms up to encourage the crowd’s response. The cheers get louder, and Roman grins and strikes a hero pose. He’s energized. Patton smiles at his evident excitement.

Virgil follows behind him, an electric guitar strapped to his back. Even from his distance from the stage, Patton can see him shaking his head at his brother’s antics. He gives a small, appreciative wave to the crowd. His eyes scan it, and a part of Patton can’t help but wonder if he’s looking for him someone.

Reasoning, though, reminds him that Virgil said he always tries to get a feel for the size of a crowd when he goes out on stage at a venue for the first time. It had started as a nervous thing—how many people might see me fail?—but as Virgil’s confidence in performing grew, it had mostly just become a habit.

“What is UP, everybody?” Roman says into the mic. He’s wearing a bright red leather jacket with a white shirt underneath, shiny gold skinny jeans, and red high top converse. “We’re so glad you could come out tonight. How about this awesome weather, yeah?”

More cheers. Patton watches as Virgil pulls the guitar from around his back with a smile. He’s in his familiar hoodie, purple shirt, black ripped skinny jeans, and his black sneakers with purple laces. At first glance, he doesn’t seem too nervous—Patton had long ago gotten in the habit of glancing at him to check if he’s okay when he knows Virgil might be getting anxious—but it’s hard to tell from this distance.

“My brother, Virgil, and I thought we’d kick things off with an original song. How’s that sound, guys, gals, and nonbinary pals?” There’s louder cheering, and the two of them waste no time starting a song that Patton remembers from previous concerts of theirs he’d attended.

…

November. Junior Year.

Patton’s phone dings while he’s eating lunch in the student union and flipping through an education textbook to study for his quiz tomorrow on Vygotsky’s Zone of Proximal Development. Exams are quickly approaching, and Patton had always struggled to remember theorists’ names for some reason.

It’s a text from Roman. Is V with you?

Patton frowns and types back quickly. No. It’s Tuesday. Then he sends a second text. Why?

The student union is bustling with students breezing through to grab lunch before rushing off to the library or their class. Groups are clustered around tables to hash out the details of final projects as their deadlines approach in the next week or two. Exhausted English majors slump over their stale coffee cups and computers as they edit their final paper for the eighth time. Engineering students running on caffeine and spite chug another energy drink before hurrying off to the lab building. A couple others that Patton can see are watching Netflix in a desperate attempt to give themselves a break before plunging back into the grind of end-of-the-semester assignments.

Roman’s reply comes almost immediately. He sent me a single letter text which usually means he’s freaking out but idek where he is

Patton stands up and forgets his half-eaten sandwich, dropping it in the compost bin as he slings his backpack over his shoulder and hurries out of the building. Have you tried calling him? He texts quickly.

R: Yeah. No response… just lemme know if you see him or if he texts you or something ok

Patton rolls his eyes. As if he’s just going to go about his day and not try to help. Especially if V might be freaking out. We’ll find him, Roman. You check the science center and I’ll check the music floor of Stokes Hall.

R: ok.

R: Thanks

Patton turns his ringer on at full volume and braces against the cold air as he hurries to the building beside the Student Union. The November air is biting. Students bustle with their noses tucked into their scarves and red fingers curled around coffee cups. There was no snow on the ground, but the grass still crunches under Patton’s shoes as he hurries across the quad towards Stokes Hall. His light blue beanie is pulled low over his light brown hair.

He’s wishing he had a scarf to hide his nose in—instead opting to try to tuck it into the sleeves of the sweatshirt tied around his shoulders—when he walks straight into someone.

“Shit! I’m so sorry—”

“Virgil?” Patton asks, immediately recognizing the voice. He looks up, and Virgil seems frozen for a moment. It only takes Patton a second to realize that his eyes are red and sunken slightly. His usual sweep of hair is a disheveled mess under the hood of his sweatshirt that engulfs his frame.

If Patton’s being honest, he looks… rough. Concern twists in Patton’s chest.

“I’m so sorry, Patton. I’m an idiot, I just wasn’t watching where—”

“Hey, it’s all good, Virge,” Patton says, quickly but sincerely. He places his hands on Virgil’s shoulder to anchor him. “Breathe.”

Virgil laughs but it’s humorless and shrugs out from under his grip. Patton frowns. “I’m fine. I know I look like a mess, but really. It’s fine now. I was just. Um. Coming outside for some air.”

Patton considers the deflection and decides to meet Virgil half-way. “I could use some too.”

“You don’t have to do that—”

“Honest, V. The cold air is kind of nice.” Patton slips his phone out of his pocket and sends a quick text to Roman. Got him. He offers a small, reassuring smile to Virgil.“ You wanna take a seat?”

Virgil meets his gaze, then glances away. He seems to think about it for a moment, then relents with a slight sag to his shoulders. “Sure. Fine.”

Patton wanders over to a bench across the pathway and takes a seat. He looks around as students rush quickly towards their classes, smiling brightly as a service dog trots dutifully beside his owner and pushes the button to open the door as the student hurries inside. He intentionally keeps his gaze from lingering on Virgil, even as he hesitates before sitting beside him.

Virgil waits until most of the students have rushed off before breaking the silence between them. “You aren’t going to ask?”

Patton glances over at him. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, and you seemed reluctant to talk about it…. Should I ask?”

“No. Yes?” Virgil groans, zipping up his hoodie against the chilly air. “It wasn’t anything like. That bad. Y’know? I just get… anxiety attacks sometimes, and sometimes they get…” He trails off. Patton senses more than sees the way Virgil glances quickly at him. “Anyway. I’m fine now.”

Patton isn’t sure what to say. He’d known for a long time now that Virgil struggled with anxiety. That Virgil had anxiety attacks doesn’t exactly surprise him, and it definitely isn’t off-putting or anything of the sort. But Patton hates the way Virgil keeps trying to deflect… something. Judgement. Concern. Patton suddenly and fiercely wishes Virgil would just let someone care about him. Let someone love him.

Patton thinks maybe he already does.

“Virgil….” Patton says softly, looking at his hands folded between his knees, “It’s okay. You know that, right? You can talk to me about it. And I’m not gonna judge you or think you’re weird or that there’s anything wrong with you.”

“I… I’m fine.”

Patton lifts a shoulder. “Okay. But… it’s okay if you aren’t, too. And either way… you’re definitely not alone. You know? You know Roman’s there for you, but… but I am too. I care about you.”

In his peripheral, he sees Virgil look at him. “Patton—”

“There you guys are!” Roman exclaims as he jogs up to the two of them. Patton smiles at Virgil—who looks, for all the world, like the ground has shifted underneath him.

Patton wants to ask him why. He never does.

…

Present.

SANDERS has played through five songs, which means they’re nearing the end of their set. Patton is beaming. Virgil and Roman play off each other so well, and their music seems to be a blend of both of them in a way. They balance each other on stage. They’re fun to watch. Patton can’t help but think, though he may be biased, that if they really wanted to… they could make a career out of it.

But then they do something that surprises Patton, and apparently everyone else too from the way the crowd starts to murmur.

Virgil trades out his electric guitar for his light brown acoustic one. Roman grabs a wooden stool from one of the wings and sets it in the middle of the stage. Virgil adjusts the strap of the guitar around his shoulders, nodding his thanks to Roman.

“So I hope you all don’t mind if we close out with something a little different than our usual pace,” Virgil is saying into the wireless mic attached to him. “But I lost a bet against Roman, and that means I gotta do this.”

“If I lost I was gonna have to wear jorts for this concert. You all should be thanking me,” Roman quips back through his own mic. There’s a chuckle from Virgil as well as the crowd.

“Yeah, well. This is a song I wrote over the course of… probably about a year. It’s about someone very… important to me. He couldn’t be here tonight, but… he’s pretty great. Anyway, it’s a little different, so uh.” Even under the stage lights, Patton thinks he can see Virgil flushing slightly. “I hope you all like it.”

