#but it was 2 weeks of migraine hell and i just sort of missed it but would still like to ask if you wanna talk about them!!

[retrogradedreaming]

can i hear about “every kind of grief in one fic”? :)

YES how did you know this is my Favorite Fic of the Moment?? I'm literally working on it as we speak

tw: grief, parent death, grandparent death

I started this fic when I found out my grandfather was dying a couple months ago, but it's kind of carried through the combined grief that goes with his death and the grief of a relationship that is an end but not a death. Because I have to project somewhere, y'know?

The story itself is basically a little (it's not little) side fic of my own characters, and since I write mostly h/c (and mostly sickfic even within that), it's about one character dealing with the death of his father, trying to reach out to a close friend he's lost touch with (and wants the comfort of), while sick and suffering. Since one of those things on its own wouldn't be enough. But here's a little snippet:

Will scanned the sea of black from the pulpit. The paper in his hands had long since become a crumpled mess, ink bleeding at the corners where he’d touched it with tear-damp fingertips. He’d practiced the words, said them over and over since he wrote them three days ago, until he’d memorized most of them. And yet now, with so many faces staring back at him and so many expectations attached to saying the right words, saying them without his voice cracking even as his throat had become scratchy with grief, they vanished from his mind.  He glanced at the paper, the letters swimming before him. He blinked. Swallowed. Looked up.

He surveyed the crowd one last time, noting the absence of the one person he’d hoped would show, despite the odds. He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up—they’d hardly spoken in two years. It shouldn’t surprise him that Jasper had moved on. After all, the texts were more out of courtesy than an expectation.

I didn't really expect this fic to end up meaning as much to me as it does, but it's been a place for me to grieve and process. It won't be posted anywhere, probably won't even be shown to anyone, but right now it's 18 pages of Will getting through the funeral and then like 12 pages in, he finally gets the comfort he deserves.

#it feels so weird sharing oc fic here #don't get me wrong i like it but still weird!! #i didn't know how much info to actually include about it since they're mine and i didn't wanna ramble too much #but yeah this story is shameless projection #i'm proud of it but when i talk about it it sounds like such a dumb little thing #eli writes #also brooke are you still answering these for your own wips because i wanted to send asks when everyone was doing them #but it was 2 weeks of migraine hell and i just sort of missed it but would still like to ask if you wanna talk about them!! #sorry i just kind of talked about my saddest wip (that's a lie it's the second saddest grief story is the saddest) #death tw #grief tw

[thecutestlittlebunbunfairy]

I’ll Be Home for Christmas - Chapter 7

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Fic Summary:  When (y/n) is invited home for Christmas, Bucky volunteers to play the role of “dutiful boyfriend” and to fend off questions from annoying relatives, especially her parents. All the while both of them harbor secret feelings for one another.

Chapter Summary: The Boiling Point

Chapter Word Count: 2200~

Previous Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6

Masterlist

It was Christmas Eve.  What was supposed to be perhaps, the second happiest day of the year for you, was slowly turning into a nightmare. Maybe it was the lack of sleep (Bucky, for all his charms, snored louder than a freight train and he’d kept hogging the blankets), or maybe the migraine from the lack of sleep, but what it really was, was your dad.

              All day, he’d been grating. Spending 20 minutes bitching about how some singer and her girlfriend had done a cover of ‘Baby It’s Cold Outside’ because “it’s supposed to be sung by a couple.” Then he’d tried to pitch a fit about you and Bucky wanting to watch Muppets Christmas Carol, calling it “Too modern.” (Thankfully your mom had shut that down.)

              Now as you and her worked on a puzzle, Bucky was watching football with your dad who was trying to make conversation. In the worst way.

              “I bet you miss things from your time huh?” your dad asked. Bucky wiggled his hand back and forth some.

              “Some things yes. Definitely the price of movies.” He joked.

              “Yeah, but I bet there’s other things. Like, when celebrities just shut up and made music, and kept their fucking politics out of everything.”  He gestured to the tv where Chris Evans was giving an interview on the news about something political. “Back when celebrities like Eartha Kitt sang Santa, Baby and just went about their business.” You scoffed, but said nothing.

              “Well, I mean. Eartha Kitt was a huge activist for LGBT+ community…” Bucky started but your father injected “That was later. I mean in the 40s.”

              “Well, I mean. Sort of…” Bucky said. But your dad kept going.

              “It’s worse in sports you know. All those football players kneeling and not standing for the flag. It’s a disgrace, am I right? Just like all those thugs going out and rioting.”

              “Well, actually I support them. They’re protesting in a way that is not disrespectful, but might make people uncomfortable.” Bucky said firmly. “Besides, I’m a man who trusts a black man with my life. So when he thinks something's wrong in this country, I tend to shut up and listen."

              “They should still accept their punishments. They don’t actually want to change anything. They just want to whine about ‘racism’ and pretend they’re better than everyone. Like…what’s his name? T’chaka, or something like that.” The glass in Bucky’s hand cracked ever so slightly.

              “T’Challa.” He said, quietly.

              “Yeah him. He thought he was so much better than everyone. Hiding such a large amount of technology he could be using to help people. And then what happened? He died of cancer. Karma got his ass. And then he left his drama queen of a sister in charge.” Your dad said. The only thing you heard was the glass smash onto the floor and when you looked up, Bucky standing over your dad, breathing heavily.

              “Now you listen here, you fucking shit. That man and his sister have done more to help people than you do to help your own family. His death is not ‘karma.’ Karma is having to be stuck in this hell with you.”

              “What are you talking about?” your dad said, you stood up from the couch as Bucky continued.

              “For the past week, I’ve watched you make an ass out of yourself and make life hell for your daughter. You’ve belittled her and her work, her feelings, all from the first night I met you. And now you judge and try to put down a man who saved my life and nearly gave his own countless times? Not while I’m around.”

              “Well, you know what, I’m sorry you feel that way pal. But here in the united states and not in whatever soviet Russian freezer they let you out of, we’re entitled to our opinions. And I would think twice about threatening me. (y/n)’s boyfriend or not I will have you removed from my household if need be.”

               “Dad, knock it off.” You spoke up.

              “Shut up, this doesn’t concern you.” Your dad yelled.  Bucky stopped between the two of you.

              “What the fuck did you just say to her?”

              “I’ll say whatever the fuck I want to her. She’s my kid and she’ll respect me or she’ll get the fuck out.”

              “You know what? Gladly.” You spoke up, heading to your room and quickly starting to just throw things into your suitcase. How fucking dare he. You always knew your father was a right-wing conservative asshole, but what he’d just said was…unimaginable. And threatening to throw you and Bucky out. “Merry fucking Christmas.” You muttered under your breath. You were halfway through when Bucky came through the door.

              “Doll, wait.”

              “No, you’re right, I want to leave. That was just…and what he said to you.”

