#on my laptop in the background and I'm keeping up just fine so far!)

[fortes-fortuna-iogurtum]

me, finally going back to watch the pilot of TNG after watching a fair few episodes from the second season first: oh hey! there's Riker! this is gonna be his introduction scene I guess! :D

me, as soon as the camera pans around and shows him from the front: uuuHhhHHHHHH SIR??? WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FACE???! D: D: D:

[rayman-chibi]

So I tried out magma.com because IbisPaint X is being a jerk to me

For those who don't know, magma.com is a site where you can draw with other people :D

The best part is that you can literally draw things online and still look like an expert with ease for free (no Whiteboard Fox doesn't count because using the variety of colors requires paid subscriptions or something and I literally don't get paid for art and refuse to. Ever).

So since IbisPaint X is starting to get on my nerves by restricting the time to use Ad-required brushes (like the crayon brush I use to make my Rayman Chibi art) from 18 hours to a measly 4 hours, I've decided to try out magma.com to see if there are any alternatives.

And as it turns out, there is one. Probably more that could work out, but this one does the trick just fine.

And it's this one:

This is what I drew with it:

Hard to tell the difference, eh?

There are a few problems though, such as the feel. Magma is a great alternative to IbisPaint X, but the amount of space for me to move my brushes around is pretty narrow, especially when I use my phone. And since I had to accept the deal to include ads in order to keep the splotchy brush, that meant even less room to properly move. Plus, I'm not good with drawing with a mouse and would rather get one of those plug-in boards with a pen if I'm gonna use Magma on my laptop.

Secondly, as far as my experience went, there's no way to import images into a canvas. You can import an image to become a canvas, but that's about it. Notice how there's the usual crumpled-up paper background but not a pre-made watermark on the picture? That's what happened when I solely used Magma.

Thirdly, I don't even know if you can export a canvas as a transparent png. This is something I did when I used IbisPaint X, and it's especially important when animating in some cases, but here, all I can do is save it as a png, a jpeg, probably a third option, but not as a transparent png.

In conclusion, magma.com is a great alternative to IbisPaint, but its flaws make me keep wanting to come back to the latter. If it ever improves, then maybe I'll come back to it, but for now, I'll be sticking to IbisPaint for now, thanks.

(Unless if it locks the crayon brush behind a premium paywall, in which case somebody help)

[khaotunq]

i'm so confused that your ask didn't appear in my inbox but instead appeared only in my notifs. wild. ANYWAY I LOVE THIS GIF I'M KISSING U ABOUT IT

EDIT ur ask didn't actually appear on my dash when i posted it so i have cunningly screenshotted

ANY-ANYWAY. Since I'm a liar who said I was going to bed and then didn't, how about AkkAyan dressing up? It's THEMATIC. Also I made that little gif for my ask to you and ended up rewatching the Our Skyy eps in the background, then remembered I wrote this!

*

Wat threw a costume party. That’s how it had started. That was the reason all of Ayan's friends were mad at him.

  In his defence, Wat clearly hadn’t thought through all potential permutations of a costume party for his birthday. He’d given them the prompt of old Thai movies and left them to it.

  It had surprised Ayan how little convincing it had taken to get Akk into the ridiculously tight shirt and pants that predominantly made up his costume. He'd rolled his eyes and fussed and turned his single syllable nickname into a three second groan, but he'd let Aye pick, and he'd certainly voiced no complaints when Ayan had pointed out he’d be wearing something similar, just in black.

  It also shouldn’t have been possible to look good in a ridiculous all-yellow outfit. That was part of Ayan's defence too: nobody but nobody should manage to pull off being dressed head to toe in banana yellow in lieu of gold.

  Akk could, it turned out. Akk did. Ayan was man enough to admit that at least half the reason he'd taken the black outfit was that he knew he'd be entirely unable to control himself around his boyfriend in form fitting black. Akk, at least, could usually be counted on to act appropriately.

  Usually.

  Anyway, it was Wat’s fault. All of it.

  It was Wat's fault they'd even heard of The End of the Red Eagle in the first place. Ayan would have never paid it any mind were it not for Akk insisting that their friendship with Wat depended on it. Ayan did sleep through most of Wat’s suggestions and although Akk ragged on him for it, he thought Akk enjoyed it when he was curled up sleeping in Akk's arms rather than awake and pointing out logical fallacies in any given film just to annoy him.

  So, Ayan had little to no real idea what the plot of Red Eagle was, but Akk hadn’t seemed overly fussed when Ayan suggested the hero and villain as their costumes.

  Ayan suspected Akk had also fallen asleep. He did it more than he'd ever admit to, because Ayan had woken up to him fast asleep under him several times while one of Wat's recommendations played on his laptop next to the bed. Akk would never admit to it, and Ayan found it too endearing to challenge: he knew Akk's phone browser was full of tabs on for various movie pages so that he could refer to them if Wat ever asked.

  By the time they arrived at Wat's, Ayan had reevaluated every choice he'd ever made that had led to that moment. He loved Akk for far more than his physical attributes, but the costume was serving as a brutal reminder of many of those attributes. He loved Akk's legs, which were normally a mile long anyway but were at that moment torturously accentuated by the bright yellow fabric clinging to them.

  Akk's body was already something Ayan was used to thinking about - and wanting - but the frankly obnoxious belt Ayan had picked out had turned his hips and waist into features specifically designed to test Ayan’s ability to keep his hands on the wheel on the drive over.

  Ayan had to unclench and clench his fists several times to get circulation flowing through them again after they’d parked up.

  Akk caught him staring a couple of times and had just laughed at him. He’d leaned in as they waited on Wat’s doorstep and reached around to check Ayan's mask was secure, using the excuse to run his fingers through his hair.

  Akk had started it. That was for sure. It was all Wat’s fault, but Akk had started it by flirting with him so openly. Ayan would have been just fine if Akk would have just kept his hands to himself.

  Whether that was true or not, nobody could prove anything.

[malocclusive]

big ol baby trans ramble under the cut

Watching some analysis of Beastars/Animal Complex being queer in the background of crocheting and keeping tipsy, and just loving being trans. (If anyone came here from tags, thank you. I'm also 33 next month so like... Not a later life trans dude, but later than the average online it seems)

Never feel trans enough, since I'm not punished for it (How fucking sad is that/I know how bad gender affirming care sourcing can be and mine was a breeze aside from the fact that it's been almost 2 months of me waiting for top surgery dates. I can't get over the fact my insurance will pay for this, and I know I couldn't have even thought of it before transferring to high school, and it's sad it took 20 years of me crushing any thoughts of being nonbinary/male before I was so at the end of my rope that I was even searching to see if I could get top surgery through my insurance) despite that being an ABSOLUTE LUXURY on my end, and my spinelessness in affirming myself in situations with friends of friends and in the workplace.

Most of my students have been super on board, but every time I get new kids transferred in (constantly) I'll introduce myself as "mx." and kind of.... leave it at that. I have a sticker that says "Hello I'm Mx. _____ they/them" on my laptop w the trans flag, but man. Even in my super liberal school, it's... not something I want to harp on, honestly.

The kids (and adults, but mostly kids) who get it, get it. Those who don't, I'd LOVE to be a little more insistent on it, but I also don't want to come off as the "badgering queer". You never know if they just haven't caught on, or if their homelife is massively queerphobic.

I'm extremely lucky that my husband hasn't really felt any animosity or lack of feelings towards me, far as I know. My one coworker left her husband after she came out as trans. This was a long time ago, but still. The AFAB NB and Trans groups I'm on are constantly posting about how their partners stopped loving them or left them. Also, I definitely live with monogamous demisexual privilege. I have 0 want or need for a relationship outside of my husband, and if he never asked me out 23 years ago, I'd probably still be single. I'm more than enough fun for myself.

I desperately want more queer folks to chill with within a short drive, but I'm too scared to post anything on the local facebook groups or nextdoor. I haven't even come out to any of my neighbors except for 2, but I genuinely think the group I used to drink with moved front yards down the street because I kept calling the main guy out on being transphobic and probing the virulent toxic masculinity in the group.

Was off my ass new year's at like 2 am while they were still partying, and while I brought an entire platter of shit for s'mores and some beers and entertained the kids (I was shockingly less off my ass than their folks, so I was fixing yoyos and showing them how to spin em) I called these two dudes out for their homophobic antics, more or less.

At least I THINK that's what happened? I got up the next day at like noon and only had a text that said "wow" from my favorite (genuinely good dude, only one in the culdesac) and that's kinda what I can piece together from being wasted.

Anyways, I love being a gay trans dude, but know it's all theory for a very, very long time. The more I research going on T, the more I love the idea. I thought I'd be fine with just top surgery, but man. I'd love to "pass" some day. Or at least be confusing enough that folks aren't sure how to address me. Maybe that's just because I'm extremely femme looking, 5' tall, and ridiculously hourglass shaped. I still got called "sir" a lot working at trader joe's in college, but even at my lightest I was still super curvy, just less all around. So maybe it's not all body and voice, idk. I wish I could harness that energy, because my personality is no less bombastic now than it was then.

I just feel like a fraud because I haven't faced persecution outside of folks just ignoring my identity. That's par for the course. When I was even firmly cis, I'd get folks correcting me if I said I was the "King of _____". Bro, it wasn't an accident. It's dumb to say "I'm not trans because people don't want me dead", but that's an extremely real reality for a majority of folks. Also transmasc folks/trans men seem far fewer/prevalent than trans women. I don't know what I should be doing, haha. Plus there's a lot of "dress up" vibes folks attribute to AFAB NBs so who fucking knows

Idk, I think I just want some validation. Not persecution, but I'm sure everyone who identifies as trans or nonbinary goes through this same thing at some point, and I've only been OUT for like 2 months. I'm also not the kind of person to take a stand for myself since I can pretty much weather anything. I'm also way more into the subtle approach on things, so I'll slide in bits and bobs and eventually another person will hopefully put those subconscious pieces together and realize they were wrong. You can't yell at someone and have them change, but you can be a listening ear for when they start questioning their own beliefs. That's my gay agenda and how I'm indoctrinating kids at work. Being very queer (They clocked me by like week 2 on an iykyk basis, and though I'm in my little hidey hole, the LGBTQ summit had kids telling me "yeah, this person I knew was like "Do you wanna be like THAT TEACHER? Because you'll end up like that."" Which I still don't know what that means, but it was something an out trans boy was told by their friend so. Here we are, lol.) but supportive of all kids regardless, and calling things out when I hear it/correcting misinformation.