Virgil starts strumming and all Patton can do is watch him, transfixed by the sound of an acoustic guitar and the sight of Virgil under a spotlight on stage. It’s a much softer song already than any other song in their entire set. Virgil ducks his head slightly, his black sneaker tapping out the ¾ meter. And then Virgil starts to sing.

“When I was younger I saw my daddy cry, and curse at the wind.

He broke his own heart and I watched as he tried to reassemble it.

And my momma swore that she would never let herself forget.

And that was the day that I promised I’d never sing of love if it does not exist.

But darlin’ you are the only exception. You are the only exception…”

As Virgil sings, Patton can’t help but feel rooted to the spot. Virgil sitting and playing his acoustic guitar reminds Patton suddenly of that moment again back in Virgil’s dorm room. That moment of honesty and openness from him that always felt so rare. Patton feels like he’s experiencing that again, despite the crowd and the spotlights. Because this is not performance-Virgil, this is just…. Virgil. At his most honest. At his mot exposed. And it’s breathtaking.

Patton doesn’t even fully realize that he’s moving closer to the stage until he almost trips over a girl that’s swaying and holding her phone with a flashlight up in the air.

Virgil breaks into the second verse, and Patton feels his stomach fluttering all over again at the sound of his voice.

“Well maybe I know somewhere deep in my soul that love never lasts.

And we’ve got to find other ways to make it alone or keep a straight face.

And I’ve always lived like this. Keeping a comfortable distance.

And up until now I had sworn to myself that I’m content with loneliness,

‘Cuz none of it was ever worth the risk.

Well you are the only exception. You are the only exception…”

And a part of Patton—a part he’s afraid to admit to—suddenly starts to grow insistent with the realization that he might be really, truly, unequivocally in love with the person singing on the stage in this moment. The one with his bangs falling into eyes that had always looked to Patton to be a little bit afraid and a lot brave.

This song, this moment, is no exception to that. Music, for Virgil, had always started from some place deeply personal. It is what allows him to connect to others, after all. And Patton doesn’t know if the song is about him, but he wants it to be. Because that deeply personal space that Virgil is singing from resonates with Patton in a way that leaves only one thought repeating in his head. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Almost as if he hears the thought itself, Virgil looks up and starts scanning the crowd again as he reaches the bridge.

“I’ve got a tight grip on reality

But I can’t let go of what’s in front of me here.” He’s scanning, scanning, scanning…

“I know you’re leaving in the morning. When you wake up,

Leave me with some kind of proof it’s not a dream. Oh…”

And then his eyes settle squarely on Patton, and Patton swears he hears the very faint catch of Virgil’s breath through the mic.

Patton gives him a small, faint smile. There’s a brief moment where uncertainty flickers through Virgil’s dark eyes, and then something sets firmly in them. As if he’s made some kind of split-second decision. Virgil stands up from the stool and starts making his way towards the stage stairs, continuing to play and sing as he does so.

“You are the only exception. You are the only exception….”

Patton loses sight of him as he steps down to ground level, the crowd blocking his view. But Virgil keeps singing that line over and over, you are the only exception, as if imploring Patton to hear it and understand it and know it is meant for him. As if perhaps Virgil has to repeat it himself to fully believe in its truth, but each time he sings it, Patton can hear the conviction growing. Far ahead of him, Patton can see people shifting around in the mosh pit in front of him.

Patton doesn’t move. He doesn’t think he knows how to.

And then through the crowd of people in front of him steps Virgil, still playing. Still singing. And Patton can’t help but notice his eyes look wide and scared and vulnerable—but unwavering—as he sings the final line.

“But I’m on my way to believing…”

He plays the final chord and stands there, looking up at Patton. He’s so close. The guitar and a few inches is all that separates them. Patton swallows past the lump in his throat and brings a hand up to cup Virgil’s jaw before leaning his forehead against Virgil’s and whispering.

“Can I kiss you?”

His eyes are closed, so he doesn’t see Virgil’s relieved, crooked grin. But he feels it when Virgil presses his lips to his own.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #romantic moxiety #moxiety #romantic moxiety fanfiction #fluff #crowds #cursing #kissing #softness #sappiness #virgil sanders #patton sanders

449 notes · View notes

thisonesatellite · 5 years ago

Text

The Unexpected Life -- 1/3

SUMMARY: Killian never thought he'd end up a librarian. He had other plans. Plans that didn't work out. But just because you never got where you wanted to go, doesn't mean you're not exactly where you need to be.

Next up on Trope-a-palooza: The Library.

Captain Swan with a huge helping of Captain Cobra on the side, and an absolute absence of angst.

(Yes, you read that right. ABSENCE OF ANGST. This is my very best effort at writing something sweet. Which, let me tell you, does not come naturally to someone like me. i deleted nearly 3000 words along the way, and was yelled at in ALL CAPS until i promised not to torture the lovely cinnamon roll that is librarian!killian. Good thing, too. This story needs no angst.)

| AO3 |

A/N: This is my entry for @csseptembersunshine. Thank you to the incredible @captainsjedi for organizing it and doing ALL the work.

(Part 2 will go up on Friday, Part 3 next Monday).

-/-

@shireness-says -- THANK YOU for the invaluable advice on all things library-related, for looking this over, and for sharing the insanity that is the life of a librarian. i still say we gotta make this a sitcom.

@profdanglaisstuff - without you there would not be a story. And to be honest, there might not have been an author left, either. THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING.

And guys - can we please all take a moment to send our love to @mariakov81 - who did the banner AND the drawing. Honey - you are amazing and incredible and i do not have words big enough to THANK YOU FOR THIS.

If you want on or off this tag list, let me know!

@mariakov81 @stahlop @thejollyroger-writer @snowbellewells @captainsjedi @toomanyfandomstochoosefrom @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @mayquita @ohmightydevviepuu @sals86 @karenfrommisthaven @kmomof4 @kday426

PART 1

I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be.

- Douglas Adams, “The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul” -

It’s strange, the way it happens slowly and yet suddenly.

One afternoon, a random Tuesday afternoon, she walks into his library with a small boy and somehow never leaves. Or at least that’s what it feels like.

He doesn’t really notice her the first time she comes in. He has his hands full with helping a group of people fill out job applications, and she and the boy sit down quietly at one of the tables.

The boy pulls out homework and the woman pulls out a laptop, and there is very little conversation. Later, he finds her and the boy on one of the couches, reading together. She keeps her voice low and the boy is curled up against her, and then her phone beeps.

She simply hands the book to the boy. “Sorry, kid - I have to---”

“Got it. You go.”

She kisses the top of his head and says, “I’ll be back soon, OK?”

The boy smiles and then keeps reading.

She comes back two hours later, a little disheveled and a little out of breath. The boy looks up and asks, “Got him?” and she smiles and nods and then someone walks up to him with a question and he doesn’t notice them leave.

That night finds him in front of his laptop. Just like every wasted night before it. Years of it now.

There are four paragraphs on his screen. They are the sum total of three hours he has spent trying to write. When he re-reads them, he counts three split infinitives and a metaphor tortured beyond recognition, and the entire thing smacks of The Silmarillion.

With a sigh he deletes all of it.

And then types the word ‘The’.

He stares at it for another hour. The words will not come, no matter what. In the end he gets up, wipes his eyes in frustration, and goes to bed.

They come in every day. Every afternoon around 3PM they set up shop at the end of the table. When the boy is finished with his homework she simply asks, “All done, kid?”, and when the boy nods, she believes him. Mostly he reads by himself after that. Sometimes they read together. They look peaceful, next to each other on the couch.

The thing that really makes him pay attention is that they start coming in on weekends as well. And spend most of the day in what he now thinks of as ‘their corner’. And that they have only spoken a handful of words to him in almost two months. She has smiled politely, and nodded when he said “Hello”, and on the second day she asked where the bathroom was. The boy requested access to one of the computers and must have remembered the password, because he has not asked for it since.

