#scone zone

[garalina2000]

I'm going insane with flashbacks and monstrosities again and I've got to be at least mostly ready for work in three hours. Shrexytastic.

-hour and a half now. In between Waking Up and the drug mixture that's making this process sort of tolerable it's taken a while to write this

[feath-r-hopper]

another artfight attack, this time for @i-denthe! totally didn't find a new fav song thru his theme song :3c

https://artfight.net/~teddingtonn

[munson-blurbs]

taglist part 2:

@munsonmuses @tlclick73 @skrzydlak @brinleighsstuff @babez-a-licious

@ahoyyharrington @sp1derst0rrr @shakespeareanwannabe @mewchiili @nope-thanks

@findmeincorneliastreet @bohemianrhapsody86 @acmbooksfilmtelevisionandreads @joannamuns9n @liminalpebble

@purpleorbvoid @hopeluna @eddiesxangel @bl4ckt00thgr1n

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: All of the distractions in the world couldn't keep you from worrying about the potential fallout from your web of untruths--until a bigger issue arose. (5.5k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, anxiety, parental conflict, poverty, brief religious zealotry, insecurities, secret relationship, public displays of affection, sexual fantasies, idiots in love, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

A/N: This chapter contains a scene I had imagined in my head and became the catalyst for this series--what would happen if Eddie encountered one of the NYC street preachers?

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter thirteen: street smarts

You were supposed to be doing something. Checking the guest log, organizing the bills by due date, making a list of repairs that still needed to be made…something. Anything besides just standing behind the desk, watching Eddie’s biceps flex as he hauled the overfilled trash bag out to the Dumpster. 

At this point, it was all busy work. Taking out the garbage, changing light bulbs, dusting furniture…all scraps of chores to keep him here. The moment he felt like he was being pitied—or worse, like he was being a burden—he’d leave. His pride was too strong and too loud to allow him to stay if he wasn’t working, even if that work was as interesting as watching paint dry. 

That’s what it was. 

“I need you to spackle a hole in Room 9,” you told him as he walked back into the lobby. “The guy staying here last night punched the wall, and it looks like he won.”

Eddie grimaced, flexing his own hand like he could feel the man’s pain. “Jesus. Yeah, sure.” He slid a rubber band off of his wrist and tied back his hair. The sleeves of his t-shirt had been cut into a tank top, though you weren’t sure if he’d done it or the shirt had been designed that way. “Where do you keep the spackle?”

You jabbed your thumb towards the supply closet behind you. Eddie started in that direction, but made an abrupt turn towards you. His arms snaked around your waist, his lips easily finding the crook of your neck. 

Instinctively, your shoulder jerked upwards, protecting you from any further tickling, but Eddie only doubled down. His kisses became less of a whisper and more of a shout, each punctuated with a smacking mwah!

“Ed-die!” Your giggles broke his name into its syllables. “Quit it!”

He paused for a moment and pretended to consider your plea before continuing his barrage of kisses. “Hmm, don’t think I will.” His words were muffled, the vibrations sending tingles through your bloodstream. “What’re you doing after your shift?”

You scoffed. “Um, curling up under the covers and passing out?”

“What if…” He moved his lips to the back of your neck. “You curled up under my covers?”

The suggestion garnered a dual sensation of desire and dread. You wanted that more than anything: the intimacy of laying next to him, his body curled around yours, the rhythm of his breathing lulling you to sleep. The first night he was here, he wore only boxer briefs. If you slept beside him, would he wear more? Less? If he awoke with that natural, involuntary stiffness between his legs, would you feel it?

But then, despite everything within you leaning towards being with Eddie, reality set in. Your room was the closest to the lobby; how could you possibly skip over it without Dad noticing? Even if he didn’t notice, how could you sneak out of Eddie’s room without Mom seeing? Dad might be oblivious in the way that fathers so often are, but Mom was like a hawk. She could probably sense that you were considering disobeying her orders to keep away from Eddie.

“I’d have to sneak through your window. And then sneak back through my own window in the morning,” you mused. 

“Or,” Eddie countered, spinning you around so you were facing him, “you could tell your parents that you couldn’t resist the cute handyman’s charming advances.”

His brown eyes gleamed with mischief as his hands dipped lower, squeezing your ass through your jeans. It took all of your willpower not to change the sign to read “NO VACANCY”—despite your many empty rooms—and drag him into his bed by the worn collar of his t-shirt. 

“I will.” You wrinkled your nose. “Well, maybe not in those exact terms, but I will tell them we’re…y’know.”

Eddie took a small step back and crossed his arms. “We’re…what?” His tone was somewhere between perplexed and demanding, like he couldn’t believe you wouldn’t define the relationship while also hoping you would define it for him.

You had no idea what the answer was. ‘Friends’ was far too casual for two people who had been sucking face in the middle of Flushing Meadows Park just last week. ‘Dating’ seemed too formal for only having been on two dates, the first of which hadn’t even been officially stated as a date from the onset. ‘Fooling around in the laundry room every chance we get’ was more accurate, if not a little wordy.

“We’re getting to know each other. Intimately.” You added that last word in an attempt to show him just how much you cared about him. Whatever relationship limbo you two were in would only be temporary. 

“Hmm.” A smirk tugged at Eddie’s lips. “Just how intimately are we talking here?” He tucked his forefinger into your belt loop and pulled you towards him, so close that you could feel his belt buckle through your shirt. 

Glancing around to ensure no one was walking by, you pressed a small kiss to his lips. “I’m gonna tell them. I promise. Just give me a little time.”

Your heart ached when his shoulders slumped. You wanted to fix it all now, to face your anxiety head-on and tell your parents about Eddie. Tell them that you were together and that it could be something serious—without holding your breath for their approval. 

But then there was that knife twisting in your gut, the one that echoed the same statements time and time again: 

You’re a bad daughter You’re disappointing them You’re negating every sacrifice they’ve made

But now a new one joined them, just as unwelcome as the others:

You’re going to lose Eddie if you keep being a coward. 

Eddie held your gaze for another beat before he broke it. His head tilted to the side, a slight pout forming on his lips. “Well, if you promise…” In one swift motion, he swooped in and kissed your cheek. When he pulled back, you wrapped your arms around his lithe waist and drew him back in. “Is that a yes for sneaking through my window?”

You gave him a gentle, playful shove and rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the fluttering butterflies that came with the idea. “Go spackle the wall.”

“Yes, dear.” He started towards the supply closet once more, calling out over his shoulder, “what time are we leaving for that college thing tomorrow?”

Everything he said and everything he did encroached closer and closer into relationship territory. Going to Admitted Students’ Day with you was something a boyfriend would do. 

But he hadn’t asked you to be his girlfriend—not that it would make much of a difference. It wasn’t as though a label would suddenly afford you the freedom to show off your relationship. Besides your parents’ disapproval, that pesky news story about Death’s Echo’s new lead singer kept nagging at you. You technically had information about Eddie’s life that even he didn’t know, and you couldn’t figure out how to tell him. 

“Noon at the latest.” You tried swallowing the lump in your throat, but it stayed put, so you just spoke above it. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I know school isn’t really your thing, so…”

Eddie poked his head out from the closet. “Noon it is.” When he emerged, he held the small spackle bucket and a wide putty knife. “By the way, I won’t, like, break out into hives or burst into flames if I go to a school.”

“I know.” Your body relaxed as his humor snaked through the crevices of your anxiety. “And I really do want to tell them about everything. About us, about NYU. It’s just…”

Goddamn the mist clouding your eyes. It was shameful, really, the pity party you were throwing for yourself. But how could you approach your parents and say, “Hey, by the way, I’m dating our de facto handyman. But don’t worry about the relationship affecting the business, because we’ll have to close the motel once I start graduate school in two months anyway. Also, I’m studying social work, not hospitality. Surprise!”

“Hey.” Eddie’s voice was soft, his thumb swiping over tears that fell despite your efforts to hold them back. “Look, if you don’t want me to go, just tell me.”

You shook your head. “I want you to go.” To emphasize your point, you kissed his cheek. The beginnings of stubble tickled your lips. “We can make a day of it. Grab some lunch or something.”

Eddie didn’t look wholly convinced, but he managed a smile. “And then I get to show off how smart you are.”

There was no point in arguing that everyone at Admitted Students’ Day was just as smart as you, if not smarter. Instead, you watched as he padded towards room nine. 

What you wouldn’t give to cave to your desires and climb into his bed beside him. Whether you fell asleep immediately or spent the entire time with him firmly buried inside you was practically irrelevant. You were tempted to follow him right now and have sex with him in the vacant room.

But you didn’t want your first time together to be something you rushed through. Maybe it wouldn’t be the rose petals and naked guitar playing scenario that Ben and Nora had teasingly suggested, but you didn’t want to do it just to “get it over with.” 

So you stayed put, drumming your fingers against the desk’s wood paneling, trying to ignore the heat pooling between your thighs. Someday, you promised yourself, Eddie would be the one to quell that need.

You left your room at noon the next day, armed with a smile and an alibi. Your usual excuse of running errands wouldn’t explain why you were wearing a black button-down dress and your Mary Jane heels. 

The door to Eddie’s room creaked open as you passed by. Without wasting a moment, one tattooed arm darted through the gap and pulled you inside. 

“Eddie!” You hissed at him, bringing one hand to your chest as your heart rate soared. 

His lips were on yours before you could ask why he felt the urge to spike your already sky-high anxiety. Like a miracle elixir, the kiss blunted the day’s sharpness and turned your racing thoughts into drifting clouds. 

Your hands found his biceps, fully on display in the t-shirt that had been altered to be a makeshift tank top. The same one, you realized, he’d been wearing last night. The pads of your fingertips were met with resistance at the muscle that was even more defined than it had been a month ago. 

“Just needed to do that before we left.” His palms smoothed down the back of your dress, lingering for an extra moment on your ass. “Ready to go?”

“Y-Yeah,” you nodded. All of the air had been knocked from your lungs; from the scare or from the kiss, you were still unsure. 

Eddie’s fingers brushed yours as the two of you left his room in a silent plea to hold your hand. You wanted to accept the offer, to proudly display your affection for him. You wanted it more than anything, so much so that you almost let your guard down. Almost took his hand in yours and paraded out into the lobby without a care in the world, subtly announcing that you were his and he was yours.

Almost.

A pang of anger flashed in your chest; not at the situation, but at Eddie himself. He knew you hadn’t told your parents yet. He knew you would face some consequences for dating a motel guest and for sneaking around behind their backs, especially if you brazenly flaunted the relationship without any notice.

Eddie huffed at your rejection. “Oh, right.” Was that disappointment or frustration? Or some lethal combination of both?

Dad immediately noticed the departure from your typical attire when you walked past; he’d already finished skimming the newspaper when you walked in. “Where are you off to?” 

“Hanging out with Ben and Nora.” The lie rolled  off of your tongue, just as you’d practiced in the mirror this morning.

“Double date?” Dad’s question was rhetorical, of course–he certainly wasn’t expecting you to actually go on a date with Eddie–but your breath still caught in your throat.

A cough, hopeful not too conspicuous to draw attention, delayed your response. “Uh, no. Just, uh, friend stuff.” Friend stuff? Christ, were you incapable of lying without extensive rehearsal?

He nodded, not even flinching. Thank God he was at the desk and not Mom, who definitely would have interrogated the truth out of you by now. 

“Have fun, be safe, make sure to ask Ben how his parents are.”

You promised to do all three and dashed out the door before he had time to ask Eddie any questions. 

You reached for Eddie’s hand the moment you were out of sight, relishing in the safety of his calluses and strong grasp. 

“So, friend.” Despite his playful nature, hurt tinged Eddie’s tone. “You sure we’re in the clear? Maybe someone down the street will see us holding hands and report us to the authorities.”

His words formed a pit in your stomach, anchoring you to the sidewalk. “This isn’t just for me.” You face him and take his other hand, too, wrapping his arms around your waist. “If my parents want to, they can kick you out. I need to tell them in a way that keeps them from absolutely losing their minds.”

The lines at the corners of Eddie’s eyes softened. “I know,” he conceded, kissing the tip of your nose. “Was it like this with other guys you dated? Or is it just because I’m staying at the motel?”

Shame washed over you for the second time in as many minutes. “I’ve never actually told them about any guys I’ve dated,” you admitted. “I mean, I’ve been on dates and had some short-term…relationships, I guess you could call them. But nothing serious enough for me to tell my parents.”

Eddie let out an anxious breath before asking his next question. “What does that mean for us?”

