#like i get it. it's for setting the mood and stuff

[ms-snape]

Omg please write an imagine in which reader and snape are in a relationship and she never calls him by his name, only nicknames and stuff like that (baby, darling, love, different nicknames, etc.) one day either the fight or he tells her off about it and suddenly she stops and calls like everyone else (Severus/snape/whatever) and only then he realizes how much he loved the way it previously was and it drives him mad trying to get her to go back without out right saying it (cause the grumpy proud man that he is😂)

Title: Grumpy Proud Man

Warning: A bit of angst

Words Count: 2000+

___

The warm, golden light of the early morning filtered through the greenhouse windows, casting intricate patterns across the floor. Y/N hummed softly to herself, her hands deep in the soil of a Venomous Tentacula pot. The plant quivered slightly, its tendrils curling inwards as if it recognized her gentle touch. Herbology was her passion, and every day spent tending to the vibrant flora of Hogwarts felt like a dream come true.

She glanced at the clock on the wall and smiled. Severus would be finishing his first class of the day soon. Her heart gave a little flutter, as it always did when she thought of him. Severus Snape, the enigmatic Potions Master, with his sharp wit and sharper tongue, was a man who had captured her heart entirely. She adored him, though he often pretended to be immune to such affection.

Y/N wiped her hands on her apron and set the Venomous Tentacula aside. She wanted to surprise him with tea in his office—a small token of her love. As she prepared the tray with precise care, her mind wandered to the first time they’d spoken. It had been over a shared interest in rare magical plants. What had started as professional respect had grown into a deep bond, though they couldn’t have been more different in temperament.

Where Y/N was warm and openly affectionate, Severus was reserved, his emotions locked behind an impenetrable wall. But she saw through it—the way his eyes softened when he looked at her, the way his voice lowered when they spoke. He loved her, even if he struggled to say it aloud.

Over the following days, Y/N made a habit of showering Severus with affection in small, thoughtful ways. She would slip into the dungeons with a fresh cup of tea or a plate of his favorite biscuits, always accompanied by a soft kiss on his temple or a playful ruffle of his hair. “My Sevvy,” she’d call him, her voice dripping with adoration. “You work too hard. Take a moment to breathe, love.”

Severus would sigh, his expression caught between exasperation and fondness. “You’re incorrigible,” he’d mutter, though he never truly pushed her away. He didn’t know how to respond to such open affection, but he found himself craving her presence nonetheless.

In the evenings, she’d join him in his quarters, curling up beside him on the worn sofa as he read through his notes. She’d rest her head on his shoulder, her fingers tracing idle patterns along his arm. “Sevvy, darling, have I told you how much I love you today?”

“Only a dozen times,” he’d reply dryly, though his lips would twitch as if suppressing a smile.

“Well, it bears repeating,” she’d say, kissing the corner of his mouth. “You’re brilliant, and I’m so lucky to have you.”

These moments brought a flicker of warmth to Severus’s otherwise somber world, though he struggled to reconcile them with his own guarded nature. While he appreciated her love, he often found himself retreating inward, unsure of how to handle such unabashed devotion.

One morning, as Y/N prepared a basket of pastries to bring to the staff lounge, she couldn’t resist adding a small bouquet of flowers from the greenhouse. Severus had been particularly terse the day before, and she wanted to brighten his mood.

When she arrived at his office, she found him hunched over his desk, his hair falling in dark curtains around his face. She knocked lightly before stepping inside. “Sevvy, love, I brought you something.”

He looked up, his expression immediately guarded. “What is it now?”

She set the basket down, her smile unwavering. “Just some pastries and a little something to make your office feel less dreary.” She held out the bouquet, her eyes shining with hope.

Severus stared at the flowers, his mouth pressing into a thin line. “Y/N,” he said, his tone measured, “this isn’t necessary.”

“Of course it is,” she replied, undeterred. “You deserve to be surrounded by beauty.”

“I’m quite capable of managing without,” he said sharply, pushing the bouquet away.

Her smile faltered, but she quickly masked her disappointment. “Alright,” she said softly, setting the flowers on the windowsill instead. “I’ll just leave them here in case you change your mind.”

The tension reached its breaking point a few days later. Y/N had come to his office after dinner, her arms full of papers she’d been grading. She’d planned to sit with him while he worked, enjoying their usual quiet companionship. But when she called him “Sevvy” for the third time that evening, his patience snapped.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice dangerously low, “must you persist with these ridiculous nicknames?”

She blinked, startled. “I didn’t think you minded,” she said, her voice tinged with hurt. “It’s just my way of showing you how much I care.”

“And I have tolerated it,” he said, standing abruptly. “But there are limits. I am not some simpering fool to be coddled with pet names.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, a mix of embarrassment and anger rising within her. “I never meant to make you feel that way. I just… I thought it made you happy.”

“Happy?” he repeated, his tone biting. “Do I strike you as a man who delights in such trivialities?”

Her eyes filled with tears, but she refused to let them fall. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, her voice trembling. “I didn’t realize my affection was such a burden to you.”

“Y/N,” he began, but she shook her head, cutting him off.

“No, I understand,” she said, her voice firm despite the crack in it. “If it bothers you that much, I won’t call you those names anymore.”

She turned and left, her footsteps echoing in the dimly lit corridor. Severus watched her go, his chest tightening with an unfamiliar ache. He didn’t try to stop her.

The days that followed were marked by a distinct shift in their dynamic. Y/N kept her promise, addressing him only as Severus or Professor Snape, even when they were alone. She no longer reached for his hand during their quiet walks around the grounds, nor did she surprise him with kisses on his cheek when they crossed paths in the corridors. Her vibrant warmth seemed to dim, replaced by a careful restraint that mirrored his own.

At first, Severus told himself it was a relief. He valued order and discipline, even in his personal life. But as the days turned into weeks, he began to notice the absence of her usual cheer. The way her laughter no longer echoed through the greenhouse, the way her smiles didn’t quite reach her eyes. She was still kind, still attentive, but there was a distance between them that hadn’t been there before.

One evening, as they sat together in her quarters, the silence between them felt heavier than usual. Y/N was curled up on the sofa, a book in her lap, while Severus sipped his tea. The fire crackled in the hearth, but its warmth did little to dispel the chill in the room.

“Y/N,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence.

She looked up from her book, her expression neutral. “Yes, Severus?”

He hesitated, the words forming and reforming in his mind. “Have I upset you?”

Her brows lifted in mild surprise. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“You…” He gestured vaguely. “You’ve been different.”

She closed her book and set it aside, turning to face him fully. “I’ve only been doing what you asked. I’ve respected your boundaries.”

Her words were calm, but there was an edge to them that made his chest tighten. “I didn’t mean for you to… withdraw entirely.”

“I haven’t,” she said, folding her hands in her lap. “I still care for you deeply, Severus. I’m just… trying to be what you need.”

He frowned, leaning forward slightly. “And what of what you need?”

Her lips curved into a sad smile. “I thought what I needed was you. But perhaps I’ve been asking too much.”

Her words hung in the air, and Severus had no reply. The fire crackled, filling the silence as the space between them seemed to grow wider. For the first time, Severus realized just how much he missed the sound of her calling him “Sevvy,” of her warm laughter echoing in the stillness. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

The following week brought more moments of realization, though Severus kept his thoughts buried. One afternoon, as they worked side by side in the greenhouse, Y/N handed him a cutting from a Fanged Geranium.

“Here, Severus,” she said, her tone polite but distant. “This one’s ready for potting.”

He took the cutting, his fingers brushing hers for a brief moment. The usual spark of warmth was absent, replaced by an emptiness that gnawed at him. He watched her as she moved to the other side of the greenhouse, her focus entirely on the plants. She didn’t hum as she usually did, and the silence felt oppressive.

Later that evening, during dinner in the Great Hall, Y/N addressed him in the same formal tone. “Severus, could you pass the salt?”

He complied, the simple act feeling strangely hollow. As he glanced at her, he noticed the faint lines of exhaustion around her eyes. She was smiling at something Professor Sprout had said, but it didn’t reach her eyes. He looked away, a knot tightening in his chest.

By the time the evening ended, Severus found himself lingering in the corridor outside her quarters. He raised his hand to knock but hesitated. What could he say? That he missed her warmth, her nicknames, her unbridled affection? The words refused to form, and after a moment, he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the empty hallway.

As the days stretched on, the distance between them became almost unbearable. Severus found himself longing for the very things he’d pushed away—the sound of her laughter, the way she’d light up a room just by being in it. But his pride held him back, keeping the words locked inside.

One evening, as they passed each other in the corridor, Y/N offered him a small, polite smile. “Good evening, Severus,” she said softly.

He nodded, his throat tightening. “Good evening, Y/N.”

As she walked away, the realization struck him with full force: he’d driven away the one person who had ever truly cared for him. And though he desperately wanted to fix it, he didn’t know how. Instead, he stood there, rooted to the spot, watching her retreating figure until she disappeared around the corner.

The following night, Severus sat in his quarters, the air thick with the scent of brewing potions and the faint crackle of the fire. A small vial of calming draught sat untouched on the edge of his desk. He had been staring at it for an hour, his mind replaying the moments of their relationship, the brightness she brought, the warmth he hadn’t realized he depended on.

He set the vial aside and stood, his resolve hardening. Enough was enough. He couldn’t undo the pain he had caused her, but he could at least admit he was wrong. He pulled his cloak around his shoulders and left his quarters, his strides purposeful yet hesitant.

