#and most of the grad students were hot.... ridiculously so

[helenreddy]

the story of how i changed majors from physics to linguistics is lowkey wild

for context, i was taking an intro linguistics class as a gen ed - i figured it'd be at least a somewhat interesting way to fill the social science requirement, and an easy A since i'm good with languages. anyway. one lecture, the professor was going over affixes and saying how english doesn't have infixes except for one thing... and asked if anyone could give an example.

sitting front and center in a lecture hall filled with almost 500 students, i knew this was my time to shine. my hermione granger ass shot my hand up and confidently said, "abso-fucking-lutely, expletive infixation." the professor responded, "looks like we have a linguistics major here" - mind you, i wasn't yet!! but that lecture... that short interaction changed the course of my college career. looks like we have a linguistics major here echoed in my head to the point where i submitted my major change application within a week and never looked back

#i do still love physics but hated how i was treated as a woman in my uni's physics dept #plus it was just so underfunded... the labs were decrepit and the whole building was janky af #your choice would be either run up 4 flights of stairs or the creepy elevator that was broken half the time anyway #sooooooo glad to have switched to ling #my program was apparently within the top 10% of the country i think? #my ling advisor was a pretty well published dutch linguist and i had wanted to speak in dutch to him but was always so intimidated #and most of the grad students were hot.... ridiculously so

[97-liners]

au where wonwoo is a 30 year old professor and you’re his phd student in your late 20’s and…

wonwoo is the most popular professor in the department. not only is he incredibly intelligent, thoughtful and kind, soft-spoken yet confident, and a leader in his field of study, he’s also hot. all the undergrads who attend his lecture will dress up, and girls who go to his office hours put on makeup beforehand. while grading papers for him, you’ve seen the occasional phone number slipped in. and wonwoo, who is a bit awkward and shy, has no idea.

(after you graduate, you bring it up to him. “you’re ridiculously attractive.”

wonwoo flushes and stutters, “what are you talking about?”

“why do you think your office hours were so popular? i had undergrads begging me to get off the waitlist for your class”

“what? i just thought the kids were really interested in organic polymer engineering!”)

the problem is: while your professor might not realize how perfect he is, you certainly do. getting a phd is hard enough without your stupid crush on your stupidly perfect professor getting in the way, so you squish it all down, deep inside you and shove it all in a little box labeled “unrealistic fantasies” along with your nobel prize aspirations and meeting beyoncé. (what you don’t know is that the whole lab can see it, the heart eyes that you make at professor jeon each time he stands at the podium to lecture or gets lost in a particularly tricky problem. and what you also don’t know is that when you’re not looking, wonwoo makes those same heart eyes at you. the two of you are crazy for each other, everybody in the lab can see it. everybody except you.)

time goes by and before you know it, you’ve successfully defended your thesis. the whole lab goes out for drinks and at the end of the night, happy and slightly tipsy, wonwoo pulls you in to a very professional hug and says in that gentle deep voice of his, “well done,” in a way that sends shivers down your spine.

you graduate. you have a job lined up. everything is falling into place. three days after graduation, you stop by the lab to turn in your keys to the building manager and to pick up a few notebooks, when you run into wonwoo sitting in the lab, reading over a manuscript. it’s saturday and the first week of summer break, so the building is empty save for the two of you. and he’s just sitting there, reading, but he’s so attractive and, somehow, cozy-looking, with his sleeves rolled up and his glasses sliding down his nose and dark circles under his eyes, so familiar and you’re hit with a sudden wave of overwhelming fondness.

so you crack the door to the lab open and peek in. “hi, wonwoo. i’m just about to head out.”

“oh,” he looks up in mild surprise. his glasses are askew, and you feel your chest ache with affection. “i was hoping you’d stop by.”

“yeah, well i’m about to get fined by the building manager if i don’t drop off my keys today,” you laugh.

he smiles at you, a small tight-lipped smile. “i know i’ve told you this many times over the past few weeks, but i need to tell you again how wonderful it was having you as my student. i’m very proud of you,” he says, “and i’m excited to see where you go.” then, he adds on in a tone that feels too tender and soft, “i’ll miss having you around in the lab, y/n.”

it make your breath catch in your throat. just one of hundreds of moments of half-whispered maybes, edging on the potential of something more. maybe it’s time to put that behind you, you muse to yourself. after all, he’s no longer your mentor, and you’re no longer his favorite grad student. “thank you,” you tell him. “i’ll miss you too.” more than you’ll know.

you turn to leave once and for all, but then wonwoo stops you when he calls out your name. “y/n, wait—“

you turn to look at wonwoo, who has his head raised, wearing a hopefully expression on his face. he frowns for half a moment, lips thinning into an expression you recognize as his thinking face, and then he asks, almost tentatively, “would you want to go out to dinner with me some time?”

you blink. wonwoo is flushing now. you can see his ears flashing pink. “dinner? just us?”

wonwoo nods. “yes, since you’re no longer my student now…”

“professor jeon,” you laugh, “are you asking me out on a date? because if you are, the answer is yes.”

wonwoo smiles at you, a wider grin now. “you know, you don’t have to call me professor anymore, dr. l/n.”

#97.yn #uhm #97.text #97.writings

[rosessmile]

rose tyler's favorite things about every new who doctor

based off of physical attributes. she wants that ass in every regeneration

nine: his gorgeous low voice and those blue eyes. he has such a strong body but it's all wrapped up and hidden under that jacket. when she hugs him he's warm and solid and safe pressed up against her. he's so masculine and smells like spice and leather. he's the dangerous, mysterious man who took her away from the monotony of her old life, and she thinks she might be attracted to adventure, and he is the physical culmination of adventure itself.

ten: well, everything. this body was crafted and molded out of love for her, engineered to absolutely drive her crazy, and the tight tight clothes make her think he might be trying to distract her with every movement. the elegant line of his thin body and the gentle curve of his muscles. the hair she could spend hours running her hands through. the way he tugs at his own hair and makes her want to replace his hands with her own. every time he bends over to fix something under the console those ridiculous pants stretch over his absolutely perfect ass. she thinks she might die. she pokes fun at his dramatic speeches and daring, theatrical rescues but secretly swoons watching her very own romantic action hero swoop in and save the day.

eleven: she'll be honest, she mourned the loss of her hot-fresh-made-just-for-you doctor for a while longer than she would like to admit, and the doctor made it his mission to make himself equally as attractive to her. she begins to give in to the way his hair flops over his eyes in a way that makes him seem shy and sexy all at once. the intensity of his green eyes makes her shiver. and though she mourns the slim lines of his body in his pinstriped suit, she finds her fantasies turning to broad shoulders, strong biceps, and long, muscular legs. she never realized legs were that attractive until this doctor. and that jawline, those cheekbones, the way he whispers in her ear. her friends tease her about how her boyfriends get younger and younger, but rose secretly likes that the millennium old lord of time is also her sexy young grad student-looking arm candy. his boyish charm wins her over body and soul. and this one seems to be determined to distract her with pants that might be even tighter than pinstripes.

twelve: she's prepared for it this time. he's warned her that he might not always be her pretty young thing, but she gets over it very quickly when she hears the sexiest scottish brogue, and she might forget about young, pretty boys once and for all when the most elegant, alluring fingers attached to incredibly large hands come to cup her face and kiss her deeply. those hands. those hands, those hands, those hands. she wants them everywhere. he leans back in the tardis, playing his guitar, looking deep into her soul with those intense eyes. she's just looking at the way his fingers wrap around the neck of the guitar. she wishes she were a guitar.

thirteen: (eek I have not paid enough attention to jodie's body and looks to accurately do this one but rose definitely has so let me try my best) she is just as thrilled as the doctor when he regenerates from gray curls to blonde. the doctor's initial excitement fades for a moment as she turns to the love of her life but she is quickly assured as rose doesn't even hesitate to stride right over, cup her face in her hands and give her a passionate, romantic kiss to rival every kiss between them so far. she pulls back and touches her forehead with her own. that night she runs her hands along soft curves and says "I understand a little better why you liked this so much!"

fourteen: the initial shock lasts at least ten minutes. she thinks she might be dreaming. she loves the doctor in all of their forms but she would be lying if she told you brown eyes didn't haunt her dreams. she spends the first night reacquainting herself with every inch of the body she missed so much. "thanks for giving me another go at this one." she thinks it couldn't possibly get better than this.

her first thought when she sees two doctors standing in front of her is fear. how will this work? the second thought is her brain supplying five to ten very helpful ideas of how this could work. she watches them play a game of chess and thinks of seven more. "sharing is caring, babes" fifteen says as they lean back against the railings in the tardis that night, processing the day they had been through. "I wouldn't take her away from you. ever. Plus," he adds, "It's pretty stupid how whenever there's two of us we act like we aren't the same person. The three of us are still a couple by definition." fourteen isn't totally sure about all of this, but fifteen seems to be cool as a cucumber. "Don't be shy, honey. I was you last week. I know everything you're working with. No secrets here."

Rose thinks her birthday might have come early and every day. as does she.

fifteen: she hasn't stopped staring. her jaw dropped twenty minutes ago and hasn't picked back up. fourteen tells him to go put some trousers on and rose shouts "NO!" as if he had said he was going to throw the tardis into a black hole. this new doctor is a model. those gorgeous dark eyes and his glowing skin. she hasn't stopped kissing his neck in days. she runs her hands up his muscular, perfect thighs, back, arms, and chest. he's been toned before but never this sculpted. he's maybe even more of an action hero than her second doctor. he's just effortlessly cool and an effortless flirt.

okay thank you for reading in conclusion all the doctors are hot and rose agrees with me.

#doctorrose #dw fanfic #dw fic #doctor who fanfiction #rose tyler #idk if tumblr still does the whole only first five tags show up in tags ten yrs later but if so there we go #beth's writing #dw writing #writing

[gateskp]

This is a story followers from Twitter and BSky know, but since I'm getting into Tumblr, I figured I'd share.

I'm very much in love with my best friend from college. He is the unrequited love of my life. I refer to him as The One I Love. And tonight I fell in love with him all over again.

In college, people thought we were dating because we were (and still are) so close. We did have class together every single day for a full semester and then class together multiple times a week for semesters after that. We'd hang out in the bio student lounge and watch TV on his laptop together. I made him a Pokeball birthday cake for his 21st birthday because he is a ridiculous nerd and loves Pokemon (no shade, I'm also a ridiculous nerd). When we had evening classes that ended at 9pm, I'd drive him home to make sure he got home safe and quickly. He made me laugh and smile and enjoy, y'know, living, which was something I didn't always enjoy in college.

We...did a lot of things that could definitely be construed as couple activities. But we were not a couple. Just very close, excellent complements of each other, with a hint of feelings on my part.

Side note: It's actually fairly entertaining to look back on because in our practical lab classes, our professors deliberately paired us up because we worked so well together (the assumption being because we were a couple).

Side note 2: He is a very attractive guy imo, and I semi-jokingly call him a ridiculously hot nerd. I'm queer and fall somewhere in ace land, so I do enjoy admiring him but there's nothing sexual about our relationship. Which I think has helped it in a good way.

He calls me every week and we talk. Like. For 2-3 hours *every week*. This has been going on for literally 2 years. Originally he started calling me to talk about shows we were watching, but now we talk about anything and everything. There's a lot of venting about grad school (we're both PhD-ing) and just...being there for each other. I love it. He listens to me ramble and he tells me stories and interesting tidbits and whatever. It's very give-and-take. Our weekly calls strengthened and cemented my feelings for him.

He knows my feelings because 2 years ago (?? how has it been that long) I wrote him a(n 8 page) love letter conveying my feelings and that led to a very awkward conversation about how feelings were not returned. I still think we use different language to describe similar things BUT ANYWAY. I respect that we don't see things the same way, much as it may hurt. That's what it means to love someone, respecting their feelings and experiences and personhood.

Side note 3: I have this secret fantasy about what our future could look like and I'm not going to let it go until there's no hope at all. He is one of the most important people in my world, and I truly only want the best for him. His health and happiness is tantamount to nothing, and whatever role I play in that, so be it. If he found another person who brought him even a fraction of the feelings he brings me, I'd officiate the wedding myself. What matters more than anything else is that I have my closest friend in my life and we remain close. Whatever it takes...

What's amazing(?) is that our relationship...it's gotten even stronger since then. That conversation was...A Lot...but I think it made whatever we have even stronger. It definitely didn't get worse.

I look forward to to our calls. They're part of my routine, I deliberately set aside this time on Thursday nights for him. I do not allow things to be scheduled for Thursday nights. Thursday nights are for The One I Love and no one else.

When we're talking to each other...I feel connected to another person. The world exists outside of my day-to-day bubble. I feel like...when I talk to him, I feel like there's a person who cares about what happens to me.

One night a couple of years ago I told him about my mental health struggles. It was something I don't think he fully recognised I was dealing with in college. But I was really struggling and having a hard time and I just couldn't pretend everything was okay on the phone. So I asked him if I could tell him, he said yes, so I told him everything. And it was really hard for me to do that, there was a lot of starting and stopping and stuttering (I stutter a lot anyway, this was worse). And at the end of it all, I told him that I knew what I just said was a lot and I understood if he needed some space or didn't want to talk for a while or whatever, because that's how people reacted in the past. There have been people who've decided to stop being friends with me because this is too much, and I understood if he felt that way because it's a lot. I wouldn't hold it against him.

And he just said "I'm still here." He said he wasn't going anywhere. And he hasn't.

More than once I've made self-deprecating jokes because how else does one deal with their terrible mental health and he reminds me that he cares. He has confidence in me when I don't. Once I texted him on a Friday night and told him to tell me something good that happened to him that day because I was having a really tough night and needed to hear something positive was happening in the world. He responded by calling me and being there for me.

We trust each other with things that no one else knows. It means the world to me that he'll tell me things that he won't tell anyone else, and I will take his secrets to the grave. Trust is...complicated for me. But I trust him. He won't hurt me. It's something I've had to really come to terms with, here is someone who I can be vulnerable around who won't hurt or manipulate me.

Last year I saw him for the first time since 2017 and it was like no time had passed at all. We spent 4 days together. I took him to see his first Broadway show, Hadestown, which was the only show he's ever been really eager to see. He took me to see SPACE at the Illuminarium because he knows how much I geek out over space, how awe-inspiring I find it. He talked me out of dropping $700 on a Flash comic, which was extremely wise. I tried and failed to cook, which he doesn't let me forget. He got me hooked on anime, which was apparently his deviously secret plan all along (which shocked me but I absolutely love it). I "made" him split half a gallon of Blue Bell ice cream with me because I hadn't had it in years (it took 0 effort, the man has no control when it comes to sweets and I tease him about it constantly). We helped his friend move. We sat on the couch on our laptops silently enjoying each other's presence.

It was truly the best long weekend I've had in who-knows-how-long. If the rest of my life looked like that weekend, I think I would be happy. Genuinely wonderfully happy and enjoying life.

The day I had to leave, I completely lost it. He gave me a goodbye hug and I completely broke down on his shoulder because I'd just had the best weekend in living memory and was going back to my quickly-approaching preliminary exam and having issues with my advisors. He knew all of this. I sobbed on his shoulder, and he held onto me. He didn't let go until he knew I stopped crying and was safe to drive. (I cried on and off the entire 7 hours drive)

I have pictures of us from this trip on my desk in lab, and they always make me smile, they have so much positivity associated with them. They also made it onto my Christmas card.

I'm going to see him again next month when I run the marathon in his city. We have a growing list of things to do which is entirely dessert places he wants to take me to, because we both love dessert and sweets. Tonight we were talking about when I might come down. I told him it's completely up to him because he has to put up with me and my bullshit. The race is on a Sunday, so I'd come down as early as the Tuesday before.

He doesn't know his schedule yet because science and experiment timing can be tricky. But he might be taking Wednesday off. He said he already plans on spending all day Thursday with me.

Tonight I fell in love all over again.

#love #queer #acespec #unrequited love #i love my best friend #i don't know what else to say #txt post #long post #feelings #the secret history of the one i love #now when i talk about the one i love you have some context #he's everything to me #we complement each other in the best ways #if soul mates are a thing...i'll stop that thought there #our story could be a romance novel but i don't think i have the skill to write it #pretty sure my family thinks we're dating even though we're not but that's par for the course #random thoughts #whatever the future holds he's going to be an amazing partner for someone someday #falling in love #now i'm thinking of the Buzzcocks song ever fallen in love #if this is what a healthy adult relationship looks like i'm here for it #i really don't have a name for our relationship bc it feels deeper than friendship but isn't really romantic. we're just us. #and i wouldn't have it any other way #i mean i would if things made us even closer but never more distant

[separatist-apologist]

prompts - a "trick or treat" elucien smut

Are you all bored of my smut yet? How many more ways can I make Lucien go down on Elain?

ANYWAY.

Trick or treat, I guess. NSFW.

-

“Trick or treat,” came a voice from just outside Elain’s door. Sprawled across her bed, Elain didn’t have to look up to know it was Lucien Vanserra who stepped inside. “No Halloween spirit?”

She gestured down her body wordlessly so he could see the slave Leia costume she’d worn. She knew without asking if she looked up that he’d be dressed as Han Solo. Lucien was a good friend like that, had been a good friend ever since they’d been neighbors in the co-ed dorms and he’d helped her trek boxes of her things up eight flights of stairs when the elevator broke. They were seniors now, Elain vice-president of her sorority and Lucien…living off campus with Vassa’s boyfriend Jurian. He and Jurian had planned to skip the sorority Halloween party. After all, just because Vassa was president didn’t mean Jurian suddenly cared. And Lucien had never been interested in Greek life beyond what Elain shared with him.

He was there because Graysen had dumped her a month before, leaving her couple-less for her costume. Elain didn’t bother correct Lucien’s assumption that her heart was broken. It was a long time coming, in truth. Graysen guessed what Elain had begun to suspect nearly a year before. She was in love with a different man. In love with the man currently sitting on the edge of her bed peering down at her with concern etched into his expression.

Lucien was hot, he was funny and nice and women were always chasing after him. Elain knew he’d been casually dating a grad student named Jesminda but was too chicken shit to ask him how things were going.

“Well, you look just like her,” Lucien offered, interrupting Elain’s thoughts. “Do you want to go downstairs and make Graysen jealous?” She did, a little. Elain propped herself up on her elbows to really look at him. He looked ridiculous in the black vest and the matching tight pants. A white, long sleeve shirt stretched over his muscular chest that the belt slung over his hips only drew her eyes right to his penis. Elain blinked, looking back at his face. He’d tied his long, red hair into a ponytail at the back of his neck and without thinking about it, she reached for him and pulled it out. Lucien’s brown eyes went wide.

“Han has short hair,” he reminded her.

Elain nodded, biting her bottom lip. “I know but you look better with your hair around your face.”

“Trying to get me laid tonight?” He teased and though it was a joke, Elain’s heart fluttered.

“What about Jesminda?” She asked, aware of how breathless she sounded. It was Lucien’s turn to flop onto his back, arms behind his head.

“I don’t know. It just felt wrong, I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” she lied, laying beside him on her stomach. Lucien turned his head to look at her and it occurred to Elain that his mouth was obscenely close to her own. She would have had to do so little to kiss him, if she wanted. Lucien arched a brow, oblivious to her thoughts.

“I’m not. I’d rather be alone than with the wrong person.”

She clicked her tongue on her teeth, rolling her eyes. “Do you want my help getting laid tonight or not?”

Lucien’s eyes drifted from her face to her chest, his brown cheeks stained pink. “Ah…I mean yes.”

“Okay. Which one of my sisters interests you the most? No freshmen.”

“Fuck, Elain, I’m not a monster. Besides, I like one of your sisters in your class.”

“Oh? Which one?” She asked, her stomach twisting in knots. Elain sat up and Lucien’s eyes immediately went to the ceiling. His mouth was slack and she watched his large, broad hands tighten into fists at his side.

“You ah…you’ve fallen out of you ah…”

She looked down at her chest where one of her breasts had spilled out of the ridiculous, hard shell that was supposed to hold them. How the actual actress ever wore them was beyond Elain.

“Oh shit,” she cried, turning her back quickly to shove herself back in. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he replied, his voice a little strangled. “No harm done.”

“Maybe I should change. I have her white dress—”

“No!” He said too quickly, sitting up abruptly. Elain turned her head, fingering the long, brown braid hanging over her shoulder. “No ah…just…don’t lay down. Or bend over. Honestly if you need something just let me know.”

“All that for a costume?” She asked, crossing her leg beneath the golden panel hanging from her hips. “Wouldn’t it be easier if I wore something else? Especially if you’re trying to get laid?”

“I guess that depends,” Lucien replied, sitting up too. He was close again, his eyes intense and focused wholly on her. “On who I was fucking.”

Oh God, she thought, her eyes staring at his lips. “You ah…didn’t say which one of my sorority sisters you liked.”

“Right. I like Elain Archeron,” he said softly, reaching for her face. She let him, leaning into the touch as she scooted closer.

“Oh.”

“I just haven’t been able to figure out if she likes me too,” he continued with more confidence than Elain felt. She felt like she must be hallucinating. This wasn’t happening. She’d imagined this moment for so long and now that it was happening she was choking on her words.

“She does,” Elain confirmed. Lucien smiled so wide it was as though he was lit by the sun himself

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he told her, drawing his face to hers. She didn’t have time to respond before his lips pressed against her own. There was no way it was ever going to be a sweet, chaste kiss. She’d just flashed him, after all. But Lucien had also admitted that he wanted to have sex with her and after four goddamn years of wondering what it might be like if he touched her, the moment they came together, Elain decided to press her luck. She surged forward, pressing herself against his seated body and Lucien, for his part, pulled her tight against him.

His tongue swept into her mouth, setting every nerve in her body alight with excitement. He tasted like cinnamon and apples mingled with something distinctly alcoholic and she wondered what he’d done a shot of before he came up to make his confession.

“You don’t actually have to have sex with me,” Lucien told her, his mouth trailing down her neck as she shoved him onto his back. “I just wanted—”

“Shut. Up.” Elain ordered, straddling his chest. They’d have sex, they’d go downstairs and win cutest couple, and then they’d have sex again. He rested his hands on her nearly bare hips, leaning up to kiss her again, his tongue equal parts urgent and explorative. She shivered as she imagined what it would feel like to have his mouth everywhere and Lucien, as though he could read her mind, flipped her to her back like they were in a movie and he was the suave, handsome hero.

“Does this thing come off?” He asked, looking at her straining breasts through the brown and gold bikini top. Elain arched her back up off the bed to unhook the clasp around her neck. He’d already seen one breast, she reasoned. Why not the other?

Lucien stared down at her, his legs tucked between her own, with reverence that ought to be reserved for something far more sacred. She thought he might change his mind but a moment later both hands covered her breasts and a gleeful smile spread over his face. Elain burst out laughing.

“You’re embarrassing,” she chided, her words shifting from mirth to aroused within a mere breath. Lucien lowered his head, playfully nipping at the skin just beneath her nipple.

“I know,” he replied, pinching and tweaking with his fingers until her eyes fluttered shut and she couldn’t focus on anything but the feel of his mouth.

“This should stay on,” Lucien practically growled as he worked his way down her body. “You’re kind of helping me live out a fantasy I had when I was a boy.”

“Oh? Slave Leia is a fantasy of yours?” She teased, her breath hitching when he slid the panels of gold fabric up her body, revealing the thong beneath.

“Fuck yes,” he replied with gleaming eyes.

“Should I get the collar, then?” She asked and judging by how dark his eyes went, Elain thought they might act out the whole movie scene later that night. Not then, though. His finger hooked in the fabric of her panties and Elain lifted her hips, her heart pounding nervously.

