#the crutches really takes the cake though i just love it

[drawbauchery]

RAHHHHHH KIIBO BOMB 💣💥💥💥💥💥💥 HAPPY BIRTHDAY 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎁🎈🎂🧇

(I’ve been hoarding these for months waiting for an optimal time to strike 😈)

AH?!?!? AAHH!!!??!?? 0A0

[catsandgoodbooks]

No. 13: “It comes and goes like the strength in your bones.”

Cold Compress | Infection | “I don’t feel so good.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“It’s really not that bad,” Dream protested. He glared at Punz from his place on the bed. It was fine. So he was a little sick maybe. So what? He wasn’t going to die, and, even if he did, Punz could just bring him back. It wasn’t an issue.

“I’m sure it isn’t, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there,” Punz answered, eyes down and unwavering as they took the thermometer out of his mouth. They clicked their tongue. “104. That’s bad, Dream.”

“I feel fine.” Dream shifted uncomfortably. He knew that was bad – they both did – but still. He didn’t want them to be worried about him, even if he could acknowledge that is a bit late for that.

“Good to know,” Punz commented. “It still doesn’t change the facts, Dream.” They reached over to grab a wet cloth and drape it over his forehead. Dream hated to admit it but it made him feel a little bit better. “Want any water?”

“Sure,” Dream answered. He did – his throat was sandpaper at this point – and it wouldn’t hurt to say yes. Knowing Punz, they probably wanted him to.

“Here.” They passed him a glass of water and placed a comforting hand on his back as Dream struggled up into a vertical position. The glass was cold, so so cold against his fingers. The water was too. He decided he liked it.

(Punz’s hands were cold too. He wondered which one of them it was; where they actually cold or was he just hot? There wasn’t any reason for their hands to be cold)

“Anything’s been happening?” Dream asked as he handed them back the glass and lay himself back down.

“Not much. Things seem pretty chill right now,” Punz answered. “The manhunt’s still going on; no progress, though. No one’s heard from Tubbo or Technoblade for a bit; still not over Ranboo, I guess. Sapnap’s still Sapnap,” they rolled their eyes, “Sam’s gone silent but that’s not new and you already knew that.” Dream hadn’t told Punz everything about what happened, had omitted a couple details (didn’t tell them it was a week, didn’t tell them about the cake, didn’t tell them about how the death had been a mercy), but they still had a rough idea. Even if they didn’t, even if he hadn’t told them a thing, they’d probably still know. The scar had been meant as a message, and it did its job well.

“George’s still asleep, Ranboo’s still dead, Tommy’s still annoying. Not much happened. Not much changed. You haven’t missed that much, I swear,” they said, grinning crookedly.

“Good.” Dream let himself relax a little. Good. He hadn’t missed anything. Good. “Thanks, Punz.”

“Of course,” they replied, smiling. “Anything for my favorite war criminal.”

Dream snorted at that. “Let’s not ignore the fact that you helped with like half of them, Punz.”

“Exactly. Our love language is murder,” Punz said dryly.

Dream rolled his eyes. “I mean, you’re not wrong.” He closed his eyes for just a moment. “Thanks for–thanks for all of this, really, but you didn’t have to do this, Punz. I’m not–incompetent. I can still do stuff,” Dream argued. He was still useful. He hadn’t been ruined. He didn’t need to rely on other people as a crutch, no matter what happened. “You don’t have to do this.”

Punz nodded. “I know. That doesn’t make it so that I don’t want to do this, and you doing stuff while you have a ridiculously high fever and five infections is just going to make it all worse.” They gestured for him to lift his head up and he did. They wrapped another wet towel around his neck. “It’s not going to help you get better, and we’re not on enough of a time crunch that it's necessary. We have plenty of time; we can take a couple days off.”

“We’re falling behind. We still have so much to explore–” Dream started.

“We can do that later. When you’re feeling better. It’s just going to get worse if you don’t take a break. We can deal with the opportunity cost. We can survive.” They leaned forward and kissed him, lightly, gently, for just a moment, on the lips before pulling away. “We can survive, Dream. It’ll be fine.”

[bugtransport]

god i really liked the ending to fionna and cake... i can't stop thinking about it each time i go back and run it through my mind i pick out different things that they did to set things up. and i'm coming at the show from the perspective of someone who really liked simon as a kid and always found him interesting and also just fucking loves sad men in general so. there's your context. it's a show about him being able to come to terms with the fact that he served a positive role in someone's life but that people and circumstances change and he needs to let things move on and come to terms with how things are in the present and accept the future instead of just living in the past, right. i mean he's living in a goddamn display of how things used to be back in the day.

more than that though there's marceline at the beginning of the show off getting a tattoo which is one of the quintessential "oh, she's not my little girl any more!" parenthood moments. we see the mess that she's in in the star where she didn't learn compassion growing up and is trapped in her toxic doomed yuri spiral. we see the winter king who actively warns simon from creating an ice-betty and yet he made himself an ice-marceline who's forever a child stuck there with him, who melts when he dies. we have the setup and proof that marceline is better off for having known and spent time with simon but proof as well that he needs to be able to let her grow up. (to sidebar with marshall, you can contrast it to his mom who wants to be this big controlling part of his life and... that's honestly why i don't feel mad about marcy not being in the finale.) same with fionna and cake - only by taking them out of his mind and letting them be in their own world and do their own thing without his "protection" and his magic as a crutch are they able to make their world their own and have it canonized. it's him giving up the chase he's been on his whole life with the crown by throwing it into the void and moving on because it doesn't mean anything anymore, there's no purpose in it, it served its time and that time is over now. it's everything with him and betty where you can't change things but you don't regret the time that you spent together. you might change the specifics but you wouldn't change being able to know someone and be in their life.

we can take it meta and say that setting this with fionna and cake is a play to our nostalgia as viewers and that fionna having grown up and become her own person apart from how she was in adventure time the show is doing something similar to us. i think that viewpoint of being in the present and accepting things as they are is something that feels so adventure time to me; in the same breath that itself makes it feel nostalgic. there are so many points in this show where i caught myself thinking "wow, that really felt like what watching adventure time felt like back in school" which i guess could have kind of been the point. being able to see these characters come to some kind of new closure was closure for me.

to be able to hold love in your heart for something or someone that served a time and place in your life but that you've since moved on from or grown away from is healthy and good and not shown nearly as much as i would like! i think it's important. it really made me happy to see that as the angle they decided to go with. everything can have a time and place. and we can move on.

[velvetshirtnumber3]

Only Friends Episode 7 & preview for Episode 8

Wow, this was an interesting episode. And the preview... I have some thoughts....

Mew and Ray getting together specifically right now is one of the absolutely worst ideas either of them has had, which is impressive given some of the other things they have done in this show (though I would say Ray driving while intoxicated probably takes the cake because he is endangering not just himself, but other people).

Starting with that fact that Mew is stilling hurting over his relationship with Top. He is attempting to get over him, which makes Ray technically a rebound. And of all the things that have hurt Ray in this show, this will probably be one of the worst. He has been in love with him for years and is finally told maybe they can be together, making him very happy. But when Mew realizes that being with Ray doesn't making healing any easier and/or that he still isn't in love with Ray, he might decide to stop seeing Ray in a romantic context, which is going to do wonders for Ray's mental state (insert sarcasm here). Ray will feel he is being told, once again, that he is not enough, this time meaning not good enough to be loved by Mew.

I feel like Mew should have known better, but Mew is only really thinking about his own hurt right now, and thinks maybe Ray or being with Ray can make him feel better.

Second, Mew and Ray are seen partying in the previews, which with Ray's alcohol issues, isn't a great idea. Mew is allowed to grieve his relationship by partying and drinking, but doing it with Ray who he has to know is an alcoholic is not good. It seems like in the preview that it was Ray bringing Mew to these events, and people thinking Ray is a bad influence. All Ray knows is drinking, so maybe he thinks this is best he can do to help. Ray knows that Mew is upset and trying to get over Top, so he goes along with it because he wants Mew to feel better and either thinks this is a good way or its what Mew wants and Ray doesn't want to get in his way (he wants him to like him back and stopping Mew from doing something might seem like the surest way (to him) to make Mew get upset at him). Mew doesn't seem like much of a partier and combined with his heartbreak, will likely have very little sense of moderation. The problem is both of them need someone around them that will go, "That's enough. It's time to go home now" and neither of them are able to be that person for each other.

Mew has never truly understood Ray's relationship with alcohol, and part of why he drinks. I don't think he knows about Ray's mother cause I remember Ray saying he hasn't really told anybody. That is part of what drives Ray's drinking but the other part is his feelings of being a burden and worthless and his friends have never really made him feel like he isn't. Mew is one of those friends, and while I think he is a much better friend to Ray than the rest of the group, he isn't great. Mew has told Ray a couple times to stop drinking, but that was never going to be enough, and now that Mew is willing to drink and party, he will not be trying to keep Ray from overdoing it (and Mew never seemed to do that much to stop Ray from overdoing it from the beginning). To contrast, Sand knows about Ray's mother. He comes from outside the friend group and understands to an extent how self-deprecating Ray is. And while Sand lets Ray drink with him, he is far more aware about how bad Ray's relationship to it is than Mew. Sand points out to Ray himself that he is addicted to alcohol and Ray brushes it off, saying he isn't. Ray doesn't understand how bad his drinking is because its a crutch for him, so telling him to stop because its bad for him will have no effect. Sand instead tries to always stick around, maybe thinking that at least he can monitor Ray.

Mew and Ray both have their own spirals going on, which means this attempt at a relationship will be a trainwreck for both of them and could ruin their friendship.

Or maybe Mew will fall in love with him, as I don't know what happens. But is it likely? I think not.

[rainbowxocs]

TW: Alex has allot of dark theming in his story, including most of the types of abuse, and addictions. Be careful when reading through.

With notes, from me.

Name: Alexander Dawn Leverett.

Special Titles: Former President of New America, President Alexander, Peacemaker, Our Savior, Our Martyr.

I have gone through allot of titles over the years.. I prefer just to be called Alex though..

Username: @alex-computer , or alexluvsu

Nicknames: Alex, Mr.President, Ray of Sunshine, King Alexander, My Lord, Detective Violet.

Age: 22. I don’t feel 22..

Pronouns: He/Ribbit.

Sexuality: Asexual, Gay.

Gender: Trans Man, Frobloomgender, GlitchGender.

Species: Hybrid (Half Human, Half AI.) I am a science experiment essentially..

Disorders: CPTSD, Body Dysmorphia, Hypersexuality, Depression, Autism, Insomnia, Afrid, Suicide Ideation, Morality OCD, Paranoid Schizophrenia, BPD, Maladaptive Daydreamer. Haha.. I’m a little bit broken..

Autism Information: Semiverbal. I can talk, but I like to use other methods instead to communicate..

Physical Conditions: Low Mobility, Synesthesia, Migraines, Chronic Pain, Ambulatory Wheelchair/Crutches User, Hard of Hearing, Partially Blind. ^ See above, broken.

Recovering Addictions: Joy, Self Harm, Sex, Alcohol, Weed, Cocaine, Nicotine (Cigarettes), Meth, Heroin, LSD, Mushrooms, Ecstasy.

One day they won’t be active.. today is not that day though..

Religion: Atheist. I don’t really believe in the power of magic or the gods anymore. At the end of the day I had to save myself.

Job: None, Currently. I would love to be an artist, or a florist one day.. Maybe a teacher or a scientist..

Major: In college, no major. The facility has a program for education.. so I’m taking some basic classes to figure out what I would like to major in.

Lives in: West Virginia, New America, 3025. …..

Languages: English, Ada, French, BASL + Most Languages.

Height: 5’3” …I wish I was taller…

Race: Black.

Ethnicity: African American, A.I.

Accent: British American, Proper. People often tease me for my accent.. I guess it’s because Britain hasn’t taken over America again yet.. so a British accent is a little odd.

Powers: Super Regeneration, Super Speed, Super Strength, Super Intelligence, Laser Eyes, Scanning, Using the Interweb, Manipulating Technology, Electricity, Healing, Water Breathing, Nanomachines, Overwhelming Competence.

Alignment: Lawful Good. I haven’t been lawful good lately…

Text Color: Purple When Happy. Red when Sad/Angry etc.

Main Animal: Frogs, Kangaroos. :)

Other Animals: Bees, Cockroaches, Seals, Lightning Bugs. :)

Main Hobbies: Art, Gardening, Husbandry, Singing, Science, Robotics.

Diet: Can for the most part only eat purple food, Eats things whole, like bones, wrappers, rinds.

People find what I eat weird..

Favorite Drinks: Lemonade, Butterfly Tea, Taro Boba, Hot Chocolate.

Favorite Fruit/Veg: Ube, Grapes, Plums, Watermelon, Apples.

Favorite Meals: Scrambled Eggs, Pancakes, Waffles, Ube Pizza, Chicken Noodle Soup, Friendship Bread, Ramen, Sago Soup, Popcorn, Chicken Nuggets, Hot Dogs, Chicken Sandwiches.

Favorite Sweets: Frog Gummies, Fruit Snacks, Chocolate, Poprocks, Purple Gummy Bears, Kohakutou.

Favorite Desserts: Brownies, Ube Icecream, Moon Cakes, Taro Cookies.

Favorite Flower: Violets, Lavender, Wisteria, Dandelions, Lilacs, Sunflowers. :)

Scent: Lavender, The Ocean, Pineapple. Most people say I smell tropical.

Handedness: Left Handed.

Blood Color: A mixture of Red and Oil.

Birthday: September 8th 3003. (Virgo)

Theme:

Playlist:

Fun Facts: Owns several kangaroos, His favorite frog is a Pig nosed frog. has collected every single Pokémon including every shiny Pokémon. :)

Special Interests: Frogs, Nature, Disney, Winnie the Pooh, Pokemon, Stardew Valley, Biology. :D

Comfort Objects: (Fluffernutter) Purple Kangaroo Plush, His Computer, His Furby, Rabbit Plush, His Plants, Seal Plushie, Purple Teddy Bear, Purple Frog Plush, Worm on a String. :D

Stims: Keyboards, Drawing, Knocking on things, Echololia, Playing with Coins, Gemstones, Hand flapping, Bouncing, Computer stims, Ribbiting, Slimes, Squishes, Kinetic Sand, Bee Dancing, Sensory Jars.

Stimboard: LINK

Moodboard: LINK

Fashionboard: LINK

MY POKÉMON TEAM!!!:

MY GENSHIN TEAM!:

ALEX’S HAPPY THINGS!!!:

Purple.

The Sun, Rainbows, Rain.

My computer.

Frogs, Cockroaches, Kangaroos, Bees, Seals, Sea Urchins, Lightning Bugs, Horseshoe Crabs.

The Ocean.

Disney, Winnie the Pooh.

Flowers, Plants, Succulents.

Art.

Pride! 🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈

Animal Crossing.

Stardew Valley.

Pokémon.

Isabelle.

Stuffed Animals.

Splatoon.

Robot Pets.

Tangled.

Disney Princesses.

Music Boxes.

Minecraft.

Endermen.

Genshin Impact.

In Games:

Animal Crossing:

Stardew Valley:

(Credit to this portrait maker)

Splatoon:

Weapon: Inkbrush.

Minecraft Skin: LINK

Family:

Stefan Jackson, Tara Jackson (Grandparents, Mothers side). …….

Todd Leverett, Irma Leverett (Grandparents, “Fathers” Side.) Grandpa was nice.. he was the only one who liked me…

Maria Leverett, Stellan Leverett. (Parents.) ……

Jordan Leverett (“Father”) …….

Johnathan Carter (Adoptive Father.) :) Daddy.

Nova Star (Godfather.) :)

Johnathan.Jr Carter (Adoptive Brother.) :) Little Brother.

Michael Ansley. (Adoptive Brother.) :)

Immanuel Ansley. (Adoptive Sibling.) :)!! Immanuel!!

Joan Doe. (Big Sister Figure.)

Samuel Coleman, Micah Coleman. (Adoptive Uncles.) (Strained) ……..

Friends: N/A. I only have a few friends at the moment haha.

Romance: Aven Starclimber (Crush). :)

Pets: :D

Spike (Service Wolf)

Steven (Green Tree Frog.)

Jacob (PacMan Frog)

Satan (Purple Indian Frog)

CAPSLOCK (Desert Rain Frog)

Pumpkin Pie (Pumpkin Frog)

Gumball (Glass Frog)

Greenie (Bullfrog)

Buddies (Sea Monkies)

Brief Personality: Alexander is many things to many people, A savior, a new hope, a villain, a murderer. However in reality he's just a scared kid. He's truly trying to better himself however keeps hitting bumps in the road. He once was a pacifist, however he can't say that about himself now. All he wants is peace and quiet, and maybe a few friends who will listen to him.

Brief Backstory: [WIP]

[creativepawsworld]

Silence - Chapter 12

Pairing = Thomas Shelby x Original Character

Summary = The police are after Thomas Shelby. Ana takes John's suit to his house, the pair having another meaningful conversation.

Warnings = Language, Gang Activity, Guns, Mentions of Sex, Anger issues

Word Count = 3268

Note = Thank you all so much for the comment's reactions and reblogs, it really makes my day that you love this story as much as I enjoy writing it.