When he reached the greenhouse, he found her bent over a table, tending to a row of Flutterby bushes. The moonlight streaming through the glass panes caught in her hair, making her look ethereal. For a moment, he simply watched her, his chest tightening with a strange mix of longing and guilt.

“Y/N,” he said finally, his voice low but steady.

She straightened, turning to face him. “Severus,” she said, her tone neutral but not unkind. “What brings you here so late?”

He hesitated, his usual composure faltering. “I need to speak with you.”

She wiped her hands on her apron and nodded. “Of course. What is it?”

The words stuck in his throat for a moment, but he forced them out. “I… I owe you an apology.”

Her eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across her face. She said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

“I’ve been a fool,” he admitted, his voice heavy with self-reproach. “Your affection, your warmth… I took it for granted. Worse, I dismissed it as trivial when it was anything but.”

Her expression softened, though she still looked guarded. “Severus…”

He stepped closer, his dark eyes searching hers. “I thought I needed distance, control. But all I’ve managed to do is drive you away. And in doing so, I’ve come to realize how much I miss… everything about you. Your laughter, your kindness. Even the ridiculous nicknames.”

A faint smile tugged at her lips, though tears glistened in her eyes. “You mean that?”

“I do,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I’m not good at this, Y/N. I don’t know how to show love the way you do, but… I want to try. If you’ll let me.”

She closed the distance between them, reaching up to cup his face in her hands. “Oh, Severus,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You didn’t have to be perfect. You just had to be you.”

His hands came to rest lightly on her waist, his touch tentative. “You deserve so much more than I’ve given you.”

“What I deserve,” she said firmly, “is a partner who tries. And if you’re willing to do that, then that’s all I need.”

He nodded, a faint sheen of tears in his own eyes. “I’ll try.”

She smiled then, the first genuine smile he’d seen from her in weeks. “That’s all I ask, Sevvy.”

A soft laugh escaped him, and he shook his head. “You’ll be insufferable with those names again, won’t you?”

“Absolutely,” she teased, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. “But only because I love you.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Severus allowed himself to smile—a small, hesitant smile, but genuine nonetheless. Together, they stood in the moonlit greenhouse, the distance between them finally bridged.

[antinousletmehit]

Don't be shy give us the drafts 😈

Telemachus adjusted his drafting table, the low hum of the college studio room filling the air as he meticulously worked on his latest architectural blueprint. He had a midterm project due, and Professor Hephaestus had made it clear that he expected perfection. “Still drawing your little squares and triangles, Telemachus?” came a familiar, mocking voice from behind.

Telemachus sighed but didn’t look up. “Hello, Antinous.” Antinous, y/n’s older brother, sauntered into the room, his forensic textbooks tucked under his arm. His sharp grin made it clear he was in the mood to antagonize. “You know, while you’re busy doodling, some of us are out here studying real sciences. Forensics, the stuff that actually solves mysteries and makes a difference.”

Telemachus rolled his eyes. “And yet, here you are, interrupting me instead of solving mysteries.”

“Antinous!” Y/n’s voice cut through the room like a knife. She strode in, her physcology notes in hand and an exasperated expression on her face. “Are you seriously bothering Telemachus again?”

Antinous leaned casually against the wall, clearly unfazed. “I’m just trying to inspire the kid. Maybe he’ll switch to a major with some… weight.”

“Being an architect requires more creativity and discipline than you’ll ever understand,” she snapped, planting her hands on her hips. “You can’t just tear people down because you think your major is better. Also, maybe focus on your own work instead of harassing others.”

Telemachus smirked at her lecture but quickly covered it with a cough. “It’s fine, y/n. I’m used to it.”

“No, it’s not fine,” she said, glaring at her brother.

Antinous groaned, dramatically throwing his hands up. “Fine, fine! I’m leaving. Have fun with your rulers and compasses, Telemachus.”

As Antinous strolled out, she sighed and sat next to Telemachus. “Don’t listen to him. He’s just jealous because you’re better at focusing than he is.”

Telemachus chuckled. “I appreciate the backup. I don’t know how you deal with him.”

She shrugged. “He’s my brother. It’s a full-time job keeping him in line. Anyway, need a break? I brought coffee.”

“Please,” Telemachus said, setting his pencil down. “You’re a lifesaver.” And as they sipped their coffee, Antinous’ teasing was quickly forgotten—at least until the next time he decided to crash their study session.

——

In Antinous and Eurymachus’ shared dorm, the atmosphere was a mix of chaos and disarray. Girl’s panties were strewn across the floor, empty takeout containers balanced precariously on the edge of the desk, and the faint smell of cologne hung in the air. Eurymachus was sprawled on his bed, scrolling through his phone, clearly uninterested in the pile of ELA assignments stacked on his desk. Antinous paced the room like a caged lion, his arms flailing as he launched into yet another rant.

“I’m telling you, Eurymachus,” Antinous started, his voice sharp with frustration, “y/n is way too young to be hanging out with guys like Telemachus. She’s barely even out of high school, and now she thinks she can just… what? Be friends with him like it’s nothing?”

Eurymachus didn’t even look up from his phone. “Dude, she’s in college. Same as you. She’s not a kid.”

“She is a kid,” Antinous snapped, pointing an accusatory finger in the air. “She’s my baby sister. She has no idea how guys think, how manipulative they can be. And Telemachus? Don’t even get me started. He’s got that whole quiet, ‘I’m-so-serious’ vibe going on. It’s suspicious!”

Eurymachus finally glanced up, smirking lazily. “Suspicious? Or are you just jealous she’s spending more time with him than with you?”

Antinous froze mid pace, glaring at Eurymachus. “Jealous? Of Telemachus? Don’t be ridiculous. I just think she’s too naïve to see through people’s motives. She doesn’t need to be wasting her time on some guy who spends all day drawing buildings.”

Eurymachus shrugged, clearly unimpressed. “Look, man, you can’t micromanage her life forever. She’s not a kid anymore, and she’s gonna make her own choices. If Telemachus is the guy she wants to hang out with, what’s the big deal?”

Antinous groaned, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “The big deal is that she doesn’t know what she’s doing. And don’t act like you’d be fine if your sister was hanging out with some random guy.”

Eurymachus chuckled, setting his phone down. “Good thing I don’t have a sister, then. But if I did? I’d probably trust her to figure it out on her own. You’re just being overprotective, man. Let her live a little.”

Antinous shook his head, still unconvinced. “You don’t get it. She’s y/n. She’s too young, too trusting. And Telemachus is probably just pretending to be nice so he can—”

“Can what?” Eurymachus interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “Ask her out? Fall in love? God forbid, right? What’s the worst that could happen, Antinous? She’s not some helpless little kid anymore.” Antinous scowled but didn’t respond. Instead, he resumed his pacing, muttering under his breath about “reckless friendships” and “guys who think they’re smarter than they are.”

Eurymachus, clearly amused by the entire situation, grabbed his phone again and settled back into his bed. “You’re gonna give yourself a heart attack, man. Just let it go. Who knows? Maybe Telemachus isn’t as bad as you think.”

“Unlikely,” Antinous muttered, though his pacing slowed slightly. Still, the thought of his baby sister being anywhere near Telemachus—or any guy—left him bristling with frustration.

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Close Enough – Part 2

Marshall wasn’t in a great mood.

He had been on set for hours, filming a music video, and everything felt off. The lights were too bright, the director was yelling instructions that didn’t make sense, and the energy wasn’t clicking the way it usually did.

But most of all, it was her.

The actress they’d hired to play the female lead was standing a little too close, laughing a little too hard at his jokes, and touching his arm every chance she got. Normally, Marshall could brush off stuff like that—part of the job, no big deal. But today, it was getting under his skin.

Because she wasn’t you.

It hit him like a punch to the gut halfway through the third take.

The actress leaned into him, her hand brushing his chest as she delivered her line. The director called, “Cut!” and she stayed there, still in his personal space.

Marshall stepped back, his jaw clenching. He shoved his hands into his pockets, his mind racing.

He missed you.

He missed the way you’d wander onto set during his shoots, bringing him coffee and staying just out of the way. He missed the way you’d lean against him between takes, stealing kisses when no one was looking. He missed your laugh, your touch, you.

And as he stood there, feeling uncharacteristically irritable, he realized something else: he was clingy, too.

Not with anyone else. Not with people he worked with or even his closest friends. But with you? He craved your presence like it was oxygen.

The thought made him smile, even as he glanced over at the actress who was now chatting with the makeup artist. This isn’t it, he thought. She’s not who I want here.

As soon as the shoot wrapped for the day, Marshall made a beeline for his dressing room, pulling out his phone. He didn’t care that he was sweaty and tired, or that his voice was still hoarse from hours of yelling his lyrics on set. He needed to talk to you.

You picked up on the second ring. “Hey, you,” you said, your voice immediately softening his rough edges.

“Hey,” he said, his tone lighter than it had been all day. “What are you up to?”

“Not much,” you replied. “Just hanging out at home. How’s the shoot going?”

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, not wanting to linger on the details. “But I was thinking about you.”

“Oh?” you said, a teasing lilt in your voice. “What kind of thoughts?”

“The kind where I wish you were here,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, it’s just weird without you. I feel… off.”

There was a pause on your end, and when you spoke again, your voice was softer. “You really mean that?”

“Of course I do,” he said, his tone earnest. “You’re my person, you know? I hate it when you’re not around. And I know that probably makes me sound clingy as hell, but I don’t care. I like having you close.”

You laughed gently, and he could hear the smile in your voice. “You don’t sound clingy. You sound sweet. I like being around you too, you know.”

“Yeah?” he asked, a grin spreading across his face.

“Yeah,” you said. “I’ll always make time for you, Marshall. You know that.”