“You don’t have to…” She started but Lucien was already spreading her apart, watching her with open interest.

“I know I don’t,” he murmured, rubbing the pad of his thumb over her clit. She hissed softly, her hips jerking and Lucien’s smile widened. “If I can’t make you come, you won’t want to fuck me again and I very muchwant to fuck you again.”

Elain thought she’d want him even if he did nothing for her at all. Graysen had certainly never concerned himself with if she’d come or not and she’d dated him for a full eight months.

Lucien kept rubbing, his eyes never leaving her pussy. “Fucking Christ Elain,” he murmured when she began to roll her hips. Elain frowned when she realized she was spread out over her pink blanketed bed but Lucien was still entirely clothed.

“Take off your shirt,” she demanded. It was torture when he withdrew his hand but worth it to see his bare, golden skin. Lucien was pure muscle in a soft sort of way. She leaned towards him but Lucien, smirking, pushed her back to the bed.

“Not yet,” he replied, settling between her legs. Elain couldn’t tear her eyes off him, stunned she didn’t have to beg him to go down on her. Lucien opened her up again, made eye contact for a moment, and then licked up the center of her cunt. Elain arched involuntarily and Lucien chuckled darkly.

“It’s going to be too easy to impress you,” he murmured before swirling his tongue over her like she was candy. He moaned softly into her body as he slid a finger into her body. She almost screamed, lost in the sensation of his mouth and his hand working her in time, thrusting and licking until Elain was hovering on the precipice of release.

“I’m going to come,” She panted, fingers playing with her own nipples to heighten the sensations. Lucien groaned again, louder this time but didn’t stop at and a moment later she was launched into oblivion, choking on her orgasm. She felt him pull away when her legs locked around him but she couldn’t see. She was nothing until she felt the head of cock push up against the dripping wet entrance of her cunt.

“Please,” she begged, her pussy still convulsing and when he slid himself in Elain practically came apart again.

“Fuck,” he whispered, pressing his head into her collarbone. “You’re so tight.”

“Uh huh,” she whined, lifting her hip to get him to thrust. Lucien held himself still for another moment, clearly gathering himself before he dragged his cock out and snapped back in.

“Oh,” she whispered, arching her neck.

“Tight,” was all he said in response, words strangled, his hips rolling into her with a rhythm that threatened to drive her mad. Before Lucien, fucking consisted of men jackhammering her with their fingers, going down for thirty seconds if that, followed by another minute of jack hammering with their cock.

“Can you come like this?” He asked, holding his pace on trembling arms.

“Uh huh,” she agreed, her next orgasm building languidly.

“You’ll come on my cock?” He continued, his hair spilling into her face.

“Uh huh,” she whined again, meeting him thrust for thrust. She raked her nails down his back, delighting in the raised goose flesh she found. There was silence between them save for the soft panting and moans that occasionally escaped. Despite loud music and the crowd of people downstairs, Elain knew there was danger lurking just outside the hall. Anyone might come looking, might decide to fling open her bedroom door where they’d find Lucien Vanserra balls deep in her body. She didn’t mind if people knew, though she didn’t want anyonelooking at his penis but her.

Up, up, up, went Elain until Lucien snaked his hand between them and began rubbing her clit again. Elain couldn’t help the scream, couldn’t help how her body bowed off the bed, every muscle clenching all at once.

“Oh fuck,” Lucien agreed, thrusting so hard she could feel his balls slapping against her skin. A moment later Lucien shouted, too, spilling his own orgasm into her body. She clutched at the broad shoulders of his back, pulling him towards her for a messy kiss. She could taste herself on his lips and that only made her want him more.

“Fuck the party,” he told her between kisses. “Lets stay up here—”

“Hey are you okay?” Vassa’s voice asked a moment before walking into Elain’s room. Elain and Lucien twisted to look at Vassa, dressed like a sexy witch. Vassa shrieked and turned.

“You never heard of locking the door?” She demanded.

“Trick or treat, Vass,” Lucien replied in response. “You should knock first.”

“Put your goddamn pants on asshole,” Vassa snapped. “And get downstairs. Jurian has been waiting on you.” The door slammed shut behind Vassa’s retreating figure. “Let’s go downstairs, make Graysen obscenely jealous, and then come back up here.”

“Or we could go to your place?” Elain suggested.

Lucien grinned. “My place it is.”

#elucien #elain x lucien #elucien smut #i obviously didnt proof read this #and i never will

[ad1thi]

2020 fic recs!! [Part 2]

part 2 of my 2020 fic recs!! as before, ive limited this to five fics per month; and fics are ordered by the month they were published. This spans fandoms and ships, and hopefully you find something you like!! credit for the idea goes to @iam93percentstardust

***

July

this is the start: @capnwinghead

Clark and Bruce continue raising the Wayne children and encounter a number of challenges along the way.

great minds (love alike): @starklysteve

Steve’s eyes flicks down to Tony’s knees on the floor.

“Are you – are you proposing to me with my ring for you?” Steve asks incredulously, eyes wide and confused.

---

Or, Steve finds Tony’s ring for him, Tony finds Steve’s ring for him. Panic happens.

Marvels Unsolved: @iam93percentstardust

Marvels Unsolved was never supposed to be this popular. It started off as a novelty web-series about Tony trying to convince Bucky about the existence of the supernatural—he firmly believed that if science could turn Uncle Steve from an actual shrimp to the god of muscles, then magic had to be out there—and then they’d started talking about an unsolved crime from the early 20th century after filming an episode one day, forgetting that the camera was still rolling, and had ended up with enough footage to make a second episode about real crimes. They had stayed pretty unknown throughout that first season but then true crime podcasts had exploded in popularity and Unsolved along with them.

it’s a small world after all: @maguna-stxrk

“Great speech.”

Smiling at the compliment, Tony turns around. “Thank y—”

And nearly drops his champagne flute.

His world comes to a stop.

They had only spent a night together, but Tony would recognize those baby blues anywhere.

It’s Steve.

Steve from Tony’s London business trip. Or, as Rhodey has become accustomed to calling him—The Soulmate That Got Away.

you’re in my blood, you’re in my veins: @nethandrake

Tony always figured that if they ever were to break up, it would be like a blaze. Scorching and hot and all-too blinding. Intense like the two of them have always been.

Instead, they break up on a Tuesday, with the rain pelting the windowpane and the midnight silence stifling.

August

Five Times Danny said he’d marry Steve (plus one): @five-wow

Danny humphs. “Look, all I’m saying is, I think I’d probably have married you by now.”

“I’d marry you, too,” Steve says.

Or: An experiment in how many times you can say something before you have to put your money where your mouth is.

Family (You’ve Always Had It): @/SunnyQueen

A black Camaro and a scowling blond was not what Junior had been expecting.

“Hi, sir. You didn’t have to pick me up.”

The blond looked up from the screen on his phone and groaned, completely ignoring Junior's statement. “You are right, I didn't have to."

Ode To Yoga Pants: @riotfalling

OR the continued terrible mating dance of Bucky and Tony, AKA when betting on your friends stops being fun

Through The Years: @hawkbucks

Tony brings home Natasha one day, proclaiming her to be his new sister.

Natasha takes this all in stride.

The broken road that led me home to you: @just-fandomthings

A documented list of conversations between Steve and Danny via text and phone call following the events of 10x22 "Aloha." (Where, even thousands of miles apart, Steve and Danny can't go without talking to each other.)

September

someday, we’ll pass it on to you: @starklysteve

Steve smiles.

Reaching up, he flattens his hand against his son’s far smaller one, curling gently around it. “You wanna be like him?”

“Da!” Peter agrees again.

One year old, and you already know who’s the best of us, Steve pauses to reflect, all his fears chased away by a fierce pride. “Your Dad’s coming home real soon,” he promises, “you should tell him that.”

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

Or, five times Peter did the repulsor pose as a toddler

+ one time he used the repulsors as an adult

Classic Sci Fi: @notdoingsohot

Bucky wakes up to Steve telling him he's lost his memory, but not to panic, it'll only last a few days. Easier said than done when the last thing Bucky remembers is fighting Hydra with the Howlies in WWII.

He tries to make the most of it however, and there's this guy... Tony Stark. It's pretty clear the guy hates Bucky's guts, which is unfortunate because god damn is he a sight.

He tries to figure out what he did to wrong Stark, but everyone just tells him he doesn't want to know.

They were right.

Blooms in Frost: @/Diomedes

Tony coughs up his first petal on the sixth of July. He has been married to the love of his life for two years.

Bury a Hanahaki corpse in earth and it will beget the most beautiful garden. All that love, it is said, must go somewhere.

Hanahaki AU: Established relationship

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

A Single Thread of Gold: @lovelyirony

Rhodey doesn't believe in love at first sight or any of that cheesy shit. He just wants someone who is nice, dependable, and safe.

Tony Stark is Housing Service's little problem for the school year, and now he's stuck in Rhodey's room because he's exploded the last two dorm rooms he's been in and won't live off-campus.

high roller, place your bet: @machi-kun

“Would you kiss Stark for a hundred bucks?”

“I would pay a hundred bucks to kiss him.”

October

press my luck: @omg-just-peachy

But... Steve is almost ten years his junior, and he could be with just about anyone, looking and acting like he does. And then there’s the not so small fact of Tony’s name and net worth and the fact that, okay, Tony had paid for Steve’s grad school tuition, and now he’s worried Steve feels obligated to stay. Or something.

Or, Tony is a billionaire, Steve is a grad student, and they learn to let themselves be taken care of.

see it with the lights out: @starklysteve

Tony goes on a business trip, and he does not - not at all - get jealous of Dodger hogging his husband's chest, a territory otherwise known as Tony's pillow.

(or, Steve goes on an Instagram spree and Tony misses home)

adulthood is looking both ways before you cross the street and getting hit by an airplane: @starkslovemail

It was a perfect plan, if Peter did say so himself.

The Buy In: @dracusfyre

For the ImagineTonyandBucky prompt: Mafia AU with Tony as the Boss (except he's a really good one, making the streets safe, keeping drugs away from kids etc) and Bucky as the detective sent to go undercover to catch him out but ends up realizing he's actually doing more good than harm and they end up falling in love

trinkets of your affection: @starklysteve

Kissed him once for every year I loved him, Steve had written.

By that count, Steve owes him five more kisses now.

Tony traces the words, hands trembling, and tips back a shot of Howard's ancient whiskey. None of it burns anymore.

One day, he'll have lived more days without Steve than there are words in the diary.

For the first time since he'd woken with shrapnel in his chest, Tony fears the future.

----------

Or, five things Tony keeps to remember Steve by, and one thing Steve gives him to remember.

November

“Hey Tony”: @riotfalling

Steve points out that Bucky never calls Tony by his actual name. Bucky doesn’t believe him, until he does.

Remembering You is Hard to Do: @lovelyirony

“The future’s crazy, honey-bear.”

Jim looks up.

“Why do you call me that?”

“Call you what?”

“Honey-bear. It’s weird.”

“Inside joke we have,” Tony says, chest tightening. “We thought those couples that have the lovey-dovey nicknames were ridiculous.”

overheard your heartbeat (calling me yours): @starklysteve

"Tony - "

"I wish I could promise to come home this time," he feels the armor crawl back down his arm, continuing unnoticed over Steve's red gloves, then up the blue uniform as Tony fights to keep Steve's gaze firmly fixed on him.

The last eyes Tony might get to see, and he wants to be lost in them.

In the end, his entire life boils down a few simple things: "JARVIS, take care of him for me."

----------

Or, Tony overhears a phonecall where Steve proposes, a battle happens, and a paper ring settles some misunderstandings.

i (really, really, really, really, really, really) like you.: @nethandrake

For as long as Steve can remember, he's been crushing on Tony Stark. The thing is, he's pretty sure Tony doesn't know Steve exists. And how could he? Steve's scrawny and little. He's a nobody compared to Tony who's Mr Popular and the son of a billionaire.

Or at least he thought so until Tony swings by the bakery Steve's mother happens to own to enlist Steve's help in finding the perfect Valentine's Day card.

The perfect Valentine's Day card for someone who isn't Steve.

One Song (My Heart Keeps Singing): @iam93percentstardust

When Thor is old enough to understand what a Heartsong is, he goes to his mother to ask her why he can’t understand the language his is in. He listens as she tells him about the first soulmates who couldn't understand their Heartsong until the day they meet, excited by the thought of a grand adventure, one that will take him across the cosmos in search of his One.

He’ll search all the Nine Realms if he has to.

December

Swiping Right: @s-horne

“Ouch. Definitely a hard pass for that one?”

Steve startled at the sudden comment from the row of chairs behind him and turned around. He’d been passing the time in the airport lounge by swiping through Tinder and had gotten lost in his own world. It was almost jarring to be pulled away from the screen of hot men and back into reality where the PA was screeching and there was noise everywhere.

Adjusting to the difference, Steve frowned. Wait, he knew that face. Oh, shit… he knew that face.

“No, no, it’s fine,” the man said before Steve could get out anything other than an embarrassed sort of yelp. Waving his hand through the air, the stranger smiled ruefully. “I get it. It’s the beard, isn’t it? True be told, it was a weird winter choice that year and I knew it would come back to hurt me.”

Steve didn’t know what to say. He knew it must have shown on his face and could feel himself flushing, panicked and embarrassed all at once. What were the odds of swiping left on someone literally sat behind him?

set your flight path home (to me): @starklysteve 

Tony puts down his welding torch. “I’m building you a plane.”

Stepping carefully over the gears and tools scattered about, Rhodey slowly makes his way to him.

“And when did you become an expert on how to build a plane?”

“Last night,” Tony grins.

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

Tony builds a plane, and Rhodey teaches Tony how to fly it. Or he would be teaching Tony, if Tony didn't distract him so much.

I Want A Man With A Slow Hand: @thefourofswords

“Can I ask you a question?” he asked on their way to a crime scene, because no time like the present, and Danny believed in ripping off band-aids.

“Why not?” Steve replied, eyes on the road. “You’re gonna even if I say no.”

“What do you like in bed?”

*

Danny undertakes a very important mission to get Steve laid. For his health. Ahem.

same time next year: @omg-just-peachy

“I forgot to ask. When’s your flight home?” Steve asks, draping his arm over Tony’s shoulder and settling in against him.

Tony ignores the knot that forms in his chest at the idea of it, leaving Steve again for his own impersonal apartment, his piles of books and projects and the nights without sleep.

“Day after tomorrow.”

Steve huffs a little sigh, then brings his lips to Tony’s neck. “Well, we’ll have to make the most of it, won’t we?”

Or, four (4) Christmases with two (2) idiots who can't admit they're in love.

rearrange my heart (to fit your smile): @starklysteve

"You dare," Howard's chair makes an ugly noise as it scrapes against the stone floors, the chatter of the room shifting into hushed whispers and stolen glances. "I am your father and your King!"

"My King is my husband," Tony tips his chin up, defiant. "And I refuse to hear you suggest that my husband has been anything other than good to me."

Next to him, he feels Steve's shoulders stiffen in surprise.

Howard's fist slams loud on the table. "Your husband does not even love you!"

Tony jerks back, burned. He knows that. Knows that Steve did not marry him for love – does not need any reminder of the cold truth, of what he desperately yearns for and can't even hope to have – but the harshness of Howard's words was scalding, and Tony can't afford for this to go any further.

----------

Or, King Steven marries Prince Tony, Tony is pretty sure he shouldn't panic when he falls in love with his own husband, and Steve tries his very best not to cause diplomatic crises.

Keyword: try

#adi's rec list #superbat #superhusbands #winterironfalcon #mcdanno #buckytony #peppernat #superfamily #rhodeytony #ironfamily #and that's a wrap!!!

[notmrskennedy]

Professor, pt 1

A/N - so i heard from like four of you which is enough to warrant me posting drafts that weren’t supposed to see the light of day - ANYWAY this was originally written in third person and let me tell you it takes a ridiculous amount of effort to change tenses like holy hell. 

(Technically the prequel Friendliness but can stand alone if you really want it to. There’s a part two to this so watch out for that tomorrow.)

Summary - Spencer meets a professor and falls in love for a few hours

W/C - 2k

Warnings - none-ish? there’s a small smattering of violence and horrible changing of the tenses 

-----

Spencer can’t help the irony that he’s in a freshman college class for the first time ever while protecting one of the students. Who knew that a tiny club of DnD players could incite so much rage out of an un-sub? So here he was, trying to blend in—even though he’s 25, he still looks 14 and there’s really no real reason why he should be worried about being caught—in order to protect a freshman who was more pimple than male specimen. 

Joesph—the poor kid in question—takes a seat in the front row and Spencer’s obligated to sit within tackling distance, though he hopes it won’t come to that. Hopefully, Morgan will have the kid the un-sub goes for and Spencer can just enjoy being in college again. The painfully familiar auditorium seats, the stale air, and bad fluorescents feel more like home than he cares to admit. 

College hadn’t been all too unpleasant. High school he’d gotten picked on mercilessly. College, however, had meant getting doted on by hot sorority girls and earning the protection of frat boys—they’d picked up rather quickly that he knew football strategy better than they did after Spencer had hustled a TV and 400 dollars from them. Sure, he didn’t drink, but every single drunk teenager had welcomed him with open arms and lots of ginger ale. 

There’s chatter and for the ten minutes before class starts, Spencer is torn between trying to figure out which song is quietly playing around the room and watching for a particularly rage-filled college student serial killer. Instead, he just finds too many bored faces. Most of the kids are drinking coffee like the best of them and he’s itching for his next fix just looking at it. 

The first two rows: a terrible vantage point to be profiling, but a beautifully defensible post. He watches absently as one of the TAs, who looks a little younger than him, organizes three stacks of papers on the front desk and flips through several different pages on the podium. His attention is focused solely on you for nearly a minute too long—he can hear the voice in his head chastising him for how often he gets distracted by pretty people. 

You look of the fragile sort, the in-the-lab kind of future scientist. There’s something about you that’s captivating. It might be the way you keep reorganizing the papers to perfection or maybe it’s the way you study the room so closely. And while he thinks that you might not be able to physically stop someone, you sure look like the kind of person that could crush him in chess. 

He’s 25 and is considering chess as a marriage proposal.  

Joesph shuffles his books around in the seat in front of Spencer and you, the beautiful TA in question, hold a watch up as you move to the centre of the room. Class is starting. Class is starting and he’s hopeful the professor never actually shows up. 

He notices your watch is on your right wrist—are you left handed?—as you smile widely and clap her hands together. First day jitters seem to keep everyone silent, waiting on baited breath for you to start. Spencer would stay on baited breath for the rest of his life for you. You were utterly captivating after all—he could see the drool from several students’ mouths a few seats over. 

“This is Anthropology 101,” you announce. “If this isn’t your class, you’re free to leave. Or stay if you want. Did you guys know that anxiety disorders affect more than 40 million US adults? Or 1 in 5, I guess, if you want the easier pill to swallow.”

Spencer’s heart jumps into his throat and he wants to raise his hand just to ask you to marry him. 

“Anyway,” you sigh, leaning back agains the front desk, “I spit out a lot of facts. Usually something that begins with ‘did you know’ won’t be on the tests. I try to be fair. Which brings us to ice breakers.”

The class collectively groans. You scoff. 

“Oh hush, I’m the only one doing the ice breakers so chill out. Jeez.” Spencer waits patiently for your soft breath and then your further announcement of, “I’m officially Dr. Y/N Y/L/N, but that’s like only if my boss comes in or for any emails you send. You can call me Y/N because that’s like normal. I got my doctorate in forensic anthropology a year ago and I’ve been teaching since I started grad school three years ago. You’re in safe hands, I promise.”

He almost kicks himself. You’re the professor. How many times had he been nearly kicked out of a classroom when he was in grad school for saying he was the professor? How many times had he been 18 and trying to get an ounce of respect for himself? 

You continue, waving your hands about like you could pull your ideas back down to earth. “Um—a fun fact about me is that I am not welcome in certain parts of the world for ‘violating’ what are called exhumation laws, which is silly in my opinion. I had the legal right to carry that head on the plane and—and I hope you did the reading because there’s a first day pop quiz.”

The entire class lets out one simultaneous frustrated whine that alights something almost wicked in your eyes. You wave over two students from the other end of the front row and they begin passing out test papers as you explain. 

“You’ll have a total of fifteen minutes to answer ten questions. We’ll start on my mark. If you have any trouble, give me a shout and I’ll help you out. After this, we’ll go over the syllabus and if you’re lucky, leave early.”

Spencer’s passed a test and immediately notices there’s no place for a name. Just a bolded “Student #21” at the top. Another girl raises the question and you snicker. “I like puzzles,” is the only answer you give before the time starts. 

Question four: what are the top three songs you’ve been listening to? Please list.

Question six: why are you taking this class?

A: This is a requirement

B: I heard it was easy

C: I heard the professor was hot

D: I really enjoy anthropology! (liar)

Question nine: Creationism or Evolution?

Question ten: Quickly. If you were going to have dinner, would it be with Bill or Hillary Clinton?

Spencer can’t hide the grin he’s got the entire test. It’s all ridiculous get-to-know-you questions. He can tell what merit you’re getting out of them. There’s one judging study habits, one judging religion, feminism, politics—you’ve created her own little innocuous questionnaire. Spencer was sure the students would just think you were strange, but he saw the cleverness. 

Spencer also notices that once you notice him, you don’t stop noticing him. He wonders what you see. You’re so obviously profiling him that it hurts. Do you see the FBI agent? The scholar? The doctor? The drug addict? The man in a boy’s skin?

Your timer beeps and you shout for pencils down. Your makeshift TAs are dispatched to collect the papers and you make the stacks perfect when they make it to the desk. You move to the whiteboard, a set of papers clutched in your hand, and lean against it to address the class. 

“Test go alright?” your grin is contagious and Spencer can’t help but mirror it. You glance at Spencer, turns back to the class, and tuck your hair behind your ear. You let the class chatter on for a moment, setting the papers down on the table, and readjust the undone cuffs of your white button down. He never thought that a sweater vest and jeans could look so hot. 

You smirk and check your watch one more time. “Let’s talk about tests because I know you all have questions. Everything on the test is either written on the board, on the notes, or in the study guide—if you fail after that, come to office hours. I’ve got Advil for the hangovers.”

#

Thankfully, Joesph is one of those students who has to speak to every single one of his professors. Spencer waits patiently behind the kid, trying to keep the smell from the lack of deodorant just out of range. 

He keeps a hard gaze on all of the students moving in and out of the auditorium. There’s nothing to see, just a lot of students with a lot of normal college apathy. No anger, no serial killer, no one to tackle. 

“Sometimes the BO is worse than a corpse’s expulsion of gas,” you joke from your place atop the desk. Spencer looks up, and furrows his eyebrows as his brain processes. Your face falls for a split second, but your curiosity replaces it just as quickly. Joesph’s jaw hits the floor, stumbling for some way to explain himself or maybe some half decent way to insult the pretty professor. 

Spencer laughs, probably a little more than he should have, considering he wasn’t supposed to out himself as an FBI agent. You tuck your hair behind your ear again and, for someone younger than 25, you are surprisingly wide eyed with perception and curiosity. 

“Do you like puzzles, Doctor—“

“Reid,” he supplies, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. “Spencer.”

You raise an eyebrow, chewing on your bottom lip in contemplation. You turn your focus back to Joesph—a boy worse at talking to those scoring higher than an 8 than Spencer was at the same age. “So, Joesph, why does the good doctor need to be within tackling distance of you?”