              “And you…” Bucky said, but you only nodded. Bucky stepped closer.

              “And. You.” He said more firmly. But again, you just nodded and mumbled something that sounded like “yeah I guess” Bucky took your face in his hands.    

              “And. You.” Before you could say another word, Bucky kisses you, deeply. When he pulled away you were in shock.

              “Bucky, thank you but…there’s no reason to kiss me. No one’s here.”

              “There is doll. But I just…I can’t…” he said. He looked to your bag. “Are we leaving?”

              “Yes, there’s a B&B not too far. If not there’s a chain hotel 15 minutes on the highway.” You said. He packed while you waited quietly, your mind awash in thoughts. Bucky kissed you with no one around. Could that? No…it couldn’t. Bucky thankfully packed quickly and you two were headed back down stairs where your father and mother had been arguing; your mom trying to get your dad to apologize but your father screaming some bullshit about respect. You weren’t even sure they saw you leave.

              The two of you were quiet in the car. You’d given Bucky the directions and were headed to the local b&b. You wanted to say something, anything. Mostly you wanted to ask why he had kissed you. You turned to see Bucky clenching the wheel tightly and you could practically see the gears turning in his head. You weren’t’ sure what to do, but decided trying to talk to him was your best bet.

              “Bucky…” but before you could finish the thought, he pulled the car off the road, getting out of the car and walking towards the front. He let out a huge yell before slamming his metal hand against the hood, surely leaving a dent. You stayed in your seat as Bucky leaned against the hood, even though it was starting to rain.

              Taking a deep breath and deciding enough was enough, you got out and came to stand next to him. “Bucky listen…”

              “You can take me to the airport, it’s fine. I’ll see you after the holidays.” He said.

              “Wait, what?”

              “I ruined everything. This was a mistake.”

              “Bucky, no. You didn’t do anything. My dad is an asshole. If anything, it’s my fault…”

              “Stop. Your dad was right. I’m just some monster out of a freezer. Certainly not fit to be your boyfriend.” You swore you saw tears in his eyes. This time, it was your turn to wrap your arms around him in comfort.

              “Bucky, you are a not a monster. You’re one of the nicest, most caring people I’ve ever met and I…” you tried to find the words.

“I love you, (y/n).” Bucky said, hardly above a whisper.

“I know,” you sniffed, wiping a few tears away. “I love you too Buck. You’re one of the best friends I have.”

“No, doll. I LOVE you.” He stressed. You turned to look at him.

              “You…?” you were at a true loss for words.

              “I always thought…I could never be good enough for you. Hell, I still think I’m not good enough. But damn if I don’t want to spend the rest of my life trying to be.” He said, tears starting to run down his cheeks, mixing with the icy rain. You stood there in disbelief.

              Bucky loved you…actually loved you. You couldn’t believe it. But when you looked into his steel blue eyes, you saw nothing but truth.

Truth and love.

You grabbed his face in your hands and pulled him close, kissing him. His hands rested on your shoulders, but slowly moved down to your waist, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss. It was real. This was real. You eventually pulled away from the kiss, breathing heavily while the rain picked up.

“We should…” Bucky started.

“Yeah.” You finished and both of you rushed back into the car, but didn’t drive off yet. Bucky immediately turned the heat up and you pressed your hands to the vents.

“Where do you wanna go, doll?”

“I don’t know, honestly. My mind is just…”

“Yeah, Mine too.” Bucky said. You two were quiet for a few more moments before Bucky pulled out his phone and tapped away, then he started driving.

“I thought we were going to try to the B&B?” you asked.

“Yeah, but it’s Christmas and we’re doing this right.” He said with a small smirk. You opened your mouth, but he was just so charming that despite your confusion, you just smiled and listened to the Christmas music as Bucky drove.

You dozed off a just briefly and when you awoke, Bucky was pulling into what looked like a castle. A sign advertised the building as ‘Norumbega Inn’ and it was a gorgeous stone building, windows glowing with warmth as the sun set.

“Wow, Buck…” you said in awe as he came around to your side

“I told you, I wanna do this right.” He said, opening your door, then going to grab your bags.

“You sure they have a room?” you asked.

“No, but we’ll find out.” Bucky said, as the two of you headed in

Once inside, you were bathed in Christmas and warmth. A beautiful pine tree with red and gold ornaments sat in the center of a sitting area and a fire roared in the fireplace by a bar, occupied by a bartender who looked more than ready to go home. You saw the girl behind the counter, who was very focused on her phone, not that you blame her. You two stepped up to the counter and cleared your throat, making her instantly look up from the phone.

“Welcome to the Norumbega Inn, how can I help you?”

“Hi, yes, were wondering if you had a room available.” You said and the receptionist huffed a little.

“Well, I’m not entirely sure, do you have any ID?” she asked, looking at her screen. You opened your wallet and had an idea.

              You handed the woman your ID and corporate Stark Industries credit card and instantly the receptionist’s eyes went wide.

              “Oh my apologies, I didn’t realize…is Mr. Stark coming here?” You and Bucky exchanged a look before you turned back to the woman and said

              “To be honest, I’m not 100% sure. He just told me to get a room.” Bucky started to snicker but coughed to cover it.

              “It does appear the Familial Suite is available. 3 bedrooms, small den area, and full bathroom with jacuzzi. Does that sound alright for Mr. Stark?” You smiled, Merry Christmas indeed.

              “That sounds lovely.” You answered back, taking the keycard from her. AS soon as you and Bucky had walked out of earshot, the two of your burst out laughing.

              “And you said I was the trickster.” Bucky joked.

              Once settled in the room, you sat on the bed while Bucky pulled a chair up, sitting across from you.

              “I just…I don’t know where to start.” You said. “I guess…for a while, I’ve…I’ve liked you, but I was always worried to tell you because I just thought…I didn’t think you would never be interested in me.”

              Bucky took your hands in his. “I’ve liked you too, (y/n). But that changed to love once you started to show me everything about the future and I got to see through your eyes how wonderful the world could be…and you made me feel like I could be deserving of love. I just…I didn’t think you’d want someone like me. And when you told me about this family thing, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to get you alone but then your family.”

              “I know, I’m sorry…” you started.

              “No. You don’t have to apologize for anything. You are not responsible for their actions. Especially not after all they’ve done to you.”

              “Done to me?” you said, trying to play dumb and push the subject away

              “(y/n), come on. I saw that every time your father said something or your mom complained, it hurt you.” Bucky said. And you crossed your arms over your chest. “Doll, please. Don’t shut me out.”

              “No, no. My parents… they’re just…” You tried to think of any of the excuses you’d used, but Bucky saw you. You let out a sigh. “They were always like that. Always putting me down, never making me feel like I was good enough, and not to mention my father’s gaslighting.” A tear ran down your cheek and Bucky brushed it away.

