#this is more from my collection of post it note fic scraps I wrote under the counter at work

[thebluestbluewords]

Deck the halls

(Context I haven’t written yet: There’s some sort of Official Business holiday party, Evie is busy being beautiful and sparkling somewhere else, and Mal is slightly lonely and maybe also slightly drunk)

•

Mal shifts her weight, rebalancing herself into a stance that’s a little less drunk-princess-in-waiting and a little more dragon-bodyguard-to-the-king. It’s somewhat difficult to make the change in the glittery green heels Evie’s dressed her in for the night, but she manages it. Because she’s a certified badass, and nobody can tell her otherwise. “I assume Ben and his perfect crew of royal brats invited you here for the holiday?” 

Uma crosses her arms, which is an excellent choice. She’s wearing some sort of shimmery blue-green cape over her dark velvet dress, and the way she’s standing now makes the muscles in her arms stand out in a way that would be distracting, if Mal were somebody who could be distracted by gorgeous pirates with very strong arms. “Mhm,” she hums, eyes flickering up and down as she watches Mal watch her. “Actually, your girlfriend invited me. I’m surprised she didn’t tell you about it, killer.”

“She’s been busy,” Mal says through her best publicity smile. “You know, assisting in running a kingdom and all. I’m sure she just didn’t think it was worth mentioning.” 

Uma laughs. “Sure, sure. You’d almost think she doesn’t trust you not to make a scene about me all over again.” 

“Evie takes her diplomatic role very seriously,” Mal says through teeth that are gritted into a sparkling smile. Magic isn’t as wicked as it seems when it comes to fixing teeth, apparently. Out of all the things she’s had to revert after her initial discovery that hey, magic is pretty cool actually, none of the heroes batted an eye at the perfect teeth she’d given herself. Almost like magicking away reminders of a childhood spent in a near-constant state of malnourishment is fine, while magicking things like her hair and clothes to look cooler is petty and irredeemable gateway magic. Crazy. “She’s the youngest person ever to hold the role here. It’s a very prod–“ Mal stutters over the word, mouth clumsy with the festive holiday drinks that some staffer arranged to have a shitload of all over the place, all red and gold and deceptively delicious for how strong they are. “prestigious role, and we’re all so proud of her for taking her duties so seriously.” 

Uma’s mouth twitches. “I can tell,” she says, her voice still infuriatingly rough in a way that makes Mal want to hit her. Softly. With her mouth. Stupid sexy pirate exes. “Are you sure you’re hyping the princess up enough there?” 

Mal heroically resists the urge to roll her eyes. It’s better than the other things she could be doing with her face, but still not the right choice, because she’s good and kind and sometimes even nice to people now. “No, actually. We’re all so proud of her talent for diplomacy, and the initiative that she’s been taking on the isle relations is just amazing. It’s great that she’s been bringing more isle kids to events like this,” she says sharply, enunciating each word carefully, hyper-conscious of the way her mouth moves. “It’s so lovely to see. Pirates like you. Here. Tonight.” 

Uma laughs, and laughs, and the beads on her shoulders dance in the light, and Mal can’t tear her eyes away fast enough to miss the way that she seems actually, genuinely happy. 

Uma reaches over and plucks the gold drink out of Mal’s hand. It’s not a peace offering, but there’s something awfully peaceful in the way Mal’s heart stops for a moment at the thought of Uma’s lips right where her own had been a moment before. “Hah. Awful to see you too, loser.” 

[ping-ski]

Hewwo!!! :3 I hope you are having an amazing day, here is a whole plate of cupcakes! Would it be possible for you to share a few lore details about your Eclipsed By You AU story? I keep looking at the designs and I am so curious about what will be happening, I would wish to nibble on tiny lore crumbs, pretty please?

ama!! hihi! ! i meant to answer your ask much sooner! anyways, since you asked so nicely (and because i am pathetically weak to any sweets </3) prepare for some SERIOUS yappage under that cut

✦ AuDHD demands that I explain EBY origins before any details but you can totally skip this if you want! (Scroll till you see blue text! :3) So... Eclipsed By You was intended to be au/fic just for myself after work when I first got into DCA. I literally was pantsing a self-insert fic from just gameplay, voicelines, and a collection of scenarios I wrote in my notes app before I actually interacted with the DCA fandom lol. I was already in the process of writing it to be a proper fic and planned to make an AO3 acc to post it! I took some time away from it tho cause I got busy irl. During my break I did start to interact more the fandom! The first proper DCA fic I read was 'Solar Lunacy' by BamSara a few months back as a recommendation from a mutual I had from another fandom. I had told them about my fic idea and they suggested I read the fic as my fic had reminded them of SL. After reading through, I was kind of bummed initially because I really didn't think I had anything unique to offer with my own fic that I was hoping to share. I stopped writing it cause damn comparison truly is the thief of joy. SL and EBY had similar ideas going on and I just didn't feel like it was worth posting my fic cause it didn't feel "special" to me anymore. It was easy to give up since writing is really not my strong suit at all, so then I fell back to just drawing! I only came back to it despite the 19 other DCA aus I have lined up rn cause honestly I remembered that wrote it for my own enjoyment! Why did that have to change? Albeit, I did scrap lots of what I initially wrote and started fresh cause my interpretation of DCA changed. Regardless, EBY was always going to be a self-indulgent DCA/Reader fic taking place at the Pizza Plex. Sure not anything original, but that's just a fact of being a creative in general tbh. I felt silly when I realized that haha. I'm having fun and they make me smile, so who cares if its been done before lol. I still enjoy Solar Lunacy and still am a fan of BamSara! (the cotl content has been fueling me lmao)

✦ Some bits on Eclipsed By You- The main part of your ask lol! ✿ On the au/fic name: I actually stole it from another au (of the many) I have. No particular reason for it! I was writing EBY and that au around the same time and alternated working on the two throughout the day. That au is now nameless (actually it's nicknamed "Messiah" as I type) cause EBY grew onto me for what it is now! ✿ On DCA's designs: This might be kind of disappointing lol but- there isn't much of a lore/plot reason for their designs? They just look that way cause... why not :3 It's also part of just how I interpret DCA into my artstyle. Otherwise, they can be interpreted as the canon designs early on! Atleast until some future upgrades! ✿ When in SB are we? Everywhere /hj. EBY will have some pre-virus and post-virus stuff just for funsies! I'm dying to yap but if I say anymore I will get carried away 100%. ✿ On EBY!Eclipse: For this au, Eclipse is his own "person" you could say. With his own AI and personality chip to pair! Carefully built to be a dedicated host and theater bot. He is, including Sun and Moon, the entertainment <3. They are a singular animatronic in this fic! (like those 3 in 1 soaps except it's DCA /j) ✿ On EBY!Y/N: (EBY is a reader-insert, but intended to be written as gender neutral and an adult.) Y/N gets their own bit of lore and issues that may or may not be the stress/frustration from my 2 irl jobs thinly veiled lmao. They work part-time at the Plex as a general theater staff member! Each week, their tasks rotating between concessions, being an usher, and working along side the theater bots! (Kind of like a theater tech.) This is a part-time job just to keep them afloat while they work on their last bit of certifications and training to be a caretaker! They are pretty passionate about helping those in need. A sweetheart honestly. Though, if you don't like kids, maybe look away. Wholesome moments with the littles and DCA + Y/N is pretty decent with kids themselves. (Lots of projection from my own experiences working with children and elderly, as a caregiver turned caretaker. I kind of want to highlight some of my experiences with Y/N.) ✿ On EBY!Sun and Moon: These two are goofballs alongside Eclipse through and through. They all get to be sweet, soft, and doting I promise. Originally, before scrapping a good chunk of the og writing, EBY had a beloved sweetheart anxous Sun and aggressive Moon who was kind of an asshole(Before the rewrite, EBY felt so different. Like everyone was just tolerating eachother and fragments being held together with glitter glue n' dreams. I am very very glad it's different now lol.) Eclipse stayed fairly consistent though. Sweet house husband that he is. Now, Sun is just as unhinged as Moon (making him just as much as a threat!), but we will persevere with the power of friendship <3 We're gonna have some aloof Sun moments. He takes his job pretty seriously! Some goofy Moon bits who's giggles are light and airy. He is very unserious I fear. They're both trying their best, in their own ways. There's not much I can say rn without spoiling haha. It's hard to stay vague hrm. Or atleast I can't think of anything specific to add right now. (I may be able to answer some specific questions if you have any, my brain is just foggy rn) ✿ I'm simplifying it down to your "typical pizza plex fic" with pre-virus and post-fire shenanigans. I'm sorry if none of that is telling I can't think of anything specific cause I'm pretty sleepy rn so maybe it's a little boring sounding but I love it anyways haha Expect some canon-typical violence and non-sexual intimacy! I have intentions on writing the relationship between Y/N and DCA ambiguous so it can be seen as queerplatonic or romantic. (But this could very easily changed, I'm a shameless robokisser sigh.)

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

The Sculptor

Chapter 1 - The Ad

[Masterpost] [AO3]

This whole fic was inspired by @ceru-draws' incredible fanart (here) - which I'll be embedding with permission in the appropriate place in the fic over on AO3 once we get there - as well as in part by the original painting by John Koch that the fanart is based on (here's my reblog of ceru's post that includes a bit of context and a link to the original piece). Koch's painting is from 1964 but I've set the fic in the 70's instead just because I wanted to.

A quick housekeeping note: this fic heavily features a lavender marriage between Wen Qing and Lan Wangji, so if that bothers you give this one a pass - they're platonic, of course, but they do love each other very much and are still married at the end of the fic because I mean. It's a lavender marriage in 1970's suburban America. Also, I wrote this entire fic legitimately in the span of three days, so research was uhhhh very loosely done, don't look at anything too closely and just roll with the vibes (as per my usual). Anyway - I hope you enjoy!