Joesph flounders, turns to hide his blush, and yelps like God himself has come down to kick him in the ass. Spencer takes one good look at the 18 year old girl charging towards a pimple of a boy and he launches before he can give much consideration to how much its going to hurt. 

But between the noticing and the launching, he makes a list: she’s got so much black eyeliner that Emily’s high school yearbook photos would be jealous; she’s about to inflict about a 9 on the pain scale if she’s left to her plan; there’s obviously no plan other to scratch Joesph’s eyes out; her nails are the size of tiger claws and Spencer desperately wishes he had a better pain tolerance; there’s no weapon. 

The tackle takes seconds. It’s a practised movement. Roll. Knee. Handcuffs. The girl is screaming and crying and kicking and biting. His arm’s on fire and she’s struggling enough that it’s taking more than ten seconds to get the handcuffs on. 

It’s calculated as he presses his knee harder into her back. She yelps and stills long enough that Spencer closes the handcuffs on her tiny, sliced up wrists. The cutting explains some things…

“Hence the tackling distance,” You sum up, bending down just slightly to look the killer in the face. Your nose wrinkles. “You had very distinct ideas on the cultural value of suicide.”

Spencer shakes his head, hauls the girl to her feet, and beckons for Joesph to follow. The entire world falls out of view as he manhandles the girl into an easy walk. The students step to the side to gawk, and he’s thankful for the wide berth. If someone got hurt, the paperwork alone—

“It was nice meeting you, Dr. Reid!” you call and he glances back over his shoulder. You’re waving around the stack of papers in your arms, utterly ridiculous, terribly adorable. He hopes his smile is more suave than love sick, but the fleeting flirtation is especially over when Miss Unchecked Rage kicks out as Joesph comes into her line of sight. 

Spencer throws his whole weight into keeping her down. There’s no room to fall in love after a day. Especially with someone on a college campus halfway across the country from him. There’s even less room to manoeuvre Miss Eyeliner even without Joesph waddling into her eye line every few seconds. Seriously, he thinks, how hard is it to keep behind me?

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #reid #reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction

[nambamjun]

Rapture in Vanilla {KSY}

Pairing: A.C.E’s Kim Sehyoon x reader (female)

Genres: sooooo so so so much fluff, slight angst

Warnings: mentions of innocent nudity and a couple sharing a bath

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: My first posted writing for a specific bias, so who better than one of my all time ults! In other news, I miss baths terribly and can’t wait for the next time I visit home so I can take one. That right there is therapeutic. As always, comments and (constructive) criticisms are always welcome, enjoy ~<3

        She sighed and slowly lowered herself into the almost scalding bathtub water, sinking almost to submergence, and feeling her muscles relax into the bubbles surrounding her. She hadn’t even realized she was all that tense, but apparently she needed this more than she thought. Baths were rare, mainly because she knew that if she gave into them often they would become a nightly thing. As a full time grad student she didn’t have much time to do anything other than assignments, a small job, and almost ridiculously short showers. Somehow eating found its way in there, but oh well. She signed up for this. Most of The time she didn’t resent her past self for deciding to. There were spare moments, though...

        She blinked and realized she had zoned out, or, as her boyfriend, very aptly put it, “drifted into another dimension far far away”. She smiled and chuckled quietly before shifting lower, the bubbles lightly grazing her chin.

        Her boyfriend… She drifted again. The past few weeks had been quite… interesting, to say the least. Between her finals coming up and his group’s comeback being planned and recorded, neither of them were exactly happy butterflies like they normally were together. She found herself snapping at him sometimes when he was home, which wasn’t even that often taking into account his practically living in the studio. She didn’t blame him at all, it’s a comeback! He had his career to manage, his fans to keep happy. She knew that she was a priority to him, and she knew how lucky she was. She also knew that with his line of work she would have to be okay with not being the first in line on occasion. Unfortunately, there was still that tiny, little, selfish part of her brain that just wanted him there to support her. Well, he would probably like more support from you when he is home, your conscious whispered to you.

        Touché, me. Touché.

        This time she physically shook her head to pull herself back. 

        She had gone to extensive lengths to make this as relaxing as possible. A vanilla latte candle in the corner, music quietly playing from a speaker sitting on the sink’s countertop safely out of harm’s way… She even put a hand towel over the light fixture as a makeshift dimmer; so yes. She went to extensive lengths.

        And she was going to enjoy it as if it was her only mission in life. 

        She let all of her muscles relax once again and closed her eyes, willfully emptying her mind until only her senses remained. The hot water, the vanilla latte candle, and the low music lulling her into rapture.

----------

        As soon as Kim Sehyoon stepped through the threshold of the front door at quarter of 1am, he knew what she was up to. The air was stiller than it had been of late. Most of the lights in the apartment were off, only the occasional lit bulb for navigation. As he passed by the bathroom he knew he was correct; the humidity wafting out through the cracks in the door frame coupled with the soft music as the only noise. Both dead giveaways.

        He put his things down in the bedroom and changed into more comfortable clothes, just a simple pair of shorts and a t-shirt. He padded across the hallway again, stopping outside the bathroom door and softly rapping his knuckles on the wood three times.

        “Come in,” her voice called out to him softly. He smiled. Turning the knob slowly and opening the door, he peeked around the door and stepped only half of his body inside. The humidity hit him like a wall, but he very quickly raised his eyebrows at how this wasn’t just a regular bath. This had a candle. And… a towel… over the light…? Well, it did dim things down… he placed his fingertips on the cloth which wasn’t even warm, so it wasn’t dangerous. Innovative and effective. He would have to praise her for that later. But he sighed and his eyes softened as he looked at her, eyes closed and almost completely under the water. She must be more stressed than usual to have done all of this.

        Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at him. “Wanna get in?” He smiled over to her and stepped fully inside the room, shutting the door behind him. Shedding his clothes, he knew she didn’t mean anything promiscuous by her offer. Honestly, neither of them were probably even up for that sort of thing. It seemed like they both craved what had been pushed to the side in all of the stress, close physical contact, or for that matter, to be able to feel their affections for one another through warm embraces.

        He padded over as she sat up and scooted toward the opposite end of the tub. She felt the water rise from his body behind her, and she quickly went back to lean against his chest, legs on either side of her frame and arms around her torso. She thought she was at ease before… now it felt like she was floating in clouds. He relaxed with her, and she could feel his muscles release with a sigh as he rested his cheek on the top of her head. 

        The pair both closed their eyes and spent the next few minutes silently enjoying each other’s company. After either two minutes, or maybe even ten, her eyes opened, unknowing that he had just done the same a few seconds earlier.

        “Are we-“

        “So um-“

        They both stopped and looked at each other. Smiles spread across their faces and she laughed while his chuckles vibrated off his chest into her side.

         “You can go…” she started.

        He shook his head, “no, you go ahead.” She smiled to herself. Ever the gentleman…

        “I was just thinking… we’re good, right, Sehni? Like, are we okay? I mean I know I haven’t exactly been the model girlfriend for the past two or so weeks, and-“ he stopped her with a quick yet firm kiss. He pulled back and smiled down at her, the kind of smile she hadn’t seen in a little while. The kind that spread to his eyes, and exactly the kind that she so missed. She looked back up at him and blinked, recollecting her thoughts. “No wait, what I’m saying is that I understand if-“ he once again stopped her with a kiss, and she resigned to his lips, closing her eyes and taking in the moment. When he pulled away she stayed silent, looking up at him with wide eyes and leaning into the touch of his hand against her cheek.

        He missed staring into her eyes. He missed how she looked at him like that. Like he meant the world to her. And he did, just as she was his sun, moon, and stars. 

        His eyes, meanwhile, seemingly had those same stars captured in their depth. She could see the same feelings of belonging.

        They sat like that for a few more seconds, silent words being spoken through their gazes, and they both knew what was running through their minds. They both knew that everything was okay. They were okay. She leaned back into his chest, burying her face in his neck, and he lightly kissed her forehead before again leaning his cheek against her. She smiled as she felt his thumb soothingly tracing circles over her hip.

        They both knew they needed to talk about things, and they would without a doubt before he went back to the studio the next day. Just for a bit, though, they sat in the tub filled with not-so-warm-anymore water and receding bubbles.

        It didn't matter. The moment was perfect, and neither of them would have had it any other way.

#A.C.E #a.c.e kpop #ACEWRITERS #a.c.e sehyoon #kim sehyoon #sehyoon #a.c.e wow #king wow #kpop #kpop drabbles #drabbles #kpop scenarios #scenarios #kpop imagines #imagines

[starkerintheparker]

starker reclist - canon based fics

Hi Starker fam! To celebrate my 900 followers I decided to finally start posting my humble and very personal reclist. I’ve been planning to do it for a while now but it got way bigger than I anticipated so I decided to split it in 4 parts and will share the first one today. I’ve been around for less than a year and there’s a lot I haven’t read yet so my plan is to update this list as I go. 

Under the cut is part I, solely is dedicated to canon-based fics. I’m a sucker for angst so most of my recs feature guilty!Tony, miscommunication, porn with feels and all that jazz. Hopefully you’ll be able to find something interesting according to your preferences. Oh and don’t forget to leave kudos, comments and spread the love for these authors :) Cheers!

Last updated: 2020/04/18. All new fics added will be marked with ***

• 10 Ways to Woo Your Boo by @darker-soft-starker (NR, 6k, completed)

Summary: By twenty-one Peter Parker had graduated college, scored himself a post-grad job and was a full-fledged member of the Avengers. He had his own apartment, paid his own bills and juggled his time between being a superhero and working enough to cover his rent. So long as Peter was armed with his ID, he was a full-fledged adult in the eyes of the law. Perhaps foolishly, he’d assumed it would make him an adult in the eyes of everybody else too. Keen to be seen as worthy of Tony's heart, Peter enlists the help of his friends and the internet in courting his former mentor.

Review: We all love Ash’s fantastic AUs but this lovely canon-based fic may be one of my favorite works by her. I will never know how she manages the fine balance between angst, humor and romance, I just know it hits me good and takes my breath away. Oblivious!Tony and Peter being a bisexual disaster at wooing, what do you mean this wasn’t in the movies? Sounds canon to me.

• 100-Point Restoration by Destina (T, 8k, completed)

Summary: Tony needs a happiness upgrade; Peter wants Tony. These goals might be compatible. (This story is set roughly five years post-Homecoming).

Review: I just realized this was the first Starker fic I’ve read, and it was back in 2017! I didn’t ship Starker at the time but this author must have done something right because for some reason I couldn’t take my eyes away. This fic is gorgeous. Tony’s voice is amazing, his dynamics with Peter are spot-on and organic - but nothing’s better than watching their feelings unfold, like a soft and warm humming just awaiting for disclosure.

• adult supervision by doveslayer (M, 20k, on hiatus)

Summary: Peter Parker should not keep drunk-dialing Tony Stark after midnight. But more pressingly, Tony Stark should not keep answering. In which Tony tries to convince himself he's doing nothing wrong. warning: underage!Peter tho pretty vanilla imo                                                                                        

Review: My favorite “everything is happening while nothing is happening” fic. Their voices are spot on, the dialogues are clever, and you can almost touch the tension with your fingertips. It’s been a year since the last update but even if this fic never gets finished I promise the read will have been worthy!

• Attached by @paspleurer (E, 7k, completed)

Summary: Tony gets it, he really does. As far as rebounds go, sleeping with your childhood hero isn't half bad. And if what Peter wants is this— just sex, with no strings attached— then Tony will give him this.

Review: Pleurer and Learned Foot have seduced me with the rebound trope. This is a lovely Tony POV with the good old pining + miscommunication combo, plus enthusiastic sex and sweet domesticity. What else could I ask for?

• Covet by RTC anonymous (E, 34k, completed)

Summary: Peter has a new boyfriend. Tony starts drinking again, for unrelated reasons.

Review: I read this fic when I was still warily lurking around the Starker fandom and it blew me away. The sexual tension is so palpable you can almost taste it. There is jealous, guity Tony failing at mentoring and a vulnerable, smitten Peter Parker trying to make sense out of it. RTC anon is a religion.

• Ephemeron by @ramblings-from-elsinore (E)

Summary: "Being around Ned, Peter's reminded how out of place he is. For Ned, the second ever appearance of aliens over Manhattan is the stuff of excited hallway chatter, of where were you when—? Ned’s world wasn’t blown apart and stitched back together. Because Ned doesn’t remember. No one does, except the ones who were there, who fought." AKA, "Tony's relationship with Peter may be unconventional, but they’re unconventional people who have had some pretty fucking unconventional experiences." In which Tony can't stop touching Peter to make sure he's real, and Peter dreams of being in Tony's arms and not disappearing.

Review: I started reading this fic before I joined the fandom and man, what a way to get pulled into this ship. Brace yourself for hardcore guilty!Tony being all over the place plus unhealthy codependency and touch deprivation, all the good things. Reading this is a spiritual experience but fair warning: this is not a happy story, at least not for a long while, so please mind the tags.

• Expiration Date by @learned-foot​ (E, 12k, completed)

Summary: Tony knows exactly what this is. First big breakup, go for a fling with a completely inappropriate person. It’s basically a cliché. He kind of thought Peter was better than that, but apparently being brilliant and one of the bravest people on the face of the planet doesn’t mean he’s immune from being a stupid college student who makes stupid college student mistakes. AKA Tony is sure this is just a fling, and he deals with that about as well as you’d expect.

Review: Ahh my beloved rebound trope and my first rec (out of many) by LF! Between a pining, insecure Tony making all the wrong decisions and a young and confident Peter unwilling to let him go, this fic makes your heart ache in the best ways. Good thing LF only works with happy endings!

• From Thy Bounty by @ibby-writes​ and feyrelay (E, 31k, completed)

Summary: Tony’s eyes are always dark, but now there's almost no iris left. He looks hollowed out. There’s something terribly hungry there, despite the feast they've filled themselves on.

Review: I’ve lost count of how many times I reread this insanely hot and ridiculously well written fic. Besides the A+++ characterization, there is delicious food porn foreplay followed by a breathtaking cat and mouse game that culminates with no less than 13.5k of intense and unapologetic sex with feels, my favorite kind. Enjoy the meal! ;D

***Gift of Choice by tuesday (E, 12k, completed)

Summary: Tony Stark had a thing about giving Peter stuff.

Review: This is my favorite fic by tuesday and the PERFECT rendition of our beloved sugar daddy trope. Great pacing, amazing dialogues and a breathtaking build up that makes you both smile and sweat in anticipation. They’re so in love I almost can’t handle when they finally get together. Sexy, hot and very sweet.  

• here is my hand, my heart by belatrix (E, 16k, completed)

Summary: Mostly, Tony had tried not to look. He still does. Try, that is. It’s just― it’s getting a little bit harder every day.

Review: I have a HUGE soft spot for this beautiful masterpiece, because it was the fic that finally made me join the Starker fandom. I’ve reread it so many times and it never fails to amaze me. Through an atmospheric non-linear narrative, this shows a guilt-ridden Tony Stark trying and failing to resist one determined Peter Parker who won’t take bullshit for an answer. Hot, and angsty, and breathtaking.

• I know that you got Daddy Issues (And I do too) by feyrelay (E)

Summary: The one where Peter’s blue balls save the world. Because, yeah? That meandering, blooming thing between him and Mr. Stark? That relationship that continues to be maddeningly legal, platonic, and above-board, but still somehow haunts Peter’s wildest wet-dreams? That might just be the key to Strange’s endgame.

Review: This fic is a love letter to those who appreciate an angsty and nuanced slow burn like me. Possibly the best character study I’ve ever read combined with a clever, well researched and intricated plot. Reading this will make you fall even more in love with Tony and Peter as individuals, before wanting them to be better together. Make sure to also check all related fics under the tag DIEU (Daddy Issues Extended Universe) - the Starker verse we fucking deserve.

• if I am the river, you are the ocean by sadonsundays (E, 7k, completed)

Summary: The one where Tony can't sleep and Peter can't stop his hands from shaking.

Review: This is a gorgeous recovery fic, painful and heartbreaking, yes, but still very gentle as Tony and Peter’s relationship quietly unfolds. Pepper is an absolute treat which was refreshing to me. I just love the quiet and angsty undertone that guides their journey until they finally find home in each other.

if you’d grant my love a pardon by belatrix (M, 2.5k, completed)

Summary: The first time, it goes something like this: “No,” Tony says, but it’s tired, half-hearted, not quite a denial.

Review: One of the reasons why I love this ship is that there’s always room for angst, even when they’re already together. This lovely yet heartbreaking fic mirrors Tony’s fragile heart as he realizes that as much as he should, he just can’t let go of Peter, not quite yet. Belatrix writes guilty!Tony’s headspace like nobody else and I just can’t recommend her writing enough.

• in the light of a dying star by @areiton​ (M, 6k, completed) fix-it

Summary: Extremis isn't a guarantee. That's what Pepper told him, as they took him off the bloody, dusty field. It was just a chance. A desperate gamble.

Review: I’m so glad I read this right after Endgame because this is the fix-it Tony and we all deserved, this fic is so comforting and beautiful. I really love the quiet, ethereal atmosphere and how it shapes our perception of time and character development. Peter is beautifully written and their get together made my heart ache in peace.

• In the Morning by @cagestark​ (M, 6k, completed)

Summary: Peter's pretty stressed. He isn't understanding physics despite all the extra time he is spending with Bruce. And underneath it all, something is wrong with Mr. Stark.

Review: Heart wrenching and painfully honest fic, where Tony is a jealous mess and Peter is his usual earnest, sweet and good self. They meet in the middle, and it’s quiet, beautiful and sad.  

• Kiss Me by @ironspi​

Summary: Five times Peter and Tony almost kiss and one time they did.

Review: This fic was such a lovely surprise! It begins unpretentious and it builds up to quality pining and unresolved sexual tension. Chapter 4 is particularly awesome, so charged and intimate. Kudos to the author for exploring Peter taking the lead and making Tony melt in his arms.

• Landslide by spqr (M, 8k, completed) fix-it

Summary: Peter jumps into the quantum realm with his heart in his throat. He steps out in 2018, on the edge of a lake he still has nightmares about. A hundred yards away over the water, the lights in the lakehouse are on.

Review: Morally ambiguous characters + angsty time travel? Count me in. This fic has a very interesting (and darker) take on Peter post-Thanos, in his raw and desperate grief over Tony. Bonus points for amazing dialogues and a fix-it plot so clever and believable I’m surprised I didn’t see it on screen.  

• lean on me now by @areiton​ (G, 9k, on hiatus)

Summary: He’s so tired, and he hurts, the kind of screaming pain he’s struggling to ignore now, and he wants to go home. But he can do this. He can sit and watch, and keep them safe. A wry smile tugs at his lips because he knows how ridiculous that sounds--a kid keeping Avengers safe.

Review: One of the best canon divergence fics I’ve ever read. It’s quiet, angsty and Peter’s voice is simply amazing. My heart breaks for Tony, but I’m so here for Peter & Rhodey’s brOTP, the fandom deserves more of it.

• noticing by @areiton​ (NR, 2k, completed)

Summary: “You deserve to be happy,” Rhodey tells Tony once, when Tony is drinking and conflicted and Peter is sleeping unaware on the couch. Tony watches him, eyes bright.

Review: How could I ever resist seeing Tony and Peter’s relationship development through Rhodey’s protective and thoughtful gaze? Any Tony stan should read this fic because this is the kind of love, friendship and support he deserves. Reading this put my mind at rest, knowing Tony’s cared for, and safe.

• Obvious by @learned-foot​ (M, 14k, completed)

Summary: When Peter wakes up, several things become very clear all at once: he’s underground somewhere unpleasant, something is messing with his powers, and his entire body hurts. A lot.

Review: WHUMP WHUMP WHUMP *victory dance* god this one is brutal, but we can trust LF to bring on full angst with an intriguing plot and A+++ characterization. I’m so here for protective!Tony doing whatever it takes to keep Peter safe, including all the confusion and heartbreak his problematic decisions may bring.

• Permission by @cagestark​ (E, 16k, completed)

Summary: During drinks with the Avengers, Peter admits that he enjoys orgasms more when someone is giving him permission, though since he's single, there isn't anyone in his life to offer it. Generous Tony offers to offer it.

Review: This fic is unique and so very hot, but don’t let the smutty summary fool you. There is also tenderness and FEELS in capital letters. Despite their arrangement, pining!Tony is so vulnerable and so completely in love with Peter it kinda breaks my heart a little, but thankfully Cage is a big fan of happy endings like me, so we’re all safe in her hands.

***Post-Endgame NYE by @darker-soft-starker (M, completed)

Summary:  Five years after the events of endgame Tony is resurrected. Months after that, he's still trying to find equilibrium

Review: Hands down the loveliest ‘flirting on a bench’ I’ve ever seen, and my top favorite NYE Starker fic. I love to see Tony facing an existential crisis while he navigates his new life post-resurrection, including the violent realization of ‘oh no, Peter’s an attractive adult now’. Gentle and gorgeous get together, kudos at Morgan for being a little devil and playing matchmaking.

• Proxy by @cagestark​ (E, 11k, completed)

Summary: Peter wants to know if Mr. Stark knows, like, anybody who’d be willing to make out with him. Things escalate from there.

Review: I have such a big soft spot for this fic because “by proxy” is one of my favorite tropes and Cage explored it masterfully. Again, this is pining!Tony at his best and Cage just has this ability to transform what once started as a sexy little thing into this soft and gentle love story, the kind that gives you butterflies in the stomach.

• Radar by @intoxicatelou​ (M)

Summary: Peter could say that he’s officially approached desperation, but he wants this, wants Tony, and he’s willing to do everything it takes. Or the one in which Peter tries to become Tony's celebrity crush from 2009 in order to seduce him.

Review: This is one of my favorites self-indulgent fics, I just can’t resist the good old “Peter’s seduction handbook” trope and intoxicatelou delivers it beautifully. This story is sweet, super fun and relatable af. There’s A+ pining, Peter being a bisexual disaster and MJ being the queen we all stan, shocking absolutely no one.

• Revelations by RTC anonymous (E, 127k, completed)

Summary: “I still don’t get it,” Ned says. “How you just... keep being ordinary in spite of all the craziness you’ve lived through. You were in space. You helped Iron Man save the universe. And nobody knows it was you.” His tone softens, becomes almost sad. As though he realizes that what he’s saying is so completely alien to him that he will never be able to understand this part of Peter’s life. “Peter, don’t you want people to know you for who you are?” An AU where they get the Gauntlet off of Thanos that first time, on Titan.

Review: I feel like I don’t need to justify this choice – almost everyone in the fandom has either heard of or read this masterpiece, it’s safe to say this fic is part of the Starker Training Wheels Protocol lol. If you have just arrived or is just exploring the fandom and enjoys slow burns I suggest you start right hee because it doesn’t get any better than this. There’s A+++ characterization, breathtaking pining, insane sexual tension and a very satisfying ending if I may say so. Definitely among my top 3 Starker fics. RTC anon, wherever you are, please know you are loved and appreciated. I’ll literally build an altar for you.

• Reversal by @learned-foot​ (E, 4k, completed)

Summary: Sometimes, Tony is the one who needs to be praised.

Review: For once Peter makes Tony just lie down and take 😊 the fucking 😊 praise 😊. I feel like I’ve been waiting for this fic all my life. This is the praise kink Tony (and we all) deserve, genuine, gentle and powerful. If you’re a big sap for their love like I am, you’re in for an emotional ride because this is overwhelmingly sweet to the point it brings tears to your eyes. LF is such a gift to this fandom.  

• Settling by @cagestark​ (E, 5k, completed)

Summary: Peter really wants to be taller than Tony. Heels help.