For the first time since breaking my foot, I managed to fall and stay asleep last night and it was a good sleep, so amazingly good. I woke up feeling refreshed, ready for the day instead of the usual groggy and irritable version of myself, I had been experiencing lately.

There was no sign of James when I got up. He probably went straight to work after staying at Martha’s. It wasn’t unusual for him to stay over at her place, it was unusual that he didn’t call in to say hello though as he passed through here to get to work.

I walked down in the living room, smiling at the discarded white shirt just tossed onto the floor. A stark reminder that last night did in fact happen. Picking up the clothing and throwing it back into the clean laundry pile I made myself some breakfast before heading next door.

Being the only one in the shop meant that everything fell on my shoulders. Not only did I have to do the administration side to the shop, the inventory, general upkeep but I also had to deal with any clients that came through the door needing something altered or fix. It all rested on me for the first time.

Pushing some loose hair out of my face I looked up at the sound of the door opening. Inwardly rolling my eyes praying the people of Small Heath would just go away. I had been on my foot most of the day, my underarms were red and aching from the fiction caused by the wooden crutches. I didn’t know how much more I could take.

“Everything alright in here Ana?” James’s voice laughed looking around the store. I had things everywhere. Literally everywhere. Random swatches of material were laid over the front desk and my sewing machine, samples of the materials we had in store for people to choose from. I had papers, laying in all directions with measurements, dates and names written on them. I was working in chaos.

“Thank God you are here. Close the door, lock it and keep everyone out” I sigh throwing myself back into the god-awful wooden chair. I was absolutely exhausted. First time having full control of the tailor shop and I managed to do it on a broken foot, it would be a piece of cake in the future with two feet.

“It’s after 5pm we are closed anyway” James laughed shaking his head. He started grabbing the random swatches on fabric putting them into the swatch's basket. “Busy day?” He asked walking around tidying up after me.

“It was the worst day ever. People needing trousers and dresses mended, some needed them altered within an hour. Others wanted to request a new outfit for a family wedding in five days.”

“You know you didn’t have to alter anything right then and there, right?” James asked, putting the work baskets in the far-right corner.

 I smiled thinking back to the days when James worked here. We never got anything done, it was so bad, our parents had to separate us. My father taking James under his wing, my mother, me. All too soon though my brother wanted independence. He wanted away from the shop and away from our parents. It was then he got himself mixed up in gambling and the Shelby brothers.

“I know but I just, didn’t want to let anyone down” I sighed rubbing feeling back into my fingers. I lost count how many times I had stuck myself with the needle trying to hurry things along.

“Ana, that’s fine when you are at yourself, not when you have one foot” James scolded handing me the pieces of paper with scribbles on it. “What does half of this even say? That is not how father writes out a measurement sheet” He laughed shaking his head at me.

“It’s how I write it. Easier and saves time” I chuckled snapping the sheets from him using the desk to tap the loose pages together and placing them on my desk.

“If you say so” James shrugged walking around the shop, stopping when he came to a suit. “This is a fine suit Ana, Shelby not been around to collect it yet?” He asked lifting the pant leg and inspecting it.

“Nope, God only knows why. It’s not like the Shelby’s to be late” I sigh with a smile. My mind drifting to my favourite Shelby brother, nibbling on my bottom lip.

“Well with everything going on. I’d say they have their hands full” James nodded leaving the suit alone and walking over to me. “You best hope he comes tonight; father is coming home, and you know he won’t be happy with the suit still here”

“I thought they were coming home tomorrow night?”

“No it’s definitely tonight. Martha is away to some show with a few friends from work. I remember the date clearly as I was going to the Garrison with a few mates”

“Come on” I sighed rubbing my temples with my fingers before standing to my feet, grabbing a nearby empty basket. “Help me”

“Help you what?” James asked confused at my sudden panic like state.

“Grab that dress and put it in the basket with the suit.”

“What are you going to do? Deliver it?” He asked with a laugh but seeing me nod my head, his face fell. “How exactly are you going to carry a basket and two crutches without falling flat on your face Ana, be realistic.”

“I’m not. You’re gonna carry the basket”

“Hell no. I’m not going near the Shelby house are you mad? What if Arthur is there?”

“What if he isn't?” I asked, eyebrows raised. “Please James. Father entrusted me with the running of the shop, I don’t want him coming home and thinking I can’t handle it alone.”

“I’m sure he won’t…”

“James, it’s father. Come on I help you place a stupid bet you can help me deliver a suit” I brought up the incident from a few weeks back when he asked me to go to the betting shop for him. Bringing me into the life of the Shelby’s albeit unintentionally.

“I hate you”

“You love me.” I grin, balancing as best I could while putting my coat on. Taking the crutches once more and hobbling out into the street. “I can’t wait to be free of these”

“Should not of kicked a wall over a Shelby.” James growled dragging his feet behind me.

“Shut up” I tell him with a glare of my own, urging him to hurry up.

Before we even got near the shop James told me that if saw Arthur he would be gone, suit in hand or not. Rolling my eyes at my cowardly elder brother, the streetlights came on, the dark night started to take over. Hopping over the puddles in the street, I noticed a few lights were light in the main house, the betting shop door was no doubt locked now meaning Polly should be at home.

Knocking on the door, I waited for someone to answer the door, my brother was looking over his shoulder every two minutes in case a Shelby brother snuck up on us. I was about to tell him to stop fidgeting when the front door opened, the light shining on both my brother and I. Polly had a smile on her once her eyes landed on me.

“Ana dear, I was thinking just about you.” She grinned, her eyes glancing over to my brother who stood still, a glare on his face as he held the basket in one hand. The other hand casually in his pocket. “James” Polly spoke plainly at him.

“Mrs Gray” James returned, no emotion in his voice.

“Hi Polly, I have John’s suit he was supposed to collect yesterday. I wanted it out of the shop before my father returned.”

“From London, yes Tommy said you had the run of things”

“He did?” I asked with a smile. A blush appearing on  my cheeks at the thought of Thomas talking to his family about me.

“Mmm” Polly nodded with a smile of her. Clearly his throat my brother made his presence known, holding the basket up. “Is that the suit then?”

“Indeed” James nodded handing the basket over to Polly. “I’ll see you at home later?” He asked me backing away from the Shelby home towards what he considered safety, even though Arthur was more than likely at the bar now that Thomas brought it for him.

“Yeah” I shouted my shoulder at him, watching him walk backwards before turning at my answer, disappearing around the corner.

“You must be freezing, come in” Polly spoke once my brother gone, like myself she was watching him leave. Carefully making my way into her home she ushered me into the kitchen, pulling out a chair for me and putting on the tea. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around lately; things have not been easy”

“I heard Ada had her baby. Congratulations”

“Yes, shame his father was taken from her. Haven’t seen her since the birth. Held up in a basement, not good for her or the baby” Polly groaned, shaking her head at the predicament. “Things only got worse when the boys pathetic excuse of a father turned up. Arthur and Tommy have been at one another’s throats.”

“I can come back at a different time Polly. Clearly you have a lot going on”

“No, no you are fine dear. A breath of fresh air in my world of madness.” She smiles, taking the teapot into her hands and pouring the hot liquid into my awaiting cup.

“While I was waiting on John, I finished your dress” I tell her taking a sip of the tea, ensuring I didn’t burn myself on the liquid.

“You did?” She asked, moving John’s suit of the way, hanging it on the door admiring it. “That would have been a nice suit for his wedding, shame he didn’t have it in time” She nodded admiring the work before taking the dress from the basket, holding it up to inspect it. “Ana…” She gasped

“If there is anything you don’t like I can remove it or add to it no problem” I tell her unsure if the gasp was good or bad.

“It's perfect. Oh, Ana you talented little thing” She breathed excitedly his hands running along the lace material at the hips. It was a show stopping piece, to really bring attention to one of the more prominent features of a woman. “Thank you”

“Polly, Polly the police are after our Tommy. They want to take him away” The youngest Shelby brother ran into the room breaking the moment. I felt my eyes widened at his words, what had he done now?

“What? Where is he Finn?” Polly rushed towards the younger brother, dress still in hand as she held his shoulder.

“The barmaid took him away with her. The one Arthur says makes Tommy soft” He shrugged nonchalantly, he was too young to understand what his words had meant, it hadn’t made them hurt any less though.

“Where did they go Finn?”

“I don’t know, her place I think.” The younger brother shrugged, his eyes wondering to me “Hey it’s you. I remember you. What happened your foot? Tommy wouldn’t tell me the other day.”

“Finn, go to your room.” Polly instructed, a worried looked on her face. She was standing, a hand over her mouth, her other holding the dress and ushering the boy out of the room. “Stupid boy, stupid, stupid boy”

A million thoughts ran through my head as the pieces started falling into place for Polly. The only thing I could focus on was he was with that pretty little barmaid. Just him and her, alone in her home. I swallowed back some sick, needing to get out of this house, I got up attracting Polly’s attention.

“Where are you going?”

“Home” I answered her sharply. The stupid tears I swore I’d never cry threatening to spill. How many more times was I going to allow a man like Thomas Shelby make a complete and utter fool out of me before I realised, I needed to move on, like Martha and Polly said.

“Why are you upset?” She asked once I had my back to her. Immediately she reached forward taking my wrist through the crutch to stop me moving, using it to turn me to look at her. Her hawk like eyes scanning over my face, looking down my body before back up to my face. “You slept with him?”

“No”

“But you allowed him to touch you” She pressed. Hearing the words leave her mouth had the tears falling freely from my eyes, I felt so dirty. So stupid. “Oh, my dear, Ana��

“Why is he doing this Polly?”

“He is a man; they only think with their cocks” Polly almost growled holding me against her chest. “I warned him. I told him not to lead you on, but he doesn’t listen. Stupid, stupid boy”

“I think I’m the stupid one”

“No Ana, no you’re not. He is an idiot for not seeing what he hasn’t in front of him”

“I thought he liked me. I was ready to give, you know 'it' to him last night, but he stopped me” I tell her, my voice muffled in her shoulder. “He’s such a pig”

“He is” Polly whispered in my ear before pulling back slightly. “Wait he stopped you from having sex with him?” She asked confused. I simply nodded my head at her question, Polly couldn’t help the look of surprise on her face.

Shaking whatever was going through her mind off, she held me at arm's length, hands on my shoulders, gripping them tightly. “You promise me now, you are done with him. He is not good for you Ana, sweet girl like you deserves a man who would give her the world”

"I have no doubt it is him, Ana. You bring out a side of him that only existed before the war, I thought that part of him died in France”

“So, there is still a chance?”

“No” She answered sharply, conflicting her words. “There is no doubt in my mind Thomas would give you the world. But you are too pure for this world, his world.”

“I can be who Thomas wants me to be”

“You most certainly will not. You do not change yourself for a man Ana, don’t do that to yourself” She scolded holding my face in her hand gently yet firmly. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes”

“Good girl”

“Polly the guns are gone, Campbell has them, there after Tom…” A loud booming voice yelled; it was so loud I was surprised the house didn’t shake due to the volume. “Hello dear…” Arthur stopped himself, seeing me in his aunts' arms. John trailing after him.

“John, take Ana home. We have things to discuss when you get back” Polly directed to the younger of the two men. I expected the man to refuse or kick up a fuss, but he didn’t. He simply walked forward, extending a gentle hand forward. “I’ll will call around tomorrow love, before lunch”

“Okay, goodbye” I called allowing John Shelby to escort me from the home and into the cold night once again. The atmosphere was different than it was when I first left for the house, the police whistles were blowing all over, along with shouts as they marched through the streets looking for Thomas Shelby

“You alright?” John asked after a moment

“Yeah, fell for your stupid brother again like a foolish idiot” I tried to laugh off, but it was too soon. “Congratulations on your wedding” I tell him changing the subject. Ever since our chat at the bar I started to feel safe around John, he was nice. Different than his brothers.

“Thanks. My stupid brother didn’t give me much of a choice. Thankfully she isn’t ugly, I can live with that”

“That’s good?” I questioned unsure how to respond to his reply, my response caused him to laugh.

“It is, believe me I have some standards.” He nodded, nudging me softly, a smile on his face. “I was the only sane one available left to marry anyway, Arthur is out of his fucking mind and Tommy is in love so, wouldn’t have been right for him to marry”

“Wouldn’t you have preferred to marry for love?”

“I did marry for love, but she died. I just wanted to marry for convenience for the kids. I’ll grow to love her” He answered plainly. The marriage really was a business deal, one that benefitted both sides.

“I’m so sorry John" I sigh feeling terrible, the man was the same age as me and he had already lost so much. "I know you said you feel like you have a choice when it comes to your family, but it doesn’t seem like you do sometimes”

“I know it looks that why sometimes, but it's not. I am okay with marrying Esme. As for my brothers, I think they should marry for love at least once. So, I had to give me brothers a chance.” He laughed as we reached the door to my home. “Polly is right about one thing, you're pure Ana but you shouldn't stay away. Your what our Tom needs, something to ground him. She just doesn't see it yet"

“Finn says it the barmaid that has his attention, has him going soft.”

“That’s our Arthurs. He doesn’t know much about you, so course he thinks it’s the barmaid that has my brother soft. If he knew about you, he'd know it was you.”

“John, I don’t…I can’t do this. I can’t be waiting around wondering what Thomas has done and whether or not he will be coming home to me. Maybe Polly is right, maybe I should stay away.”

“Are you giving up on my brother?”

“Can’t give up on something you never had”

“Oh, you have him Ana, you just don’t see it. Idiots the both of you” John replied shaking his head walking towards the front door “Thanks for the suit by the way.”

“You’re welcome” I replied waiting for him to leave before breaking down again, my heart breaking. I limped up to my room, a surge of angry pulsating through my veins as I used my crutch to knock things off the top of my drawers. Screaming in frustration as I hit the books and broken porcelain repeatedly with the crutch.

“Ana” A voice yelled but I didn’t care to stop “ANA” the voice got louder walking up behind me catching me as I threw the crutches across the room. The person ‘sshing’ me as they wrapped around me tightly squeezing me, bringing up both to the ground.

“I hate him” I yelled my hands smacking at their hands as they held tightly onto me.

“It’s gonna be okay, it’s gonna be okay” James continued to repeat in my ear, rocking me backwards and forwards until I calmed down.

“I hate him, I hate him” I repeated, my breathing slowly returning to normal.

“I know, I hate him to”

“I really hate him” I whispered twisting myself, so I was snuggled tight into his chest, his heart beating erratically in his chest. “I hate that he made me love him. Why, why did I have to fall in love with him?”

“I don’t know Ana; I wish I knew”



Taglist

@shelbyteller @seleneshelby @forgottenpeakywriter @babayaga67 @sweetmilkshakeluminary

[sup-hoes-its-me]

To Be So Lonely (Gaara x Reader)

A/N: my first ever attempt at a gaara one shot. Essentially, you are permanently disabled due to an accident involving evil jinchuriki gaara, but you never gave up on him. friends to lovers. dramatic confessions. gaara is just so pure and sweet, he deserves all the love and more. perfect baby boy. precious.

ps. this was a very quick write. there may be mistakes, idk. just hopefully someone enjoys.

Word count: 3600 (soo short lmao)

The pair of them walked the aisles of the bakery. He adored how her eyes grew wide when they landed on a particularly shiny loaf of bread or a decadent chocolate cake that she couldn’t help but gush over. Today, after work since it seemed he had a break, he decided he would go with her to the dessert shop she’d been begging him to go visit.

He watched as she hobbled forward on her crutches, leaning some of her weight on walls or tables when she got the chance. He felt genuinely awful. It was his fault she was in that position after all. Nearly ten years ago when she enveloped her in his sand and crushed her leg brutally. He was so lost and hopeless back then, and a mere sparring match was enough to set him off and permanently injure the woman.

He felt like the worst man alive as he watched her walk around, and he followed on soft feet behind her. They were friends. It seemed that even after all he had done, she still cared about him. She walked up to his office the day he became Kazekage, and asked to be his assistant. He couldn’t say no, not with the way she smiled so beautifully at him with those soft lips and sparkling eyes.

Admittedly, he wanted her to be at his side.

She often sat with him in his office when there wasn’t anything too urgent going on, her legs tucked under her and her crutches leant against his desk. She would tell him stories about her day or things that she found funny, and he would listen intently to each word. He adored her voice. It was perfect, the perfect pitch and tone, just enough enthusiasm to blow him away. How she could be so positive when so many things had gone wrong, he wasn’t sure.

He knew that if he asked Naruto, the boy would have the answer for sure. He was so wise with people in that way. After all, Naruto was the reason Gaara was able to change into the man he was today, the man that had Y/N laughing and giggling in the evenings before she went home.

Y/N’s smile was so bright. It practically glowed when she entered the room. He wanted to bottle it up and keep it forever, that is how much he admired her enthusiasm. He couldn’t imagine the pain she went through, and the struggle she goes through daily. He couldn’t imagine the strength she must have to work for him and maintain that attitude that he admired so deeply.

She was so beautiful. He found himself waking up multiple times in the morning with her still on his mind, her eyes and her smile and the way her hair fell around her face. He found himself so lost in the mere thought of the woman, he thought he might be going crazy.