-/-

From the moment his new model steps into the studio, Wei Wuxian knows that this is a man unaccustomed to this line of work.

It’s not impossible, he supposes, for someone to read his ad in the paper - worded somewhat delicately so as not to offend any good ol’ bread and butter types and their prudish sensibilities over their morning coffee and bacon - and not understand exactly what it is he’s looking for.

Wanted: Subject to pose as reference for neoclassical academic commission. Tall-ish height and muscular physique helpful, but not necessary. 3 months’ pay at min. Enquire at Yiling Fine Arts Collective if interested. 

The man who steps into the studio could very well be the very god Wei Wuxian has been asked to portray in his newest piece, though the true shape of him is a little difficult to make out under the prim cut of his suit, well-tailored and clearly expensive. He’s got the height Wei Wuxian had wanted, anyway, and perhaps then some; and when he catches sight of the man’s hands holding the brim of his hat he wonders if it’s too late to ask his client if he wouldn’t want to perhaps commission something specifically dedicated to such an incredibly lovely feature.

“Hi,” Wei Wuxian says a few beats too late. “Hey-“ he stands from behind his easel that currently contains nothing more than an extremely vague sketch to help plan the layout of a potential piece and steps forward to stick a hand out.

The man - God? Angel? Man - hesitates a brief moment before stretching his hand out and taking Wei Wuxian’s carefully in his warm, smooth grip.

“My name’s Wei Wuxian,” he offers when the man just continues to watch him with honey-gold eyes, his gaze intense though whether that’s from the strange color of his eyes or the sharp cut of his brows - or something else entirely - it’s hard to say. “Are you here about the modeling position?”

“Mn. My name is Lan Wangji. I wish to ask for further details.”

Wei Wuxian is fairly sure that if he were still near his stool he’d sink right down onto it. Lan Wangji’s voice is deep and smooth, resonant without being overbearing, and between the suit and that voice he can’t help wonder just what it is this Lan Wangji does for a living. He’s never seen an artists’ model dress like that, for one, and he’s also fairly sure that he’s been around the local art scene more than long enough to know if any of them had such a handsome man for their muse.

“Sure, sure,” he says easily instead of voicing any of his own questions. He gestures for Lan Wangji to sit on the stool behind the easel and hustles over to the sink in the corner to empty out a tin bucket full of canvas scraps and nubby charcoal sticks so he can overturn it and use it for a makeshift stool in front of him. “What do you want to know?”

Lan Wangji settles his hands on his knees and makes Wei Wuxian’s humble wooden stool seem like a throne for all his poise and gravitas. “I am..uncertain how these commissions work. You say it is..academic?”

Wei Wuxian nods quickly - and then grimaces a little as he raises his hand palm down and gives it a bit of an uncertain waggle. “Well..sort of. It’s an academic subject anyway, and like it says in the ad it’s neoclassical in style-” he pauses to check Lan Wangji’s expression, but he doesn’t seem confused so Wei Wuxian is just going to assume he’s familiar enough with the movement to know what that means, - “so it’s perfectly acceptable for stuck-up scholarly, professor types.”

Lan Wangji stiffens minutely and Wei Wuxian laughs just a bit, fidgeting with his hands between his knees.

“Ah…Don’t tell me you’re a professor, Lan Wangji?”

“Mn. I am not offended.”

“Oh good,” Wei Wuxian exhales in a rush with another laugh, less nervous this time. “Apologies anyway, but you know what I mean. Oxford types, British museum types - not that my work is going to end up in either of those hallowed halls, but that’s what the client wants, for it to look as if it could have made it there had they not snatched it up first.”

“Mn. The length of the contract?”

“Three months minimum, yes. Ideally I’d like it to be longer, but most people who’d respond to an artists’ ad around here aren’t really looking for long-term work. Are you?”

“No.”

“Right. Professor. Probably with a lovely tenure and everything?”

Lan Wangji hesitates for a moment before he nods, just once, and a long lock of hair slips over his shoulder to fall gracefully on his chest as if it was always meant to be there. Wei Wuxian has the strangest urge to stand up and tuck it behind his ear for him.

“Just looking for a way to keep occupied over the summer, then?” Wei Wuxian teases with a little smile and props his elbow on his knee, his chin in his hand.

“I find myself…requiring extra funds,” Lan Wangji says delicately, as if waiting to be made fun of.

“You have my sympathies, any artist understands that situation very very well,” Wei Wuxian reassures him with a smile and thinks he sees something like relief in that inscrutable but beautiful face. “Luckily for you, my clients have paid half the commission in advance, and I had a very generous benefactor for my last two projects who have left me comfortable enough to be able to give the whole of what I’ve received for this one so far to my model. I can pay you fair wages for your time for three months at the least, and when that’s up we can see where we’re at.”

Lan Wangji nods again after another brief hesitation. Wei Wuxian, normally not used to keeping quiet, feels like there’s another question incoming so he denies his usual instincts and waits.

“Your..preferences,” Lan Wangji eventually prompts, and now he won’t quite meet Wei Wuxian’s eyes. There’s a long pause while Wei Wuxian waits for an actual question about them, but all Lan Wangji does is clarify, “...In physical attributes.”

Wei Wuxian can’t help but grin. “Yeah, I knew what you meant, don’t worry. You’re definitely tall enough for what I’d like, but it’s a bit hard to tell your physique until you undress-“

Wei Wuxian cuts himself off as Lan Wangji’s eyes widen when they snap abruptly to his. He sits up straight and drops his grin, nerves jangling down his spine at the sight of Lan Wangji’s clear alarm.

“Undress?” 

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian replies with a sinking heart - it had been a misunderstanding then, though how that actually happened he has no idea. In all of history hasn’t everyone known that artists need nude models? Particularly for the western style? Isn’t that a whole thing?! “That’s a requirement. Not all the time, I suppose, and definitely not right away…but a neoclassical piece means a nude or mostly-nude figure, Lan Wangji. I’ll need a nude model.”

“I…Yes, of course,” Lan Wangji prevaricates. He’s too well-disciplined to fidget, Wei Wuxian would guess, but it’s painfully clear that he wants to. “I understand.”

He doesn’t get up to leave or else seem like he’s trying to cut the conversation short all the sudden, so after a beat too long Wei Wuxian forces himself to relax again back into his slightly slumped posture. “So…Have I answered all of your questions?”

“There is one more.”

“Alright, go ahead.”

“When would you like me to begin?”

Wei Wuxian blinks and a slow grin spreads across his face. He’d only put the ad out on Sunday - it’s now Tuesday morning and already he’s got the perfect specimen sitting in front of him asking when they can get started. It’s far too good of an opportunity to waste.

“I’m just working on some general beginning sketches for now, but everything is better with a reference to work from. You can start today if you’d like, or…maybe tomorrow? It’s not like I need you to get totally nude from the start or anything but I’m not sure if being dressed in a suit will work for the poses I’m thinking of...”

“No need. I will start now,” Lan Wangji states and stands to shrug neatly out of his suit jacket. Wei Wuxian blinks up at him for a stunned moment and then hurries to his feet to take the jacket out of his hands so he can take off his waistcoat next. Wei Wuxian takes that from him too, tries not to be overly distracted by the warmed silk slipping against his fingers. “Acceptable?” Lan Wangji asks when he’s rolled up his shirt sleeves to above his elbows, each flip of the cuffs neat and perfectly aligned.

“Yeah. Great,” Wei Wuxian says despite the fact that he, at least, wouldn’t exactly want to lounge around a studio for a day in pressed trousers and suspenders, but he supposes Lan Wangji looks comfortable enough. Wei Wuxian takes his jacket, waistcoat, and hat over to the coat rack near the door to hang everything up neatly with a care he never shows his own garments (then again it’s not like he owns anything nearly as precious as Lan Wangji’s things).

“What is the subject?” Lan Wangji asks once Wei Wuxian returns and begins cobbling together a set-up that’s comfortable enough that Lan Wangji hopefully won’t mind sitting around on it for a few hours.

“Ah? Oh, Prometheus,” Wei Wuxian says distractedly. “We haven’t settled on the exact scene yet, but he’s certain he wants him for the piece, so it’s enough to start with.”

“Mn. There is much there to work with,” Lan Wangji agrees smoothly, calm as a lake.

“Ah, you know it, then? That’s great. What do you teach, Lan Wangji?”

“Chinese classical literature.”

“Ah of course, of course,” Wei Wuxian laughs as he tries to soften the too-hard wood of his sturdiest bench with a few blankets and pillows layered over a few yards of spare canvas folded into a rectangle for a bit of padding. “That makes perfect sense, I’m sure you’re great at it.”

“In what way does it make sense?” Lan Wangji asks, but not like he’s offended by the comment as Wei Wuxian assumes he might be if it came from ah…others around their lily-white town.

“You’re the perfect image of a scholarly gentleman, Lan Wangji! Of course you’d teach something so dignified.”

Wei Wuxian glances at the man over his shoulder to spot him looking quietly pleased and maybe a little pink around the ears before he schools his expression into neutrality again. Wei Wuxian just grins widely at him before he thumps the last pillow a few times to fluff it and steps back from his handiwork. It’s a rough-and-tumble sort of seating arrangement, he supposes, but he’ll admit that he wasn’t exactly prepared to have a handsome man lounging around his studio so soon. It’ll just have to do until he can manage to find an acceptable sofa somewhere within his network of contacts. Perhaps Nie Huaisang has a spare one laying around the endless storeroom of his theatre that he can persuade his friend to let him borrow.