Review: One of my favorites by Cage, I still remember how happy and giggly I felt when I first read it. There is A+++ characterization, amazing dialogue, Avengers domesticity, praise kink, the hottest blow job and my favorite Starker first kiss. Oh, did I mention Peter in heels and Tony loving every moment of it? You’re welcome :D

• Stipulations by RTC anonymous (E, 70k, completed)

Summary: Peter Parker’s long term dream recently went from ‘get into MIT’ to ‘afford going to MIT’. As the time approaches, it’s dawning on him that he won’t be able to pay his tuition and afford the move to Cambridge all at once: he’s out of money, his secrets are beginning to pile up, and desperation has started creeping in... And then one night, he saves Tony Stark’s life.

Review: Another fandom classic by our irreplaceable RTC anon, this fic is SO GOOD I keep coming back to it and just recently I realized I’ve built all my personal Starker headcanons out of it, lol. A+++ characterization and hot, delicious pining is a given with this author, but I’m really here for that senses-dialed-to-11 trope, and RTC delivers it masterfully.  

• subtle by @areiton​ (T, 1k, completed)

Summary: Peter is not subtle. He wears his emotion, his excitement, like a flag waved bright red and teasing for a bull—impossible to go unnoticed, impossible to ignore. It’s adorable and it’s Peter, and it’s—in hindsight—why Tony misses the context clues.

Review: This fic is like reading poetry, a balm to the heart. Peter wears Tony’s colors and by the time Tony finally gets the context clues they fall together in the gentlest, softest way.

• Take it slow by tuesday (E, 13k, completed)

Summary: There were a ton of reasons dating Peter was a bad idea. Tony loved bad ideas. He was going to do it anyway. In which Tony thinks they're dating, and then they're dating undercover.

Review: This fic is so endearing it’s basically impossible not to cheer for these two, despite their usual infuriating communication issues, lol. But I promise all the angst and wait are worth it, because there’s nothing more satisfying than seeing how they (finally!) get to be on the same page.

• the record spins on the trails we blaze by @darker-soft-starker​ (NR, 5k, completed)

Summary: Years after the events of Homecoming, Peter thought all of the bad memories were well and truly behind him. After all, so much has happened since then - and he's happy now. Everything is kinda perfect.Turns out nothing stays buried.

Review: Hell yes! I agree HoCo’s events were particularly traumatizing and this trope is not as explored as it should be. To put it simply, this fic is something I didn’t know that I needed and Ash delivered it beautifully. It’s incredibly gentle, cathartic and honest, not to mention the lovely domesticity and understanding between the characters that will make your heart swell.

• Under Someone Else by @learned-foot (M, 7k, completed)

Summary: Peter realizes he’s just a rebound. And he’s okay with that, really. Or at least, that’s what he keeps telling himself.

Review: FEELS, FEELS EVERYWHERE. It’s so hard to choose a favorite fic by LF but this is the first that comes to mind because it introduced me to the amazing rebound trope. It’s so refreshing to see this ship’s potential for angst and miscommunication playing into the “fuck first, talk later” scenario. Warning for vulnerable boys being idiots and breaking our hearts but P.P.P.S they do eventually get their shit together and it’s glorious!

• Up for Anything by tuesday (E, 8k, completed)

Summary: When it came to Tony Stark, Peter would take what he could get. In which Peter believes he's just a rebound. (Not Endgame compliant.)

Review: Of course there’s yet another gorgeous rebound rec because I can’t get enough of this trope. Honestly, LF and Tuesday writing for each other have provided some of the best fics this fandom has, God bless them. This is another treat featuring pining!Peter and the usual “I can’t communicate properly how much I fucking love you”, but there’s also bantering, delicious dirty talk and so much affection that you’ll read it all with the biggest smile on your face.

#starker #reclist #peter parker x tony stark

[nightshifters]

list of all the fics that have been rec’d to me from this post below the cut !! thank you to everyone who sent me one & i’ll continue to update if people add more :) 

Pies and Prejudice by linoresearch - Dean didn’t even want to enter this damn competition. He was happy with his life, more or less. It might not look like much from the outside, or to a younger brother headed towards a big time law career, but it wasn’t so bad that Dean needed to scrabble around for any opportunity to make a change – particularly not one as stupid as this. He’s going to throttle Sam the next time he sees him, for getting him involved in this ridiculous Bake-Off TV show. It’s bad enough that Dean has to cook in front of people he doesn’t know; he now has to go through the humiliation of being judged on it too. Its humiliation piled on humiliation, and to make matters worse Dean has to play nice with all the other suckers involved, like that rich dick-bag Castiel Novak. God, he hates that guy, and he hates that someone so awful has such a frustratingly fine ass. Written for the Dean/Castiel Big Bang 2013

Eat, Review, Love series by englandwouldfall - The one where uninspired chef Dean Winchester has a one night stand with the male (!) food critic who described the flavour of his garlic bread as 'closeted' and accidentally ends up dating him to try and prove that he's a kick ass chef, thank you very much.(He may have a point about the 'closeted' thing).

Inevitable Homoeroticism in Spanish Romantic Heroes by prosopopeya - (i’ve actually read this one before!!!! it’s so much fun) Dean is a grad student studying for his MA in Spanish literature, and he’s pretty content with his sexuality as it is -- that is, fairly undefined and also secret. His attraction to Castiel, a professor to the undergrads, doesn't seem like a big deal until it becomes a very big deal, and Dean scrambles to keep his head above water.

Quarantension by everandanon - In which Dean and Cas weather quarantine together like any Good Friends would — by developing outstanding skills in self-deception and providing all the casual affection and strictly platonic* orgasms the other could possibly need to make it through.** *Really not platonic **Spoiler: They need a lot.

A Lesson in Blue (It’s In His Eyes) by saltyravenclaw - Dean expected this school year to be just like every other; a copy-and-paste one-two-three of the past six he’d spent teaching History to high schoolers. The same boring, repetitive staff meetings, the same classroom and classes, watching new faces come and old ones go. Weekends spent grading assignments or movie-marathoning with Charlie, happily debating Star Wars or Game of Thrones (and once, She-Ra. It was pride month; they were drunk.)What he was NOT expecting, however, was the new science teacher to be so….intriguing.His name was Castiel Novak, he taught Earth and Environmental science, and he was possibly one of the best and strangest people Dean’s ever met.For one thing, he wore sweater vests, slacks, and a damn trench coat, even in summer. He was a total dork for plants and animals, told really bad jokes, and had a rather extensive coffee mug collection.Oh, and another thing: he’s rather—scratch that, really—attractive.And he was right across the hall from Dean.Or, the one where Dean falls for the teacher across the hall, Castiel owns a snake named Marcy, and they both need to learn a little about love.

Red Hot Chili Professors by whelvenwings - (i’ve read their harry potter au a priori before and i hiiiiiighly recommend. it’s unfinished but it’s a BANGER) Dean's doing fine. He's always late for work, he's not taking care of himself, and he isn't planning on changing that - but seriously, he's fine. Except for one thing: someone's brought back the chili pepper rating system for all of the professors on campus, and Dean isn't rated the hottest. It's Castiel Novak, the guy who's always walking around in terrible sweater vests, who's got the full ten chilis - and that's something Dean does plan to change.

Lucky Winner by natmoose - Dean wins a trip to Paris. In and of itself, that’s an amazing thing, but the problem is: he isn’t in a relationship with Lisa anymore, and the trip requires a romantic partner. The obvious choice is Cas, his roommate and best friend of 3 years, but coming with that are some very very complicated feelings and things Dean absolutely doesn’t want to deal with.But Dean isn’t selfish and also really wants to give his overworked best friend a well deserved holiday, so the only and best solution is to take Cas to Paris, romantic theme be damned. What Dean doesn’t know is that their whole trip will be documented by a photographer from the company - so to avoid their vacation being cut short, Dean and Cas will have to convincingly play a couple.

Three Funerals and a Wedding by englandwouldfall - “So, um…basically, it’s this… I need you to marry me. For plot.”Castiel stares at him.“What?” Dean asks, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably.“I cannot believe gay marriage came to Moondoor before a significant part of America.”

Castiel Novak Hates Pet Names by englandwouldfall - (i’ve read this one before too it’s cute) Although Castiel’s ‘people skills’ are slightly rusty, he’s entirely sure the way Dean talks about his girlfriend ‘baby’ is a tad inappropriate…but then maybe that’s just because Castiel is in love with him.In which there is a bit of a misunderstanding.

Welcome to Pine Shores! by andimeantittosting - Thirteen years ago, Dean, with Cas by his side, bought the run-down Pine Shores Motel, and made it into a home and a stopping place for hunters. In those thirteen years, he has never been able to bring himself to admit his feelings to Cas—after all, why rock the boat? But, Dean realizes, doesn’t Cas deserve more than just growing old in a shabby motel with Dean? Surely, as a good friend, it’s Dean’s job to encourage Cas to get out there and live his dreams.

California Waiting by ballsdeepinwinchesters - Dean and Castiel's relationship has evolved over time- from strangers to roommates, roommates to friends, friends to best friends. The most troublesome evolution came to pass when they went from being best friends to "We're just friends."

#procrastinating my homework so bad but woohoooooo #fic rec #spn fic rec

[kingkatara]

Girl Meets Waitress: Opening Up

Disclaimer: I don’t own Waitress. I don’t own Girl Meets World. This is a fanfiction written just funsies.

Looking around, seeing the same things every day brings

          Maya woke up to darkness every morning. Her eyes peeled open after a mere six hours of sleep and were met with nothing. For a split second, there was only darkness in front of her, around her, within her. It was then that she and the world had their daily battle of wills, the war over who would break the stillness first and stir the other into motion. And always it was Maya who surrendered. Her eyes would adjust to the low light and a hot puff of breath would warm her face, still partly under the covers to avoid that first shiver of a New York morning that was always chilly no matter the season. She sat up in bed and surveyed the smoking battlefield of her bedroom, taking in her losses from the night before and wondering which of them would show on her face for the rest of the day. Beside her, the world’s weapon lay dormant, harmless unless she were to challenge the demands for peace. If she came quietly as the world beckoned her, he would slumber on. She didn’t look at him as she swung her legs over the bed and tapped her toes against the smooth hardwood floor beneath her. Her white flag of surrender was the tug on the long curtains that shielded the sunlight from shining into the apartment through the wide window on her side of the bed. This was her cry out into the world that she would not fight. And then the day would begin.

           Wake up, use the toilet, brush the teeth, comb the hair. Put the hair up. Makeup over the dark circles and fading yellow-green lump above the eyebrow. Panties, bra, uniform. Socks, then shoes. Purse. Nametag out of the purse and on the uniform. Every day, the routine was the same. There was ease to it, but it would be a lie not to admit that it was also repetitive. She didn’t know what her life was supposed to be like, but she couldn’t help feeling that it wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was as though there was some missing ingredient that she had long ago forgotten to include in the recipe, which always left the dish edible, but unsatisfying. A ritual she had not shared with anyone in the six years of living in her Lower East Side apartment was that the last thing she did before giving in to the reality of her life was standing at her window and waiting for the first rays of light to peek over the buildings in her neighborhood. She never watched the sun fully rise up into the sky. She simply waited for it to appear and then raced it to work. She never won.

           The ride across town on the subway would have been daunting at best for a tourist, but for a born New Yorker like Maya, the odd little scenes playing out right before her eyes, even as early as six in the morning, were just as natural to the routine as tying her shoelaces. On the way to work, swaying gently along with the subway car, Maya would pull out her sketchbook (which wasn’t a sketchbook at all, but a pathetic server’s pad on which she took down her orders) and mimic the likeness of what she saw and sometimes, on her lowest days, what she felt. Today, there was a particularly amusing picture of an eccentric woman with some sort of hat, though Maya couldn’t quite bring herself to call it that. It was tall, a violent shade of purple, and topped with hot pink feathers. These feathers were of great interest to a small little girl, whose mother, wearing the scrubs of a nurse, was snoozing against the window of the subway car. The little girl was standing up on her seat, using the handrail for balance, and blowing on the feathers of the woman’s hat. The woman gave no indication of noticing this invasion of personal space and was instead muttering to herself about some sort of building with her name on it. The two of them were immediately transcribed into her notepad in short, quick lines of ink.

           From the subway, she made her way through the streets of the Lower East Side, weaving in and out of passerby with an expression that was as equally bored as it was underground. She didn’t look up at anyone and instead chose to keep her eyes down on her white sneakers. The less she looked open to communication or interest, the greater chance she had of making it to work having avoided any unwanted attention—because yes, some men really were in the mood before seven in the morning. Then finally, there was the diner. Where her life played out day by day, where the routine really began and always finished; the diner was more of a home to her than her own apartment, which, of course, wasn’t really hers at all. But the diner? It was the closest thing to belonging that she felt since being held in the arms of her mother so many years ago. She entered through the door in the back of the building that led to the kitchen.

           “Is it a woman thing?”

           “Excuse me?”

           “The being late. Every damn day. Is it a woman thing?”

           “Oh, shove it up your—”

           “Good morning! Who’s ready to start the day?”

           Of course, no home was complete without its inhabitants. Maya supposed she could have had it much worse when it came down to the universe selecting her partners for this life thing. She didn’t hate the people she worked with every day and she guessed that they didn’t hate her either. With that being said, however…These partners were no picnic either.

           There was Zay Babineaux, the cook. All Maya knew about him was that he was from a small town in Texas and he came to New York when he was a teenager. He still had a slight drawl to his snarky voice, the stubborn southern streak within him that refused to be beaten down by the hustle and bustle of the north. He never offered any detail into his personal life, like why he chose to be a cook or how he ended up at the diner, and Maya never asked. When he wasn’t flipping pancakes on the griddle, he could be found grumbling to anyone who would listen (and that was exactly no one) about how nothing in his life made sense and why women were the reason for that. Though he was technically her boss, he and Maya had an ongoing feud over who should be giving who orders within the unhallowed walls of their place of employment.

           Riley Lawrence was a young woman of thirty who was made up of sunshine and daisies. She married her high school sweetheart right on the heels of graduation and went to NYU for a degree in political science. A year into law school, she dropped out to start working at the diner in order to care for her husband, Charlie, who had suffered severe brain injuries in a freak bus accident. Though all of her dreams were now wasted, she still smiled like sunshine in the rain and danced like a daisy in the wind. It was for Riley’s sake that squabbles between Maya and Zay were quickly put to bed—neither of them had the gumption to disappoint a soul like Riley’s, who had endured so much already and never uttered a single complaint.

           “Me. Thirty minutes ago. Why are you women always late?”

           “Perhaps it’s because we know you can’t afford to fire us.” The newest addition to their band of misfits was Isadora, who for some reason allowed them all to address her by her ridiculous surname: Smackle. Even her nametag introduced her as such to the customers. She was a twenty-three year old grad student living the dream that Riley had once chased and for that reason, Maya and Zay tolerated her. It wasn’t that she wasn’t likable; she was nice enough. It was just that Maya had never met anyone who was more tightly wound. Smackle had a particular way of doing things and though the diner had never been cleaner, more organized, and more efficient than when Zay took her on, Maya simply didn’t appreciate changing her way of doing things just to fit Smackle’s compulsive need for order.

           “Actually, I can. I don’t own the place. I just run it. I wouldn’t lose anything but the weight of carrying this business if I had it my way and kicked you three to the—"

           “Business? It’s a diner. And it didn’t miss us for the fifteen minutes that we were late. But it will miss us for thirty if you keep us from actually doing our jobs with your whining.”

           “Alright, you know what? Get out of my kitchen. Get out.”

           Snickering, Maya led Riley and Smackle through the swinging door that led into the dining area. Though Riley sighed unhappily as they left Zay to his dramatics, the girls easily fell into their habitual duties for opening up. Riley got to work on the register, counting bills and setting up the front desk. Smackle wiped down each table and sorted the condiments in whatever order made sense to her otherworldly brain. Maya got to work on the pastry display case. The first thing she did every shift was rearrange it so she could display her creation of the day, which was dreamt up sometime before going to bed every night and arriving at work each morning. What made all the elbow grease she put into the job worthwhile was found underneath the diner in its basement: the bakery. Each dessert, particularly the pies, was made from the imagination of her mother. Every dressing coating its recipe, particularly the cakes, was designed from Maya’s. Serving the sacred combination to the diner’s patrons, who had no idea that they were seeing into the very essence of her being with every bite, was the most gratifying thing Maya got to experience in a montage of diner meals that left her secretly hungry for something more. In another life, perhaps Maya would have liked to be an artist. But she was living in this life and if she couldn’t be that, she supposed being a waitress that got to bake the cakes was the next best thing.

           “What’s the special today?”

           Maya’s fingers twitched towards her apron’s pocket where the sketch of her subway ride lived frozen in time between the pages of her server’s pad. She was planning on using it as inspiration for some kind of cake resembling that crazy old woman’s hat, but Riley’s hopeful expression was especially sweet this morning. Her brows lifted in the direction of her hairline ever so slightly, creating the barest traces of wrinkles that were not yet etched into the still youthful skin across her forehead. Her lips parted in a preciously premature smile of delight. Maya never wanted Riley to know the harsh truth that she did, that hope was for suckers, and so she never let Zay put Riley’s pie on the menu even though it was continuously requested by the regulars. As long as it wasn’t on the menu, Riley still got to hope every morning, for just a minute or two, that that would be the day that her pie was the special of the day.

         “Why, Aren’t You a Peach Polka-Dot Peach Pie, of course.” Maya painted on an indulgent smile and admired how Riley beamed sunlight at her.

         “Peaches, you shouldn’t!”

         “Too late, I already did. Today’s a good day to serve everyone a little Riley, I think. I know I could use a little of whatever it is you got.”

         “Well, I’m happy to share.”

         “Go check the stock downstairs and make sure we have enough kosher salt. We were running a little low the last I checked and I don’t think Zay is ordering new stock until tomorrow.” Riley abandoned the hostess station where she was organizing the trio’s sections as if they ever changed and raced downstairs into Maya’s sanctuary.

         “When am I going to get a pie made for me, Maya?” Smackle asked without accusation, just curiosity.

         “Maybe it’s not a pie. Maybe it’s a cake. Or a cookie.” The blonde answered thoughtfully, to which Smackle snorted and shot her a grin from across the room.

         “I am at least a brownie by now, thank you very much. How did Riley end up with a peach pie anyway? Because she calls you Peaches?”

         “Nah, she calls me peaches because that’s what the pie is.” Maya explained, “I don’t know, she’s just so nice. It kind of threw me off when we first met, being New Yorkers and all. When she learned about how I make the desserts and dress them up, a peach pie is the first thing I thought of when she asked me what kind of dessert she would be. The polka-dots came later when I thought about how she dresses out of uniform. That’s what makes it Riley.”

         Smackle hummed in understanding. “And what makes it yours, with that kind of personal touch. No one can bake like you can, huh?”

         “No one but my mother. I just try to do it like she would.” Maya answered with a casual shrug and brushed her hands against her apron as she finished up with the display case. Smackle was obviously done with the condiments as she had moved on to adjusting the number of napkins at each table. Maya regarded her for a moment. She wasn’t sure how to say so, but the spectacled girl had unwittingly stirred a feeling of warmth in her chest at the astute (and the very gracious, at that) compliment—the kind of warmth that spread slowly, like a pie crust in the heat of an oven. So she said nothing at all. Maya got through each day by watching the people she saw and jotting her notes down into her art, be it on the dish or on paper. She had never considered that Smackle might do the same. Dimly, she wondered where her coworker took her observations. Perhaps a scholarly notebook; that was presumably what a good NYU student like Smackle would use in her classes at school. Or maybe she just kept it all in that great big brain of hers. It probably was time for Smackle to get her own dessert by now, wasn’t it?

         Without Riley around to peer over her shoulder and ask questions, Maya pulled out the server’s pad from her pocket and flicked through its pages until she found her sketch from the subway ride. Some of her glimpses into inspiration never quite revealed their whole picture and without that, she couldn’t transcribe their stories into a cake. Maya had a gnawing ache deep in her gut that this lady and her crazy hat were one of those torturously brief peeks into something special that she would only ever wonder about for the rest of her life. Sighing, she walked over to the hostess stand, tore the sheet from the pad’s binding, and slid the sketch between the thick cardstock page of a menu and its plastic cover. This was the eulogy of all the subway sketches that never went on to become something more. The idea of one of the diner’s patrons finding it out of the blue and seeing what Maya saw, even if it was only for an instant, was exactly what Crazy Hat deserved. She deserved the chance to connect with a stranger who was not looking for her and make them wonder just like Maya did; if she was lucky, that stranger could do something to tell her story more truthfully than Maya ever could.

         Riley had returned from the bakery downstairs. “I think we should have enough to get through the day!” She announced joyously, waving a carton of the last of the kosher salt they had left over her head just to show them she was sure.

         “Great, but why did you bring it up here?” Maya chuckled, sliding the menu back into the stacks that would be passed around to the customers throughout the day. Riley’s smile faltered for just a second as realization came to her. As quickly as it left, her smile sprung back into place as if it was never gone, albeit the accompaniment of sheepish awkwardness was an endearing new factor in Riley’s sunshine.

         “I…I just…I’ll go put this back.”

         “No need.” Maya offered her a gentle look of reassurance, the expression well-rehearsed for the times that Riley, feeling especially Riley, looked to her for permission to go on exactly as she was. She did this as though Maya would ever want her to change. “I should probably get started anyway before the morning rush gets in. There’s some crust defrosting in the fridge, but I’ll have to make the filling from scratch. I’ll just bring it back down myself.”

         “Well, then get to it! I want my pie!” Riley pitched her the kosher salt that was not even in the same vicinity as her direction, which Maya had to scramble to catch in an almost cat-like maneuver. Smackle made a move to shoo her away in jest, but she was already hurrying along down the narrow spaces between tables to get a move on. She skipped the stairwell leading to the bakery and headed straight for the single bathroom in the back of the building.

         She couldn’t get the door open fast enough and she still had to find the dexterity in fingers that were not so nimble as they were when baking to lock it. The kosher salt was forgotten, carelessly thrown to the floor and forced open upon impact with the ground. Hard flakes of it dug into her bare knees as she dropped and flung her head into the waiting toilet bowl. It was the fourth time this week that Maya had emptied her insides at work. She didn’t think that anyone had noticed this theatrical display of her stomach’s hysterics, but if it went on, it would be impossible to keep hidden. She didn’t want to deal with that intervention, because that’s exactly what it would be with those two goofballs for coworkers, and she certainly didn’t want to have to deal with Zay. She didn’t want to deal with any of this, not at all. She didn’t know how. All she knew was the diner, the customers, the girls and the cook. The desserts. All she knew was being a waitress. If Maya added anything more to her plate, it would not be a matter of whether she would break, but when.

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[morningfears]

Television Romance [Chapter Two]

Rating: PG-13 (a little suggestive, a little swearing)

Summary: Luke and Natalia go on their first date and they’re surprised at how well they get along. Natalia is also surprised at how well she’s able to ruin a moment.

Word Count: 6.7k

Chapter One

The conference room was empty as Natalia settled into one of the oversized office chairs situated around the long wooden table. She still had twenty minutes until colloquium, a meeting that took place every other Friday and served as a way for students to get to know their professors’ and colleagues’ research interests, began but she had just gotten out of a meeting with her advisor and didn’t feel like walking the extra few steps to the grad office. She knew that it would be full of students, each of them expressing how pointless they found colloquium or how annoyed they were to be on campus on a Friday, and though she usually felt compelled to agree (colloquium was, for the most part, pointless and her Fridays suffered greatly for it), she was in too good a mood to complain.