His chest ached with the kind of love that made him feel both invincible and vulnerable all at once. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice,” you teased.

---

The next day, Marshall insisted you come to set. When you arrived, coffee in hand, he couldn’t hide the way his face lit up.

“Finally,” he said, pulling you into a tight hug. “Now this feels right.”

You laughed, leaning into him. “Missed me that much, huh?”

“Always,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple. “It’s just not the same without you.”

As you sat in the corner of the set, quietly watching him work, Marshall felt more at ease than he had all week. And when the actress tried to flirt with him between takes, he barely noticed, too focused on sneaking glances at you.

Because at the end of the day, there was only one person he wanted in his space.

And that was you.

[befuddledcinnamonroll]

Perfect 10 Liners time! Ok, Yotha, you got some crow to eat, be good to our boy.

Oh, Yotha's meter is full on broken.

Which does fit with how he is with Gun, he feels a pull, but doesn't know how to really handle it. And his kisses up to this point have felt very "do behavior A to get response B" rather than any actual desire.

Obligatory beach splashing time! Pretty sure it's law by now.

Ha, of course Fai has been leaving the door unlocked on purpose. That's a good man, because if I had people snuggling in the bed next to me every night, I would be hella annoyed.

I love that we are getting to see more Fai and Wine interactions ahead of their romance!

Part of why I didn't immediately warm to Faifa was the intensity of how he came after Wine, but now I want to go back and rewatch with the recontextualization of the new scenes. It's getting sweeter by the second.

Lol, I would so be Wine here, just like "aaaah, cute older guy is talking to me, brain no longer functioning".

Oh, they are sparking so beautifully!

I love that we get Tay just randomly popping in on occasion to be the wise sage of the group.

I'm assuming his move to Nan is going to be relevant to the FaiWine story. New location for frolics?

My theory about Arm getting drunk in every episode for the entertainment of the writers is holding up.

Oh, that is so pretty.

Now I want to be at the beach.

Oh good, we're talking about the kiss.

All that and Yotha still didn't say, "I kissed him to confirm I don't feel anything anymore"? Dude, that's the most essential piece.

Hmm, this doesn't feel super romantic to me? Maybe because I've seen what waiting around for someone can be like in real life, and most of the time it sucks.

Like I get that Gun is a very sweet, loving, kind man, but I need him to be more selfish.

Yes, perfect!

Hold those boundaries baby. He doesn't get everything when he wants you to wait.

Hmm, also with the bracelet - it just feels like Yotha wants them to be boyfriends without calling it boyfriends.

Again, not mad about any of this stuff, it all fits their characters, but it just doesn't feel romantic to me.

Ha, love the friend interactions, as always.

Wow, Yotha really be walking through the halls in those pajamas, that is an impressive level of dedication.

Gah, I just - of course Gun would be sad! I feel like there's still a lack of real honest communication here.

Fai is a whole mood, I am 100% on your side bro.

Aww, Fai getting all the birthday love is cute. And deserved!

Oh for crying out loud, Yotha, you are so in love!

Seriously, all the brothers need some therapy. Please, someone just mention the word.

Lol, Gun is not fooling his mother in the least.

Yotha doesn't want to do what Wa did, but he's still setting Gun up for hurt all the same. Not being willing to call him your boyfriend or call it love doesn't change the reality, and it would hurt just as much for things to end.

Goddamit Yotha! I was giving you grace last week, but you are straight up ticking me off now.

I know we just did this plotline with ArcArm, but I need some hottie to come flirt with Gun. Boy needs to feel desired.

This is such a sweet friend group.

I love when we get to see men taking care of one another.

Oh Fai. Always sacrificing himself.

Gun deserves so much better than this.

I mean, yes, Yotha is not wrong to say he needs time, but the hot and cold is what's super hurtful. One minute he's playing boyfriends, then he can't even smile at Gun. He's so hung up on some projection of what love is supposed to be, rather than paying attention to all the ways he genuinely does love Gun.

Yotha, you are making me want this to happen for Gun.

It's not that I don't feel for Yotha, or his struggles. I think I've just seen too many real life friends being hurt by a partner who knows they have issues, but refuses to get help or work through them in order to stop causing their partner pain. And it's really shitty.

Yes, Gun! He can take his time, but you also get to set boundaries.

Waaah, stop making my AouBoom smokers.

God I love my boys.

They are very clearly "we may be side characters in this show, but we're still gonna prove why we're the number one in physical intimacy at GMMTV".

Goddamn, Aou, how much have you been working out?!

Lifting someone your own size is freaking hard!

Ok, can our BL boys just stop ever crossing the street?

They are a very pretty couple.

Hmm, this was an interesting one. I think Yotha is just bumping up against reality a little too much for me here, which is not the fault of the show.

But at least it looks like next week Yotha may finally get his shit together!

[mm-slashing-boy]

Gifted Lunch From a Secret Boyfriend

SPENCER REID x MALE!READER

Warnings: Suggestive (making out), otherwise fluffy, reader is called "sweet boy"

Requested: No

A/N: When I have the motivation, I can write pretty quickly. And feel free to request stuff, whether that be art or fanfic!

————————————————————————

It was early in the morning when Spencer arrived in the bullpen of the BAU, getting himself settled without much of a rush since there wasn't any news about a case yet. The large room was quiet since most of his coworkers hadn't arrived yet. He took advantage of this peace by pulling out a book that his wonderful boyfriend—you—gifted him. By God, he loved you more than anything. You knew just what he liked and what to get him. You were so thoughtful towards him.

As the morning dragged on, he was wrapped up in the book’s contents, mesmerized by the descriptive words on the pages. He could imagine you reading them to him, or vice versa, and the thought made him warm and gooey on the inside. He didn't even realize that he was smiling like an idiot until Derek pointed it out.

“Hey, kid, what's got you in such a good mood so early in the morning, huh?”

He broke free from his trance to look up at his coworker, blinking a few times before he responded with, “nothing. I just found a really good book”, which seemed like an acceptable answer to Derek. He sighed in relief, thankful that his micro-expressions weren't picked up on.

None of his teammates knew that he had a boyfriend, and he intended to keep it that way. It wasn't like he was embarrassed by you—no, not at all—he just didn't want to be teased and mocked. Besides, they didn't even know he was bisexual, which would add to the jokes. Only JJ knew, and he was lucky that she was able to keep secrets, unlike his other best friend.

He looked up when he heard Hotch calling for a meeting in the conference room, undoubtedly for a new case to crack. He thinned his lips in disappointment of not finishing his book, reluctantly packing it up into his satchel. As soon as he stood up from his chair, he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Something familiar. And so he turned his head and found you walking up to him with a big smile.

He nearly froze, his face turning pale. His eyes darted around, trying to see if anyone was watching, before gently taking you by the arm and dragging you into the nearest empty room. “What are you doing here?” He asked in a whisper, clearly panicked. “Someone could have seen you.”

You lifted up a brown paper bag, wordlessly communicating that you brought him the lunch that you made for him. He huffed in slight amusement, grabbing the bag and setting it on the ground beside the door. He looked back up at you and cupped your face, giving you a serious expression.

“You need to tell me when you do that next time, okay, sweet boy? My coworkers give me a hard time as it is; they're gonna tease you, too, if they find out we’re dating, and I don't want that.”

You nodded in understanding, though you were a little bummed out about not being able to show how much you love your boyfriend in his workplace. He could tell exactly how you were feeling based on the slight shift in your face. “I know, sweet boy, but this is for the best. I’m just not comfortable yet. When I’m ready, I’ll tell you.”

Spencer then leaned in for a kiss, humming pleasantly at the way your lips slotted together so perfectly. He thought you were perfect for each other, subjectively. He could never get tired of kissing you or touching you or seeing you or hearing you or tasting you. Every sense of his was on high alert whenever you were around, and he was always determined to flush out each one until you were both satisfied. He was brought back down to reality when he heard you whimper.

As soon as he heard that, he moved a hand down to the small of your back so he could pull you closer. He suddenly broke the kiss when he felt a speckle of dust tickle his nose, causing him to sneeze. He glanced around the room, noticing just how spotty the empty storage closet you were currently occupying was.

“This is pretty unsanitary. You know, inhaling too much dust can lead to rather unpleasant effects such as lower respiratory infections, heart disease, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, strokes, and lung cancer. They should have cleaned this room even though nobody uses it and given it a different purpose; it serves as a hazard-” He paused in his ramble when you noted that he was the one who dragged you both in there.

Spencer chuckled awkwardly and scratched the back of his neck, averting his eyes to the ground. “Right. Sorry about that, sweet boy. I shouldn't have grabbed you like that, it was rather rude of me.” You reassured him with a peck to his cheek.

His smile became more genuine as he continued kissing you, holding you even closer than before. He sighed against your lips, which he slowly traced with the tip of his tongue until you opened them. His wet muscle slipped inside, dancing with yours in an encased, sensual display of love. You mumbled about how he was worried about dust just a few moments ago, but he couldn't bring himself to care anymore. All he cared about was you.

He shivered as he felt one of your hands wiggle under his many layers to caress his back, enjoying the way your cold fingertips met his heated skin. He slotted his thigh between your legs, pinning you to the metal shelf behind you. Things were getting hotter and hotter until both of you heard Hotch ask for Spencer, forcing you to pull away. He was just as disgruntled as you at the situation, but he didn't have a choice; he had a killer to catch.

He picked up his bag of lunch and planted a chaste kiss to your lips, opening the door for you. He waited about a minute before heading out, meeting the rest of his team in the conference room with a curt apology of being late.