There it was: us. One unit, something more substantial than being separate individuals who happened to share a space. 

“Eddie…I really like you.” The confession was a weight off of your chest; you felt your body fall closer to his. “And if they know about us and they don’t approve, they’ll make sure to keep us apart. At least now, we can sneak around without them being suspicious.”

He looked like he wanted to say something else; if not to protest, then to ask for further clarification. But he swallowed his words, opting instead to kiss you. 

His lips tasted like disappointment. You pretended not to notice.

The forty minute train ride to NYU eased some of the tension. With no seats available, Eddie kept one arm tight around your waist, the other hand wrapped around the overhead pole. His thumb caressed the small of your back, fingernail dragging over your cotton dress, as you leaned into him. 

The subway car was hot, but neither you nor Eddie were deterred in the slightest. Not even as that first bead of sweat crept down the back of your neck and dipped below your dress collar. 

If Eddie noticed the perspiration trickling down your spine, he didn’t comment on it. 

The tip of his nose tickled your temple as he loudly whispered, “I didn’t realize I was supposed to dress up for this.”

In addition to his tank top, Eddie wore black jeans ripped at both knees and his signature scuffed Reeboks. It was a stark contrast to your more professional attire—borrowed from Nora, of course—but you didn’t care. Couldn’t even bring yourself to care, not when…

“You look hot.” Your lips lingered on one exposed bicep, leaving a light lipstick print in their wake. “Ridiculously, unfairly hot.”

A bashful grin bloomed on his face. He stood up a bit taller, your compliment replenishing some of the confidence that had been lost. Eddie had certainly taken his share of ego bruising over the last few months: leaving Death’s Echo, the subsequent breakup with his girlfriend, sleeping in a struggling motel just to keep a roof over his head. And on top of it all, he was now with someone who refused to acknowledge the relationship in front of her own parents. 

That settled it. You were going to tell your parents tonight. No more hiding or sneaking around. If they lectured you on their disappointment, you’d take it. You just couldn’t fathom bringing more insecurity into Eddie’s life. He deserved more than that.

He deserves more than you, that irritating voice snarled. It curled itself around your ear like a wispy smoke trail from one of Eddie’s cigarettes, but did not dissipate as quickly. It lingered even as Eddie pulled you in closer to kiss you.

Your response was to slip your hand into his back pocket and curving it around his ass. Admittedly, there wasn’t much to grab onto, but it still woke up something slumbering within you. Something that had remained dormant since you’d gotten caught during the picnic last week. 

Longing stirred, carving out imagery of him atop you, your fingers grasping that sacred flesh without the burden of a denim barrier. You needed to know how he’d treat you in bed. Would he pounce like an animal capturing its elusive prey? Would he take his time and savor you like his last meal on Earth? Would he lovingly gaze into your eyes, or take you from behind to satisfy that primal need?

“What’s our stop again?” Eddie’s voice shook you from your lust-entrenched trance. 

“Oh, uh…” You fought to keep your train of thought on a more productive track. “West Fourth Street.”

He nodded and gripped the pole tighter as the car screeched to a halt. “Then this is us.”

Thank God he was paying attention. You were embarrassed at the mere notion of missing your stop because you were too lost in the idea of having sex with him. How would you even explain that to him?

“Nervous?” He asked as you exited the train car.

You shook your head. Surprisingly, you weren’t nervous about meeting other admitted students. They’d be a group of people just like you, reaching out a hand to help those in need. A group of people like you and Nora who shared a common goal of being positive forces in a world desperate for kindness.

The climb from the platform up to the street level brought with it a burst of fresh air—fresher than in the station, at least. You and Eddie made your way down Waverly Place, fingers loosely intertwined. He let you guide him, a half-step ahead, your knowledge of the city far exceeding his. 

You were only two blocks away from the school when you heard an obnoxious voice bleating through a megaphone. 

“Repent now or face damnation! You are all sinners who will burn in the fires of Hell for eternity!”

A middle-aged man wearing an off-center toupee stood in the middle of the sidewalk, shouting at passersby. 

“Revelations 21:8–But the cowardly, unbelieving, abominable, murderers, sexually immoral, sorcerers, idolaters, and all liars shall have their part in the lake which burns with fire and brimstone, which is the second death.”

You kept walking and ignored the man’s incessant preaching, expecting Eddie to do the same. 

That, you supposed, was naive on your part. 

Before you could stop him, Eddie let go of your hand and whirled towards the offender. His forefingers pointed upwards in mock devil horns, and the noise that came out of his mouth resembled something from The Exorcist. 

The preacher nearly keeled over at the sight of Eddie’s satanic display, sending you into a fit of cackling laughter. 

“Eddie!” You managed to hiss through your giggling. “Let’s go!”

Eddie took your hand once more and let you whisk him away from the dumbfounded man, the megaphone now hanging limply at his side. There was no doubt he would once again be spewing vitriol soon enough, but witnessing his temporary stunned silence was delicious. 

“I can’t believe you did that.” 

He shrugged. “I told you—I single handedly caused Hawkins’ own Satanic Panic. It’s not my first rodeo with these fire-and-brimstone assholes.”

“C’mon.” You tugged him along, shaking your head. “Let’s get out of here before he sics his disciples on us.”

Admitted Students’ Day at NYU’s Silver School of Social Work wasn’t fancy; just some hors d'oeuvres spread out on a white tablecloth to give an air of elegance. Really, it was nothing more than a few fruit and vegetable platters, finger sandwiches, and some pigs in a blanket. You helped yourself to some strawberries and a cucumber sandwich, watching as Eddie piled the crescent-wrapped mini hot dogs onto a paper plate and topped them with a hearty spoonful of spicy mustard.

A chipper young woman wearing an NYU t-shirt welcomed you and Eddie, ushering you both towards a pile of stick-on name tags and permanent markers. You scrawled your name in blue ink and Eddie did the same, though he added “just here for the food” in smaller letters below his name. 

“Okay, everyone!” The woman took to the microphone at the front of the small conference room. “Welcome to Admitted Students’ Day! My name is Ashley, and I’m a recent alumna of our wonderful MSW program.” She beamed and paused for the smattering of applause. 

Ashley brushed a brunette curl from her eyes and continued. “We’ll get started in just a moment, but until then, please mingle and get to know one another.”

When you looked over at Eddie again, he was dabbing at his shirt with a paper napkin. “Dropped some mustard,” he mumbled. Sure enough, a dollop of yellow stained the black cotton fabric. “Guess we’ll need to make another trip to the laundry room tomorrow.” 

You swatted at him, though you couldn’t deny having the same thought. “You also have some right here,” you lied, poking at his cheek. “Here, I’ll get it.” You leaned in and pressed a kiss to the spot you had just touched. His skin warmed beneath your lips, and it took all of your restraint not to kiss him again.

A second woman sporting a name tag made her way over to you, accompanied by a man dutifully trailing behind her.

“Hi!” The woman chirped, flashing a smile far more genuine than Ashley’s. “I’m Alexis, and this is my boyfriend, Peter.” She gestured to the man. “It’s nice to see another couple here.”

A couple. You and Eddie were a couple, recognized as such by other people in a relationship.

Peter pointed to the message on Eddie’s name tag. “I see you’re also here for moral support,” he said with a grin. “The things we do for them, huh?”

“Please.” Alexis rolled her eyes, though a playful smile suggested she wasn’t annoyed in the slightest. “I went with you to your boring grad school orientation last week.”

You perked up, latching onto the information so you wouldn’t perseverate on the notion of couplehood. “What are you studying?”

“Mechanical engineering,” Alexis answered for him. “He’s brilliant, but just listening to the course descriptions had me falling asleep.” She turned her attention to Eddie. “What do you study?”

The telltale hue of embarrassment bloomed on Eddie’s cheeks. “Oh, I, um…I didn’t. I mean, I went to high school–finished high school–but I didn’t do the whole college…thing.” 

“He’s a musician,” you offered, if only to quiet his stammering voice. “A really talented one, too. He plays guitar and he sings.” You took his hand in yours in silent reassurance.

To her credit, Alexis didn’t let on that she’d picked up on his nervousness. She just smiled and asked him about the type of music he plays, swiftly shifting the conversation back on track.

The small talk continued for a few more minutes. You’d learned that Alexis and Peter had met in college; they’d both gone to Columbia, which was where Peter would be continuing his graduate studies. Alexis wanted a change of scenery and chose NYU, though Peter mentioned she’d also been accepted to their alma mater.

She went to an Ivy League university? The notion soured in your stomach. It was unrealistic to think that Alexis would be the only member of your cohort to hold a degree from an esteemed school; how would you be able to keep up with them? There was no way your meager city college education could even compare.

Mercifully, Ashley took to the microphone once again, this time with a gray-haired woman by her side, to begin the informational portion of the event. You and Eddie sat side-by-side, and you scooched closer when his arm instinctively draped over the back of your folding chair. The ease was a privilege; you could rest your head on his shoulder without being on alert. There was no threat of being caught, no guilt from sneaking around. The two of you were just another couple sitting in a sea of strangers. The idea was so enticing that you had to force yourself to focus on the course offerings and expected responsibilities. 

You definitely wouldn’t be able to keep up with your peers if you couldn’t even pay attention during orientation.

Two hours passed before Eddie’s stomach audibly growled; apparently, consuming his weight in miniature hot dogs was not enough to satisfy his appetite. You were starting to get hungry, too, and you’d spent the last thirty minutes saving off your hunger pangs.

“Wanna grab something to eat?” You whispered.

He nodded emphatically. “You’d think that one of these snobby rich-people schools would splurge for more food,” he said, thankfully under his breath. If someone had overheard…

Not to mention you’d be attending that ‘snobby rich-people school,’ and you were neither rich nor snobby. At least, you hoped you weren’t snobby. But did Eddie see you that way? Did he think you were keeping the relationship underwraps because of a deep-seated shame?

You bade your new friends goodbye, shot a shy smile at the professors who had spoken during the information session, and did your best to make an inconspicuous exit. 

The nearest bodega was just down the block, its shelves stocked with soon-expiring candy and various snacks. Eddie perused the aisles and stared at his options. You were much faster in your decision-making, grabbing a Crunch bar and chowing down as soon as you paid the cashier.

With Eddie still glancing between a bag of barbecue potato chips and a stick of beef jerky, you plucked the latest copy of Star from the rotating magazine stand and leafed through it. There’s no earth-shattering news–stories published in the tabloids rarely are. The most exciting story was about the upcoming Spielberg flick, one where dinosaurs roam the Earth in some sort of prehistoric zoo. You can’t help but wonder if Eddie would take you to see the movie for your third date.

You were about to close the magazine and tell Eddie to hurry up–or just buy both, and you’d foot the bill–when the bolded words in the news briefs section caught your eye.

Caleb Dalton, the lead singer and guitarist of Death’s Echo, checked into rehab after various alcohol-fueled encounters with the law. The band’s management states that they “hope to proceed with the tour” next month, though there is no word about finding a replacement.

Your mouth went dry, and you started choking on the bite of milk chocolate that hadn’t yet melted onto your tongue. Eddie looked over at you, concern etched between his drawn brows at your sudden coughing outburst.

“Wrong pipe,” you managed, closing the magazine as nonchalantly as you could and placing it back on the rack. “You ready to go?”

“Yup.” Eddie fished a dollar bill from his pocket and placed it on the counter. He was already digging into the bag of chips, blissfully unaware of what you’d just read. 

How would he react if he knew? Would he find it amusing that his replacement had already screwed up the tour? Infuriating that he’d been replaced by someone so unprofessional? Would it haunt him or would he consider it to be normal tabloid fodder?

A gut instinct told you to break the news to him—not here, but somewhere private. Somewhere he could process it without causing a public scene. The only thing worse than him finding out is him knowing that you already knew and hadn’t told him. 

Tonight, during your shift. And you could follow it up by letting him know that you were ready to tell your parents the truth. Selfishly, you were glad to have some leverage on them: Eddie would already be upset by the band’s news, so they couldn’t add to that stress by kicking him out, right? 

If only you could tell them about him accompanying you today, just to prove how serious this new relationship truly was. 

One step at a time. 

You savored every moment spent together on the trip. The beginning of rush hour had the train too crowded to find a seat and to hold onto the pole, so Eddie held you by your waist to keep you steady. You felt his lips on the back of your neck every so often, his way of reminding you that he was there amidst the chaos. 

He trusted you, and he trusted you to trust him. 