Although her workload had felt overwhelming, she’d managed to finish it all in far less time than she anticipated. She’d worked harder than she had in months and her sleep schedule suffered dearly for it but her advisor had the first draft of her thesis proposal, her conference paper had been submitted with nearly twelve hours to spare, and her co-author had the revisions necessary to resubmit their journal article. Her students had their first grades of the semester and every unread email in her inbox was answered.

She was exhausted, mentally and physically, but she’d managed to free her schedule completely so that she would have nothing to worry about when she went to dinner with Luke.

As if he could sense her thinking about him, Natalia’s phone vibrated in her hand and a message from Luke appeared on the screen. “Is it too cheesy to tell you that I’ve been looking forward to this all week?”

Natalia grinned at the message, a goofy smile that made her cheeks hurt, and bit back an uncharacteristic giggle as she replied, “Only if it’s cheesy to tell you that I’ve been looking forward to it, too.”

Though she had been somewhat excited when she met him - he was gorgeous - her excitement only grew the more they interacted. Throughout the week, she and Luke had exchanged dozens of messages. Most of them were superficial, wishes for good days and texts meant to plan their evening, but a few had been more fun and inquisitive. They’d wanted to save the traditional questions for the date itself - what do you do, where are you from, what brings you to LA? - so they’d had to get creative in getting to know one another.

Luke had taken to sending her cheesy jokes, stupid puns and ridiculous questions - her favorite of which was whether she would fight one horse sized duck or a dozen duck sized horses - in an effort to get to know her and it made her giddy with anticipation. She thought he was cute and he seemed charming. He was fun, silly, and sweet and she found herself starting to like him more than she thought she would. She wasn’t attached, not yet, but she could feel herself growing more comfortable with the idea of him becoming a part of her life and she only hoped that that would extend to their in-person meeting.

As she grinned at Luke’s latest joke, a cheese pun that made her groan in delight, she failed to notice the door of the conference room open or the bag drop onto the table beside her. She was too engrossed in typing out her reply, a string of emojis and a half-hearted plea for him to find a new hobby, to notice Nicole take a seat. Only when she spoke did Natalia look away from her phone.

“Okay, so, I was thinking about ordering pizza for tonight. We have some money in the grad association account and free food is the only thing I can think of that will convince people to spend their Friday night locked in the grad office. We can’t buy their alcohol but I promised everyone we would go out for drinks once the last person hit submit.”

Natalia blinked, confused as to what Nicole was talking about, before her eyes widened and her heart dropped in realization. “The writing party, fuck,” she groaned, her head falling back as she huffed a sigh of annoyance at her mistake. She wasn’t normally one to forget things - she was the first person anyone turned to when they needed to know a deadline - but it had completely slipped her mind. She’d been so caught up in wanting to see Luke that anything nonessential had completely fallen off her radar. “I’m so sorry, Ni. I totally forgot all about it.”

“It’s no big deal,” Nicole assured her as she watched Natalia spin in her chair to face her. “It really didn’t need any planning. I just sent out an email. I was hoping you could bring some of those method books of yours, though. I don’t have anything to submit so I wanted to work on my proposal. I’m having trouble wording the coding section.”

Natalia grimaced and shook her head. “No, Ni, I forgot and, uh, sort of made other plans?” 

She tried her hardest not to look guilty - it was an informal writing group that likely wouldn’t get much writing done, anyway - but Natalia felt bad. She knew that Nicole was struggling to get her proposal done and there weren’t many other people she could turn to for help. Their program was small, one of the smallest on campus, and of the current cohort, only she, Nicole, and one doctoral student had chosen the same methodology. They hadn’t had a formal class on the method yet - they’d been thrown to the wolves, not unlike the rest of their graduate career - and relied on one another to make the best of their situation.

This would have been an opportunity for them to sit down, uninterrupted by life, and work out the roadblocks she’d been hitting. However, Natalia had forgotten and committed to dinner with Luke.

“I can reschedule,” she offered, before Nicole could speak, “I feel like he wouldn’t mind.”

At the mention of a ‘he’, Nicole raised her eyebrows and shook her head. “No, seriously, it’s not a big deal. We can meet during office hours next week or something. But, that’s beside the point.” She dropped her cellphone onto the table and turned her full attention to Natalia as she asked, “He? Who is he?”

Natalia knew that Nicole was expecting her to say that the aforementioned he was her father, who she had dinner with once a week, or the new TA that followed her around like a lost puppy. But she wasn’t expecting her to say, “The guy from the coffee shop, Luke.”

“The one that destroyed your dress?” Nicole did look surprised, her eyebrows remained raised and her mouth dropped open, but she looked almost amused at the sheepish grin that graced Natalia’s face. “Let me guess, he asked you out as a way to make up for it?”

“…yes. He’s so cute, Ni, I couldn’t say no,” Natalia gushed with a grin as she shifted in her chair and reached for her phone. Nicole rolled her eyes good-naturedly and rolled her chair a little closer to lean over and take a look at the text thread Natalia pulled up. “Look, he’s been sending me stupid jokes all week and he’s excited about the date and so am I.”

“Wait, date? Holy shit, Nat, get laid!”

Natalia and Nicole glanced up from her phone and watched as Ali, the third member of their cohort - the only other master’s student that started the program at the same time as them - stepped into the conference room and took a seat across from them. “D’you finally agree to meet a Tinder match in person?” she asked as she grabbed a notebook and pen from her backpack.

“No, they met the old fashioned way; he destroyed her dress by spilling coffee on her,” Nicole answered for her as she grabbed her own notebook out of her backpack.

“Oh, retro vibes, cute. Is he hot?” Natalia rolled her eyes fondly as Ali leaned forward, her eyebrows raised as she waited for a response.

Although the three of them had grown as close as sisters and looked quite similar to one another, they couldn’t be more different. Nicole was the oldest - she’d taken two years off between undergrad and grad school - and acted like it. She was the voice of reason, the calming presence that kept Natalia from overreacting and Ali from under-reacting. She was the heart of the group, the one who provided a shoulder to cry on and a kind word of advice when things got tough, and neither Natalia nor Ali could imagine getting through grad school without her. Nicole was also married and had been for three years. She and her husband had been together since their freshman year of college - they met in a class - and she was very happy to be in a committed, long term relationship.

Ali was the wildcard of their group. She was a free spirit, only acting according to her own desires, and was unapologetic in how she lived her life. She was the group’s sense of courage, pushing Natalia out of her comfort zone by taking her out to bars and helping her fill her closet with clothes she never would’ve imagined herself wearing as well as helping Nicole get through the semester without bowing to the pressures of the administration. Like Natalia, Ali was technically single. Unlike Natalia, however, Ali dated around and kept her options open. She had a string of ‘boyfriends’ and decided that she would wait until after she received her doctorate to settle down.

Their biggest similarities were their looks. Each of them had long dark hair, though Ali’s was a shade lighter than Nicole and Natalia’s, and stood at a little over five feet. Nicole and Natalia stayed out of the sun, both of them burned quite easily and went red instead of tanning, while Ali remained a beautiful olive all year round. Nicole and Ali were both curvier, each with natural assets that Natalia longed for, while Natalia fell somewhere in an annoying gap between petite and average. 

Natalia loved the differences in her friends, she appreciated seeing the way they all complemented one another, but she couldn’t help but laugh at the almost predictable reactions she’d gotten from both of them upon learning that she had a date.

“He’s gorgeous,” she finally answered, grinning at Ali when she nodded in appreciation and gave her a thumbs up.

“That’s my girl! Have you got condoms? You can stop by my place and grab some after colloquium if you want. Oh, do you need help getting ready? I can do your makeup!” Ali looked to be almost more excited than Natalia was about the date. She was giddy, grinning at the possibilities, and Natalia hated to rain on her parade but she didn’t plan on sleeping with Luke on their first date.

“I appreciate the offer, Al, but I don’t think I’ll need the condoms just yet. I would love for you to do my makeup, though. We’re going to Oak and I know it’s kind of dark in there but it’s also a little nicer than the dives we go to so I should make an effort,” she reasoned as she watched the door swing open and a few of their classmates enter the room. She waved at them, as did Nicole and Ali, before she added, “We can talk about it after colloquium.”

Throughout the hour long meeting, Natalia’s phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. Luke texted her, a photo of himself and his dog that made her heart melt, and joked that he had the best help in getting ready for their night. Nicole and Ali filled their group chat - appropriately titled ‘why are we here?’ - with suggestions for conversation topics (although Natalia sincerely hoped ‘do you have any hot, single friends?’ was a joke) as well as gentle teasing about how their baby was growing up.

Natalia took it all in stride, shaking her head at Nicole and Ali’s teasing and gushing over Luke’s dog, but she felt just as excited as they all seemed to. It was nice, having plans and feeling something she hadn’t felt in a long while, and she only grew more excited as colloquium ended and they all began to file out of the conference room.

“Send me a text when you guys choose where you’re going for drinks,” she told Nicole as the three of them stepped out of the building, her and Ali heading toward her car while Nicole was off to her own, “I might stop by and get a drink after my date.”

“If you do, let me know. I want all the details. If not, we can all get breakfast or something and you can tell us everything.” Ali wasn’t the type to turn down a drink or gossip so it came as no surprise that she wanted to be included in the conversation.

“Have fun, Nat,” Nicole bid, a genuinely happy smile on her face as she began walking down the sidewalk. “See you later!”

Natalia and Ali waved off Nicole before they began the trek to Natalia’s car. She and Luke planned to meet at eight and it was already four. She knew that she had time - she would likely only show up a few minutes early - but she was anxious to get ready. She had no idea what she wanted to wear, how she wanted her makeup done, or how to wear her hair. She hadn’t been on a date in years - she’d been too busy worrying about school to worry about much else - so this was new territory for her.

Natalia was glad that Ali was there to help her get ready. She was glad that she had a friend who was willing to pick through her closet and help her find something that was cute enough to make a good impression but comfortable enough to wear for a few hours. She was nervous, a good kind of anxious that filled her stomach with butterflies and had her pacing her bedroom as Ali pulled the final piece of clothing from her closet.

“It’s going to be fine,” Ali laughed as she watched Natalia glance in the mirror at her makeup once more. She’d gone simple, opted for a natural look that only enhanced Natalia’s looks, and reached out to slap her shoulder to keep her from touching her eyebrow. “You’re going to wipe off my hard work. Here, get dressed. Would you mind dropping me off at my place on your way?”

“No, of course not,” Natalia assured her as she grabbed the garments from Ali’s hand and stepped into her bathroom to change. “It’s on my way. That’ll keep me from being too early, too.”

“I was at least a little strategic in getting you ready,” Ali pointed out as she waited for Natalia to exit the bathroom. “Have you warned him that you’re a chronic overachiever who can’t be late and has, like, forty calendars to make sure you don’t miss any deadlines yet?”

“I only have three,” Natalia defended as she emerged from the bathroom, smoothing the top she wore. “I keep them in different places so I always know what I need to be doing. How does this look?”

Ali brought her hand to her chest and faked a sniffle as she caught sight of Natalia. She had gone for simple here, too, and pulled a high-waisted black, button down mini-skirt, a white short sleeve top, and a distressed denim jacket. She handed her a necklace, one of the few pieces of jewelry Natalia owned, as well as a bracelet before she glanced at the two options for shoes she’d pulled out of the closet.

“How tall is he?” Ali asked as she looked between the pair of ankle boots and flats on the floor in front of her.

“Uh, very.” Natalia tried not to sound too excited at that - she’d always been fond of taller men - and Ali nodded in appreciation.

“Boots it is, then. Okay, I think you’re ready. Do you have any pictures of this guy? I’m curious as fuck now,” Ali hummed as she watched Natalia slip her feet into the boots.

“Mm, yeah, he sent me a picture of him and his dog earlier.” She reached for her cellphone, unplugging it from the charger, and opened her text thread with Luke to show Ali the photo he’d sent her. He had the same unique smile he’d shown her the day they met and his clear blue eyes were on display as he’d pulled his hair away from his face. He was cute, far cuter than anyone she’d ever dated, and she felt a small amount of pride at the impressed look on Ali’s face.

“He looks familiar,” she mumbled, after agreeing that he was gorgeous, “I don’t know where I’d know him from, though.”

“Maybe you saw him on Tinder or something,” Natalia offered with a shrug as she locked her phone and dropped it into her bag. “Or maybe he’s friends with one of your boyfriends.”

“Maybe,” Ali shrugged as she grabbed her bag and led the way out of Natalia’s apartment. “I don’t even keep track anymore. Did I tell you about Jason? I would drop out and become a trophy wife for that man any day.”

Natalia listened to Ali share a story about her latest boyfriend - one she agreed was gorgeous and seemed sweeter and a little more put together than the guys Ali usually went for - as she drove her back to her apartment. She realized, as they waited at a red light, that she would get to join the conversation about dates the next time they interacted and felt a small thrill at the idea. She usually had very little to contribute when Ali and Nicole spoke about their partners - other than the occasional, “I’m glad I’m single,” when they discussed the follies of man - and couldn’t wait to tell them all about her date.

As Natalia pulled into the parking lot of Ali’s apartment complex, Ali reached into her bag and pulled a few foil squares from one of the pockets. She took Natalia’s hand off the steering wheel as soon as she’d put the car in park and placed the condoms in her hand before she patted it and grinned. “You never know what you’ll need, so, just in case.”

With that and a grin that made Natalia roll her eyes, Ali climbed out of the car and sent a wave in her direction before bounding up the stairs. Natalia remained in the parking spot for a second, pausing to collect her thoughts and take a deep breath, before she shoved the condoms into her bag, pulled out of the parking lot and made her way to Oak.

When Luke asked if she had any preferences for their date, her first thought was of Oak. It was a bar that couldn’t be considered a dive but was also a far cry from the swanky clubs in other parts of the city. It was nice but not too nice. Like Molly’s, the bar was Instagrammable - a key factor in its popularity with college students as the drinks were a little pricier than two dollar beer but not unreasonable for an every now and again sort of thing - and encouraged patrons to dress a little nicer than the go-to athleisure look. Everything about it read 1920s speakeasy, except the patio. Natalia loved the patio, hidden off to the side with little wooden benches and cool metal tables surrounded by walls covered in ivy, and she was glad the weather was nice enough that she could request they sit out there.

The interior was always a little dark but Natalia thought it was kind of romantic as the lighting was supplemented by tea candles on the tables. However, the music - an array of jazz - was usually a little too loud for conversation. Because of that, she hoped that Luke wouldn’t mind if they ordered their drinks and took them outside so they could talk.

When Natalia arrived (only five minutes early, a rare feat for her as she usually arrived with twenty minutes to spare), she was pleasantly surprised to see Luke waiting for her near the front steps. Although she’d found him attractive upon first meeting him, dressed in basketball shorts and looking like he’d just woken up, he looked even better dressed up.

He had also opted for simple and wore plain black jeans and a wine red button down. He left the first few buttons undone and Natalia imagined that if she were a cartoon character, her eyes would be hearts by now. She wanted to stare at him for a moment longer but she didn’t want to keep him waiting. She took another moment, another deep breath, before she climbed out of the car and crossed the parking lot to join him.

“Hi.”

Luke lifted his head, turning his attention away from his cellphone, and grinned at the sight of Natalia. He quickly locked the device and shoved it into his pocket as he returned her greeting. “Hi.” He paused, his eyes raking over her body and taking in the sight of her, before he added, “You look beautiful.”

Without thinking, with only a giddy nervousness filling her mind, Natalia grinned and returned, “So do you.”

She and Luke stood there, taking one another in with pink cheeks and silly smiles, for far too long. It wasn’t awkward, the silence was appreciative and punctuated by shy grins and quiet giggles, and Natalia would have been content to spend the evening sharing heart-eyed looks with Luke had another couple not walked by, breaking the spell.

“Do you want to head in?” Luke asked, glancing at the door a few feet to his left before returning his gaze to Natalia. “I’ve never been here before.”

Natalia glanced up at him - the height difference was still noticeable, even with her heeled boots - and smiled as they entered the main room. “It’s nice. I’ve been here a few times but, I’ll be honest, I usually go to this place called The Door.”

“The Door? Why here, then, and not there?” Luke asked as they approached the bar and and each reached for a drink menu.

“I didn’t want to run into every professor in my department.” When Luke raised an eyebrow at that, Natalia shook her head and quickly added, “Everyone in the department goes there for drinks and I didn’t think it would fun to have my advisor a few tables over as we tried to talk. I chose this place because I don’t really venture too far from campus. LA is… overwhelming.”

“That’s fair,” Luke acknowledged as they waited for the bartender to make his way to them. He turned to look at Natalia, an easy smile on his lips and blue eyes alight with intrigue, as he asked, “You’re not from here?”

“Is anyone?” Luke laughed at Natalia’s quip and she offered him a smile in return. “No, I grew up in Oakland. It was a different vibe. What about you? You’re not from LA.”

“I’m not,” he confirmed with a shake of his head as he moved to stand a little closer to her to let another couple access the bar, “I’m from Australia. I’ve been here for a really long time, though.”

Natalia could smell Luke’s cologne and bit back a sigh as he met her eyes once again. It was hard to keep her train of thought with him looking directly at her, the longer she stared at him, the more beautiful she found him, but she managed to ask, “Yeah? What brought you to LA?”

As Luke opened his mouth to answer, the bartender approached the pair of them to take their drink orders. Luke gestured for her to order first and she chose the only thing on the menu with vodka - the only liquor she didn’t really hate - while Luke opted for the drink with rum. They started a tab - on Luke’s card, despite Natalia’s resistance - before she gestured for him to follow her to the patio with their drinks.

“Okay, so, what brought you to LA?” Natalia repeated as they each took a seat at one of the small metal tables The lighting was better outside, a little brighter than the candlelit interior, and she had to remind herself not to stare as she waited for Luke’s answer.

“I’m in a band. We came out here to follow our dreams.” Natalia wasn’t exactly surprised to hear that Luke was a musician. He looked the part, with shaggy blonde curls and chipped nail polish on a few fingers as well as a sort of confidence about him that she’d only seen in the wannabe rockstars she knew from home, so she nodded.

“Would I know your music?”

Luke smiled at her, a sparkle of mischief in his eyes, and shrugged. The look on his face suggested there was a joke that Natalia wasn’t in on and she scrunched her eyebrows in mild confusion as he asked, “I don’t know. What kind of music do you listen to?”

“A little punk - I’m from Oakland, we have a killer punk scene,” she defended when Luke blinked in surprise. He held his hands up in surrender,  a laugh falling from his lips, and gestured for her to continue. “Um, a lot of stuff that was released before I was born? My dad was in a punk band in high school and a grunge band in college and my mom was a riot grrrl. I grew up listening to whatever they were listening to and whatever their bands played and it’s still pretty prominent in my playlists. So, punk and grunge and a lot of classic rock.”

Luke looked mildly impressed by Natalia’s taste and nodded appreciatively. “Yeah, you probably wouldn’t know any of our stuff.” Luke laughed, again looking like he knew something she didn’t, before he took a sip of his drink. She shrugged, a playful smile of her own on her lips, and he shook his head. “I wouldn’t have expected that but that’s way cooler than me. I listen to a lot of pop punk, a little more alternative. And classic rock.”

“Nothing wrong with pop punk. I love blink. And I was super into All Time Low in high school.”

The conversation hit a short lull, both Luke and Natalia glancing at one another over the tops of their drinks, but it wasn’t truly awkward. They had yet to figure out how to interact with one another, which was to be expected, so Natalia offered a suggestion to break the ice. “Want to play twenty questions?”

Luke perked up, the full toothed grin returning, and nodded as he leaned on his elbows and met her gaze across the table. “That sounds like the perfect idea. You want to start?”

Natalia nodded and scrutinized Luke as she thought up her first question.  She knew that he was from Australia and that he was in a band she probably hadn’t heard of. She knew that he had a dog and that he liked pop punk. “Do you have any siblings?”

“Two brothers, Ben and Jack. You’re in school, what are you studying?” Luke had an adorable habit of tilting his head to show his engagement in the conversation and Natalia bit back a dreamy sigh as she watched him tap his glass to the beat of the song - the patio had a stream of top 40 hits playing and she didn’t recognize any of them but, judging by the way his eyes lit up when this one came on, he did.

“Health communication. Basically, my line of research is that everyone defines health differently and you can’t expect all people to react the same way to the same messages. There is no universal definition of health.” Again, Luke looked surprised and impressed. He nodded, thankful that she’d given a bit of clarification on what she meant by health communication, and waited for her to ask her question. “What’s the best thing about being in a band?”

Luke lit up at her question, his smile growing into the tongue-pressed-to-teeth grin she was growing to adore. “Is it a cop out if I say everything?” When she nodded, Luke made a show of groaning and pouted for a moment before laughing and shaking his head. “This is going to sound really cheesy but being able to spend my time with my best friends. I love the guys, they’re my brothers at this point, and getting to work with them is all I ever could’ve asked for.”

Natalia felt her heart melt at Luke’s answer. She cooed and when Luke’s cheeks went pink, she reassured him, “That’s the sweetest answer you could’ve given. That’s really awesome. I barely know you but I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks.” Luke laughed, cheeks still flushed and eyes crinkling as he watched Natalia take another sip of her drink. “What are your friends like?” He was curious, as they were on the subject, and he wanted to know if the people Natalia surrounded herself with were as interesting as she was.

“Strange. I have my cohort, the two girls I started my master’s program with, and then I have a few friends from home but it’s a pretty small group of very different people and I don’t know where I would be without them.” It was Luke’s turn to coo, his smile soft and his cheeks still pink from a combination of the heat, the alcohol, and his affection, and Natalia dipped her head to get away from his gaze. “In your band, what’s your job? Guitarist, vocalist…?”

“Both of those, actually. I play guitar and sing. Ash, the guy that was with me in the coffee shop, is our drummer.”

“You know, I could’ve guessed that. You’ve got the lead singer look,” Natalia teased. She grinned at Luke’s raised eyebrows and shrugged. “I think it’s the hair, rockstar. But it looks good on you.”

Luke rolled his eyes, a playful gesture accompanied by laughter, and stuck his chin out indignantly. “Looks can be deceiving,” he reminded her, a playful glare on his face as he added, “You keep surprising me at every turn.” When she titled her head, curious as to what he meant, Luke smiled and gestured to Natalia’s empty glass. “That’s a good thing, I promise. And this isn’t my question,” he clarified, a playfully pointed look accompanying his statement, "but would you like another drink?”

“I’d love one. Using that time to think up another question?” Her accusation was playful, her grin gave her away, but Luke played along but giving her a pout.

“How can you think so little of me? I’m not,” Luke denied, his grin bright as he stood to grab another round of drinks. “But I’ll give you that time to think about your answer. Thoughts on social media? I’ll be back.”

Natalia watched Luke disappear through the side door, a bright grin on her lips. Luke was cute, sweet, and fun. The conversation was flowing better than she imagined it would.  She was glad that the hope she’d gleaned from her text conversations with him wasn’t misplaced and found herself itching to continue the conversation as she listened to a song she vaguely recognized as one of Dua Lipa’s filter through the patio area.

True to his word, Luke returned in a matter of minutes with fresh drinks in hand and an expectant look on his face. “So, thoughts?”

“I think it’s a useful tool in some cases and utterly useless and damaging in others. It’s helpful in emergencies, getting the word out quickly, but it’s creating a weird culture and I don’t like it. I don’t have any social media profiles aside from Facebook - my mom likes to video chat and doesn’t have an iPhone so, no FaceTime, I just use it for Messenger - and LinkedIn.” Natalia was used to the looks she got from others when she divulged her lack of social media and Luke was no different. He looked shocked but almost impressed.