Soon. Soon he would be confident enough to come out to his team and show just how much he loved you. Soon, but not yet. Not yet.

[edisoncastile]

Feeling the pull on his hand, Eddie blinked over at his charge in surprise, allowing him to take it back, the sudden change in tone catching Eddie off guard. Considering the mood he'd found Adrian in, he was expecting a lot more pushback — more sarcasm and half-truths. After the progress Eddie thought they'd made, especially since they'd started sleeping together, it was incredibly frustrating to think they were almost back to square one. He thought he'd finally made a difference, that even though he'd accepted he didn't fully understand spirit and all of its consequences, that he'd found a better way to relieve Adrian of that pain, to break him free from the cycle he was seemingly trapped in, one that didn't require him to sedate himself. Yet, he'd still found his Moroi alone on the street, getting high as if nothing had changed. The realisation hurt a lot more than he was expecting it to.

Yet, this conversation suddenly felt different. It wasn't heading toward a full-blown argument, like it might have been before that first night in February. On his own, Adrian had broken the cycle for them, pulling Eddie right back in instead of committing to the space. And just like that, the guardian felt a spark of hope, replacing the ache that had began spreading through his chest. Perhaps their physical efforts had made a difference after all. Eddie had never seen this level of vulnerability from Adrian, not in this setting, and certainly not in the daylight. For a while, all Eddie could do was stare back, stunned. Then slowly, surely, a smile crept over his lips, feeling that spark grow.

Confirmation. Assurance. Just as Eddie had reassured the man that night outside Barcelo, dispelling any belief that their physical relationship was one-sided or being forced, Adrian was doing the same for him now. He wanted him. Adrian wanted him as a guardian, to have him be by his side and actually stay there. It didn't matter that the Moroi couldn't say it completely, or perfectly, and that he looked obviously uncomfortable with the revelation — he'd still done it. He'd broken the cycle, bared his soul just enough for Eddie to wholly commit once more, to shred all doubt about their relationship and what it had become. More than ever, Eddie was prepared to damn the rule book. His training was important, he knew, but this felt far more effective than anything he'd ever been told to do. Adrian, and his wellbeing, was the most important thing, not following the rules. Eddie had been hesitant before, when the Lightwoods resumed training. He'd thrown himself back into the gruelling schedule, the demanding system, and he'd done so without hesitation or question, feeling entirely out of his depth and wanting only the best for his charge. But it hadn't been the best. This, the pair being closer than they ever had been before, hands intertwined, truths being spilled, was the best.

"Okay, then," he nodded in finality, smile still wide despite his best efforts to suppress it. He could sense Adrian's anxiety, and didn't want his expression to become off-putting, but Eddie couldn't help but revel in the realisation that they were going to be okay. Their match was a good match, and everything he'd done so far was working. It had been the right call. "Then I'll keep staying with you. Simple as that." He accompanied his words with a squeeze of his hand, satisfied they were heading in the right direction. "Honestly, it would make me feel better, too," he shrugged, willing to be just as honest. "I like knowing that you're okay. And I know how you feel about all this stuff, the training and the fucking rules." He stopped, sighing. "I know it's a lot and something you're not really used to. But I need you to know, that even if you don't really understand why, I want this. Okay? I want to be your guardian. It's all I want. And I know you want me, too. So, can we please stop arguing about it every single time?" He chuckled dryly, hoping they'd finally come to a resolution. He knew there'd be days Adrian wouldn't be thinking clearly, but he was hopeful they'd now be further and farther between.

Adrian didn't respond, knowing Eddie was right. Once he sobered up, and actually slept for himself, he'd return to training in an attempt to ease his guilt. It'd be enough, for a few days, until the cycle reset itself, and he found himself trapped in his own mind again. The idea made him nauseous, and if Eddie wasn't sitting beside him, Adrian knew he'd have rolled a second spliff in an attempt chase away the feeling.

Seeing the immediate effect of his own words displayed on Eddie's face hurt Adrian inexplicably, but in an act of cruelty, he made no apology for them. But he also lacked the strength to commit to them, his guard dropping down as quickly as he'd built it up. If he was drunk, perhaps he could've managed it. But smoking mellowed him, and he found himself too tired to fight for an ending he didn't believe in. He was addicted to his own co-dependency, to needing someone. Whether it was a result of their assigned bond or something deeper, Adrian was unsure, but nobody provided the level of comfort Eddie did. If Adrian wanted his guardian, he was there. If he needed taking home, or holding, or distracting, Eddie was there, regardless of how much Adrian pushed him in the opposite direction. Nobody else could've displayed those levels of patience or commitment, not even his friends. Adrian gave pieces of himself away every night, easing the nightmares of rebel's he didn't even know, but Eddie took nothing from him. He only ever gave. He filled in the holes Adrian's abilities left in his spirit. If Adrian didn't have Eddie, the world around him would continue to darken, and he was unsure whether or not he could handle that.

They were quiet for a while, Adrian drifting off in thought, trying to comprehend the emotion he felt. He'd almost forgotten how harsh his own response had been, until he felt Eddie pull away. Then abandonment related panic overtook anything else, and he immediately reached out, pulling the blonde's hand back. "No. No -- of course I don't." The thought of being alone terrified him most of all, contradicting his own actions. He believed he deserved it, and that Eddie deserved better, but that'd never be something he wanted. "Eddie..." He finally met his dhampir's eyes, his own expression softening. He was always most honest when bordering on sobriety, which was his current state. It was also when he was hurting the most, unable to keep his playboy bravado mask up. "If I ever tell you yes to that question, know that I'm lying. I'd never want you to go, and I'd never want another guardian. I need ---" the sentence died on his tongue, uncomfortable with his own vulnerability. But after everything Eddie had endured for him, Adrian had to at least attempt a truthful response. "It has to be you. I don't wish it to be that way, for your sake. But it is. The only time my mind allows me to stay grounded enough to sleep is when you've stayed with me." Adrian had avoided delving into wondering what that meant, desperate for comfort without repercussion. For now, he wanted them to just be.

[relaxxattack]

trying to go through the psycholonials tag why are you people saying the art is ugly and bad what the hell. did you actually read the whole thing or were you turned off by the Pixels on the first page

“it’s not as imaginative or interesting as anything in mspa” what the hell are you talking about.

do you understand how hard it is to get these colors to look this gorgeous together. do you even try to be immersed in zhens mental state (which is quite obviously what the art is evoking especially for characters like percy or the cops).

i would argue that not only is the juxtaposition of this style incredibly whimsical and fun as hell but actually some of it’s more technically advanced than art in homestuck

look at this guy! look at the level of rendering and shadow! how are you thinking this is ugly!

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

four walls playlist

[shirogane-oushirou]

───[ First Meeting ]───

when poke!ren and poke!ro meet, ro's sitting at the water, drawing the landscape using chalk pastel, their team sitting around them or playing off to the side... and then they see A Little Freak (affectionate) crawling around in the grass, looking for Critters and things to forage. and he's focusing so hard that doesn't realize they're there until he's right beneath them, almost bumping into their chair ;;;

[accidentally-in-fictional-love]

Breaking The Code - Joshua Whitmore/Reader

Warnings: Gender-neutral reader, no use of Y/N, strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn, angst, hurt/comfort, brief canon-related mentions of self-harm and suicide, happy ending.

Wordcount: 9152

Summary: You see him as he's being admitted to the hospital a few streets away from your home, and it would be so easy to just keep walking, but something about his sad eyes and mysterious identity draws you in until you need to see him again.

Notes: So the other night I was talking with Salem about Joshua as they watched Cass for the first time, and we decided that our truth was that he needs a happy ending ;w; so I wrote this instead of sleeping~ Turns out you can hit a pretty bad burnout after writing nearly every day for a month straight, so I wrote this one for myself and Salem to try and get some of my inspo back 😌 It was pretty cathartic, writing him was a lot of fun and helped me get some of my own personal feelings out, so even though the love for him might be smaller than his other roles, I hope those who read this like it 💗

When you first see him, you’re walking home for the day. Your familiar path always takes you past the hospital, it’s the fastest way and you’re in no mood to dawdle after the stress of work making you call it early. Just as you’re about to pass, an ambulance pulls up, siren blaring and making you jump out of your headphones the closer it gets. You turn to watch in morbid curiosity, a little dose of schadenfreude to lift your spirits before the guilt takes you, but everything changes when you see him.

He’s awake on his stretcher as they take him out, his eyes on the sky and looking empty as the EMTs call in for emergency surgery on his ear and a decent amount of blood loss, as well as malnutrition. Your glimpse is brief, they want him inside as fast as possible, but you still notice the way he holds onto an old hardcover book resting against his stomach before he’s out of sight. You follow before you can stop yourself, listening for a name and catching only ‘Whitmore,’ and to keep out cameras if the news comes for him.

A high profile person you’d never heard of, perhaps? You can’t recall any Whitmores in your small celebrity roster, especially not a local one who looked like that. You can’t think about it too long as you get noticed and shooed away, and you do as they say as he’s rolled towards the nearest elevator so he can be prepped for his surgery.

You don’t hear about him until a few days later as you eat your lunch in the breakroom, catching just a glimpse of his face and last name before the channel is changed to something more interesting moments after you notice him. It wasn’t long enough to get any new information, but it is enough to spark your interest again with the confirmation that he was indeed some secret celebrity you hadn’t heard about. You don’t ask for the channel to be changed back, but you do make a mental note to take your shortcut again after work is over.