“Alright, I’ll start with just sketching you for now, I need to get familiar with you before we move on to anything too complicated,” Wei Wuxian says as he steps back and gestures for Lan Wangji to take a seat. “Just sit however is most comfortable for you, and I’ll tell you if and when I’d like for you to move, alright? You don’t have to stay perfectly still, but try to pick a pose you can hold for a while, and of course I’ll understand if you can’t last very long just yet. Stamina comes with time and practice.”

Lan Wangji’s gaze is intense again, maybe even more so than before, as he meets Wei Wuxian’s eyes for a long moment and then nods with one of his little hums that Wei Wuxian is quickly becoming sure are his usual method of talking if he has to.

He leaves Lan Wangji to get settled in and bustles over to his easel to set out a clean sheet the color of fresh cream and arrange his favorite pencils in the tray in front of him. He takes a moment to sharpen a couple of them with the penknife he keeps in his apron pocket and when he looks up from his task it’s to find Lan Wangji sitting as still as a statue perched just on the edge of the hastily-padded bench, hands on his knees and shoulders loose as he looks right at Wei Wuxian.

“You sure that’s going to be comfortable enough for you?” Wei Wuxian checks and he’s treated to the slightest upward twitch of one of Lan Wangji’s severe brows.

“Mn.”

“Alright,” Wei Wuxian chuckles. “It’s your back, not mine.”

Wei Wuxian takes a couple minutes, pencil hovering just over the page, to study Lan Wangji slightly more objectively than he has so far.

He’s beautiful, of course, that much is obvious, but Wei Wuxian takes the time to figure out why. What is it about this man that makes him so arresting? Is it his eyes, sharp and distant as a hawk’s? His nose, the tip of it a surprisingly soft contrast to his gaze? His lips, equally full and soft beneath it? His brows are heavy, but not so much that they overwhelm - they’re a good anchor for the rest of his face, a harsh line above his equally-intense eyes.

Wei Wuxian’s gaze travels further downward and he realizes that even though Lan Wangji is still dressed in at least two layers - undershirt and crisp linen button-down  - it’s still clear that he’s muscular. There are faint hints of a tightly toned figure through the neat tailoring of his shirt, and Wei Wuxian shamelessly studies the strength in his arms, across his chest, before his gaze dips down to the narrow trim of his waist, caught neatly by his trousers’ unforgiving waistband. From there he lingers over his powerful thighs, his elegant hands curled into loose fists on his knees so that his knuckles stand out in sharp relief; the faintest hint of veins along the backs of his palms thread a few inches up his bared forearms, drawing the eye back up towards his chest again.

Wei Wuxian begins sketching, half his attention on the paper and half on Lan Wangji sitting there like he’ll never move again.

His eyes haven’t left Wei Wuxian throughout his study, and Wei Wuxian doesn’t let himself wonder what Lan Wangji makes of him in return.

He’s a professional, and Lan Wangji came to him in his capacity as an artist, as someone willing and able to pay him for his services - entirely on the up-and-up. Wei Wuxian won’t take advantage of that trust, no matter how much he wants to find out if there’s anything that can make that stoic facade crack.

[maybeebeee]

I'll Wish Them All For You Every Time

Hi quick note to start, I'm aware that some things in this fic don't quite line up with stuff that I've written in this series before but I promise it's all technically the same AU lol. Going forward this is basically gonna be my timeline reference, but yeah there's definitely a handful of things that aren't *quite* right. I wrote this after I had a better idea of this timeline so,,,,oh well lmao

also quick thank you to @chaossmagic for helping me flesh out these animals and this au in general, i love all of our stucky chats <3 :)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers

Rating: G

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Yelena Belova, Alpine, Original Pet Characters

Tags: Post-Endgame, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Pets, Bucky is basically a serial pet rescuer

Word count: 4025

Summary: Bucky and Steve aren't sure when their family of strays got so big. Not that either of them are really complaining.

Read on AO3

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

Over time, the Barnes-Rogers household had become quite good at collecting things.

Things being strays.

And strays being both animals and people.

It had all started soon after the final battle with Thanos. Steve and Bucky had found an apartment to live in, at least in the interim while they were sorting out all things such as pardons and therapy and finding a more permanent home for them to live in upstate, away from the city and the direct public eye, especially with Steve having officially retired and people still being wary of Bucky after everything.

It had been a long day, and Bucky had gone for a walk to try and clear his head of all the stress brought on by his hearings. Unpleasant didn’t even scratch the surface of what it felt like to sit through countless people offering their very blunt opinions of him while reciting all of the horrible things he’d done over the years. It was pure agony, to say the least.

Steve had been trying to help, as he always did, but Bucky was well aware of his now-boyfriend’s own stress in the current situation — not to mention how he had barely even started recovering from the mental toll of the past five years and the final fight, along with everything else he had yet to fully work through — so he didn’t want to bother him any more than necessary tonight.

Which left him finally managing to slightly unfog his own mind when he’d found himself walking past an alleyway that echoed with a pitiful, weak mewling sound. Bucky paused, squinting into the darkness to try and locate the source. Something squeaked again, and he finally caught a glimpse of a ball of greyish-brown fur curled up by a dumpster.

Within moments, he was squatting on the ground nearby, flesh hand outstretched as the tiny kitten sniffed weakly at his fingers and bumped its head against them. Another beat, and the cat was tucked comfortably inside Bucky’s jacket as he hurried back towards the apartment.

Steve had been understandably confused when Bucky returned home and procured the little scrap of fur and pointy teeth from his jacket, but the look on the other man’s face had left him unable to even consider questioning anything about the situation yet. He had been the one to rush out to the nearest store to pick up what supplies he could for the sudden new arrival, while Bucky stayed behind to give it a bath and plenty to drink.

“Turns out she was actually white under all that dirt,” Bucky said when Steve returned to find a very contented kitten sitting in the bathroom sink with metal fingers gently massaging more soap into her back, “Good thing she likes the water though, otherwise this coulda been pretty messy.”

“Where’d you even find her?” Steve questioned as he sat down on the closed lid of the toilet to watch as Bucky carefully rinsed the soap off the cat’s skinny body.

He shrugged. “By a dumpster in some alley. She was all by herself, no other kittens or mama cat to be seen.”

“Poor thing. Good thing you found her.”

Bucky smiled softly. “Yeah. We’re keeping her, right?”

Though Steve was pretty sure they weren’t supposed to have pets in the apartment, he was also pretty sure that the offer they’d put in for a place they’d gone to look at a week ago was on the brink of getting accepted. They’d probably be out of here and into their own home before the building owner even figured out they’d brought in a cat.

So, Steve gave a small smile of his own in return and nodded. “‘Course we are.”

Just as they’d anticipated — and hoped for — their offer on the house was accepted and they were mercifully able to move in as soon as they were ready, which was pretty much as soon as the hearings were over and their stuff was moved in. Given that they had little in the way of possessions to move over there (bar the couch, bed, and a handful of things that could be shoved into boxes and suitcases) and Bucky’s hearings were finally coming to an end, they were in there within a matter of weeks.

Alpine was definitely the thing that made the new place feel like home right away, the growing cat filling what would’ve initially felt like a big empty space with her energy and personality in a way that nothing else could’ve even come close to.

Bucky certainly felt the positive effects of having the cat around — he’d very quickly come to rely on her as a source of comfort when he had difficult days, and it was nice to have some company staying behind whenever Steve had to go out for any reason. Alpine filled a piece in his heart he hadn’t even realised was missing until she came along.

Even Steve had to admit he was very fond of her, despite being more of a dog person. He supposed most of his appreciation for the cat came from what he could see she had already done to help Bucky, and he certainly couldn’t complain about that.

The next addition came in the form of both a person and an animal.

When Steve and Bucky had gone to return all of the Infinity Stones together after the battle with Thanos, their stop at Vormir to replace the Soul Stone had brought up a question of great importance. Steve had mentioned how Natasha sacrificed herself to get the stone in the first place and how everyone was sure there was no way to bring her back, but Bucky wasn’t buying it.

Getting past the initial shock of seeing the Red Skull again after so many years, Bucky had been the one to demand a reverse exchange — saying that if Natasha had died to release the stone, then surely returning it meant she could live again. Maybe that wasn’t how it was ever supposed to work, but somehow it did. They returned to their own time with an injured, but alive, Natasha.

Nat had gone, first, to Clint’s house following her return. She didn’t want to talk about what had happened on Vormir, only saying that the most important thing was reconvening with her best friend, and after that she’d decide what to do herself. As far as Steve and Bucky knew, she had stayed with Clint and his family for a while and then gone out on her own to search for something.

That was, until she turned up on their doorstep one day, a couple of months after they’d moved into their new place, with a puppy under her arm.

“Hey,” She said with a sly grin, “I’ve got a housewarming gift for you guys.”

“Little late, don’t you think?” Steve joked, though he wasn’t really sure what to make of the dog, “So who’s this?”

Nat swiftly plopped the puppy in his arms and made her way inside the house. “I was hoping you could tell me, he’s your dog now, after all.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at her and Steve from where he lounged on the couch, Alpine curled up against his neck. “What about a dog?”

“I’m honestly not sure,” Steve moved to sit in one of the armchairs, unbothered by the dog trying to lick his face, while Natasha got comfortable on the adjacent end of the couch to where Bucky was, “Wanna explain this a bit better, Nat?”