“That’s really awesome. I don’t use mine much but I think it’d feel weird if I didn’t have them.”

“I mean, you’re a musician. It probably helps get the word out there, build a fanbase, all the marketing stuff. I’m an academic. The only thing I could post on Instagram is a bad selfie taken under florescent library lighting,” Natalia joked as she reached for her drink.

“No faking your life for the ‘Gram?” Luke asked, genuinely curious and interested in hearing her take on social media. It wasn’t often that he ran into people like her, not in his life, so he felt compelled to hear more.

“No, it doesn’t seem worth it. It seems like too much work and, honestly, I don’t want the attention. You have these kids that are, like, twelve blowing up online and that just seems so stressful. I don’t want the world watching my every move. I’m fine in the shadows.”

An odd look crossed Luke’s face at Natalia’s reluctance to be seen and she almost asked him about it. She didn’t understand what the issue was with her not wanting notoriety or her face to be plastered all over Instagram but the look was gone so quickly that she felt like she must have imagined it. So, instead of dwelling, she turned to her next question. “If you were stuck on an island, what three things would you bring with you?”

The conversation continued well past twenty questions. Luke was genuinely interested in her research, asking questions about her reasons for choosing such an emotionally taxing topic and what she planned to do with her research when she finished, and it was nice to just explain rather than defend her choices. She was interested in his music, curious about the songwriting process and the way he dealt with writer’s block from a creative standpoint, and it was nice to talk to someone who had no idea what his life was really like.

They found themselves talking until one of the staff members stuck their head out the door and informed them that it was last call. They’d each only had two drinks, the last was sipped over a matter of hours as they’d been talking too much to really pay attention to anything other than one another, and Natalia was slightly disappointed that it was time to say goodnight as they headed in to close out the tab.

Luke, like Natalia, dragged his feet as they left the bar and lingered near the front steps. He looked just as crestfallen as she did, not ready for their night to be over but not wanting to give her the wrong impression by asking her to come home with him. They liked one another, really and truly, and neither wanted to rush into things. It felt nice, just getting to know one another without the pressure of their lives closing in on them, and they wanted to keep it that way for as long as they could.

“I know this might be too soon,” Luke began, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he met Natalia’s gaze with a shy smile, “but would you want to go out again tomorrow? Maybe for dinner? I have rehearsal tomorrow afternoon but we could do something after that.”

Natalia grinned, a giddy smile that was contagious as Luke matched her grin with one of his own, and nodded. “Definitely. I need to spend the day writing but I’m totally free tomorrow night,” she agreed readily, not caring if she looked eager as Luke looked just as giddy as she did.

“Good, awesome. I, uh, I’ll let you know what time we’re supposed to finish tomorrow.” Luke paused, his grin softening as he realized that Natalia looked gorgeous even in the harsh glow of unflattering streetlights, before he added, “I had a really good time tonight. I’m still sorry for spilling coffee on you but I don’t regret it. Not if it gets me a date like this.”

“I really liked that dress,” Natalia teased, her cheeks flaring pink beneath the foundation she wore as she tried not to coo at Luke’s compliment, “but I’m kind of glad you spilled coffee on me. I think this date more than made up for it.”

Luke and Natalia stared at one another, grinning like lovesick fools and happy that the date had gone better than either of them hoped, before Luke stepped a little closer and asked, “Do you mind if I… can I…?”

Natalia didn’t have a rule against kissing on the first date, she didn’t have any first date rules as she decided she would just see where life took her, but if she did, she would’ve broken it for Luke. As his hand brushed her cheek, she melted into his embrace and breathed a quiet sigh as she nodded just enough for him to feel.

Luke placed a barely there peck to her lips, a soft kiss that felt more like something being taken from her than given, and she wanted to reach out and pull him back into her as he straightened up and smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Natalia.”

“See you tomorrow.”

They both lingered for a second, staring at one another, before Natalia gave him a final shy smile and turned to head to her car. Her head was so far in the clouds that she didn’t notice the small dip in the ground and felt her knees hit pavement before she realized what had happened.

She wasn’t sure if she was glad that Luke was there or embarrassed he’d seen her fall as he rushed over and kneeled beside her. The contents of her bag had spilled across the parking lot and she dropped her head in embarrassment as she groaned. “Fun fact about me, I’m great at destroying the mood.”

“I tripped and dumped coffee on you during our first meeting, a little clumsiness isn’t going to destroy anything. Here, let me help you,” he assured her as he began reaching for the little things that had fallen out of her bag. Chapstick, hand sanitizer, gum, a pencil bag; all things she didn’t mind Luke seeing. However, when he grabbed the few condoms Ali left her with, Natalia groaned again.

“I wasn’t… I didn’t intend for anything to happen. My friend Ali just… threw them at me,” she explained as she shoved the items back into her bag and took Luke’s hand for him to help her back onto her feet. “Not that there’s anything wrong with sex on a first date, do whatever you want, I just… Don’t want?”

Luke bit back a laugh at Natalia’s defeated expression and shook his head. “It’s okay, you don’t have to explain. Better to be safe than sorry. And, I get it. Tonight was nice. I enjoyed it as it was. And I’m still really looking forward to seeing you again tomorrow night.”

“I’m glad. And I am looking forward to seeing you again, too. Hopefully neither of us will trip and we’ll be leaving injury and coffee stain free,” she joked as she brushed some stray gravel from her knees. “I’ll see you then. Have fun at rehearsal.”

“I would say have fun writing but, I’m not gonna lie, I don’t know if that’s appropriate to wish you?”

“Probably not, no one enjoys writing for academia, but I appreciate the thought. Bye, Luke.”

Luke waved Natalia off and waited until she’d gotten safely into her car before heading for his own. She still felt a little embarrassed - she knew that her cheeks were neon red beneath her foundation - but his handling of the situation made her feel that much better about him. He was a good guy, solid and sweet, and Natalia couldn’t wait to see him again.

___________________________________________________________

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[stevemoffett]

A Hard Nap, The Fall of Math, The Star Wars Holiday Special, Disco Point, and There You Are

In January last year, I noticed a sign in myself of the same cancer my dad had back in 2008. Unlike the usual symptoms that set off my paranoia, it wasn’t some vague feeling, it wasn’t an intermittent pain, and it wasn’t a general ill feeling—it was clear and unambiguous, out of the ordinary and one of those symptoms that, if you google it, is under the list of “call your doctor if you experience any of the following.”

It was also nonspecific: this symptom could mean cancer, but it could also mean about five other cancer-unrelated conditions. I called for an appointment that morning with my general practitioner, who said that the earliest available date was about two weeks later.

I knew that the only way my fear would be effectively relieved was with the one sure-fire diagnostic tool for this type of cancer, one that’s recommended for everyone, but not until about age 50: a colonoscopy.

For the two weeks before my GP appointment, I mentally prepared for death. For the record, I do this every time I interpret my body’s signals as cancerous, but the mental preparation usually stops after a few days when the symptom either goes away or when a clear alternative cause presents itself. This time, I didn’t get that kind of relief and, in fact, the symptom repeated more than once between setting the appointment and going to it. Each time, it was like an intrusive thought come to life: you’re going to die. You’re going to go through surgery and chemotherapy like Dad and you’re either going to die early, or find out like he did that the cure is worse than the disease, or maybe you’ll hang on just long enough to experience both.

Winter mornings in Texas can sometimes be surprisingly cold. While stepping out the door on a midsummer morning is like walking into someone’s hot exhale, as you might expect, a 33-degree morning is more like a slap in the face. When I packed everything I figured I’d need to move here a couple of years ago, I threw away my winter coat, thinking, I won’t be needing this anymore. (The coat was also about ten years old at that point.)

My first winter in Texas, I layered a bunch of shirts underneath a light jacket and wore a scarf on freezing days. The second winter, I decided that I’d had enough of being cold. After all, I rationalized, here in Texas it was monetarily possible to never have to feel cold again if you really don’t want to. So I bought the warmest coat I could find, an unstylish, bulky parka made by Caterpillar, the company that makes construction vehicles. No more layering, no more checking the weather before leaving in the morning. I could just put this coat on and not worry about it.

But now, under the shadow of a cancer scare these January mornings, wearing the big coat made me feel less like I was smarter than the weather and more like I was trying to smuggle a terminal disease wherever I went. Under my coat, tie, button-down shirt, undershirt, skin, fat, and muscle, something was growing silently in the dark. While maybe it had slipped up and showed some of its handiwork to me, it was already too late to do much about it now.

Since it has affected my life several times before, and since it is such an exquisite mixture of dread and uncertainty, cancer is one of my mind’s biggest bogeymen. I feel personally insulted by the idea of it. I treat you so well, body—why would you betray me? Was I not nice enough? Is this poetic justice for my vanity? Is it, as the old anecdotal saying goes, due to my worrying?

Not only did I feel like I was smuggling cancer under the big coat, I was also warming it up by drinking my coffee. I was feeding it directly when I ate something too sugary. And I was probably even giving it an evil sense of satisfaction when I got stressed out about it. If I was able to keep my mind off it by working in the lab, mixing and pipetting, using kits, and doing arithmetic in my head, it would come crashing back into focus when I was pulling my gloves off to wash my hands.

I pulled up incognito mode on my phone’s browser during my breaks, googling “5-year survival rate colon cancer age 35.” “Cancer staging colon prognosis.” “Colon cancer smoking.” “Colon cancer smoke one pack in college.” “Colon cancer smoke one pack 18 years ago.” “Colon cancer smoke one pack after seeing Luke Wilson smoking in The Royal Tenenbaums.”

At home, I suddenly started noticing the expiration dates on my nonperishables. What will last longer, I thought, the freshness of this baking soda, or me.

I knew I wasn’t going to be comforted by the first GP visit. After all, they’re usually the first stop to a specialist, unless you have a PPO insurance plan, which I don’t. The doctor listened to my symptoms and family history. “Well,” he said, “Given your history, it’s a good idea to refer you to a GI. But, you seem like you lead a healthy lifestyle otherwise, with none of the other risk factors, so we’ll see what he says.”

I made the GI appointment and had to wait two more weeks for it, with the same circular worrying and googling. At the GI appointment, I sat in the waiting room, the youngest patient there by a few decades, and I felt a little bit ridiculous. On the other hand, I’d also just read a harrowing story about a woman in her late 20s who had colon cancer and died from it. That was a real person, I thought, who at the first phase of it probably went through all the same feelings I was now, the I’m-being-ridiculous and is-this-worth-the-time-and-vacation-days, all the way up until her diagnosis. Not just because I was scared, I felt a pang of sympathy. A disease of the old picking a victim from the young is terrible luck.

And I figured, if it could be her, it could be anyone. But most of all, it could be me.

That last bit, I think, is one of—one of—my greatest flaws, the vanity of always thinking that the worst things will happen to you, in spite of the odds. It’s a way of making yourself feel special, but it has no upside. You don’t feel confidence with this type of special-feeling. In fact, you’re more likely to be timid and self-centered, and you just come across as weird to the outside observer. They might think, There’s only a few steps between that guy and Howard Hughes. Somewhere, deep in your mind, they think: Wires are crossed.

Shortly before I went in, another patient arrived, a man around my age or maybe younger who, despite a dozen or so free seats, declined to sit down. My name was called, and I passed a sign on the way to the back that said, “If you have recently traveled to China and have a fever you must let our staff know.”

This doctor’s exam rooms had floor-to-ceiling windows, the kind you’d see in a movie, instead of the usual dull and bulby, off-white plastic exam room interior. A Spanish medical student came in to give a pre-appointment questionnaire and to take my vitals. He asked, in much better English than I could have mustered in Spanish, “So. There is some blood in they crep?”

When he came in, the GI repeated what my GP had said, and since he was also the person who would be performing a colonoscopy, he said I should set an appointment for one with him. I managed to get a date three weeks later.

From other people’s stories, I knew two things about colonoscopies: they are no fun, especially the night before, but the general anesthesia on the day of the procedure, on the other hand, is fun. I was nervous enough on the day before that I actually asked someone at the pharmacy for help finding the items I was looking for: Polyethylene Glycol (or PEG, which we use all the time for lab experiments, and which I was going to have to drink 2 liters of), Gatorade, and laxative pills. I had to take about 800% of their recommended dosages, each.

The bodily effect of those chemicals was dramatic, and I will spare the details. The worst parts of it, I found, were the generally exhausting physical toll it took, and the feeling by the end that I had some kind of dangerous sodium imbalance: I was sweating between my fingers, for example, but the rest of me felt as dry as paper. At 10PM, I was too tired to do anything, but too nervous to sleep for more than a few hours.

One smaller worry that I felt the next morning, as I took a selfie in my hospital gown to send to a friend back home, making a backward peace sign to show off the IV sticking into my hand and also how brave I was being, was that I might just die right there on the table from the general anesthesia. Part of my grad school research was on Propofol, the most-used general anesthesia nowadays (which, incidentally, also killed Michael Jackson). This was the same drug I was to be given.

I’d never been fully put under anesthesia before. It was astronomically improbable that I’d have an adverse reaction to it and die (and by the way, Michael Jackson abused it, using it far outside of medical praxis—if you’re afraid to get a colonoscopy yourself, don’t be, it could save your life), but keep in mind what I said about my vanity.

“Hey, I’m really scared,” I told the anesthesiologist. He said something, muffled by his mask, that sounded like, “It’ll be all right.” Then he busied himself with a syringe, connecting it to my IV. He depressed it about a third of the way. “This should help you,” he said.

The last thing I said was, “Whoa…I feel it.”

After what felt like a hard, late-afternoon nap, I said, “Hello?”

My head was wrapped with something. When I touched my face, I could feel that there were cotton pads underneath the wrapping, holding my eyes shut. I guess that at some point either mid-procedure or after, my eyes had opened, unseeing, and they’d done this to keep them from drying out. “Hang on, sir,” I heard a nurse say, and my head was unwrapped.

“It’s over?” I asked.

“You’re all done,” he said.

“Gimme a minute, please,” I said, my South Jersey accent peeking out. “I feel a little weird.”

Eventually, I sat up. Two of the nurses helped me stand, and I pumped my arms like I was lifting light, invisible dumbbells. As I put my glasses on and looked around, I thought that they all seemed like they were fighting to not smirk. What did I say while I was blacked out? I wondered, with a twinge of panic, before deciding that it would be worthless to speculate. It could have been anything. There are literally millions of possibilities. Again—it would be worthless to speculate, I told myself, firmly.

An Uber driver, I had been told by hospital staff during a consultation, was not a legally strong enough party to take responsibility for me at discharge. Someone I knew would have to escort me to my apartment. Also, they said, they really would do that thing where you’re back in your own clothes, and they push you to the exit in a wheelchair when you’re all finished. After my procedure, my co-worker stood waiting in the discharge zone with his car as an orderly wheeled me out of the hospital exit. I stood up from the wheelchair and got into the passenger seat of his car, for some reason more aware than usual of the heat coming from the vent and the smell of the car’s leather upholstery. “I still feel weird from the anesthesia,” I said to my friend.

“I’ll bet you do,” he replied.

It was about lunch time, and I had taken the rest of the day off from work. When I got home, I ordered a pizza and lay on my bed. I ate the pizza and watched Star Wars. I had not felt any euphoria when I woke up, I thought hollowly. And my first solid meal in almost forty hours tasted unremarkable. I was still groggy, but not in a pleasant way. I felt cheated.

The hospital staff had put a manilla envelope into my hands as I left. It contained sheets of images the doctor had taken during the procedure. Once lucid, I leafed through them and compared the thumbnail-sized images on printer paper with googled images of cancerous tumors viewed through a colonoscope, trying to diagnose myself.

A couple of the images on the papers had shapes that looked weird, with what seemed like variations in the texture or color of my colon wall that to me, at least, appeared one hundred percent fatal. It was another two weeks before I had a follow-up appointment to go over them with the surgeon.

“See this?” The GI said, two weeks later, pointing to one of the images that had seemed completely normal to me, unlike other ones I had thought were much more scary and unusual-looking. “That’s a low-risk polyp. Of course, now it’s a no-risk polyp, ‘cause it’s gone.”

This medical episode ended only three or so weeks before the whole world changed, but I was all the more grateful for that. If I’d waited to be checked out, then I would have been weighing whether it was worth getting tested against the possibility of being infected with COVID.

The doctor recommended that I get a colonoscopy every five years from now on, but added, “If you want, you can go earlier than that.” I told him thanks, but once every five years sounded fine.

*

I wrote about the first seven weeks of the pandemic in my last entry. After that, May and June passed in the same way as March and April had. I went back to work in mid-June for two weeks before the first summer COVID spike closed things back up. I continued to play Quake, and I continued to fret about my family.

I had a job interview for a position in northern Maryland in April. I didn’t get it, but I had a good idea why I’d been turned down: the position wanted people with proven math skills. Which makes sense—for the last few years I’d said repeatedly that I wanted to have a job that involves less lab work and more data analysis. This was one of those jobs.

My graduate program gave me a degree in “Computational and Integrative Biology.” Sometimes I shorten it to “Integrative Biology,” or “Computational Biology,” but I always feel sort of dishonest when I tell people my degree. (Apparently this feeling is common among grad students). My own reason for feeling dishonest was because, in any other college, the work I was doing would probably just fall under normal old “Biology.” While it was true I had done course work that reflected “Computational and Integrative” Biology, they were courses taught in a remedial way.

When I say remedial, I mean that they were courses designed to get biologists up to speed on how to do higher-level data analyses with their experiments. For instance, in my “Biomath” course, we went over ordinary differential equations and graph theory. Those are both intermediate-level math types, ones you’d encounter in the later part of an undergraduate math degree program. Throughout that course, there was a lot of handwaving whenever I asked questions.

“Eh…,” the professor might have responded to something I had asked, “that requires a lot of background explanation we don’t need right now to handle the problem here. Just take it as a given for what we’re working on.”

In grad school, it’s common to be well-versed in only your narrow little research tunnel that leads outward to the edge of “known” biology. But a few times each month, several of us students would head to the bar down at the city’s waterfront after work to talk about our research. It usually began with a complaint—“This is the third time this kit wouldn’t work this week and it takes twelve fucking hours to run it each time,”—but to give us a more context for their problem, whoever was griping would have to go back and start at the beginning, recounting all the steps leading to their experiment’s failure.

This was a useful exercise, since a pair of new eyes on your work meant that at least you could get feedback on how to better relate the subject matter when you talked to a non-science audience, and at most, you might get a real solution for the problem you were bumping up against.

But I would sometimes get privately upset, as I sipped my beer and glanced out the window at the river, when a math-centered Computational and Integrative Biology student would start talking about their research. As someone who feels an unpleasant, TV static-like anxiety in my chest the moment I see letters in italics, or one of those big, orphan sorority sigmas following an equal sign during a math seminar, this upset feeling was directed at myself. Because, as a result of my insecurity, I would start listening to the beginning of the math student’s explanation of their research, trip over the first unfamiliar term I heard, lose the thread of what they were talking about, give up, and zone out. The math students, overall, just seemed light years ahead of me.

A critical vocabulary word that I began to mentally tie to the situation—slumming, these math types were slumming when talking to us biologists—was the grain of sand to my insecurity’s oyster. By the time I got my diploma a few years later, it had developed into a little pearl; now I had the feeling that I was, relative to those who’d come from a math background, a fake computational biologist.

Unhelpfully, the people in charge of hiring for the jobs I want nowadays seemed to agree. All the job listings I was interested in applying for made me feel the same panic that advanced math symbols on powerpoint slides did. The subjects they wanted their applicants to have experience in—machine learning, deep learning, regression analyses—were all frightening, impregnable terms, reminding me either of some kind of giant machine made up of endless tubes and valves, all spitting dangerously hot steam, or of a highly secure, underground bomb shelter that requires fingerprints or eyeball scans to get into. I knew from my previous learning experiences that if I didn’t understand the fundamentals and learned only the higher-level, applied stuff, it was just going to make me feel unworthy, and I’d forget it at once.

But summer had come—it was midsummer now, in fact. The pandemic wasn’t going anywhere, so what was I going to do if I didn’t start learning something? I ended up registering for three classes at a community college back home, which offered their fall semester online. For two thousand dollars, including textbooks, I got a spot in Introductory Statistics, Linear Algebra, and Calculus III.

Calculus III was a risk. I’d taken Calc I and II in undergrad, now about seventeen years ago, and I had earned Bs back then. I didn’t remember much of the material from either class. I’d tried watching Khan Academy videos at various points in the meantime, but could never stick with it. I’d watch several videos in a row, feel like I understood things, try a practice problem, get it wrong, and forget about it after a day or two. But now, I had put actual money into it and, in a few months, a grade would be spit back out, so this time I had real skin in the game.

But I had misgivings that I was too old to learn new stuff, or that I would be one of those students I remember when I was in undergrad, the older students who would grind class to a halt with their endless questions. Or maybe I would get worse grades than I had in undergrad, despite taking things more seriously now.

Two of the classes were taught asynchronously, meaning each lecture was a video that you could pause or replay at your leisure, and all tests were take-home, but the other class, Statistics, was done over Zoom. You might think a Zoom class could be a better way to learn—clarifying questions can be asked immediately, for instance—but for me, at least, it was not. Instead of focusing on the material being taught, the whole time I’d be thinking, “They can see me. Everyone here can see me. I can see me, and I have a dumbass expression on my face. Can they tell that I have a bedsheet instead of a curtain over my window blinds?”

My mind wandered during class just as much as it had while sitting in a lecture hall when I was eighteen, but now, these classes were held later at night, after I’d been working all day and had eaten dinner. As a result of this, and the fact that I find Statistics to be boring when it’s taught as a series of don’t-worry-about-how-we-derived-it formulas to plug numbers into, I did the worst in Statistics.

But Calc and Linear Algebra were more interesting. When I watched the class videos, I got familiar with the disembodied voices of the teachers, who each seemed to be trying to do an impression of Khan Academy videos. My Calc teacher, with his strong Vietnamese accent, would punctuate every few lines of derivation or proof with, “So what does that mean then?” Every time—new topic, new chapter, new problem, exactly the same tone of voice: “So what does that mean then?”

Eventually, in my head, his cadence merged with the tones of Woody Woodpecker’s laugh, and I began saying it to myself as I did chores around my apartment. “So what does that mean, then?” I’d half-sing at my garbage can liner as I cinched it shut. “So what does that mean, then?” I’d say to a wrinkled button-down shirt, enjoying the pepper shaker-y smell of my iron when it’s turned up to its hottest setting. “So what does that mean, then?” I’d say to the window blinds, when considering whether I should replace the bedsheet I’d hung there with an actual curtain, before answering myself that No, this apartment is too temporary for something as tony as curtains.

Sometimes I’d say it three times in a row, like Woody Woodpecker himself:

“So what does that mean, then?”

“So what does that mean, then?”

“So what does that mean, then?”

I kept a Google Sheet of how much time I spent doing work for each class, and found that I averaged about 20 hours a week total. That broke down to approximately an hour and a half each weekday, and on Saturday and Sunday I would go for about six or seven hours each. I’d get up at 7:30 those weekend mornings and brew a pot of coffee, then sit taking notes and working through every part of each assigned homework, not moving on from a problem until I understood everything about it.