              “I’m here now, doll. And I’m not going to let anyone or anything hurt you.” He hugged you close. And there, warm in his arms, everything just felt right.

              “Bucky…” you started.

              “Hmmm?”

              “I want…” you said, feeling your face start to heat up. “I want to give you your Christmas present.”

#Bucky x Reader #Bucky Barnes #Christmas #Fluff #Christmas fluff #fake dating au #marvel #Marvel Fanfiction

[theoriginalladya]

Intimacy Prompts #20: a hand written note for rydenko.

from this list

on AO3 here

Thank you so much for this one!  Sorry it took so long - I had an idea, but I got side tracked by other things! :)  Enjoy, my friend!  And thank you for asking about them!

Setting:  Andromeda Galaxy

~~~

It all begins as a joke.

Once his status as Pathfinder is officially recognized, the Initiative administrators cannot act fast enough to guarantee they have Kaidan Alenko on their side.  As the Nexus slowly opens, finally coming out of hibernation, the administrators agree they need to do something.  So, they give him an apartment.  

Scott has his father’s quarters back on the Hyperion, most of the others have their own quarters or stay on the Tempest, but all Kaidan has available to him is a cryo-pod, one that’s no longer useful now that he’s awake.  He doesn’t ask for anything, doesn’t even drop a hint.  Tann reminds him of others back in the Milky Way, even acts similarly, but he’s a crafty one, too.  In a move that is supposed to look as if the Initiative cares about their Pathfinders, they assign their lone Pathfinder an apartment.  Whether or not they actually do care about him and the role is beside the point.  

Kaidan, who detests being used as a political pawn but recognizes he can do nothing about it, hates it on sight.  

Okay, so maybe hate is too strong of a word. It isn’t the orchard back in the BC Interior, that’s for damned sure, and it’s a far cry from shared barracks during his Alliance years.  He has a room on the Tempest, so it he has some choice about where he can stay. But this… this tiny cubicle that they are calling an apartment?  Four walls, open spacing, barely any room to turn around without bumping into something? There is absolutely nothing homey about it.  Home, is something he’s still searching for.

That lasts about three weeks, until the day Scott drops by when Kaidan isn’t there and instead of messaging him to meet up elsewhere, leaves a handwritten note slipped beneath his door.  Kaidan almost misses it when he gets back after his meeting with Tann, Addison, and Kesh.  Just a small slip of paper – where had Scott found actual paper? – written in black ink.  A hint of white on an otherwise light-colored floor which is barely discernable.  Something about it catches the corner of his eye, though.  

K – Stopped by to see you.  Catch you later.  Scott

Kaidan reads it twice, just in case he’s having hallucinations thanks to the burgeoning migraine before setting it on the corner of his desk, thinking to send a reply via omni-tool.  But the meetings with Tann and the others are taking their toll, and even with SAM’s assistance, the pain is such he forgets until the next morning, at which point he decides to just head on over to the Hyperion instead. 

Of course, Scott isn’t there.

Scott – Was in the area and thought I’d save you a trip.  Better luck next time, right? Catch you on the Tempest.  K

The Tempest is scheduled out the next morning and, as typically happens aboard the ship with last minute things to do and distractions of all kinds, neither he nor Scott thinks to mention the messages to the other; almost an ‘out of sight, out of mind,’ sort of thing.  End of story.

Except, it isn’t.

The weeks pass, more notes appear at the apartment and on the Tempest or Hyperion.  Small ones. Silly ones.  Eventually, Scott starts leaving small sketches of different people on them – quick things, some cute, some ridiculous, but always they leave Kaidan smiling.  

A caricature of Tann speaking with Addison and Kesh mimicking him behind his back even as Tann’s head is blown up twice the size of the others.

A small cartoon of Suvi in the galley, laser focused as she points to different Heleus rocks and explains their different tastes to a very confused looking Drack while Lexi stands in the doorway scolding her.  

A stick figure sketch of Kallo and the several of the Tempest at various stages of the ship’s development.

Kaidan cannot hide his amusement at a more realistic looking sketch of Cora and Liam as they lean against one another in the back seat of the Nomad, fast asleep.  He remembers the incident clearly, from their last visit to Elaaden.  Even as he stares at the sketch, he swears he can hear their soft snores echoing in his ears as he tacks it to the wall over his desk next to the others.

Not to be outdone, Kaidan starts leaving quotes in his messages to Scott; from books, movies, and other inspirational sources he’s come across.  He’s been collecting them for years, long before he ever left for BAaT.  Most are saved on his omni-tool, but he has two small, leatherbound journals filled with the most meaningful ones he’s come across. They are about the only thing he was able to bring with him from home when he joined the Initiative.  

Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. (1)

The pessimist sees difficulty in every opportunity. The optimist sees opportunity in every difficulty. (2)

We may encounter many defeats, but we must not be defeated. (3)

Fear profits a man nothing.(4)

With each successive note between them, Kaidan learns a little bit more about Scott.  But the whole situation changes drastically after their adventures on the archon’s ship.  On the way back to the Nexus and after Lexi has cleared him, Kaidan does something he hasn’t done in centuries, if ever…

 ~~~~

 The buzzer to his Nexus apartment sounds, but Kaidan doesn’t bother to answer it.  It’s Scott, and the man has his own key.  The buzzer, he supposes, is Scott’s polite way to warn him that he’s arrived. The fact that Scott uses does it now of all times tells Kaidan something more; Scott is pissed.  

Well, I probably deserve it after what happened.  

He’s tempted to not answer, to see if Scott leaves a note, but decides not to risk it.  Opening the door, he steps to the side to allow the younger man in.  Scott remains silent, though his body language screams in a way that Kaidan easily recognizes.  Taut, tense, his lips tightened in a thin line, the way he won’t look directly at Kaidan… It’s one side of a conversation Kaidan’s been on many times, albeit hundreds of years before and in a different galaxy.

“Do you have any idea what you just did?” Scott demands, blue eyes sharp and snapping with anger.  “Any idea what could have happened back on the archon’s ship if SAM hadn’t been able to resuscitate you?  You-you could have died back there!”

Opting to let the younger man get it out in one fell swoop, Kaidan bides his time.  Well, except for one point of clarification.  “I did die.”

Scott growls in the back of his throat.  An honest to goodness growl.  Kaidan can’t help the small smirk that twists at his lips as a result.  When Scott steps forward, invading his personal space, Kaidan does something he usually doesn’t do; he goads him.  “What? It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

“Not helping the situation!”

Kaidan isn’t certain if he should be worried that SAM is, so far, remaining silent in his head.  “I needed to get us out of there,” he argues instead.  “How else was I going to –?”

“You?  Why did it have to be you?  Why is it always you?”  Scott tosses his hands in the air and turns away, frustration building until his biotic corona flickers around him.  Still grumbling to himself, he turns back, glaring at Kaidan.  “What the hell am I going to do if I lose you like that?”