I posted earlier about a student who came out to me as intersex like week 2 of my career at my high school. "Your hair, your glasses, your stickers, and personality, I just knew I could tell you.". He was going for some surgery and would be out a bit, and said he wanted to tell me why. He also told me he got stopped on the way to the SINGULAR gender neutral bathroom by security, because his pass was for the upper level and the only GN bathroom was on the ground floor. I love how I was gonna say I raised hell, but nah, I politely went to security and explained the situation, told him to have security talk to me if they had a problem, escorted him the next time I was free and he needed to go, and brought it up with the LGBTQ committee, which the principal is on (AND RECEPTIVE)

Idk. I'm just trying to lead by example. I know I'm in baby trans territory, and there's so much discourse and so many issues I'm not in because I keep to myself. For a terminal extrovert, I really don't involve myself outside of like... the 2nd degree of separation. Keeps me safe and I can control what I can ACTUALLY control, but I also feel like I'm not doing things right, in a way. Never had much support from my folks growing up, and while my Gramma was my lifeline, this is out of her depth. My cousin and her husband are both trans, so I'm the 3rd in the crew, but they're still... Somehow confused on it lol.

I told my mom(via text, the only useful way tbh), and she made it about her after saying "okie dokie" and how her bestie shouldn't have a kid with her boyfriend (husband?) and that my mom wishes she could have a kid with her(????????? the whole thing is confusing, my mom's friend is her surrogate for me since my mom genuinely is a diagnosed narcissist who won't do anything to better or repair her relationships (esp from her deep addiction days) and her response was vague enough that it also sounded like she wanted me to get her pregnant.... So confusing shit all around). I haven't told my dad (lives like a 13 hour drive from me) and probably won't til I at least heal from top surgery, if at all. Still just not telling my inlaws, but they're former Korean Unification Church members, and my FIL genuinely thinks women shouldn't be cannon fodder in the military because of their weakness.

Been a hoot with the staff at my school (mostly office, who I goss with and hang out with when I pass through and on planning periods) telling me how extremely femme I am. Hon, I'm the one folks come to for wd40 before maintenance, and I'm only a carabiner away from dressing like a stereotypical butch.

My queerest teammate said "It's the tits" which killed me. I can't wait to slough off a pair of 30FFs, fucking christ. I bet when I sit up for the first time I'll throw myself into orbit due to the lack of weight.

idk where I was going here, but I got a lot of crochet to do.

Anyways, I can't tell you how much I light up whenever I hear my husband call me his husband. Or by my name I'm still waiting on the paperwork on. Or they/he. Anyone, really, but it means so much to hear it from my favorite person. It's hard to think of what third person honorific to say when talking to the cats, though. I hate "wife" memes bc when they're about folks' goofy feral wives I'm "that's me fr" but most are written by and for straight couples, and there's definitely a double standard there. Dumpster diving? Hah, your wife is so quirky and goofy! OH YOUR HUSBAND CAN'T PROVIDE.

Hon, they're folks, let em be. I love a chaos gremlin-stoic responsible couple, but we don't need to gender it.

[glass-warehouse]

NICHOLAS VINTEREN

oh god i did it. i'm gonna need a shirt that reads; i'm an artist! ask me about my hand! and then on the back, SPOILERS: it hurts.

anyway here is my MC just before it all goes to shit. something something peacock feathers symbolising pride something something the height of pride before a fall—you get me?

BONUS!!!: here is a shitpost i drew as a real insight into how i felt for about 35% of the process.

You don't have to read this if you don't want to. This is my rant and criticism space, it's really more for me. Thanks 7 years of conditioned behavior.

I considered this piece abandoned a few months ago. Just as I was starting the first pass of shading I saw a massive error. I'm pretty vigilant with my layers, keeping copies in case I need to go back and fix something, but I thought I was all done and dusted. Ready for the next stage. So I had no backups. At this point I'm too far in to easily fix it without making a huge mess and it was a massive motivation killer. I couldn't stop thinking about it and I didn't want to continue, so I left it.

Months later I came back, the work I hadn't finished was perfectly fine, I thought it looked good. I decided that I was going to finish the piece even if it killed me even with the mistakes. It happens to all of us. And man I am so happy I continued.

I could've kept going on it to be honest, but I had to put a stop somewhere. There are problems, things I wish I had or hadn't done, but for what it is I'm damn pleased with myself. So I'd say it was a success :)

The last 45 minutes were spent on the background (look too close and I'll kill you). There wasn't even going to be one before then. Glad I stuck out the extra time even though I was fucking exhausted and ready to have my hand completely crushed by a large object.

Around 75% of the way done I notice that my auto-saves are causing my laptop to freeze. I know hefty files can do this but it's only a full body drawing, not what I'd consider hefty. Well it turns out that past me thought so highly of this piece, before it was even a sketch, to have it be in 4K RESOLUTION. That shit is crisp as hell, drink in all that clear detail, so long as Tumblr doesn't nuke it from orbit. (Future me here to say that yep, it got nuked. Guess I'll be the only one who gets to see it in high def, just what I wanted lmao 😒)

It sucks even more because I'm noticing the lack of clarity on another piece I'm doing, but I 1. don't need 4K quality and 2. my laptop can't take that level of a beating every time CSP auto-saves. Yeah I could turn off auto-saves but that feels like just asking for trouble.

Also yeah, I'm doing one for Hebe. It won't be as detailed as this piece because, unfortunately, that ability is on cooldown. Doesn't mean I won't try my hardest regardless, I just fear what might happen to me if I try that again too soon. I don't want another 3 month long shutdown. (As I write this I'm literally at the same point in her piece as I was with this one just before I gave up, lol)

[your-internet-parental-unit]

I totally didn't find others doing this while searching for specific ships and decided to do it myself lol

All of the above/j Purple.

Ohhh that arc has so many good cats ughhhhhh it's hard to pick. In no particular order, Redtail, Firestar, Cloudtail, Brightheart, Ravenpaw

Nope, I think she was fine without one, and Dovewing is my baby, and her story wouldn't be the same without her power

Silverstream, I have to say

God, I don't actually know- GreySilver have sentimental feelings associated with them but I don't really have any strong feelings towards a lot of them(Unless you count the mention of Mousewhiskers crush on Minnowtail, then that one because I love Mousewhisker)

How fake of a fan am I if I say I didn't keep up with that? But I do know the designs and I'mma have to say either Lionheart or Longtail

I think it depends on how serious the RP is, sparkle designs can be a lot of fun but I usually do more "serious"(slightly more canon aligned) rps so my designs lean more realistic

Ok I joined deviantart really late in the game (I've only been on there for 3 years and I barely use it) so I think it's been Mushroom1Mack2 the entire time, but I used Amino a lot more, and I went by RadioAngel101 there

Jayfeather x Hazeltail is probably the closest to a crackship I have (I swear I think I'm the only person to ship them) or Brambleclaw x Leafpool for an AU (actually I have a lot of AU ships that probably count as crackships)

Her name was Speckledsong, and she was actually my WC sona for a while. She was a russet colored she-cat with black speckling/spotting along her back and face with a black tail tip and grey-blue eyes. She was a warrior of my fan clan Hawkclan and she had the ability to feel when something was right/if she was doing something right by a sensation of water running over her (very specific I know). I ended up revamping her into my OC Nightshade.

Bestie my brain does not remember that far back. The oldest AMV I remember liking was the My Mom Breezepelt AMV by Orion Fujiwara, and that was posted in 2015

He had POTIENTAL. He coulda been GREAT. But NO THEY MESSED HIM UP AND NOW I HATE HIM

How dare you not let me include skyclan/j/lh Windclan > Riverclan > Bloodclan > Shadowclan > Thunderclan

Dovewing 100% I love her she's my baby

YAY DAISY

I did not! I didn't have my own PC or laptop til last year, and before that I used aesthetic pics I found on pinterest for phone and tablet backgrounds

I think I'd be a former kittypet named Fluffy who joined Skyclan and ended up with a name like Fluffyheart or Fluffyflower or maybe even Fluffyash

I gotta say Mothwing. I love my atheist med cat

I never intentionally named any cats after canon characters, but I did give some feral cats around my grandparents house warrior names(Fernflight, Sproutkit, Owlkit, and Frecklestorm are just some of the names I gave cats)

I'm sorry I gotta pick Swiftpaw, I made an entire AU out of him and his littermate Lynxkit living to become warriors together, I have to choose him

Old School Warriors Ask Game

I haven’t made one of these before but I thought it would be fun >:3c I couldn’t ask obvious ones like “who do u think the 4th cat is” but I tried to keep these centered on heated discussions around 2009ish

1. what color is scourge’s collar?

2. top 5 the prophecies begin characters

3. should hollyleaf have had a power?

4. millie or silverstream?

5. favorite forbidden romance

6. favorite sss warriors design

7. realistic or sparkle designs for roleplay?

8. first deviantart username

9. favorite crack ship (ex. revengeshipping)

10. describe your first warriors oc

11. favorite amv prior to 2014?

12. is brambleclaw a good main character?

13. rank the clans (excluding skyclan, including bloodclan)

14. dovewing or ivypool?

15. daisy: yay or nay?

16. did you ever use fanart as your pc wallpaper?

17. what would your warrior name be and what clan would you belong to?

18. favorite medicine cat? (cutoff being oots)

19. did you name/want to name a pet after a character?

20. swiftpaw, gorsepaw, or shrewpaw?

[vivilove-jonsa]

I had me a girl

@jonsaseasonalbash

Day 5 prompt-Songs

Lyrics and title from 'I Had Me a Girl' by The Civil Wars

***

They all think they understand him just because they’ve listened to his music.�� They don’t understand though.  They don’t know anything.

They think his muse, the inspiration for all his songs, must be someone from his past, someone who broke his heart once…or maybe he broke hers.

They don’t know the truth and they can’t because they’d never understand.  She’s not part of his past.  She’s not someone he can imagine ever cutting out or leaving behind, not really.

And, Jon Snow would cease to be some rock god in the making if they knew.  No one would even want to admit they’d ever known a single one of his songs or even knew his name if they learned the truth.

Every night, they chat and pretend it’s normal what they do.  Neither one is fooled.  Every night, he sinks deeper into a hell of his own making.  Maybe she burns too though.

He waits with bated breath for the connection to go through.  Wi-Fi is horrible at this hotel chain.  The chat connects and then…

“That’s a lot of pink.  Where the fuck are you, Sansa?”

She giggles, turns the phone around so he can see her face at last, the face that’s always haunting him whenever he’s alone in hotel rooms at night.