The woman in question let out a short laugh. “Alright, alright. Clint’s friend’s dog had puppies and needed them gone to homes quickly once they were old enough. Clint took two and was told when he got home they could only have one, so he called me up and asked if I wanted the other one. I’m more of a cat person, so I said I’d give him to you guys since I knew you had the room now, and here we are.”

Bucky and Steve nodded along, both still more than a little surprised, but neither one really complaining about the adorable yellow fluffball currently occupying most of Steve’s personal space.

“Well, you have been saying you wanted a dog since I got the cat.” Bucky joked after a moment, reaching up to scratch Alpine’s head as he spoke, “Plus he could keep an eye on the chickens when he gets bigger, too.”

“Very true,” Steve agreed with a nod, glancing down at the puppy with a smile, “So what breed is he? He’s fluffy.”

“Golden retriever,” Nat said, “Super friendly, easy to train, good family dog, all that kinda thing. Should be fine with the cat too, who I would very much like to meet myself.”

And so Dug became part of their family — named after the dog from Up, which they had recently watched and joked constantly afterwards about how much like the grumpy old man in the movie Bucky was.

Soon after, the invitation to stay was extended to Natasha, who had mentioned how she was struggling to find somewhere to live that didn’t put her in a difficult position for keeping herself out of trouble. Steve and Bucky were quick to decide they were happy for her to live with them for as long as she wanted — they had more than one spare room up for grabs, and the whole reason they were out here themselves was to lay low. It worked fine for everyone, so Nat stayed.

It was a while before any new strays came into the equation, in fact it wasn’t until a while after Bucky returned from the whole ordeal helping Sam get the shield back and getting him to actually become the new Captain America — not to mention fixing the Wilson family boat in between all of that. Natasha had been away for most of that time as well, helping to re-establish a new Avengers facility, looking after Wanda — who was getting more pregnant with her twins by the day — and attending to what she only described as “personal missions”, whatever that meant.

With Sam and Natasha now in charge of the new Avengers, and with Bucky somehow being roped into the team amongst everything he’d done to help Sam, Steve had been spending a bit of time on his own at home recently. Which was fine and all, but he needed to keep busy besides doing things on the property, so he’d ended up getting a job at the local high school part time as an art teacher. A little weird — at least for the students, to start with — but he was enjoying it.

A routine soon fell into place, with Steve doing his teaching work, Bucky and Nat or either one of them on their own going off on various missions every few weeks or so, plenty of time spent with just Bucky and Steve, or them plus the pets. Sometimes Sam came over to visit as well, so they would all spend a few days together and pointedly not talk about work. It all worked for them.

One day Bucky returned from a mission with an odd lump in his jacket. Natasha was staying with Wanda for a while, now that the babies had arrived, so Steve was the only one there to notice — though he probably wouldn’t have even noticed if he hadn’t pulled Bucky in for a “welcome home” kiss and been met with some strange wriggling mass against his chest.

“You know, normally I’d make some joke about you being happy to see me, but that’s not even in your pants,” Steve joked, though he eyed his partner suspiciously, especially as Dug was trying to push in and jump up to sniff whatever he was hiding in there, “What is that?”

Bucky smiled sheepishly and slowly unzipped his jacket to reveal a scrappy grey and black speckled puppy with huge dark eyes, staring right back out at Steve, “Puppy?” He said, as if it was a suggestion.

Steve had to laugh, but he immediately reached out to scratch behind the dog’s velvety soft ears that hadn’t quite stood up all the way yet. Dug was still trying to get up to meet the new puppy, and Alpine had since entered the room to check out what was going on, too. “Guess we never were gonna be the kinda guys that shopped for pets, were we?”

“‘Course not,” Bucky agreed, “And I couldn’t just leave her there. Sam and I found her chasing a rat and she just started following us, then I gave her a bit of food and that was it. New family member.”

“New family member,” Steve echoed with a smile, leaning in to press a kiss to Bucky’s cheek, “So you’ve already thought of a name?”

“I was thinkin’ Mouse. Since she was chasing a rat, plus she’s got big ears. Thought it was funny.” The puppy seemed to yap her agreement.

“I love it. Hey, Mouse.”

Mouse settled in easily with everyone, though Alpine wasn’t too impressed with the limitless energy the young pup seemed to have — “She looks like a heeler,” Nat had said on a video call one day, watching with delight as Bucky followed the dog with his camera as she ran through the back field, “Maybe crossed with something else, but that would explain why she runs so much.” — Dug, at least, was very happy to have another canine companion.

Things balanced out again only several weeks later after Natasha had finally come home, and soon asked if Steve and Bucky — and Alpine, most importantly — would be okay with it if she adopted a cat of her own. Naturally, that was fine with everyone, and Liho joined the family soon after that conversation.

Liho and Alpine loved to pretend they weren’t friends when people were watching them, especially Alpine, who notoriously didn’t like affection from anyone other than Bucky (and occasionally Steve, if Bucky was sitting with him) — but they soon got caught curled up on the windowsill, napping in the sun together every almost afternoon. Still, they kept up their fake rivalry from the moment one of them woke up and batted the other on the head with a soft paw.

The four animals were it for some time after that, besides the chickens and goats that resided down the back of the property. Mouse and Dug both loved hanging around the livestock during the day, and Mouse in particular had a lot of fun herding the goats wherever she felt like directing them to eat for the day.

For the humans in the house, their routines continued more or less as they had before, though Bucky had taken some time out from missions for a while after one had gone particularly badly and shaken him up quite a bit. He’d spent a lot of time staying close to Steve when he’d returned, and Alpine had more or less been stuck to him like glue whenever Steve had to go to work.

Natasha was still in and out as always, but even she was trying to be “in” more often to check up on Liho — and to a degree, Bucky as well, partly blaming herself for how that mission had gone. It had shaken her, too.

About a month after Bucky had returned home, and a year after the defeat of Thanos, he and Steve finally got engaged. Not wanting to wait too long, and with neither of them particularly wanting any kind of fancy wedding or party, they were married only a couple of months later, witnessed by a handful of Avengers old and new and followed by as low-key of a barbeque party as one could expect when it was arranged by Tony Stark. Really though, it was a perfect day, and they happily entrusted the animals and the house to Natasha while they went on their honeymoon.

Upon returning, Bucky started going on some missions again, and it wasn’t long before he came back from one with yet another stray animal safely tucked in the front of his jacket. Steve had at least known about this one in advance, with Sam having sent him a text with an admittedly hilarious photo of Bucky standing on a roof seeming to be having a yelling match with this random grey cat. Sam had soon followed up the photo with another text saying “get the house ready for another cat.”

Not long after Gandalf came another cat, though this time noticed first by Steve while he and Bucky were out on a walk with the dogs one afternoon. Technically Mouse and Dug located the cat with their noses first, but in them dragging their owners to the source of the smell, Steve had been the first one to see it. And to notice one of her eyes seemed to be all scabbed up and wounded.

Naturally, Bucky scooped the tortoiseshell up and declared her part of the family — though, of course, immediately taking her to the vet to sort out her eye and check for a microchip while Steve took the dogs home. With no microchip and the infected eye removed, Nicola the now-one-eyed cat was brought to her new home.

(Yes, cheekily named after Nick Fury. Natasha thought it was hilarious.)

It was then that Steve gently suggested to his husband that maybe they had enough pets in the house now, and if anyone happened to find any other animals they should take them to a nice shelter instead. Bucky had grudgingly agreed, though not before joking that they could get some barn cats so they weren’t technically in the house. Steve had disagreed.

And yet somehow he and Bucky ended up at a shelter one day to pick up a dog they’d seen online that was in desperate need of a home and was soon to be put down if one wasn’t found. Sarge was a pitbull with three legs, a half-missing ear, numerous scars, and a whole lot of personality — and, well, Bucky had just about cried reading about the dog’s past as a failed fighter who got used as a bait dog as punishment for his failure. He almost saw too much of himself in that dog, and who was Steve to deny a happy ending for the both of them? He supposed the house was big enough for two Sergeants.

“Okay, this is enough now,” Steve said the night they brought Sarge home, watching as the dog loped around the living room to investigate the smells of all the other animals he would eventually meet, “No more rescues, we’ve got everyone we need.”

Bucky huffed, but smiled. “If you say so. I still stand by the barn cat idea.”

Steve laughed. “No barn cats!”

As it would happen, they’d found out a while ago that the “personal missions” Natasha had been doing were an ongoing search for her sister, who she believed was working under the influence of someone the Avengers had been trying to track down for other reasons. Of course, Bucky and Steve had already said that if Nat was able to track Yelena down and get her safely away, she was more than welcome to stay at the house as well.

What they were not expecting, however, was that Yelena came with a dog.

Nat had been gone for a couple of weeks, having left confident that this time she would be coming home with her sister — and she hadn’t been wrong. She just either hadn’t known or had forgotten to mention that Yelena was part of a package deal that included Fanny, as well.

Not that anybody minded, really. The other dogs got used to her quickly, though the cats took a little longer to adjust to the idea of another dog in the house. Bucky had immediately laughed when he saw the dog, knowing that Steve couldn’t really do anything about it.

Yelena herself eventually settled in, too. It took some time, especially for her to be less apprehensive about being around Bucky. Years of fear conditioning with threats of the Winter Soldier from her time in the Red Room were hard to shake, and he was understanding of that. Hell, he knew all too well what it was like to try and recover from years of brainwashing and conditioning, he was happy to let her do what she needed to do in the meantime.

Now, one would think that after all of that, Steve’s word would finally be followed and there would be no more pets brought in. That was certainly what Steve himself thought.

He was wrong.

Bucky and Natasha had partially conspired on a mission together to get one more cat, having seen an ad for the local shelter in the city they were hiding out in, in which there was a cat that just had to come back with them. It would be the perfect final addition to the menagerie.