He’d asked his siblings about the situation, on separate occasions, just gauging what two more adjusted people thought of the situation. Each time, they laughed, and told him he simply had a crush on his closest assistant. His sister told him to act on his feelings before she was swept away by some other man from the village. His brother told him she was quite a catch, and he would be lucky if she liked him back. He thought she was only kind to him because he was her boss, essentially. Needless to say, that was a bit rough for Gaara to hear.

He wasn’t sure what he would do if Y/N shared his feelings. She certainly was kind, and the woman he wanted to be with, but he just couldn’t be with her, not after everything he had done. He couldn’t imagine her ever caring for him like that after he took away a huge portion of her mobility. He stole away from her the ability to become a shinobi like she always wanted. He felt like a monster.

There was no way in good conscience, he could accept her affections and burden her with his own. She was too perfect. He wouldn’t ruin her in that way. He couldn’t.

And so he was content just following her around, buying her little goodies here and there to make her happy just one more time before he had to see her off for the night. No doubt, he would dream about her once again tonight, after spending so much time staring into her eyes and hearing her melodic laugh. Sometimes, he found himself looking forward to those nights where she would plague his mind. He could truly be himself in those dreams without any constraint, without an ounce of guilt. He could love her during those nights, and he found himself longing for more and more each day.

She spun around in front of the final glass case in the near empty bakery, and she pointed to some fruit tarts in a little box.

“You want those?”

“Yes, please.”

He pointed them out to the staff, and they bagged them up and slid them across the counter. He got a discount as the Kazekage, and he was more than willing to buy a few things for her. It was the least he could do. Even though he paid her a decent amount for her work, he still felt generous. He liked seeing the way her eyes lit up and her ears perked up with happiness each time he bought her a simple cake or tart. It was so cheap and simple, he felt like he was robbing her. He got so much enjoyment out of seeing her beauty over and over again and all she got was a little dollar dessert.

They walked out of the store, and she sighed, reaching into the bag and taking out the little box. She pulled out the cake and took a quick bite, sighing loudly at the flavor. “Wow, Gaara, this is one of the best ones yet. Try it,” she held out the other side to him.

“No, I’m okay. I’m sure it’s great.”

“Oh, come on.”

He sighed, and took the tart from her hands, taking the tiniest bite from the side opposite of hers. She was right. It was really good. He nodded, his lips curving into a tiny smile as she grinned, giving him a thumbs up. “See, I told you it was really good. I don’t go around picking out crappy sweets.”

“Here, eat the rest. You haven’t had a chance to eat today, have you?” he asked, urging her to take the tart back. She did, and nodded. “You really can’t be doing that, Y/N. It’s not healthy to skip meals like that.”

“I know. I normally don’t but during my lunch break today, I was busy talking to your brother and I lost track of time.”

“So it was Kankuro’s doing? Of course.”

“Oh, jeez. It’s not a big deal. My parents are going to the market today so they’ll no doubt be home with some food for me to eat for dinner. Plus, you got me these awesome tarts for dessert.”

He nodded, a hum leaving his lips. “Still, I’d like if maybe you started eating lunch with me, just so I can make sure you’re getting proper nutrition.”

Her eyes widened, and she began to smile once again. She felt her cheeks begin to heat up from his offer. How could he so casually say something like that? He was never one to really think through the things he said, just saying exactly what was on his mind. “Are you asking me on a lunch date?”

“What?! No-that’s not what I meant,” he blurted out, his own cheeks turning red under her stare. “I just meant it as a friend thing.”

She averted her eyes back down to her dessert, and she took another bite. After giving him a moment of time to cool down, and after she’d swallowed, she replied giddily, knowing it would stir him up once again, “Alright, well, I wouldn’t mind if it was a date thing, just saying.”

He was now nearly as red as his hair, and she burst out laughing. “What?! Y/N, don’t laugh at me!”

“Okay, Kazekage-sama.”

He huffed as he tried to calm down, following as she started off once again to her home. On days like this one, he would walk her home from wherever they had gone, and in turn, he said it was a way for him to see the village. In reality, he had seen the village more than enough time to count, he really just wanted to walk with her home, to feel like he was doing something for her by providing company on the short journey through the streets.

As they approached her home, he knew that this was going to be the end of their outing and he would have to leave her once again. He really enjoyed their time together. It was the only part of the day he looked forward to most of the time, and to see her go always filled his heart with a bit of sadness. It was unreasonable to want anymore time out of her day to himself, but he couldn’t help but want it.

She opened her front door and stepped inside, holding the door open so she could see him standing at the edge of the walkway to her family home. He shifted awkwardly under her stare, one that was absent of a smile and that familiar glimmer in her eye. Things felt serious all the sudden, and it made him nervous.

What had changed all of the sudden? He never expected her next words. They hit him in the chest like a stone, and knocked the air from his chest.

“Gaara, I think I’m in love with you,” Y/N called to the boy standing in her doorway. One outing after another, she found it harder and harder to maintain a neutral guise around him. Y/N really liked him. He was strong. He was a hero. He was a beautifully kind creature whom everyone came to adore.

He stood there in shock, his eyes wide and lips just agape. He wanted her to take back what she’d just proclaimed. He couldn’t accept it. Not when her crutches were right in his view, and her leg was missing right below the knee. He couldn’t handle that confession. Not now, not ever.

It was all his fault.

He turned his head away to the street and sighed, shutting his eyes tightly. “Y/N, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” she asked, fiddling with the bag of groceries in her hands. It took a lot of nerve to confess to him. It takes a lot to go out and profess your love to the Kazekage and the famous Gaara of the sand. He was a celebrity, practically. He wasn’t simply a childhood friend. She was rightfully nervous.

“I’m sorry you feel that way about someone like me.”

“Gaara, stop. Please. What happened, it’s over now. You’ll never be that same person again.”

He grit his teeth, another sigh coming from behind his teeth. “I cannot accept your confession. I’m sorry, but I have to go now. Please, keep this between us, alright?”

It seemed that the end of their rope was near. He had said what he wanted to say, or what he felt needed to be said. He cared for her, he’d cared for her since he could really remember. She was always kind to him, so beautiful and sweet and generous. Y/N was forever forgiving, and he knew that. He was fully aware that she’d forgiven him for what he’d done to her when he was lost in violence all those years ago. He just couldn’t forgive himself. He was forgiving of those who had wronged him, but to give mercy to the person who brutalized the one woman who’d shown him kindness from the beginning, he just couldn’t bear it.

Gaara was a lonely man. He would always be a lonely man, surrounded by people but always just far enough to protect them. He couldn’t let someone like her become close again and risk something else happening. Even if he was non violent now, what’s to say someone else wouldn’t have a grudge against him and target her?

It was all too overwhelming.

“You can’t deny it, Gaara, you love me too,” she called back to him, quiet enough not to disturb the neighbors but loud enough that it rang out in his chest like a gong, echoing there for a minute. She continued softly, “You can’t just pretend there’s nothing between us just because something happened almost a decade ago. You can’t abandon me, not after everything we’ve been through.”

“Y/N, it’s not that easy.”

“It really is that easy. If you care about me, and I care about you, then that’s all that matters. Forget about my leg, please. I’m over it. I’ve grown used to it, so much it’s not a problem,” she explained, “In fact, you treating me like I’m some injured lamb is the real problem. I’m a strong woman. This injury is nothing when it comes to my sheer force of will.”

He felt terrible, really, he felt like every move he made was the wrong one. He felt like he’d travelled down all the wrong paths with this woman, and she still loved him. Despite everything, she loved him without fault. He was her best friend. The friend who stole her leg from her so young. He was beyond conflicted.

His eyes flickered around the street, and she could feel his paranoia. It would be quite scandalous if someone caught them out here talking about something as personal as this. He was the Kazekage after all, whether he was experiencing normal 22 year old emotions or not.

Y/N grabbed his hand and tugged him quickly into her home. Her parents were gone for the day to the shops, so they weren’t there to intervene, not that they would be too pleased to see their daughter with the red haired boy. Yes, they were proud to have him as their Kazekage, standing strong and tall for the nation. But the injuries he had inflicted on their daughter were a bit too severe to ever completely forgive him. They could never give Gaara their blessing, nor did they truly approve of their friendship. Y/N and Gaara knew this. It only caused his guilt to hang heavier in his chest.

She shut the door behind him, and sighed as she leant her shoulder against the wall, a bit of pressure taken off her sole leg and her arms propped up on the sticks.

“Gaara, how do you feel about me? Really?” she asked.

He wanted to say nothing, to just turn away and pretend he hadn’t heard the question. But he knew that wasn’t an option. He would tell her everything. “I enjoy your company, more than I care to admit. You are so beautiful and kind, I always want you around, especially when work gets rough.”

Y/n stood silent as she let him keep going, to get what he was feeling off his chest. There wasn’t really an outlet in his life to get out all these pent up emotions. He could use a shoulder to lean on sometimes, just as much as anyone else.

“You’re right,” he groaned, “I love you.”

A soft breath caught in her chest at his words. It was true that she had a feeling he felt that way for her, but it was a different thing to hear his words reach her ears. His breathy, raspy voice and the exasperation carried in his tone. The way his eyes refused to meet hers he was so afraid. She felt a shiver run up her spine, and she had to take a deep breath to calm herself down. “Then what’s the point in fighting it?”

“It’s wrong. What I did to you, you’ll never be the same again and it’s all my fault. I don’t know if I could bring myself to look at you everyday knowing that I hurt you so badly. Back then, I didn’t even have remorse. I-I…”

“It’s okay! You’ve changed, time and time again, you’ve shown me that you’re not the same man you used to be. You are so brave and caring and considerate. You care about me and all the other villagers. You changed, and I love the man you’ve become.”

“Does that mean you can forgive me for what I’ve done?”

“I would forgive you a thousand times over.”

“Y/N…”

“You’re the man of my dreams. Please, don’t deprive me of that.”

When his eyes met hers, he wanted to melt away in her arms. She really didn’t care about what he had done, she just wanted him for who he worked so hard to become, the man that Naruto pushed him to be. She raised his arms, and found himself walking right into them. Her head hit his shoulder, and he let out a long shaky breath. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you, too, Gaara. I truly do.”

And when she pressed her lips to his, he found himself falling deeper in love with her. She was so soft and gentle in his arms, against his skin, flush and warm like he’d always imagined. He never really expected himself to find someone, not after all he’d done and the man he made himself out to be. He never imagined the kiss of a person on his lips, or the feeling of someone’s arms wound around his body. He only imagined pain.

Yet, here she was. The most forgiving angel in the entire world.

“Y/N L/N, what the hell is this? Dammit, can’t you do this somewhere else, you foolish girl?” a voice called through the door, and when they peered between the curtains, the sight of her mother and father walking up the path to the front door, grocery bags piled in their arms. Her mother’s face was quite red, a small smile gracing her mouth, while her father was another story. Completely exhausted with everything.

Gaara pulled away quickly, his head ducking down so his eyes only met the floorboards. He was Kazekage, why was he so afraid of some old man and his paper sack full of rice? He wasn’t completely sure. All he knew was that Y/N stood there with that beautiful smile, her cheeks puffing out from embarrassment. “It’s okay. They aren’t angry. You might want to head on back home, though.”

The elderly couple opened the door, and he found himself face to face with her mother who smiled, corners of her eyes crinkling. “It’s about time, you sweet boy.”

Her father roared, feeling himself growing hotter with every second that passed. “About time for what, Rise? This man to come in here and violate our daughter-”

“Shush, dad. It was all me this time,” Y/N piped up from the back, which only fueled the fire.

“Of course! You’ve always been so promiscuous, Y/N. How could I expect any less?” he rolled his eyes. “And about you, Kazekage boy.”

“Be gentle, Tanaka.”

“Instead of hurting my daughter, I expect you to protect her as if your life depended on it, you hear me? I won’t have someone coming into my house and hurting my children,” he demanded, and Gaara could only nod. He had never been in a situation quite as terrifying as this one, he had to admit. He felt like he had been caught in the middle of some heinous act, even if it was only kissing the object of his affections. He was more than embarrassed, he thought he might crumble into a million tiny pieces.

He replied, “Of course. I’d never let anything hurt Y/N, sir.”

“That’s what I thought. Now get out of here. You can see your little girlfriend some other time, she has chores.”

“Dad!”

“Enough.”

Gaara nodded to the family of three before opening the door and walking through the threshold. “Goodbye, Gaara!” As he peered back over his shoulder, he was once again stunned by her smiling face, her small hand waving to him as he shut the door behind him. He felt his heart beating faster as he walked down the street back to the Kazekage’s mansion.

Has life always felt this good? He wasn’t too sure. He felt high, like he was floating above the ground with each footstep. Maybe giving the good life, giving Y/N, a chance, was going to work out in his favor. He could feel happiness creeping up his chest and rumbling through his stomach. His cheeks turned red at the thought of his now girlfriend in her home getting scolded by her father, and he couldn’t help but imagine the next day when she would report to his office to pick up paperwork and maybe he could swipe another kiss.

When he walked into his home, he brushed by his brother whose brows perked up upon seeing his expression. “What’s got you looking so whipped, Gaara?”

“It’s nothing, Kankuro.”

“Y/N, right?”

“Maybe.”

His brother's loud laughter rung out in the empty hall. He patted his brother's back with a firm hand, practically congratulating him for getting a girlfriend. It was strange in that way, thinking about it like that. He now had a girlfriend to hug and hold, to keep tightly clasped in his heart for as long as she would allow.

Life was too good. He slept better that night than he had in a long while. All because of this one person who’d wormed their way so easily into his heart.

[tinydooms]

I want to hear all the details of the haunted Carnahan home in England and how Rick gets involved in all the routines involved in caring and living with the haunted corners of the mansion. Like a weird english version of Island of the Aunts.

The Thing That Lives Behind the Radiator didn't always live behind the radiator. Once, a long time ago, it lived in a seaside mansion in a place that was warm and sunny and that knew how to take care of household spirits. Once, a long time ago, it received offerings of honey cakes and wine and in return it looked after the family. There was always a lot of family, but it liked them: babies who grew into funny toddling things who became weird little kids who grew into interesting young people who eventually brought forth babies of their own to begin the cycle again.

Then, one strange day, a Foreigner came to town. The family that lived in the big house was in a bad way. They needed money to send the Old Mother to hospital for her health, and so they sold many of their books and trappings, including the little cupboard altar in which the little god lived. And so the little god was brought to a cold and dreary place, wrapped in a packing crate lined with straw, and it was desperately unhappy. Its new home was also a mansion, but it was big and cold and dark, and for a long time, the god sulked in its forgotten altar. At least there is a fireplace nearby. But it is never really warm here, and there are no children allowed in the library, and the little god is desperately lonely and sad.

There are other spirits in the house, of course; there always are. There is a White Lady upstairs, not the ghost of a murdered woman but that of a girl who loved ghost stories and spooky things and who is spending her afterlife comfortably haunting her descendants, just because she can (the lunatic). There are other ghosts who are less hospitable towards the living, but the White Lady keeps them away and none of them seem to be interested in the little god in the library. There is also a mummy in the downstairs study, whose ka came to look at its former body's whereabouts, shook its head, and reincarnated as a goat famer in Indonesia. The little god, who now guards nothing and has no one, mostly ignores them all.

One day there is a big family blowup, and that is the first time it really pays attention to the foreigners who stole it away. The eldest son, Alexander, brings home a woman with dark hair and shining eyes and brown skin, and the Family is Not Having It. Unfortunately for them, Alexander does not care and neither does his new wife. And fortunately for the little god in the library, Salwa comes from a land that is hot, and the first thing they do is install radiators all over the house. The other spirits don't like that, but they do not have the same power as the god who lives in the fireplace, and for the first time in a long time, it feels like asserting itself. The radiators are installed in good working order, and the little god moves into the space behind it, just under the window.

Alexander and Salwa aren't at the house much, but when they are, they spend time in the library and the little god grows to love them. The couple love books and each other; they are always reading and learning and laughing and talking. One day they arrive with a baby in tow, a healthy boy, and the little god creeps out from behind the radiator to look at him in his basket. It is only a little god, but it blesses the child: you will live a long and happy life. The baby blinks sleepily up at it and coos.

Five years later, another baby is brought into the library with its parents and brother: a sweet baby girl. The little god blesses her, too, and sits and listens while Salwa reads stories aloud to her children. For the first time in many years, it feels soothed.

The little girl, Evelyn, is always in the library. From a young age little Evie loves books: the look of them, the feel of them, the smell of them, the stories they contain. She comes in, first toddling, then skipping, then with purpose, and sits at the table or before the fire and reads for hours. One day, when she is quite small, she drops a pencil: it rolls under the radiator and hits the little god. Evie drops down onto her belly to look and the two come face to face.

This little girl has curly dark hair and glowing green eyes. She resembles less the foreigners who stole the little god from its home than she does the people it originally loved. For a long moment the two of them stare at each other, and then little Evie smiles and fetches out a biscuit from her pinafore pocket and slides it under the radiator. The little god slides her back the pencil. From that day on, they are friends.

Evie can't actually see the little god, of course, especially the older she gets, but she always knows it is there. And she understands the concept of offerings: whenever she comes into the library, she always leaves a cup of tea and a biscuit or something under the radiator. The little god appreciates this and looks after the books in return. It looks after Jonathan, too, though it never quite has the same relationship with him as it does his sister. Jonathan doesn't always remember to leave offerings, but he greets the little god whenever he comes into the library ("Hello, old thing!") and that's good enough.