“Mama and I went shopping earlier.  I got a new comforter.  You like it?”

“Yeah, it’s, uh…pink.  How’s your mother?”

“Fine,” she says in a tone that tells him the topic isn’t open for further discussion tonight.  "I told her I'm getting my own place next month."

"Did you tell her how you're paying for it?"

"I'm doing alright and they don't need to worry about it.  I'm not a kid anymore."

Her mother’s a touchy subject, one Sansa usually avoids during their chats.  Cat’s no idiot.  She’s not fond of him in general and especially not fond of him being close to her daughter.  At least, she doesn’t know the whole truth.

Moving out is another difficult subject.  He's footing most of the bills but she'll still be in the same town as them and Jon can't just ignore that.

Sansa flops back on the bed, holding her phone up above her, letting that red hair of hers fan out all around her on the new pink comforter.  Those wisps of red hair which seem to outline every note he writes tease him as they fall back on her pillow.  He thinks of them blowing around her pink cheeks on the northern breeze.

She’s got his latest song playing in the background.  He wonders if she always has it cued up and ready for their nightly chat.  Does she know they’re all about her?

‘I had me a girl

who taught me those things

a young man should know…’

He adjusts the angle of his laptop to cut down on the glare from the table lamp.  He likes having her on the bigger screen.

She’s dressed for bed, wearing his old high school jersey.  He can see nearly all of her thighs like this.  She never wears any pajama bottoms, not when they’re talking.

“You look tired,” she comments, frowning.

“Long hours in the studio this week,” he says with a shrug.

“Anyone keeping you up late at night down there in the big city?”

She gets jealous.  She has no reason to be.  Maybe that’s part of the problem.  If he could find some girl around (there’s plenty of them down here who’d hook up with a rock star), if he could take one of them back to his room one night instead of calling her, maybe he’d stop obsessing over this girl.

Yeah, she’d be hurt and he knows he’d hurt too but then maybe they’d get over it and finally move on from this thing they do.

“No one’s keeping me up late ‘cept you.  What color’s your toenail polish tonight?”

She blushes so pretty for him, knowing what’s next.  They do this nearly every night when they chat.

Slowly, she lets her phone drift down those long legs of hers for him, she shows him every creamy inch, until she reaches her perfectly polished toes.

“Blue, huh?”  One hand drops down to adjust himself.  He’s already getting hard.  “That doesn’t match the comforter.”

The phone’s back up to her face.  “I didn’t paint them to match the comforter.  They match something else I bought today.”

“Oh?  Show me, baby.”

She grins, giving him that devilish little look he knows too well, the one he first saw when they were far too young and reckless and lucky not to get caught, the one that tells him Cat’s little angel is about to let her halo slip.

“Just these,” she says casually, pulling up his jersey to reveal a pair of panties, light blue and lacy.

His voice is like gravel when he tells her, “Those are pretty.  Are they soft?”

“Very soft.”

“As soft as what’s in ‘em?”

She shakes her head and he tells her what he wants her to do.

“You too, Jon.  I want to see you, too,” she says all whimpery and sweet.  His sweet girl, he misses her so much.  He’s going to stay up all night writing another song when they’re done maybe and tomorrow he’ll ask the guys to try it out in the studio with him.

But an unexpected, thundering knock on her door has her sitting up before they can really get started.  She shoves his jersey back down right as it opens.

“Daddy!  I was just chatting with Jon!” Sansa explains, voice high and nervous…not that the old man will notice.

Jon’s stomach churns when Ned Stark’s face leans into the frame.  That solemn face breaks into a grin once he sees Jon.

“How’s Kings Landing treating you, son?”

“It’s good, Dad,” Jon answers, hating himself, wondering if he’d rather scowl at the interruption or vomit because of all the things he wants to do with his daddy’s little girl tonight.

[1234-angelika]

Overnight It

an: As always, I'm excited to share this with y'all. This is the third installment of the Happily Ever After series for Luke. Hope y'all enjoy!

words: 1k

warnings:hospital, implied smut, slight medical terminology,

summary:"I wasn't looking for anthing when I found you & it somehow made me question what I wanted, was I ready for love? I don't think anyone is ever ready, but when someone makes you feel alive again it's kind of worth the risk." -Nikki Rowe

masterpost|taglist|have an idea

By the end of your visit with Luke, you had managed to convince the nurses to let you stay over at the hospital with Luke. His family lived too far away, and his neighbour was already watching Roxy until tomorrow so, the plan was to use his night in the hospital as your date night. Emily was still at the hospital, wanting to make sure that he was ok. The three of you chatted; you mainly were getting to know his boss, Emily. Then, about an hour before visiting hours were over, you asked Emily to stay so you could pick up your overnight bag and some snacks. You drove home as quickly as legally allowed, and on the way, you called your favourite Mexican restaurant for some takeout comfort food. Once you got home, you haphazardly threw basic toiletries, clothes, snacks and your laptop in case you decided to do some work. On your way back to the hospital, you stopped for the food. After a short chat with the owner—about your lack of business—you were back on the way to the hospital. Again, you drove as fast as possible without any traffic violations or spilling the food. The elevator seemed to move at a snail’s pace. You were tapping your foot absentmindedly as the elevator slowly went up the floors until it finally landed on Lukes. You were met with Emily on the other side of the elevator doors. She moved, so you had enough room to step out and then left you with a hug and well-wishes for Luke. You thanked her for staying and promised to keep her updated before heading to his room. You walked in, and he gave you a massive smile saying; “Do I smell elote and tacos al pastor?” Chuckling, you said, “of course! I brought you my comfort food, I assumed you wouldn’t mind and that you’d appreciate the change.” “Babe, I appreciate it so much,” he reached over to grab your hand, and he placed a soft kiss on it. You felt your cheeks get warm at the display of affection, and you just smiled at him. Then, deciding that wasn’t enough, you leant down, so you were at face level, and you kissed him. The both of you melted into the kiss, and it ended up lasting longer than anticipated. You only pulled apart when the two of you needed air. “What was that for?” He asked with a dopey smile; you weren’t sure if it was from the kiss or the pain meds. “Well, I’ve wanted to do that for a while, since I think the second time we hung out.” “For the record,” he paused to give you a cheeky grin, “the feeling is mutual.” You talked for a while, the old hospital tv giving off static softly in the background, before starting to eat dinner. The steady beeping of the hospital equipment created a unique atmosphere for the date. Once the food was all eaten, you cleaned up the containers and made sure it was all tidy. After that, you checked with the nurses, and after getting the ok, you helped Luke take a shower and made sure to avoid the wound. He got changed and then headed back into the room, so you took your turn in the bathroom. You took a quick shower and put on your comfy clothes. Wandering out of the bathroom, you found Luke lying in the hospital bed, flipping through the channels trying to find something to watch. He heard you walk in and turned to look but just as quick as he did, he turned back to the tv, flipping through the channels. You were making your way to the cot the hospital had provided for you when Luke called your name. “Yeah Luke?” “Come lay with me,” he said, beckoning you over. “Are you sure?” You asked hesitantly. “I don’t want to hurt you….” “I am one-hundred percent sure.” He said confidently. “You’ll just have to lay on my right side.” You shuffled back across the hospital room to the bed and then carefully climbed in on his right side. You were on the very edge of the bed, almost half hanging off the bed and, his good arm wrapped around you, pulling you closer. You gently laid your head on his chest, as best as you could, in the small area. Turning to face the tv, you absentmindedly watched the movie Luke had landed on. You assumed that he was doing the same until you felt his stare boring holes into the side of

your face. Tilting your head up from his chest, you looked at him. “What?” You asked, slightly self-conscious from his persistent stare at you. “I just can’t believe a girl as gorgeous as you agreed to go out with me.” He said wistfully, a slight twinkle in his eye. “Aww…Luke.” You tilted your face even more and captured his lips in a kiss. Unfortunately, what you had intended as a sweet kiss—and it started out that way—quickly escalated into something more. The more heated it got, the more you knew you had to put a stop to it. Knowing where it was headed, you gently but abruptly pulled away. And put some space in between the two of you, well, as much as you could get on a hospital bed anyways. “Why did you stop?” Luke asked, worried he had moved too quickly or done something wrong. “I just don’t want to hurt you….” You said softly. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.” He said with a smile. “You just have to be the lead.” Unsure, you analyzed his eyes for any hesitation. He gave you a firm nod and, obviously, that was the go-ahead. You recaptured his lips with yours, re-igniting the urgent and slightly desperate kiss. Which then transformed into events that are better left to the imagination. Making that night one, you would never forget.

taglist:@multixfandomwriter @myescapefromthislife @gspenc

[artxyra]

So I had this idea and I was wondering if you would write it. So damian has lived with his dad for a couple of years, he is 15/16 and his brothers have been nagging him about going on a date like a normal teenager for months now, and then one day he just snaps and screams at them " don't you get it I'm already betrothed!" His brothers are confused but try to help " I'm sure we can find a loophole and get you out of it!" "No. If the betrothal is broken the league will kill her."enter marinette.

Note: Well this story sounded better in my head, but it took forever to type up. I hope you enjoy it. 

Damian couldn’t remember a time when his brothers didn’t make an attempt at his love life. Every other month (sometimes weeks) it was attempt after attempt.  He hated it. At first, he humored his brothers, but that humor quickly turned to the opposite emotion. Though Damian’s biggest secret thought that it was hilarious, and it was.

Damian remembers their first attempt, he was only fourteen, been in the Waynes’ custody for almost four years. He remembers being tugged into a bathroom and then forces to wear silly fancy clothes. His brothers should have been lucky that he didn’t have his weapons on him. To them, it was to gain the high school boy experience since Damian refused to do any of the sorts. Shouldn’t they just happy that he has one friend at the very least? Nope, they really wanted Damian to have a sense of normality.

“Baby bird, every teen goes on a date. Please just do this for us.” It was Dick that had started the persuasion. Damian had only tsk and fold his arms against his chest. He was already fed up with all the bullshit spewing from the older adopted Wayne’s mouth.

“Why should I even do this? I barely know the har—girl and—” Damian begins to scowl as Dick interrupts him by tossing a vest for him to wear. He mentally gags at the texture of the vest. Damian had scene better quality, not that he’ll tell where.

“We promise it will be worth it.”  It was Tim that adds to the conversation as Jason was to busy cleaning up his knife in broad daylight.