They keep to themselves, her engrossed with the things on her screen, and the boy canvassing the Young Adults section when he gets done with his homework. Her phone beeps often, but not too loudly. Not so much that it is a nuisance. Usually after she gets a beep, she leaves for a spell. More often than not she comes back somewhat out of sorts, but she always smiles brightly at the boy and usually brings him a pastry. Strictly speaking, food is not allowed in the library. But he has never enforced this rule, as long as people don’t start bringing actual tupperware.

He can’t make heads nor tails of it. But he is content to leave them be. All lives need a little mystery, and this is his.

And then, one Saturday evening right before closing, her phone beeps, and forces her into interaction. The way she stands in front of him, biting her lip, somehow both nervous and determined, makes it very hard not to smile at her. When he knows instinctively that smiling at her will make whatever situation worse, so he clamps down on his grin and simply nods his encouragement.

“I’m so sorry to bother you,” she says, her voice low. “You’re the manager, right?” He nods.

“I know you close in 20 minutes, but I just---” She holds up her phone, and bites her lip again. “I just got a... job---” it’s odd, the way she pauses, “and I really really need to leave for a bit, and---” She takes a deep breath, and then suddenly there is a rush of words. “Would it be OK for Henry to stay here a little past closing?” She points at the boy, sitting on the couch with a book in his lap, following their conversation. “I promise he’ll be no trouble. He doesn’t need a babysitter, he can keep himself busy. It’s just, I really need---”

It’s the word ‘need’ that gets him. Not the word, the sheer desperation behind it.

He was about to tell her no. He is tired, and starving, and really wants to go home. But what she’s asking is not a simple favor, he can tell There is more here than meets the eye, and so he does smile.

“It’s no problem,” he says.

She breathes an enormous sigh of relief and then looks both grateful and chagrined at herself, as if she had betrayed too much emotion.

“Thank you.” It’s quite possibly the most sincere thanks he has ever received. Her eyes are earnest. This is not someone who is used to asking for favors.

Not someone who needs favors. From anyone.

She looks over at the boy. “Kid, you can stay. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

The boy smiles and rolls his eyes. “I know the drill.”

“Do not bother this nice man, OK? Please? Can you promise me that?”

The boy - no, Henry - rolls his eyes again. It’s an expression he can picture her making. Often. “Go, Mom. Just go!”

She laughs and looks back at him. “I really appreciate this. I promise to make it up to you.”

“It’s fine.”

Her eyes narrow for the briefest of moments and then her face relaxes and he feels like he just passed an important test. This whole exchange has been exceedingly odd.

Then she holds out her hand. “My name is Emma. Emma Swan. And I’m just--- Thank you so much. Again.”

He has never seen anyone so torn. She is so sincerely grateful for his help and yet so absolutely exasperated with herself for having to ask for it in the first place. She hands him her phone. “Can you put your number in here?”

He types in his number. “Nice to meet you, Emma Swan. I’m Killian. Killian Jones.”

And with that she nods, says, “Bye kid!”, and leaves.

Henry’s eyes look at Killian with that same scanning mode his mother demonstrated a moment ago, and then he goes back to reading his book.

Odd.

Almost an hour of silence later, Henry’s stomach rumbles. Loudly.

Killian gets up from his desk, where he has been doing nothing but stare at an empty screen, and sits down next to the boy. “What would you say to a spot of pizza?”

Henry looks up and grins. “A spot of pizza?”

“Well--” Killian shrugs, “I feel victuals are in order.”

Henry’s eyebrows climb nearly to his hairline. “Where are you from?”

“England.”

“Do they all talk like that? I don’t even know what victels are.”

Killian grins. “VicTUALs. It means food supplies. And no, not everyone talks like that. But former English professors do.” He doesn’t mean to say that last part. It just slips out, and he grinds his teeth for a moment..

Henry, on the other hand, just nods and quietly repeats the word. “Victuals. Got it.” Then he frowns. “I don’t have any money.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

Henry gives him a very sharp look. He is definitely his mother’s son. Then he grins. “In that case, I could eat some pizza. I like mushrooms.”

It’s almost 10 PM, the pizza has been devoured, and he has tried texting Emma twice, without an answer. Henry looks both tired and worried, and tries to let neither show. It’s impressive for such a young boy. When the third yawn looks like it’s going to dislocate his jaw, Killian makes a decision.

“Henry, when is your usual bedtime?”

“Kind of a little while ago.”

Killian nods. “That’s what I thought. Come with me.”

He leads the boy to his office and makes him lie down on the couch. As he’s looking for a blanket, Henry’s voice comes out from underneath another yawn. “Please don’t be mad at my mom.”

Killian looks up in surprise. “Be mad at her? Whatever for?”

Henry’s voice is low and earnest. “I know she said she wouldn’t be long, and now she’s late. But she always has a really good reason, and I know she didn’t mean to. Be this late.”

Killian walks over to the couch and spreads a blanket over the boy. “May I ask what your mother does for a living?”

Henry smiles. “She catches bad guys.” It sounds proud.

“Is she a police officer?”

“No.” Henry shakes his head. “I think she wanted to be. But they wouldn’t let her. So she does bail bonds now.”

“Bail bonds?” Killian only has a vague idea what that entails. “They call them skips. People who run away from their trial. She catches them and brings them back.” Henry looks a little more worried than he did just a moment ago. “She’ll be back, I promise.”

Killian realizes that Henry isn’t worried for his mother. He’s worried Killian will think badly of his mother. Then another yawn overtakes him and Killian puts his hand on Henry’s shoulder.

“I’m sure she will,” he says. “Meanwhile, why don’t you sleep?”

Henry’s eyes are already falling shut and Killian turns off the light and makes his way back to the main floor.

He pulls out his laptop and sets it down on the table.

And just stares at the word ‘The’.

Nothing comes.

45 minutes later there is a loud banging on the front library doors. When Killian opens them, Emma practically falls into the foyer.

“Please forgive me,” she says. “Oh god, I’m so sorry.”

This time there is no misplaced pride in her voice. She sounds crushed and contrite and almost frantic.

He puts his hand on her shoulder. “Breathe, Emma. It’s fine.”

“It’s just -- that bastard was late showing, and then he put up a fight, and then booking down at the station took forever and my phone ran out of battery and---”

“Emma,” he repeats, and waits until she looks at him. “Please breathe.”

She takes a deep breath and looks around. “Where’s Henry?”

“Asleep in my office. Come with me.”

She stops him within feet of his office. Through the half-open door they can see Henry’s head burrowed into a cushion, his breathing slow and even, fast asleep. She tugs on Killian’s sleeve and motions him to take a few steps back. Then she looks at him, all earnest remorse and sincerity.

“How can I make it up to you?”

He shakes his head and smiles. “No need.”

She bites her lip hard. He knows that for some people - him included - it’s hard to accept kindness from strangers. But for her? It seems impossible.

“Please tell me. Let me give you something.”

She is squirming . It would be endearing if it weren’t so obviously eating her alive.

Killian shakes his head. “Tell me, Emma Swan,” he looks her straight in the eye, “the fact that you left tonight, it was necessary, yes?”

She nods. Still squirming. But committed to honesty.

“If there had been another way, you would have chosen it, yes?”

She nods again.

“Then there is no need to feel bad. You don’t owe me anything. It was my pleasure.”

The last bit surprises him as he says it. Because it really had been a pleasure. Henry somehow ended up being perfect company - quiet and smart and a fiend for mushroom pizza.

He had thoroughly enjoyed himself.

Emma gives him the exact same sharp look Henry gave him earlier, but then her shoulders relax. “Thank you,” she says, and again the sheer sincerity of it makes him swallow hard.

“May we come back to your library? Even after all this?” She bites her lip again. “Henry really loves it here.”

Killian has to smile. “Well, it is a public building, you know,” he says, and then removes all flippancy from his tone. “You are more than welcome any time. It’s a pleasure to see someone who enjoys books so much. I wish there were more people like your son.”

“Thank you again.” She exhales a long breath.

It is only then, as her shoulders slump and release their tension, that he notices how utterly exhausted she looks. And that she is somehow more disheveled than she usually is when she returns. The front of her t-shirt looks overstretched, like someone pulled at it, hard.