Kaidan sucks in a breath, recognizing the pain. Sure, things between them have improved since their arrival in Andromeda – no place to go but up, right? – but this…? This is a reinforcement of what he’s hoped for ever since accepting Alec Ryder’s offer.  

Or am I reading too much into this?

On their private channel, SAM replies, “You are not, Kaidan.”

Scott still prowls around the room as Kaidan asks, “Can you come over here for a minute?”

“Why?  So you can die on me a third time?”

Petulance is not a good look for Scott, and Kaidan has to bite back a laugh; as much as he wants to set it free, it would do more harm than good just now.  “I want to show you something.”

Scott grumbles some more, even as Kaidan heads on over, but eventually he follows.  When he arrives, Kaidan hands him the letter.  “Read this.”

The blue-eyed glare returns, heavy with suspicion.  “What is it?”

“Just read.  Please.”

Scott waits another moment, two, then drops his gaze and starts reading.  For several minutes, Kaidan waits patiently, watching.  The letter isn’t long, but Scott is taking his time reading it, but Kaidan knows when Scott reaches the end because the younger man’s spine stiffens, his shoulders roll back, and his head snaps up as he darts a quick look up at Kaidan. “Today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the Earth.(5)”  

When Scott says nothing else, Kaidan prods, “So, what do you think?”

Scott is quiet for a minute.  It’s difficult to read his reaction because he keeps his back to Kaidan the entire time, slightly hunched in the shoulders, utterly quiet. “Do you mean it?” he asks, voice soft as if having trouble pushing it out.

“I always try to say what I mean, Scott.”

The younger man turns around, his face a surprisingly neutral mask.  Considering how difficult that has been for him in the past, Kaidan is impressed.  “So, you’re saying you consider yourself the luckiest man on Earth or, in this case I guess, the Nexus, because you survived?”

Ah, so that’s the problem.  Reaching over, Kaidan settles a hand on Scott’s cheek. Scott leans into it, then apparently thinks better of it or at the very least realizes what he’s doing and pulls back. But that’s okay.  Kaidan now has a far better sense of what he is working with. Running his thumb along the corner of Scott’s lips, he says quietly, “I am the luckiest man in Andromeda because you are here with me.”

Tension immediately flows out of Scott and he visibly sags a bit.  “And you really mean that?  Because look, I get that my Dad talked you into all of this without checking with me first, and –”

Kaidan slides his thumb over the top of Scott’s lips to silence him.  “I really mean that.  This has nothing to do with your dad, but everything to do with you….”  

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 (1) The Godfather, part II

(2) Winston Churchill

(3) Maya Angelou

(4) 13th Warrior

(5) The Pride of the Yankees

#intimacy prompts #ladya writes #rydenko #scott ryder #kaidan alenko #straight on til morning #mass effect #mass effect andromeda #mallaidhsomo

[crowsnests]

taste of certainty - part three

Fandom: The Arcana  Pairing: Julian Devorak x OC Apprentice (Syran Elkas) Tags: friends to lovers; modern times au; friend group dynamic; slow burn; pining; really just Julian being Julian and Syran being Oblivious Words: 7453 Warnings: mention of anxiety, migraines, insomnia, alcohol

part 1 2 3 4 5

playlist

I see the walls that are torn and bent The tug of war in the now, not yet Holding back what they can contain Can you tell me why I feel this way?

- trust; half-alive

III. sweet hurricane

Wednesdays are chill enough workdays, usually. It’s when Miss Eirsdottir has the least meetings, so Syran gets to calmly sit at her desk, processing new proposals and arranging schedules.

Not this Wednesday, though.

Miss Eirsdottir has Syran basically assist Varya in running all sorts of errands: moving from one side to the building to the other, carrying boxes of products for her to review, making sure the interns get the right coffees for the guests in the meetings, rushing to bring important folders to the PR office, assisting in said meetings. Varya is nice and helps Syran feel more at ease with the amount of workload, but it’s still quite stressful.

Syran forgot the days close to the launch of a new product could get so hectic. Her recurring migraine starts to make itself heard.

In the midst of it all, she gets a moment to catch her breath, during her lunch break. She goes and sits outside, despite the cold, on a bench in the courtyard inside the building. As she unfurls her lunchbox – a chicken sandwich, a carrot, and a bunch of blueberries – Asra and Pasha join her at the bench.

“Well, you look like shit,” Asra says, not even bothering with formalities as he sits down and opens his ricebox. A spiced scent trails out from it.

“Thanks, feel like it, too,” Syran answers, then bites into her carrot. Her head is pounding with pain and the nausea that comes with it doesn’t make her food look all that appealing, but she’s used to it at this point. She vaguely explains the reason for her exhaustion, her two friends nodding in understanding.

“Yeah, this week is tough, huh?” Pasha looks concerned as she takes out her lunch from her bag. A clear box with pasta in it and some orange juice.

“Yeah, pre-release is hell up in management,” Syran sighs.

“Well, at least you get to have fun next weekend! It’s gonna be a blast.” Pasha winks.

Syran looks at her confused, blinks a couple times, her brain slowly moving its gears together.

Asra looks at her pointedly, mouthing something.

Syran can’t decipher it, but a light goes on in her brain nonetheless.

“Oh shit, it’s your birthday! Yeah! Can’t wait for that!”

“You and Nadi always know how to throw a good party, I’m excited,” Asra smiles, bright eyes wrinkled up in joy. He does love partying.

Pasha laughs, then goes on to describe how she’s planned this carefully, how the theme is Vintage Masquerade, or something, and how she can’t wait to see everyone’s costumes. Asra engages with her eagerly, giving advice for decorations and getting excited over the food.

There and then, Syran realises two things.

One: she has no fucking clue what to wear to something like that.

Two: she’s supposed to see Ilya today and get Pasha a present.

As if summoned, her phone goes off. Ilya’s name on the screen makes her insides squirm but she opens the text trying not to arouse suspicion.

dr. hulian - 13:12 Do you think Pasha would like this?

Attached to the message, there’s a picture of a– well, a skull, looking pretty real and being held by what’s clearly Ilya’s hand. Syran finds it a little eerie, but she can’t hold her smile back.

To: dr. hulian - 13:13 Mmmh, maybe if you decorated it a bit?

She starts eating her sandwich, itching to get a reply, but acts as if it’s nothing. She gets back into the conversation with Pasha and Asra, trying to get distracted. Asra is now suggesting he could give tarot readings to the guests for a little bit during the party, Pasha seems elated at the idea.

Then, Syran’s phone vibrates again.

from: dr. hulian - 13:16 - You mean like this? - His name is Ferdinand, by the way

This time, the skull has a thin golden scarf with an intricate flower pattern tied all around, complete with a fancy bow on top. It’s ridiculous and endearing at the same time. Syran tries to stifle a laugh.