It had come innately, the way you had divulged your secret to him. Yes, he had grabbed your book and questioned your alleged hospitality studies, but you could have shut him out. Put up a wall and told him to mind his business or hit the road. 

But you didn’t. And neither had he, choosing to divulge his saddest memories to you. Had given you a friendship and then something more. His presence was something you awaited at the start of every shift, the shared conversations now far more welcome than the quiet you once craved.

He always arrived at the desk by ten o’clock, sometimes getting there before you did. You’d find him making Mom laugh or listening to one of her many stories about the plethora of bizarre guests who stayed at the motel over the years. Mom liked him–you knew she did. All you needed to do was pivot her mindset in the right direction.

So tonight, when 10:25 rolled around and Eddie was nowhere to be found, your first instinct was to knock on his door and make sure he was all right. As soon as the thought popped into your head, you dismissed it as ridiculous. He was probably tired from schlepping through Manhattan and fell asleep. He’d probably planned to take a quick nap and promptly slept through his alarm, though you didn’t hear his clock radio bleating through the paper-thin walls.

Maybe this was a sign that you shouldn’t tell him about Death’s Echo and their troubled lead singer. You’d already kept quiet about the televised arrest that you watched at the bar; what was one more secret?

But that would sabotage your plan to pander to your parents with sympathy. You couldn’t exactly take the poor Eddie route without him knowing. Maybe you could–

Eddie’s door opened, yanking your attention from your running thoughts. Your heart beat double-time. This was it. You were going to tell him about Caleb Dalton’s rehab stint, tell him everything you knew.

But the voice you heard coming from his room wasn’t his. In fact, it wasn’t even a man’s.

“Promise me you’ll think about it?” A woman asked, a slight whine in her tone.

“Y-Yeah.” Though you couldn’t see him, you could tell from his hesitation that he wasn’t completely enthused about whatever he was supposed to be thinking about. “I promise.”

A soft mwah had you seeing red. It sounded like she’d only kissed his cheek, but maybe you were only fooling yourself. If she’d kissed his lips, those same lips that you’d been kissing earlier today…

“You’re the best, babe.” Jealousy raged in your core as she spoke, and you fought to keep it from exploding throughout your body. “We’ll get you out of this shithole in no time.” She punctuated her insult with a giggle. “Call me when you have your answer.”

“Mhm. Yeah.” And then his door closed.

Who was this woman? What was she doing here? Why didn’t Mom tell you that Eddie had brought someone to his room?

You got one answer once the mystery woman walked through the lobby, not even acknowledging your existence. She wasn’t wearing the heavy makeup that you’d seen in her photo, but there was no mistaking the owner of that blonde pixie cut, heart-shaped face, and piercing blue eyes.

They belonged to none other than Death Echo’s drummer.

Who also happened to be Eddie’s ex-girlfriend. 

--

taglist:

@theintimatewriter @mandyjo8719 @storiesbyrhi @lady-munson @moonmark98

@squidscottjeans @therealbaberuthless @emxxblog @munson-mjstan @loves0phelia

@kthomps914 @aysheashea @munsonsbtch @mmunson86 @b-irock

@ginasellsbooks @erinekc @the-unforgivenn @dashingdeb16 @micheledawn1975

@yujyujj @eddies-acousticguitar @daisy-munson @kellsck @foreveranexpatsposts

@mykuup @chatteringfox @feelinglikeineedlotsofnaps @sapphire4082 @katethetank

@sidthedollface2 @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @mysteris-things @mrsjellymunson @josephquinnsfreckles

@the-disaster-in-waiting @eddielowe @hugdealer @rip-quizilla @munson-girl

@fishwithtitz @costellation-hunter @cloudroomblog @emsgoodthinkin

[demonic0angel]

DP x DC: Alfred dies, and becomes a ghost. Being a responsible sort, he has Batman call up the expert in ghosts, Danny Phantom to help explain his new condition.

Phantom politely clapped his hands. "Welp. You're a 100% certified ghost!"

Batman stared. "... I'm sorry, what?"

Phantom gestured to Alfred, who was glowing green and floating as he set out the tea and teacups.

Phantom received one with a quiet thanks and he took a sip of the tea with obvious enjoyment. "He's a ghost. You said he died, right? He must have had such a strong obsession that it tethered him to the mortal plane. His core is pretty well-developed, most likely because he experienced so many moments of death and spent so much time around the dead. It also helps that Gotham City is prone to spirits and ghosts, especially since Lady Gotham likes you and your family so much. All of it means that because Alfred died here, around you guys, he became a ghost."

The amount of information Phantom gave almost made Batman's head spin.

"So... what now? Do we need to do anything?"

Phantom smiled and dipped his head before shaking it. He turned to Alfred. "I'll write you a permit and some time in the next two weeks, you should go to the Ghost Zone to ask for an audience with the King. Usually, ghosts aren't allowed in the mortal realm, but since you're only to stay in the Wayne Manor, I'll allow it as a favor to Batman. Still, it's best that you at least make it official for easier paperwork."

Alfred nodded curtly, rubbing his spectral fingers together.

Batman visibly softened and looked at Phantom with a grateful look. "Thank you."

Phantom smiled. "No problem! Thank you for taking care of my siblings."

Batman blinked. What siblings?

Before he could ask, Phantom blipped out of existence.

Batman stared at the spot where he used to be before he turned to Alfred. "... do we know what siblings he's talking about?"

Alfred nodded. "I have an idea."

Batman waited for an answer. There was none. Alfred continued to set up the refreshments for Bruce, who sighed and took a scone.

Well, he supposed he'd have to ask his children for answers.

[hello-delicious-tea]

BabyTea has discovered how to click on additional sea turtle videos on YouTube. On the one hand, this is terrible, he’s giving himself screen time and YouTube is awful but on the other hand I quietly baked scones while he learned facts about sea turtles, which is awesome.

[exhuastedpigeon]

please don't go 8x08 code - 646 words

"Don't go."

The words are trapped in a cage at the back of Buck's throat. Every time he's opened his mouth in the last week he's had to speak around them. He feels like a tiger pacing his enclosure, like he's going to snap at the bars if anyone gets too close.

"Stay."

He smiles when Eddie shows him house listings in El Paso. Smiles when Eddie invites him to the virtual tour. Smiles when Eddie tells him he's flying down to see the house in person. Smiles when he shows up at Eddie's house the night before his flight with another basket of scones because he baked and baked and baked but the words are still there, clawing at the bars trying to get out.

"Don't go."

His jaw hurts with how tightly he's clenching it when he slides into the driver's seat and starts the car to take Eddie to the airport. He's worried that if he opens his mouth at all he won't be able to stop himself from saying it. Won't be able to keep the constant thrum of "Don't leave me. Stay. Don't go. Please don't leave me" from passing his lips.

"Don't go."

He manages to say goodbye without the words tumbling out. Manages to watch Eddie walk through the departure doors. But then someone else must take over his body because he's parking his car in the tow away zone and ignoring the airport employee's yells that he can't park there and he's running.

"Don't go."

He surprises himself when the words actually leave his mouth. He clearly surprises Eddie too, because he turned around with wide eyes and looks at Buck like he's seen a ghost.

"Buck..."

"Eddie," Buck walks forward and pulls him into a bone crushing hug. Tries to put everything he's kept caged at the back of this throat into the hug. "D-don't go."

"I have to. Buck I have to get him back," Eddie says into his neck. Buck can feel a wet patch on his shoulder and he knows he's not doing any better.

"Please. Please come back," Buck says instead of what he wants to say which is "let me come with you."

"I will," Eddie pulls back enough that Buck can see his face. "I swear, I'll come back."

And Buck kisses him. He's a tiger that's escaped it's enclosure and is finally free after years of being trapped. He's a man standing in the middle of LAX kissing the love of his life, begging him to stay.

He's an idiot because Eddie is straight.

But then Eddie is kissing him back - Eddie. Eddie Diaz. His Eddie. - Is kissing him.

"I can't stay, but - but you can come with me."

"I've got to move my car," Buck laughs, a rush of relief and joy exploding out of him. He doesn't have any clothes except what he brought to Eddie's last night, but that doesn't matter.

"Okay," Eddie grins, soft and so fucking fond. It feels like all Eddie was waiting for was for Buck to ask him to stay and all Buck was waiting for was for Eddie to ask him to come with him.

By some miracle Buck doesn't have a ticket on his Jeep when he walks back outside. He doesn't bother driving to one of the lots, just spends the frankly insane amount of money on the valet and manages to get the last seat on Eddie's flight.

That night, when they're checked in at a hotel near the El Paso airport it's Eddie's turn to say it when Buck rolls out of bed to go to the bathroom.

"Don't go."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Inspired by @lonelychicago amazing art.

[bradshawsbaby]

Sprinkles of Love

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: It's Bob's birthday and you want to do something special for him. The problem is that you've only been on two dates, and you can't get out of your head about making that first move.

Word Count: 6.6k

Author’s Note: Happy Birthday to my #1 Guy, Lewis Pullman! I thought we all deserved some sweet Bob fluff to celebrate!

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff, featuring the jitters and nervousness that comes with a new relationship.

You glanced at your phone for what felt like the hundredth time that morning, your fingers itching to reach for it where it sat taunting you on the counter near the cash register.

Biting down on your lower lip, you peeked surreptitiously over your shoulder before finally picking it up, your finger hovering hesitantly over the green messages icon.

“Are you finally going to text him or are you just going to keep staring longingly at your phone all day?”

Your cousin’s teasing voice startled you, pulling you out of your silent reverie as you fumbled the phone, nearly dropping it to the floor in your haste to get a grip on it and shove it inside your apron pocket.

Alexandria just laughed in response, her dark eyes sparkling as she slid a tray of freshly baked oatmeal raisin cookies onto one of the display case shelves. Normally, you would have complimented her on how amazing they smelled, but given the knowing smirk she was sending your way, you stuck your tongue out at her instead.

“Stick your tongue out at me all you want,” she told you, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. “But I know you, and I know how badly you want to text him. So why don’t you just do it already and save yourself all the torment?”

“Lexie,” you groaned, your phone suddenly feeling like a rock inside your pocket. Why did your cousin have to know you like the back of her hand?

You were saved from having to elaborate, however, when one of the timers dinged in the kitchen, signaling that the newest batch of muffins you and Lex had put in a little while ago was finished. She shot a pointed look in your direction, making it clear the conversation wasn’t over, before turning on her heel and going to take the muffins out of the oven.

Since it was the usual mid-morning lull and the only customers currently inside the bakery were a college student working on her laptop near the window and two elderly ladies enjoying conversation over scones and tea, you figured you should be both a good cousin and a good employee and go help Lexie in the back.

Despite the fact that you had already been working at the bakery for a few months now—ever since you had moved to San Diego—you still couldn’t help but be blown away whenever it hit you that your cousin had really accomplished the dream she’d been chasing since you were little girls. For as long as you could remember, Alexandria had been wanting to open up her very own bakery, a cozy little spot where people could come to read, hang out, and relax, all while enjoying some homemade treats and delicious coffee. It seemed like just yesterday that the two of you were playing with her Easy-Bake Oven, and now here she was—living the dream as a successful small business owner. You couldn’t have been more proud of her. Or more grateful that she’d given you both a job and a place to live when you’d decided to follow in her footsteps and make the move out to California.

Lex was like the big sister you never had. She gave the best advice and she knew you inside and out. Which was normally a good thing, but judging by the way she was looking at you from under her dark lashes, you knew today was going to be one of those days where she insisted on pushing you out of your comfort zone.

You sighed in exasperation as you helped her set the freshly baked orange cranberry muffins—a favorite among her loyal customers—on the cooling rack. “I wish I hadn’t even mentioned it. It’s not that big of a deal,” you insisted, supremely conscious of the weight of your phone pressing against your thigh as you worked.

“If it’s not that big of a deal, then why do you seem to be making it one?” Lexie replied with that razor-sharp wit of hers, winking when you shot her a dirty look over your shoulder.

“I’m not!” you insisted, although you knew that was a complete and total lie. You were being ridiculous and you knew it, but every time you even thought about sending him a message, your heart started pounding inside your chest and your palms got all gross and clammy.

Lex crossed her arms over her chest, throwing an exasperated look heavenward. “Babe, you’ve already been on two dates with him and he wants to take you out on another. Do you seriously think you’re going to send him running for the hills if you send him a text wishing him a happy birthday?”

When you heard it out loud, it did sound pretty stupid. He was such a great guy, so sweet and attentive and caring, and he had done nothing to indicate that he was losing interest or that he would be freaked out by such a simple message. But still…

“I do want to text him,” you confessed, biting your lip as you carried the empty muffin tray over to the large sink where your cousin washed all her baking supplies.