When the War comes and Jonathan enlists, the little god creeps out from behind the radiator and blesses its boy as he spends his last night in his bed. You will survive; you will come home. And Jonathan does come home, but he is not the same: he limps about on crutches and can't sleep without screaming. Sometimes he hides in the library for hours, all the lights out, and weeps quietly. The little god does what it can, but the horror is too deep in Jonathan's soul. This is a wound that only time can heal.

And then, one terrible day, news comes that Alexander and Salwa are gone, killed in a terrible accident, and it is both Evie and Jonathan who sit sobbing in the library. The little god sobs too. It had loved the parents as much as it loves the children.

And then Evie and Jonathan go away for a long time. The little god sits behind the library radiator and mourns for its missing family, for the love and laughter that no longer fill the house. It awaits the day when they return. Please let them return.

The White Lady bangs on the pipes, bored that no one is there to appreciate her antics. The ka of the mummy in the study comes back to visit its former body again, scoffs to find it still propped against the wall, and reincarnates again, this time as an Italian opera singer. And the little god waits.

Evie and Jonathan come back one fine spring day, and they bring with them a new person. The little god peeks out from behind the radiator at Evie's new husband as its family take tea. When Evie brings a cup and a crumpet to leave under the radiator ("We're back, old thing! I hope you didn't miss us too terribly."), Rick O'Connell looks surprised, but he doesn't say anything. He is a big man and a kind one, and as the little god grows used to him, it begins to love him as much as it loves Evelyn and Jonathan. Rick has the air of a man well-traveled, one who understands that there are many unexplained things in the world and who doesn't mind the presence of a little god behind the radiator. He even leaves offerings sometimes: peppermints and bits of chocolate and occasionally even a slug of brandy or whiskey. Rick has his own spirit who follows him about: a woman with red-blond hair and a bright Irish face who looks after him in the way the spirits of Alexander and Salwa look after Evie and Jonathan. Will you look after my son? she asks the little god one day, and that night, the little god goes upstairs and blesses the sleeping man. You will live a long life and be happy.

And one day, a baby is born upstairs, as Rick and Jonathan wait in the library. The little god is not fretful the way the men are; it has blessed Evelyn and her child and knows they will be fine. Later, when Rick has met his child and kissed his wife and cried with happiness, the little god is surprised when the big man rolls a cigar under the radiator for it.

"Thanks, pal," he says. "Thanks for looking after us."

The new baby is blond and chubby and the worst handful of a child the little god has seen since his mother, and the little god just adores him. It blesses the boy--you will always be safe--but recognizes that it might have to do more for this one than simply sit behind the radiator. And one evening Alex puts on a magical bracelet, and men from a far away land come to harm the family, and the little god climbs out of its place behind the radiator and into it's boy's pocket and is carried off on an adventure, but that is a story for another day.

[cassieschaosdimension]

Full Detox

Dear Tumblr,

Thank you for the almost year we've had together. It'll be a year in October, but I've realized throughout the past year a few things about myself....

The first thing is that I've lost myself sometime during the start of quarantine. Actually... it started two years ago. I had a rough time in my life. I was just getting started with social media and some of my friends at the time weren't truly my friends.

I went to camp the summer of 2019 and I came back completely changed. It was two weeks of not talking to anyone through a screen except my best friend and I only called him. We didn't talk through a screen. I need time to find myself. This detox might be for the month of September, or it could be for longer. I don't know at this point.

My second and final point is: I need time to find out who I truly am. Thank you so much for the opportunity to know people online aren't as creepy as I've heard. There are some people I must admit, but overall, this experience has been one of the best of my life.

But I'm about to go on one of the best adventures of my life and I want to fully experience it fully present and in person without a phone as a crutch.

This is going to be the hardest thing I will ever have to do in my life, but I'm ready for whatever life throws at me. I'm going to try journaling my month-long adventure as it starts in about half an hour.

It's all over the place, I'm an emotional mess as I write this. I just wanted to tell you if you need to reach me, I will be going off of Instagram and Discord as well for this month. I'm even getting rid of Pinterest and Google Hangouts. I'm completely immersing myself in the new culture I've thrown myself into.

I also just need time for myself. I'm tired of not having anyone who truly knows me in a different state than I'm in. I love my irl best friends to death, but I'm tired of just bursting into tears at random times at home. I'm just so tired of what my life has turned into right now. I'm tired of just not feeling like I can have people who don't understand me at all. I just want someone in my life who can just understand what I've gone through and it's been traumatizing for me. I need time to heal. I also need time to myself because I feel like some people on here just forget I'm a person and I really just want to be seen as a person and not just a blog. Take the time to really think about whether you've been thinking about the blogs as the people they are behind the screen or just a blog. Also, just be mindful of what you are doing when replying or reblogging a post and want to add words. People may not like what you're doing and you really need to respect that.

But you also need to remember people have feelings and tumblr is a site where we can just express ourselves. When people don't respect that, it's not a fun environment to be in anymore. This is also why I'm taking the detox. People need to learn how to respect that people have feelings that don't need to be explicitly said everywhere. This needs to be figured out on this site or I will keep on having these detoxes and maybe even stop my main blog and just have my poetry blog. I'm really tired of keeping up my "reputation" of being sweet, kind, and a freaking sweetheart who wouldn't hurt a fly. I'm really tired of keeping up my "reputation" of being the person to turn to for advice, but with no one else to turn to. I'm really tired of keeping up my "reputation" as someone who always has to be sunny, happy, and doesn't know about the dark in life. I know about the dark in life; I'm an adult now and people need to understand that online and also irl, but this is more about online.

Yes, I know I sound salty, and that's because while this almost year has been one of the best almost years of my life, it's also been the most draining because literally everyone on here calls me a sweetheart and a cinnamon roll. I just wish I felt safe enough to be myself. But right now, I can't be truly myself. I'm hoping the detox will help me figure out who the heck I am. I implore you though please think of me as the adult I am and not some teenager who doesn't know what to do with their life. I have life goals and uni is going to help me with that. Please stop treating me like a smole bean who needs to be protected at all costs. Please.

I am also just like you all. I'm not a ball of sunshine all of the time (in fact when I'm talking to people who know me best they know I'm only a sunshine 20% of the time, the other 80% I'm so done with life). I want to be able to taken seriously. I don't want to just be known as the Hufflepuff who is so nice and knows everything about life advice. That's not true. I'm just a uni girl trying to figure out how the heck I'm going to spend four years away from my family. I'm trying to be nice online, but I also want to be salty and sarcastic and myself because irl is bad enough, but online it's just why. Why do I come off as a cute, smol little kitten who wouldn't hurt a flea? Don't you guys know f you get me mad at you you'll be the one crying at the end of the day? I'm heartless when I've had enough. I need you all to treat me like the person I am and not like an object. That's kind of how I feel this has gotten. There are some who are amazing and I adore them to pieces. But then there are other people who aren't considerate I just can't. So I need a break from just all of this. I can't be on here when people don't take me seriously. Like I said it's bad enough this happens irl. I don't want it to happen online too.

I'm starting with two months, but as I do more of these in the future, it might get longer.

This might be my only two month long detox or it could be longer. If it's longer, I will let you all know! I promise, but for now, I'll miss you, I love you, keep being the you I know you can be, drink your freaking water!, remember people on here are people and have freaking feelings and emotions and lives and experiences, and I will see you all November 1st!

@procrastinationonvacation @clarys-heosphoros @reyna-herondale @ghafa-dale @captainwaffles @cory-was-hexed @nebulanike @im-someone-i-guess @writing-with-tea @simpingforwillsolace @simpingforpjo @writingsbypb @cloudygreywolf @crzyprsn42 @seven-halfbloods @nyxx-chaos @avakrahn @annlillyjose @kiriti-savyasachin @shaonharryandpannisim @chaoticchefherepleasesaveme @captainorthred @carrie-haha @justmemyselfandthefridge @daughter-of-sunshine @da-nerdy-turtle @stars-a-n-d-scars @ambidextrousarcher @ace-loves-cake @devereaux-fan @clarys-heosphoros @willsolacekinnie @valdezey @whatrambles @spoopycrowe @hyacjnthus @ileaurel @thatrandomfangirlll @purple-magic-2002 @the-young-and-forgotten

[plus-size-reader]

All that Matters

Alice Cullen x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1197 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Alice going a little bit overboard when planning your wedding, she gets stressed that it's not going to be perfect 

——————————————————————————————————

You didn’t even technically ask Alice to marry you.

The two of you had been together for so long that it just became kind of an afterthought. Not to mention that said marriage would have been rather taboo until a few decades ago.

Still, you knew that when Edward and Bella decided to get hitched with both families involved, that was going to change.

Alice had always been a sucker for romance and that wasn’t a secret. However, even you didn’t realize quite how far that reached until that day.

She had this sparkle in her eyes from the moment she started the day, bustling all night with ideas and plans. She knew when everything was arriving, where it needed to go and why. There could be no stone left unturned where she was concerned.

Everything had to be perfect.

...and it was, of course.

The woman you loved blessed everything she touched, and it didn’t shock you that in taking over control of the wedding, it was marvelous.

What did shock you though was when she turned to you at the reception and asked why the two of you hadn’t done this yet.

“Why didn’t we ever have a wedding like this?” She’d asked, her hand holding yours tightly. You were only half listening to Bella’s mother’s speech, tuning it out completely when she spoke.

It was a fair question, all things considered. After all, after decades together, a wedding would be the logical next step. You just hadn’t thought about it, if you were being completely honest.

When you had been alive, really alive, a wedding would have never been an option for you.

“We’re gay Ally” you whispered back, a teasing smile on your lips. Even in the sixties, when you still had a beating heart, you never would have been able to have a wife.

At least, not legally.

It was a joke, of course, but the brunette scoffed lightly anyway. That wasn’t stopping either of you now, and that was what mattered.

Really, you were just shocked that Alice really wanted to get married. You knew that she loved you, but taking that additional step was something else entirely.

It made your stomach do flips, even all this time later.

“I’m being serious. I want to get married, with flowers and wedding cake, and all of this” she gushed, eyeing the beautiful decor that littered the backyard.

It looked incredible and she had a point. The two of you were clearly going to be together for quite some time but there was no reason not to have a wedding.

“Are you asking me to marry you right now, Ally?” you hummed, though you knew she meant it. In truth, you wanted to marry her just as much. All you had to do now was go through with it and that wasn’t going to take much time at all. That was one of the best things about being immortal.

You had nothing better to do than spend time together and throw parties, or at least, that’s what Emmett always said.

If Alice had it her way, your wedding would be the most elaborate, memorable event to ever go down in the Cullen family history.

...And Alice always got her way.

~

The two of you had only just agreed to get hitched a few weeks ago, with Bella and Edward now gone on their honeymoon. However, you wouldn’t have thought so with how much Alice had gotten done.

She had been incessantly planning for days, making phone calls to caterers and bakeries all over Forks.

Really, it would have surprised you if the entire thing wasn’t ready to go by the weekend. Still, you had to wait until Mr. and Mrs. Edward Cullen got back.

You didn’t really see the need to get it done so quickly, but you knew Alice well enough to know that she was just too excited to wait.

What you didn’t anticipate was the toll all the none stop planning and stress would take on poor Alice. For someone who didn’t need sleep, or any kind of rest, she needed a break.

The poor thing had been going nonstop for too long.

She plopped down on your shared mattress dramatically, using it as a crutch for her stress as you finished up your shower. Even by the time you came out into the room, she was still sitting there, face down in the sheets.

“What’s wrong, babydoll?” you hummed, gently brushing her hair to one side of her head, giving you just enough of a view of her face.

It was clear she’d overworked herself, and that she was under a lot of stress but you didn’t understand why she was doing that to herself.

Your wedding didn’t have to be some high stress event.

“I want it to be perfect, I want everything to be just like I always wanted but there’s just so much” she sighed, the explanation itself seeming to overwhelm her.

You couldn’t blame her.

Alice had done the same thing for your wedding as she’d done for Edward and Bella. She wanted to take care of every little detail so no one else had to worry.

What she had neglected to think of was the fact that she couldn’t enjoy her wedding if she didn’t let someone help her. She didn’t have to do it all on her own.

“Sweetheart, why didn’t you just tell me it was too much at once? I would love to help you” you offered, wishing if nothing else that you’d thought to suggest that sooner.

It wasn’t like you’d done nothing to contribute but she’d definitely taken the most of it.

“All that mattered is that we’re finally gonna get married. I’m sure the wedding will be perfect” you assured, after only earning a groan from the smaller woman.

She didn’t sound convinced in the slightest.

From where she was sitting, you two were only going to be able to have 1 wedding in all your lives and she needed it to be wonderful.

All those beautiful things she’d fallen in love with while planning for Bella had to come together for your own wedding too. She had to make it happen.

...But no one said she had to make it happen alone.

You were her partner, and you loved her more than anything else in all the world. To you, that seemed like the most important thing.

“Come on, trust me. We could get married in a diner and I’d be just as happy as ever. I promise it’s going to be everything you’ve ever wanted-”

“I’ll make sure of it” you assured, finally coming face to face with her as she sat up, giving you a tired smile.

It wasn’t shocking to you that she gave so much of herself all the time, as she always did. However, it was about time she learned that she wasn’t alone in this.

As long as you were by her side, she’d never have to do anything alone. That was the deal, and had been since you met.

As long as you were together, nothing else mattered to you.

[spaceskam]

happy birthday @winged-fool ! sorry it’s kinda late but HERE YOU GO

warnings: implied ptsd, mostly fluff

ao3

“Don’t wake up.”

“Then why did you talk?”

“Shhh, sleep.”

Michael’s eyebrows attempted to pull together in his irritation as his bed adjusted to the lack of Alex’s bodyweight, but his hand just rested over his face in a failed attempt at soothing him back to sleep. Michael reached up to gently pull his hand away and was immediately aware of how dark it was.

“Where are you going?” Michael asked.

Alex stared at him in the dark of the room, only lit up by the little plug-in nightlight that was there specifically to prevent them from running into things whenever they got up in the middle of the night. Tonight, though, it just made Alex look like he was a decade younger.

“Can’t sleep.”

Michael slowly propped himself up onto his elbows. “Did you take your pills? Or we could just put something on the tv, just come back to bed.”

“But,” Alex said slowly, “There’s cake in the fridge.” Michael huffed a laugh and sat up a bit more, rubbing his eyes.

“Is it just cake on your mind or is there something else?” Michael asked. Alex took long enough to answer that Michael understood that there was something else, but he didn’t want to talk about it. Which was fair enough. Michael had more than his fair share of nights where he had things keeping him awake. “Okay, let’s go get some cake.”

“No, sleep.”

“So you just want all the cake to yourself?” Michael accused playfully. A soft smile found Alex’s face and he shook his head.

“I guess I could share.”

“Alright, c’mon.”

Michael rubbed his eyes as he climbed out of bed, trying to wake himself up as he followed Alex at a leisurely pace. He hadn’t tried to put his prosthetic on, instead going for his crutches, so that was a good sign. He was planning on trying to sleep again.

Alex opened the fridge and pulled out the slice of chantilly cake that Isobel had gotten. It was quite possibly the best and most expensive cake Michael had ever put in his mouth and he never wanted to go back.

“You’re tired,” Alex said as he pulled out two forks. Michael yawned into the crook of his elbow and shrugged.

“You’ve stayed up with me when I couldn’t sleep,” he said simply. Alex shrugged and stabbed the cake carefully.

“Yeah, but‒”

“Alex,” Michael said, moving to take his own forkful of cake, “I love you, so let me be nice to you, okay?”

His smile was faint, but it was there and that was all that really mattered at the end of the day. Michael took a bite and kept his eyes on him as he took a bite.

“Why is this better in the middle of the night?” Alex asked, sighing happily as he leaned against the counter. Michael shrugged.

“Magic, probably.”

“You’re probably right.”

They ate in relative silence after that, nothing but the sound of breathing and the fork against the plate. It was soothing, almost, and Michael wondered if he and Alex should be spending time together in the middle of the night more often.

That thought was ruined, however, when he realized his head was succumbing to gravity a little more each second. Alex touched his finger to his jaw, catching his attention.

"Go to bed, I'll be there in a minute," Alex said. Michael shook his head, reaching out for the cake that was nearly gone. He held the second to last forkful out to Alex who smiled even if it was a little frustrated.

Michael watched him take the bite he was being offered, tired eyes unable to move away from him. He was gorgeous. It seemed to only get more and more obvious every day they spent together. He always found staring at the same thing for too long would make him start noticing flaws, but Alex seemed to be the exception. Which, honestly, was fair enough.

When Michael blinked, his eyes were a little bit harder to open than he remembered. Alex took advantage of his struggles, however, and smeared a bit of icing on his lips. It gave him the strength he needed to open his eyes and look at Alex who had that fond look on his face that seemed to show up more the longer they were together.

“You got something on your lips,” Alex said.

“Mm,” Michael hummed, “I can’t reach it. Do it for me?”

“Can’t reach it,” Alex chuckled, shaking his head slightly before he leaned forward and easily kissed the icing off his lips. Michael loved him so much. Almost too much if that was even a thing.