To: dr. hulian - 13:18 - hell yeah, ferdinand looks perfect in that, love it - where did he get that, looks extremely fashionable

from: dr. hulian - 13:18 - We stole it from nadia’s bag while she went to the bathroom. I suspect mere seconds before we get punished for our crime. - oh no, she found us

Syran laughs again, this time she can’t hide it as she types a reply.

To: dr. hulian - 13:19 - Just blame it on Ferdinand! i’m sure she’ll understand

“–kay, what’s going on, Syran?”

“Huh?” She blinks up at the two pairs of eyes scrutinising her.

“Who’re you texting?” Asra looks smug, ready to pounce.

“Looks like a pretty nice convo you’re having there.” Pasha adds, leaning forward to rest her chin on her hand.

Syran scrambles for a reply. There’s no way in hell she’s going to be honest with them on this, not today.

Or ever, probably.

“Just– Ran. She was showing me her dogs, back at home,” She smiles at the end, desperately hoping to sell the lie.

Pasha lights up at the word dogs, but Asra doesn’t seem convinced.

“Really? She never mentioned dogs to me,” He narrows his eyes.

“Oh, yeah, she has two mixed breeds and– and a parrot.”

I mean, it’s not as much of a lie as a past truth. Ran used to have two dogs and a parrot in her old home. Now it’s just one of the dogs, who’s gotten pretty old, too.

“That’s cute! Can I see?” Pasha eagerly leans over to glance at Syran’s phone, now sitting face up on the table.

“Uh– I– I guess–” just as Syran tries to make something up, the phone goes off again, this time with a call. Ilya’s name flashes on the display for everyone to see.

Syran just stares at it, startled.

“Well, aren’t you going to answer?” Asra suggests, teasingly.

Syran chuckles nervously, then reaches for the phone.

“Hello?”

From the other side there’s noises and two distinct voices arguing, albeit muffled. None of them talking to her.

“H– hello?” she tries again, this time genuinely confused.

“–ust for a second! Don’t get mad at me, come on–”

“–you should know better than to steal from me, Ilya,”

“Come on, Nadi– ust a joke!”

“–going to have a better excuse– this was a gift!”

Asra and Pasha lean closer to try and hear what’s going on, but Syran swats them away.

“Must be a butt dial or something,” she mutters, just as Ilya keeps talking and exclaims an apology.

Pasha rolls her eyes. “Is it my brother?”

As Nadia seems to reprimand Ilya more, Syran nods, looking confused enough for her friends to frown with her.

“– an excuse to talk!” Ilya’s exclamation gets Syran's attention.

“You’re a lost cause, Devorak,” This time Nadia’s voice is a little more clear.

“I know,” Ilya says.

When they go silent Syran tries again.

“Uhhh, hello?”

More noises. Something scrambling by the mic.

“Oh, shi– goddamn– hello? Syran? That you?”

“Yep,” She deadpans, avoiding Pasha and Asra’s eyes, “In the flesh.”

“Uh– did you– did you call me?”

“I believe you called me, Ilya,” she arches an eyebrow.

On the other side of the table, Pasha is making a kissy face and hugging herself, then mouths the word smooch. Next to her, Asra snickers. Syran rolls her eyes and turns on her seat, her back facing them.

“Ah. Right. Well, that was– not intentional. I was– discussing, with Nadia, you see.” Ilya utters, embarrassed.

“I figured,” Syran laughs, “Pretty important discussion, it seems.”

“Uh– did you hear much of that?”

Syran could barely understand, really. “Nope, mostly that Nadia’s mad about your theft.” She smiles.

“Yes, indeed. But Ferdinand and I will be okay,” He laughs, clearly more relaxed. “We fought hard and we lost our treasure, but we came out of it unscathed.”

“That’s not true–” Nadia chimes in from somewhere next to him.

Syran can’t help but laugh louder at Ilya’s theatrics this time, “Well, I’m glad you’re alive, at least.”

She is also glad that her friends can’t see her face right now, because it would be so, so, incriminating.

“So, uh, well,” Ilya continues, “Since we’re here, I was– I was wondering if you’re still on for later? For the– uh– secret mission?” Syran smirks at the way he whispers it, not subtle at all.

Suddenly aware not only of the pair of devils behind her, but also of the fact her and Ilya’s mission involves a surprise for one of them, Syran tries to not give herself away. She also probably needs to close the call, before she makes things worse for herself.

“Yep, yep, sure.” She says, quickly. “No worries.”

“Oh, great, so I’ll come–” Ilya starts.

“Yeah, work’s definitely busy today!”

“Uhm, okay, so– does that mean–”

“No, it’s fine!” Syran exclaims, trying her best to act convincingly. “Well, good luck with your– things!”

“Okay, bu–”

Syran hangs up before Ilya can finish.

“Wow,” Asra says from behind her.

Syran breathes in and takes a moment to turn back towards them, then hides her face in her sandwich.

“You two were straight-up flirting,” Pasha says, smile on her face.

Syran talks with a bite of sandwich in her mouth. “Do you even know what flirting entails? Because that was not it. That was a normal conversation. If that was flirting, then I’d be flirting with all of you. All the time. That’s not flirting.”

Cool, now she's talking way too much.

“Ah, the sweet taste of denial,” Asra sighs, dramatic and starry-eyed.

“Seriously, you guys are delusional.” Syran gives one last bite to her sandwich. “That was just an accidental dial, nothing more.”

“Yes, but why, oh, why, I wonder, was it to you? Were you so high up in his recent contacts?” Pasha squints at her, sly.

“You’re reaching. We all have a groupchat together, it could have been for any reason. You know how clumsy Ilya can be.” Syran shrugs, praying that they’ll let her live. Seriously, she does not deserve this torture. “Why are you guys so obsessed with this anyway?”

Pasha and Asra exchange a look, then they both lean back, in sync.

“Okay,” Asra states. He narrows his eyes and crosses his fingers on the table like he's a renowned detective, or something. “Let’s assume you’re right.”

“Which I am–”

“Did you mind, though?”

“What?”

“Did you mind that Ilya butt-dialed you?”

“What sort of question is that?” Syran widens her eyes, taken aback. Really, why are they so stubborn.

“Just answer, perp!” Pasha points a finger at her. Now it really feels like Syran is in an interrogation room.

“I have nothing to answer, because that is a stupid question.” She closes her lunch box with finality, looking straight into Pasha’s eyes.

“Admit it!” Asra slams a hand on the table, “You enjoy talking to him!”

Syran groans, exasperated, “Of course I do, he’s my friend! It would be mean if I didn't!”

Pasha and Asra smile at each other, “We got her, chief.” Pasha says.

“You got nothing,” Syran glares at them, “I’m going back to work.”

She gets up and gathers her things, ignoring the chorus of booos coming from her friends.