“So what’s holding you back?” Lexie asked, her voice gentler this time as she leaned her hip against the counter, clearly trying to understand. She’d seen your heart get broken enough times to know that you were much more cautious now when it came to entrusting it to other people.

You sighed softly, fiddling with the strings on your pink-and-white striped apron as you tried to put your feelings into words. “It’s just—we’ve only been on two dates. I mean, they were really amazing dates, but still. Only two. And our birthdays only came up once in passing on our first date. He never mentioned it again, even when he called the other night to ask me if I’d like to go out this weekend. So on the one hand, I do want to text him to wish him a happy birthday, but on the other hand, what if it weirds him out that I remembered? What if he thinks I’m some kind of obsessive stalker and gets the ick and then ghosts me?”

“For wishing him a happy birthday?” your cousin questioned skeptically, her eyebrows rising until they were practically touching the edges of her blunt bangs.

“I’ve been ghosted before for less,” you muttered in embarrassment, knowing that your love life was a disaster compared to your cousin, who had been with her soon-to-be-husband since high school.

Lex softened immediately, stepping beside you and wrapping a comforting arm around your shoulders. “I know,” she murmured soothingly, rubbing your arm with a gentle hand. “But those guys were jerks who didn’t deserve you. From everything I know about this guy, he sounds so great. He seems like the kind of guy who would be happy that you remembered his birthday.”

Honestly, you couldn’t argue with her there.

Bob Floyd was unlike any man you’d ever met before. He was everything you’d ever hoped to find but had feared you never would, the kind of perfect that seemed too good to be true, the gentleman that you had thought existed only in fairytales.

It had been over a month now since he’d stepped off a storybook page and walked into your life.

You could still remember that afternoon so clearly. It was a Saturday, and the bakery had been surprisingly dead. Lexie had decided to run to the bank, leaving you in charge of things in her absence. You’d been rearranging some of the pastries in the display case when the bell over the front door chimed, signaling a customer.

Stepping up to the counter, the words of greeting died in your throat when one of the most handsome men you’d ever seen in your life approached, a shy smile stretching across his face.

“Hi,” he greeted you in a soft-spoken voice, shoving his hands into his pockets. He was dressed simply in a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt, and yet you’d never seen a guy look better.

“Hi,” you echoed, your eyes widening as you got lost in a gaze as blue as the cornflowers that grew in your grandparents’ backyard.

The two of you just stared at each other for a couple minutes, neither of you saying anything, even as the air between you seemed to spark and hum with electricity.

“Um, I was, uh, hoping that you still had some cupcakes left. I know it’s a little later in the day and my neighbor who recommended this place said that you should always get here early, but, um, I have a little barbeque that I’m going to and I wanted to bring some dessert. I’m hopeless at making anything myself,” he rambled, his eyes crinkling as he laughed somewhat nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

It was only when he cleared his throat awkwardly a moment later that you realized you hadn’t yet responded to him.

“Oh! Cupcakes!” you exclaimed, your voice coming out a little louder and squeakier than you had intended. “Of course!” Running your hands down the front of your apron, you shook your head slightly to try to knock some sense into it. You walked over to the display case, indicating that he should come take a look. “Normally we’d already be sold out of a lot of these, but it’s been quieter today than usual, so we still have plenty left. I guess it’s your lucky day.”

“Seems like it,” he smiled, his blue eyes latching onto your face.

Something about the way he said it made your insides feel as gooey as the batter Lexie used to make her double chocolate fudge cake.

“How many cupcakes do you need?” you asked, working overtime to keep from getting flustered.

“I think two dozen should be fine,” he replied, his eyes roaming over the display case shelves. “Hmm, they all look so good, I wouldn’t know where to start. Do you have any recommendations?”

“The lemon zest cupcakes are really popular. So are the red velvet and the coconut cloud. Oh, and the German chocolate.” You laughed sheepishly. “Honestly, they’re all really good.”

He laughed in response, a small dimple appearing in his cheek that only further endeared him to you. “Which one is your favorite?” he asked, his voice so earnest it made your chest ache.

You didn’t even have to think about it. “The funfetti,” you told him, indicating the vanilla cupcakes baked with rainbow chips and topped with swirls of vanilla frosting and an extra dash of sprinkles.

“I’ll take a dozen funfetti cupcakes then. And you can surprise me with the other dozen,” he grinned, making you smile.

“I hope you and everyone at the barbeque enjoys,” you said after you finished ringing him up, sliding the two boxes of cupcakes towards him.

“I’m sure we will. This place comes highly recommended,” he replied with a smile. “Are you Lexie, the owner?”

“No, no, I’m her cousin,” you explained, introducing yourself by name.

“I’m Robert Floyd,” he said, holding out his hand to you. “But everyone calls me Bob.”

“Very nice to meet you, Bob,” you beamed, sliding your hand into his and shaking firmly. His hand was large and warm and calloused and it felt like yours had been made to fit inside it.

“Nice to meet you, too,” he murmured softly, holding onto your hand for another second or two before slowly releasing it. He was quiet for a moment, then added, “I’m sure I’ll be back again soon.”

“We serve really good coffee,” you said suddenly, desperate to find a reason to get him to come back. “And we open really early. You know, if you want to get some on your way to work.”

Bob’s beautiful blue eyes twinkled behind his glasses. “I’ll be sure to do that. Thank you.” He picked up his boxes of cupcakes and turned towards the door. Before he left, he shot you one last smile that melted your insides. “See you around.”

After that, Bob Floyd had found plenty of reasons to stop by the bakery. The following Monday, he’d stopped by in the morning to grab coffee for him and his friends on his way to work. That was when you’d learned that he was a naval aviator stationed at North Island.

“You were right about those funfetti cupcakes,” he told you, patting his stomach with a grin. “I think I ate about half the box before I thought to share them with anyone else.”

Your eyes crinkled and you felt your skin grow warm as you smiled in response. “Good, I’m so glad.”

You made sure to slip a cupcake in with all his coffee orders, a gesture which he didn’t fail to notice, judging from the extra large tip he left in the jar.

“See you soon,” he smiled, balancing all that coffee in his large hands as he backed out of the bakery.

From then on, he was there practically every day, stopping in for coffee or for some cupcakes after work. He often picked up things for other people—his friends or his neighbor who had recommended the bakery to him. But for himself, he always stuck with the funfetti cupcakes.

“I know I should branch out and try something new,” he told you one day through a mouthful of sprinkles. “But I can’t help it—these are just so good.”

It had taken nearly two weeks for Bob to work up the nerve to finally ask you if you might be interested in getting dinner with him sometime. You’d had to bite your tongue to keep from immediately screaming, “YES!” in his face,

The two of you spent your first date at a gorgeous little seafood restaurant right on the water, and then went for a long walk on the beach afterwards. It was truly the best date you’d ever been on. Bob was a perfect gentleman, attentively listening to everything you had to say and making you feel as though he actually cared about what was important to you. He’d even draped his jacket over your shoulders as you walked by the water, noticing the way you were shivering slightly in the dress you’d worn. You had been hoping he would kiss you at the end of the night, but like the gentleman that he was, he’d simply brushed your cheek with his lips, asking in a hushed voice if you’d like to see him again.

You wanted that very much.

On your second date, Bob took you mini golfing, something you’d told him that you hadn’t done since you were a little girl. You didn’t think you’d ever laughed so much as you did that night, no matter how terrible you turned out to be at miniature golf. Just like on your first date, Bob walked you to your door at the end of the night, his hand resting on the small of your back as you turned to look up at him, your eyes begging him to give you a proper kiss goodnight.

He had to duck his head slightly as he leaned in closer, a lock of his honey-colored hair draping across his forehead as his gaze latched onto yours, your breath mingling as the two of you inched closer and closer.

It was a soft kiss, sweet and chaste. His lips just barely brushed against yours, sending a shock of electric currents up and down your spine. When he pulled back, the both of you were flushed and stammering.

“C-can I call you tomorrow?” he asked, still so shy even after two dates.

“I hope you do,” you whispered with a smile, squeezing his hand before slipping through your front door.

Faithful to his word, Bob had called you the next day. The two of you were supposed to be going out again this weekend.

But that brought you back to your current dilemma—his birthday. You knew you were being stupid about this. Texting him for his birthday wasn’t tantamount to a marriage proposal. It wasn’t like you were trying to throw him a surprise party or invite yourself over for cake. It was a text message for crying out loud. And even though it had only come up once, he had told you when his birthday was. It wasn’t like you had gone to North Island and asked to see his personnel file.

The truth was, you were just terrified of screwing things up. You’d gone on plenty of dates with guys who had seemed really nice, who you had really thought were into you, only to be ghosted or flat-out rejected. Deep down inside, you knew that Bob was different from all those other guys, but still—the thought of sending him running made your stomach twist into knots.

“Babe, you know what I’m going to say,” Lexie murmured, your cousin’s voice pulling you out of all your convoluted thoughts. “If you never take a risk, then nothing’s ever going to change. I know you’re nervous, but just go for it. The worst that happens—seriously, the worst case scenario—is that he ghosts you. But you know what? If he does that, then he wasn’t worth your time anyway. And if he doesn’t? Well, maybe he’ll start to fall even harder for the gorgeous girl who remembered his birthday.” She grinned, wrapping both arms around you and pulling you in for a tight hug.

“Ugh, why do you always have to be right?” you grinned ruefully, pulling back from your cousin’s embrace and fiddling nervously with the scrunchie on your wrist.

“It’s a gift,” she replied with a wink, turning to look over her shoulder when the bell over the front door chimed. “I’ve got it,” she told you, squeezing your arm before heading back out to the front.

That left you alone in the back kitchen, your phone burning a hole in your apron pocket and your heart hammering inside your chest.

“Okay, don’t be an idiot,” you murmured to yourself. As far as pep talks went, it was far from the most inspirational, but it did the job as you pulled your phone out. “It’s not too much too soon. It’s just a text,” you breathed out. “It’s just a text.”

Opening your messages, you found Bob’s name—he was right near the top after texting you just yesterday—and opened up your conversation thread, chewing on your bottom lip.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you tapped out a quick message that you hoped was short, sweet, and to the point and hit send.

Happy Birthday, Bob! I hope you have a wonderful day! 🥳🎉

You felt hot all over as you shoved your phone back into your pocket, your pulse stuttering in your veins as you wondered how long it would take him to see it. From what he had told you about his job, he often spent hours in the air each day, so chances were good he didn’t even have his phone on him right now.

You weren’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and determined not to think about it. A task that was much easier said than done. But as you walked back out into the main part of the bakery, you found that a small crowd had formed, so you jumped into assisting your cousin behind the counter.

“Well?” Lexie asked under her breath as you helped her fill a couple boxes with a dozen cinnamon chip muffins.

“I sent it,” you murmured in reply, purposely avoiding her direct gaze. “But I haven’t heard anything back yet.”

As much as you had tried not to, you’d been compulsively checking your phone every five minutes.

Lex shrugged and waved it off. “It’s still early yet,” she said confidently, carrying the boxes over to the patiently waiting customer.

You threw yourself into various tasks around the bakery, anything that would keep your mind off your phone. You restocked the shelves in the display cases, organized the money in the cash register, wiped down the counters in the kitchen, scrubbed the baking pans, frosted cupcakes, replaced the coffee beans, and waited on any customers who walked in.

A couple of times, your phone buzzed in your pocket and your heart jumped into your throat, only to sink down to your stomach when you pulled it out and found that it was just an email notification or a text from your mom.

The longer you went without hearing from Bob, the harder you had to work to convince yourself that he wasn’t ignoring you.

No. He wasn’t ignoring you. Bob wasn’t like that. You were sure of it.

It was a little after noon, just when you’d taken a cup of coffee into the back for a short break, when you felt your phone buzz again, vibrating against your thigh through your apron. Swallowing nervously, you put your coffee down and reached into your pocket, a small gasp escaping you when you saw Bob’s name on the screen.

You could scarcely unlock your phone fast enough, opening up the text thread to read his reply.

Wow, you remembered! That means so much to me. Thank you! ☺️ Sorry it took me a little while to respond—we were doing some test flights, but I’m on my lunch break now and I’ll be on the ground for the rest of the day. How are you?

It took every ounce of self-restraint you had not to scream and jump up and down like a little girl. It felt like a boulder had been lifted off your shoulders. You hadn’t freaked him out! He hadn’t ghosted you! It was just like Lexie said—he was happy that you remembered.