The cat in question was a scrawny little blonde thing with so many medical notes the shelter was worried he’d never get adopted, even though they were certain he would still live a reasonably long and happy life with the proper care. Feline asthma, strabismus, partial deafness, heart problems, recent surgery to combat hyperthyroidism but would likely still need medication...it wasn’t exactly the recipe for a desirable rescue cat in most people’s books.

Except Bucky’s book was entirely different to most people’s. Reading about the cat online was one thing, but meeting him in person and seeing how spirited he was despite all of his issues, well! It certainly reminded him of someone he knew back in the day.

And the best part?

The cat was called Steve.

Human Steve was not exactly impressed when Bucky returned home with another animal, and had been about to say something on the matter when Bucky beat him to the punch.

“Okay before you say anything, I promise this is the last one,” He fished out the page of medical notes he’d folded into his pocket and passed them over, “He had so many problems he was never gonna get adopted by anyone else, and he’s just...he’s such a good cat. He’s got a lotta personality.”

“This cat’s name is Steve.” Human Steve deadpanned upon seeing the name on the page, to which Bucky shot him a bright grin.

“That was also part of the reason I had to get him.”

“You’re not gonna change it, are you?”

“Nope!”

“Jerk.”

“Punk.”

With that, Bucky leaned in to press a loving kiss to his husband’s lips, and drew back with a smile after a long moment, “I mean it, by the way. He’s the last one. No barn cats or anything, we’ve got everyone now,” His smile turned a little cheeky, “At least until we think about kids?”

“Thank god.” Steve laughed, but watched fondly as Alpine and a couple of the dogs came up to check out the final arrival, “At least for the first part. The second bit we can revisit later. Like in a few years later.”

“Fine.” Bucky huffed with a laugh of his own, “Guess we can just keep being the fun uncles that babysit for everyone else.”

But really, what they had now — a home full of stray animals and, to an extent, people? It was practically perfect. Steve honestly couldn’t imagine life without them all now — even if he was stuck competing with a cat for the right to his name, or fighting for space in his own bed against two dogs and anywhere between one and four cats on any given night, or even dealing with Natasha’s constant teasing about everything, and the way Bucky and Yelena now had a thousand inside jokes that didn’t make any sense to anyone but them, and how the house always erupted into total chaos when Sam came over to stay...

This was family, and Steve and Bucky were more than happy to share it — and whatever else was to come — together for the rest of their lives.

[escapismprison]

stutter- c.b.

a.n.- hey y’all, i wrote this a little while ago and i thought i might as well post it. there’s nowhere near enough friends fics, especially for chandler so. i listened to stutter by maroon 5 while writing it so if you wanna get the vibe, listen to that. this is set around season 1 of friends bc that’s the best chandler look tbh. also i would die for mondler. enjoy ✨

the first time you opened the door to central perk you noticed two things:

one, the smell of your saviour, your messiah, your own personal jesus (although depeche mode was never really your thing). coffee.

two, a group of six twenty-somethings, making slightly too much noise, hanging around a collection of comfy-looking sofas and chairs near the centre of the café.

now fairly obnoxious groups of friends wasn’t something you weren’t used to, often being a member of said groups meant you were surrounded by them in clubs, work etc. however, this particular group caught your eye. seating yourself at the bar and sneakily inspecting them further, it’s instantly evident there are six very different personalities within the collection.

you see one girl with short-ish blonde hair (who’s conventionally attractive looks pen her to be the princess) playfully poking a cute, cheerful, mixed-raced guy who appears to be enjoying the attention. the player, you assume. next, you cast your eyes over to the worn sofa and see a woman with black bobbed hair and sharp cheekbones, sat with her hands placed carefully in her lap, listening intently to her wildly gesticulating other-blonde-friend. the mom friend and the weirdo, of course.

finally, the last pair in the bunch contains a dopey-eyed, tall guy- the brainiac- who is trying to get the attention of his floppy-haired, attractive- very attractive actually- friend; who just so happens to be glued to his spot on the chair, staring at you with wide-eyes and mouth agape.

his brain seems to catch up with the rest of him, however, as he jerks himself out of his trance, meets your inquisitive gaze, and realises his current predicament. you watch with amusement while he desperately attempts to hide his ever-worsening blush with his hands, leaning on one with his elbow on the arm of his chair, then frantically switching to sitting upright and covering his mouth with the other.

quietly conversing with his friend, he covers the side of his face with one hand, acting as a shield to protect his cheeks from the burning sensation your stare has inflicted on them. despite his concerns, the gesture is pointless as, regardless of his make-shift barricade, the racket from the remainder of the shop would prevent you from hearing his impromptu confessional anyway.

you quickly note you haven’t thought of the role this man has in his friendship group and bring your gaze down to survey his fashion choices. these, unfortunately, don’t reveal a lot to you as baggy clothes and untucked shirts are typical current fashion. a trend follower maybe? though he hasn’t quite mastered the cool and collected persona of many men you had met before. (admittedly, these men had an 100% chance of ending up being dull as dish water.) but curiously, he didn’t seem to be a ‘many men’ kind of guy.

in your reverie you hadn’t noticed the man, as discreetly as possible, (so not very), pump himself up to approach the mysterious woman who had been observing him so carefully. you panic a little as this handsome figure hastily finishes his conversation with his, presumably, wingman companion. he has also managed to achieve the support of the group surrounding him, who award him with not-so-subtle thumbs ups and pats on the back. you clock a few evaluative glances thrown your way. turning your head to avoid their inspection, you manage to fumble into your handbag and pull out your round pocket-mirror, for a rushed last-minute appearance check. the mirror being an item that has been heralded as a life-saver many times in previous desperate situations.

by the time you have closed the mirror, placed it back in your bag and zipped it up again, the man is half-way to your stool at the bar. his friends watch his movements eagerly, waiting for the outcome of his brave decision.

you scan him as he nears you and re-affirm that he is definitely very attractive. a stab of nerves materialises in your stomach.

‘hi,’ he says ‘c-chandler is, my name.’ horror washes over his features while he visibly attempts to pull himself together. his hand twitches and hurriedly runs itself through his hair. you internally scream at this gesture because, amazingly, he has managed to make himself ten times more attractive with a single action.

you were fucked.

chuckling lightly at his apprehension and as a result of your own nerves, you reply with ‘hey chandler my name is (y/n)’ in an slightly incomprehensible mumble.

you all but giggled at your equally embarrassing anxious state. the childish sound made your cheeks heat up instantly and you meet the eyes of the man standing in front of you.

he seems to have somewhat regained his confidence as he gently laughs in relief at the realisation that his target is just as unsure as himself.

‘that wasn’t a great start was it?’ he sighs.

‘maybe not,’ you respond, smiling brightly at him, ‘but it was a start at least.’

a cheeky smile adorns his face that you’re pretty sure gave you heart palpitations for the few seconds proceeding it.

after a moment of eye-contact, chandler snaps himself out of his second trance of the day.

‘mind if i sit there?’ he asks, anxiety still lingering in his words while gesturing towards the empty seat to your right. you curse yourself for forgetting basic manners.

‘yeah of course.’

pleasant silence, with a twinge of awkwardness, settles over your end of the bar. you play with your hands and don’t quite notice the fascinated look chandler has. eyes fixated on your hands as they dance around each other in uncertainty.

‘so, hey.’

you gently break the quiet and hope to restore some momentum into your encounter.

‘oh, yeah sorry, hey.’ chandler gives you a lop-sided grin and adds ‘not really on my game today.’

you laugh.

‘so, uh i was just wondering if, yknow, possibly, maybe s- sometime? going out? would be nice?’ he bites his lip and reckless-you wants to jump into his lap, wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him hard.

but you don’t do this, much to reckless-you’s disappointment.

instead, your eyes widen slightly, the sudden request taking you by surprise, but the warm feeling from his adorable vulnerability and openness overpowers any shock.

‘yeah, sure.’ you give a kind smile.

‘oh, i’ll give you my number.’ he briskly pats his trousers and recognises his lack of phone.

‘shit, sorry don’t have it. i’ll go check over there.’ he gets up to leave and you reach for his wrist.

‘no it’s fine’ you assure, tugging him back to his seat gently.

quickly grabbing a notepad from your bag, you scribble your number with a stray pen lurking at the bottom of the bag.

‘a lady that’s prepared huh?’

you shake your head playfully as you attempt to rip the paper in a straight-ish fashion. you’re suddenly aware you’re under scrutiny of the man in front of you and your heightened nerves cause you to tear haphazardly and make a huge mess of it. tiny scraps of paper fall from your hands as you sigh at yourself.

he chuckles and you meet his eyes. ‘god they’re right about blue eyes’ you think. as the saying goes, you found yourself drowning in them.

you jump slightly when he clears his throat and it’s your turn to feel embarrassed about being entranced. he’s wearing a smirk that you’re not sure if you should hit him or kiss him for.

‘here,’ he says, holding out his hand, palm faced-down onto the table in front.

‘you could write your number on there?’

‘yeah. good idea.’ you hold out your dominant hand and place the tip of the pen on the back of his sacrificial hand. you shakily inscribe your number and it’s a miracle you could remember it in the melt-down state you’ve found yourself in.

‘there.’ you pat your handiwork and fleetingly admire the natural art of chandler’s hands. you decide his faintly protruding veins and bones make for a particularly pretty exhibition.

‘thanks.’ he says.

‘no problem’ you reply.

sharing equally sheepish smiles, flushed cheeks and all, you look at each other. you look down at your watch and realise with regret you need to get to your job interview.