And then the guy put up a fight.

“Emma,” he says quietly, “Are you all right?”

Her eyes narrow immediately and the tension springs back into her shoulders as she pulls them back in defiance.

“I’m perfectly fine.” Her tone is icy. “Thank you for watching Henry.” This ‘Thank you’ could not be more different from the last ones. It is calculated dismissal and it leaves him dumbstruck. “We won’t take up any more of your time. Just let me get the kid and go home.”

With that she walks into his office and gently rouses Henry. He looks sleepy and not altogether present, even after he sits up.

Killian hurries in after her. He can’t help but feel like he messed up, but he doesn’t quite know what he did wrong. And he certainly doesn’t know how to fix it. But he has to try.

“Can I call you a cab? Or an Uber, or something?” It looks like Henry is about to fall over, and the boy looks too big for Emma to carry.

She shakes her head. “We’ll be fine.”

And with that she does pick him up and leaves, wobbling slightly under his weight.

He finds himself worrying whether they made it home OK for several hours.

They come in the following Monday bearing gifts. When they show up, Henry plunks a paper bag down on Killian’s desk and Emma carefully follows that with a takeout cup, smiling sheepishly.

“This is for all your troubles. And for feeding Henry pizza.”

The cup obviously holds coffee, which smells delicious. When he looks inside the bag, he counts at least five different kinds of pastry.

“I didn’t know what you liked, so we got you a bit of a selection.” She looks embarrassed.

Henry looks at him in question. “I guessed croissants and bear claws.” He shudders. “ Mom thought muffins were a good idea.” He is obviously upset at the very thought. “And Danish .” His disgust at the latter is unmistakable.

Killian grins. “Not a fan, I take it?”

Henry merely shakes his head with an “Ugh!” and Emma rolls her eyes.

“Well,” he says, winking at both, “I love them all. So this is perfect.” He looks at Emma. “Completely unnecessary, you understand. But perfect. Thank you.”

Emma bites her lip and Henry beams.

Both are lovely to watch.

It goes on from there.

They come in, Henry does his homework, Emma leaves on occasion, and they both occupy that corner of the table and the couch so much he has started to think of both as intrinsically theirs.

They bring him a pastry and coffee every day, no matter how much he protests.

So he in turn just keeps ordering pizzas every night Emma runs late. It turns out that she also likes mushrooms. Killian saves her slices, and more often than not, when she returns, she stays to eat them.

It’s nice, sharing food after work, when the library is empty and quiet and they have it all to themselves. Henry is usually off in his corner, and Killian and Emma talk about books. There is nothing dangerous in that. Nothing too personal, nothing too revealing. It feels safe, but it also feels wonderful - to be able to talk about books again with love, with excitement. With something other than a prevailing sense of shame and failure. Listening to her doesn’t hurt. She loves books, and spends a long time raving about her list of absolute favorites. It’s a very long list -- her ‘Top Ten’ alone easily spans thirty titles. None of which he has read. All of which he plans to read as soon as possible.

One evening, when Emma is again running late, Henry asks him to look over his English essay. It’s been so long since anyone has asked him to look over some actual writing, he gets a little choked up.

He has to swallow past the lump in his throat. “What’s the assignment?”

Henry points to the open Google doc on the library computer. “It’s creative writing. Our teacher gave us a phrase and asked us to build a story around it.”

“What’s the phrase?”

Henry wordlessly points to the title. It says, …and then I pulled out my phial of invisibility potion.

Killian sits down and starts to read. And can’t believe his eyes. Henry can write .

The story is basically one scene, but what a scene it is. It starts with a man crossing a desert, thirsty and tired and near the point of giving up, when he suddenly hears a noise to his left. And then behind him. And then to his right. By the time the man in the story hears the noise directly in front of him, Killian is completely hooked. The man stops, realizing that he is surrounded by something , when the sand in front of him parts to reveal a monster with the body of a snake and the head of a dragon, fangs dripping poison. The monster starts to pull its body tightly around the man, who, with his last bit of strength pulls out the phial of invisibility potion and drinks it. And this is where the real brilliance comes in. Henry takes a moment to describe the nature of the monster itself, specifically the fact that for this creature things which it cannot see do not exist. Because it lives buried in the sand, constantly enveloped, its sense of touch has faded and only sight and sound remain. The monster - confused at no longer being able to see its prey and whipping its head around looking for the man - lets its body grow slack and the man escapes quickly and quietly.

“Henry,” Killian looks up at the boy. “This is incredible.”

Henry’s smile is shy - and completely happy. “Do you really think so?”

“Yes, lad. It’s good. Really good.”

Henry bites his lip. Just like his mother. “Good enough to hand in?”

“Definitely.” Killian realizes just how much he means it. “You have truly gotten to the heart of this assignment, I believe.” Henry beams. “You have kept it simple and yet riveting, and choosing to just write a scene, instead of trying to construct a whole story weighed down by tons of exposition, was a stroke of brilliance. You throw your reader into the middle of the action, you explain just enough to let them understand where they are and who your protagonist is, you build tension and excitement immediately, set up the premise clearly and then pay it off with that phrase about the invisibility potion. That phrase is the climax of your story, as it should be.”

Killian smiles brightly at Henry, who now looks puzzled, and it’s only then that Killian realizes he’s talking to a 4th grader. He shakes his head and smirks at his own analysis.

“That means it’s good, Henry. Definitely good enough to hand in.” Henry smiles again. “The only thing I’m asking myself is whether the monster should have a name. Wouldn’t the hero of your story know what it’s called? He must have heard of it before, since he knew how to defeat it. And brought the phial just for that purpose, I assume.”

Henry’s face scrunches up. “I never thought of that, but that makes perfect sense. It should definitely have a name.” He looks at Killian. “Can you help me think of one?”

“I can try. What kind of sounds do you think the name should have?”

“Sounds?”

“The sounds letters make can be descriptive,” Killian nods at the boy. “For example, think of the words we use to describe the sounds animals make. Snakes hiss . That’s pretty much the sound they actually make.”

Henry’s eyebrows draw together. “Cows moo,” he mumbles. “Cats meow. Yeah, I get that.” He bites his lip again. “There should be hissing in the name, because the body is a snake, but also roaring, because the head is a dragon,” he says with conviction.

“Let’s have some fun with it.” Killian winks at him. “Pull up Google translator and let’s see what some of these words mean in Latin. Or Greek.”

“Or Chinese!” Henry beams again. “Lots of dragons are Chinese!”

When Emma walks in an hour later (Killian has taken to giving her his spare keys when she leaves right before closing), she finds them in a deep discussion on whether the word vrychithmós can be simplified into something vaguely pronounceable, and whether Nùhǒu or sfýrigma carries more weight.

“What on earth are you talking about?”

Both heads snap up to look at her, wearing identical sheepish grins. It throws her for a complete loop.

Henry says, “Hey mom”, while Killian nods at her as his grin morphs into a happy little smile.

She gives them both a raised eyebrow. “Seriously. What are you talking about?”

Henry launches into a convoluted explanation involving his English essay, and the importance of sounds when creating a name, and that they have been trying to build a name for his monster from the Google translations of ‘hiss’ and ‘roar’.

Emma has a hard time listening.

All she can see is that her son is excited and happy, and that the quiet librarian next to him is enjoying every moment of it. It fills her with gratitude. And absolute panic.

And then she sees the bowls on the table, next to a half-empty tupperware container.

“You made dinner?” She sees him wilt before her accusatory tone, but she can’t help herself.

The tips of his ears grow bright red, and he reaches up to scratch behind one of them. It’s a gesture she has observed many times, and by now she knows it signifies extreme nervousness on his part.

“I had l-leftover eggplant parmesan at home,” he stutters. “I-- I thought I’d bring it in instead of pizza.”

She doesn’t believe him for a second. These are not leftovers. He cooked. He cooked for her son.