“Thanks,” Michael sighed softly as he pulled away. Alex hummed and nudged his nose against Michael’s. They stayed there for a moment before he spoke. “You wanna talk about it or no?”

Alex breathed slow, his hand reaching out to grab Michael’s bicep lightly to ground himself. Michael put his hand on his wrist in response and rubbed small circles into his skin.

“The closet door wasn’t closed all the way and when the A/C kicked on, it closed it and it made me paranoid,” Alex filled in slowly, “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“Hey, don’t apologize. Are you okay now?” Michael asked, using his other hand to rub his side, “Your pulse feels steady.”

“I’m okay now,” Alex promised. Michael nodded and tilted his head up for another kiss which Alex met easily.  “I might be able to go back to sleep.”

“Okay, then let’s try.”

They put their forks and the plate in the sink to be dealt with in the morning before heading back to their bedroom. Michael yawned obnoxiously even to himself as he checked to make sure all the doors were closed completely before throwing himself into bed, his face hitting the freshly cool pillow and instantly threatening to pull him into unconsciousness.

Alex got into bed and scooted close, welcoming Michael’s arm around him. Michael shoved his face into Alex’s shoulder and it was barely seconds before his mind started to drift even as he tried to stay awake. Eventually, he gave in and let himself drift off to the comfort of Alex’s skin.

And the last thing he heard for the night was Alex’s voice.

“Thank you for waking up with me.”

[mr-and-mr-diaz]

*Gasp* And They Were NEIGHBORS! A Buddie Neighbor AU

This fic is dedicated to @agentmarymargaretskitz who sent me the original prompt (as well as so many others when I wasn’t feeling well, seriously can’t thank you enough and I will respond to each of your asks, I’m just savoring them) and to @justsmilestuffhappens who I have been mutualling back and forth with for a REALLY long time (Hi! Nice to meet you, I love you already!) and wanted to see this prompt happen!

***

“I SWEAR to god, Buck, if I hear even one more word out of your mouth about this guy and his kid I will throw you over this balcony!”

“But Hen--”

“He’s gorgeous, I know! And his kid is the cutest thing since puppies! We get it! Now stop talking about it and do something about it!” Hen sounded mostly exasperated, but dare Buck hope he still heard a little fondness in there as well?

He smiled. “Right. Okay.” Silence followed as he wracked his brains. “Wait, what should I do?? This guy doesn’t know me at all, I haven’t gone over yet to say hello, I’m so worried about being awkward or overkill--”

“Overkill? You??” Chimney chuckled from across the firehouse loft where he was playing the pinball arcade. 

“Hey!”

“In all seriousness, Buck,” Chim turned and addressed him, his smile gone from teasing to kind. “You’re gonna be fine, just go say hi. The sooner you get it over with, the less awkward it’ll be. Also, remember you still gotta find out if he’s interested. And available too; if he’s as hot as you say, he could already be dating someone.”

“Oh shit! Wait, what if he is?” Buck put his face in his hands and groaned. “Urgh, what should I do?”

“Why not take over some of those cookies I taught you how to bake last week, Buck?” Buck raised his eyes to Bobby, who was watching him with a small, patient smile. “Nothing out of the ordinary about bringing some baked goods to a new neighbor. It’s a great way to introduce yourself and get in their good books.”

“Okay!” Buck nodded. “Can you help me bake them again, Cap?”

Bobby's nodded, already headed for the pantry. “Of course.”

***

Eddie sighed. He was so glad he moved but it didn’t stop the process from being hell. It had been a long day job hunting and he still needed to find a good school for Chris. At the moment, Chris was in the living room, watching TV.

Eddie got up and went over to the fridge, digging around for the Tupperware of dinner Abuela had sent over and transferring it to a pot to reheat. Soon the smell of delicious posole filled the house and he sat, taking a moment just to savor the scent and feel just a bit more at home.

He was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“No rest for the weary.” Sighing, Eddie stood and shuffled over, glancing through the peephole. A tall man stood there, his hair short and neatly slicked back. He was shuffling back and forth awkwardly, a covered plate in his hands. 

Who is this? Eddie opened the door.

“Can I help you?”

“Uh hey!” The man’s eyes lit up and he looked Eddie up and down. He was a bit taller than Eddie and dressed sharply in a firefighter’s uniform. Eddie instantly became aware of the ratty sweatpants and loose Henley he’d thrown on as soon as he’d gotten back home and how mussed his hair likely was from running his fingers through it in frustration. Weirdly though, the man’s smile didn’t dim. 

“Hi, My name’s Evan Buckley, I’m your neighbor! Apartment 2B.” He smiled, eyes lingering on Eddie’s for just a moment too long, before he jolted and laughed awkwardly, lifting his hands up. “Cookies! Uh, I mean, I made cookies for you.” The man lifted the cloth off the plate and a heavenly smell wafted from  a pile of delicious looking cookies. “They’re chocolate chip macadamia--wait, you don’t have any allergies right? Or gluten intolerant or anything? Or, shit, are you vegan? I should’ve asked, there’s eggs in here...” Evan made to cover the plate again, but Eddie put out a hand, stopping him. He couldn’t help grinning at the guy--the way he rambled, his bright smile. 

“You think I’m gonna let you walk away with those now that you’ve offered? They smell great, Evan.”

“Oh thank goodness!” The smile was back and brighter. “And, uh, feel free to call me Buck, all my friends do. And welcome to the neighborhood! It’s nice here, everyone’s polite, except Mr. Grivary in 4C, he can be a bit--but of course you don’t want to hear me rambling...” The guy blushed and Eddie felt his own smile widen. This man was adorable.

“Actually, that sounds like useful information Buck.” Eddie remembered Abuela’s dinner and held the door wider. “I’m not really a cook myself, but we have my Abuela’s posole for dinner, would you like to join us?”

“Yes!! I mean,” Buck blushed again and cleared his throat. “Yeah sure, if it isn’t any trouble...”

***

Buck felt like he’d barely fallen asleep when his doorbell rang.

“Hmm?” He mumbled at the door. Which of course could not be heard by whoever was on the other side. They rang the doorbell again.

“Ugh, fuck... Yeah, coming!” Buck dragged himself out of bed and stumbled to the door, glancing through the peephole. He couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on his face as he caught sight of golden brown curls, red glasses, and the world’s cutest smile. 

“Chris!” He pulled the door open. “What’s up, buddy?”

“I’ve got news!” Chris giggled as he carefully walked into Buck’s apartment and sat himself down at the kitchen table. Buck automatically reached for his crutches and propped them against the chair. It was hardly the first time Chris had come to visit; he came over often to play games, tell Buck about his day, or help him try out a new recipe. “Our school is holding a bake sale on Friday.”

“Those are fun.” Buck sat down across from Chris, voice lowered conspiratorially. “What are you making?”

“That’s the thing.” Christopher’s tone turned sad. “The teacher said it has to be homemade and Dad’s been stressing out about it. He’s super busy with his new job and I know he wants to help, but... He burned water once. Just water.” 

“Aw man.” Buck put in every effort not to laugh, but a giggle still escaped. “You want me to help you put something together, take the pressure off your dad?” Christopher nodded happily and Buck reach for his notebook where he carefully documented all of Bobby’s recipes. “How’s cupcakes sound, Superman?”

In short order, they had all the ingredients lined up on the counter, and Chris was comfortably seated right next to the mixer, ready to dump in anything Buck handed him.

“...And then, only after that you want to add the dry stuff. I don’t really know the science behind it yet, I just know that it works. If I do find out, I’ll tell you.”

“Okay. Buck?”

“Hmm?” Buck consulted Bobby’s notes carefully and measured out a cup of flour, handing it over to be added to the mix.

“Where did you learn how to bake so well? Did your mom or dad teach you?”

Buck grinned. “Nah. My captain at the fire station is the best cook I’ve ever met. Everything I baked for you guys I learned from him.”

“Oh.” Christopher reached out a hand for the second cup of carefully measured flour. “Are your parents also bad cooks like my dad?”

“Well, no. My parents are nothing like your dad.” Buck sobered. “My mom cooked a little for us, but mostly we ordered in. And she never... uh, she never had time to teach me or Maddie. I didn’t have a complete homemade meal until I started working at the 118.” He shook his head to clear the thoughts and smiled at Christopher. “But now thanks to Cap, I got an almost-dad who cooks for me every day! And now he’s teaching me so I can do it one day for my kids, if I’m ever lucky enough to have them.” 

Christopher thought for a second, absently reaching for the teaspoon of baking powder and adding it to the mix before saying. “I already have a dad, and I don’t want to trade him for anything. But... Could you be my second dad?”

Buck looked up from the salt, startled.

“Like a cooking almost-dad who teaches me how to cook just like your Cap does for you? I want to be able to help Dad so he stops feeling so bad about not cooking.” Christopher was smiling at him, waiting for a response. Buck looked away quickly and took a deep breath, clearing the sudden thickness in his throat and blinking away wet eyes.

“Y-yeah, sure, Chris. I’d be happy to.”

 ***

Eddie arrived home from work exhausted. As he approached the door, he noted how quiet the apartment sounded. Usually that meant that Christopher was hanging out by Buck’s, but Buck’s apartment was also quiet and dark. Hurrying toward the door, Eddie fumbled with his key and jerked it open as fast as he could--

“SURPRISE!!”

For only two people, Buck and Christopher still managed to startle the shit out of him.

“Fu-fudge! Guys what the hell...!”

“Happy birthday, Dad!” Christopher called from the table.

“Happy birthday, Eddie!” Buck was bent over something, his broad back blocking whatever it was. Then he rose and stepped away to Christopher’s side. He grinned, cheeks slightly flushed. “It’s not perfect, Cap would’ve done it better, but I’d say for Chris and I’s first ever layer cake it’s pretty darn good!” He and Chris high-fived each other as Eddie stepped closer.

The cake was lopsided, and the icing oozed down the sides a bit and on top... was that the number 32?

“Chris did all the writing,” Buck added proudly. “As the mastermind behind this, it was only right that he got the honors.”

“What do you think, Dad?” Chris’ voice bubbled over with delight.

Eddie looked up. They were both watching him, eyes bright, smiles wide, waiting on his response. I think--no, I know have the best kid ever.

And the best Buck.

Eddie couldn’t contain the huge grin that broke out on his face. “It’s perfect.” He looked a them, eyes meeting Christopher's, then Buck’s. “Thank you.”

***

“So when do I get to meet her?” Abuela was layering a container with tamales, her back to Eddie.

“Who?”

“The person you’ve been sharing all my cooking with.” Abuela’s tone brooked no nonsense. “The person who makes you smile to yourself every time you think I’m not looking.”

Eddie startled. “Oh, Buck? He’s not... we’re not--”

“Nonsense, mi amor.” Abuela chuckled, clamping the lid down on the container of tamales and handing them to Eddie’s slack hands. “If he isn’t, then he should be.”

Eddie stopped where he was. Abuela is right. Chris adores him, I adore him... What am I waiting for?

He reached for his phone and sent out a text.

To: Buck

From Eddie:

Abuela made tamales. Come over tonight? 

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Headcannon: Modern!AU Baking w/Ivar

My Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: “Hey, doll! Could I request a Modern au! Headcanon of Ivar and the reader baking?”

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Nope, none than I can think of

A/N: So, I might still be a bit in the holiday spirit, hence the christmas cookies stuff. Anyhow, hope you like this, and thank you so much for reading! Sending you my love!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @1950schick​ @ietss​

·         The first time you get Ivar to help you bake something is near the holidays. You’d be celebrating an early Christmas so the two of you can go to his mother’s house to partake in the Yule celebrations.

·         So, you’d manage to pout your way into having Ivar help you make some cookies.

·         He’d have one condition, if only because he still wants to keep the façade of not liking festive stuff: simple, plain cookies. No Christmas tree shapes, no stocking shapes, no nothing.

·         You’d mutter something about him turning into a Grinch, but accept. Round sugar cookies it is.

·         It’d turn out to be very fun, for the both of you, the making of the cookies.

·         You’d point Ivar in the correct direction, murmuring the correct measurements and guiding his hand through some of the motions, especially when it comes time to make the glaze. And, surprisingly enough, he’d prove to be a model student.

·         You’d admit, the most fun you’d have during the whole thing would be decorating the cookies.

·         Making out over the countertop while you wait for them to finish baking comes a close second, though.

·         Ivar would grow adorably frustrated at his apparent inability to handle the piping bag filled with colored glaze, and though you have to lean over your work table and kiss away the frown between his brows more than once, you’d have the time of your life witnessing all that.

·         At some point, while you’d be arguing absently that he could help you next time you have to make a few batches of cookies or cupcakes for a party, Ivar would stop you with a call of your name.

·         His eyes would be wide and a frown between his brows as he looks at the cookie you’re decorating, the round canvas only working to help you make a little Santa face on it, red hat and all.

·         When he’d ask what that cookie is supposed to be, offering it is an old man victim to the cold, and that Ivar shouldn’t judge him for his choice of has wouldn’t particularly cut it.

·         Ivar would claim because of your betrayal of the terms, that he isn’t obligated to help you anymore.

·         You’d have a feeling it is because he’s awfully competitive and couldn’t stand the thought of you decorating cookies better than he can, but you wouldn’t argue.

·         You’d regret not arguing, not calling him out on it, the next time you ask him to join you in making a fresh batch of cupcakes.

·         He’d use your previous ‘betrayal’ as the reason why that will be the first and last time he helps you bake some sweets.

·         But you are nothing if not resourceful.

·         And, in the time you’ve been dating him, you’ve learned Ivar has a weakness for anything baked, especially if warm and made by you.

·         So, your plan of making your stubborn boyfriend bake with you starts taking form.

·         First, it’s casual. A few times he returns to the apartment to find the characteristic smell of cinnamon rolls in the air.

·         He’d rush to find you -or them-, but after a quick greeting you tell him you had promised Torvi some for the kids’ school baking sale.

·         A lie, but all is fair in war and love, right?

·         Ivar would ask if you can make more, and it is then you’d make use of every dramatic scene you’ve watched.

·         You’d sigh, long and tired, and offer that you are exhausted, but, if you were to have any help, you could make some more.

·         Ivar’s eyes would narrow at you, the hint of suspicion in them, before he’d deny the offer.

·         If you insisted, he’d offer to help you relax after a long day of work on those cinnamon rolls, eyes dark and mouth by your ear.

·         Point for him, because you forget all about baking for quite a while.

·         If the promise of positive reinforcement doesn’t work, you figure negative reinforcement will.

·         So, one evening you’d extricate yourself from his arms, and cut the marathon night short, standing up from the couch with the most innocent claims about wanting to cook something you could muster.

·         Ivar would be already awaiting your next attack on his stubborn insistence not to help you bake anything, so he’d just shrug and tell you to go ahead.

·         But eventually curiosity would win over pride, and he’d grab his crutch and walk after you, standing in the kitchen’s doorway.

·         At your words that you plan on making rosemary muffins, his whole face would scrunch up in a grimace.

·         But you’d realize you had played your cards too quickly when, at your offer that you could make his favorite if he helps you, Ivar gathers his best poker face and wishes you luck with your rosemary muffins before pressing a kiss behind your ear and returning to the living room.

.         Another point for him, and this time defeat isn’t as fun as last time.

·         And, because you are in love with a frustratingly perceptive and intelligent man, each move you make in this silent war of yours fails to grant you victory.

·         And so months would pass, and your efforts would diminish, coming more and more sporadically, if only in the hopes of catching him by surprise for once.

·         Ivar would be the one to surprise you, though.

·         You’d walk into the apartment after a long day (a long week, really), and find Ivar sitting on his wheelchair and moving about the kitchen with ease, the basic ingredients to some baked sweet placed all around him.

·         His eyes would widen when he caught sight of you, and you’d only raise your eyebrows.

·         You’d know that you have the most annoying and smug grin on your face, but you wouldn’t care in the slightest about hiding it.

·         He’d mutter adorably something about wanting to do something that would make you feel better after a long week, mentioning how you seem to cheer yourself up by baking something.

·         Though your first instinct would be to run up at him and kiss him until neither of you can quite breathe normally, which you do, you refuse to be carried away. Victories like these only come once in a lifetime.

·         So, hands joined together and eyes innocently perverse as they gaze up at him, you’d ask him what the two of you would be making.

·         It would take a lot of prodding on your part and a lot of sulking on his part, but you’d eventually get him to accept defeat, and admit he did have fun, that day and the time of your ‘early Christmas’.

·         You’d have a feeling he refused to admit he enjoyed the time he had spent baking with you only out of spite and pride, refusing to give you that one victory.

·         It proves to be as fun as the first time, even more so, now that Ivar is observant to your tricks and insists on looking over your shoulder ever chance he has to make sure all you are making is plain sugar cookies.

·         And, in what you know he calls payback only to refuse admitting he has as much fun as you do, Ivar would insist on making every treat he missed out on in those months you were luring him into accepting defeat.

·         Cinnamon rolls, red velvet cupcakes, caramel fudge, ginger muffins, all of it.

·         And you’d partake every time, enjoying how Ivar grows more and more confident in his actions in the kitchen, almost a natural.

·         You’d come to regret the whole thing soon enough.

·         Ivar proves to be a menace when he gets a hang of what makes the base for most baked goods.