It wasn’t long after that was the date with a Gotham native. She wasn’t up to his standards; it was clear that she didn’t want to be with him for him. To this day he suspects that she only agreed because of the money. Damian tried everything to make the date super uncomfortable for the girl even going so far as to make up an explicitly detailed gory story. She left cursing his brothers, mainly Dick, out at the end of their date.

Damian had thought that would be the one and only time that would happen…he had forgotten the stubbornness that runs in the family. Failing was not an option as this continues for another four years.

“I’m sure it was a fun date.” A female’s voice says from the screen of his laptop, that was place on his dresser as he does shadow movements with his katana.

“It was tiresome, Angel, and quite frankly I’m getting sick of it.” Damian lowers the blade to his side and turns to face the screen. On the screen is a lovely female, around his age with long dark hair that drapes over her shoulders. She lets out a giggle.

“I’m sure they have the best intentions, besides it’s not like they know I exist, anyway.” She says rolling her eyes.

“Angel, I love you, but not even you can last an evening with the dates they have set up over and over again.” Damian sighs putting up the katana. He then picks up the laptop and goes to lie on his bed.

“Well, I’m sure it will all be fine. Besides, I have a surprise for you that is coming soon. Just hold out until then. Okay?” She says with a bright as a loud sound goes off in the background. Damian sighs and nods before ending the video call. He hates keeping her a secret, but it was the right thing to do.

It was a week later when his brothers came to him with another blind date proposal signally the tenth time that has happened in a span of a month. Everyone could see the growing frustration in the young Wayne heir. With the mention of dates, couples, restaurant, manhood, romance, it would set Damian off, although he was quick to calm down with a message from an Angel.

“Look Demon spawn, she is literally perfect for you.” It was an excuse, something for him to look forward to. No one is perfect.  

“C’mon baby bird, she could be the one.” Another excuse. There was only one girl that was the one and she’s several hundred thousand miles away.

“Go, it all fancy and shit, also the NDA.” Ugh, this was becoming numbing. Damian could only wish to slide his fine blade across all their necks. Also, why the hell would Jason even mention an NDA to him in the first place?

“What is this? Another blind date for the young master?” Thank god for Alfred.

“Alfred, we promise this will be the last time.” That’s a lie and he knows it.

Damian could feel the growing headache forming at the back of his mind. Dick’s moving too fast, Tim’s giving him all the details about his so-called date, and well Jason is just being Jason.

“Enough!” Damian finally breaks. “The reason why I don’t like going on these so-called blind dates is because I’m betrothed to someone.” The word betrothed rings through the heads of his family members.

“Wha~!” Simultaneously, the older Waynes’ minds break.

“Is there any way you can break it off? A loophole even? How are you betrothed?” Shouldn’t that had been asked backward? They could all see the steam oozing out of Damian’s ears.

Crossing his arms and turning his back to his brothers, Damian looks down. “No, not unless you want a death on your hands. The only way to end a betrothal is to kill the other, that has always been the League’s away of things.” The second the last word left his lips, Damian walks away; he needs to talk with his Angel.

Still in shock, everyone turns to one another.

“How could we have missed that?” Tim screeches before taking a sip from his mug despite the shaking in his hand.

Dick was unsure what to say, think, or do. It’s not every day you learn the brother you’ve been setting up is engaged. An engagement that they could not break.

“I’m more worried who the brat is engaged too?” Jason murmurs then proceed to clean out his gun. His brothers stare at him with wide eyes unsure what to say to the second oldest.

For the next week after that bomb drop, his brothers continue to pester him about his betrothal, they even managed to include Bruce in the conversation a couple of times. If it wasn’t for Alfred, Damian knows that the pestering would have left someone in the hospital.

On a rare sunny day in Gotham, Damian had taken Titus out for a walk. It was clear his mind and to get away for the time being. Finding a nice park bench to sit on, he pulls out a small sketchpad and begins to sketch. Titus runs around enjoying the outdoors.

“Is this spot taken?” The voice sounded so familiar. He grunts ever once looking up the person afraid that he had misheard the voice. “Oh, c’mon Dams, I thought you would be happy to see me.” It was then that he looks up. In shock, he pushes the sketchpad to the side and pulls the person in front of him into his arms.

“I miss you.” He murmurs into her dark hair. “But how?”

“I managed to win the Martha Wayne scholarship, and then your butler Alfred got into contact with me about visiting.” She says looking up to Damian, though she was mainly seeing his chin due to their height difference. “You’ve grown.” She then pouts.

Damian lets out a soft chuckle, hoping that no one outside of his Angel heard him. His Angel places her head against his chest and together they stayed like that until Titus decided that he was some attention.

“Awe, he’s so cute.” She says petting the Great Dane.

Damian was internally happy to have her by his side for the first time in years. She’s the one that is perfect for him and it’s not because she was molded to be, but because she knows him inside and out.

When Damian, Titus, and his Angel returned to the manor, it is Alfred that they see first.

“Welcome home, young master, and Miss Dupain-Cheng.” Alfred greets the teen.

“Alfred, please call me Marinette, my last name can be a mouth full,” Marinette says giving the butler a smile. Alfred nods and proceeds to guide them to the living room. “So, this is the Wayne manor, those photos you send me Dams does this no justice.”

Damian once again chuckles knowing she’ll be in a heavily inspired by the architecture which will then cause her to go dark until she finishes whatever project came out of the inspiration.

“Angel, how about I give you a proper tour of the manor?” He offers to which she gladly takes.

Marinette had been staying at the Wayne manor for a couple of days before Damian brothers make their grand entrance. Without catching sight of the girl, they make their way to the youngest Wayne hoping to get some answers about his betrothal.

“Um, you can ask me if you want,” Marinette says from behind the boys causing an outcry of emotions.

“What you’re real?” It was Tim rubbing his eyes that speaks first.

Marinette awkwardly nods, “And you need sleep. I have a special brew that can knock anyone out within seconds.” She says to Tim before turning to the others. “I’m Marinette, nice to meet you.”

Dick and Jason stare at the girl lost for words. Dick was internally gushing about her size and how cute she is compared to Damian while Jason struggles to comprehend the person in front of him.

Marinette closes the gap between her and Jason. She looks over the second oldest and smiles sadly. “You have so much darkness around you. The same that used to be around Dams. I could help you if you want.” She says taking the male’s hand.

Jason was lost for words. This person was willing to help him. He wasn’t sure how to feel but the light flowing off of this tiny person was overpowering.

“That’s it you’re my new favorite sibling. I will protect you with my life.” Dick cries out starting the competition of who’s Marinette’s favorite brother-in-law.

Not surprisingly enough, Marinette warmed her way into the Wayne family. She even bonded with Steph, Cass, and Barbara whenever the girls came over for a girls-only day. Damian quickly was reminded why he didn’t want his family to know about her, seeing that he barely has time with her as his siblings take all the time away. Though it has it’s benefits. He can now visit Marinette in France without needing to sneak away and she could come to visit the manor whenever she wants.

Damian knew the moment he said “I do”, she’ll be his forever in life and in death just like he’ll be hers forever.

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[echo-three-one]

Chapter 27

Who's still reading this? Have fun!

CW : character death (This spoils a lot I'm sorry but I have to put it.)

THE ROAD SO FAR

Previous Chapter : What's behind door number two?

Staying in Shape

John Price

MacTavish Residence, Glasgow, Scotland

It has been almost three days since the culmination of the New York Attack and most of his contacts regarding Nero and Shepherd's movements were quiet. He was getting anxious to step back into the fight, but without sufficient intel, or even better weapons, they couldn't do anything.

Price scanned the room, everyone else started to pair up with each other, a dynamic he expected to happen anytime soon. With all the challenges they've been through, finding love within each other was inevitable. And Price was fine by that. Heck, when he was younger, he had his fair share of romance during missions.

With the thought of Nero and Shepherd resurfacing any moment soon, Price devised a plan, to keep his crew in shape and always prepared to deploy as soon as sufficient intel is presented.

With the help of Jack, they created a training and endurance exercise schedule, where the soldiers, including Price himself, would follow to still continue to stay in shape and prepared for battle. They asked permission from Soap who was more than willing to help, an excited grin all over his face.

"I'll help you set up." he said, gaining a nod from the old man.

"France will train at the basement gym." He added and Soap nodded.

From that moment, the team started training, improving their physical abilities and endurance. Weapons training wasn't possible at the moment as they left it all in Brazil.

Jack overlooked the team from afar, Samantha and Maxine were at the gym helping out France's version of the training. They did the regular set of training from standard 141 protocol, using everyday materials in exchange for some of the equipment Soap didn't own. Price also instructed a specific dietary plan for the soldiers instead of just eating whatever they liked.

While on break, the two girls, Samantha and Maxine approached Price with an excited look in their eyes. Priced raised an eyebrow and asked what they were up to.

"Everyone's doing their best and We both wanted to offer our help." Samantha explained as Maxine inserted.

"We'd like to apply as the team's dietician and health consultant. My resumé is that I have vast knowledge in cooking along with their nutritional information." She grinned.

"And Samantha here has little background on tending to physical wounds and pain. You could see how fast Alex's face healed!" Maxine added. Price was more than happy to accept their offer, it goes to show that they were willing to give whatever it takes for the people and cause they cared about.

"Alright. Guess you're both hired." he chuckled as the two cheered and made their way to their respective 'partners', probably out to share the good news.

Wiping his sweaty forehead with a towel, he looked around the main room where everybody was. Jack was by the office, looking up something on the laptop or probably just playing solitaire. Soap and France were at the gazebo, he could barely see them by the angle he's at but he couldn't miss that flashy mohawk.

To his left, he saw Samantha sitting on Alex's lap as she carefully cleaned Alex's bruise, Roach sat on the other end of the sofa, chugging a bottle of Gatorade while Maxine stood behind him, he could barely hear it, but it looked like the newly hired dietician was already lecturing him about the benefits of said drink, saying the word 'electrolytes' somewhere in the sentence.

He felt proud that this team stood by him ever since he made that choice. He was very grateful that he had someone whom he shared common goals with.

"Price. It's for you." Jack called from the office, causing him to immediately get up and answer the call.

"Aye, this is Price. Got anything for me?" he muttered.

"John. Looks like your friend is on the move." Kate Laswell spoke on the other end of the line, her voice was authoritative as always.

"Which one?" he chuckled, it was about time he received some news.

"Shadow Company. Looks like they're brave using the same car again. Same plate and all." she informed, giving Price the last route they went before going cold once again. It led them to an empty warehouse just by the docks.

"Just what are these bastards up to…" he muttered.