Panic and gratitude ratchet up in equal measure.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped.” His voice is quiet and unsure. “Henry asked me to look at his essay, and I didn’t see the harm in--- I won’t do it again if it bothers you, I promise. And I don’t have to--- we’ve just been eating pizza a lot, and I thought--- I’m sorry. We can just order pizza next time.”

Next time .

Everything inside her wants to tell him in no uncertain terms that there won’t be a next time. But the truth is that she and Henry have nowhere else to go, and she doesn’t want to leave her son alone in the apartment at night, not in their neighborhood. And Killian looks contrite and ashamed, as if he did something wrong. When all he has done is help her out, time and time again. All he has done is help Henry out, feeding him dinner and helping him with his homework.

Emma bites down hard on all the scathing things jostling at the tip of her tongue, and takes a deep breath. It’s not Killian’s fault that she hates this with every fiber of her being. That her natural instinct is to not let Henry get attached to anyone, because people will eventually disappoint him and leave.

Killian has done nothing wrong.

She exhales slowly and tries to smile. “Eggplant parmesan? You got Henry to eat vegetables ?”

“It was awesome,” Henry says, completely oblivious to the war raging inside Emma and turns to Killian. “What do you think about sfýrigiss? Give it a hissing sound at the end? ”

Killian is still looking at Emma, his eyes uncertain, like he’s skating on very thin ice. “I think that’s a great idea, and that whatever you decide will be a fearsome name in the end. Worthy of your monster.”

Emma smiles and shakes her head. It’s time for a peace offering.

“I don’t think the name roars enough,” she says, pulling up a chair. “We can think of something more powerful.” She raises one eyebrow at Killian. “Is there some food left for me? Any vegetable my son deems ‘awesome’ I have to try.”

Killian’s smile as he nods and pushes tupperware and cutlery towards her is so full of joy and relief, it makes the panic inside her subside.

Just the tiniest bit.

But enough to make it less panic than gratitude.

A week later Emma shows up holding a six pack of beer. Craft beer. In bottles.

Killian can’t not smile.

“We saved you some pasta,” Henry says, not looking at Emma as he takes the bottle of soda she hands him, and then retreats to his corner of the couch. He’s in the middle of The Prisoner of Azkaban , and has been uncommunicative for days. The last time they tried to get him to put the book down and have dinner he actually growled at them. Growled . He has also let it slip that his eleventh birthday is later that month, and Killian has already ordered him a beautiful hardcover set. Every kid should have his own Harry Potters .

Emma opens her bottle and takes a large swig. “So Henry tells me you were an English professor.”

It is the first time she has broached a personal subject. It’s a heady mix of lovely and extremely uncomfortable.

He nods. “I was.”

She takes her time twirling spaghetti onto her fork before she goes on. “What made you stop? May I ask?”

He’s been dreading that question. He’s been asked about this many times, and he never ever tells the truth. He has a whole slew of colorful excuses, which range from slight distortions of actual facts to outright lies. But strangely enough, he doesn’t want to lie to her.

So he answers honestly. “Burn out.”

Her eyes go wide in surprise. “English professors can get burned out?”

He nods again. “They can.”

She puts the fork in her mouth and rolls her eyes as she begins to chew. “ Damn this is good,” she mumbles, her mouth full. She swallows and immediately digs back in. “Are you sure you weren’t a chef?”

He grins. It’s so lovely to see her enjoy his cooking. It’s so lovely to see her enjoy anything. When Emma Swan likes something, she does so wholeheartedly. It’s like a mask drops from her face and the tension bleeds out of her bearing and he can see the person beneath the carefully controlled exterior, carefree and happy and able to take pleasure from the little things in life. Her face lights up eating his pasta just like it did when she talked about her favorite books. More even, now that he’s no longer such a stranger.

“I am quite certain I have never been a chef,” he grins. “Quite certain no one has ever accused me of being a chef.”

“They should,” she mutters around another mouthful. “You may have missed your calling.”

It hits him where it hurts the most, that sentence, and he can’t stop his face from reflecting it. He knows he doesn’t have a poker face, much as he would like to, and he can see it the moment she notices.

Her eyes go wide and she puts one hand in front of her mouth in distress. “Killian, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. I’m sure you’re----”

“It’s all right, love,” he grinds out. “Don’t worry about it.”

Her voice is soft as she continues. “I’m really sorry. You don’t have to tell me anything. But--- I’d really like to know what happened. How you ended up here.”

He sighs. He might as well get it over with. “Have you ever heard the expression publish or perish ?”

She shakes her head no.

“Well, when I started out, I was going to make a name for myself in academia. I went to Oxford to get a doctorate in Philology.”

Her eyebrows fly up, and he can tell she is trying to hold back the question, trying not to interrupt him. It makes him smile. “Philology is the study of language. Specifically in literary texts, as well as oral and written historical sources. It’s basically where linguistics, literary criticism, and history ‘hang out and party’. As you Americans call it.”

Emma snorts a laugh. “We Americans do say that. Especially when we talk about linguistics and literary criticism and history. Big partiers, those three.”

Her eyebrow is quirked and there’s a gently teasing smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, and--- has she always been this beautiful? Or is it just tonight, with her body relaxed and her green eyes sparkling and a fork full of pasta halfway to her mouth that he can see her clearly?

He laughs. “You should see them walk into a bar and cause mayhem.” He shakes his head. “For me, it was mainly because I loved Tolkien and fancied myself quite the linguist. I did my dissertation on the influence of language on the creation of myth and belief in the Lord of the Rings and the Silmarillion . I didn’t just love Tolkien, you understand. I wanted to be Tolkien. The next Tolkien.” He takes a deep breath. “Let’s just say that didn’t work out.” He looks at her. “So I ended up here instead, thousands of miles away, the proud owner of a library science degree, trying to keep chaos at bay and storytime scheduled.”

There’s empathy in her eyes. “That had to be hard for you.”

He laughs, and hears just how helpless it sounds. “To resign myself to the rubbish heap of history? Yeah. A bit.”

She grins. “You’re not the ‘rubbish heap of history’. That’s just your pride messing with you.” Then she looks straight at him. “I’ve seen what you do here. You inspire kids to read. You help people with their job applications. You help them study for their GEDs. You teach the elderly how to use the internet, and you help those whose first language isn’t English understand important forms, and you help young people with their resumes.” She puts a hand on his arm. It’s warm, and firm, and reassuring. “You make a difference.”

He can’t speak. There’s a lump in his throat. There is nothing he can say in the face of such sincerity.

All he can do is nod. And surreptitiously wipe the corners of his eyes. Which are not wet. At all.

She busies herself eating her pasta and looking at Henry and checking her phone, and he’s eternally grateful for that.

After at least three long pulls, which empty his beer, he has himself together enough to return inquiries.

“Henry said you wanted to be a cop?”

She shakes her head. “That kid talks too much.” He merely raises an eyebrow at her until she starts to laugh. “Yes, I know, I’m a hypocrite.”

He nods. And waits.

When she goes on, her voice is quiet. “I did want to be a cop. But I never finished high school.”

He raises both eyebrows this time. “You do realize we can help you get your GED, right? I mean, you just mentioned it yourself.”

She shrugs. “I also did a stint in jail. They frown on that when you apply to the Academy.”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “You’ve been in jail?”

“Juvie. But my sentence extended past my 18th birthday, and so my records were never sealed.” She bites her lip. He’s learning that it’s a sign of extreme discomfort. And shame. “And I had Henry while I was inside. So when I got out I had no skills, no diploma, a record, and a newborn. Not exactly ideal circumstances.”

He wants to slap himself for making his own story into a tale of woe, because what she’s letting peek through is so much worse than anything he’s ever had to go through.

“What about your family?” It’s a whisper. His voice is not working.

She smiles. It’s self-deprecating. “No family. System kid.”

He can’t stop himself from taking her hand. She lets him. “I am so sorry, Emma. How on earth did you---- just how?”

Still that self-deprecating smile. “The usual way, I guess. Slow and cumbersome. We lived in a shelter at first. I didn’t know what to do - Henry was so little, and I just--- I had---”

She takes a deep breath to steady herself, and from the corner of the couch comes Henry’s voice. “She became a superhero. That’s what happened.” He fixes Killian with something close to a death glare.