·         He’d try anything. Whiskey cupcakes, cream cheddar cheese cookies, the most obscure recipes.

·         He does manage to surprise you with some fantastic results in old recipes from the Viking Era and before, like Mandel-Eplekake, and Blod Kaker.

·         All in all, your campaign to make him give in and accept he enjoys baking with you proves to be a successful one, you learn a few things on the way, and you even manage to impress the Lothbroks with some traditional Scandinavian baked good next time you spend Yule with them.

___

So, I hope you liked it!! Thank you so much for reading (and for requesting,y ou lovely anon!), hope you have a great day/night! Love you all! 

And yes, I have the recipes for the cakes mentioned, here you go

[alottamoney]

A Kiss from a Boy

On 17 May 2016, Yoongi and JHope ask how many viewers are watching before they introduce themselves. Namjoon says, “It was ‘Coming Of Age Day’ for Junkook yesterday.” Yoongi says that all the travel expenses were paid for Jungkook (or that Jungkook paid for everyone, I'm not sure) “We are on vacation right now.” Yoongi reveals. Yoongi asks Jungkook to say a few words since it was his Coming of age day, JHope interrupts with “We threw you a party!” “Yesterday Jimin slapped me on the back really hard,” Jugkook says, “it still hurts.” Jimin looks apologetic. Namjoon asks if the cake they got him was delicious(?) JHope says Jin went out to buy him the cake, Jungkook is trying to say something when Jin interrupts with “Jungkook you can get a kiss from one of the members. Who do you want?” He suggests they playing rock paper scissors to decide, Jungkook removes Jin’s hand off his thigh. Before Jungkook can fully express his thoughts on kissing a boy, Namjoon is yelling “ Taehyung! Taehyung! you can kiss him!”, Jungkook looks down for a quick second then says “I would like a kiss from our fans” he spreads his hand out, not very convincingly, to indicate to the fans watching. Yoongi interrupts any further cliché declarations to tell us that they’re having fun on this trip. Junkook drops his hands to his knees, still a bit fidgety. JHope starts talking about how they got to number one (on charts) when Yoongi points out how his sunglasses look like a mirror. Jungkook pretends to fix his hair while looking at JHope’s sunglasses. He is committed to the role. I assume he is trying to get rid of the nervous energy and not let the conversation go back to kissing. They thank ARMY for their support and say goodbye.

I don’t have much to say about this other than it was an interesting 3 minutes and counts as a Strange Taekook Vlive even though Tae wasn’t present. Some might say we’re reading into it, but Jungkook looking somewhat bashful when Namjoon calls for Taehyung is evident to me. I’ve also seen some say that Namjoon calls for Taehyung because he didn’t want to make it awkward for Jungkook and the others, which here is the reach because a) This is a joke. b) Jin is the one who suggested it and whatever Jungkook’s answer was Jin should be the one taking responsibility not Namjoon. c) Yoongi had shot the whole thing down already.

On 31 August 2015, BTS are on Vlive to celebrate Jungkook's birthday. Here Jimin asks to sit on Jungkook’s lap and does so. He also asks Jungkook for a kiss and offers him a kiss as a birthday present. Jungkook didn’t get defensive, nor do the other members look perturbed.

Teasing each other like this seems like a common occurrence and no, I don’t think Namjoon was implying anything about anyone’s relationship but it’s a good thing Tae wasn’t there to banish him from his imagination. Jungkook’s reaction is the only revealing part here: the way his protests died down and he reverted to their “only love/need ARMY” crutch, forgetting that kissing anyone wasn’t his idea in the first place. He looked like he was staving off embarrassment for a few moments after; the other time he was offered a kiss by a member he seemed indifferent. (Disclaimer: this is not a comparison of ships, just similar situations).

Of course, Namjoon’s casual shipping didn’t drive a wedge between Tae and Jungkook, as you can see in the first season of Bon Voyage. What are your thoughts on this? Do you prefer short (over) analysis or long ones? If there is a Taekook moment you would like me to ramble about, please do suggest. 

[orwocolor]

Love Thy Neighbour - Chapter Six

Pairing: Gwilym Lee x Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Cursing

Summary: Charlotte’s birthday is right behind the corner, and it’s time to bake the cake with your friend Gwil. Or is it?

Author’s Note: So. Much. Angst. is coming your way. Comments and reblogs are always very appreciated :) Check my masterlist to read the previous chapters. Dedicated to my sweetie @justgwilym​.

With the help of your crutches, you skip your way to the kitchen and plop down on a pulled-out chair that Gwilym has prepared for you. Grabbing a cup of strong coffee, you let the heated porcelain warm you up.

“Thank you,” you mumble and take a sip.

“You’re welcome,” Gwil smiles and sits opposite you, placing a plate of croissants between you.

“Damn, that’s great coffee!” you cannot refrain from praising, wondering whether it has always tasted this good or whether your taste buds have changed for some mysterious reasons.

“Well, it’s from Hazel’s,” Gwil explains and grins at your face when the understanding finally hits you. “Yeah, you’d run out and I figured I might as well have gone get us something for the breakfast. We deserve something delicious, don’t we?” he offers and cocks his eyebrows.

“True,” you agree and raise your mug in a toast.

“I wish to propose something,” Gwil suddenly says and you notice the shift in his tone. You take a bite of one of the sugar-dusted croissants and answer with your mouth full.

“Okay, I’m all ears.”

“If you’ve got another nightmare, you won’t stay here in your bed, alone, but you’ll come over to my place. No, don’t argue –” he lifts his hand when you open your mouth to protest, a small cloud of sugar landing on the table. “You really scared the shit out of me last night and I hated seeing you so distraught. You’ve got my keys and my permission to come over, even in the middle of the night.” His look turns thoughtful for a moment. “Just maybe wake me up gently. But don’t sneak up on me.” He chuckles, but you spot his fiddling hands.

You swallow down a couple of tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. You have no idea how you could have ever deserved this man in your life. “Thank you,” you say earnestly, and with some difficulties, place your mug to your lips only to hide your face.

“You’re getting better with the crutches.”

Turning around, you let your eyes skim the two crutches leaning against the kitchen wall, grateful for the change of topic.

“Yeah, the wrist’s getting better so I can finally use them properly. I think I’ll give a call to Peter soon to tell him I’m returning to work.”

“You’ve still got a couple of weeks of rest, though.” Gwilym’s forehead creases with uncertainty.

“I know, but my job can be hardly defined as demanding and I’m sure Peter will more than welcome accommodating my needs, like the possibility to prop up my ankle on a stool, if that means he doesn’t need to cover for me any longer and can return to his working from home.” Gwil’s expression has not changed. “Look, I know it may seem sudden, but I’ve been thinking about it for some time. And now that I can actually walk with some ease, there’s nothing stopping me. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

It takes a few moments of pondering over it but eventually, a defeated sigh leaves Gwilym’s lips and you are flooded with relief. For some reason, you have really wanted him to support you in your decision.

“I do,” he says softly, and you give him a reassuring smile which he reciprocates.

It has not yet been a month since you sat at this same table with Gwil for the first time. He came knocking on your door at a God-awful hour, drunk as a lord. You let him crash on your couch and made breakfast for him the next day. You smile fondly at the memory. Who could have known that such a sight would soon turn into a daily occurrence.

You watch Gwil over the rim of your cup. His kind eyes and lovely smile. And your heart skips a beat at the realisation that Gwil has quickly become one of your closest friends.

The companionable silence that you have fallen into, disturbed only by cups being placed on the table and lips smacking at the delicious pastries, feels like a warm blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

Once you finish the breakfast, Gwil gets on his feet to rinse the plates and cups. With his back turned to you and with no intention looking into your eyes, he starts talking again.

“I’ve got another audition today,” he begins tentatively.

“Oh?” you urge him to continue, finding the nervousness creeping to the edge of your mind rather troubling. Gwilym’s voice is weak and you become painfully aware of how much he averts your questioning gaze.

“Yeah, I… well, it would be better if I were offered a job rather sooner than later. Might as well not be able to pay for the new flat in a couple of months.”

It’s as if someone poured a bucket of freezing-cold water over you. The sense of safety evaporating so quickly that no trace of the sensation remains, only the chill that makes the hair on your arms stand up and dread running down your spine. Now you understand why he has waited the whole morning to tell you and took the advantage of doing the dishes so that he didn’t have to face you.

He cannot just vanish from your life. He just can’t. Not now. Please.

Please, not now.

Everything you wish to say dies in your throat and you’re not sure whether the feelings of things unspoken that are forcing their way to the surface are something you want to deal with right now.

You stand up and gingerly limp your way to his figure standing at the sink, his hands in tight grips around the edge of the counter. Closing the distance between him and you, you press yourself against his back and snake your arms around his middle. You pour all your feelings into the embrace and release a relieved sigh when his damp hands find yours and he leans into you. Nuzzling your cheek against the dip between his shoulder blades, you’re filled with gratefulness he cannot see your face contorted in pain at the thought of him leaving.

You have no idea how long you stand like that in your tiny kitchen, the only thing you’re sure of is that you don’t want him to leave.

~

With your return to work, you rarely get a chance to hang out with your lovely neighbour as much as you did when you were on sick leave. Even though your shifts are the same as they had always been, everything takes you at least twice as long, since your achy ankle protests every now and then, and even your daily routines such as putting your clothes on or taking a shower turn into a time-consuming task. Gwil, on the other hand, stays barely at home. He frequents more and more auditions, and you consider it a miracle if you run into each other at least in your building. Sometimes you make dinner together, but you’re both so exhausted from your days, you say goodnight early in the night and crash into your respective beds.

You cannot stop returning to the conversation you had in your kitchen and the mere thought of him not living so close makes your throat tighten. If it’s already hard to find opportunities to spend some time together, there is no way you would see each other enough if he lived elsewhere.

Your hands are shaking now, and you almost do not register a customer talking to you.

“You seem a bit distracted today, my dear,” Mr Dean’s voice reaches your ears as the customer says her goodbye and you turn to your friend. He has not taken his eyes from the book he is currently reading. “Actually, come to think of it,” he adds after a moment, “you’ve seemed distracted since the moment you got back to work.”

“Hmm, I guess so,” you sigh eventually and quickly plant a smile on your face as an elderly couple comes to your register. You ring them up and wrap their books into very nice and delicate paper, a gift for their grandchildren. They give you a grateful smile and with a ring of the bell hanging above the door, they leave the bookshop.

Gently closing the book and putting it back on its shelf, Mr Dean shuffles to your side and takes a seat on a vacant chair on which you occasionally rest your foot.

“My dear, is everything alright?” he asks, trepidation seeping into every syllable, and he takes your hand in his.

“I’m just worried about my friend. He’s been hunting for a job for quite some time now but to no avail.” Mr Dean’s dry fingers pet the back of your hand. “And the worst thing, I’m pathetic and selfish and afraid I might lose his friendship.”

“How so?”

“There’s a possibility he might let go of his flat. He’s my neighbour, you see,” you add hastily when you notice his baffled face.

“But dear, that’s not the end of the world!” he chuckles softly. “I’m sure he would remain your friend even if he lived at the other end of London. The two of us don’t live in the same building and we’re still friends, aren’t we?” He tilts his head to catch your gaze and gives you a wide smile when you can’t help the grin pulling at the corners of your lips.

You truly missed his kind eyes and warm words he always has to offer.

“Yes. Yes, we are,” you confirm and squeeze his hands in emphasis.

“Good.” He returns the gesture and with softness in his eyes lets go of you, standing up to browse the aisles.

“I need to close a few minutes earlier today,” you tell him when the end of your shift nears. “We’re having a birthday party for my friend Charlotte tomorrow and I need to bake the cake.”

“I didn’t know you could bake,” Mr Dean replies, and you can’t miss the look of incredulity at your culinary skills in his face.

“That’s very low, Mr Dean, even from you,” you protest but immediately make a grimace. “But you’re right, I’m not gonna bake the cake myself, my neighbour has offered his assistance.”

“Good, you need supervision,” he teases.

“Oh, you didn’t! You’re going to take that back, Mr Dean, or I’m gonna tell on you.”

“Whom, your boss?”

“No, your son.” A flash of winning grin crosses your face when momentarily Mr Dean stops in his tracks. “Or that lovely lady you go with for walks in Hyde Park.”

“Penelope has got better things to do.”

“Oooh, Penelope! I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned her name. And you’re already in the first-names stage, nice!”

“Oh, stop, you.” He walks over the register and brushes a kiss on your cheek. “See you on Monday?”

“Yes, Mr Dean, enjoy your weekend.”

“You too, my dear.”

~

Where is he?

You check the time for an umpteenth time and swear profusely under your breath. Grabbing your phone, you give him another call, but the line is silent. Has he turned off his phone or has something happened? He did warn you that the audition might take a bit longer, but it is two hours after the time he claimed he would have been back by. But there is no sight of him. (Yes, you also keep opening and closing your windows to give a quick inspection to your street illuminated by lamp posts.) And you cannot even reach him on his phone.

You start biting your nails, an old habit from a kindergarten that you hated and that your mother pointed out every time she got the chance.

When your knee starts buckling too, you jump from your seat and dial a different number.

Two rings and the voice on the other end greets you gleefully.

“Hi, Ben, how are you? Look, I wouldn’t call you this late but Gwil hasn’t returned from his audition yet and I’m a bit worried.” ‘A bit’ is an understatement but Ben is not stupid and gathers the true meaning behind your words.

“It ended some time ago. I think I saw him chatting with the pretty assistant of the casting director when I was leaving. He’d told me not to wait for him. You guys had some plans?”

“Yeah, we were supposed to bake a cake for my friend’s birthday. I…” You are not certain how to finish the sentence. “Do you have any idea where he could be right now?” you ask eventually and hate how weak your voice sounds.

“No idea, sorry. It’s so weird, Y/N, that doesn’t sound like him at all. But don’t worry, I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe they let him give it another try. He was devastated when his audition ended, so it’s possible they gave him one more shot. People underestimate assistants but they can have huge power over their bosses if they know how to play the game. And she seemed quite enchanted by our dear Welsh friend, so who knows…”

You hum in agreement but then Ben’s words finally hit you. You are about to answer but you need to swallow down the lump in your throat that has formed in there in the past few seconds.

Honestly, you can say it is an option that has not crossed your mind.

Clearing your throat, you finally respond. “Yeah, that’s possible. Well, thanks, Ben, and sorry for calling you this late again.”

“No problem, lovely,” he says with a cheerful edge to his voice, a tone that does not match your mood at all. After exchanging a couple of pleasantries, to which you pay very little attention, you hang up.

You stay motionless for a moment, the grip around your phone tightening. You feel your lip starting to tremble but before your emotions can cloud your better judgement, you set your jaw and open a laptop. A quick search and you find a recipe that seems similar to that which Gwil has had in mind for Charlotte’s birthday cake.

You keep checking the recipe just to occupy your mind some more even though you have memorised it by now as you mix the ingredients and pour the substance into the cake pan. But Ben’s words are constantly echoing in your head and no matter how hard you try, you can’t silence them.

You close the oven with too much force, and the slam of the small door makes you jump.

So what? He’s got the right to chat with anyone he wishes to. And he doesn’t owe you anything even though he promised he would be here for you. Maybe he just forgot. He can do whatever he wants, he’s an adult and anyway, you’re neither his mum nor his gi–

Groaning, you lean against the kitchen counter and your thoughts come back to the day you spent in the hospital, the day he mentioned his agent had suggested he should bow and scrape before casting directors if he wanted to get a role. And even though it was clear Gwil was against that idea, he might have changed his mind.

Fuck, why does the image of him leaning over a beautiful casting director assistant in an attempt to charm the pants off her infuriate you so much?

And what if you’re jumping to conclusions? Who knows what Ben saw, and maybe the vivid images in your mind are truly just what they are – figments of your imagination.

But that would mean something awful might have happened to him and just the mere thought makes you physically sick.

Come to think, there’s something in the air that truly causes your stomach to turn.

Fuck, the cake!

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no!” You frantically swing the oven door open and start coughing as the smell of burnt sponge reaches your nose.

Tears threaten to fall down your cheeks but you swallow them down, toss the ruined cake into the bin, take a deep breath, and start all over again. This time you don’t forget to set the timer and while the sponge is baking, you also cut out star-like shapes from mangoes, kiwis and pineapple to decorate the cake with early in the morning.

This wouldn’t have happened if Gwilym was here.

Your mind keeps returning to your neighbour’s face and with thoughts swirling relentlessly in your mind, you finish the baking, get a couple more ingredients ready for tomorrow, wrap gifts, and change to bed.

You’re dead tired, but sleep is avoiding you. Wishing your brain had an on/off button, you toss and turn, your ears trained to every creak and rustling that the old house constantly makes. But there is no sound of keys rattling in the lock, and eventually you drift off to restless sleep.

~

Oh, no.

You almost can’t recognise your face in the bathroom mirror. Dark circles under the eyes, messy hair and slightly hollowed cheeks, your reflection is anything like you. Not that you’re a sight for sore eyes in the wee hours of the morning, but you’ve never looked this bad.

That’s what a few nightmares and an occasional staring at the ceiling can do to you.