I think that those Saturday and Sunday mornings may have been the happiest I felt during the year 2020. In the middle of a difficult Calc problem, not having the answer yet but certain I was on the right track, while also buzzing on caffeine, as a beam of early horizontal sunlight hit my kitchen backsplash and filled the apartment with more brightness than all my lightbulbs put together, I for once did not feel worried. I was unworried about my parents, my sisters, my brother, my sister-in-law, my niece and nephew, and all the pets. Unworried about COVID, or cancer, or the work stresses of the week. Unworried about getting older, about being alone still, or about enjoying being alone too much; unworried about letting all of this time go by and still feeling like real life hasn’t started; unworried about my dad having another stroke, or about my mom just suddenly up and dying out of nowhere, or cancer, or whether my hairline is changing, or the fact that my heart has been skipping a beat sometimes lately, or whether my friends who I speak to on the phone were getting sick of me, or whether I am too graphic when I describe symptoms I am afraid mean I might have cancer, or whether my apartment neighbors will keep me up with their noise again tonight, or whether the tooth sensitivity I feel drinking cold water lately means I need to risk a dentist visit during a pandemic, or whether I will be able to have healthier boundaries with my parents whenever I return to the northeast, or whether I’ll ever feel truly satisfied and content, or whether I’ll ever feel actual joy some day, or whether my hang-ups, and anxieties, and fears, and regrets about my personal and professional choices will end up all ganging up on me at once, or, of course, whether at any given moment, I might have cancer.

My attitude going into the classes was that I would disregard whatever grades I got and simply aim for as much comprehension as possible. But about halfway through the semester, I lost my nerve and began to think of my grades as a direct indicator of my level of understanding. So I started fretting about my grades, and on days of Calc III exams during the second half of the semester, I took vacation time so I could spend the whole day working on them.

It got a little crazy toward the end, but finally, it was over, and I managed to get all As. That made me happy, even if I knew that that kind of satisfaction is a bit immature. But I felt like I was making up for some of the sins I had committed as a college student, my laziness and my previous lack of appreciation for education finally, in a small way, absolved.

*

I spent Christmas here in Texas. When I think back on Christmases from previous years I find that I can remember the past two years very well because I flew home and packed a lot of family and friend time into a few short days. Before 2018, though, I can’t remember any specific Christmas well enough to recount anything that happened on the day.

But when I was a little kid, I remembered each Christmas perfectly, mainly due to the gifts I got and the room where we put the Christmas tree—where “Christmas happened”: in 1990, it was in the back room and we got a magic set, and also my brother pretended to faint when he saw he’d gotten Reebok Pumps. In 1991, it was in the family room, and my brother and I got the Nintendo game “Base Wars.” In 1992, it was in the living room and we got a Sega Genesis along with the game “Sonic 2.” In 1993, it was in the family room again, and I got a Hot Wheels Key Force car, and my brother got the Genesis game “Hard Ball 3 With Al Michaels.”

In 1994, my grandfather died a few weeks before Christmas, and we got a Sega CD. That was the year I became aware that the Christmas spirit was vulnerable to external forces, one’s first experience with death being the most offensive of those forces, and after a few months I also became aware that a hot new gaming console like the Sega CD could “fail,” slipping into obscurity with a small and unremarkable library of games. As a result, the indestructible-seeming sheen of Christmas fell away, leaving behind a better idea of what Christmas really is: a bare, thin-glassed lightbulb plugged into the middle of the year’s darkest period. After 1994, I can’t really remember what happened each Christmas.

This past Christmas will always be memorable, though, because I spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day pretty much doing one of three things: playing Quake (yes, that hobby still refuses to die), watching something Star Wars-related, or video chatting with my family. At any time when I wasn’t speaking to family, I had Christmas music playing in the background, including while Star Wars was on. I turned the heat up in my apartment to 75 degrees and enjoyed how money-wastingly hot it was getting, until my nose started to bleed from the dry air.

I want to take this opportunity to say that I much prefer Christmas Eve to Christmas Day. Christmas Eve is generally all anticipation and guest arrivals, buoying the mood long into the falling night. From the viewpoint of Christmas Eve, any miracle might happen the following morning. But then after a late, over-buttered breakfast on Christmas Day, there’s nothing much else to do except think about cleaning up and regret how much you’ve eaten. The “anything could happen” feeling is now all gone, collapsed from a dazzling infinity’s worth of possibilities down to one homely outcome.

I hadn’t put up any decorations for my apartment, unless the Christmas music can be considered a decoration. This ended up being a good thing, though, since I didn’t have to take anything down once the holiday was over.

*

I started taking walks pretty early in the pandemic, my first walk happening after about one week of lockdown. That day there was a surprisingly large amount of people also walking. We all stayed far away from one another, since none of us were wearing masks—the width of even a modest suburban Texas street is still impressively wide, so there was no safety issue. I always took the initiative to be the one who crossed the street if I saw someone, exaggeratedly swinging my arms as I crossed so the person walking toward me could see my intentions even from far away. I did this because I figured it would be harder for the dog-walkers to wrangle their dog across the street and get out of my way, and the people without dogs were either old or were walking in a group.

In the beginning I was walking maybe twice a week, which then became three times, which became five. It held at five times a week during the fall semester because I’d have to be on Zoom from 6:30-8:30 PM Tuesdays and Thursdays, which took up the whole span of time in which I would usually walk. Nowadays, no longer taking classes, I walk every night.

For a while, I tried to get home before sunset, because I’m afraid of being hit by a car in the dark. After the clocks shifted back, I had to choose between walking earlier, during rush hour when everyone was arriving back at their houses from work, or waiting to walk until after the sun has set. I ended up buying one of those reflective construction worker’s vests for $8 on Amazon and waiting for nighttime. I feel like a dork when I wear the vest, but most of the people walking at night who I see are also wearing reflective clothes. Theirs are more chic than my vest, though, looking like they were ordered through an expensive fitness-wear catalogue. I’d buy the same type, but to me, walking is a meditative, solitary act, and I don’t want to feel that I’m catering to externalities like looking stylish while I’m trying to feel solitary. It also acts as a tacit acknowledgement that I’m not a criminal: “I’m making myself as visible as possible! I’m not casing your houses to break into them later on!”

Even though the focus of COVID is on the transmission of disease through shared, respired air, I still pay a lot of attention to contaminated surfaces. When I go out anywhere, I have a routine: first, I put on my going-out clothes (newly clean), then my shoes, which are possibly dirty, since I have to re-tie them sometimes with unwashed hands, so before I touch anything else after tying my shoes, I wash my hands. Then, I put on a mask, turn off all the lights except the one at the front door, pick up my keys with my right hand, slip my phone into my left pocket, and walk to the door. I put my keys in my right pocket (my wallet is already there), open the door with my right hand, turn out the light, step out the door, and take the keys out of my pocket to lock the door with, again, only my right hand.

I use my right hand pretty much everywhere outside—to push or pull open doors, to open my car to retrieve something from it, to open my mailbox and carry my mail in—because I know that if I use my left hand, my phone-operating hand, I’m going to have to put the phone into a little UV light phone-sterilizing box that I bought when I get home. And for some reason, I feel like it’s a small moral failure to have to use that UV box, so I try to keep my left hand from touching anything except for the phone. But I know that if I drive anywhere, all bets are off—both my hands touch the steering wheel, my left hand touches the car door handle while getting out, and I push open doors with both hands whenever I get somewhere. I’m sure that my left hand ends up touching something that may have SARS-CoV-2 on it as I carry out an errand, and therefore into the UV box my phone must go when I get home. But, when I go out to walk, there’s a good chance that I won’t need to touch anything with my left hand between leaving the apartment and coming back. If that’s the case, I can use my phone freely while walking if I want to, but when I get home, I can still just take it from my pocket and place it on my desk, no ultraviolet sterilizing waves needed. But of course then I still have to wash my right hand.

The walk is the same route every night now. It’s a vaguely circular, level 2.7 miles, starting northbound, bearing west, south, then east. It takes about forty minutes for me to walk the whole thing, plus or minus four minutes, depending on how warmed up I get while walking. My heart rate generally goes up to about 115 beats per minute for most of the walk, according to my watch, then spikes to 135 as I climb the stairs to my fourth floor apartment at the end.

Insulated by the sound of music or an audiobook on my headphones, and with my hands stuck in my pockets, actually holding onto the cloth pocket linings themselves, I feel less like a person on a walk and more like someone steering a large, inertia-filled thing—a sailboat that I have to tack against an unfavorable wind, or a bobsled whose blades I have to turn out of deep ruts on the ice. But despite feeling bodily awkward, I find suburbia to be a soothing place to move through. I really don’t understand how some people think of the suburbs as some kind of dystopia, to be honest. My neighborhood has wide streets, as I mentioned, and the houses are almost all ranch-style. The trees, like the houses, are shorter than they are in the northeast. Some of the trees look more like very tall shrubbery. As for the ground, the blades of grass are wider, and the soil is just a bit sandier. Sometimes, I see two-inch-long cockroaches, what people back home would call “water bugs,” creeping across the sidewalks.

I can’t remember the names of the streets on the walk, except for Forrest Street, which I noticed once when I saw the street sign while I was running and it made me think of “Run, Forrest, run!” and Kenilworth Street, which has the same name as a street back at home. Other than those, I only know points along the route by the informal names I’ve assigned to them. There’s a road where it changes direction from heading north to heading east, and it looks over a little park. The lack of houses there gives an unobstructed view of the western horizon. For that reason, I call that part of the route “Sunset Bend.” At another point on the route there is a house where, in the beginning of lockdown last spring, a family was always outside, the parents sitting motionless in Adirondack chairs while their kids all went nuts on the front lawn, playing with the sprinkler, or doing hopscotch, or sitting at one of those tiny plastic picnic tables, playing some board game. That part of the walk I called “Kidville.”

There were other houses that were always so inactive, so abandoned-seeming—the blinds were always closed and there wasn’t a car in the driveway—that I started to wonder if anyone lived there at all, and whether maybe the neighborhood association was mowing its lawn to stave off the shabbiness. But after the switch from walking in daylight to nighttime, I saw that some of those houses, while still shut up and silent, had lights on inside in rooms not facing the street. Looking at those houses is like staring into the vents of a space heater in a dark room.

Eventually I started thinking about how the walk is exactly 2.7 miles. Then, idly, I realized that if you multiply 2.7 by 30, you get 81. That number of years, eighty-one, seems like a decent amount of years to hope to live—it’s not greedy, you’re not asking for a hundred years, for example—but also, maybe when I get closer to 81, there will be better medical treatments and 81 will seem younger. Assuming that doesn’t happen, though, I think of 81 years as more or less “a complete life.” It is very sad, but not exactly a tragedy, to die at 81.

With this in mind, I started translating the distance along my walk to human ages. For instance, 1.0 miles into the walk, times 30, would equal 30 years. And 1.2 miles times 30 would equal 36 years, which is how old I am now. Since by the time I’d discovered this “conversion formula,” the walk was already so familiar to me that I had a very good perspective on how far into the walk any given point felt—the precise moment when I sense that I’m transitioning from the middle to the end phase of the walk, for example. So when I came up with the multiply-by-30 conversion formula, I was interested to see exactly what part of the walk 1.2 miles, or 36 years old, corresponded to.

The answer is that it was later in the walk than I’d hoped. The moment I reach 1.2 miles is long past the most scenic parts of the route; it’s just after a left turn that puts me on a long straightaway of modest houses leading to an arterial road, known to me as the hook-around part of the circuit where in past walks, I had thought, “Now I’m on my way back home.”

Over the next few evenings, I noted other points, ones that had come before the 1.2 mile marker, and compared them to parts of my already-lived life: I graduated high school at 0.6 miles into the walk, which was the beginning of Sunset Bend. I got my master’s degree in a spot where, at nighttime, a streetlight shines through the leaves on a tree, giving the street a dance hall, disco-ball kind of lighting (hence, “Disco Point”). That friendly, lighted patch of street, with a jaunty-looking house standing next to it, makes it my favorite part of the walk. As for points I have not yet reached: still ahead of my current age distance, at around 1.5 miles, is Kidville, but I haven’t seen anyone in the front yard there in months now.

Toward the end, almost back home, there’s a large school property. I’ve never seen anyone on the grounds, except for the occasional person who sneaks onto the running track to jog it. Along one of the fences that borders the school, in springtime last year, someone started zip-tying laminated sheets of paper with jokes written on them to the chain links. The jokes are all clean, and pretty lame—these days it seems like almost all kid-friendly jokes are just puns, like “How did the farmer find his wife? He tractor down!”

One time, I saw a kid about ten years old on his bike, riding along the sidewalk and stopping to read each joke. The fence ends at a small park for toddlers. There’s a big plastic sign at the entrance of the park, faded but still legible, that has a boy’s name displayed on it. Below his name is written a tragically short span of years, and below that, a message: “This park is dedicated to the memory of (the boy’s name), and to all of the little tykes of (the neighborhood).” Whoever it was putting up jokes on the schoolyard fence stopped replacing them with new ones some time during the fall, and I walk too late to ever see anyone playing at the playground. Well, that’s not quite true: very rarely, around 9 PM on warm nights, I might see what appears to be a young mother scrutinizing her phone as her kid swings in the dark.

*

I haven’t been to the gym to lift any weights since lockdown started. I’ve been able to do cardio in my apartment, but the result of all the cardio and all the walking is that I’ve lost a decent amount of lifting strength, as well as about ten pounds. This is consistent with how life in general has evolved: I have also reduced the list of spaces I travel to, leaving my apartment only to go to work, to pick up groceries, and to walk through my neighborhood. My body, and the edges of my life, have gone through a great miniaturization, but my perspective has adapted with it—each feature within this smaller space seems more detailed, and the day’s moments are of a finer grain. Inside my apartment, I have realized how much the lighting affects the atmosphere, and as a result the mood, so I can change which lights are on when to reflect the mood of each time of day. When I walk at night, sometimes I have the same feeling I did the week before I moved here from New Jersey, a sort of farewell feeling. That feeling started in the fall as a dessert-like flipside to my happy mornings spent doing math homework. Those evenings, I also felt like I was saying goodbye, to a more insecure, more ignorant version of myself, I guess. Nowadays, I get the feeling that I’m saying goodbye to the person who had, until now, always feared that he was missing out on things.

There will be a time, closer to now than now is to the beginning of the pandemic, when I will leave Texas. I will be happy and relieved to return home, whenever that is. But at the same time, there’s a new feeling that is starting to take root, and it’s a weird one: for all the hardship that the pandemic has presented to me, the anxiety for my family and the limitations it’s put on my mobility, social life, and career, for more than ten months now, its most memorable effect, unless I’m affected by the illness itself, will be that it made me love my neighborhood. I have walked more than 500 miles of it over the months, and scores of miles remain to be walked before I move away. I’ve walked during steaming afternoons, during cloudy sunsets, in pre-dawn twilight on cool mornings, and during soft, breezy evenings. It’s always picturesque, pleasant, very green. The houses look inviting, and the dog-walkers wave to me. I listen to music that suits my mood and do the geographical equivalent of palm reading. That’s all, really.

Can a person love a place? Feel gratitude toward landscaping, houses, parked cars, and people viewed only from a distance? Can someone feel affinity to a fox seen in a churchyard and streetlights shining through leaves in the night? Affection for lawn mower exhaust, for the noise of an approaching SUV slowly carving out a bend? Love for landmarks that correspond to moments in one’s past, or to moments that one might encounter in the future?

There will be a time, I hope, when my years in Texas are far in the past. But some day, I will hear a song, or see a house with a certain architecture, or smell a variety of grass, and Texas will return to me. At the same time, I also hope that it isn’t too overwhelming. I’ve found that I can never tell how potent a memory of a particular time or place will be until there’s a lot of distance between me and it. Sometimes, a memory will come gently, settling on me like a haze, ready to be indulged, even laughed at. In such cases I turn up the music that brought the memory, or take a luxuriating whiff of the scent, and I think back on the time, feeling only a little bit sad.

But other memories swoop down like some kind of predatory bird, and in those cases, the nostalgia feels more like the punch of the bird’s talons in the back of my neck. The sense of missing is so strong that it feels less like nostalgia and more like a distilled, portable homesickness. Ridiculously, I’ll even want to return to the memory’s time and place, despite knowing that in reality it had been fraught with pain or unease. Which makes the sneaking feeling growing during this time, at this place, all the more uncanny. I mean, all that this span of time has been, is me, and some terrain, and the wind, and the light of the sun or the moon. No one else. My nostalgia for anything before this was always about times and places with other people. So who will I be missing?

Someone once said, Wherever you go, there you are. But now, I wonder: is that really true?

[iamartemisday]

lokane, spy!au, fake dating, “okay, maybe i’m crazy but did i just hear you say that out loud?” :)

Jane Foster was about to become the youngest person in the state to earn a Ph.D. in astrophysics. That was the only reason she allowed Darcy to talk her into going drinking that night.

Fortunately, Darcy’s version of a night on the town wasn’t as ridiculous as Jane had feared. They, along with two or three of Darcy’s political science friends, stuck to the local bar where all the college kids hung out. It was big, loud, and way too bright for this time of night, but the drinks were good and the live music was pretty listenable. 

She could honestly say she was enjoying herself, and then the bomb dropped.

“Let’s play truth or dare!” Darcy shouted, forgetting for a moment that she was a drunk grad student and not a preteen at a slumber party. “Jane, truth or dare?”

“Why am I going first?”

“Because I called your name first, duuuuh,” Darcy dragged it out until her friends stopped laughing. “Come on, pick! Pick or I’ll pick for you.”

They were all cheering, egging Jane on. The pleasant buzz of alcohol in her brain was already starting to sour. “Fine, dare.”

Darcy’s smile grew. “I dare you to… go flirt with the first hot guy you see.”

The two friends ooohed. Jane glared at them, but they didn’t seem to even know which direction she was in. Sensing no other option beyond arguing with Darcy for an hour (once the girl had an idea in her head it would take the full force of the U.S. Marine Corps to make her consider changing her mind), Jane sighed and took another swig of beer. 

“Okay, here we go…”

There were a couple of attractive guys at the bar. Some of them had dates, others had that distinct ‘Chad’ look of the kind of guy who thought he was a gift from God. Near the corner, a tall man in a black leather jacket sipped on a fancy cocktail, somehow managing to blend in and stick out all at the same time. That he was, to put it mildly, quite easy on the eyes was also worth noting. Jane made the mistake of staring at him for a second too long, and now Darcy was whistling.

“I think you’ve found your target,” she sang. 

“You’re really going to make me do this,” Jane said.

“If it gets you the one thing you need most of all, then of course I will.”

“This guy is going to get me sufficient funding for my research and proper lab space.”

Darcy glared. “The other thing you need most of all. Just go!”

As they chanted her name, Jane started for the bar. She tried to swerve a bit so it looked like she was just getting a refill, but her feet inevitably guided her to the tall man. At first, he ignored her in favor of his drink. It wasn’t until she was standing directly in front of him that he deigned to look her in the eye. 

“Hi,” Jane coughed. 

“Hello,” he said with a crisp British accent that made her shiver. 

“Uh…” she swallowed.“Having a good night?”

“That depends,” the man said, “are you here for me?”

The way he said it struck a weird note. Not enough to set off red flags, but Jane couldn’t help but wish she’d gone with one of the Chads. 

“Er… yes!” She said firmly. “I’m here… to see if you want to get a drink. With me, that is. You know…”

It was as if every drop of beer she’d consumed in the last two hours had all evaporated. Suddenly, Jane was painfully aware of the length of her skirt, the sweat on her cheeks. Even her tongue was too heavy in her mouth. 

The man appraised her like a painting up for sale. When he wasn’t doing that, he was looking to the side for no reason. “Are you… here for the Manhattan?”

Jane blinked. “You mean the drink? I guess I could try it, though I’m not really-”

“What’s your name?” he asked, his voice hardening. He wouldn’t stop looking at the crowd.

“Uh… Jane,” she said.

The man nodded. “Jane, I’m sorry to tell you this, but your life is in danger.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, Jane couldn’t help but laugh. Doubling over, she struggled to regain her composure before she made an even bigger fool of herself. 

“Okay, am I crazy, she wheezed, “or did you actually just say that out loud?”

When she looked up, the man was not laughing. He wasn’t smiling. He looked dead serious.

“Wait,” she said, between dying giggles, “my life is-”

“Excuse me.”

The man had her against the wall. It hit her like a jump cut in an action movie. One second they were two feet apart, making small talk like the strangers they were. Now she was in his arms, her back against the wall, her lips warm on his. 

Jane’s tiny gasp of surprise was lost in his mouth. His arms were like iron, impossible to budge. The height difference meant he had to lift her off her feet. Her shoes scraped the floor uselessly. Any resistance she offered was weak and performative. God, could he ever kiss…

When he drew back, Jane tried to lean in. He dodged her lips, not letting go of her hand even as he pulled away and scanned the crowd. “All right, the men at the door have moved on, but I’m afraid the security footage of our conversation will be on its way to their superiors as we speak. Right this way, please.”

The man led Jane down a dark hallway and through a side door. A sign on the wall read ‘Employee Entrance Only.’ The whole space was painted bright red and reeked of cigarette smoke. Something about that stench dragged Jane back into clarity.

“Wait a minute,” she said, snatching her arm away, “what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m sorry, but we don’t have time for explanations,” the man said.

“Yes, we do!” Jane put her hands on her hips. “Look, I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong idea back there, but my friends dared me to go flirt with someone, so if I don’t get back soon, they’re going to think something’s wrong.”

“If you go back, they will die,” the man said.

Jane opened her mouth, but she didn’t know if it was to scream for help or curse at him for even daring to threaten her and her friends. He didn’t wait for her to decide, dragging her out into the cool night air. Cars lined the streets, including a pair of Ubers waiting for their wasted patrons to gather themselves and come outside. The man had his free hand in his pocket, as if to get his keys, but none of the cars beeped. Was he going to steal one? Was she about to be kidnapped and driven away in the trunk of a stolen car?

“This way,” he said, pointing left. “I had to park a block away so they wouldn’t recognize my car, though since the mission has been compromised, it really doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Let me go!” Jane tried to pry his fingers off. As thin as he looked, he was insanely strong. “I’ll scream for help. I will!”

“I’d prefer you didn’t,” he said, “both because it is rather grating and because it won’t help you in the slightest.”

“You really think you can take those guys in the bar all by yourself?”

An unkempt man huddled in the doorway of the next building over, homeless by all appearances, sprang up and unleashed a barrage of bullets from a machine gun hidden under his frayed jacket. Jane screamed as her new friend shoved her behind a car and returned fire. Though his gun was smaller, his aim was true. He got the man once in the shoulder and then between the eyes. As soon as he went down, three more appeared. One attacked from behind and was quickly dispatched with a knife to the jugular. 

Bullets flew. Voices screamed. Sirens blared. When it was over, the man from the bar was the only one still standing. He checked all the bodies, stealing their weapons and crushing their phones under his boot. 

“I apologize for the mess,” he said. “Frankly, I would’ve preferred you didn’t see any of that, but I suppose it can’t be helped.”

“Uh…” Jane’s jaw was on the ground as she stared at the bleeding bodies. “Uh…”

The man offered her a hand, somehow sensing that this was the most terrifying experience of Jane’s life and that her entire notion of reality had just been put through the wringer. “Come along.”

Jane tried to follow, but her legs felt like iron. “I… what is…” 

“I will explain everything when we are safe,” the man said. “All you need to know is that you’ve stumbled upon a highly delicate international operation and by approaching me, you have given my enemies reason to believe you are involved. It should go without saying this puts you in significant danger.”

“But,” Jane gasped, shaking her head. “I don’t understand. I don’t even know you.”