Grinning like a fool, you leaned against the counter and typed out a response, not caring that your coffee was getting cold.

I’m doing great! Glad to hear you got some flying in on your special day ✈️ Doing anything to celebrate?

It was only after you had sent the message that you began to fret that it sounded like you were being nosy about his plans, or worse, trying to insert yourself into them.

But then Bob responded a minute later and put your worries to rest.

Nothing too fancy. My friends ordered lunch and got me a cake. They sang “Happy Birthday,” too, even though I begged them not to lol. I usually keep it pretty lowkey on my birthday.

You smiled as you wrote back, Was it a funfetti cake?

His next response came in no time at all, and it made your stomach flutter to imagine that he was focusing entirely on you and your conversation during his lunch break.

If only! It was really good, but I don’t think anything compares to those funfetti cupcakes 😋

At that moment, Lex walked into the back, stopping dead in her tracks when she saw the huge smile plastered on your face. It felt like it was going to get permanently stuck there.

“Well, well, well,” she grinned, sidling up next to you. “Should I take that glowing smile to mean you finally heard back from your lieutenant?”

You ducked your head shyly, your cheeks growing warm. “He isn’t my lieutenant,” you insisted.

“Mhm, sure,” your cousin grinned, laughing loudly when you nudged her in the side. “So it worked out after all? He didn’t say you were a freaky stalker? I shouldn’t be expecting the police to burst down the door any minute?”

“Okay, okay,” you groaned, realizing how ridiculous you’d been behaving that morning. “You were right. It all worked out. He was very touched that I remembered his birthday,” you murmured, sheepishly scuffing your sneaker against the floor.

“I’ve gotta say it—told you so,” Lex smirked victoriously, wrapping her arms around you and planting a kiss on your cheek.

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, feigning annoyance even as you grinned and returned your cousin’s hug. “You know, Bob was actually just texting me that his friends at work got him a cake, but that it just doesn’t compare to your funfetti cupcakes,” you told her with a proud smile.

“What can I say? They are pretty damn delicious,” she winked, her chest puffing up with pride. A sudden thought struck her as she looked at you. “Hey, what time does Bob get off from work?”

“I’m not sure exactly. Usually around six or seven, I think,” you told her, your brow wrinkling in confusion. “Why?”

“Hmm, perfect,” Lexie mused, tapping her chin as she glanced over her shoulder.

“What do you mean?” you asked, arching an eyebrow. Your older cousin was always plotting something.

“I mean that the bakery closes at five-thirty,” she said, as if you weren’t already well aware of that fact. When she realized that you weren’t exactly catching her drift, she went on, “Which means you could invite Bob over for a little after hours birthday treat if you’d like,” she grinned.

“Lex!” you gasped, scandalized.

Your cousin threw her head back laughing. “I didn’t mean that you should jump his bones in the middle of the bakery! I’d actually prefer it if you didn’t do that,” she chuckled teasingly. “I just meant you could surprise him with something sweet, on the house. Something we make here,” she added with a pointed look that made your cheeks grow hot in embarrassment.

“Oh,” you mumbled, nodding your head slowly. “Right. Of course.” You cleared your throat slightly. “Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course not! Anyone who makes my cousin this happy is welcome to free cupcakes anytime,” Lex said firmly, cupping your face in her hands and beaming at you.

“You’re the best,” you told her, throwing your arms around her and squeezing her in a tight hug. “I’ll text Bob now and see if he thinks he’ll be up for it.”

“If you’re the one asking, I’m sure he will be,” she winked, nudging you playfully before turning to go back to the front counter.

Once she was out of sight, you turned your attention back to your phone and bit your lip, trying to think of the best way to phrase what you wanted to ask him.

Speaking of funfetti cupcakes, any chance you’d want to swing by the bakery on your way home from work? We close at 5:30 today, but we make special after hours exceptions for our best customers 😉🧁

Was that stupid? That probably sounded stupid. Would he think that you were suggesting a quickie on the bakery floor the way you thought your cousin had been suggesting? Oh God, could you unsend that message before he got it?

I would love to! Is 6:45 too late?

This man didn’t cease to amaze you.

No, that’s perfect!

See you then ☺️

You tried your hardest to smother the smile that was threatening to completely overtake your face, but you couldn’t do it. This man gave you butterflies like you’d never experienced before in all your life, and the thought of getting to see him in just a few hours made you feel like you were going to burst from excitement and anticipation.

You didn’t even have to tell Lexie what Bob had said. The second she saw your face, she just smiled knowingly and told you, “I’ll be out of here by six.”

Time had never seemed to move so slowly as it did that day while you waited for closing time to finally come around. Lex observed your growing impatience with amusement, giving you as many odd jobs as she could to hopefully make the minutes go faster.

When the clock finally chimed five-thirty, you practically sprinted towards the door, locking it and flipping the closed sign around to ward off anyone who might have tried to stop by for a last minute treat.

“Good thing business is so good or I might get mad at you for scaring off customers,” Lexie teased.

True to her word, your cousin helped you clean up and then was heading out the door by six o’clock.

“Have so much fun,” she told you, blowing you a quick succession of air kisses. “And tell Bob happy birthday from me,” she added with a wink before slipping out the door.

With your cousin gone, that left you about forty-five minutes to finish getting ready before Bob arrived. You quickly set a playlist of classic 60s tunes to play softly through the speakers—you and Bob had discovered you had a similar taste in music about halfway through your first date—and then hurried into the bathroom to fix up your hair and apply a little bit of make-up. You usually didn’t bother with much when you were working, but you wanted to look nice for Bob.

Once you were done getting ready, you went into the back to get his little birthday treat set up—Lexie had made a fresh batch of funfetti cupcakes towards the end of the day just for the occasion. You had just finished placing one of the cupcakes on a small plate with a lace doily and inserting a candle into it when you heard a faint knock on the front door.

Your heart rate immediately began climbing as you ran your hands over the T-shirt and jeans you’d worn today, hoping you looked halfway presentable. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, you stepped out into the main part of the bakery and felt your legs instantly turn to Jell-O at the sight of Bob standing at the door, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand. You’d only told him once in passing how much you loved them, and he had remembered.

Wow, that really did mean a lot.

“Hi,” you greeted him, standing in the open doorway and beaming up at him.

“Hi,” he echoed, that little dimple making an appearance as he smiled down at you. After a beat, he seemed to suddenly remember that he was holding the flowers in his hand. “Oh, these are for you,” he said, holding them out shyly.

“They’re beautiful, Bob,” you breathed out softly, accepting them with a smile and pressing them to your nose. “My favorite. You remembered.”

“Just like you remembered my birthday,” he said, his blue eyes sparkling with an emotion you couldn’t quite name, but which you knew you felt just as much as he did.

The two of you stood there like that for a few moments, just gazing into each other’s eyes and smiling dreamily. Then you came to your senses.

“Come in, come in,” you told him, stepping out of the doorway so that he could enter and then closing the door behind him. “Gosh, these really are such beautiful flowers. That was so sweet of you. You didn’t have to get me anything. It is your birthday, after all,” you said, guiding him to a table in the center of the room.

“I wanted to,” Bob replied, taking a seat. He was still in his flight suit and he looked so handsome. “I’m happy that they made you smile.”

“It’s hard not to smile when I’m around you,” you told him, the words slipping out of your mouth before you could think twice about them. Your cheeks grew warm when you realized how vulnerable they were, and you buried your face in the bouquet once more.

Bob’s cheeks had grown rosy as well, and you noticed that his leg was bouncing nervously underneath the table. “I feel the same way,” he murmured softly.

You could have thrown your arms around him and kissed him right then and there, but then you recalled the actual reason why you had invited him over.

“I have a surprise for you,” you said suddenly, smiling brightly as you laid the bouquet of flowers down on the counter. “Wait right here and close your eyes,” you told him, waiting until he had done so before hurrying into the back and lighting the candle you’d tucked into his cupcake.

When you stepped back into the main room on quiet feet, you found that Bob was still patiently sitting with his eyes closed. Your heart swelled with deep affection—and was it possible something even deeper? You had never met anyone like him and you were certain you never would again.

It was at that moment that you realized “Be My Baby” by The Ronettes was currently playing through the speakers, as apropos a sign as you could imagine.

You cleared your throat slightly as you approached the table, the candle sparkling in front of your face as you brought it closer to the birthday boy.

“I know you said you weren’t a big fan of being serenaded with ��Happy Birthday,’ so I’ll spare you my vocals,” you teased, setting the plate down in front of him. “But Happy Birthday, Bob.”

Opening his eyes, Bob glanced from your face down to the cupcake and then back up to you again. He seemed at a loss for words, his eyes growing wide behind his glasses.

“This is—this—thank you,” Bob finally said, his voice sounding a bit hoarse. “I can’t believe you did all this for me.”

You smiled, sitting down beside him and gently resting your hand over his. “Blow out your candle before it melts into your cupcake,” you giggled.

He grinned at the sound of your laughter, leaning in closer to blow out the single candle, though he kept his eyes fixed on you the whole time.

“Lexie baked them fresh this afternoon. There’s a whole bunch more in the back that I’m going to be sending you home with,” you told him, your heart skipping a beat at the way his face lit up.

“What did I do to deserve all this? This is the best birthday present ever,” Bob chuckled, wrapping his fingers around yours and squeezing lightly.

“I’m glad you think so,” you murmured, glancing down at the table shyly. “The truth is, I was a little nervous to text you earlier.”

Bob looked surprised at your admission. “Why?” he asked, astonished.

You bit your lip and hesitated, but then decided to be honest. Like Lexie said, if you never took a risk, then you never got to see anything change. “I know this is going to sound so stupid, but I was worried you would think it was too much if I texted you for your birthday.”

“Too much?” he repeated, his brow crinkling in obvious confusion.

“You know, just because you had only mentioned your birthday once. I thought maybe I would seem too desperate or clingy or something if I reached out. I thought it would freak you out,” you confessed. “I know that sounds pretty dumb when I say it out loud.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Bob assured you, shaking his head slowly. “I know what you mean. To be honest, I think I’ve had that problem myself. Y’know, coming off too eager and scaring girls away,” he admitted, blushing as he ducked his head.

“Oh, Bob,” you murmured in understanding, lacing your fingers through his. With all the other things you two had in common, it shouldn’t have surprised you that a crappy dating history was something else you shared. “You could never scare me off,” you promised him.

Lifting his head, he smiled at you and reached out slowly, his fingertips stirring a few wisps of your hair as he brushed your cheek lightly. “And you could never freak me out. It meant so much to me that you remembered my birthday. It made my whole day, in fact. Even more than the funfetti cupcakes,” he said, his eyes crinkling. He was quiet for a moment, thoughtful, then added softly, “I remember everything about you.”

“You do?” you whispered, feeling a sudden surge of emotion well up in your throat.

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Your favorite movies, the fact that you like tomatoes but hate ketchup, the way you throw your head back when you laugh really loudly. Your favorite flowers. I remember it all.”

“Bob,” you breathed out, the tears brimming in your eyes as your gaze dropped from his eyes down to his mouth.

You weren’t really sure who moved first, but soon enough, Bob was holding you in his arms, your lips pressed together in a kiss that was much less chaste than your first one, but just as sweet. Your arms snaked around his neck, one hand burying itself in his soft hair, the other resting on the nape of his neck. He let out a soft groan in response, one of his large hands resting on your hip and the other splaying across your back, holding you close.

It was a kiss that was so much like Bob himself—gentle, kind, tender, sweet, affectionate, attentive. He didn’t demand more than you were willing to give, he didn’t try to take anything from you. He just wanted to make you feel how much he cared about you, wanted to make you feel special and cherished. And he did. You hoped more than anything that you were doing the same for him.

Because the truth was that you were already falling for Bob Floyd, and falling hard.

When the two of you finally pulled back—a mutually hesitant parting borne solely of the need for oxygen—you smiled breathlessly, closing your eyes as Bob rested his forehead against yours.

“Okay, maybe that was the best birthday present ever,” he chuckled quietly, his lips brushing against your temple.

“I think so, too, and it’s not even my birthday,” you grinned, resting your head against his shoulder. “Are you going to have your cupcake?” you asked, glancing down at where it sat on the plate, still untouched.

“Mhm,” Bob nodded, wrapping an arm around you and brushing his fingers up and down your arm. “But there actually is something I’d like to ask you first,” he said, suddenly sounding nervous.

Lifting your head, you looked up at him, trying to figure out why he suddenly looked so flustered.