‘shit. i gotta go, job interview.’

‘oh wow. good luck, you’ll do great.’ he smiles kindly. ‘way too cute.’ you think.

he leaves his seat and you stand up next to him, putting your jacket on.

‘until next time?’ he proposes.

‘yeah of course.’ you gesture towards his hand containing your details. ‘call me.’

‘definitely.’ he grins at you and you grin back.

‘see you.’ you say, not really wanting this to end, but deciding that you’d like to have means to pay rent.

‘mhm.’ he replies, not seeming to be paying much attention, eyes casting over you as if he was trying to burn you into his memory. in a moment of uncharacteristic boldness, you get on your tip toes and kiss him gently on the cheek.

he blushes at this and gives you the biggest smile yet.

‘bye chandler.’ you squeeze his hand and make your way to the door you entered through, when you were completely unaware of the adorable guy sitting in the group of six obnoxious twenty-somethings. when walking out the door and past the windows of central perk, you don’t notice chandler sinking to the floor and clutching his heart. and you also didn’t know that this was a telltale sign that he had, literally and figuratively, fallen for you.

[falsehoodsanders]

Slipping

A/N: this is the first fic I wrote for the Sanders Sides fandom. Originally it was a prompt for @@something-sanders for the ts fic exchange organized by @the-prince-and-the-emo , however, I’m being re-assigned on my main so I thought I’d post it here! 

Ship: Romantic LAMP/CALM

TW: ANGSTY, eating disorders, self harm, suicidal thoughts, self hatred. You asked for angst so I brought angst. I’m sorry...

WC: 2236 (whoops) 

validate me ok bye

~River xx

Slipping

That was the only word that came to mind when he thought of himself. His entire existence at present was a metaphorical landslide, and he was slipping into the valley below with no way to make his way back up to the peak of the mountain. He knew he was needed, physically. He knew he was valued by the others and the Fanders. If he ducked out, there was no way Thomas could function without him. But what was there for him to help with aside from being necessary to his host’s physical well-being? He didn’t offer anything of value, not like the others did. The others gave thoughtful input into things Thomas should do. They helped him attain the goals he set for himself. They helped him see the good in the world, despite all of the negative things happening just outside his door. He couldn’t do any of that. Aside from being a “main side”, he wasn’t helpful. Wasn’t necessary. Wasn’t worth it.

He loved the other three with his entire being. He didn’t know he could love another as much as he loved them. When they first started their relationship, he fell hard and fast. It was bumpy but they managed to ride the storm until they found calmer waters. He could tell you a million different things he loved about each of them, but he didn’t know what they saw in him. There was something awe-spiring in the way their eyes sparkled when they spoke of something that they took pride in, or the way each of them had their own way of being intimate with one another, or the way they could communicate with each other with a simple gesture, like leaving sticky notes around the Mindscape, or having made a thoughtful breakfast to make the others feel loved. Loved. He felt loved. He was constantly reminded that he was, in fact, loved. But did he deserve it?

He knew what depression was. He saw the warning signs long ago. He knew he was just getting worse… but were the voices in his head really that wrong? They pointed out the flaws in his reflection, offering a not so gentle suggestion that he add a bit more makeup to his routine than before. He listened, but it wasn’t enough. They pointed out the weight he had gained and how overweight his attire made him appear. He had cut down his eating habits, tracking his calorie and carb intake as to not make the situation worse. He had lost a few pounds, but it still wasn’t enough. They whispered threats when he was forced to eat something with too many calories, saying he wasn’t trying hard enough to make himself perfect for his loves. He then ate what he was given by his beloved boyfriends, and once it was acceptable to leave the table, he rushed off to his bathroom and forced it all back up. He focused on the numbers, limiting himself to 500 calories a day, but it still just wasn’t enough. Soon the excess fat was gone, but the voices found more to critique. They pointed out that he needed to be more toned, to have a slimmer waist and more muscle to ensure that the others saw him as an appealing partner. So he went on long runs and took to the gym, weighing himself every morning and every evening to see the progress he had made, but it wasn’t enough. The voices wore him down, made him tired and weak, which then only fuelled them to keep pushing him to be stronger, more toned, skinnier, prettier… better.

He knew what an eating disorder was… he wasn’t stupid. But as he fell deeper into the hole he a dug himself, it soon became a routine. Wake up at 5am sharp. Go for a run around the Imagination until breakfast at 8. Eat breakfast with his boyfriends. Help with clearing the table and washing the dishes. Make it to his bathroom and force up the meal he just ate. Brush his teeth, drink some water and then eat a healthy snack of under 150 calories to replace the food that he brought back up. Spend time with his boyfriends in the commons until 11:30 where he would excuse himself to go workout, saying he had packed a lunch (a lie) and promised to stay hydrated (another lie) so he didn’t have to join them for lunch. Finish working out at 2:30, pushing himself to his absolute limits to make sure he burned more calories than he consumed. He would then shower for about 30 minutes and then stand in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at his reflection in disgust and making note of where he still needed to improve. Repeat breakfast scenario at dinner, which was at 6:30 on the dot, but allowing himself 200 calories for his replacement meal to hopefully keep his energy up to avoid suspicion from the others. Spend an hour with his boyfriends for “family bonding time” until retiring to his room at 8, claiming he was tired from his day and needed some sleep. He would stay awake until around 2am, trying to find new ways to make himself better for the loves of his life. They deserved the universe and more, and he would try his damnest to give them just that.

The voices never quieted down, always repeating harsh remarks towards him, until one struck a chord with him. He was reading a post about how to make his progress matter when he stumbled on a blog on tumblr. It soon became his favourite site to visit. He created his own account, followed this blog religiously and even put on notifications to see when they’d post their next thinspo picture. The more he scrolled, the more he found different ways of taking out his hatred on himself. The voices still weren’t happy with him, so he took to self harming. He knew it was dangerous. He knew it was an addiction. He knew that once he started it would be near impossible to stop, but the second the cool metal blade hit his inner wrist, he craved the sensation. So one cut became two, and two became four, and soon enough, he moved to his thighs and stomach because both arms were littered with scars; new ones that still stung, old ones that had faded to white until he reopened them again to see the crimson bubble on his skin before rolling down to hit the tile beneath him. He no longer wore sleeveless tops or shorts. He couldn’t risk his secret being found by the others.

“Roman?” a soft voice came from his door. Patton. Of course it was. Sweet, wonderful, compassionate Patton.

“Yes my love?” Roman replied, mustering all of his energy to sound as he should: regal, proper, confident… worthy.

“Can we come in?” Patton asked, “We need to talk to you.”

Of course. They were here to break up with him. They must have finally come to their senses.

Unlocking the door, he braced himself for what was to come with a solemn “Yes.”

Patton came in first, followed by Logan and Virgil, who all had a hesitant and almost sad look on their face. Their eyes scanned the royal side’s room, finding paper scattered across the floor, each with red X through whatever idea he had written down and words such as “stupid” or “insufficient” or “failure.”  His sword lay on the seat of the vanity, completely covered in blood stains that weren’t even attempted to be cleaned. The ever-growing collection of makeup and photos of the flawless, photoshopped models from the internet covered the vanity itself, along with notes on scraps of paper stuck to the mirror with more red coloured words like “worthless” and “ugly.” His Disney posters had been ripped off the walls and his curtains were shredded from the times he had taken his sword to them in a fit of rage. The scale placed in front of the mirror was surrounded by shattered glass, obviously from a previous mirror that Roman had punched in fear of his own reflection. And Roman himself. He sat on the floor in front of his bed. His eyes were red and puffy, his hair was sticking up in all different directions, he sat in his boxers, leaving his scars visible and a clear view of his ribs poking out from under his skin.

It took everything in the three to not freak out over what they saw. It would make the situation worse.

“I suppose you’ve come to your senses, then?” Roman asked, no longer trying to keep up his facade. His voice croaked from crying for days on end, never knowing when, or if, they’d stop.

“I’m not sure what you mean, my prince.” Logan spoke softly, almost as if not to upset Roman. It would have been endearing if Roman didn’t know what was going on.

“You’re here to break up with me, right? To tell me I’m useless, worthless? That all I do is drag you down and make your lives miserable? I’ve been expecting it for a while so you might as well just get it over with.”

Shock was evident on the other’s faces. They had no idea that this was how their Prince was feeling.

“Roman… we’re not here to do any of that.” Virgil whispered, worried that he would end up scaring him away.

Roman scoffed, “Well then what are you here for? I don’t know what else it could be. I don’t see why you care.”

Patton took Roman’s hand and squeezed lightly, “Roman, we’re here because we’ve been worried about you.”

“What for? I’m not worth the hassle.” Roman muttered, looking down at the ground to avoid the disgust he’d see on their faces.

The three looked at each other, making silent decisions on what to do next. Virgil made his way to the bathroom to get a soft cloth to clean his cuts.

“Roman, you are worth so much. You are irreplaceable. We are nothing without you.” Logan murmured, kneeling down to Roman’s height. He gently tilted his lover’s head up to look at him. All Roman saw was the tears in Logan’s eyes and the sadness that was evident across his face.

“You’re lying.”

Virgil returned with a damp cloth, carefully placing it on the thigh with blood dripping on the floor, “Ro, love. Why would we be lying?”