Emma throws her head back and laughs a watery laugh.

“Not quite kid. You know I lucked out.” She looks at Henry and then back at Killian. “I applied for a desk job with a PI and he didn’t mind that I came with a baby. He was really cool about it. Said it didn’t hamper my ability to file and answer phones if I brought the kid to work. Saved my life.”

“David’s cool like that,” comes Henry’s voice again.

Killian feels a small spike of something that’s dangerously close to jealousy.

Jealousy?

He shakes his head at himself.

Meanwhile Emma turns to her son, and her voice grows firm. “Henry David Swan, either come join the conversation or stay where you are and read. I’m done with the peanut gallery.”

Henry rolls his eyes, but then goes back to his book.

Henry David Swan . She named her son after this man. The jealousy spikes again, and Killian has to take a deep breath and tell himself to get a grip.

“Anyway, once Henry started kindergarten, David introduced me to bail bonds. I’ve been tracking skips ever since. It’s not exactly nine to five - as you may have noticed - but it keeps a roof over our heads.”

Emma looks at him again and squares her shoulders as if for battle. “That’s thanks to you, too, you know. You’ve saved us from getting evicted more than once.”

From getting evicted . This is not a problem Killian has had to deal with. Ever.

His lovely academic existence in a faraway country has never forced him to confront nor contemplate not having a place to live.

And what has he contributed that was so great? Watched her son for a few hours? Provided a few meals?

“It was nothing, love.”

She squirms, but her eyes stay clear. “Yeah, well, you did. David used to watch Henry after school, but he’s married now and they have a newborn, so we started coming here instead.”

The spike of jealousy subsides so fast, Killian almost laughs at himself.

Emma sighs. “I can’t leave Henry alone at night, so I try to meet all the skips I bring in for Happy Hour somewhere, and then I try to make it back here as fast as I can, but you’ve seen yourself I don’t always make it. And I know he’s safe here. So--- thank you.”

There is that sincere thanks again. He is powerless before it. He just looks at her until she takes another sip of her beer and breaks the spell, and then starts the long and laborious process of getting Henry away from his book and ready to leave.

It takes a while.

When they’re about to walk out, he has gathered his thoughts enough to stop her in the doorway. Henry is already bounding down the front steps, while they stand arrested, his hand on her arm. She is warm, and solid, and she doesn’t squirm away from his touch, even though she looks at him with something close to apprehension.

“It’s all right, Emma,” he says, and somehow he knows instinctively that this one time he has hit on exactly the right thing to say. “You’re not a burden, neither one of you. I like spending time with you both. It’s not a bother. It’s a joy.”

Her eyes get really shiny for a moment, and she clears her throat several times. In the end she just nods. “We have to get home,” she whispers, and he knows that there are many other things she wants to say, but can’t.

He’s grateful for it. One more sincere thanks and he’s liable to do something extremely stupid.

Like try to kiss her.

-/-

#cs fic #cs fic rec #csseptembersunshine #thisonesatellite #the unexpected life #trope-a-palooza #librarian!killian #bailbonds!emma #captain swan #captain cobra #this is a cinnamon roll people #there is NO ANGST anywhere #yeah - you heard me #:)#amazing art by #mariakov81

86 notes · View notes

letstrysomefanfic · 6 years ago

Text

You’re Not Missing Me (Peter Parker x Reader)

Request: Song Prompt from @starksparker‘s 4k Writing Challenge!

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: heartbreak, mention of death, lots of angst

A/N: I HAVE RETURNED!! And how fitting that the fic that marks that is one of angst. As if yall needed anymore angst. Oh well HAPPY 4K to @starksparker and sorry for finally getting this out hella late. And thank you to @parkthepeter and @rileywrites-parker for beta-ing this!!

Based on You’re Not Missing Me by Chelsea Cutler

Check out this bomb ass moodboard @starksparker made

When I'm out and you're sleeping And I need you on my phone Cause you know that I mean it When I wish that I was Home to hold you But I have to love you through a call And I'm thinking you're not missing me at all

The surrounding chatter became a muffled buzz and the bright, colored lights became a blend of soft, unfocused flashes as the triangle icon stared back at you. You had told yourself you wouldn’t do this, you wouldn’t go down this rabbit hole. You wouldn’t do this to yourself. And yet your thumb lowered--

*beep*

“Hey (Y/N)! I’m sorry I can’t make it tonight but I will totally make it up to you tomorrow! That pizza place on 5th is having that pizza palooza so I was thinking we could go there and get whatever you want and then go to that exhibit at MoMA ‘cause I remember you mentioning it had this thi-- CRAP I uh I gotta go, some idiot’s trying to break into a car, but I’ll callyoulaterokayloveyoubye!”

That last rush of words rang through your ears, and your breath caught in your chest, despite your efforts. Peter’s voice had been regretful at first, but soon tinged with excitement and life. That fleeting message with its own intentions had instead buried itself into your brain as something equivalent to a heartfelt Shakespearean sonnet. You wanted nothing more than to somehow jump into message, as if it somehow was a direct link to the tangible, living dork you still loved.

“(Y/N)!” someone shouted from somewhere else. No, you thought. Let me linger here longer, please, let me see--

“(Y/N)!” Betty’s eyes came into focus in front of you. She tilted her head pointedly. “What’re you listening to?”

“Nothing,” you shook your head, pulling your earbuds out. You couldn’t meet her gaze, but she already knew. She barely had to look at the screen.

“(Y/N), we talked about this--”

“I know! I know I shouldn’t...”

Betty handed you a red cup, not pressing further but still watching you carefully. “Come on, Ned finally convinced Michelle to play.”

You shoved your phone in your pocket and exhaled.

I’m doing the best that I can.

But baby these conversations will break me I’m sorry I wear you like crazy Giving you all that I am

“Can we please just not do this right now?” You swallowed, trying to narrow your vision on the book in your lap. Not again, dammit, not again.

“Aw come on, why not?”

“I’m having a really nice day, believe it or not.”

Peter grinned at you, swaying side to side with his hands in his pockets. “I thought I made your day nicer?”

“Not anymore.”

“Really?” He stepped closer, raising his eyebrows.

“Yep, I really don’t need you here doing this right now, so just go away.”

“Really?” Peter repeated, his voice quiet. “You don’t need me?” He knelt down in front of you and your eyes helplessly averted from your book. “Is that why do you still have the necklace?”

You pressed your lips together, and resisted the urge to touch the chain on your neck and instead to shift back to the book. But the letters weren’t sinking in. Why was it so hard to-- “Please stop trying to ignore me, (Y/N). You know it never works.”

You sighed. “Go away, Parker.”

“Aw come on, babe.”

“Don’t ‘babe’ me!” you hissed, lifting your book higher. “You shouldn’t even be here.” The words felt stale as they left your mouth.

“Then why am I?” Your book was lowering, your breathing was becoming irregular, and this was becoming more of a problem. “Why am I here?” he urged softly.

“Please just go.”

“Stop trying to ignore me.”

“Well what else am I supposed to do?” you demanded. Your thoughts ran amuck with everything you wanted to scream at him. Do you have any idea? The questions I’ve had to answer over and over and over? Constantly hearing ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘it gets better’ or seeing all those pitying looks? Do you feel the claw on my stomach everytime I hear your name? The suffocating guilt in my lungs? Do you know?

But he just looked at you forlornly, and all you could manage was a single phrase.

I’m doing the best that I can.

The sheets were soft under your hands that wouldn’t completely stop shaking. It had been months since you’d been in this room.

“Hasn’t changed that much,” you commented.

Peter’s torso swung down from the ceiling, his hair swishing about. “What did you expect?”

You shrugged. “All your clothes are put away, for once.”

“You’re one to talk,” he smirked.

“Even your suit.”

Peter’s smirk fell, but he forced a shrug. “What would you have done with it?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you think May did with it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is that why you finally came in here? To see if she had gotten rid of--”

“I don’t know,” you snapped. Your head whipped up to the door, instantly worrying if you had been heard from the kitchen.