“You may call me Loki,” he said, guiding her down the street. “I am not at liberty to divulge more information at this time, so let’s get to my car and then I will be happy to answer all of your questions. Is that acceptable?”

The ground swayed. Blood rushed to Jane’s head, pounding in her ears. If it wasn’t for Loki holding her, she would still be on the ground. “I should’ve picked truth.”

As if he knew what that meant, Loki smiled. “We all make mistakes, but as long as you’re with me, this one will not cost you your life.”

That was not nearly as comforting as he thought it was. So it was weird that she kind of believed him...

#Lokane #Chaos Theory #Jane Foster #Loki #prompt fill #ficlet

[meretricula]

I still have not watched The Untamed. Have some fic recs.

So, for context, I've never actually watched The Untamed or read The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation but I have spent the past several weeks chewing my way through the Lan Wangji/Wei Wuxian tag on AO3 (with extensive filters, obviously, I'm not superhuman and I do still have a day job) and I finally got to the end, so: here are the ones I liked the best! I have zero first-hand canon knowledge, so I can recommend them secure in the knowledge that you really don't need to have watched or read canon in order to enjoy them. Have fun!

(For the sake of the experiment, I guess, here is what I think happens in this show: there is a Sunshine One (high French ponytail, mostly wears black) and a Grumpy One (very fancy hairpieces and a ribbon headband, always wears white or pale blue). They are both excruciatingly beautiful. They went to magic school together and the Sunshine One spent a lot of time pulling the Grumpy One's pigtails, but never clued into the fact that the Grumpy One is already very embarrassingly in love with him. Blah blah tragedy, blah blah war crimes, blah blah parting of the ways, Sunshine One adopts an orphan child, continuing tragedy & war crimes, then Sunshine One falls off a cliff while Grumpy One stares in very evocative horror. The .gifsets of this moment are very nice. Grumpy One finds Sunshine One's child, takes him home, and raises him as his own child. Timeskip to when their child is his teens, Sunshine One is resurrected in a different body, identity shenanigans, Grumpy One finally gets to be with the love of his life, there is plot but I don't really care about it, they live happily ever after. I'm supposed to start watching tomorrow so I will finally find out which of my inferences are correct!)

Two vids that I really enjoy and are mostly legible without knowing the show's visual shorthand: NFWMB and a love that won't keep still. Grumpy One's face is truly a work of art.

Some cute modern AUs that really don't demand anything from you in terms of background knowledge: The Simplest Way Forward (they're student musicians in the same orchestra who get green card married so that they can adopt the kid who gets ditched at Sunshine One's door), Window Shopping (they're quarantined in apartments opposite each other and Sunshine One's kid wants to see Grumpy One's pet rabbits), Unstrictly Ballroom (they are ballroom dancers but Sunshine One was unjustly banned from competition years ago and Grumpy One has finally found him working in a strip club; I know it sounds cheesy but it is AGONIZING), A Keen Rabbit Lover (they are both women and grad school students and pining disgustingly for each other when everything gets disrupted by Sunshine One VERY BADLY misinterpreting Grumpy One's drunken confession that she "likes rabbits"), your heartbeat, across the grass (Grumpy One is a soccer superstar and the kid Sunshine One babysits for wants to go to a game; I rec this with the caveat that if you know anything about professional soccer the bits about professional soccer are massively unrealistic), Year Of Night Call (they are extremely codependent trauma surgeons who share an on-call bed), And they were roommates... (they're both women and grad students and wind up living together after Sunshine's family throw her out), Out of the Bin and Into Your Heart (Sunshine comes up with a ridiculous fake-dating scheme to throw off their admirers at the Chinese cultural center; Grumpy plays along for reasons that are blatantly obvious to everyone except Sunshine), "Congratulations, Get Rich" (Sunshine tries to start a tradition of kissing at midnight on Chinese New Year so he'll have an excuse to kiss Grumpy), one good thing (Sunshine is a ghost haunting Grumpy's house and Grumpy just happens to come from a long family line of exorcists), Lifelong Confidant (Sunshine has a happy, normal life as a barista-slash-music-teacher and two roommates he loves, except for the tragic past he never talks about -- which is obviously about to make a dramatic reappearance in the person of Grumpy, one of the judges of a celebrity baking show his roommates watch), how to fall in love with a catfish: a guide by wei wuxian (disaster rat) (college RA and all-around human disaster Sunshine develops an improbable chat relationship with Grumpy, who he assumes is catfishing him by using a moderately famous actor's photos on Tinder but -- obviously -- actually is a moderately famous actor; I don't normally like college AUs but this one is solid and VERY funny); you've ruined my life (by not being mine) (Sunshine and Grumpy met at a summer study abroad program and start texting when they're back in the States but on opposite sides of the country; I also don't normally like high school AUs but this is ADORABLE, if you can stand an excruciatingly slow burn)

Actual canon fic that is pretty easy to follow: my age has never made me wise (Sunshine One wanders off without either of them declaring their feelings and proceeds to pine GROSSLY when he hears gossip that Grumpy One is planning a wedding), A Civil Combpaign (Sunshine One's nephew with whom he has a very tenuous relationship decides he wants to marry Sunshine & Grumpy's only child for "diplomatic reasons"; hilarity ensues; this requires probably the most background knowledge but you'll be able to figure out the relationships from context), Content Warning: Romance (Sunshine One is easily embarrassed by praise, so Grumpy ties him up and tells him how wonderful he is; you will never look at praise kink the same again), the hidden source is the watchful heart (after a year of wandering on his own after the end of the show, Sunshine finally comes home), seldom all they seem (mild canon divergence in which Grumpy and Sunshine are betrothed as children; definitely also read the sequel about Grumpy's beautiful kind-hearted fairy tale prince of a brother and the amoral scheming political mastermind who unfortunately adores him), The Absolutely True Story of the Yiling Patriarch: A Manifesto in Many Parts (their child gets together with his friends and publishes a very popular romance about them in an attempt to rehabilitate Sunshine's reputation, which is not unwelcome but is somewhat puzzling to Sunshine since he is not actually in a relationship with Grumpy), Linger in the Sun (Sunshine joins Grumpy on an educational school field trip investigating a series of hilarious curses, which becomes only slightly less hilarious when Sunshine and Grumpy are the latest victims), come home to my heart (it can have a little bodyswap. as a treat.), anyway, here's wuji (a delightfully over-the-top and melodramatic story about the next generation watching Grumpy and Sunshine eventually get their HEA, and falling in love along the way), hunters seeking solid ground (Sunshine, suffering from years of PTSD nightmares so bad that he may actually be dying of sleep deprivation, finally lets Grumpy give him what he needs and deserves; if you just want to read about someone Suffering, A Lot, so that someone who loves him can make it better, this is the fic and the catharsis is WORTH IT), Grand Pianos Crash Together (uncomplicated post-series get-together fic that's very charming and well done and features an unexpectedly hot first time), My Leaves Reach Ever for the Sun (canon divergence in which Sunshine comes up with a madcap crossdressing scheme in order to attend his nephew's christening and inevitably ropes Grumpy in; this story really needs a beta but there are such sweet and lovely moments in it that I keep coming back to reread it anyway), A Crying Shame (canon divergence in which Sunshine's child cries so much at Grumpy leaving them that he just gives up and stays)

Bonus fics which are not modern AUs but aren't really canon either: all your life you'll dream of this (vaguely canon universe but with some fairy tale elements, specifically Cinderella -- no, really! I swear it's good! Grumpy is Cinderella!), debt of a knife (Grumpy is a warlord who has just claimed Sunshine as his captive bride; the premise sounds kind of dubcon-y but all the sex is consensual), turn towards the sun (Kushiel's Dart AU in which Grumpy and Sunshine are BDSM study buddies)

#fic rec #the untamed

[youcantkillamutant]

The Advocate: Three Weeks Before Finals

Author: youcantkillamutant

Fandom: Marvel (Black Panther)

Pairing: Erik Stevens/Killmonger x Black!OC

Summary: Lex is just trying to get through senior year without failing anything massive, so when she sees a lamb on her running route she ignores it, mostly.

Warnings: Cursing, Mention of Death (Human & Animal)

Words: 3K+

A/N: Hi….Remember me? Yeah. I’m still here, this time with a God!Erik AU. *shrug*. I only own my original characters of course, Marvel don’t sue me I’m broke.

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3 Weeks Before Finals

“Get out!”

“I am. I just wanted to check my—” Flashcards. One can never over-prepare. Right?

“No. Non. Nope. No m’am.” Ruby turned Lex by her shoulders. “You promised last week that you would relax. Pinky promised! So go have your weird picnic.”

“But—”

“No buts! I’m leaving you a bath bomb by the tub, and you better use it when you get back.” Lex felt a wave of affection for Ruby. Over the years she had surpassed roommate status and built herself a home in Lex’s heart. Lex opened her mouth to thank Ruby, but Ruby had already opened the door.

“I know, I’m the absolute best and you love me most. Now go!” With a shove, Lex was out the door and Ruby slammed, screaming a muffled ‘love ya!’ through the wood.

“Love you too Ru.” Shaking her head, Lex made her way to the stairs, sliding on a pair of cat eye sunnies and adjusting the basket on her arm. Today is going to be a nice, wonderful even, but most importantly relaxing, day. Hopefully.

*^*

“So how exactly are you getting out of this Cousin?” Erik was sat in the dungeons of Eko, where the sky meets the earth in a clash of thunder and splash of waves. It’s probably the closest he’s been to the earth below in a few dozen decades. Glossy and clean, the cell wasn’t uncomfortable, especially not for a God, but it was annoying. His prank was harmless, and suddenly the Elders are yelling at him about ‘disrespect’ and ‘ineptitude’.

“First of all, this is ridiculous. It was one prank!”

“One out of a billion.” Shuri noted sharply.

“Exactly! What makes this one so special? Why are the Elders mad about this? They hardly pay attention to us nowadays. Since when are they sticklers for the rules Shu?”

“It is…strange that they’re truly upset with you.”

“See! You know I’m right. Something is going on.”

“You may be right, but you can hardly prove it.”

“Yet. I can’t prove it yet.” Erik’s face had twisted into something fierce and contemplative. Shuri shook her head.

“You know, your scheming is what got you into this mess in the first place. Besides, mother and I have a plan for you. One that the Elders have already approved.” Shuri handed him a file. Erik’s eyebrows shot up, They hadn’t bothered with paper in a few dozen centuries. Then he opened the file.

It had the picture of a girl, cute, but unknown to Erik. She had a warm smile and dark circles under her eyes, wide lips and a button nose. Her name was on the next file, along with her date of birth, age, height, blood type, lineage and even her weight. Apparently, she was a student descended from good stock. If Erik thought back hard enough, he might have remembered fighting with the girl’s great-great-grandfather in some unholy war.

“Who the hell is this?”

“Your Advocate.” Shuri shrugged when Erik recoiled.

“She’s human. She doesn’t even have a degree. Or a drop of godly blood.”

“Actually we’re still running the tests on that one, but that’s not the point. She doesn’t know much about us, but she’s smart and fair. The Elders have approved her. They believe she’ll be unbiased with…everything.”

“Everything? What do you mean everything?”Erik figured he’d be out in a years time, five at most. No longer than a blink for a god his age. The Elders rarely bothered to hold grudges with Gods like him. He was too important for the balance to be indisposed for too long.

“There’s to be a trial.” Shuri could literally see Erik’s anger as veins of gold rose up his arms, trailing towards his neck. “Before you get upset! It was either a trial or immediate exile.” Shuri had expected this to blow the wind out of his sails, but Erik only grew angrier.

“So my only chance of coming out of this is a little human? I’ve never even met the girl!” He pounded on the bars of his cell annoyed that he was beginning to feel the chill of vibranium bars.

“Exactly. I’ve convinced the Elders that if you can convince the Advocate to help you, you deserve a trial. Led by Wakandan law and defended by her of course.” It was actually the most she could get the Elders to agree to. Even as she sat pleading on her knees, the Elders merely raised a brow and nodded in irritated acquiescence.

“Well where is she?” Erik looked around Shuri, but knew his ‘Advocate’ wasn’t around. He would have noticed a human on Eko. He wasn’t the Gatekeeper, but he knew energies.

“Erik, you don’t actually think the Elders would allow her into Eko without you convincing her first.” Erik rolled his eyes ad let his head fall against the wall.

“Now how am I supposed to do that from a cell Shuri?”

“You and I both know you can be resourceful. Pranking is not your only skill.” Erik stared up at the ceiling as Shuri walked away, wishing for the first tie since his imprisonment that his father was still around. At least he could give him some strength. Unfortunately, Erik would have to bolster himself.

“Good luck Cousin!” She didn’t bother saying anything else as she exited the cell. If Erik couldn’t get his Advocate on his side, then those might be the last words she ever said to him. Better to keep them jaunty rather than grave.

*^*

It was hot. Not unbearable, but not ideal either. The sun wasn’t shy today, finally breaking through the clouds that had been hanging over town. Still Lex trundled her way towards her favorite running path on campus. Huge shades covered her eyes, lips pursing in the heat and a wicker basket swinging on her arm. She’d borrowed the basket from the only pair of her friends that she classified as adults: Tom and Lucie. Though they were all around the same age, the couple had a nice little apartment, and emanated an air of togetherness that Lex couldn’t imagine having as a scattered grad student.

Lex pulled out her phone to share her location with Ruby at the entrance to the running path. Nothing had ever happened to her, but plenty of people had plenty of stories. The path was attached to some National Park and so long as you had your university ID, you could get into the thick of it for free.

On a running day, Lex found herself going ten or so miles, but today she just wanted to make it to her favorite little meadow. She wasn’t completely stressed, and so she didn’t need the run to get rid of excess energy pulsing through her. Today was a day to relax. Wiggling her toes in her shoes, Lex set off along the path.

It took nearly an hour, but she made it. By now, sweat made her skin sticky and the breeze came and went every now and then wrapping her tight and releasing her to the relentless heat of the sun. The meadow was just as nice as it always is, quiet and simple. A bed of grass dotted with toadstools, wildflowers and shrouded in peeling sycamores. The sun filtered through the leaves and the wind enticed them to dance, like a nature-made disco ball.

There was a vignette of three old tree trunks, stripped white and smooth. There was one in the center, nearly half her height, and some days, Lex could see bunnies and birds flitting around the area. Not today it seems. She shrugged, pushing away the irrational sadness at not seeing her usual gaggle of woodland creatures today, and shook out her blanket.

Lex kept her head low while pulling out her lunch letting the sun warm her neck for a bit. Remnants of fresh brie cheese were wrapped in kente printed beeswax, water crackers, a freshly chopped apple and another for the road. A turkey and swiss stacked with tomatoes, onions and lettuce on beautifully brown rye bread; fresh bread being one of the only things Lex splurges on weekly. A bottle of tea completed the setting, glass bottle winking in the sunshine.

Lex sank into the blanket, feeling a few blades of grass poking through the soft blanket as the tree roots cradled her. Eyes closed, she inhaled deeply, letting the exhale force any tension out of her body. When she blinked her eyes open, ready to eat, there was a brown lamb next to the tree stump, not even a breath away.

*^*

“I suppose you’ve heard the news Auntie. I’m to convince an ‘Advocate’ to help me.” Erik let out a bark of a laugh. “Can you imagine, the life of a God in the hands of a human. A tragedy for the storybooks, huh?”

“As far as I remember, you’re meant to be convincing that human to help you, so instead of belittling her, why don’t you get to work?”

“I already have. I’m just waiting to see if she bites.” And to see if she’s as ‘fair’ as Shuri says.

Ramonda raised her left brow tempted to ask more of her nephew. Did he not see that his place in the Godly court was at stake? Instead he lazes around in his cell waiting for a human to what? Rise to his bait? Briefly she wondered if this was something he learned from his time in the human world. They had lost track of him when he was small; Chaos and Kindness searched high and low for the little God. Still it took them a decade or so to find him and when they did…Ramonda shook the thought from her head as Erik spoke.

“What are you doing here, my dear Auntie?”

“Since you asked Nephew, I’m here because the Advocate was my idea. And I fear I would be remiss in my duties as your family if I did not help.”

“You’re helping me?” As the Goddess of Order, Ramonda had curled her lip at Ertumke the day he was born. A child born of Chaos and Kindness was never bound to be her favorite. Still she did her duties as a Godmother, not that the child seemed to care.

“Contrary to popular belief I do care about you Ertumke. You’re my nephew. Though irritating and often ridiculously dramatic, you are family. And you were the first to put a smile on T’Challa’s face when his father left.” There was a wave of silence as the sentence settled, but Ramonda breathed life into her body again in an instant. “Shuri did the hard work of getting the Elders’ approval. Now I’m happy to induct the girl but please Ertumke, no games.”

He seemed to think about this for a while, tapping his chin and studying his Aunt. They’d never been particularly close, Erik had always favored Shuri out of the lot of them, but then again, Ramonda had never done him harm. Even now she looked uncomfortable in his presence, but I suppose that makes sense. He is the child of Chaos. Order never sat well with him.

“I asked for Shuri and they sent you.” Erik had clanked an empty cup against the glass of his cage, barked a few orders at a Dora and waited. He should have known they weren’t going to get Shuri. Those demigods never get anything right.

“She’s been in the lab for a while, I wouldn’t want to break her concentration.” Ramonda knew just about everything of Shuri’s life except what happened in her lab. As far as she was concerned it wasn’t her business, or her speed. She’d much rather influence a few architects than spend her time trying to understand Shuri’s latest invention for the world below.

“Oh, Shuri couldn’t help her big cousin cause she’s in the middle of an invention orgy? Good for her.” Erik smirked and stroked his chin.

“That is my daughter you’re speaking about Ertumke.”

Erik shrugged. It’s not like he was actually talking about sex, which would have actually been normal for Gods like him. No, Shuri spent hours and hours in a lab, inventing and came out looking like she had just rolled through sheets with some of Eko’s finest. Still, he said nothing more on the subject, knowing that he should be grateful anyone came down to the dungeons at all. It was such an odd temperature here for Gods. Nearly cold enough to raise goosebumps.

“I would greatly appreciate your help Auntie.” Erik’s voice was more of s rumble than a clear sentence, and Ramonda’s mouth fell open in shock. There is a first time for everything she supposed. Even Ertumke asking another for help.

“Would you like some water? I thought you were choking on your pride for a moment there.” Erik cut his eyes her way with a minimal amount of heat and she laughed.

“I wish you had called for us earlier. You’ve already sent out your, bait?” Erik nodded though Ramonda barely paid him any mind, releasing a heavy sigh. “I’ll be late.” this time Erik really did choke on a laugh.

“You’re worried about being late? You’re a God. We invented time.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being prompt Erik. Especially in a situation like this.” Besides, the Goddess of Order absolutely despised tardiness.

*^*

The lamb merely blinked at Lex. She froze, wondering what the hell was going on. Sure she’d seen rabbits and a few deer on the running path, it was a national park after all, but she’d never seen a lamb. She’d actually never really seen a lamb outside of a petting zoo, and that was ages ago.

This lamb, brown and unmoving, glowed gold in the sun. It’s fur had hints of red and curled like hers, in tiny kinky knots. It’s ear twitched as Lex exhaled and she froze again. The next time she breathed out, it tilted its head towards her.

“Uh…hi.” An ear twitched at the sound of her voice, but that was it. Still, she couldn’t pick up her sandwich, not while that little lamb sat there, looking at her.

Scooping the extra apple out of her basket, Lex approached the tree stumps. The lamb gazed on, black eyes unblinking. She’d taken off her shoes and socks and the grass beneath her feet was warm. The weeds circling the stump of the tree gave way the Lex’s knees as she knelt down to drop the apple before the lamb.

When she glanced up, just for a second, she saw the lamb dripping golden ichor from a crown of black thistles. Surrounded by torches and granite, the lamb was on an alter. But then she blinked, and the image was gone. Shaking her head, Lex wandered back to her blanket and ate her lunch. She was probably imagining things anyways, breakfast had slipped through the cracks in favor of another few hours of studying before Ruby woke up and berated her for it.

Lunch was delicious, the bread and brie especially. As she ate, Lex could feel tension slipping from her shoulders. She’d been coming on this path for years, and there was nothing like sitting out here. The natural sounds coaxed her worries away, and her eyes slipped closed under the sun.

When she woke an hour or so later, the apple was gone along with the beautiful brown lamb.

*^*

“Hallelujah!”

“Ruby, Jesus!”

“You look relaxed! You actually chilled out!” Ruby let out a whoop in Lex’s ear. “Though I see you haven’t used the bath bomb yet.” Ruby leaned into her neck for a whiff. “And you really should.”

“God okay, I just got back Ru.”

“I know, I know. Okay,” She plucked the basket from Lex’s arm and turned her towards the bathroom. “Go take a bath and soak in all of the serenity you found today. I’m ordering us takeout and then we’re watching crap TV!” Lex rolled her eyes as she stumbled to the bathroom.

The sunny day had taken more out of her than she imagined. She could still feel the heat on her skin as she undressed, and couldn’t stop thinking about that lamb. Sure she’d seen bunnies on the trail before, but never a lamb. Turning the hot water on, she let the tub fill as she grabbed her speaker and phone.

Light synth beats and soft piano chords filled the bathroom along with the steam, and Lex twisted the water off. Sitting on the floor, leaning over the edge of the tub, she let the bath bomb plop into the water. Closing her eyes as the bomb fizzed away, her mind drifted. She slipped into the glossy purple water absentmindedly relishing in the heat that prickled every inch of her skin.

This is always the best part of a bath. When the day is done, chores and homework taken care of, and you have to do is let the water ground you. Any movement, even your breath creates a soft current in the tub, encouraging the water to lap at your skin in a continuous embrace. Lex loved this moment, letting her head fall back as her eyes drifted shut.

When she blinked her eyes open, the album was drifting to a close and the lamb was back. In her apartment. In her bathroom. Lex jumped and water sloshed over the tub, crawling towards the lamb. She thought the steam was crafting illusions, but when she rubbed her eyes and blinked them open again, the lamb was still there. Steam swirled through the air as the lamb stood unblinking.

On a whim, Lex reached out a hand, palm open, water dripping from her fingers onto the mess on the floor. There was no way this was actually happening. Ruby would have noticed a lamb walking through the apartment, right?  

“Hey, little one. What are you doing here?” Just like earlier, the lamb cocked its head at her words. Then it stooped down and licked a bit of water from the tiles. When Lex blinked again, the lamb was gone. Lex sat back gazing at the ceiling and wondering what the hell was happening.

It must be the heat. After napping out in the sun, and then a warm bath, she must just be experiencing some extreme heat exhaustion. Or some—

“Lex!” Ruby’s voice was higher than she’d ever heard it before, which raised an alarm. Ruby hated sounding shrill, she said it reminded her too much of her mom. Wrapping herself in a towel Lex hustled out of the bathroom and stopped short. Ruby was sitting on the couch in front of a woman. A woman in glowing robes.

“Um…hi?”

“Hello, Alexandra. I trust you are well.”

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A/N: *peaking out from behind a luscious palm* Hi everyone! I hope you’re all doing well! I never meant to leave things this long, but I got distracted with building stuff to redo my room and then starting a new job just as Rona got her feet on the ground. 

I’ll admit I’m pretty nervous about posting this story. After being away for so long, it feels like I should just dip my feet back in and start slow. I’ll be honest I haven’t written in a WHILE. I’m kind of afraid I forgot how to write? lol *yikes* I’d love to know what y’all think, and I’m going to try to be a little more active in posting this story. 

As I said before, I’ve had this idea rolling around in my head for a year and some change now (I think), and I was inspired by Champion by killmongersgurl.

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