God, she loves them to bits, but they can be so annoying at times.

🂱

Somehow, she manages to slither away from the others and get back home safe.

After having sent Ilya a few explanatory texts and having agreed to meet at a cafe nearby, she finally takes a look in the mirror.

She really does look tired. Without distractions around her, the migraine is harder to ignore. She takes a relief pill and washes her ruined makeup, her face feeling cleaner. The heaviness of the day is starting to take a toll on her, she can feel it in her muscles.

When she checks the time, she realises that she’s going to be late if she doesn’t hurry up.

Quickly, she reapplies her makeup as best as she can, then throws on some clean and more comfortable clothes.

Persephone meows at her from the foot of her bed; it’s almost as if she’s smirking at her, knowing more than she lets on.

“Oh, not you too,” Syran pleads.

🂱

When she arrives at the cafe, Ilya is waiting by the entrance, casually leaning on the wall behind him. She takes a moment to look at him while he’s distracted by his phone, all perfectly styled auburn hair and dark clothes. She hates how good he looks.

(She doesn’t hate it, really, but she’ll die before she admits it.)

When he meets her eyes, a big smile sparks on his face.

“Hey,” she waves. “Hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

“Hey,” he echoes, “Not at all.”

“Shall we?”

“Ah, yes, uh– should we get some coffee to go, first, since I owe you that?” He smirks, but then his eyes glance down to the side straight away. “That’s if– if you want, of course.”

“Sounds great!” Syran nods, delighted at the thought of a hot beverage in her hands.

The cafe is cozy and warm, most of the tables are filled with people chatting or working on their laptops.

As they wait in line, Ilya and Syran talk a little about their days, how Ilya’s research is driving him insane, how Syran’s boss gave her a hundred errands until late.

“Yikes, that must be tiring,” Ilya says, concerned, as they wait for their drinks.

Ilya has ordered a black coffee with a splash of milk, Syran has opted for a matcha latte. She likes coffee, but on days like this it makes her a little too jittery.

“Yeah, I mean, no more tiring than any other job. Plus, I learn a lot. Miss Eirsdottir is tough, but she’s brilliant.” Syran finds herself fiddling with her hands. “Hopefully one day I get to do more of the parts that I really love, though.”

Ilya smiles down at her, handing her the drink. There’s a glint in his eyes that makes Syran feel light. “I’m sure you will.”

Finding a present for Pasha isn’t as easy as they thought. They scurry through shops, trying things, looking at clothes, bags, books, videogames, jewelry, vinyl records– they contemplate wine at some point but realise Nadia would like that more. Then they go back to books, but nothing seems right.

Syran would lie if she said she isn’t having fun, though. Despite some moments where she really wishes she could hide her blush, she and Ilya fall into a rhythm made of jokes, laughter, chatter, and comfortable silences.

It’s nice. Really nice. It's. You know. Friendship.

Eventually, they walk by a window that’s displaying a various array of scarfs, ranging in colours and materials.

Syran does a double-take and spots a muted orange one that makes her think of Pasha immediately.

“That one!” She exclaims pointing at the glass.

“Huh?” Ilya seems taken aback, interrupted in the middle of his story on how he once got his hand stuck in a vending machine.

“Look at that scarf, isn’t it perfect for Pasha?”

Ilya squints at the glass, trying to figure out what Syran is pointing at. “The orange one?”

“Yep! It looks so pretty!” Syran turns to him, beaming, “We should go see it!”

Ilya nods, smiling back.

The scarf turns out to be even better than they thought. It’s made of soft and light cotton, with a delicate golden pattern woven on the edges. Ilya seems elated, saying that she will love it, right? Will she love it, Syran? I think she will.

Syran smiles at his excitement, glad to see him happy about the choice. The clerk wraps it up in a beautiful gift box, eagerly explaining how the cotton is of a refined but durable quality, it makes for perfect everyday use, but also works really well for more elegant events. Ilya listens intently, as if he’s trying to remember all of it to then tell Pasha.

Ilya has a big smile plastered on his face as they exit the shop, then he turns to Syran and hugs her, all-encompassing. She’s startled, but she gingerly hugs him back.

“Thank you so much, seriously,” He mutters in her hair.

She really really hopes he can’t hear how loud her heart is beating this time.

It’s not a crush.

Is it?

When he pulls back, they’re both a little flustered. “Ehm– I mean, yeah. Thank you.”

Syran is still trying to regain herself from the sudden hug, but something in Ilya’s tone makes her wonder.

“Can I ask you something?”

Ilya seems a little surprised by the question, but nods nonetheless. “Sure.”

“Why were you so worried about this? Besides the regular stuff you told me, like. What are you really worried about?” More than out of curiosity, Syran is asking because she can sense that there’s still something bothering Ilya.

He blinks, eyes wide. Then he looks down, as if caught in the act.

“Well– I– to be honest, it’s been a little tough lately, and the work at the university isn’t helping. So I haven’t been able to be there for Pasha as much as I’d like.” He sighs, but Syran gives him time, sensing that’s not the whole story.

He looks at her, visibly worried now. “And. Well. Pasha and I have– not always been close. Our parents divorced when we were fairly young and we took different paths after I graduated high school. I left, wanting to get away from it all, and she stayed. I made mistakes, resented her for it. We argued a lot, eventually had a big fight, and– didn’t talk for a while after that. It didn’t feel good, but I was reckless and hurt and too prideful.”

He looks so sad Syran can’t help but reach out to hold one of his gloved hands. Then, he smiles, although a little bitterly. Syran thinks she sees tears in her eyes. Her heart drops to her stomach.

Ilya continues, “I mean, we fixed things in the past years and now that we live in the same town it’s great, but– I still feel like there’s an unspoken distance. I fucked up so many times before–” He cuts himself off, like it pains him to go on. “So– yeah, I just want us to get close again– I feel like I need to make it up to her, somehow.”

He blinks the tears away, chuckling nervously. “God, you must think I’m an idiot.”

“What– no!” Syran’s chest is tight. She never imagined Ilya had all of this inside. She knew there was some sort of situation between the two of them, but Pasha never liked talking about it much.

“I–I think you’re very thoughtful. And mature for wanting to own up to things. It’s heartwarming to see how much you care,” She continues under his cautious stare. “Look– I don’t know, maybe it’s not my place, but I don’t think you need to make anything up to her. You’re a wonderful brother and person. Look at how much thought you’re putting into this! Whatever happened, I am– I’m sure she knows how much you love her. I can see how happy she is to have you back in her life, too – well, in between all the bickering.”

Ilya laughs at her last words and she joins, happy to see him smiling again.

Then, her gaze softens. “I think you will be just fine. You are trying really hard, you should give yourself a break.”

Ilya smiles, gentle. Then, he seems more relieved. “Thank you. You’re– uh. Quite good at pep talks.”