May only shouted, “Dinner will be ready in five!”

Peter silently flipped back onto the ground. “What else do you miss about this?” he asked, gesturing to the room.

Your nose ached for a smell you had once cringed at, harassed him for, even. “Your stupid, stinky cologne.”

He looked surprised. “I didn’t even notice. If you want, I think some of my sweatshirts might still--”

“Don’t,” you warned.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t tempt me like that.”

“‘Tempt you’? What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” you scoffed. “You know I can’t keep doing this.”

“So why do you?”

“I don’t--”

“Why do you do this to yourself, (Y/N)?” Peter ran his fingers over the blue sweater that sat on his chair, his eyes studying you.

“I’m not!” you cried. “I’m not the one who keeps interrupting my own thoughts and my dreams and my life!”

“But you are the one who opened the door, who keeps listening to my messages, keeps staying up too late trying to see if I’ll swing by.”

“That’s not--”

“And you keep lying to everyone about me…”

You shot up, the bed squeaking loudly at your sudden absence. “I’m not lying, you’re just making it difficult,” you seethed as you reached for the door, the smell of slightly-burned lasagna overpowering the last of Peter’s scent.

The grass ripped all too willingly under your frustrated tug.

“We should’ve done this more often,” Peter sighed. “I can’t believe we only ever went on one sunny park date…”

You tensed. “Do you mind? I’m trying to focus here.”

“Focus on what, exactly?”

“Ugh, why is it so hard for you to just go?!”

“Because you miss me.”

Your breath hitched. “But you don’t miss me.”

Peter turned towards you. “You don’t know that.”

The harsh and scary truth lodged itself in your throat and shoved your silent sobs down to your already weary stomach.

“Will I ever?” you whispered.

“I don’t know,” his voice was brittle. You found yourself dreading what his next words would be. “You really want me to leave you alone?”

“Please don’t make me answer that.” Truth be told, as much as your recent conversations annoyed you and worried everyone around you, you clung to their reminder of what was, what could have been. It didn’t matter if you said “yes” or “no” because either would result in pain. Pain you didn’t want to continue to face, and pain you had been avoiding since the very beginning.

“Okay, I won’t.” Peter leaned towards you, and your heart beat with anticipation and dread. “But you know what has to happen, (Y/N).” You couldn’t breathe. You could only nod the tears away, against the resounding “NO” that screamed through your veins and caught in your throat. “You have to let me go,” he breathed, and you could see him, out of the corner of your eye, his lips coming closer to his spot on your cheek.

But your cheek felt no kiss. You numbly turned to where you swore the ghost of his voice lingered. The warmth you imagined was gone, and the only life near you were the flowers you had laid on the unweathered headstone that immortalized Peter Parker’s name and youth.

Tag List: @parkthepeter @acciowaffle @ima-smol-acorn @multi-parker

Also gonna tag some mutuals cuz hey it’s been a while: @officialtessaholland @tomsfireheart @imaginexmeintheuniverse @howlingdawn @spideychelle-romanogers

#kavys4kwc #writing challenge #starksparker #peter parker fic #spider-man fic #peter parker angst #spider-man angst #angst #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #spider-man x reader #spider-man x you #original #mine #mcu fic #you're not missing me #ynmm #peter parker imagine #spider-man imagine

175 notes · View notes

stevenuniversallyreviews · 7 years ago

Text

Episode 75: Steven’s Birthday

“Looks like you stagnated there a little bit, buddy.”

My brother is nearly two years older than me, but due to his summer birthday we were only a grade apart in school. My sister is exactly two years and eight days younger than me. One of the many things you get as a middle child, particularly when the ages are so close together, is a sense of innate value in being slightly older.

There have been several moments in my post-high school life when, for various reasons, I’ve assumed that certain peers were older than me. Whenever I learn that these age impostors are actually younger, it rocks me to my core. I just have this semi-conscious deference to people who are a little bit older, and I swear my internal reaction to learning that I’m the older one is always “Well then why the hell was I respecting you so much?”

I acknowledge that this is absurd, especially because I don’t expect that kind of deference from my younger peers (this could be due to my sister’s low tolerance for my BS, I dunno). In practice, I’m not even consciously nicer to people I think are older; as far as I’m aware, it’s all in my head. But there’s still a tiny sense of rank that comes with age order that I'm not sure I’ll ever shake.

This is all to say that I've never related more deeply with Connie Maheswaran than I do in Steven’s Birthday.

I mentioned in my post on Nightmare Hospital how much I appreciate the specifics we get on this show, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence that we first learn Steven and Connie’s exact ages (as well as Greg’s age at the time of Story for Steven) in another Connie-centric episode. The Gems don’t care about specifics, because they live so long that everything just kind of goes together. But humans—especially the kids in the audience—care a lot about detail, and this is ultimately an episode about Steven’s humanity.

And yeah, it’s weird that Steven is 14. Or rather, that he was 12 and 13 for as long as we’ve known him; considering Steven’s Birthday is after the second Beach-a-Palooza we’ve seen on this show, I assume he had another birthday that we didn’t get to see. If this kid was going to school, this show would be taking place from seventh through ninth grade. Yikes!

But this reaction is the point. We’re meant to be shocked. 14-year-olds tend not to act like Steven, for better (they tend to be savvier) and for worse (they tend to be terrified of earnestness and hide their insecurities with attitude sassier). Despite the character development we’ve seen from Steven, he’s still firmly in kid mode. Part of that is the realities of a show with set character designs (cue the fandom complaints about inconsistent sizes*); note that he still doesn’t physically grow until the time jump. But in-universe, it also has to do with a continued mindset that he’s pursuing equal footing with the Crystal Gems. If his life is defined by pursuit, he’ll never actually reach the goal.

*In regard to character sizes: I see characters like I see language. If you say a word that’s slang or dialectal, and someone fluent in that slang or dialect immediately understands you, then that’s a word, regardless of what a dictionary says. If I look at a character I’m familiar with and immediately recognize that character, then that’s the character. Moreover, there are characters in Steven Universe who care as much about size as the fandom, and spoiler alert, they’re the villains.

As I’ve maintained since all the way back in Bubble Buddies, Connie is an agent of change. She’s Steven’s prompt to start growing up for real, and Steven’s Birthday has nice little nods to many of the ways they’ve developed together so far. They toast with durian juiceboxes, the same gross fruit drink that caused An Indirect Kiss. Greg offers Connie a ride home in the van, which is the bulk of Winter Forecast, and in that same ride Connie talks about the training with Pearl that began in Sworn to the Sword. There’s a big dancing scene a la Alone Together. Connie even broaches the possibility of skirting movie theater law, and despite retracting the suggestion, she was all about sneaking food in Lion 2: The Movie (her vision of Dogcopter in the stars is icing on that cookie cake).

After Nightmare Hospital’s friendship episode, we jump right back to romantic subtext here. I don’t know too many platonic friends who slow dance until one does a vintage foot pop, or who assume they’ll be married when one of them is president, or who just blush this much in general. It makes a ton of sense to go for this angle in an episode about getting older, but more importantly, awww.

This is the first time subtle relationship angst has been introduced to their dynamic: unlike Connie freaking out about Steven’s family in Fusion Cuisine or Steven trying to ice Connie out in Full Disclosure, the tension between these two spends the whole episode simmering but never surfaces in a big way. It just manifests in awkward discomfort, which does manage to convince me that Steven is 14 now. While they don’t dwell on it too much, Connie is clearly more attracted to Tall Steven than Regular Steven, and I think he knows it. If you’re not a young teen already, imagine being a young teen again and knowing you could make your crush like you, but it caused physical pain. Yeah, not too surprising Steven goes for it.

(If you’re younger than a young teen, get off Tumblr right this instant and read a book. Love, a children’s librarian.)