You figure he mustn’t be too high priority as you reach the hospital, looking as inconspicuous as possible as you sneak past the couple news outlets trying to get inside to interview him, no one major for now, but maybe that was just because no one knew where to actually find him yet. It was only a matter of time, people were nosy like that, yourself included as you strolled inside and pretended like you were there to visit someone you actually knew.

You take a walk, glancing at the names as you pretend to change your song, your head down and pointing at your iPod as you don’t ask for any help or directions, constantly pretending like you were there for a legitimate reason. As you reach the top floor, you start to wonder if maybe he was there under a different name or if he was still there at all when you catch a glimpse of a familiar face as a nurse walks through a door coming up on your left. You see his bandages first, the white so stark against his dark hair, and then you see his eyes, still so empty as he just looks at the food that was presented to him, completely uninterested in eating.

You quickly duck into the bathroom nearby as the nurse heads your way, turning on the light and the sink to make some noise as you listen for her footsteps to fade, and when they do you surround yourself in silence again as you figure out what your plan is here. You found him, room 415, and the name under the number is indeed a fake to throw anyone off, your eyes just barely able to pick out ‘James Robins’ from your distance away, so what now?

Do you really wanna talk to him, or are you there to join in on the spectacle? Did something about him interest you that day, or do you want to be able to say you met a celebrity for the first time in your life, aside from that one time you swore you saw Brad Pitt stopping for gas at the station by your duplex? Are you really going to go over there and hound him for an autograph or something before the bigger news outlets find him and he has to be moved somewhere else?

You peek around your corner and see the closed door, something drawing you to it but not the desire to see fame in its most vulnerable state, not that at all. You let go of the wall and slowly approach, constantly looking back and forth to make sure no one was about to catch you before you’re there, your hand raised to knock. It takes you a minute but you do, your knuckles lightly rapping on the wood as you wait for an answer. Nothing, so you try again, a sigh your reply before you get the okay to enter.

He’s facing the window when you come in, food cooling and that old book waiting over his legs as he just stares at the sky due to you being so high up. He waits for you to do whatever you need to before the silence stretches on for too long, and when he turns his head back to face you he looks surprised, it showing in his eyes as he looks you over. ‘You here for an interview or something?’ he asks in a raspy voice, like he isn’t used to talking, and when you don’t reply right away he gestures to your hand.

‘IPod,’ you tell him as you show him what he thought was a tape recorder, and he gets even more confused.

‘What do you want, then? Are you also a photographer? Here to take a picture of me to sell to those vultures waiting for me outside?’ He says it all so bluntly, despondently, and you can only shake your head again as you slide your headphones down to your neck, the tech such a contrast to your passable business casual outfit. ‘So it’s art you want, then; sorry to break it to you, it was stolen yesterday, you’ll have to get in line if you want something new while I’m stuck in this cage like sharkbait.’

‘I don’t want anything from you,’ you finally manage to say, shocked by his negativity; how did someone like him ever manage to become a celebrity? 

‘You don’t? Find that hard to believe, everyone wants something, don’t they? People, all they want to do is take take take, no one wants to give, let alone create, do they? So when they find someone who gives or creates they just want to take it, make it their own, just paint over it so no one can ever know who it belonged to and what it meant to them and everyone else who just wanted to enjoy it, isn’t that right?’

You don’t know what to say, you’re genuinely stumped for words as he goes on his tangent, and when he sees your face he knows he’s talking to a wall. He turns away from you again, looking at the sky as a bird returns home on the ledge just outside the window, her nest tucked into the corner where her eggs are waiting for her return. She settles back down over them, her body all fluffed out to keep them warm, and you can see him also staring as his fingers curl out towards his book. It’s then you understand, he mentioned art, he’s an artist so this must be his sketchbook, no wonder you hadn’t heard of him. He doesn’t open it however, he wants to draw but he has no pencil, just the book.

‘I… I just-’ you start to say, but he doesn’t respond, probably because his bad ear is the one closest to you at the moment, ‘I just wanted to see if you were okay.’ You say it a little louder so he’ll hear, and again you confuse him as he glances your way. ‘Do you- would you like a pen or something? I might have one in my bag somewhere…’ You start digging around in the messenger bag you carry around with you, it holding whatever you bring home for the day, your old laptop, and an assortment of random things you’ve tossed in there since the last time you cleaned it. You hunt through unorganized papers and folders and a mountain of loose change before you manage to find both a mechanical pencil with its eraser almost completely worn and a company pen you’d stolen, one of many since you never seem to find the last one when you need it.

You hold out both to him and he looks at them as well as you, trying to find any selfish reason why you’d offer these tools to him but there were none, and he seems to get that as he takes both. Instantly his food is handed to you so it’s out of the way as he grabs his sketchbook and opens it to a new page, the bird staring at you as he starts drawing freely. He forgets you’re there in a matter of moments, so focused on capturing the simple beauty outside and distracting himself from his current situation, but you don’t mind. You set the food down on the small cabinet to his left, careful to make sure he could reach it while still avoiding the machines hooked up to him, one of them an IV that dripped endlessly to the clear tube leading to his bandaged hand. 

You end up sitting when he continues to ignore you and his dinner, just watching him as he draws shapes until they start to take form, his movements wide and hard to track. He doesn’t work on just one part of what he sees, he does a bit of everything at once until it slowly comes together as one image, the bird watching in interest until sleep takes her and she gets comfy for an early night’s rest. He doesn’t stop even with her pose changed, still seeing her in his mind as he starts to detail her face a little, stopping to add in errant feathers and abstract shapes behind her for the city.

When he finally stops you can’t help but stare, and you stand to get a closer look, your presence making him jump when you get too close, clearly he thought you’d left. It’s beautiful even in its incomplete state, or maybe this is what he wanted, you don’t know, you can’t find the words to ask as you look at the bird in the dimming light outside; when had it become so dark? ‘Is this it? Did you give me these so you could get an original Joshua Whitmore?’ he asks bitterly, your eyes on the page again.

‘Who?’ you say before you can stop yourself, and you blink in embarrassment as you stutter out an apology before the look on his face silences you.

‘You really have no idea who I am, do you?’ he asks softly, and again you shake your head. ‘You just wanted to see if I was okay?’ You nod, your cheeks flushing slightly in a little more than embarrassment. ‘And wha- what do you see when you look at this?’

He holds up his sketchbook for you to look at again, and you reach for it but he pulls away, you can look but not touch, got it. Your eyes scan the paper just like you’d been doing for who knows how long, and you smile as you turn back to him and his almost nervous expression. ‘I see a bird in her nest, I'm sorry, should I be looking for something else? I’m not one for art, I don’t really know what to tell you,’ you admit, but this answer actually pleases him, calms him as his shoulders relax just a little.

‘You just see a bird, yeah, that’s what I drew,’ he repeats to himself as he smiles weakly, and he looks almost relieved in this before the door opens and you’re interrupted. It’s the nurse from before, and she stops in her tracks when she notices that he’s no longer alone.

‘Oh no, do you want me to call security, Mr. Whitmore?’ she asks nervously, and he looks at you before telling her no, he knew you. ‘Oh, okay, but visiting hours are over so you do have to go, I’m afraid,’ she tells you next, and you glance at your watch to see that you’d somehow been there for almost two hours, so lost in him drawing that you didn’t even notice the passing of time. As if on cue, your stomach gives a rumble for its delayed dinner, it spreading to him as the nurse then notices that he hasn’t eaten anything, and you walk out as she places his tray back on the moveable table attached to his bed. ‘We’ll have to put you on another IV if you don’t eat, how many times do I have to tell you?’ she chides him, and he opens his bottle of water to take an experimental sip before the door is shut and you’re left alone in the hallway.

You head home now that your curiosity has been sated, but you can’t help but repeat his words in your head all the way there, him saying that he knew you making your chest feel warm even as you heat up some leftovers and watch a movie by yourself.

You don’t go back right away, unsure if he’d appreciate you coming back now that he could draw again, but you still feel that pull follow you over the next few days. You have Sunday off, the one holiday in your busy week, and when you step out to grab a few things for dinner you find your feet carrying you in the opposite direction as you head back to the hospital. The news vans are still outside, cops now stopping them from getting in and disrupting everyone else inside, not just him, and you have to show your work ID in order to prove you’re not with them. It’s almost enough to make you turn around, but you’re moving on autopilot all the way back to the fourth floor, his name still under the number, he hasn’t been moved yet. 

You knock on the door and he allows you in, and you could swear his face brightens just a bit when he sees that it’s you. He doesn’t look as terrible as he did the last time you saw him, like being able to draw helped brighten his situation just enough to bring back his appetite based on the empty tray waiting to get taken away. He’s drawing again as you walk in, and the TV is on to a random station, probably the History Channel based on what was currently on screen, sketches of the animals filling the page to create a lively scene.

‘You came back,’ he states more than questions, and you just shrug and hold up your bag of groceries.

‘I needed to grab a few things, it’s my day off so I wanted to actually cook something tonight,’ you tell him like he’d care, and he surprises you this time by nodding towards the bag.

‘Anything good?’ he pries, and you hold the bag open for him to see, showing off the random contents inside that you hoped would turn themselves into something delicious so you could enjoy the spoils. ‘What d’you plan to make with just that?’

‘I had some stuff already at home, this is just what I’m missing,’ you say, and he eyes the bag again before opening his mouth to speak.

‘You think… nevermind,’ he quickly backs out, and you urge him to continue. ‘Y’think I could steal one of those apples? Or do you need them all?’ You don’t, you can still make a damn good apple crumble with the bag minus one, and you tear open the plastic so he can choose his favourite. ‘Thanks, kinda hard to keep fruit fresh when you’re on the road,’ he says as he shines it on his blanket, and when he bites into it he looks like he hasn’t been able to taste anything like it in much too long.