She winks, “I know.” She can’t help but squeeze his hand a little. He squeezes back. Syran feels a little dazed and her chest feels a little tight, her and Ilya exchanging a soft gaze.

She’s so fucking gone, it’s no use ignoring it.

It might just be a crush.

Then, Ilya’s eyes widen, and he gasps. “You still need a present!”

“Oh, yeah,” Syran realises, waking up from her thoughts, “We don’t have to get it right now, though, I can always–”

“Nope, you helped me, now it’s your turn! Let’s go!”

He drags her through more streets like he’s a kid on a mission, it makes Syran laugh. They stop at various shops, once again searching for something perfect.

She can’t deny it, though, there’s a newfound feeling between them, maybe one of strengthened trust. They’re both laughing more, feeling more comfortable with each other than before.

Finally, a small antique shop catches Ilya’s eye. Syran walks back to look at the window with him.

It’s filled with various objects, old pocket watches, silver paraphernalia, old vases and pots, ragged dolls. Ilya seems enthralled by an old model ship, perched precariously on a small shelf.

“My grandma used to have one like that in her house,” He smiles, fondly. “I demanded to play with it whenever we visited, but she always told me it was too delicate to even look at, let alone touch.” He laughs. “I’d get all whiny then, but I get it now.” He turns to Syran, almost a little sorrowful.

“Some things are just too delicate to be reckless with.”

Syran blinks at him, ignoring the blood rushing to her ears. She turns to look at the ship again.

“I don’t know,” she says, “It looks pretty sturdy to me. It might not be ruined, but now it’s sitting in a dusty display.” She turns to him and shrugs. “Isn’t it better to enjoy things while they last, instead of holding back? ”

She’s not sure they’re talking about the ship anymore– Ilya’s gaze on her makes her breath hitch in her throat.

She turns to the window again, flustered. As she stares intently, she realises that there is a little jewelry display on the bottom. In the midst of overly ornate rings and delicate pendants, she notices what looks like a brooch.

“Hey, what do you think of that?” She points at it, hoping that Ilya will see it amongst all the things.

He leans over her shoulder– too close to her, it takes all her might not to wince, ignoring the butterflies eating at her stomach. “Which one?”

“The– uh– the little brooch with the flowers?” She looks closer. It seems like real dried flowers encased in resin. They’re small and of a pale yellow, with a few crimson ones, on a white background. A delicate pattern made of golden metal frames it.

Ilya gasps, “That looks wonderful! It might go well with the scarf too!”

Syran agrees, although she hadn’t thought of that. She swallows, then suggests they head into the store.

As she talks to the owner, Ilya looks around the shop, curiously admiring the various displays. The brooch is even more beautiful up close, and the shopkeeper explains to her how this is special and one of a kind. Promises that she will give Syran a good price for it. She thanks the woman, and asks if she can wrap it as a gift.

“No problem, dear,” The lady says, reaching for a little red satin bag. As she fills it with some cotton to shield the brooch, she glances up at Ilya, who’s now looking at a small display of old books.

“Those ones are almost all first editions, you know,” she tells him.

“Oh– really?” Ilya turns, eyes filled with wonder. “They seem well preserved!”

“Of course,” The lady nods, delicately putting the brooch inside the bag, “I only get the best quality things.”

Ilya laughs, then moves onto another window. The lady slowly ties the bag with a textured ribbon, “Your boyfriend’s got a good eye,” she whispers.

Syran’s eyes widen, and she starts to stutter. “Oh– n– he’s not– we’re not together– he’s not my boyfriend.” She matches the shopkeeper’s tone, hoping that Ilya hasn’t heard them. Luckily, he seems too enthralled by the various objects to notice.

The lady throws another look at Ilya, then raises an eyebrow with a sly smile. “Are you sure?”

Syran doesn’t know how to answer for a second. Then she nods, slowly. “Yeah, uh. I am.”

When they leave the shop, Syran sighs in relief. Partly, because she’s got a present she’s really happy with. And also because she’s out of the shopkeeper's enquiring gaze.

“Happy?” Ilya asks her, smiling.

Syran looks up at him, startled. “Ye–yes! Very! I really hope she’ll like it.”

“Oh, she will,” he reassures her.

As they make their way back, Ilya starts wondering about what to wear at the party.

“I mean, I love her, but what sort of theme is Vintage Masquerade? Like, couldn’t she pick something simple? I don’t know, casual party attire?”

Syran laughs, although she agrees. She has no idea what to wear either.

“I mean, you kind of got it easy, you could throw on some slacks, a shirt, and some suspenders or something. Or a vest. Those are vintage.” She shrugs. She doesn’t know much about this stuff, really, but she does like dressing up. That is, when the theme is clear and easy.

“I guess– not even sure I have a vest, though,” Ilya ponders.

“Well, hey, you’re going to have to ditch your bomber jacket anyway.”

He gasps, fake offended. “Excuse me, this is my piece of resistance! Keeps me warm and looks amazing!”

Syran laughs it off, “Sure, but– still doesn’t quite hit the mark, does it?”

Ilya huffs like a pouting child. It’s endearing. “Whatever, I’ll figure something out, I guess.” Then he turns back to Syran.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What are you gonna wear?”

Oh. With all the business of the day, she had forgotten to look for clothes or even think about it. Again.

“Uhmm–” She thinks back to her wardrobe. Mentally scans through her more formal things.

“Dunno– I guess I have a lilac dress I could wear? It’s kind of vintage? It’s the best I can do, honestly.” She huffs a small laugh, but the more she thinks about it the more she thinks the dress will be fine.

It’s made of a light and flowy material, with a high neck that closes with a few small buttons, leaving a drop–like window on the chest. It’s a delicate dress, but the knee-length skirt and cut are vintage-inspired, at least.

“That sounds nice,” Ilya hums. “Now we just gotta find some masks to go with it,” he sighs.

“Oh, well, we have about a week for that, at least.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Ilya frowns as if he’s trying to think where he could possibly find a mask.

“Although I think Pasha said there will be an array of masks to choose from at the party? Nadia knew a place or something, I think it’s to prevent people from showing up without one,” Syran realises with a smile, thinking of Pasha’s resolve and Nadia’s attention to details.

“Well, one less thing to worry about then,” Ilya sighs. “Although I hope to find one that works with my look. I’m a man of fashion, after all.”

“You could always make one,” Syran cackles, playfully hitting his arm. “And you didn’t know what to wear until I told you!”

He laughs back, teasing. “Hey, doesn’t mean I can’t dress at all!”

Syran’s smile only gets wider. It stays like that even after they’ve parted ways.

🂱

Syran doesn’t know how she got roped into this.

It all started with Asra and Nadia inviting her out for a few drinks– sure, it’s a Friday night, what’s a cocktail going to do?

So she got ready, wore one of her favourite outfits just as an incentive to feel more like going out, and met Asra at their usual place.