“Of course. What is it?” you questioned, resting a hand on his arm.

“Well, all of this has been amazing,” he began, pushing his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. You had noticed they had a tendency to slide down when he was particularly nervous. “But there actually is one more thing that I’d really like for my birthday this year.”

You raised your eyebrows curiously. “What is it?”

Bob swallowed deeply and then looked directly into your eyes. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

Your lips parted as a little gasp of delighted surprise escaped you. It may have been Bob’s birthday, but it felt like you were the one being showered with gifts today.

“Oh, Bob, yes! Yes!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms around him and pressing another kiss to his lips.

“Yes?” Bob repeated between kisses, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Yes,” you told him seriously, cupping his cheek in your hand. “Nothing would make me happier.”

“Oh, darlin’,” he breathed out, the term of endearment falling easily off his tongue in that adorable midwestern accent of his. He pulled you into his arms once more and kissed you soundly.

You giggled softly as you reached for the funfetti cupcake and removed the candle, holding it up for him to take a bite. “Happy Birthday, Bob.”

[theemporium]

congratulations on 10k 🫶🫶!! I've followed you for a few months and you literally have aus for half my interest so tysm 🙏🤞 im not sure how the format to ask for a drink for the special 10k but anyway can i ask for a 💛 prompt 11 (laying their hand on the other’s neck) with remus lupin? ty n hope you're doing great!!

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

11. laying their hand on the other's neck

.

It was an act so subtle but so meaningful.

You weren’t sure when it started between the two of you, or which one of you started it. But it was your thing, something shared just between the two of you and that meant more than anything else. Because you loved your friends. You truly adored them and you wouldn’t trade them for the world. 

But they were nosy and meddlesome and had a tendency to stick their noses in other people’s business when their excitement grew—which is exactly why you and Remus decided not to tell them about your relationship just yet. 

You didn’t regret your decision. It was a mutual decision you had both come to and both decided would be for the best. But it didn’t mean you didn’t regret it when every cell in your body was screaming to reach out for your boyfriend, to be by his side, to just be touching him in some way. 

That was where the neck touches came in. 

It was funny that something that felt so intimate went unnoticed by your friend group. They never seemed to notice the lingering touch or how often it happened. They never seemed to pick up on the way you grew flustered under the touch or the way Remus’ cheeks tinted pink. 

It was like your own little signal. 

“MOONY, GUESS WHAT!” 

The boy let out a groan as Sirius and James came barrelling into the Great Hall, their smiles wide and their eyes shining with mischief that only a marauder could hold. They had the decency to seem a little sheepish when they noticed the wince on Remus’ face, settling into the bench across from him whilst practically buzzing in excitement. 

“What?” His voice was dry and deadpanned, but he couldn’t be blamed. It had been a long night, one of his worst in a very long time. He was exhausted and cranky and just wanted nothing more than to curl up with you in bed. 

Unfortunately, he had missed far too many classes this month and couldn’t afford to miss any more.

“We spoke to some blokes in Ravenclaw and you will never believe what they told us about—” Sirius began but Remus was struggling to follow along with whatever ludicrous tale his friend was telling. 

Instead, his eyes began to glaze over a little as he zoned out. It was like a buzzing in his ear, drowning out the bustling hall and incessant chatter like white noise until his eyes were lazily focused on some random spot on Sirius’ shoulder.

He hadn’t even noticed the others approaching where they were currently sat on the Gryffindor table until he felt a hand lightly skim up his back before a warm, comforting palm rested on the back of his neck. 

Remus felt something quite similar to relief melt through his body as he turned his head to find you standing behind him, flashing him a smile before you climbed onto the bench beside him. 

“Morning, boys,” you greeted as you reached for a scone, lightly nudging your knee against Remus’ just to make his lips twitch with a smile. 

“You won’t believe what we just found out,” Sirius spoke up in lieu of greeting you back, already beginning to ramble away and giving you the perfect opportunity to slip a note to the boy beside you. 

Spoke to McGonagall. Meet you in RoR for a lazy day. I’ve got chocolate.

Remus couldn’t even be bothered to hide his smile.

.

[letters-from-ikemen]

A Letter With An Energizing Perfume

Hello, my darling little robin! I’ve been thinking—you’re far too brilliant to be hiding away from the world of new experiences, aren’t you? Yes, yes, it’s true! It’s high time for you to spread those wings of yours and soar right into the splendid unknown! Life, after all, is an endless parade of wonders, and it’s calling your name. All it takes is just a glimmer of courage to start a little magic of your own! I know, I know.

Perhaps it seems daunting—new things often do. But let me tell you a little secret: some of my finest moments began with a delightful disaster or two! Magic tricks gone wrong, dance steps turned into unintentional acrobatics…why, it’s the thrill of not knowing how it will all turn out that makes life so exhilarating! So, why not let yourself make a few splendid blunders along the way? It’s all part of the show! After all, what’s life without a little “oopsie-daisy” here and there?

Mistakes, my dear, are simply the universe’s way of sprinkling a touch of humor into our story. Every time you step out of your comfort zone, you’re crafting something truly magnificent—a life rich in experiences, laughs, and a few amusing anecdotes to charm others with. So, take my hand and promise me you’ll dare to try something new. And if the world wobbles beneath your feet, hold your head high, laugh a little, and carry on. The finest performances, after all, are never flawless; they’re full of heart. Now then, what are we waiting for? Off you go! I expect grand tales when we meet again.

Meanwhile, I’ll be cheering you on with every bit of scone- and butter-fueled energy I have, for nothing thrills me more than seeing you take on the world with that dazzling spirit of yours! T

o new adventures, glorious mistakes, and the most spectacular of memories,

a letter for anon! thank you for the request!

About this blog || Request Rules

[ishanijasmin]

the 4 horsemen of adulthood

on monday, i consumed a sainsbury’s meal deal and two cream and jam scones and forgot to drink any water until 10pm. or i didn’t so much forget as think, ‘i’m thirsty’ and then just not do tanything about it—i literally don’t know why. i explained it to three separate people today and they were all like, ‘yep, makes sense.’ ??? does it???

it’s been a long time since my self-neglect hit critical mass like that; i went to bed queasy and woke up with a headache and a bunch of my clothes from yesterday heaped in a corner because i’m nearly 30 and i can’t just not drink water for an entire day anymore without feeling it. i have to identify as nearly 30 so that when i turn 30 in six months i’m not hit with whiplash.

i remember being 15 and staying up til 3am talking to my tumblr friends in america. i remember chugging four shots one after the other and then having the time of my life as fast as possible. i remember not stretching, not wearing spf, not being worried about needing a coat. no longer! ageing is just coming to terms with the fact that you do, in fact, have needs, one essential after the next. sleep, sunlight, movement, water: the four horsemen of being an adult, shortening telomeres and all.

someone reading this might think, ‘hmm, sounds like you’re depressed.’ maybe! this year i’ve been in and out of depressive phases, of varying lengths of time—a few days to a week, usually, but sometimes a bit longer. i think part of this is that i never seem to be able to come to terms with who i am. i’m permanently in a mix of white knuckling my own life and holding it together for fear that i might explode.

this year i bought an apartment. i quit a job that was my dream, because having autonomy and not being controlled and condescended to at work mattered more to me than being purpose-driven in the end. i founded a choir, recorded an album, became a trustee, was featured in an exhibition, and went on a bunch of trips. i pulled the rug out from under myself over and over again just to feel like i was alive.

i often feel i am watching myself as a marionette, and big me is poking and prodding little puppet me with a stick, chanting, ‘change! change! change!’ just to see what happens. because i don’t know what happens. now she moves house! now she quits her job! now she starts using different pronouns! now they’ve signed up for a year long pottery class! what will they do next?! who will they become? who are they becoming right now?

a lot of things are scary and i do them anyway because i believe in jumping out of my comfort zone (me, prodding the puppet self with a cattle prod: ‘change! change! change!’). things like showing up, putting myself out there, holding space, reaching out, sending an email, public speaking—they’re the choices i make to have control over my world and my selfhood, even if they do make it feel scarier. it’s not always so deliberate—usually it’s ending something that’s no good for you anymore, which is sad, and feels forced, but choice is change as a process, not as a one off.

and if that weren’t enough, everything is so fast and so slow at the same time! the days are long, the years are short. the days are long. i don’t have much in the way of routine, which theoretically means that i probably experience less time dilation than average. i would be lying if i said the presence of a nine to five actually made me feel better, because i remember being in it, and it didn’t, but it stopped me from feeling like i am metamorphosing at light speed.

that’s the journey, and embracing it (or if not, at least holding on). from the outside, it’s sitting on the couch, going to a museum, eating a pastry for breakfast not because i can but because i can’t think of an alternative, doing admin, catching a friend for a walk, going to the charity shop and leaving empty handed, picking up a prescription, watching 3 minutes of schitt’s creek at a time, bleaching every orifice in your home to stave off fruit flies. from the inside? it’s the wildest ride. let us take a step back, look at our puppet selves, and let them breathe for a hot minute, because change is gonna come, ready or not.

[dustofthedailylife]

I’ve got an prompt for roommates AU,

Y/N craved her favorite dessert so she invited both men to have some on her treat, Anyway she gets sad because the place that makes her favorite dessert stopped making it and closed since the ingredients are expensive and the place doesn’t do well!!

y/n return home sad both men had there own Idea on how to make y/n happy by making the dessert, to there own surprise the dessert itself and its Ingredients is not from Sumeru but from Inazuma ( Either sakura mochi or dango … choose one of them )

We know kaveh is the one who would try to make it at home while Alhaitham simply order the ingredients from a merchant he trusts 🤣 or ask someone to make it maybe not Your choice haha~

[-> Roommate AU brainrots]

I approve of this idea haha! 🤭

You drag them to the bakery in Sumeru because you love going there to get some Sakura Mochi and you want to treat them to your favorite treat. And yes, they may be a bit pricier because they require ingredients directly imported from Inazuma but they're your favorite!

Anyway, the minute you get there and order three Sakura Mochi, the owner of the bakery pulls a sad face and informs you that they no longer sell them because the demand was not high enough in comparison to how much they cost.

So instead you order three Padisarah Scones. And while Alhaitham and Kaveh start bickering about something again you completely zone out. Already worrying about where you could get your favorite treat from in the future or how you could make it yourself.

"Guys, you just keep going, I'll be heading home. I want to lie down and listen to music a bit." You interrupt them and leave.

Naturally, both of them know what weighed your mood down and each of them independently made it their personal task to recreate the mochi for you.

While Alhaitham takes the approach of taking a hefty sum of mora to buy both the ingredients and the secret recipe from the baker who used to make them while also reading at least three books about Inazuman cuisine until he ultimately commissions said baker again to make a couple just for you; Kaveh takes the more spontaneous but loving approach of just winging it. Because he neither does he know nor can he afford the right ingredients. He reads some things about mochis in some cooking books he found in the House of Daena and eventually produces something that comes very close to the original thing.

Sure it's a bit bumpy and doesn't look perfect, but he gave it his all and it tastes pretty damn good. And what isn't perfect now, can still be perfected over time, he sure has the needed ambition for it.

Kaveh also makes sure you accompany him in the process and he informs you that he plans to recreate the dessert for you. And since you two like to bake together anyway, you two might as well spend some time together for this.

Much to the dismay of Alhaitham, who now sees that trying to make them with you together would've been the better approach to take as well. Instead, he commissioned someone because he wanted to give you the original ones you missed so dearly. But seeing you now, covered in flour and giggling and laughing in the kitchen with Kaveh makes him seethe.

[agendabymooner]

colour me your colour || toto w. (5)

Summary: Tilly Marie nearly loses faith in her passion as she refuses to listen to everyone who told her to quit. Everyone but one. And it’s the man she met years ago at a racing event she didn’t want to attend. Who would have thought that her father’s partial ownership of three brands could take her to the zone of Mercedes and meet the love of her life?

Chapter summary: Breakfast dates can turn into a shitshow if you allowed pressure and stress to get in the way of your sweet conversation. Plus, it turns out that Toto Wolff knows who she was- only telling her about it as he recalls what he saw few years ago.

Content warning: A case of burnout, brief use of explicit language, people trying to cope by flirting (Tilly), Christian Horner, journalists being too much, Tilly trying not to cry by talking to herself.

Note: Thank you all sm for the 75 followers! I'm going try not to flop this time. Enjoy xx

masterlist

v. how to romance and cry in the same day

“…I have attached the document in this email. If you need help let me know…” 

I don’t need help. I need to quit. 