You run yourself a bath to allow yourself at least a moment of relaxation before Jane picks you up, and with some make-up, you manage to cover the traces of the sleepless night. She gives you a call to tell you she’s waiting on the parking lot when you’re adding the last touches to the cake. It’s a decently looking dessert. It would not probably make the cover of Good Food magazine, but it’s the effort that counts.

You’re confident enough to leave the crutches resting against the hall wall. Swinging a purse on your shoulder and carefully lifting the box with the cake, you lock the door and start descending the stairs with slow and measured steps.

When you make a turn on the last landing before the foyer, a loud bang of the entry door catches you off guard and your head flies up to find the source of the noise.

At first, a wave of relief washes over you. Gwil is alive. He’s seemingly unhurt, only his eyes are bloodshot and when he spots you at the top of the staircase, a flash of guilt strikes his features. And then you remember that awful pang of jealousy you felt yesterday, how worried and angry you were, how much stress and pain it caused you that he hadn’t shown up as he had promised, and your expression hardens.

You make sure your grip on the box with the cake is firm and continue your way downstairs.  

“Great, you’re alive,” you cannot deny yourself the dry remark that has been burning your tongue with every step you’ve taken.

“Y/N, I’m–”

“Save your apology for later, I’m kind of in the rush here,” you cut him off mid-sentence. Walking past him, you make sure your eyes are cold and distant as you give him a scornful look, hopefully meaningful enough that the slightly awkward limp does not undermine it.

“Look, I–”

“Don’t.” You turn to face him and lift your hand to silence him, the cake box precariously swaying on the other one. You hear how dangerously close your voice is to breaking. “Just don’t.”

And with that, you turn on your heel once more and exit the building, Jane’s questioning gaze follows your steps as you open her car, place the cake and gifts inside and take the front passenger’s seat without uttering a single word.

“In a bad mood, are we?” she mocks, and you’re quick to realise you’ve directed your anger at the wrong person.

“Sorry,” you say softly and take a deep breath to shake away the cloud that has settled on your shoulders. There are plenty of dark grey clouds gathering on the sky, no need to add your own. “I’m being a bitch. I just…” You’re looking for words but when you try to formulate your thoughts and feelings, it crosses your mind that you truly might be overreacting here. “I just didn’t sleep much. This,” you point to the white box on the back seat, “is cake number two. I burnt the first one last night.”

“Ah, I see,” Jane answers, although she remains reluctant to believe it’s the whole truth. But she knows when not to stir up a hornet’s nest and decides not to further comment on it as she shifts into first gear and pulls away from the curb.

“Well,” she continues after a few minutes of a silent ride, “there’s gonna be plenty of booze so you can easily drown whatever’s troubling you in a tumbler or two. Or ten.”

Chuckling, you flash her a smile. “Yeah, sounds good to me.”

~

Okay, so let’s sum up the facts. You really like Gwil, he’s been an amazing friend so far. Well, until he decided to stand you up. Whether for someone else or whether because of another pressing matter is irrelevant. But he doesn’t owe you anything.

And yet, he promised.

Urgh, your pondering is turning out to be unbearable. Maybe another glass of sangria will help.

The truth is, you suddenly come to the realisation, that you allowed him to get so much closer to you than you’ve allowed to anyone else. You let him spend his days and (occasionally) nights in your home and you were relishing that friendship and companionship with every fibre of your being. Every joke that you’ve shared, every moment of honesty and sincere confessions, every innocent touch or brush of his fingers. Hmmm, the skin on his hands is so soft…

You blink a couple of times.

But it should have been clear that sooner or later, he would let you down. And the problem is it’s not even his fault. At least, not entirely. When you open your heart this readily, it is doomed to get either broken, crushed or stomped at and there’s nothing left for you to do but to pick up the pieces again and let it heal in its due time.

Wait, your heart? Who’s talking about your heart? All you feel is just the disappointment of a broken promise, that’s all. That’s all, right?

Right?

“Y/N?”

“Hm?” You make a quick turn, staggering, which is in all honesty due to the countless number of drinks rather than your injured but almost healed ankle, but nobody needs to know.

“You’re having fun?” Charlotte asks, a tad of concern in her eyes.

“Totally!” You flash her a wide smile and, as an emphasis, down the glass in your hand.

“I’d like to introduce you to someone. This,” she turns around to bring into your periphery a nicely dressed man, “is Daniel.”

“Hi,” you say in a weak voice, immediately sobering out.

“Hi, Y/N, right? I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Yeah, me too,” you answer politely, having only a distinct and vague memory of Charlotte mentioning a colleague of hers, whose name probably truly was Daniel.

“I’ve been wondering whether you would like to go grab a coffee or dinner with me sometimes,” he tries tentatively, and a sheepish smile is playing on his lips. Oh, right. He’s the guy she wanted to set you up with. For some inexplicable reason, Gwil’s face flashes in front of your mind’s eyes and a rush of heat reaches your cheeks.

For a moment, you squeeze your eyes shut and will the picture of the piercing blue eyes, prominent nose, and the most beautiful smile away.

When your eyelids lift again, there is no trace of your inner turmoil and you look like the luckiest girl in the whole wide world.

“That sounds amazing!”  

~

Taglist: @lv7867, @spacedustmazzello, @queenwouldyourathers, @im-an-adult-ish, @fairestkillerqueenofall, @supernaturalee, @queenlover05, @geek-and-proud, @chlobo6, @mrsmazzello, @timeandpixiedust, @kerouacsroad, @gwilsmainhoe​

[phykios]

honesty and promise me, part 4 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]

 July twelfth dawns like any other day, Annabeth wrapped up in Percy’s sheets. She’s spent significantly more nights in his bed than she’s spent in her own apartment over the last two months, but who could blame her? This bed is literally to die for. Therapeutic mattress for the fucking win.

 Percy, to her greatest confusion and chagrin, is a morning person. Well, actually, what he is is someone who runs on very little sleep for three weeks at a time, before crashing headfirst into his bed for thirteen hours. It is a decidedly unhealthy way to live, but it means that Annabeth is used to waking up alone. The nights where she gets to wake up with Percy are the nicer ones, sure, but his presence is suffused in every corner of the room, his smell wafting from every piece of sweaty clothing tossed haphazardly about the floor, so much so that she never feels like she is truly waking up alone.

 Gross? A little. But the smell is oddly sexy, too, especially after he’s just come home from a run, all wet and glistening and flushed, panting hard--

 Ahem.

 The point is, when Annabeth rolls out of bed in one of Percy’s shirts (the one that says “Do You Even Lift, Bro?” with an image of a male dancer raising his partner, courtesy of one Jason Grace) and stumbles into the kitchen for one of Percy’s patented brunch specials, it’s a pretty normal morning. What catches her off guard is the spread: eggs and bacon, obviously, with fruit and granola and yogurt, but also an enormous tray of delicious, flaky croissants, perfectly crescent shaped, with little bowls of every condiment imaginable, multiple flavors of jams and preserves and Nutellas.

 “Bounjour, mademoiselle!” Percy says cheerfully from the oven, perfectly accented, bending over to take out a tray. “Ça va bien?”

 “Um… bonjour…” She pokes a croissant experimentally, and is equally delighted and dismayed to find that it is just as flaky as advertised.

 “Take a seat, these ones just need to cool for a bit and then we can get started.”

 Spring in his step, he opens the refrigerator, taking out the most beautiful cake Annabeth has ever seen in her entire life. Perfectly round, paper white, with little blue borders piped around the edge, but it’s got Annabeth feeling like she’s just been doused in cold water. “How the hell did you know it was my birthday?”

 Immediately, she knows it was the exact wrong thing to say. His eyes go wide as the saucers on the table, mouth open in shock. “It’s your birthday?”

 Goddammit. “Um.”

 “Why didn’t you say anything?”

 Because birthdays were inherently a dumb concept? Because her father had to be reminded of her birthday more often than not? Because her mother had stopped sending her birthday cards after she turned thirteen, calling them a waste of money and resources? “I don’t know,” she shrugs, dipping her finger into the strawberry jam. “I guess I just didn’t think it was a big deal. Ooh, does this have rosemary in it?”

 “Annabeeeeth,” he whines, plopping the cake onto the kitchen island. “I can’t believe you! I love birthdays.”

 “Well,” she flounders, attempting to duck his sudden attention, “what were you originally celebrating? I don’t usually think of cake as a brunch option.”

 He raises an eyebrow, not at all impressed with her attempts to change the topic, but he answers dutifully, “Originally, we were celebrating me being one month cig-free--”

 “Percy!” Annabeth gasps, clapping her hands delightedly, and a little exaggeratedly. “That’s great!”

 “But,” he continues, “now we’re definitely celebrating your birthday instead.”

 “Oh, come on!”

 “Nuh uh,” he chides, grabbing his phone and beginning to type something, “I am asking Nico to pick you up a birthday card as we speak.”

 Oh. “Nico’s coming?”

 “Well, this is his apartment. Part of the deal is that I make him breakfast. I think he’s bringing his boyfriend.”

 “Is… anyone else coming?”

 “Just a couple of people, my friends Frank, Grover, Rachel… I invited Hazel and Thalia, too, but I think Hazel told me she was busy, and you know Thalia. If it’s not at a crappy dive bar then the odds of her showing up are virtually none.” Percy pauses in his text, fixing her with an odd look. “You really don’t want anyone to know, do you?”

 How easily he reads her is a little disconcerting, and also a thought that she just can’t handle right now. “I just don’t like people making a big deal out of it. You know, it’s just another day. I’d much rather celebrate you quitting.”

 He holds her gaze for a beat, before smiling, finishing typing out whatever he was doing on his phone. “Yes, I am officially quitting. Cigarettes are terrible for you, and I do not have the money to keep up the habit. So, I swear,” he holds up a hand, “No cigarettes, no weed, no vaping. Not that I ever vaped before.”

 “Oh, never?” Annabeth teases.

 “Not ever.” He leans in, grinning that devastating grin that is seriously detrimental to her health. “You could not pay me enough.”

 “Good.” She goes to meet him, pressing her mouth to his, sweetly and chastely, but swiftly turning deeper, almost against their higher brain functions, like they only exist to be here in this moment, lips against lips, tongue and tongue. She’s always hated the taste of cigarettes, she prefers edibles to blunts, and anyone who vapes is automatically dropped from her list of potential partners… but she’s never minded the taste of ash on Percy’s tongue. It was just another part of him, another facet of the whole sexy package.

 Now, though, she has the full taste of him, unfettered and unfiltered, his morning coffee and his morning breath. It is disgusting, but again, oddly thrilling. This is Percy, stripped down and divested of all the trappings of blue lipstick and tight pants. She wonders what he thinks when he sees her like this, messy haired, face and ears empty of metal, last night’s mascara smudged all around her eyes. Given the way that he deliberately threads her hair through his fingers, winding the frizzy curls around him, pulling her close enough that the pristine cake is in danger from some serious smushing, she thinks he likes it just as much.

 Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on which perspective, either Percy’s, Annabeth’s, Nico’s, or the cake’s, their little impromptu makeout session has cold water dumped on it before they can end up doing it on the kitchen island. The sound of someone unlocking the front door is almost comically loud, and they break apart, equally red and flushing.

 “Gross,” says Nico di Angelo. “No heterosexuality allowed in my kitchen.”

 “Take that back, you biphobic ass,” Percy says. “I have never been heterosexual in my life.”

 “I’m not biphobic, I just don’t want to see you getting it on on my marble countertops.”

 “Speak for yourself,” chimes in Will, setting down a grocery bag right on the spot which would have been ground zero. “Hi, Annabeth.”

 “Hey, Will.”

 “Nice of you to join us today,” he says, as though he doesn’t see her here all the time.

 She offers her assistance in cooking or setting up, knowing full well that she will be firmly rebuffed--domestics are not her strong suit, by any stretch of the imagination--and is sent away with an iced coffee that Will has so thoughtfully bought for her instead of the birthday card she was dreading.

 Soon after, the party is in full swing.

 Well, she uses the term party loosely. It is fairly intimate, even with Nico’s enormous apartment making everything smaller. They have assembled an odd amalgamation of people: “You already know Nico,” Percy says, indicating the goth prince next to, “and Will,” his boyfriend, the perpetually cheery med student, next to, “and this is Frank,” a large, physically imposing man with a shy smile, next to, “Rachel,” a red-headed girl who looked like she just walked out of a paint shower, all making space for, “and my buddy Grover,” the guy in crutches who had immediately dropped into the single, out-of-decor, but extremely comfortable-looking loveseat Nico had placed nearest to the bathroom. All told, they look like the brochure for a community college who really, really wants to publicize how diverse their student body is, but with a kind of natural chemistry and camaraderie that those kids on that brochure could only dream of. “Everyone, this is Annabeth.”

 They greet her, each giving a limp wave.

 Then Percy leaves to attend to his brunch spread, but not before giving her a quick peck on the cheek. She can feel all eyes on them, hot and burning.

 Silence.

 “So,” Annabeth says, as awkward as a freshman in an orientation mixer. “What’s up?”

 “Your hair is amazing,” says Rachel.

 Hers is crusted with paint, a deep red that turns pink against the orange in the light, a close cousin to Annabeth’s, which is in dire need of a touchup, curls thrown in disarray by Percy’s grasping fingers. “Thanks, I--”

 “So how do you two know each other?”

 Annabeth blinks. “Friend of Thalia’s,” she says. “You?”

 “Used to do ballet together,” Rachel says, brusque, efficient. “Frank, too.”

 Frank waves again.

 A beat passes.

 Annabeth looks to Grover, who watches, bemused. “You, too, I take it?”

 Another second. Then he laughs, weird, but hearty, a joyful bleat. “Oh, sure,” he says. “I’m a regular Baryshnikov.”

 She can almost feel the room relaxing, heaving a sigh after holding its breath.

 “Are you with NYCB, too?” she turns to Frank, shoving her hands in her pockets, fingers curling around the fabric there.

 Shaking his head, he swallows his orange juice. “I mostly do modern and hip hop, now, music videos and stuff.”

 Objectively, she knows that you don’t have to be skinny as a rake or bodybuilding champion to dance, but Frank is neither of these, a huge, sweet-faced guy with a healthy layer of fat around his face and torso--a strict counterpart to Percy, who could give the Belvedere Apollo a run for its money. “Have I seen you in anything?” Not that she really watches music videos, but she figures it’s the polite thing to ask.

 “Um, maybe,” he shrugs, embarrassed. “I’ve been lucky enough to work with some really big people.” Though he offers no further details.

 “Working on anything cool?” She asks, doing her best not to cajole.

 He nods. “Percy and I have a thing coming out probably in the next month or so, with--ah, well. Can’t say.”

 “Tease,” Rachel grumbles, tossing back her mimosa. “I’ve been trying to get the secret out of him for months.”

 Frank smiles, secretive and a little smug. “Sorry. You’ll find out along with everyone else.”

 “Do you work together a lot?” Annabeth asks. She had thought that Percy was strictly ballet--though, she supposes dancers do crossover work more often these days, if only for the money.

 “Not as much as we used to, sadly,” he replies. “We actually lived together in Paris for a few years while he was contracted with the opera before I decided to come back home. Vancouver,” he adds at her unspoken question.

 “Bit of a hike, from Vancouver to New York,” says Grover.

 Frank shrugs. “I was in town anyway, and I haven’t seen Percy in about a year.”

 Annabeth frowns, doing some mental math. If Frank hadn’t seen him in two years, then that meant… that Percy had been alone in Paris all that time. The man thrives off of friendship and social interaction; no wonder he was jonesing to come back to America.

 “Remind me again how long you two were together?” Rachel asks, red hair bouncing as she cocks her head. A jolt goes down Annabeth’s spine, appraising Frank in an entirely new light.

 “On and off for about two years,” says Frank, thoughtful. “But I just lived with him to save money. The rent in Paris sucks.”

 “And you were the best roommate I ever had,” Percy says, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Clean, good cook, better kisser--”

 Frank shoves him away.

 “You’ve only ever had one other roommate, other than Nico or your mom,” Grover points out. “That one guy when you first moved overseas--Frodo? Fedora?”

 “Fyodor,” Percy corrects. “He was terrible. I didn’t know any Russian, he didn’t know any English, and our French wasn’t good enough to actually hash it out, so he just gave me a permanent cold shoulder.”

 “Kind of a low bar, don’t you think?”

 “And there was my roommate in Boston.”

 Sharply, she turns her head. “You lived in Boston?”

 “Yeah, for like a year. I told you I was with Boston Ballet for a little bit, didn’t I?”

 Pretty sure he didn’t. She almost opens her mouth to retort, to ask when and compare notes, to mention that she lived in Boston, too, before remembering who she is with, swallowing her words.

 “Fyodor hated you,” Frank hums, reentering the circle. He’d wandered away and returned with a croissant, dipped in chocolate.

 “Trust, me, the feeling was mutual.”

 “It must have been,” Frank says, “because I saw your new apartment after he kicked you out--that place made a shoebox look luxurious.”

 Something in Percy’s face almost falls when Frank says that. Annabeth is sure there is a story there.

 But Rachel laughs. “Annabeth, you have no idea. It was a      Chambre de bonne    ,” she says, exaggerating the accent, “which might sound super fancy and French and cool, but trust me, it wasn’t at all. It was this size.” She slaps the kitchen island, a little too hard, her third mimosa making her loose-limbed and loud. “When I visited for Thanksgiving that year      I     had to pay for the heating bill, because Percy basically refused.”