"I have no idea. Think you'll do recon? It doesn't strike as a threat to warrant an official team, this leads really calling your name, John."

Laswell hinted. Despite him being out of the force and one of Fbi's most wanted, Kate insisted to use such perk for further trapping the suspicious Shepherd.

"I worked hard forming the 141 and he easily disbands it like it's nothing…" she added, her voice sounded very bitter.

"Now now, Kate. Take it easy. We'll get him. He's bound to fuck up anytime soon. Keep in touch, mkay?" he said as they both said their goodbyes and ended the call.

"A little recon mission won't hurt, right?" he nudged to Jack who grinned proudly at the solitaire victory screen, cards bounced all around the edges of the screen.

John Price found himself unable to sleep. It was either he's actually excited to do some missions or he's too worried about what they're about to discover, what would Shadow Company be up to and what is the quiet Nero planning behind the scenes? His thoughts raced to a dozen possibilities, all calling for drastic measures and sacrifices. He knew he had allies by his side, allies that are always ready to do whatever it takes to fix this mess.

He lazily dragged his feet to get a glass of water in the kitchen, despite being huge, the house was awfully quiet. Too quiet that he could hear every soft rustling from the halls.

He wasn't one to eavesdrop but he couldn't help but hear soft murmuring near MacTavish's bedroom.

"So.. um.. same time tomorrow?" said a low Scottish voice a chuckle followed. It was obviously Soap and Price thought only enemies were doing something behind the scenes.

"You wish.." a female voice giggled.

"But seriously… Thanks for tonight John." she added.

"No problem, Francine. So.. what's stopping you from staying overnight?" he chuckled. Price knew this was wrong but his glass of water was still half full.

"You know that I'd love to… but Maxine also needs me right now. Especially that she's slowly recovering bits and pieces of the past." she reasoned and Price knew it was time to head back to his room quietly.

Maxine Winters

MacTavish Residence, Glasgow, Scotland

It felt real. She looked around and felt that this was more than just an ordinary dream. The vision was too dark with a small ray of light peeking from the slightly ajar door.

She knew where this was. She liked hiding here, her parent's closet.

She was waiting for Francine to find her, Francine always knew where she hid. But in this certain memory, she wasn't there.

She giggled quietly and hushed herself as soon as the door opened, France was going to find her. But instead, what she heard was her Dad saying words of assurance followed by heavy breathing. She was curious enough to peek through the small opening.

Her dad carried her Mom to the bed, his hands held hers tight, wiping the sweat off her forehead as her chest rose and fell quickly, her breath was labored and her eyes looked tired.

"Hang in there, love. The doctor's on the way." his father assured, making his wife comfortable as they wait for help to arrive.

"I don't think I can make it anymore…" She whispered.

"No no no. Don't do this to me Coraline, don't you want to see our angels grow up?" he sobbed, tears fell on her hands as he kissed it. Maxine remained still, she wanted to cry but she just sat inside the closet, peeking, frozen in a mix of fear and worry.

"I do , Love … but it looks like my body can't make it to that day… I'm sorry…"

"Don't! Please Coraline, stay strong, for me… for the kids…"

"I am… and I know that you know it." she exhaled, panting heavily after the last sentence. Her Dad hugged her until her breathing stabilized, while Coraline weakly raised her hand and hugged him back.

"Promise me you'll see the kids grow up…

Promise me to tell them how much I love them every single day…

And promise me that you'll never forget how much I loved you… Francis Maximus Winters." tears fell from her tired eyes. Her dad held her cheek and wiped it off, sobbing as she slowly closed them.

"I'm not sure if I could keep all of those promises… but I will try… I love you Coraline Winters, I always have and I always will, until the time we'll meet again." he muttered. Maxine witnessed it all, the way her father's face frowned when he realized he just lost his wife. It was one of her saddest memories.

~

Maxine gasped and opened her eyes, touching her face as soon as they opened. Tears. She was crying while asleep. She flicked the lamp and looked around her, France wasn't around. Just as she pulled the sheets so she could leave the bed, the door knob slowly turned and a soft creak was heard. It was Francine.

"France!" Maxine gasped and immediately ran to her side, hugging her tight as she began crying. France smelled different, almost masculine, but she didn't mind.

"Max! What happened? Are you okay?" France quickly hugged her, rubbing her back as she quietly bawled out her emotions.

"I saw… " She panted.

"I saw… Mom…"

"Mom died…" She exhaled as Francine escorted her downstairs to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water to calm her heart.

"You were in the closet. We were supposed to be playing hide and seek." France muttered as Maxine turned to her.

"Francis… Maximus Winters." she recalled.

"That's dad's name. It's quite long, right? Mom actually liked him because of it." France enlightened, trying to make Max calm down.

"Yeah… is he ?" Max asked.

"Yeah… but he's kinda forgot about us now. Every time we visit he just looks for Coraline."

"Mom."

"Yes."

"He kept his promise." Max said.

"Huh?" France tilted her head.

"Mom's last words. Promise me you'll see the kids grow up…

Promise me to tell them how much I love them every single day…

And promise me that you'll never forget how much I loved you…" Max recalled from her dream and as more words were added, France's sobs were louder.

"He… he did them all…" France cried as they both hugged each other. And it was the moment that Maxine remembered what France looked like when they first met, her smile… It was the smile of someone who was finally reunited with her only family, and it was painful how the only ones she could cling to couldn't remember her.

"What's that smell?" Maxine asked as she killed the mood of the sisterly hug. France's face turned red, even in the dimly lit room, Max could tell that she was blushing.

"N-Nothing… I don't smell anything." She laughed nervously.

"I swear I passed by that scent somewhere…" she looked at her suspiciously and laughed, shrugging it off which actually made France relax her shoulders.

"Let's go back to sleep." Maxine invited her sister and they both got back to their room.

Next Chapter : Docked and Loaded

Notification Squad my Beloved

@beemybee @enderio @smokeywhalee @samatedeansbroccoli @whimsywispsblog @ricinbach

[hawkbucks]

Okay, so I usually don't send this kind of asks or prompts, because I don't have any wishes - I'm happy with whatever I get. But if you're up for it, I'd really love some HEAVY Tony-centric angst. Ship or no ship, whatever you prefer more, and sad end - or if you're not comfortable with that not more than a hopeful end. I just want you to crush my heart and make me cry. A lot. If that's nothing you want to write, that's okay, I love your writing anyway! Thank you for all your hc's and fics! :)

HELLO, FIRST OF ALL, I AM SORRY FOR TAKING THIS LONG AND SECOND OF ALL, THANK YOU FOR BEING WILLING TO WAIT. 

I hope this quenches your thirst for angst! I’ll admit to not really? Writing angst that much? So I’m not sure how this holds up, but I hope it’s okay! 

Loosely inspired by canon.

As a child, Tony comes to the realization that he is not meant to be loved. 

His mother tries. Oh, God, she tries. She brushes his hair in the mornings, places bandages over his bloodied knees whenever he went to play out in the garden and inevitably fell due to an untied shoelace, but nothing--nothing--she does makes up for the way his father treats him, the way those barbed words wrapped themselves around his heart and lungs and squeeze until he could barely breathe. 

See, dear old dad makes sure that his dissatisfaction with Tony makes itself apparent at every turn. Tony isn’t smart enough, he isn’t quick enough, he isn’t careful enough, he isn’t tough enough. He cries too much, clings too tightly to his mother, spends more days reading about King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table than brushing up on his advanced mathematics courses. 

“You're useless,” he remembers his father sneering, smelling faintly of alcohol and cigar smoke, while he desperately bites his lower lip to stifle his sobs as he picked up the remains of his toy car on the floor, “spending your time on those things instead of studying. I don’t see why Maria bothers. I certainly wouldn’t.” 

Clutching the scraps of metal to his chest, Tony runs out of the room as fast as his legs can carry him. He throws them in the trash, nearly retching up his entire lunch as he does so before going into his bedroom and curling up in his bed, buried under a ridiculous amount of blankets. He doesn’t know what to do to make his father happy short of running away and risking his life on the streets. 

He doesn’t know what to do to make his father love him. 

He keeps to himself at school. People don’t seek him out, and he doesn’t seek people out. He gets labelled as the “eccentric rich boy,” which is fine by him. 

Except there’s this other kid, James Rhodes, around 3 years older, that won’t stop trying to get him to come out of his shell. It probably helps that they’re roommates, otherwise Tony would be giving him a wide, wide berth. As in, making detours to the other side of the campus kind of wide. 

“C’mon.” Rhodes slides him a plate laden with a microwaved chocolate croissant. “Talk to me a little.” 

Tony eyes the plate. He hesitantly reaches forward, like he’s afraid that Rhodes is going to snatch it away from him at the last second, before bringing it towards himself. He nibbles at the edges of the pleasantly warm croissant. “Why do you care so much?” 

“Because you seem scared every time that I see you?” Rhodes answers. “Listen, Tony, you’re young. Younger than anyone else on this campus. I’m... worried, you know? You need someone looking out for you.” 

“I don’t need a babysitter.” 

“And I’m not trying to be one. I’m just saying that you’d be better off having someone who cares for you. I’m not going to swaddle you and put you in diapers.”

Tony wrinkles his nose. “You better not.” 

Rhodes smiles at him. Tony finds himself smiling back.

It’s nice, having someone with him at school. He and Rhodes--or Rhodey, as he now calls him--are basically attached at the hip. They do anything and everything they can together. Tony has almost forgotten how it’s like to be this happy. 

He tells Rhodey one day, tentatively excited, that he’s found this girl: Sunset Bain. She’s a brunette with hair all the way down to the middle of her back, she’s wicked smart with a rapier wit, and, most importantly, she doesn’t care that Tony’s a Stark. 

“Stop growing up so fast,” Rhodey complains. “It’s making me feel old.” 

“You’re 19.” 

“I feel old.” 

They go on dates--nice ones, but not expensive. 

He has his first kiss with her. It’s quick and chaste, but he liked it. She doesn’t push him to go further, and for that he’s glad. 

He holds her hand as they walk under the trees. 

As it turns out, Sunset did a little snooping in his stuff when he’s distracted and made off with Stark company secrets right after they celebrated their 6th month together. 

“Stupid boy,” his father snarls, slamming a hand down on his desk. Tony’s heard it all before, but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less. He doesn’t look up from the floor, hands clasped behind his back. 

Tony croaks, “I didn’t--”

“Didn’t what? Didn’t think she’d take advantage of you? Did you actually think she loved you?” 