If anyone can see my face right now, they will run away knowing that they witnessed steam coming out of my ears. Or at least, that’s what Toto can see as I can see a frown on his face. The paper in his hand is long forgotten as he continues to show his concern. I’m still not looking at him, instead I’m staring at my screen hoping that it’ll crack from the anger that I’m feeling. 

Who the fuck decided that it’s a good idea to email someone on a well deserved paid vacation for work? When you can simply just have the person in the next room do it?

Clearly, them. I huff out silently. In an office with fifteen writers, they decided that underappreciated workers should do the revising. I wasn’t alone in this.

They insist on having me work on it, obviously as I remember the 5 missed calls from the office. They have enough time to call me, why can’t they have the time to do it themselves?

“…Schatz?” 

I jump in response to the sudden call from Toto, my hands accidentally throwing the phone away. I curse beneath my breath before I reach for it, throwing it into my purse. 

His eyes are laced with curiosity, “Are you alright?”

I nod, now remembering I have a company. One that I’m supposed to be entertaining instead of taking the piss from Vogue. “I’m alright, how’re you liking the scone?” 

“It’s good,” he nods before he sets down the newspaper in his hand. “You have not touched your food yet.” 

Right. My hand reaches for the crumpet in my plate, my teeth digging into my breakfast as I chew quietly. My eyes are still staring elsewhere, and clearly it’s beginning to bother Toto because of the constant dissociation. 

“You’re not alright,” he deduces, making me nod in agreement. There’s really no point in denying. Throughout the beginning of our breakfast, I already told him about my work. He knows how miserable and pathetic my life is, and what did he do as he listened? He smiled kindly, his brows laced with concern, everything that I had seen from other people. But he listened, and I like him for it.

Not wanting to elaborate anymore, he notices how quiet I am and so he decides to say, “You were enjoying your research paper years ago, but you do not look like someone who’s been happy with your job for a while now. You should leave the company.” 

I pause, looking up at him. He does… “You remember me,” I watch him nod in confirmation as I continue, “you know who I am. From Dubai.” 

He only shrugs like I just asked him if the sky was blue. How can he sit here and act like it’s a normal Tuesday? Does he even know what kind of effect he had on me? This utter— he knows who I am and he doesn’t even mention it until now!

He doesn’t read my mind, but he explains, “You are an impressive woman. It’s difficult not to forget about you when you speak so passionately about writing and your courses back then.” 

“It was a short-lived conversation, was it not?” I ask him, wondering how he’d managed to remember that whole fifteen minutes. Those fifteen minutes of nothing but university work and exchanging questions felt like a long time. 

“I admit, it took me the whole day to figure out who you were,” he chuckles, making me smile. “The conversation we had was… memorable to say the least. But it turned foggy the moment I became Team Principal.” 

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me,” I laugh quietly, “If anything I feel bad for not asking for your name. Your teammate had done it for you. Torger.” 

He nods, recalling what he’s just talking about before I rattled off about Dubai. “But there’s just something missing from you now that you had back then…”

“…what is it?” Is he this observant? Has he stared at people for a while before telling them what he has noticed?  

“The smile on your face,” he answers, his voice showing nothing of emotion as he says, “you still have the passion for it but now… the smile isn’t there anymore. At least the one that goes from one ear to another.” 

I can’t even speak. Thank goodness he continues on, “Would you consider it a dream if everyone’s making it a nightmare?”

If the silence wasn't deafening before, I can barely imagine being talkative now. He holds my stare, his eyes softening at the sight. I look pathetic, I just know it. 

“I… I don’t even know,” I murmur, running my fingers through my hair. “It’s not easy to get away from the company. I’ve been writing for them and if I left then… I’ve no one to use as a reference… or even take my projects. Seeing as it’s under their license and all that.”

“Ah…” Toto replies quietly, nodding at the response. He leans forward, making me look at him as he says, “But between your ambition and health, I think that you should see your health off first. If they are making it hard for you, your goal is harder to reach.” 

My view of Toto Wolff just changed here. Me, sitting across from him with the pessimism that my life carried— I can see him in a new light. 

I can see myself in a new light. He isn’t wrong. How am I going to do well in my career if my employers are the exact reason why I’m miserable in the first place? How am I going to find inspiration if all I feel is isolated and locked up?

Why do I continue to act like they’d give me a chance? I’ve brought up the discussion of getting a promotion for two years, and my career is a discussion that they continue to put on hold. 

No fuck that. 

But still… I can’t quit my job, can I? How am I going to be a successful editor if I’m going to leave?

My inner dialogue clearly has an effect on behalf of Toto’s entertainment. His handsome smile, from what I gather is a rarity, appeared right in front of me as I gulped. Toto isn’t wrong. If I want to be better… just find a place who’s more than willing to help me. 

I reach for my tea as I ask, “How are you as handsome as you are good at giving out advice?” 

His chuckle melts the stress away for a second, his amusement becoming more clear as he continues to stare at me. Is this what they call heart eyes? Yeah I really don’t want to listen to Daniel or Lewis. 

“And how are you as beautiful as you are stubborn?” He asks back, making me giggle quietly as I sip on my tea. 

“It’s a requirement if you wish to oppose Christian Horner all the time,” I jest, “you can get away from trouble easily.” 

“I’ve seen it yesterday,” Toto sighs contentedly before he smirks, “I am more worried about being disarmed by your strong will and beauty instead of the higher up’s rules and regulations. I hope you’re not the one I have to face in case our teams get into an altercation. I do not enjoy losing to Red Bull, of all things.”

—

The restaurant, while it is in a secluded location by the Silverstone Park, was jam-packed by the time we left after finishing our breakfast. We need to head to the venue soon before Christian gets there. Then maybe I can shit on his life about being late. Maybe. 

But our arrival at the Silverstone Circuit was more chaotic. 

“Shit,” I curse out, grabbing my Red Bull ball cap from my purse and slipping it on. I can’t even see anything besides from the dark abyss that I called my purse, my hand trying to get a feel of my sunglasses. It doesn’t take me a while to find it and put it on, looking at Toto who’s already on his way out of the vehicle with his bag. Unbuckling my seat, I look at the passenger side as Toto swings it open. He gestures for me to come out, and I do so with a murmur of thanks. 

By the time I hopped out of the passenger seat of Toto’s Mercedes, I was already welcomed by the clicking of the cameras. Alongside the annoying noise are questions coming from journalists who wish to ask questions about the qualifying today.

Looking around, however, I notice that there are a certain amount of paparazzi that I grew familiar with. I knew them by faces. And knowing them, they didn’t want anything that had to do with the race weekend. I just went on a breakfast with a CEO and we’re already adding fuel to the fire that was the British media. I gesture at Toto to speed up his walk while we pass by the cameras and the questions. 

It’s either I gesture and he won’t understand or I drag him. But grabbing him by the arm will only cause an uproar in the gossip world. People are always thirsty for drama. Getting involved with me, a Hearth child (one that hasn't been on a date for a decade AND presumed to be the It Girl by the media), will only cause more stress on Toto’s behalf. I am not about to let him get through that.

But he doesn’t understand what I asked of him non-verbally, instead he turns around to provide quick answers to questions about today and what may happen tomorrow. I wait there impatiently, looking down on the ground as I wish to no longer gather more attention regardless of the amount of photos already taken of me by standing there. 

“What’s your relationship with Tilly Hearth?” 

“What are your thoughts about her job in Red Bull?” 

“Are you two dating?” 

“Toto!” The Mercedes’ PR assistant finally comes as she excuses herself, putting herself in between her boss and the cameras as she asks to have them step aside. Certain paparazzo finally looked at my direction, realizing that they haven't asked me anything yet. I gulped, already backing away from the scene.

The PR assistant tells them that Toto will have enough time to answer later on, but by the time that Toto turns back, I’m already speed walking to the Red Bull hospitality.

And it doesn’t end there. Daniel and Sebastian caught me walking from the direction of the dispersing crowd— where Toto was— and decided that this was their chance to tease me. 

Now I’m here with my phone in hand, Daniel still poking me at my side as I grumpily look at him. Apparently, seeing workplace romance is a rarity and so he’s taken this as an opportunity to tell me that he wants to see how my slow burn “relationship” with Toto goes. Relationship. Really!

My phone pings as Daniel perks up and asks, “That Toto?” 

I glare at him, “Don’t you even, Daniel.” 

“Tilly,” I turn around and face Christian. He gestures for me to follow as I wave at Daniel, telling him I’ll be back. 

Christian pulls me out of the garage as I cross my arms. Sensing my annoyance, he sighs as he reassures me, “I’m not saying anything—“

“—yet,” I interrupted him.

“But I arrived just about twenty minutes ago and there are journalists asking about you,” I frown at that. Surely he doesn’t mean… “And Toto. They said you two got here together?” 

Oh… of course. Yeah, he does mean the one thing that I hoped he wouldn’t bring up. 

“Did you see my Bentley parked outside?” I sarcastically reply. It’s too early for my behaviour, I admit, and it even pisses me off because I can’t be nice to him. But instead of allowing him to reply, I add, “It’s not much of a big deal, is it?”

“It is,” he shakes his head. “Some people are assuming you’re either working for Mercedes or that you’re spying on—“

“Oh for god’s sake,” I roll my eyes. “I am not, I promise. Why am I even swearing I’m not doing anything stupid? I don’t think whatever I do outside work is going to be reported to my father or something.” My hands will literally carry 20% of Red Bull. What makes them think I’ll do something stupid like sell my shares to other rivals?

“Yes but be cautious,” he says firmly, “because no matter how you’ve insisted you’re not doing anything, the media can turn it all around.” 

“I know,” I roll my eyes again, I think they’ll pop out of their sockets soon enough. “I grew up in front of cameras, Christian. British media, even. Those journalists outside were people that asked a lot of questions whenever I’m out and about.”

“So you understand how ruthless they could get,” Christian nods, sighing as he leans against the surface. “I trust you enough with PR, I don’t even know why I even pulled you out of the garage when you can handle the journalists on your own.” 

“Because it’s with Wolff,” I smirk, “you’re worried about me being snatched by him, aren’t you?” 

He scoffs, a chuckle escaping his lips as he says, “He’s not exactly subtle on taking interest in you and your skills.”

“Hm,” I nod, looking eyes moving along the people that walked down to their respective garages. “Don’t worry, he’s not going to be able to discuss any Red Bull-Mercedes business with me. Not unless I have been put to work for it.” 

“Good,” he nods again, “good. I would hate to be in the way of your… whatever it is.” 

Wow, he’s pretty kind. Maybe because he doesn’t want to lose his patience early this morning. Good.

I’m still standing there when I ducked my head, hiding my face away as Toto walks towards their garage with selected people from his staff. Sensing that he’s away, I look up to see Christian’s smug smile. For someone who doesn’t like Toto, he seems to be enjoying whatever’s going on. Maybe he’s getting a laugh out of this predicament because I was so irritated yesterday–seeing me in a flustered state today is a different story.

“Is that it?” I ask him, my nose scrunching up in annoyance. 

He nods and then says, “I’ll stop bothering you about him for now. But, I’d also like to know if you’d be interested in joining the Sky Sports hosts sometime today. You’ve done public speaking before, no?” 

I look at him funny. Remembering that I just started today, I felt the need to nod. Nobody knew about my masters. Did they? It doesn’t matter.

“If I have to be,” I shrug. 

“It’d be a good thing to bring you there,” he tells me, making me want to roll my eyes. Just a few minutes ago, this man was coming after me about Toto. “Daniel and Sebastian would definitely have a field day if you’re the one interviewing them. What do you say?” 

“Is it scripted,” I ask, “or do I have to improvise?”

“To avoid problems revolving bias, I’d say scripted. Unless you’ve a question of your own. Be as entertaining as you want. As long as it’s not going to tell people that you favour one team. I think Sky Sports just want you to be there for the post-qualifying interview.” Me? Just me? No one else’s communications liaison?

“What kind of stories do you tell them,” I frown suspiciously. Second day of work and everyone wants me in their team. He is clearly hiding something. He’s been making sure that I’m doing my job exactly how they want it. Wherever I went yesterday, he made sure that I was the one in front of the cameras. Now he’s asking me to interview the drivers post-qualification. He knows something that I don’t.

“You’ve been mentioned a lot for the past few months,” he starts, “during meetings, FIA, to be exact–”

“I have a lot of questions,” I say, my mouth opened due to the surprise. I was never told about FIA, and being the hot topic of their delegations. 