“I’m not good enough for you! That’s why!” Roman exclaimed, “You’re all perfect and wonderful and I don’t deserve you. You all have a purpose. Logan contributes his knowledge and passion for learning new things. Patton gives him emotions and helps him make strong bonds between him and his friends and family. Virge, babe… you keep Thomas cautious in the world we live in. You might work overtime a lot, but you’ve only tried to protect him. All I’m here for is to come up with ideas and I can’t even do that right. Plus, I hurt you without intending to and I can never forgive myself. Vee, I treated you like a villain for a long time and I hurt you in the process. I constantly patronize Pat without realizing it and I see the hurt in your eyes long after it happens. I fight with Logan all the time and make fun of him when he has a difficult time processing emotions. You’re all breathtaking too, and here I am; a fat, ugly, good for nothing side that has now hurt the three most important things in his life because he’s pathetic.”

There was a pause while they took in what Roman had just said, until Virgil broke the silence, “Roman. Look at me please.”

He does so, and he immediately regrets it. There are obvious tears streaking down his cheeks, messing up the eyeshadow beneath his eyes. Yet he still offers a small smile, comforting and warm.

“Roman. You have always been beautiful. Inside and out. You are… well… were so full of life. You cheer us up when we’re down, singing silly songs or making us waltz around the living room. When you sing Disney at the top of your lungs, it comforts us, knowing that you’re feeling happy, and sometimes we sing along. You may have done some not so nice things in the past, yes, but you’ve grown. We have seen you trying so hard to accept us and love us as we are.”

Tears threatened to fall down Roman’s face, but he wouldn’t let them. He couldn’t show them how weak he was.

“It’s okay to cry, Ro.” Patton spoke, “You encourage me to express all of my emotions, not just the happy ones. It’s time I repay you for that. Let it go.”

And so Roman did. He let all of his fears and worries and insecurities go as he sobbed in their arms. They all held him, whispering sweet nothings in his ear. It wasn’t perfect. It was far from perfect, but this was the beginning. The beginning of learning to love himself again, of recovering. It was a long road ahead, but the voices of his boyfriends drowned out the ones in his head. He felt safe. He felt wanted. He felt loved. And yes, he did deserve it.

[winterequinoxx]

The Lost Eschaton

Ok, since I decided to start posting actively on here, I wanted to share an original short fic that I wrote a few years ago. Totally unbetad. Can't even remember why I wrote it in the first place, I think it was a prompt challenge?

Here ya go:

There is junk everywhere. Stacks of outdated newspapers lean against a tower of decaying photo albums. Are those….Yes. All of her old high school trophies were underneath the window, behind the pile of winter coats. Broken electronics are scattered across whatever empty floor space they landed on. 

“How did it get this bad, Martin? I can’t...he was never like this before Mom died…”

Tiffany stands in the kitchen, peering over the bar at the war zone that her childhood living room had turned into. When she had agreed to help her brother clear out the house after moving their father into a nursing home, she imagined reminiscing with him over the good times they had in the house, perhaps crying over a forgotten piece of jewelry that her mother had left behind, definitely getting drunk at the end of the day, but she is beginning to think that the bottle of whiskey that she had stashed in the trunk of her car was going to need to be cracked open before she could even process the amount of work that needed to be done. Her brother has planned ahead though, benefits of living five minutes away from Dad instead of five hours, he knew what he was walking into and was on his second beer. It was nine in the morning. 

“Yeah….this all started about three--no wait, Sarah had just gotten pregnant with Jenny---so yeah, four years ago? He was so worried that people were listening in on him or something. Paranoid sonovabitch. You invent one superlaser and you start to think everyone’s out to get ya.”

Martin’s laugh is a tight, forced thing, as if even the air didn’t want him to kid himself anymore. His normally perfectly styled hair and pressed clothes are nowhere to be seen, exchanged for heavy bags under his eyes and paint splattered t-shirt and shorts. Tiffany couldn’t help but grin when she eyed the bright pink and purple flecks. Hazards of having two daughters under the age of eight. Pastels everywhere.

“Speaking of, where is the rest of the brood? We are going to need more backup. Any chance you can call in some of your Marine buddies. OH! How about Jason? Jason’s hot. He seeing anyone?” Tiffany grins over her shoulder as she starts putting the large moving boxes together, she can at least start shoving appliances from the kitchen out of the way.

“Jason is very happy with his new boyfriend. Stop hitting on him. Sarah and the kids will be by later after the fairy princesses have their naps, but Trent should be here any minute. He just got his Driver's license. Be appropriately impressed.” No sooner had he said it than Tiffany hears a car door slam in the driveway. Her adopted nephew shuffles into the house, gives a cursory glance around at the chaos that was the living area, and seems to deflate.

“Hey Trent, why don’t you help me in the garage. That’s where dad kept the heavy stuff, and I’d rather get going on that before the sun gets much higher and we roast in that tin death trap.” Martin finished off his beer and snags the teen by the shoulder, shouting back at his little sister “Don’t let anything in there bite you. You know how Dad liked to tinker!”

Tiffany cleans for hours. It gets moderately better when her sister-in-law and nieces show up, but if there is one thing that those two little ones did not like, it was getting dirty. To forestall the screaming fit that would erupt if a speck of anything tarnished their princess dresses, Sarah set the seven and three year olds up at the kitchen table with coloring books and a tablet streaming kid-friendly YouTube. Martin and Trent make quick work of the garage, arranging for a local scrap yard to collect some of the larger items before they return to the blissful relief of the air conditioning. With the house in a much more manageable state, the three adults and one teenager decide to tackle one last area.

The Basement.

Tiffany and Martin stand in front of the door. It is unlocked. It has always been unlocked. But Tiffany has never set foot on the staircase before. The Basement was Dad’s Space: Do Not Enter, By Royal Decree, Under Pain of Grounding. 

“Ok, brother mine, go ahead. You know what’s down there, right? We gonna need to have Trent haul old computers out on his back?”

Martin slowly turned  his head, looking at her as if she had suddenly sprouted whiskers, a tail and called herself Lassie. “The Hell you talking about? I’ve never been down there. I didn’t have a death wish.” 

“You two are ridiculous” Sarah shoves her tiny frame between the siblings and opens the door, feeling along the wall for a lightswitch.

It isn’t necessary. 

As soon as the door opens, lights begin to flicker, a generator hums to life, and metal shutters slam down covering every exterior window and door. 

BIOMETRICS UNIDENTIFIED. SYSTEM LOCKDOWN INITIATED. STATE IDENTITY.

The voice that echoes out of the walls of the house was definitely their father, but much younger. Tiffany remembers that voice reading her bedtime stories when she was Jenny’s age. It shouldn’t be yelling like this.

STATE IDENTITY. INTRUDERS WILL BE TERMINATED. 45 SECONDS.

“WHOA! DAD! Um...It’s Martin...the person who opened the door is my wife Sarah…”

MARTIN: VOICE PRINT CONFIRMED. SARAH: IDENTITY VERIFIED. FOUR MORE INDIVIDUALS IN THE BUILDING

“SHIT! DAD, Don’t shoot. It’s me, Tiffany. The other three are the kids, Trent,  Maria and Jenny. DO NOT TERMINATE ANYONE!”

TIFFANY: VOICE PRINT CONFIRMED. BIOMETRICS CONFIRM CHILDREN IN THE HOME. TERMINATION SEQUENCE CANCELLED. PLEASE ENTER THE WORKSPACE

“Oh, hell no. Nope. Not gonna happen. You two have fun going down into deathville. I’m taking the kid and we are going to sit and watch videos with the girls. You can deal with whatever craziness your father dreamt up.” Suiting actions to words, Sarah stomps down the hall, dragging a wide-eyed Trent with her. Tiffany and Martin peer down the narrow stairs. Only room to go down single file. An intense battle of rock-paper-scissors breaks out, with Tiffany coming out the loser. 

“Big bad Marine sends his baby sister to her death. I can see the headlines now.”

“Shut up, you won’t die. Dad liked you better anyway.”

At the base of the stairs is one of the most elaborate computer systems Tiffany has seen outside of NASA. Security cameras show the exterior of the house, and a couple of warehouses and storage rooms that have even more sensitive equipment set up.  On one screen, there is a countdown. 3 days, 7 hours, 56 minutes, 18 seconds.  Right in the center of the console was a simple VCR, with a post-it note that said “Play Me”. Tiffany elbows Martin, and he reaches forward to hit the play button. The center screen comes to life. 

Their father is sitting in his recliner, holding his glasses in one hand, a bottle of scotch on the end table next to him as he rubs at his eyes. With a deep breath, he looks into the camera.

I’m sorry kids. I’m so damned sorry. If you’re watching this it’s because the toxin got to me, and I’m no longer with you to explain. Your mother’s death was not natural. We had been working together to contain an airborne contagion that was manufactured by accident. By Our people. Our government covered it up, said that it wouldn’t be that big of a deal. Making fools of ourselves, overreacting. You know how it goes.

He paused to take a long swig out of the bottle at his side.

 We were the last hope and we failed. I got so close, so close to fixing it and then my samples were stolen right before we found out about little Jenny. I’ve been working backwards ever since. I wish I could say that everything is ready to go. That all you have to do is call General Whats-his-face and you could save the world. But I can’t. I can’t. I don’t know how far the damage will reach, but there are enough supplies in the basement here that you can survive for about three months. God I hope you brought the little ones with you. If the lockdown was triggered, it won’t lift for three months. By then you should be able to survive whatever diluted toxin is left. And whatever is left of humanity by the end of all this. 

With a last swallow of scotch and tears running down his face, their father reached forward and turned off the camera. Tiffany’s eyes are drawn to the countdown again, finally reading the heading:

PROJECT ESCHATON GOES LIVE

3 d: 7 h: 50 m: 20 s

[sonicenvy]

i was tagged by @otterandterrier​ to talk fic. which i am also doing lieu of working on any of the 50+ WIPS of mine that are haunting me from iCloud purgatory. This is going to be long because I don’t know how to shut up lmaoooo.