Tony doesn’t respond. He doesn’t want to appear to be even more of an idiot, because, yes, he actually thought she loved him. She would whisper as much when they cuddled on the couch, anyway. 

“Unbelievable,” Howard mutters, taking Tony’s silence as confirmation of that fact. “Get out. I have to deal with this mess that you made.” 

Tony nods. “Yes, sir.” 

He leaves, each step heavy. Everything after that is a blur. All he knows is that he left that room and he ended up back in his dorm, face down on the floor, sobbing his eyes out with a half-empty bottle of Vodka lying next to him.  

His parents die at some point. Car accident.  

He sobs into his pillow. He wishes--

He wishes he was in the car, too. At least he’d be with his mother.

Rhodey has been his anchor through all of this. He lets Tony ruin his shirts with his tears and his snot. He brings Tony coffee and cupcakes whenever he thought he could use some cheering up. Hell, he even offers to TP Sunset’s house--a tempting offer if he didn’t know that Rhodey would end up arrested for doing so. 

Like most good things in his life, Rhodey ends up leaving to join the Air Force. Tony wishes he could be selfish enough to ask Rhodey to stay a little longer, but he doesn’t. 

He gives him a hug and a pat on the back, and Rhodey is gone.

Rhodey tries to contact him. He calls, sends letters, e-mails, but Tony doesn’t reply. 

He knows it’s self-sabotaging. He knows that it’ll end up ruining one of the rare positive relationships he’s ever had in his far too long-feeling life, but he doesn’t care.

He’s never deserved Rhodey’s love. 

Tony is unsure if he should feel the glad the morning he wakes up and doesn’t see a missed call from Rhodes sitting in his inbox. 

He drifts along in life. Stark Industries was handed over to Obadiah Stane, and Tony has no plans on taking it from him. 

He drinks, orders takeout, spends his days on his phone or laptop. He’s rich enough that he doesn’t ever have to lift a finger to work in his life. It’s a boring--if safe--life. 

Crossing the street one day, he literally runs into a guy: tall, broad shoulders, with pretty blond hair. He apologizes profusely, but the guy brushes it off, tugging him over to the other side when a car honks. “I’m Tiberius,” the guy says, holding a hand out.

Tony takes it. “I’m Tony.” 

He falls in love with Tiberius fast and hard. It’s like Sunset, but a million times more intense. There’s just... something about the man that makes adrenaline pump in Tony’s veins and gives him a high that he has to spend hours shaking off afterwards. 

Of course, he’s terrified. Rhodes isn’t going to be there if something goes wrong (and something usually does go wrong when he’s concerned). 

Then Tiberius kisses him right before he leaves Tony’s apartment, and he melts. 

“No one else could love you like I can, Tony,” Tiberius murmurs against his lips, the movie they were watching all but forgotten in the background. 

Tony hums. He wraps his arms around Tiberius’ neck and draws him closer. Tiberius loves him. Maybe all of his insecurities were wrong.

“Ty,” Tony says in his best soothing voice. “Leave him alone. He didn’t know.” Tiberius is weirdly territorial. He won’t let anyone near Tony, man or woman, young or old. 

“Like hell he didn’t.” Tiberius continues to glare at the trembling man in front of him. “I should knock his lights out.” 

“Don’t.” Tony grabs onto Tiberius’ bicep and starts to pull him away. “C’mon, let’s just leave. We’re going to miss our reservation.” 

Tiberius rips his arm from Tony’s hold. “Oh, so you’re siding with him? Maybe you should go on a date with him if you care about him that much!” He stomps away, leaving behind a scared, slightly frazzled Tony. 

“I’m sorry about him,” Tony says to the man next to him, trying his best to put on an assuring smile. “He can get riled up.” 

“It’s--it’s fine,” the man replies. “I should be the one apologizing to you. He’s... you’re going to be alright, right?” 

“Of course I am,” Tony replies, confused. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

The man looks at him with pity.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Tiberius says, arms around Tony’s waist, kissing his neck. “I just love you so much.” 

“Yeah.” Tony’s tone is empty. Tiberius has... well, he’s changed a lot. Tony thought that he was possessive before, but now he’s like a monster. All the woman did was wink at him and Tiberius yelled at her to the point where she was on the verge of tears. 

He still loves Tiberius, though. He thinks he does. He’s not too sure. Tiberius loves him, though. He knows that. 

Tiberius pauses. “Do you not love me anymore?” 

“What?” Tony places his hands on Tiberius’ shoulders. “I do!” 

“Why didn’t you say it back?” 

Tony swallows. “I was... distracted.” 

Tiberius narrows his eyes, gaze going steely. “Are you thinking about her?” 

“Ty--”

“You are, aren’t you?” 

“You’re being ridiculous--” 

Tiberius’ hand moves up to the back of Tony’s neck, and Tony feels the ice cold grip of fear in his stomach. “Who else is going to love you if not for me, Tony? I’m the only one who can put up with you.” 

Tony feels bile rise up the back of his throat. This isn’t healthy. This is far from it. 

But if this is the kind of love that he deserves, then he’ll take it. 

[the-fangirl-way]

2: Ink

I looked up Harry's file, I had looked at it before on the FBI page, but it was the standard documents, medical history, school records, and his background.

I pulled out the access code Mr. Callahan had given me and typed it into the systems network, instantly at least thirty more documents on Harry came up, these were the very private documents that only officials such as Mr. Callahan and the higher ranked officers were allowed access to.

The newest up to date picture of Harry had been his mugshot from six months ago, back when his skin wasn't so pale it was almost gray, or when his cheeks weren't so sunken in from malnourishment. His hair was tamed, still long, but not as long as it was now.

Harry had been an attractive guy at one point, although I would never admit that to anyone.

Reports of Harry's recent run in with the law came up and I wasn't shocked to find out he had ties with several drug busts and had been caught using more than once. It was minor charges of marijuana, nothing heavier than THC.

The next few files were smaller accusations, a DUI, and a claim of property damage, the dated year was Harry's senior year of high school, no doubt a stupid high school prank.

Nothing really seemed to stand out, but I jotted down the small accounts in the file.

The next couple of pages were more or less just added information, court dates, tickets, so on and so forth.

It wasn't until about the fifth page I found the one document that could be my potential next lead.

Mr. Samuel Tracey, the owner of the handgun found in Harry's car that night.

It looked like I was going to have to pay Mr. Tracey a visit.   

Samuel Tracey lived six blocks from my apartment, he wasn't hard to find.

I knocked on his door and waited patiently, I could hear shuffling from the other side. Finally a gruff voice hollered "Who is it?"

"Detective DeLaney. I'm looking for a Samuel Tracey." I said holding up my badge to the peephole, the deadbolt clicked and the door cracked open before an old man with a beard submerged from behind it.

He was wearing glasses and a sweater vest, those were the first things I noticed about Mr. Tracey.

"What do you want?"

"Mr. Tracey, have you ever seen this man?" I asked holding up a picture of Harry from the folder in my hands.

Tracey studied the picture for a second before nodding slightly.

"I've seen him. Why? What has he done?"

I looked around, his house was located on a busy street, cars and people passing by.

"It's kind of a personal matter, mind if I come inside?" I asked and he paused before slowly moving out of the doorway allowing me to step inside.

His home was warm, and smelled old.

"Have a seat." Tracey grumbled before taking a seat himself on the recliner across from the couch.

"So what's he done?"

"Well, Mr. Tracey-"

"Call me Sam." He corrected.

"He was found about six months ago with a handgun in his car, this particular handgun belonged to you." I said and he sighed a long exasperated sigh.

"Damn kids." He mumbled under his breath.

"Excuse me?" I asked and he rubbed his hands together sitting forward.

"Harry and my boy were friends, Douglas," He said gesturing to a picture of a young man about Harry's age hanging on the wall.

"Douglas was killed about two months ago in a drug heist." Tracey said clearing his throat and I instantly felt sympathy for him.

"I'm so sorry."

"No, he was always getting into trouble, hell from the time he was in elementary school I was getting calls for his behavior, I didn't expect much more out of him as he got older." He explained, I noticed then the bottle of scotch and glass sitting on the coffee table. Mr. Tracey poured himself a glass before offering me some which I declined.

"My wife Laura," He continued, "died giving birth, leaving me to raise Douglas. I tried my best by him, worked three jobs to give him the best life I could give him, but he took it for granted." He said taking a sip of his drink.

"Mr. Tra- Sam," I corrected, "You said Harry and your son were friends?" I asked and he nodded.

"Harry and Douglas went to school together, and they were friends all the way up until about six months ago when Harry disappeared. They would hang out after school and once they graduated my son and Harry would hang out almost every other day or so, no doubt both doing things they shouldn't do, which leads me to ask again, what did Harry do?"

I sighed and opened the folder containing Harry's file.

"About six months ago the police found Harry's car outside of a Mr. Wesley Langston's home, he had been waiting there for about four hours for Mr. Langston to return home, and he had your handgun in the car with him. He also had some rope, sheets, duct tape, other various items, so the intent was clear what he was planning on doing." I said and Mr. Tracey's features changed to surprised by the news.

"Harry?" He asked and I nodded.

"Harry was such a good kid, I mean, he got into trouble like Douglas but Harry would never try to kill anyone.."

"I would like to think so too Mr. Tracey, but as of right now Harry is still pledging guilty until proven otherwise." I said and Tracey sighed.

"I don't know anything about the gun. I realized it was missing about two weeks ago when I was going through my things trying to find something to sell to pay my rent," he said taking another sip, "since Douglas passed I've let myself slip, I lost all three of my jobs, of course, the government takes no pity on people like me. So I decided to try and sale some of my things to get money to get back on my feet until I could find a job, I didn't even know the gun was gone until then." He explained and I nodded sympathizing.

"Well, the gun will stay with the police for evidence until the trial is over and decided, if you want it back-"

"I don't want it back." Tracey said cutting me off.

"Tell them to keep it, I'll even sign my name over to them, I just, I don't want it back. I'm old," He started, "I'm old and I'm at the point now, my wife is gone, my son is gone, if someone breaks into my house with the intent to kill me, well, I'll be ready." His eyes were misty and I swallowed a lump, such a sad thing when someone doesn't value their life anymore after all the trials and tribulations they had been through.

"I understand." I said finally, gathering my things to leave.

"I'll let the police department know that you want to sign the title over to them, I'm sure someone will contact you within the next week or so to do it."

Tracey nodded and then he too stood up.

"I'm sorry I wasn't more help." He said and I shook my head.

"No, you were a good help, I can mark this off my list." I said and he smiled a small smile then offered to walk me out.