“Your father’s an executive,” he reminds me, “and I know that sounds like Red Bull, or Ferrari or even McLaren are under FIA’s list of favoured teams.”

I scoff, “He owns the competitors in question.”

“I know,” he agrees, “but he only has enough power in each team. He cannot ever interfere with how they operate.” 

At least he’s smart enough to do that. If he badly wants his legacy to continue, I don’t think corruption is the way to go.

“What about me? Why am I the discussion of your…meetings?” I ask, internally smacking myself for prying. I always claimed that I liked the feeling of suspense. I didn’t care for details except when I could see them with my own eyes. Now, I’m a child during Christmas - except I'm dreading what’s coming.

He gives me a straightforward answer, “Julius wants you to take control of his shares. He’s up for promotion in the FIA but he can’t just carry us and the other two in his arms without being accused of conflict of interest.”

Oh. 

Oh.

That’s interesting. 

Not only is he asking me to do his part at these events, but he’s also selling me out to his own company just so he can continue being who he is in the federation. Greedy. 

He didn’t get the memo when I said I wanted to pursue fashion and journalism. He continues to put me in these positions– WITHOUT consulting me. For fuck’s sake!

My lips tighten, wondering if I can say no for today. Technically, I can say no. But my people pleaser demon decided for me.

“I’ll be there,” I murmur, my chest feeling heavy as I breathe shakily.

“What where?” He asks, confusion written all over his face.

“Wherever they want me,” I say, already feeling exhausted and defeated, “just—just have someone take us there before anything.”

“You got it,” he nods, reaching out to pat my shoulder before he walks off. 

I look down on my phone and read the text from my supervisor.

“I know you have a part time job this weekend but I would really really appreciate it if you send in your piece so we can go through it together this Monday. Thx xx”

I’m going to cry. Then, after that, I’m going to get ready to put on a smile in front of the camera. Charm works for so many people, at least according to my mother. What she didn’t know, though, is that my charm doesn’t do much to my father.

Maybe if I put on my fakest smile, that’ll charm the pants off everyone. I don’t like the thought of working here, but with no choice, I only have to stand in front of the camera and pretend that I’m enjoying it.

Where’s Toto when you want him?

[iamamythologicalcreature]

Six Sentence Sunday! The sequel!

So... Yes. I am still working on this little (I hope it's little) "What if Baz succeeded in stealing Simon's voice in 5th year?" fanfic of mine. Because. Um. I like the potential for angst? So much angst. Also other feelings. But for the purposes of today's little snippet: ANGST.

Since I missed last week (and might miss next week if I can't manage to write something new between now and then), you get 12 lines instead of 6! Also because the snippet wouldn't have worked so well cut in half.

You already know the premise of my fic, so this shouldn't come as too much of a shock: Baz did a bad thing, and he remembers it too well.

He didn’t start our would-be confrontation with any of his usual questions or accusations. He started with my name. "Baz—" That single utterance morphed into the most terrible sound I’d ever heard. Would ever hear. Snow choked on it, because it wouldn’t stop. It twisted and writhed in the air after clawing its way out of him. It became an unrecognizable, fading wail. Only I knew. I never stopped hearing my name. My name on Snow’s lips took forever to die. And as awful as that slow death had been, the silence that followed was a thousand times worse.

(Yeah. Canon divergence begins here. I did say I'm here for maximum angst XD)

Side note: Looking for brainstorming/writing buddies so I don't overwhelm the ones I already have. Ahem. If this story idea intrigues you and you'd like to let me babble at you a lot (I am happy to accept return babble if you also have a WIP), let me know. It's the only way I get anything done, apparently.

Bonus picture of my pile of notecards, mostly to prove I'm doing something, under the cut, along with tags!

(I am posting this at 7-ish am, then going to bed, so if you've posted already all you lovelies in other time zones, consider this a friendly wave hello! Will read stuff tonight!)

@nightimedreamersworld @cutestkilla @hushed-chorus @alleycat0306 @artsyunderstudy @aristocratic-otter @prettygoododds @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @supercutedinosaurs @martsonmars @fatalfangirl @thewholelemon @raenestee @ileadacharmedlife @ivelovedhimthroughworse @ic3-que3n @facewithoutheart @rimeswithpurple @erzbethluna @ebbpettier @ionlydrinkhotwater @whogaveyoupermission @theearlgreymage @philaet0s @scone-lover @youarenevertooold @whatevertheweather @brilla-brilla-estrellita

(Want tags? Don't want tags? LMK!)

[blue--ingenue]

pov: a day at Hogwarts ~ morning

Author's Note: i'm deciding to split this into multiple parts to avoid making it too long lmao

pulling your house robes over your favorite outfit. the enchanted mirrors compliment you as you exit your dorm. the expansion charm you cast on your satchel allows you to carry all the supplies you’ll need for the day (your textbooks, spare parchment, a few quills, and a fresh pot of ink)

you pass by the common room on the way out. a few of your housemates make their way to the Great Hall for breakfast. most students are shuffling to the shared restrooms, bleary-eyed with toothbrushes and towels in hand

on the way to breakfast the portraits are waking one by one. a few chastise a gaggle of loud students disrupting their last moments of peace before the schoolday begins 

you arrive for breakfast and sit with your friends. everyone sits at their house table for dinner, but at breakfast and lunch it’s a free-for-all. pots of tea and coffee are present at every table. your pour yourself a steaming cup of Earl Grey, slide a few freshly-baked scones onto your plate, and chat with your friends as you pass around plates of bacon and eggs

you accio a large empty potion bottle from the depths of your bag, fill it with coffee, cream, and sugar, and pop the stopper back on before shaking it vigorously and dropping it into your bag (most likely you’ll drink it just before Professor Binns’ lecture)

you attend your classes. you could charm your quill to take notes for you, but you enjoy writing them by hand: the scratch of your quill as it catches on the slight roughness of the parchment, the sound of the metal nib upon glass as you dip the tip into your new pot of ink, the smell of fresh parchment and the satisfying sound of crinkling as you smooth a new sheet onto the desk in front of you

you occasionally zone out during lectures. you hear students in the back of the room trying to quietly open a box of chocolate frogs (to no avail). you like watching dust motes float through sunbeams streaming through the stained glass windows. one of the mermaids etched into the window waves to you before diving into the green glass depths behind her form

you have some free time between your last morning class and lunch so you decide to nap in the library. your favorite chair sits unoccupied by the crackling fire. the plush velvet smells of old books, warm leather, and sun-warmed wood

[coqxettee]

How to be Coquette in Spring 🐣🌸

How to be the girliest, coquette forest fairy, in bloom for the Spring season 🍃🧚‍♀️💌

Wake up early every Spring morning. Everything is in bloom! Read a light hearted book in bed. Open your window to smell the fresh air and flowers if your lucky like me and live in the countryside! If your in a city, go for a walk! Have a shower, do your skincare and make a healthy, Spring breakfast. Maybe some fruit with all the fresh colors now the weather is warming up? 🍓🍉

Wear floral print everything! (Especially in Springtime) 🌷 Pick an airy, fairy light outfit. But make sure it’s still warm incase it gets chilly and there are any April showers 🌧 Some Coquette Spring clothing essentials are (milkmaid tops, Mary Janes, floral dresses, pretty skirts, cardigans, flower crowns, satchels, light-knit sweaters, crochet items 🎀)

School or work can be boring. But Spring makes everything better 💐 Walk to school/work if you can and listen to Lana. Make your notes look pretty with some pretty flower doodles, leaf drawings or add flower pressing to your school books/journals. Wear flowers in your hair to school, make daisy chains at break/lunch. Bring in some Spring treats for your friends to enjoy. Maybe buy a new floral backpack and add some pretty flower charms to it, also invest in some pastel highlighters/stationary for Spring. Put some Spring stickers on your headphones/water bottle🌼

Go on a picnic. This is literally the perfect time of year to as the weather is getting warmer. Take a pink, gingham picnic blanket with you and go and have fun! Take some pictures for Instagram and you could even decorate a pretty cake to bring with you 🎂

Do some Spring baking. Heart shaped cookies, cupcakes, pastel rice crispie nests, jam envelope’s, cherry pie, the list is endless. You could also bring these sweet treats on your picnic! 🍰💌

Have a tea party. By yourself or with friends. You could go vintage shopping for some beautiful china teacups/tea sets. Bake scones, but biscuits and pretty sweets like marshmallows, party rings, bon-bons and macaroons. Buy a selection of Tea’s and dress up elegantly. Decorate your table with a pink tablecloth and add pretty decorations all around. Wear silk, lacy gloves too, so you look like a Spring princess sipping her tea 🍵🎀

Do some flower pressing 🌸

Buy anything that is “ditsy floral” print and anything that is Bunny themed 🐰

Have a yellow, pink, cream, beige and baby blue wardrobe all throughout this time of year 💝

Go on long Spring walks. Even if you live in a city. You can take pretty photos and see wildlife as you walk ⛅️

Wear flowers or bows in your hair everyday to really emulate Spring through your outfits. Wether they be casual or classy at all times 🪷

Have a new Spring scent. There are so many floral scented perfumes, and you could correlate one for this season. Then whenever you smell that scent again, you will be reminded of Spring 🌷

Buy a pink raincoat and umbrella to splash in April shower puddles. Take some cute photos with them for Instagram and put a “rainy day” quote as the caption💦💗

Don’t forget to indulge in sweet treats. Especially because it has been Easter. Now winter comfort food is out the way, Spring is a very sweet and refreshing time of year. Treat yourself and venture out of your comfort zone with some yummy looking new pastries or sweets from another country. (I love Japan’s sweets soooo much!) 🍡

Make a new “Coquette Spring playlist” or just add mine to your library 😋 ⬇️🌸

Read light hearted novels or fantasy children’s hooks, outside on sunny days. 📖

Have a “Coquette Spring” movie marathon. Cinderella (2015), Marie Antionette, Tangled, Pride & Prejudice and A room with a view are all beautiful and visually aesthetically pleasing movies to watch this time of year 🌸

And that’s it! I hope you have the most beautiful Spring ever and have fun frolicking around in fresh, sweet meadows, in pretty silk dresses from morning till noon 🌷🐰

- Kellen

[ms-m-astrologer]

Transiting Venus enters Taurus

Monday, April 29 - Thursday, May 23, 2024

Venus rules Taurus, and she loves being in her own sign. (Don’t we all?) She’s very powerful here, and is about to find many opportunities for growth and development.

Looking at her various areas:

Art - well, ceramics, certainly. We can make steady progress with our talents here (Ms M eyeballs her needles and hooks). We tend to go for pieces of art that make us relax.

Beauty - “a natural beauty, unaffected;” Prince had natal Venus in Taurus. Makeup to subtly enhance; natural fibers. Excellent for getting out to appreciate the beauty of Mother Nature.

Love - we want to make our loved ones comfortable! And cram them full of scones, rolls, cakes, etc. This isn’t a flashy, demonstrative love, more of steady reliability.

Money - sometimes splurges on “status” items, otherwise fairly miserly.

Although this transit gets off to a bumpy start, it is pretty much smooth sailing. Just don’t sleep through it!

Wednesday, May 1 - Venus/Taurus square Pluto/Aquarius, 2°06’. Problems with staying inside our comfort zones.

Saturday, May 4 - Venus/Taurus trine Juno/Vesta, 6°47’. This is a great vibe for working partnerships. We help each other out with practical solutions.

Friday, May 10 - Venus/Taurus sextile Vesta/Cancer, 13°26’. A pleasant time at work. This is also (weirdly?) very sexy for relationships.

Monday, May 13 - Venus/Taurus sextile Saturn/Pisces, 17°39’. Good for spending time with old people. We’re very disciplined with our artistic expression.

Thursday, May 16 - Venus/Taurus trine Ceres Rx/Capricorn, 21°32’. Nice familial/tribal relations; good for making our homes more comfortable.

Saturday, May 18 - Venus/Taurus conjunct Uranus/Taurus, 23°23’. If there’s any chance of busting out of any Venus rut, this is the time.

Wednesday, May 22 - Thursday, May 23:

Venus/Taurus opposite Pallas Athene Rx/Scorpio, 28°16’

Venus/Taurus conjunct Jupiter/Taurus, 29°23’

Venus/Taurus sextile Neptune/Pisces, 29°30’

This may be a very tiring time. Venus-Jupiter is always excessive; the opposition to Pallas Athene throws off our usual solid judgement, while the sextile to Neptune fogs us up. Gender identity may be an issue. We may bite off more than we can chew with artistic projects.