‘You travel a lot?’ you ask as the juice runs down his chin, already grabbing a tissue from the box nearby so he doesn’t make a mess on his sketchbook.

‘You could say that,’ he mutters between bites, and when there’s nothing left but the core you hold the bag open for him to grab a second. ‘No, I couldn’t,’ he refuses, but you just shrug and grab one for yourself, you can always buy more on the way home. He watches you take your bite before indulging, grabbing two and placing one on his moveable table for later, and the feeling that fills you at the sight is sweeter than the fruit. ‘What were you gunna make with these?’

‘Apple crumble, I used to make it all the time with my mom when I was growing up, she’d always put in a ton of cinnamon so it always tasted better than something store bought,’ you say as you can already taste it, and he looks down at his half-eaten apple as something takes over his expression.

‘Haven’t had a chance to cook something in a long time,’ he says, mostly to himself, like this is something he’s been thinking but hasn’t actually said aloud yet. ‘Hard to keep fruit, hard to pack a portable stove, hard to carry around a kitchen on your back when there’s so many better things to bring; need a bed, need paper, so many needs in the face of those wants. It’s easier to pack light in the pockets, find a place with water and refill, harder to keep the smell of cooking food from escaping an empty house.’

You just listen as you eat, he’s on another tangent and you don’t dare interrupt, but this one is sadder than the last, and you notice how tired he looks as he sinks into the bed. It’s then you notice that he has nothing around him in this room, no get well soon cards, no balloons, no sign of anyone visiting him even with the circus outside waiting for a glimpse of him. It’s just him, his sketchbook, and now his single apple waiting for him to eat it tomorrow. You toss your own core into the trash and grab a tissue to wipe up the juices, you made sure to grab your most favourite brand to make your dessert as delicious as it could be, and the bag feels heavy in your hand as the store branded plastic shifts when you do.

‘I just remembered I forgot something, so I need to head back to the store before it closes,’ you suddenly say, and he looks at you with those tired eyes when you speak. ‘So, if you want, you could maybe ask for something for me to get? Since I have to pass by this way again anyways.’ It’s a lie, it’s so out of the way it’ll take you over a half hour to get back home on travel alone, but he doesn’t need to know that.

He thinks about it a while before declining, the apples were enough, but that’s not a good enough answer for you; you reach into the bag and pull out a few more apples, loading up his table with them, and he looks ready to object but they’re already out and it would certainly be a pain to put them all back, wouldn’t it? He looks at the bunch, and there’s way more than he probably wants, but he looks thankful all the same. 

‘You won’t have to worry about storing them when you’re here,’ you just say, and he brushes his bangs away from his eye as he tucks his pencil behind his good ear.

‘Not unless I leave here tomorrow,’ he figures, and something pulls at you again.

‘Will you still be here tomorrow?’ Your voice comes out small, hopeful yet worried, and he touches his bandage and flinches.

‘Don’t think they’ll let me outta here until I can pay for all this,’ he wonders, his hands going for his book as his eyes lose a little light, ‘everything has a price, even the reason I’m in here.’

You want to ask but you can’t, it’s too soon even though it feels like he wants you to, but he doesn’t bring it up again even as you turn to go. ‘I’d better run or else I’ll be eating this dinner for breakfast, if you’re still here tomorrow I can bring you some, if you’d like?’ That also feels too soon, but the light he lost returns at the offer.

‘You don’t have to,’ is what he actually says, but his small smile gives him away. You nod and turn on your heel towards the door, his voice making you stop before you enter the hallway. ‘And if you have to come back this way, could you… would you mind if I asked for something else? Some charcoals, paints, anything small I can hide from them while I’m here, all my stuff was seized back at the house.’

He doesn’t explain why, you don’t ask what happened.

‘That might require a different trip, but I’ll see what I can do if that’s okay,’ you say instead, and he returns the smile you give him.

Work keeps you away for the next few days, and you’re sure to take the car to work on Wednesday so you can do some proper shopping. It’s cheaper to walk, but the gas expense is worth it as you find the only art shop in town before you hit the grocery store. It’s small, and doesn’t have much, so you have to settle for the cheap stuff for kids as you peruse the aisles in search of what he wants. You end up grabbing a few extra things as well, like different coloured pens, a couple erasers and more graphite to go with the pencil, and another sketchbook with thicker paper for his new supplies; you really don’t know a lot about art, and you don’t correct the employee when he asks if you’re buying for your kid, although you do at least say it’s for a friend’s kid as you hold the supplies a little closer to your chest.

You cash out and make for the grocery store, buying mostly for yourself and wishing you knew what he liked other than apples so you could give him some treats to have between mandated hospital food. You wonder if it’d be too forward to ask again as you check everything off your list, your thoughts only on him as everything is packed tightly into several more plastic bags that you then pile into the cart so you can load them into your car. His art supplies occupy the front seat as everything else is stuffed into the trunk, and when you’re done unloading it at home you add a tupperware case filled with leftover apple crumble to the bag as well, it sealed extra tight to make sure everything stayed safe.

You carry the bag the few blocks to the hospital, noting that the number of vans has increased as more important looking people try to get in. You don’t need to flash your ID this time, the cops from before recognize you and let you by as you’re bribed into finding their media target, but you just ignore them as you cross the threshold. You head straight for his room, knocking again as a courtesy and finding that he already has company; there’s a doctor and a couple nurses already inside and checking him out, his ear exposed as his stitches were examined to see how he was healing.

The bandages cover his table, his sketchbook placed on the cabinet along with his remaining apple, medical supplies decorating a nearby cart as the wound is cleaned. They’re so busy they don’t notice you until after the door’s been opened, and you finally get to see what’s under the bandage as cleaning swabs and lights are shined over the area; the topmost part of his ear is gone, a space the width of your thumb where the curve should be, the doctor asking him if he can hear anything as his other ear is covered.

‘The ringing stopped yesterday,’ he answers, a nurse snapping her fingers directly beside him, and he flinches away from the sound, the test positive.

‘You’re lucky the gun didn’t rupture your eardrum with how close it was,’ she says as she goes back to cleaning, the other nurse already getting out a new bandage, ‘if you hadn’t been found, you might’ve bled out.’

‘Wasn’t aiming for my ear,’ he says like it was the most normal and unconcerning statement in the world, and you nearly drop your bag at that. The sound gets everyone’s attention, including his, as they all turn to see you, his eyes meeting yours before the door is shut in your face. You almost leave but you decide to wait it out, finding a spot against the wall and getting comfortable. The next time the door opens you get an apology for the slam, but it’s fine, you were intruding, after all. You’re about to go in when the doctor sees your bag and stops you, his hand on your arm and holding you there with just enough force that you know to listen very carefully to what he’s about to say.

‘He’s reassured us that he knows you, but please try to refrain from mentioning he’s here to anyone else,’ he says, already looking tired even though it was far from sunset. ‘It’s just a rumour for now, but people have been bribed recently to find out if he really is here; the people outside aren’t what he needs right now, not after what he’s been through, and I fear what going back out there will do to him before he’s ready.’

What happened to him?

You want to ask it so badly but you can’t, it’s not for this doctor to say, and you both know it. He releases your arm after a quick look in your bag, so much for hiding his supplies, but it seems to be approved as he heads down the hall to meet his next patient. You straighten yourself up and knock, and it takes him a while but eventually he answers, already knowing it’s you. He looks tired again, not even seeing you approach him as he plays with the edge of the new bandage.

‘How much did you hear?’ he just asks, not even looking your way.

‘More than you,’ you reply bluntly, and it catches him so off guard that he can’t help but look at you. You both stare at each other as you flounder out an apology, but the lights return as he chokes back a laugh, the first you’ve heard since you’ve met.

‘I guess you did, yeah,’ he says, and then the air is lighter as you approach and show him what you’ve brought; you worry it might not be good enough but he seems pleased with your finds, especially with the second book. ‘Did you go to the place down by the lights? I stopped by when I first got here, there isn’t much, thank you for this,’ he says as he spreads everything out, looking ready to tear it all open and get started.

‘I also brought you this,’ you tell him as you then pull out the tupperware and a fork, and he looks at it before taking off the lid and breathing in the scent of apples and cinnamon. ‘Sorry I couldn’t bring it sooner, it’s been a nightmare at work, I haven’t been able to have a minute to myself lately.’

‘And yet you choose to come here when you do have a minute, your life must be very unexciting if this is the preferable option,’ he figures as he takes a bite, not even bothered by his words to the point where you couldn’t take any offense to it. Something like euphoria flashes across his face as he eats, and your cheeks heat up as he tries to control himself from eating too fast but fails, all of it gone before you know it. ‘Wow, uh… I see you kept up the tradition of loading on the cinnamon,’ he thinks aloud with a lick of his lips, the floor suddenly very interesting as you feel a need to look away.

‘Yeah, it really brings out the apples,’ is all you can say to that, and then you’re taking the dishes back and placing them in the bag. ‘I can make more, if you want? Or I can find something else to make, if you have any requests?’

‘Are you some kinda pâtissière?’

‘What? Oh, no, I just think… people are at their happiest when they’re sharing the fruits of their labour, and in my family, that labour was always food, so I find comfort in that now, as an adult. Does that make sense?’ You’ve made things for others before, family dinners, potlucks, celebrations at work, but never have you felt more scrutinized until now as he licks his lips again, already ready for seconds even though you have nothing left to give.