"Thank you for your time Mr. er, Sam." I corrected.

"You're quite welcome Ms. DeLaney."

I headed to my car, it had started to rain, shocker.

My phone began to ring and it was Lennon.

"Hello?"

"Good morning." He said from the other end and I could practically hear his flirty smirk.

"Are you off today?" I asked.

"I am, I was actually wondering if you wanted to get some lunch?" He asked and I wanted to say yes, but I knew I had far too much research to do.

"I would love to, but Callahan has me on Harry search all weekend."

"Oh, I understand." He said sighing.

There was a silence.

"So I'm guessing our dinner plans are off for tonight then?"

I felt my heart sink, I had forgotten about our date.

"Tristan I-"

"No really, it's fine." He said sincerely although I knew he was really disappointed.

I thought about it for a minute.

"You know what? How does takeout sound? My place tonight? Maybe you can help me with my research." I said and I heard him chuckle.

"Sounds great. Seven?"

"Seven." I agreed before hanging up.

I drove to the library, it was always quiet there and I figured I could get some more research done.

The wind whipped around me creating goosebumps on my arms and legs, I was glad I had chosen to wear slacks today.

As I stepped through the library door, the warmth welcomed me, I always silently adored libraries, the smell of books and the serene calm of the silence of those going into parallel universes created in their minds by the turning of each page.

The librarian, Doris, knew me well, she lived in our building for while after Devlin and I moved in and I had come to this library many times in the past to do research on cases. She smiled fondly at me as I walked over the help desk.

"Detective DeLaney nice to see you."

"Doris, I told you, call me Avery." I said smiling and she laughed.

"I'll try to remember that."

I smiled at at her and headed over to the table I usually sat at, pulling out my laptop and connecting it to the internet.

The next four hours I spent looking up every single detail I could get about Harry, his mother Anne, his sister Gemma, his father Desmond, all of the people in his life. There was nothing out of the ordinary, which only infuriated me more that I wasn't getting anything.

My cell phone buzzed in my pocket and I stepped outside to take the call, it was Devlin.

"Hey Ave, I'm on lunch wanna grab something?" She asked and I thought about declining but the growl in my stomach told me otherwise.

"Where?"

**

I met Devlin at Wahaca, a Mexican restaurant, she was sitting in a corner booth clad in her scrubs, today was Minnie Mouse.

"I ordered you a tequila sunrise." She said smirking and I rolled my eyes.

"It's midday."

"And? You walked here didn't you?"

I started to protest but the waitress reappeared with a large glass of orange and red liquid, an umbrella and orange wedge sat on top.

"Thank you."

She took our order before disappearing again.

"So, any news on Styles?" She asked dipping a chip in salsa.

"No, and the only lead I got turned out to not really be a lead at all. Turns out the gun that was on him belonged to a friend of his father, his son, Harry's friend, was killed a couple of months ago and he doesn't want the gun back." I said and she looked sympathetic.

"How sad."

"Tell me about it."

"So what now?" She asked and I shrugged tugging on my hair.

"I have no idea Dev, Callahan wants all this information on Styles by Monday and I have nothing."

"What about the other guy? Langston right?"

"I haven't done a lot of research on him yet, but the police already talked to him and said he cleared." I said and she nodded.

"You should still do some research just in case they missed something."

"You're right." I agreed and the food arrived.

We ate and talked some more about the case and her job.

"I'm telling you, if he asks again I'm tempted to do it." She said and I laughed.

"I think you should, he's good looking, smart, he's obviously got money.."

"Yeah, yeah." She said waving her hand.

"What about you and Officer sexy?" She asked talking about Lennon, I could feel my cheeks reddening.

"He's actually coming over tonight."

Her eyebrows lifted and she smirked.

"Oh really? Should I occupy myself with something tonight and leave you two...?"

"No, it's not like that." I said rolling my eyes, "He's just coming to help me with the case."

"Mmhmm, I hope you shaved your legs."

I rolled my eyes but could feel my cheeks blazing again.

"I mean it's not like you haven't-"

I blushed even harder and avoided her gaze.

"Oh my God, you haven't slept with him yet? Seriously?"

"Shut up." I said and she burst into a fit of giggles.

"Ave! Get on it! I mean literally get on it. "

"Shut up!"

"I'm just saying!" She said throwing her hands up and then checking her watch.

"Shit, I have to get back to work."

I nodded and slid out of the booth behind her, laying a tip on the table as we walked out.

"I'll see you at home." I said and she shook her head.

"Oh no, I'm not coming home until late, I'll leave you and Officer Hot Pants to it."

I smacked her on the arm and she laughed again before hugging me and departing in the opposite direction to her car.

The walk back to the library was short, but I was freezing by the time I got there.

**

My muscles were stiff from sitting so long and when I checked the time I jumped in panic to realize that it was going on five thirty.

I put my laptop back in my bag and my things before waving goodbye to Doris and leaving the library.

The air outside had dropped measurably and I shivered getting into my car putting the heat on full blast.

When I got to the apartment I took a quick shower, shaving my legs I felt the heat return to my cheeks, Devlin could be right.

**

I was in the kitchen when I heard the doorbell buzz and I headed to the speaker.

Come on up." I said and within a few minutes I heard a light tap on the door.

I opened the door, expecting to see Tristan on the other side, but who was there instead had my heart pounding, my head swimming, and the feeling of vomit creeping up my windpipe.

He was leaning up against the door frame, his arms crossed, clad in a white tee shirt and a pair of black jeans; his inky tattoos snaked up his arms and across his torso visible through his thin tee shirt. His hair was now tamed and swirled in waves around his face, a smirk placed on his full lips, his green eyes burning dangerously into mine.

"Hello Avery." Greeted Harry.  

[attemptingandfailing]

A broken arm can lead to many possibilities

This is my very first short story and would greatly appreciate any constructive criticism. I want to improve so that I may write better stories to share with others.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Since the beginning of summer, I have been on the hunt for the perfect sourdough bread recipe. However, there had not been enough motivation to actually start baking and when there was, it seemed that I was busy. Today, being that it is a rainy summer day, I have determined that it would be different. I will get some baking done and have the bread ready by dinner.

Sitting up on my bed, I tie my curly black hair into a pineapple with a satin scrunchie I had on my arm and close my laptop. I look around the light grey walls of my room and take a deep breath as I finally move to put my socked feet on the cool hardwood floors. Standing straight, I stretch to relieve the soreness from doing nothing all day yesterday and this morning. I feel proud of myself for making it as far as getting dressed before 11:00 am today.

I grab my laptop from the bed before making my way out of my room. As I walk out of the room I hear the bell of our midnight black cat and look around to find him making his way out from under my white framed bed.

“Beyard! Have you been under my bed this entire time?” I asked.

In response, Beyard stretches his long body as he lazily meows out to me. Once done, he walks past me and in the direction I was headed to. Not even sparing me a glance as he roots along the hall and into our large kitchen, where his food bowl is.

Following behind him I set my laptop on the granite top of our island and opened up my laptop to reveal my lock screen. A picture of all four members of my family, standing at the beach with the pink hues of the sunset in the background. My brother and I are standing between both of our parents smiling at the camera. Although we look like our mother with our Hispanic bodies, our skin and hair color are that of our father. The creamy brown skin tone and the jet black hair of the native Americans.

Swiping up, the screen asks me to type my password. With access to my laptop, I pull up the recipe of the sourdough bread that I have deemed worthy enough to attempt. But before I begin to prepare for the procedures, I open my Spotify account and begin to play from an Indie Folk playlist I have made through the years called “Corny.”

I begin by laying down all the ingredients on the counter, along with all the other necessary tools and items that are needed to make sourdough bread. I got the starter last which I have been nursing for the last five days. It’s become more of a pet than a sourdough bread starter as I’ve been feeding it and watching it grow.

I breathe in deeply and relax my posture as I eagerly begin to open the starter container.

“Hello? Is anyone home?”

My hands slip from the container and the starter slides to the other side of the island. I hastily reach out for it and once in my hands, I hold it close to my chest. Breathing out the scream that I was holding back, I tentatively set the starter back on the island.

I call out, “Lucas, is that you?”

I hear a distant reply, “Yeah!”

“I swear, every time I try to be productive, something happens,” I mutter.

I hear footsteps approach the kitchen and the door opens to reveal my brother and a strange man who seems to be around his age. His skin is fair and his hair is shabby. Lucas looks so scrawny and rangy next to the stranger. I walk around the island and make my way closer to them. The frustration that was building up decapitated as I looked from my brother to the stranger, to my brother’s arm.

“What happened to your arm?”

“It's nothing, I’m fi–don’t touch it!”

I freeze my hand as it's halfway to poking his swollen forearm. And look up defiantly, “Sorry but I have to see how bad it is. Besides, you broke my arm and you got to poke at it all you wanted!”

Lucas looks at me with disbelief, “Are you seriously bringing up the dodge the pillow incident!”

“It was not an accident, you aimed for my legs. It was cheating!” I retort.

“Women! It was a mistake. We were children. Just let it go!” Lucas shoots back tensing up.

My hands tighten into fists. I'm about to respond back when I hear the stranger speak, “Um...excuse me.” His voice was soft but clear. I look at the stranger's face and see confusion along with slight amusement towards the two of us bickering. I feel my face redding from the heat of the embarrassment and I look away from his eyes.

Feeling extremely self-conscious, I pull down my shorts as they are riding up my thighs. I look at Lucas expectantly hoping for anything to relieve the awkwardness.

Lucas looks at me with narrow eyes. “Elisa. This is Hiroki. Hiroki, this is my younger sister Elisa. Now if you can excuse me I’m gonna go lay down with a pack of ice.” He then walks past me and I'm left slightly baffled standing next to the stranger.

I shake my head and return my focus to the matter at hand. “Lucas, that arm is broken. You have to go to the hospital.”

“She’s right Lucas, that arm will not be fixed with a pack of ice.” Hiroki agrees to my satisfaction.

“I can't. I'll get in so much trouble.” Lucas urges.

“What exactly happened?”

“We were at the rink at a skate and shoot and a puck went flying straight to his arm” Hiroki retells, earning him a glare from my brother.

“But don’t you have equipment on?” I ask.

“Yeah, but we were only wearing the bottom half of it,” Hiroki replies.

My lips spread into a wickedly bemused smile, “No wonder you don't want to go to the hospital. Cause you’ll be hearing it from mom and dad once they find out.”

Luca’s face reddens and he shoots me the same glare he was shooting Hiroki. “This is not funny Elisa.”