On top of looking taller, Zach Callison drops closer to his regular speaking voice to complete the illusion of Steven’s growth; like companion episode Too Many Birthdays, he gets to show off a vocal range that Steven usually doesn’t have. While Too Many Birthdays does show that Steven has some control over his age, and didn’t actually have to stretch it out here, I like the implication that despite wanting to look older for Connie, he still doesn’t feel older quite yet. And he gets a nifty (if unsubtle) lesson about being himself at the end when his mature decision to stop altering himself is rewarded with his first puny facial hair. (As someone whose father could grow a full beard in high school but who himself had nothing but peach fuzz until after college, I feel you, Steven.)

Lamar Abrams and Katie Mitroff thread the needle on Connie, who has to balance the role of being a good friend against being the root of Steven’s body issues. She easily could’ve delved into Fusion Cuisine levels of unsympathetic, but it’s clear that her feelings about Steven’s appearance stem more from concern than anything else. Yes, she does like his taller form, but she never intentionally pressures him to maintain it, and accepts his regular form without question. She even wants to hang out with his baby form! I wouldn’t have even minded if her worry manifested in getting a little upset with him, as this would be a natural reaction to Steven’s condition and Connie isn’t perfect, but she cares more about who Steven is than what he looks like, which is just the kind of friend/crush he needs.

Connie also gets a nice amount of bonding time with Greg, with an explicit reference to their roles as the most important human beings in Steven’s life that we got from We Need to Talk. I love how Greg’s doting fatherhood is something that Steven is probably still super into, but is only embarrassed by because Connie is around; he’s right at the cusp, but he’s still a kid. But through Greg’s interactions with Connie, we see that his Dad Mode isn’t restricted to goofy shows of affection, and he’s willing to get serious when a kid that isn’t even his is upset. Just as we could’ve had an episode where Connie was more of a jerk, Steven’s quiet abandonment of his cape and crown could’ve made for some painful interactions with Greg. I’m so glad that Abrams and Mitroff are content with how uncomfortable the core premise of the episode is and don’t feel the need to shove in additional drama.

Also, while it’s clear from the extended theme song and implied in other Greg episodes, this is the first in-show confirmation that Greg raised Steven on his own for a significant portion of his life. It comes with yet another callback, this time to Laser Light Cannon as we crank up Let Me Drive My Van Into Your Heart, and it’s heartwarming to think about those early days of Greg and Baby Steven in an episode that’s so focused on the question of Steven’s humanity. Three Gems and a Baby will show the sorts of challenges Greg actually faced, but it also reinforces what we learn here: that for all their cosmic wisdom, Steven needed a human to raise him first. Not even Garnet pulling faces can do what Greg does.

The method by which Steven adjusts his form turns Steven’s Birthday into something of an Amethyst Episode (I love how this show is willing to pick certain Gems to focus on even when all three are still background characters). Garnet and Pearl don’t have the body issues that Amethyst now shares with Steven, especially concerning the use of shapeshifting to combat a feeling that they’re too small. Amethyst introduces the concept while stretching to hang up a banner with a pointed caveat that she can’t stay stretched forever, and when she confronts him after catching his secret (aided by him helpfully stating aloud what his secret is), you get a sense that she knows all too well how much it hurts to try to permanently hold a bigger form. In a true Amethyst Episode, this might lead to a reveal that she once attempted what Steven’s doing now (which we do see a bit of in Reformed but not in the “stretching of a base form” sense), but here, it’s left to the imagination.

Amethyst also gets that great reveal as a car seat, which I can’t unsee now but was surprised by in my first viewing due to the focus on Connie and Greg. It’s not only a fun little joke, but it gives Greg a reason to have a baby seat handy. Considering he’s a hoarder and the barn is full of old junk, we could’ve seen a regular seat without comment, but the crew doesn’t waste the opportunity for a sight gag.

There is one missing thing from Steven’s Birthday that surprised me a little. Considering our last episode (which takes place mere hours before this one) was a story about, among other things, how Garnet met Rose, it’s interesting that nobody points out the other anniversary this day represents. Steven’s birth directly correlates with Rose’s death, but neither Greg nor the Gems (not even Pearl!) seem to care. This isn’t a criticism of the episode at all: Abrams and Mitroff wanted to tell a completely different story, and there’s no way to do justice to “Gems think about Rose’s death on Steven’s special day” without making that the focus of the episode. I just think it’s an intriguing indicator of the show’s priorities. Rose is important, but in the moment the Gems see Steven as more important, and that’s pretty neat.

Anyway, it’ll be a couple more seasons until Steven and Connie get another big dose of teen-specific angst with the devastating Breakup Arc, and I doubt it’s a coincidence that their reconciliation in Kevin Party comes with Steven’s pink button-down. Still, in retrospect, the awkwardness we see here primes us for a different relationship: Lapis and Peridot’s. The latter is awkwardness incarnate, and when we finally get to know the former outside of crisis mode, it turns out she’s a surly teen. Together, they sate the show’s new appetite for adolescent drama between Steven’s Birthday and Dewey Wins, culminating in Lapis dumping Peridot (because as I literally just said, the Breakup Arc is devastating).

Shifting the teen relationship to another duo is such a smart path for the show to take, because it lets us retain focus on Steven’s identity as a growing child without abandoning the new storytelling possibilities that Steven’s Birthday suggests. It’s not as if Steven doesn’t gain any maturity until Dewey Wins—Amethyst’s arc is all about how he’s more or less caught up with her, and she’s a bit of a surly teen herself—but there’s enough Gem drama at the moment that Steven and Connie’s relationship still works best without tremendous complications.

Future Vision!

Maybe Pearl doesn’t want to hold Baby Steven because of that time she almost killed him in Three Gems and a Baby?

Steven’s facial hair might not have many new appearances, but Jungle Moon teaches us that Stevonnie gets full stubble when they’re fused long enough. And we do see it briefly in Reunited, complete with the shaving kit that explains why it’s rarely on his face. Gotta keep that chin smooth!

If Steven’s entire look after the time jump counts, then this is pretty good foreshadowing.

We’re the one, we’re the ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!

Steven’s discomfort expands to the viewing experience as well, and while it’s good to portray awkwardness well in situations like these, I’m not huge on rewatching it. Also, I hit my major growth spurt between fifth and sixth grade (and by major I mean I was six feet tall in sixth grade and just stuck with that height), and you don’t grow that fast without some serious back aches, so this one doesn’t just bring an intentional cringe factor, but memories of acute physical pain.

But I mean sure besides that it’s pretty good.

Top Fifteen

Steven and the Stevens

Mirror Gem

Lion 3: Straight to Video

Alone Together

The Return

Jailbreak

The Answer

Sworn to the Sword

Rose’s Scabbard

Coach Steven

Giant Woman

Winter Forecast

When It Rains

Catch and Release

Chille Tid

Love ‘em

Laser Light Cannon

Bubble Buddies

Tiger Millionaire

Lion 2: The Movie

Rose’s Room

An Indirect Kiss

Ocean Gem

Space Race

Garnet’s Universe

Warp Tour

The Test

Future Vision

On the Run

Maximum Capacity

Marble Madness

Political Power

Full Disclosure

Joy Ride

Keeping It Together

We Need to Talk

Cry for Help

Keystone Motel

Back to the Barn

Steven’s Birthday

Like ‘em

Gem Glow

Frybo

Arcade Mania

So Many Birthdays

Lars and the Cool Kids

Onion Trade

Steven the Sword Fighter

Beach Party

Monster Buddies

Keep Beach City Weird

Watermelon Steven

The Message

Open Book

Story for Steven

Shirt Club

Love Letters

Reformed

Rising Tides, Crashing Tides

Onion Friend

Historical Friction

Friend Ship

Nightmare Hospital

Too Far

Enh

Cheeseburger Backpack

Together Breakfast

Cat Fingers

Serious Steven

Steven’s Lion

Joking Victim

Secret Team

Say Uncle

No Thanks!

5. Horror Club 4. Fusion Cuisine 3. House Guest 2. Sadie’s Song 1. Island Adventure

#steven's birthday #steven universe #su #steven universally #review

41 notes · View notes