‘It makes perfect sense, what good is there to make something without having someone to share it with? What use is a feast without it spread over a table set for family and friends, or music without an audience to get lost in the sound, or-’

‘Or a painting without anyone to appreciate the vision and share their own, right?’ He looks up at you, something in his eyes that screams yes, that you got it, but also something sad, like he didn’t believe it was true at the same time. ‘Did you share your art, before you came here?’

You know you shouldn’t ask, but you can’t stop yourself.

He slowly stacks everything up and places it out of the way, his old book back on his lap and his fingers playing with the rough edges of the cover as he goes over your question in his head. ‘I did, for a few years,’ he starts carefully, eyes on you as he watches for your reactions. ‘Outta college, I got spotted by a few potential dealers, got a contract with one, started selling my work while I got a job to pay the bills. One painting sold, then another, then five, then I didn’t need to work anymore. Suddenly what I loved to do was my job, and it wasn’t what I loved to do anymore.’ He slides his fingers under the cover strap, holds on tight as the lights leave him again, he doesn’t like to talk about it but he doesn’t stop. ‘All those eyes on my work, on myself, everything torn apart by people who didn’t get it and distributed via cameras for free to those who didn’t appreciate it. 

‘Deadlines were forced on me, I was pushed to sell whatever I made, it was no longer about me or how I felt anymore, it was all about the money, who could bid the highest on a piece of me that I’d so painstakingly torn off and decorated for the world to see, all sealed up in a shiny new frame. So-called experts who defined their own meaning over mine, collectors who just wanted to fill a space in their third home, people who didn’t even look at what was inside the frame only because my name was on it and they’d heard I was the talk of the town.

‘And then it happened, someone claimed to see a miracle hidden amongst the brushstrokes but I hadn’t painted any miracle, something so beautiful and abstract can’t be confined to canvas and paint, not by me. Suddenly, everyone was seeing them, everyone wanted to bring the angels home with them and were desperate to do so, and I lost my name under the title of Prophet or Saint or, god forbid, an Angel myself. I am none of those things, and they stole- they stole myself from me, my passion, everything I was so they could keep seeing what they wanted to see, all everyone does is take take take.’

You don’t know when you’d sat down but you blink and find yourself in the chair nearby him, his eyes no longer on you as he lets it all out, his hands waving and lip quivering; he’s crying, this is his barest self, and you wonder if any of what he’s saying has to do with the bandage that washes out all the other colour in the room as you hear him say in your head that he wasn’t aiming for his ear.

‘Did you stop, after all that?’ you ask, and at first he doesn’t hear you, the bandage really muffles your small voice from this side, so you get up and move to the right side of his bed instead. You sit down and he tries to hide his tears from you, but there’s no pity here, you didn’t come for an interview to market and sell to the masses, you came to talk to your friend. You repeat yourself and this time he hears you, his eyes glancing up to meet yours before he’s looking at his book again.

‘I tried, but the demand was too much, they wouldn’t let me get myself back.’

‘What did you do then?’

He smiles bitterly, his right hand moving from his book to rub at his left wrist, and from this angle you can see the scars peeking out from behind his thumb. ‘I made a miracle,’ he murmurs softly, ‘I made Joshua Whitmore disappear.’ You reach out and take his hand, holding it tightly over his book and surprising him yet again, although he doesn’t pull away from you. ‘I didn’t do it to kill myself, I had a friend help me get out of there safely after I trashed my studio, but it was still enough to make everyone think I was dead, and in that I was reborn, free to take myself back again. I couldn’t touch the money I’d made from my work anymore, couldn’t go back home, so I packed up whatever I needed and hit the road after my scars had healed.’

‘And you’ve been traveling ever since,’ you finish for him, now understanding what he’d meant before about wants versus needs. ‘So everyone thought you were dead, and that’s why they’re trying so hard to get in downstairs, they wanna see the miracle,’ you put together, and he nods, his hand limp in your own. ‘If you can escape them, will you run again?’

He chuckles but there’s no joy in it, he looks more tired than you’ve ever seen him. ‘Does it matter? They’ll know I’m out there, they’ll know it’s me the moment this happens again, I couldn’t break the code and now they’ll take me away again.’

‘And if you found somewhere to hide?’ You hold him a little tighter, his eyes shutting at the thought of already trying that and failing, it evident as another tear creeps down his cheek. ‘Somewhere permanent, where they’d never find you, I mean.’

‘Where could I find someplace like that? I was careful, I was sososo careful this time, and I still-’ His hand grips yours for just a moment as he tenses, angry at himself and how it all turned out. 

‘You could-’ You stop yourself from telling him he could stay with you, it’s too much, you’re still strangers even though you knew this much about him now, how could he ever find solace with you after three days spread out over less than two weeks? He couldn’t, and you know it. ‘There has to be somewhere, I could help you.’

‘Help me?’ He looks at you again, doubt and unparalleled cynicism on his face, but you don’t back down.

‘I won’t take from you, Joshua,’ you tell him firmly, and he holds your hand for real this time, weakly, but still on purpose. ‘I’ll find you somewhere you can sketch and paint and take yourself back from them again, and you can hide there for so long you won’t have to run again, do you trust me to do that for you?’

Something different flashes across his face then, something in between his cynicism for his life and hope for what you’re promising. ‘If you can find it, then I’ll go,’ he agrees, his body deflating as he sinks into the pillows, ‘I’m so tired of running, it’s almost as bad as the lying.’

‘About what?’

‘Everything, I couldn’t do it anymore.’

You feel too far from him as he closes his eyes, your body moving on its own as you climb up further onto the bed and get in close, his eyes opening as he tries to see what you’re doing. You wait for his okay, your hand still holding his as he shifts to his left, freeing up enough space for you to lay yourself next to him, your shoulder pressed tight against his. He’s stiff beside you, clearly it’s been a long time since he’s been this close to another person, but you need him to know you’ll come through on your promise, that you truly aren’t there to take from him as you share your warmth and your company.

You don’t know when it happens, but you end up falling asleep like that, only waking up when the nurse comes in to check on him and sees you in bed with him. She comes over to your side and gently shakes you awake, whispering that visiting hours were over as quietly as she can with you still being able to hear her. You blink yourself awake, your arm completely numb as you roll onto your back and attempt to sit, and you see why she was being so quiet; he’s asleep beside you, his book open to a new sketch you couldn’t decipher quite yet, his pencil still in his left hand and telling you he must be ambidextrous considering his right one was still clasped in your own.

You let go, the nurse helping you get up without disturbing him, and he looks so peaceful as he stretches out and tries to find your warmth in his sleep. You wish you could stay, and you wish he could go with you, but those are things you can’t say to him, not yet. You gather up your bag with the dishes inside as quietly as you can before sneaking out, the nurse checking him over as you leave, and when you get home you make another big batch of apple crumble for him to enjoy the next time you visit.

Now that he’s shared so much with you, you make up your mind to share as much as you can with him until he’s ready to leave, making him treats and dinner foods since it was the only time you could visit, each one bringing the light back to his eyes even as the vultures gathered outside to peck him apart again until there was nothing left. You start bringing work to the hospital so you don’t fall behind, the two of you peacefully existing around each other as he draws and you do your job in a chair nearby. When he stops to eat you pull out a bagged dinner, and the two of you sit there and talk while the History Channel silently shows off beautiful scenery and animals in the background. You share your life the way he did his own, the two of you getting closer as his ear heals, his hearing returns, and he gets his strength back.

You bringing him so much food helps his malnutrition, and sometimes you climb onto the bed with him and pull up classic art on your laptop so you can hear what he has to say about it, and he has so much to say. He’s fascinating to listen to, he really knows his stuff, and when you joke about taking lessons from him he just brushes it aside and says that he could never be a teacher even as he tells you all about the random painting you think looks cool as you scroll together. You enjoy your time with him as the world continues on outside those four walls and the windows, the only reminder of the passage of time being the sun as it sets once again.

‘Tomorrow’s Sunday, want me to make you breakfast this time?’ you ask as you stretch, his bed much comfier than the chair but you can’t keep stealing the space, not without an excuse.

‘Sunday breakfast, been a long time,’ he muses as he also stretches, sick of being in bed after so many years of doing nothing but moving. ‘Maybe if we sneak out the back tonight you can take me to your place, that way you don’t have to keep bringing me food here like some kinda delivery person,’ he jokes, and you pray that he can’t see how red your cheeks are becoming at the thought. ‘And… have you found a place for me to hide yet?’

You freeze, wanting to say yes more than anything, and when you look into his eyes you swear that he wants to hear it just as much. ‘Actually, I-’

The door swings open as the doctor walks in with a policeman, the two of you staring in apprehension as the door is closed again behind them; it’s late now, much too late for this to be a simple chat, and you start to move towards him protectively even as the cop stares you down. ‘Mr. Whitmore, after these past two weeks going back between statements from Ms. Skinner and Mr. Morris, as well as the children present, mainly Mr. Walker, we’ve come to the conclusion that it wasn’t a suicide attempt, although the breaking and entering needs to be addressed,’ the cop says calmly, and Joshua shuts his eyes tight in what doesn’t look like relief. ‘We’ve already contacted your bank back in New York where your funds have been frozen, and we’ve worked out a way for your remaining money to pay for your stay here, but the matter of the fine still needs to be taken care of.’

‘How much is it?’ you ask without hesitation, your hand already going for your messenger bag, and the cop looks you over before turning back to him.

‘And who’s this?’ he asks, Joshua looking at you before calling you his friend. ‘Well, since he technically did stay under supervision here while he healed, and the money is being transferred to the hospital for his stay, his fine still comes to $1000; abandoned or not, it’s still private property.’