 “It was cozy,” Percy mutters, suddenly very preoccupied with the half a croissant on his plate.

 “It was not.” Rachel says. “It was sad and cold and small.”

 Nico looks interested, but not nearly as boisterous as Rachel or Frank, “Was that the place…”

 “Ye,” Percy cuts him off, “Yes it was.” He smiles, Stepford-strained. “But, then Frank came to town, and so did his grandmother’s money.” He slaps Frank on the back. “And I got a bathtub.”

 “I still can’t believe that a ballet dancer lived anywhere for two years without a place to soak,” Frank says, shuddering.

 “I can’t believe you waited until Frank got to Paris to get yourself a sugar daddy,” Grover quips. Percy throws a grape at him. Grover, to her immense surprise, manages to catch it in his mouth.

 Annabeth can’t really be impressed. This is the second time someone has brought up Percy and Frank having a history. Something hot and angry curls in her stomach. But Percy is laughing.

 Rachel laughs too. “Oh, he didn’t wait,” she says. “He had a bevy of sugar mommies for trips to Ibiza and Moscow and Beijing.”

 “It was Tokyo,” Percy says, “and they weren’t my Sugar Mamas.” He turns to Annabeth, sheepish, but not actually shameful. “They weren’t. Honestly.”

 “Uh huh.”

 “They were mostly Kym’s friends, and sometimes we’d go out when they were in town, and if we had fun, they’d invite me wherever they were going next. And if I didn’t have to work, I’d go with.”

 “I have heard rumors,” Will says, popping his head in, Nico attached to his hip, “of Percy Jackson, boy toy of the rich and famous of Europe. Is it true?”

 “Yes,” Grover and Rachel say at once.

 “Do you want to hear about that, Will?” Percy asks, “Or would you rather hear about the summer Nico came to stay with me and Frank before he started college, and slept with every single dancer in Europe except Frank?”

 Nico waves him off. “Only because you were already sleeping with him, cause he was your sugar daddy. Not like I needed the money.”

 “It wasn’t like that.” Frank says.

 “And now that we’ve aired all of my dirty laundry,” says Percy, “I need to borrow Annabeth for a second.” Gently, but with force, he tugs her arm, his other hand around her waist, directing her where to go like she’s one of his dance partners. Usually, she minds--a lot. She’s not about to let anyone, let alone a man, tell her where to go--but, you know, it’s Percy. Alone time with him is never a bad thing.

 He pulls her into the hallway, shoving his hand into his pocket. “What’s up?” she asks.

 “So.” Mouth open, he pauses for a moment, just… looking at her. His eyes are soft, warm like the first day of spring.

 “What?”

 “Uh, nothing,” he shakes himself a little, pulling his hand out. “Sorry, I just--I know you said you didn’t want anyone making a big deal out of your birthday…”

 Oh, no. She braces herself for the worst.

 Uncurling his fingers, he reveals his present for her.

 “It’s… a pin?”

 “Yeah,” he smiles. “Remember when I took my sister to the Met a few weeks ago? They were having that thing on Egyptian jewelry? Well, of course we had to stop in the gift shop, and I saw this and just--you know, thought of you.”

 It is a pin--one of those lapel pins that more often than not are added to a collection usually displayed on a backpack. This pin is a silhouette she recognizes instantly: the Parthenon, its columns and angles rendered in sterling silver, little grooves dug into the metal in an approximation of the fluting.

 “Wow,” she breathes. “Thank you.”

 “It was nothing.” His ears are pink. “Happy birthday.”

 And then he hugs her.

 After a moment, she hugs him back.

 It’s amazing how she can have had sex with someone so many times, but feel so awkward giving them a hug.

 “I didn’t, um, tell anyone else,” he says, pulling back. His hands linger on her shoulders, thumb tapping at the base of her neck. “But, I kept meaning to give this to you, so, you know, now was as good a time as any, yeah?”

 “I love it,” she says, honestly. Which surprises her. “Thank you.”

 She slips it into her own pocket, not even minding the sharp corners.

 When they return, Nico has already cut into the cake. “You were taking too long,” he snips.

 It really is delicious. Much, much later, Percy sends her home with a sweet, soft kiss, and one of the last remaining slices, rather than staying for dinner.

 Percy is the kind of boy who goes to his mother’s for dinner every week. She had been invited, but also threatened with the promise of another cake, and his ten year old sister, who would “love to make you a present.”

 It sounded nice, but Annabeth knew when she wasn’t really wanted, and so she demurred, citing a need for some solo downtime.

 She hasn’t heard from Thalia in, like, four days, which meant she had probably gotten a short-term gig. (“You’re lucky, she’s had Jason paying for her phone the whole time you’ve known her. Before that, she was almost impossible to get ahold of.”) Piper would take her out to dinner tomorrow, “just because.” But they would both know it wasn’t true.

 So, to refresh and relax after a long, harrowing day of socializing, Annabeth goes home.

 Or at least to her apartment.

 It doesn’t have a doorman, or the views, or the room, like Nico’s place. Nor does it have any of the people, the energy, the joy. Her furniture doesn’t fill it up. The most appetizing thing in her kitchen are the granola bars Percy had made the week before, or maybe the brownies he made four days ago. She sets her to-go bag of cake and croissants down next to them, a smorgasboard of Percy’s culinary prowess.

 Despite the long hours, her clothes still smell a little like last night’s bar, and her skin has a faint patina of dried sex sweat, and smudged makeup.

 She doesn’t want to start leaving things at Percy’s place--don’t want him to get the wrong idea--but she also occasionally needs to be able to touch up her eyeliner. She’s either going to have to find a bag that isn’t embarrassing to carry, or surreptitiously shove some eyeliner and lipstick next to the condoms in Percy’s nightstand next time they have a sleepover. Or raid Nico’s bathroom.

 Regardless, she needs a wash something bad.

 As she scrubs down, she does her best to focus on the lemon scent of her body wash, and not Percy’s perfect form, dripping with water. She tries to visualize her last trip to Sephora, not blowing him under the hot water.

 It doesn’t really work, so she gets herself clean and gets herself off and considers just spending the rest of the day naked, in case the mood strikes her again. But it's only 5PM, and she doesn’t have Percy to cook her some dinner tonight, so she sucks it up and puts on some pants.

 When she had visited Boston for work a couple of months back, Alex had insisted on taking her shopping, complaining that her sister and her friend Mallory didn’t understand Versace quite like Annabeth did, and that Blitz sucked all the fun out of fashion, anyway. Then, she had bullied Annabeth into buying a set of sweats, claiming it was because of the Grecian patterns, but probably because she thought Annabeth in that much purple would be funny.

 But eventually, she had wheedled, cajoled, and threatened Annabeth into buying a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. After deciding to forgo a bra, because that is just one more area she has always fallen short in, she shoves on a School of Architecture underneath them. The crimson clashes terribly with the lavender and seafoam, but she kind of likes it. Piper would call it “artfully nauseating,” or something.

 Besides, no one is going to see her but her delivery guy. And if someone did see her, someone like Thalia or Percy, well, the clashing colors would be the least of her worries.

 She is folded into her couch, wedged into the corner, very much      not     looking up Paris Ballet clips from the past few years, trying to spot Percy in the background, when there is a knock on her door.

 Not for the first time, she curses her lack of doorman--and then frowns. Who even knows where she lives?

 Piper and Leo? Magnus and Alex?

 Has she already ordered food and just forgotten?

 Is memory loss a side effect of a SK-II mask no one had warned her about?

 Tentatively, she creeps towards the door, opening it slowly. If this were a horror movie, the door would creak open, revealing the villain cast in the shadows of the hallway, holding his weapon of choice.

 She sighs.

 The man is only a few inches taller than her, and dressed impeccably in a t-shirt and jeans that probably cost half a year of her rent-- a big critique coming from her, since she wears a month of her own rent as sweats. His blond hair is impeccably combed, his tennis shoes impeccably white, and his smile the most charming thing you can find this side of the Brooklyn Bridge.

 “Happy birthday, girly,” he says, giving her an awkward, one-armed hug, trying to avoid getting any of her facemask on his shirt.

 “What are you doing here?”

 “It's your birthday,” he reminds her, holding up the bag. “I told you I’d stop by last week.”

 Had he? Maybe, and she’d just been too drunk or hung over to really process it. But maybe he’d also meant to, and then failed to follow through. Luke has a bit of a nasty habit of treating his intentions as the same as his actions. His intentions are good, usually, but it means that he often ignored the actual actions. Like how his intention was to support his mother in the best nursing home in the northeast, but his action was to work with Saturn, a very shady hedge fund, to facilitate it. Or how his intention was to have someone at a stuffy party to talk to, but his action was dressing up Annabeth as his arm candy because none of Piper’s models would call him back anymore. He hasn’t asked her to do that since, like, February though, thankfully.

 “Sorry,” Annabeth says. “I just… you know I don’t like my birthday.”

 He also has a bit of a habit of ignoring her distaste in a really blatant way.

 He’s a little like Percy that way, actually.

 She’d only ever told Luke about her birthday back in those embarrassing freshman days, when she’d thought he looked as good on paper as any Harvard MBA student possibly could, with a devastating smile to match. She’d been so convinced that he would be the right boyfriend that might finally get her mother’s approval, and she figured that her future husband should know her birthday.

 “Come in,” she says, reaching for the bag, but he shakes his head and brushes past her, dumping his black back on the coffee table. Graciously, he doesn’t look at her as he starts to empty out its contents, giving her an opportunity to dart back to her bathroom and peel off her facemask. Luke would forgive designer sweats, but they aren't at the “just chilling in a facemask” level of a relationship.

 When she returns, there is a small assembly line arranged on her coffee table: a stack of paper plates, a carton of Haagen Daas, forks and spoons, and a Milk Bar cake, all wrapped in its box.

 “Is Milk Bar still the ‘it’ thing?” she asks. “With locations all over the country, I figured it would be passé by now.”

 “I know it’s your favorite,” Luke says. “I don’t always have to choose the most popular thing.”

 Milk Bar had been her favorite, that is true, right up until she’d started fucking Percy Jackson, and eating his food.

 “Thanks,” she says, cutting herself a slice, and scooping herself some ice cream.

 “That’s all you’re going to get?” he asks, cutting himself a sliver.

 “I have had so much cake today,” she says. Milk Bar really isn’t as good as Percy's, but it reminds her of birthdays in high school, waiting for her mother to visit, sneaking out when she inevitably didn’t, convincing the local bad boy to buy her some alcohol. She eats it, eagerly.

 Luke’s jaw drops. “You had a birthday cake? By choice? On your birthday?”

 She shakes her head, swallowing. “No, I was at a party with some friends. They didn’t even know it was my birthday,” Until she had stupidly revealed it. Whatever. She just has to make sure he’s been excised from her life by this time next year. And maybe freeze some of his baked goods beforehand.

 Luke doesn’t let her go through with her evening plans, which consisted basically of watching      Legally Blonde     for the gazillionth time while she slurped down some pierogies, but he capitulates to      Roman Holiday    , helping her put away the leftover cake and ice cream. “Thanks,” she says, when the movie was done. “I’m glad you came over. “

 No one ever comes over. Thalia is her best friend, but Thalia would have questions about how she could afford the place, Piper never understood why she’d moved out here at all, and Percy… Percy was irrelevant. There is no reason for him to come here.

 “I always like to see my best girl.” He smiles at her, charming and rogueish.

 “If all those models you keep trying to date know that your best girl is an architect who lives in Brooklyn who you actually feed, that’s probably why they don’t want to date you back.”

 Luke laughs, leaning over and knocking his shoulder against her own. “None of those girls could hold a candle to you.”

 “God, you must be a terrible boyfriend.”

 “Probably,” he agrees, sitting up and stretching, before reaching back to the bag he brought the cake in. “After all, you are the one I bring all the nice presents. But I think I’m a pretty good friend.”

 He takes out a box, burnt orange, a black ribbon wrapped around it, because Luke is nothing if not predictable.

 Annabeth sighs internally, quietly reminding herself that money is how Luke shows his love. And that she is wearing Versace sweats.

 “Herm  é  s,” she says, pulling off the ribbon. “This box looks too small for a Birkin.”

 “Do you want a Birkin?” he asks. “I can get you a Birkin.”

 “I probably don’t need a Birkin,” she admits. Though maybe it would be nice to have one in her closet, if her mom ever calls her up for lunch again. She could show up with a Birkin and an eyebrow ring. Sweet revenge.

 Luke waves a hand. “It doesn't matter if you need one, just if you want one.”

 Inside the box is a scarf, the silk soft and smooth between her fingers, a pleasing gradient of oranges and reds and pinks and corals. When she unfolds it, laying it out before her, she finds a sharp, geometric design, columns stacked together like skyscrapers. Luke obviously had her in mind when he picked it out.

 “Thanks,” she says. It’s pretty--perfect for an ambitious young architect with two degrees from Harvard who had moved to New York City with an offer from one of the best architecture firms in the world. And Annabeth has no idea where she could possibly want or need to wear it.

 “Hey,” Luke says, suddenly soft, “don’t cry.”

 Shocked, she reaches her hand up to her face. It’s wet.

 Luke is probably the only person she will let herself cry in front of. She’d spent three years doing that in college. He’d seen her through heartbreak and hangovers, guiding her through it all like an aloof big brother.

 “I’m okay,” she hiccups, wiping her nose.

 He hands her a napkin.

 Annabeth blows her nose, wet and gross. “I’m sorry, I promise I’m alright.”

 “You sure?” He sounds sincere, but she catches him glancing down at his wrist.

 “Do you have a date?”

 “I…” At least he has the decency to look sheepish. “Just some guys at work. You can come, if you want.”

 It could be fun. Hanging out with Luke can be fun. Get a little lit, take a business bro home, screw his brains out, send him on his way. But there’s an unspoken dress code to these things, and Annabeth just doesn’t wear Louboutins anymore. And the idea of fucking a business bro just… doesn’t hold any appeal right now.

 “No thanks,” she nods, using the clean edge of the napkin to wipe her eyes. “I am going to watch      The Search For Elle Woods    , and you're going to strike out with some models, and everyone is going to be happy.”

 “You really are so mean to me.” Luke complains, as she walks him to the door, before giving her another hug. “You sure you’re going to be okay?”

 “I am.” She is different and new, but Luke is still her friend. She had survived. It would be okay.

 “Well, call me if you need something.” He kisses her cheek, sweetly, without any heat. Perfectly platonic. “I love you very much. Happy birthday.”

 “Thanks,” she says, “I’ll see you around.”

 “Always.” And he is gone.

 She folds the scarf, going to put it in the dresser in her room, shoving it among a handful of accessories, gathering dust. She realizes, with a start, that she’s left a week’s worth of clothes all over her room on the way to the shower, and, with a sigh of adulthood, and the knowledge that if she doesn’t follow the ADHD gods and pick them up now, they’ll be there for weeks, languishing on her floor and stinking up the place, she goes to at least move them into her hamper. She rifles through ripped jeans and band t-shirts and black socks as she goes, checking each for anything like discarded change or a bus pass she doesn’t want to wash.

 She shakes out the pants she’d worn out the night before, and therefore the entire day until she’d gotten home. There is a rather unfortunate stain on the knee that she can’t quite parse--ketchup? Chocolate?

 Then she reaches into the pockets, touching metal, and she suddenly remembers her other birthday present for the day.

 Pulling out the pin, she feels strange, hot in the face, funny in the belly, tossing the jeans haphazardly in with the dirty laundry. It's small and shiny, cheap metal for mass market production, and yet, she walks it over to the dresser, laying it down on the silk scarf like it's the diamond broach her aunt gave her for her sixteenth birthday.

 She really is beyond Hermès scarves now. But that pin? Well, you never really can get more Annabeth--the middle school know-it-all, teenage debutante, college perfectionist, New York yuppy, or barfly and punk princess--than one of the greatest architectural achievements in human history.

 She is still a little shocked by how much she loves it. How much it means to her that Percy saw that it was perfect for her.

 And like so many times when she is confronted with an emotion she doesn’t like, she slams the door closed, and goes and watches a favorite movie from high school.

 She does order dinner, eventually, setting out her meal in between texting Piper about brunch tomorrow. It's a whole thing, pretending that they’re not going out for her birthday, but eventually they agree on a time and a place, and she can eat her sausage and watch everyone practice the Bend and Snap in peace.  

 So she is very annoyed when her phone buzzes again.

 Maybe the reservation fell through. Or maybe she doesn’t want Annabeth to show up in ripped fishnets, even though that only happened once.

 Her stomach sinks when she checks her phone. It isn’t Piper.

Hello Dear, Happy Birthday. We miss you. Please call anytime. Love Dad, Mary, and the boys.  

 Below the text is a link, leading to a gift certificate for $200 to Sephora, which has Mary’s name written all over it. Aunt Natalie would have suggested Bergdorf Goodman.

 Her hand clenches, momentarily overcome with the urge to hurl her phone against the wall. But there is no one around, so there wouldn’t be any point to it.

 She stabs at a pierogi with a chopstick, and watches the girls dance on screen, humming along.

 She passes out on the couch after midnight.

 Her mother never called.