Anyone who wants to do this should! This made me actually think about my WIPs wildly enough :)

Rules: Look at the most recent 20 (or however many) fanwork titles on your AO3 account and answer the questions below. All under the cut:

harsh and sweet and bitter to leave it all  (2019)

i dwell in possibility, (2019) which is really a collection of extra short fics (that may someday be real fics lmaooo:

i. Give me, Lord of the Skies, victory and true belief so that I might cut down this dispenser of crimes

ii. Who bears these burdens?

iii. Keeping cheery, we vowed quite often that none but death could separate us

iv. to take arms against a sea of troubles

v. don't look too good, nor talk too wise

vi. There shall be the fairest of joys when they meet at the beginning

Thus goth al to the devel, by thy tale (2019)

who would bear This heavy servitude one moment more? (2019)

I dared, still, not bow to earth (2018)

I looked thereupon with eye of my understanding (2018)

HIST 251: The Age of Heroes (2018)

And disobedience On the part of Heav'n (2018)

but thy eternal summer shall not fade (2018)

Frog (Take 2) (2018)

The Warmth of Starlight (2018)

Star Child (2017)

The Puppy From Hell (2017)

Look Who's Digging Their Own Grave (2015)

askfic! for kaynibbler16 (2015)

Taking The Burn (2015)

4:47 AM (2015)

Frog (2015)

to make this an even 20, i am going to.... *shudders* dig out two titles from my teaspoon.

Of Course He'd Be a Bloody Doctor (2014)

By the Way I Love You (2013)

1. How many are you happy with?

Eleven, mostly the most recent ones. Some of them are .... really bad and you shouldn’t read them even though i just gave you the direct link above lmao.

2. How many are you not happy with?

I guess, like four of them on AO3 are ... really bad, and both of the teaspoon ones are pretty awful, bringing me to six. There are a couple of older ones that I like the concept but the execution was dreadful because i was like fifteen when i wrote them. As for titles themselves, like six, most of which are very lazy titles.

3. How many did you scramble for at the last minute?

hmmm, definitely some of the ones within i dwell in possibility, because I was frantically trying to google scraps of medieval poems i like that i remembered but not accurately lol. Also, most of my early fics because I didn’t think about titles when i was writing stuff as, at the time, i hadn’t considered i was going to post them. Some of them in my old archive folders have some truly atrocious working titles to their respective word documents. Most of my titles are just poetry and song lyrics because im both lazy and a poetry nerd/musical theater trashcan. Looking at it, probably ~8. 

4. How many did you know before you started writing/creating, or near the beginning?

Definitely harsh and sweet and bitter to leave it all, as the song (and that lyric) inspired the fic. When I listened to Stay, I Pray You during my third rotation of The Anastasia Broadway soundtrack I was hit with this very vivid image of Padmé sitting on the the veranda of Varykino having an angsty existential moment about leaving Naboo. I kept thinking about homes and leaving and Anidala and eventually ended up with the fic. Re-reading my author’s note for Look Who’s digging their own grave I guess I had that title in mind prior to the fic as well; I don’t remember much about the writing of that fic tbh. Finally, The Warmth of Starlight and Star Child, were titles that appeared to me very early on in the writing process, from the text of the fics themselves. This brings me to 4 pre-made titles. Most of the time, I find poetry lyrics afterwards that speak to me about the theme or feeling of the fic in a poem i like. 

5. How many are quotes from songs or poems?

Nine, plus the 6 chapter titles in I dwell in Possibility. The poems/songs are as follows:

Harsh and Sweet and Bitter to Leave it All - Stay I Pray You from the Anastasia Broadway Musical

I dwell in possibility - I dwell in possibility (466) by Emily Dickinson, and the respective chapters:

i. the anglo saxon heroic poem judith

ii. the exeter book riddles.

iii. the wife's lament

iv. hamlet

v. If, by Rudyard Kipling

vi. The Life of St. Guthlac of Crowland (Guthlac A)

Thus goeth al to the devel, by thy tale - The Wife of Bath’s Tale from the Canterbury Tales

who would bear This heavy servitude one moment more? - Servitude by Ivor Gurney

I dared, still, not bow to earth - Dream of the Rood

I looked thereupon with eye of my understanding - Chapter V of Julian of Norwich's Revelations of Divine Love

And disobedience On the part of Heav'n - Milton’s Paradise Lost Book IX

but thy eternal summer shall not fade - Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18

look who’s digging their own grave - Icarus, Bastille

ooof that’s .... a lot. enjoy the poetry i guess?

6. How many are other quotes?

0. poetry or music or bust babey

7. Which best reflects the plot of the story/content of the fanwork?

That’s tricky lol. I think I’m going to go with harsh and sweet and bitter to leave it all. I talked a little about how that happened in my head in 4. 

8. Which best reflects the theme of the story?

I quite like Keeping cheery, we vowed quite often that none but death could separate us and Give me, Lord of the Skies, victory and true belief so that I might cut down this dispenser of crimes, for this. Both of them I think kinda, double over in meaning for me if that makes sense?

9. Which best reflects the character voice of the story/pov of the framework?

The Puppy from Hell. Like, it’s about a hellhound, so it’s literally a puppy from hell, but Chloe is also, um, not entirely down with the sudden appearance of a family dog.

10. Which is your favorite title?

I dared, still, not bow to Earth.

[serrj215]

Notes

I wonder if you really know how I feel about you.  I don’t understand how your powers work, if you just get the stuff that is on the surface or do you get what’s underneath? Yes, I got the hots for you. Everything on the table I have thought about you. What would it be like to hold you, touch your legs, what kind of sounds you would make if I kissed that long neck of yours? How soft your hair would feel if I ran my fingers through it?  That’s probably not a surprise. I am probably one of a million guys that think your sexy as hell that your probably blocking out.

But there is more. I like finding out stuff about you.  I am not trying to be stalker, but it’s like finding buried treasure when I learn something new about you. Like right now I know your secretly loving that slice of Sicilian with olives and mushrooms.  I know you will just eat anything we order, but your taking your time with that slice and your truly enjoying it. That makes me really happy, like new moped for Christmas happy. I know when you read it’s not just for pleasure or to study,  you grab books that push your emotions.  You purposely read stuff that is uplifting or heart taring, or just plain scary just to practice your control.  It took a while for me to figure out that one, that you are not ignoring us that your training.  So I am sorry for all the times I asked you to pull your head out of your book.  

I know it’s crazy. It would take three words and you could probably crush me like an ant. You are one of the most powerful people on the planet. This is a little green mouse falling in love with a tiger.  Maybe that’s part of the attraction. Your beautiful, dangerous and want nothing to do with me.  I know we want what we can’t have the most.  

I wonder if you fe-

“What is that?” Cyborg pulled the napkin Beast Boy was writing on out from under this pen.  

“DUDE!” ran out of his mouth as the taller man held the flimsy paper over his head.  With his free hand Cyborg grabbed his best friend by the head holding the green titan back, Beast Boys arms flailing wilding trying to get the napkin back.  

Cyborg cleared his throat dramatically for the audience of the other Titans and anyone that else that was paying attention at the pizza place.  Still holding Beast Boy back with his free hand brought the napkin to this face and cringed.

“BB, is this Swahili?” At that point Cyborg released Beast Boy his momentum taking him to the ground.  Beast Boy got up to Starfire and Robin trying to suppress there laughter, Raven just sat there paying more attention to her pizza then the antics of their friends.

Cyborg extended his hand to help Beast Boy back to his feet and gave him back the napkin.  Before anyone could say anything else.  Beast Boy quickly pushed the napkin into a nearby trashcan.  "It was just scribbling!“ he said too loud and through clenched teeth.  

Cyborg put his hands up. “Chill man, just playing.  Have another slice, your blood sugar must be off or something. ” he stated as he plopped down back in his chair.  

Beast Boy sat back down next to his friend and soon the pizza was gone and it was time to get home.  The others were quick to pay the bill and box there leftovers, but Raven took her time leaving the table.  When no one was noticing her eyes closed and she whispered to herself “Azerath Metrion Zinthos”  under the table in a small flash of black energy a napkin appeared in her hand.  She folded it quickly and concealed it in her cloak.  

She got up from the table to join her friends before she fell too far behind to arouse suspicion. A small smile hidden by her hood. She looked forward to reading the napkin and adding it to her collection.  

Beast Boy had been writing these notes for months. Normally on whatever scraps of paper he came across, napkins, receipts, one of her favorites was written on the back of an envelope for the Towers cable bill. He would then discarding them thinking that the evidence had been destroyed, not knowing that most had been rescued by their addressee. Beast Boy’s handwriting, was undisciplined but after learning to read faded, handwritten tomes in dead languages it was no challenge.

She was getting closer, one day she would have the control to address his feelings, and explore her own. Right now these little scraps of emotion were enough. Her only regret was that Cyborg had most likely taken the note away from Beast Boy before he got a chance to sign it.  

Garfield Mark Logan. She liked seeing his full name and how he wrote it. Raven though it was his way of separating himself from who he is to the rest of the world.  Everyone else could have Beast Boy, but Garfield Mark Logan was here for Raven.  

I had this personal headcannon that Beast Boy would try to write to Raven but always be to scared to ever send the notes.  So another piece of BBrae fluff that all came together in about 40 minutes.  I really do envy many of you that can take prompts and create wonderful fics in mere hours. I got stuff that I have been hammering on for months that I can’t get right.  Then there stuff like this that just flows out.  So I am posting this without showing it to my usual editor(my wife) so yes there are probably spelling mistakes feel free to call me on them will correct. Thank you.