‘I’ll pay it,’ you announce, Joshua already trying to talk you out of it but it’s useless, your checkbook held out as you write down the amount using one of his pens since you once again couldn’t find your own. The cop allows you to, the matter now settled as you hand over the thin strip of paper, Joshua not meeting your eye as he stares at his book with an unreadable expression. The cop tucks the paper into his pocket and tips his hat to the two of you, wishing you both a good night now that he was free to go again, the doctor staying behind to finish the conversation.

‘You can continue seeing us if anything changes, but you can be discharged as soon as tonight,’ he explains, Joshua still not looking up. ‘If you have somewhere to go, I suggest you do so, save yourself another day of billing; just be sure to keep from sleeping on your left, let it finish healing.’

‘All my things were seized, might as well sleep in a warm bed one last time before I pick them up and find a new bridge to sleep under tomorrow,’ he mutters to himself, the doctor shooting you a concerned glance as you try to force the words to come out. The doctor sees you struggling and gives you a moment to speak even though visiting hours were once again over, the sun set outside and the lights inside making the windows turn to mirrors. ‘You can go now, I won’t have you trying to buy more of me,’ he suddenly says like he believes it, and it shocks you so much that you can no longer stay silent.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I see it now, the supplies, the food, now the fine, all handouts for the poor, struggling artist, can’t even keep an apple fresh on the road, that’s right, isn’t it?’ He’s gathering up his stuff, no longer interested in spending the night and looking ready to run again.

‘Wha- none of that was a handout, I was sharing with you, I thought you got that?’ you try to tell him but he’s inconsolable, his legs swinging over the side of the bed as he gathers everything up in his arms.

‘Yeah, everyone takes, what were you going to take from me when all this was over, huh? Did you want to be the one to nurse me back to health and carry me out the doors for everyone to gawk at? The hero who saved Joshua Whitmore, brought him back from the dead? I bet that would lead to a few good interviews, maybe some TV time, can’t forget about the flash of the cameras even now; I wonder if they’re waiting for us, can’t keep them waiting, can we?’

He was on another one of his tangents, saying everything that came to mind without pause as he overloaded with too much all at once, and you race around to his side as he stands and heads for the door, ready to step in front of the vultures to be willingly devoured. You hold out your arms to stop him before looking up, he’s much taller than you thought after seeing him only sit or lay for two weeks, briefly distracted by it before he’s trying to push past you to get to the hallway. ‘No! I’m not letting them have you,’ you insist, not wanting to grab him and force him to stay, but when he shoves you a little too hard and you stumble you can’t help but cling to his arm in an attempt to steady yourself. He stumbles with you, everything falling to the floor and scattering, and you both forget your fight as his sketchbook opens to the page you’d seen before, the one you couldn’t decipher.

You stoop down to pick it up as he runs his hand through his hair and tries to take it away, your eyes on the page as you see yourself, presumably from his perspective as you slept on his shoulder. You flip through the pages after that, seeing yourself again and again before he grabs his book and holds it to his chest, his eyes on his remaining things on the floor, all gifts from you. ‘I thought you were different,’ he mumbles, and you feel your lip quiver before you’re closing the gap and hugging him, trapping him in place.

He tries to shift free but you won’t let him, mindful of his ear as you tuck yourself into his right side, your hands clasping behind his back instead of holding him, something in you telling you that you wouldn’t be able to let go if you grabbed onto him instead. ‘They weren’t handouts,’ you tell him again, his hands and book pressed tightly between you, ‘I wanted to help you…’

‘What person drops $1000 on someone they barely know?’ he says into your hair, and you pray he doesn’t feel you shaking.

‘A friend does, I thought we were friends…’

‘You don’t wanna be my friend, no matter how many times you visit, you still barely know me.’

‘I do, I wanna know so much more, I want…’ You swallow, your hands letting go of yourself so you can grab onto his shirt instead. ‘I want so much more…’

You’ve surprised him again and you know it as his breath hitches, and he tries one last time to be cynical, to run. ‘What’ll you take from me if I let you?’

‘I won’t take anything, I told you already; I just wanna be able to share more with you, I don’t need a miracle, I don’t want you to disappear again.’

‘...Don’t lie to me.’ He tries to sound confident in his despair, but there’s hope in there as well.

‘I don’t think I can lie to you, not after this,’ you admit, and he laughs in a way that isn’t entirely bitter.

‘Good, I don’t think I can handle you lying to me.’ He backs away but not to run, and you allow him to look down at you; he’s crying, but so are you, and you hope that he can tell that you’re telling the truth when he looks from your pink cheeks to your eyes until finally settling on your lips. You think for a moment he might kiss you but he doesn’t, just sniffs and kneels down to pick up everything he dropped. You help him, and he’s about to climb back into bed for that final night’s sleep when you grab onto the back of his shirt and stop him.

‘What happened to sneaking out the back?’ you ask softly, and the lights return to his eyes as he follows you out into the hall. 

The front desk is in perfect view of the doors where you still see people waiting on the other side, so you flag down a nurse to get him checked out from afar as you casually walk by them and hurry home. You return less than 15 minutes later with your car, parking it just out of sight in the back where he can’t be seen no matter how hard any paparazzi try, and when he comes out dressed in scrubs you eagerly unlock the door and bolt before anyone can look too hard.

You park your car in the garage and lead him into your home, and at first you feel self-conscious about it because he used to be the high profile celebrity you originally thought he was, but as he looks around he doesn’t look bothered, and when he sees the painting on your wall he stops and stares. ‘Who did this?’ he asks as he examines it, and you smile faintly as you remember the day you got it.

‘My grandfather, back before he passed,’ you tell him, and he looks at you instead. ‘I was too young to understand what he felt when he painted it, but I think being around you might’ve helped me understand a little bit better now.’

‘What did he feel, then?’

‘Love.’ You look up at him, your shoulders touching as he turns back to it and nods.

‘I think so, too.’

You sleep in the next morning, your arm numb again as you navigate the tangle of blankets you’ve trapped yourself in in the night. It took some convincing but you managed to get him to take your bed, needing to insist it wasn’t a handout after so many years of sleeping on cold floors, and when you peek in on him you can see how much he needed it as he covers as much of the queen mattress as he can. You grin and start on breakfast, wanting to let him get some proper rest for as long as he can until the smell of food awakens him and pulls him to you. You’re still no chef, but you can also make some damn good scrambled eggs, and he looks way too hungry to criticize you.

‘Need any help?’ he offers, but you’re pretty much done so you direct him to the cupboards to set the table instead. You both move in a comfortable silence until you’re sat together, and you smile into your coffee when you see how he finally looks like himself again.

‘Sleep well?’ you ask as you hand him the jam without him needing to ask just based on how he watched you cover your toast, and your fingers brush as he takes the jar from you. He stares a moment before spreading it liberally over his own toast, and his eyes don’t leave you as he takes a big bite.

‘I think I finally broke the code,’ he suddenly says as you wait for his answer, your head cocking to the side in confusion at the second mention of this code. ‘I think I know why so many people saw miracles in my paintings, no matter what I drew.’

‘Why’s that?’ you ask around a mouthful of eggs and potatoes, and he draws something in the air that you can’t see, although you know that he can.

‘People see what they wanna see, they’d rather put meaning into their own truths than face the reality staring right at them,’ he muses, still drawing.

‘And what does your reality say?’

His hand lowers back to his fork but he doesn’t look away from you, and you eventually have to look away under his warm but steady gaze. ‘It says I don’t have to lie anymore, that this might be…’ He just looks at your painting without finishing his sentence, but you already know what he wanted to say, your own confession of this being where you wanted him to stay going unsaid but accepted all the same the moment he crawled into your bed. Outside the window behind him, a bird similar to the one outside his hospital room lands on your sil, and she stares at you before chirping out a quick song and flying away; the light coming in from the window covers him in a faint halo but it holds nothing miraculous in it as he looks at you, the man before you just that, a man.

‘I think so, too,’ you reply, his smile matching your own as you share your life with him, Joshua ready now to do the same with you.

[courtillyy]

i had forgotten how fkn cute the shubble and slack dynamic was in the purge

[kazz-brekker]

i really liked that fourth wing had a disabled main character who is also a total badass, and i did appreciate that she and her love interest discussed birth control before they had sex, but also i did wish that they would also discuss her disability in the sex scenes as well because i feel like being repeatedly slammed into various surfaces by your six and a half foot tall built like a tree boyfriend would probably be about as hazardous for your joints and bones as practice combat sessions

[sysig]

DAX is just so expressive ♥ (Patreon)

[thetimelordbatgirl]

Watching a Winx Club video and huh, Mal from Descendants finally has another member in the 'our franchise slowly ignored our interest in art and creating it': Bloom.

[gifti3]

its been a long time since i found a game that had me excited for whats to come

this is a me thing that im talking about below... usually when i play games, its mainly about it preoccupying my brian with tasks and goals. this is why i gravitate towards sim and management games! to me thats whats enjoyable

i feel like its rare that i just play something just cause its fun to me if that makes sense. and i think infinity nikki is managing to do that like im not progressing through the story super quickly and kind of just letting myself explore, dress up and take pictures at my own pace and im really hoping it stays like this for me for a long time

[devondespresso]

reminded of lego friends again and struck with how dumb the discourse is. "lego was already for everyone, girls didn't need stupid malls or houses" but you don't hear complaints about batman sets. or teenage mutant ninja turtles. lego ninjago. lego star wars. fire trucks and helicopters and tanks all get to be gender neutral. no, hating overt femininity is not as progressive as we're thinking it is.