“Sure it's not,” I say. “You're in college, I don't think mom and dad will punish and penalize you as much as you think. Besides, we would all rather you go to the hospital to get the medical attention that you need than to have your arm heal the wrong way.”

“Okay. Fine, let's go to the hospital before I change my mind,” Lucas says defeated.

“Great,” I said eagerly and turned around, walking in the direction of my room. “Let me get my keys and-...shhhiitt…” I trail off and stop mid-stride.

“What?” Lucas askes wearily. There is a sprinkle of annoyance on his face.

I turn around slowly to face him, lifting my shoulders and crossing my arms around. “My car is in the shop,” I say sheepishly.

“God Elisa, what did you do?”

“That’s not important right now!” I say a little too hastily.

“I can take you guys,” says Hiroki.

Lucas and I simultaneously turn to look at Hiroki. He has been standing at the kitchen door this entire time. To be honest I had completely forgotten about him for a second. From the look on Lucas' face, I'm guessing he did as well.

“Are you sure? You really don't have to. We can call for someone else,” I assure him.

“It's no problem, I'll gladly take you guys to the hospital,” Hiroki offers happily.

“Alright, thank you, Hiroki.”

“You can call me Hiro,” he says with a smile that shows his brilliant white teeth. His thin eyes get smaller as he smiles. I keep staring into his face and start wondering if I will get to see more of him this summer. Deep inside, I'm hoping that I will.

[prettysherlocksoldier]

Dani I'm sending you the "I can't do this" prompt.. I hope it inspires you 💗 and spreads the happy faces 🤗

“I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No. Nope. Can’t.”

“Yes you can, just like we practiced.”

“That was you, not Sherlock bloody Holmes!” John waved a hand down the corridor to where the man in question was bent over his bookbag, swapping textbooks into his locker. “It’s easy asking you out.”

“Cheers,” Greg deadpanned, but smiled when John rolled his eyes with a huff.

“You know what I-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Greg dismissed with a wave, “but the words aren’t any different. You just go up and say ‘Hey, this project has been a lot of fun. Wanna see if we have chemistry?’” He clapped his hands together, stretching them out to his sides as he tipped his head with a grin. “Eh?”

John’s shoulders slumped.

“Alright, so maybe you leave the pun out of it,” Greg muttered, shrugging. “I don’t get it, mate, why are you so twisted up over this one? You’re the last person I expected to ever need dating advice.”

John sighed, his locker jangling as he leaned back against it, tipping his head at the ceiling. “I don’t know,” he said, skull grinding into the cool metal as he shook his head. “It just feels different.”

Greg let out a shrill croon. “Ooo, is our Johnny Boy in love!” He leaned forward, making kissing noises in the air until John whacked him in the sternum, sending him into a fit of coughs.

“No,” he said firmly, “I just…don’t wanna screw anything up. We’ve gotten to be good friends.”

“So I noticed,” Greg muttered, massaging his chest. “I’ve damn near been usurped. Two of you watching movies into the sunset together.”

“I tried to call you!”

“I’m kidding,” Greg chuckled, nudging him on the arm. “I know my best friend card doesn’t expire. We have something pure.” He lifted a hand to his heart, sniffling with melodrama, a grin cracking over his face when John snorted. “Seriously though, just march over there and say- Sherlock!”

John blinked at the overhead light, dropping his chin with a frown. “Sherlock what?”

“Greg,” a low voice greeted at his right, and John jumped, slamming back against the locker. Sherlock’s forehead furrowed under rain-frazzled curls, blue eyes sweeping John’s face. “Sorry,” he murmured, glancing between them, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

John shook his head, straightening up and trying to regain some of his dignity. “No, you-you didn’t.”

“We were actually just talking about you,” Greg oh-so-helpfully interjected, beaming back at John’s glare. “John wanted to ask you something.”

Sherlock turned to him, brow lifting, John barely getting his mouth open before Greg chimed in again.

“Oh, is that the time!?” he exclaimed, looking down at a watch that wasn’t there. “I’ve gotta get to French.”

“That’s not for another half hour,” Sherlock said, checking his actual timepiece, and Greg shrugged, backing away from them toward the stairwell.

“Yeah, but sometimes Ms. Ward gets there early.” He winked, darting away from them as Sherlock chuckled, John trying to swallow the knot in his throat.

“Anyway,” he muttered, shaking his head and looking to John, “what did you want to ask?”

John’s lips parted, a croaking sound emanating from the back of his throat. “Nothing really,” he muttered, mind scrambling. “Just…wondered how you were getting on with the conclusion.”

“Oh,” Sherlock said, a pinch in his brow John might have interpreted as disappointment if he’d had longer than a blink to examine it, “fine. I can email it to you tonight, if you want to look it over.”

“No, I- Friday’s fine.” He shook his head. “I trust you,” he added with a smile, trying to undercut the awkwardness he knew he was creating.

Sherlock smiled, tucking his chin and adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder. “Well, I have class, but do you want to get together after and look over everything one more time?” he asked, glancing at his watch again. “If you don’t mind hanging around. You’re done for the day, aren’t you?”

John nodded. “Yeah, but I don’t mind.” He shrugged, patting the messenger bag on his hip. “Give me a chance to start on some homework.”

“Alright,” Sherlock replied. “Wanna meet in the lounge at half 1?”

John wrinkled his nose, shaking his head. “Naw, too stuffy. How ‘bout that cafe on the corner? I’ll try to snag a table before the lunch crowd comes in.”

Sherlock twitched a shoulder. “Works for me. See ya then,” he said, and, with a flick of his wrist, turned away and started down the corridor, disappearing into the crowd of milling students.

John sighed, falling back against his locker with a clang.

Why were study dates so much easier than the real thing?

He snuck into the cafe just before the lunch rush of businessmen and chatting mothers, snagging a small table in the corner, far from the autumn draft whistling through the door. Pulling out his laptop, he made a show of looking busy, idly clicking through pages of their A-level Chemistry project while his gaze truly lingered on the door, awaiting a tall dark figure. He finished his first coffee within the hour, the crowd dwindling as he returned to the counter, keeping an eye on his things and joining the line for the register.

The bell over the door chimed behind him, and he turned, finding Sherlock flipping a wind-ruffled curl out of his eyes, smiling as he found John’s gaze.

“In the corner,” John said simply, pointing toward his open laptop. “I’ve already got the project up. What do you want?”

Sherlock frowned, and then shook his head. “I can get it,” he said, but John only smiled, waving a hand.

“No sense us both waiting in line. You can get the next one.”

A corner of Sherlock’s mouth lifted, and he nodded, tucking the half-drawn wallet back into his pocket. “Alright. Just a black coffee, two sugars. Maybe a medium?” he asked, as if for permission, and John smiled, shooing him away.

“Go guard my computer; it’s new,” he ordered, and Sherlock chuckled, shaking his head but obeying.

John watched as he scuttled between the chairs, dropping his bag beside John’s on the patterned tile floor. He gently lifted John’s computer, turning it to face his chair, and braced an elbow on the wood, balancing his chin on his palm as he began clicking through their project, brow wrinkling in thought.

His phone buzzed not a moment too soon, his staring about to cross the creepy threshold, and John shuffled up a place in line, wriggling his mobile from his pocket.

Did you ask him yet?

John rolled his eyes, swiping out a retort.

No. No thanks to you

I was creating an opportunity

You were creating an ulcer

Agree to disagree

John huffed, tucking the phone back in his pocket as he reached the register, completing his order and moving to the edge of the counter to wait, Greg sending a few more messages in the interim.

It’s gonna get harder the longer you wait. Half term is coming up. Who knows what will happen then.

He goes yachting with his family in the Mediterranean. Meets a tan young stranger who’s worth millions in olive oil.

They float off into the sunset eating said olive oil.

John chuckled to himself, shaking his head.

Are you just hungry or harboring secret gay fantasies I should know about?

We’re all a little gay for olive oil millionaires

John snorted, turning it into a cough as the woman waiting beside him glared.

I don’t think we all are Gregory

Quit trying to change the subject

I’m not, I’m trying to love and support you in your gay olive oil dreams

You’ve just gotta rip the bandaid off

Would you go to uni down there or would you two try the long distance thing?

Just ask him out. Then one way or the other you’ll know.

Either way you should move there after graduation, give me an escape from winter

You’re not invited to my gay olive oil villa until you ask out Sherlock Holmes

But I was best man at your wedding!

I gotta go, we’re heading out on our yacht: Extra Virgin. Ask him out!!!!

John sighed, moving to tuck the phone back into his pocket when it buzzed a final time.

And don’t forget the details

“John?” The barista dropped two cups to the counter, John turning his smile up with a nod.

“Thank you,” he bade, sweeping them up and making his way to their table, scanning the sides of the cups for distinguishing marks. “Alright, I think this one’s yours,” he said, hovering a cup down at Sherlock’s shoulder, “but, if it tastes like 90% milk, it’s probably my latte.”

Sherlock didn’t reply, John looking past the cup to find the man blinking up at him, cheeks pink and eyes wide, his lips pressed together in a tight line.

“Are you alright?” he asked, lowering Sherlock’s cup to the table and glancing at the page of their project currently displayed on the screen. “Okay, the graphs are pretty bad,” he admitted with a tilt of his head. “I haven’t figured out what all the buttons do yet; I’ve only had PCs before.”

“No, it- It’s not-” Sherlock muttered, closing his mouth as a swallow rolled down the front of his throat. He looked away, turning back to the computer, his finger sliding over the mousepad to click on a background window.

John’s fingers forgot their job, the coffee sliding a couple centimeters in his grip before his brain reestablished communication, his heart being a little slower on the uptake, stalled in his chest as he read through his conversation with Greg. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out, his tongue undecided on if it wanted to lie or scream.

Sherlock’s head turned in his peripheral vision, but John couldn’t look at him, couldn’t move, the blood rushing to his face making him dizzy enough already. “I- Er…” He swallowed again, the click of it snapping in John’s ears. “We don’t go yachting,” he muttered, and John blinked, certain he’d fainted and was now hallucinating, “and…I’m free on Saturday.”

His heart kicked against his ribs. “What?” John murmured, dropping his gaze, and Sherlock smiled, cheeks darkening anew as he looked down at his hands twisting in his lap.

“Well,” he said, shrugging a shoulder, eyes glinting when he lifted his chin, sending John’s heart into cartwheels, “I do owe you a coffee.”

///credit to @mssmithlove1 for confirming how Apple products work///