Except, when she arrived at the Raven, Asra and Nadia weren’t the only ones sitting at the table. A familiar head filled with auburn hair was sitting next to them, too.

Syran joined them, all smiles and greetings, and then dived immediately for the bar– anything to escape Asra’s knowing smile, Nadia’s attentive eyes, and Ilya’s annoyingly pretty face.

The bar isn’t too crowded, but thankfully still enough for her to blend with the people around her. She leans at the counter, waiting for a familiar face to greet her. Tonight Joon is working, which makes her smile. Since she and Asra have been coming here, he’s quickly become friends with them. She orders and idly chats with Joon as he makes her drink.

“Getting the usual?” A deep voice startles her.

Oh, she really can’t escape this shit.

She looks up at Ilya, who’s smirking at her. She does feel more relaxed around him now, but there are still moments like this, where he sneaks up on her and all of her blood rushes to her cheeks. To add insult to injury, Syran’s eyes can’t help but trail to Ilya’s outfit. He’s wearing a sleek black turtleneck that fits him like a glove. She doesn’t know if she hates this more or the shirts with the unbuttoned tops.

She turns back towards the bar, “Yep. Oaxaca old-fashioned all the way, baby.”

She taps her fingers on the wood and leans a little forward to look behind the counter, where Joon is just about to hand her the glass.

She grabs it with a smile, carefully taking the first sip. “Ah– you’re the best, Joon. Thank you.”

“Anytime, dear,” Joon winks at her. She loves him, honestly, and not only because he’s nice and handsome. He genuinely makes her laugh and has helped her more than a few times when unpleasant patrons have bothered her.

“Well, good, because I’ll definitely be back for another one,” she smirks and winks back.

Joon laughs, then turns to Ilya, “what can I get you?”

When Syran looks up at Ilya as she takes another sip from her glass, she notices the weird expression on his face. He’s almost frowning at Joon, but she brushes it down to his bushy eyebrows. He can unintentionally look like he’s glaring at people, when the light is right.

Then, he turns to Syran with a sly smile, “You know, I’ve never had an Oaxaca old-fashioned.”

She swallows, then puts the glass down, “You should! The ones Joon makes are god-tier.” Syran suggests excitedly.

Ilya seems to ponder on it for a second, “Mhh– but what if I don’t like it?”

Ilya’s never struck Syran for the indecisive type. But then again, maybe he just really wants to get a good drink right now. He seems to come to a realisation, just then.

“Ah– what if I tried yours?” He asks, genuine, but with a weird glint in his eyes. Syran did not expect the question, it leaves her a little dumbfounded.

“S–sure, why not–” She hands him the glass, and he grabs it, eagerly.

“Thank you,” Ilya proceeds to take a small sip from the glass, and Syran can’t help but notice that’s almost where she drank from, his lips dangerously close to the subtle stain of her lipstick.

Syran throws a glance at Joon, who’s patiently waiting for them. He shoots her a questioning look, raising an eyebrow. She just kinda shrugs.

Ilya puts the glass back on the counter, “That’s actually really really good.” He looks at it like he’s surprised.

“Told ya’,” Syran smirks.

When they get back to their table, equal drinks in their hands, Nadia and Asra are animatedly engaged in conversation. They kinda stop when Syran and Ilya arrive, turning to them with coy smiles.

Asra notices the drink in Ilya’s hand and then gasps, “Wow, she convinced you? She’s been trying to get me to drink that since forever.”

Syran rolls her eyes, “I gave up, you clearly only like extremely sweet shit–”

“And happily so,” Asra mocks her, then turns to Ilya again. “You actually like it?”

Ilya nods as if he doesn’t see what the fuss is all about, “Yeah, it’s really good.”

“It’s not as bad as you make it to be, Asra,” Nadia chimes in.

Ilya shrugs, then takes another sip. Syran can’t help but smile proudly at Asra, like she’s won an ongoing battle between the two of them.

“Well, it’s good to see you both have clearly similar tastes,” Asra says, before carefully drinking from the straw in his tall glass, filled with a bright pink cocktail. Both Ilya and Syran widen their eyes.

“Ah– guess so,” Ilya chuckles.

“Yeah,” Syran mutters, glaring at Asra. “Anyway, you guys noticed how they changed the backlight of the sign behind the bar? I actually like it better now,” Syran starts, trying to sway the conversation.

Maybe it’s not as graceful as she’d like, but it works. They all start talking about the bar and its decor, how they’ve always loved this place; time passes by and soon they’re all a little flushed and tipsy, except Nadia, who’s the designated driver for the night.

Then, at one point, Asra’s eyes trail behind Syran, and they widen in shock.

“Oh shit,” He says, crouching down as if to hide behind his drink. Nadia puts a hand on Asra’s back, concerned.

“What?” Both Syran and Ilya turn towards where Asra looked, trying to figure out what happened.

“Don’t look, you idiots!” Asra whispers, angry. “Valerius is here! Shit!”

Syran then realises, “Oh, fuck, really? I thought he didn’t come here anymore!”

“Yeah, well, he’s by the counter. Shit, fuck!”

“Who’s– uh– who’s Valerius?” Ilya asks, clearly confused.

“Asra’s awful ex,” Nadia explains, “he was an asshole and we all hate him, viciously.” She’s got fire in her eyes, and Syran knows she is mirroring it herself.

“He fucking– he cheated on me and then said it was my fault. It was– it was fucking awful.” Asra looks like he’s about to cry. Syran wants to reach for him and hug him. She knows Asra’s wound is still fresh and knows how hard it was for him to move on from the hurt.

Ilya sneers, “That’s disgusting.”

“Damn right,” Nadia adds, glaring towards where Valerius is.

“Hey, it’s okay, we can leave if you want,” Syran reaches out for Asra’s hand, trying to reassure him.

He shakes his head, sneaking another glance, “Then he will have won. Again.”

“No, he will not,” Nadia declares, “If he says anything we’ll beat the shit out of him. Fuck, even Joon will be on our side on this.”

“Nadia’s right,” Ilya adds, “Plus, I’ve dabbled in bar brawling before.”

It makes the table laugh, if a little, but it lightens the mood. It doesn’t last long, though.

“Shit– is that? Is that Lucio? Are you fucking kidding me?” Asra says, now even angrier than before.

“Oh, hell no–” Nadia goes to get up, but Asra holds her down.

“Nadi no, I just– I don’t want to see them.”

“Do you want me to drive you home?” Nadia asks. Asra nods, gingerly.

“That’s cool, Asra, we can go–” Syran starts.

“Not all at once, though–” He says, resolute. “I don’t want to draw attention.”

There’s a joke Syran could make there about how Asra doesn’t exactly blend in the crowd, with his flashy fashion and white hair, but she knows that wouldn’t make him laugh right now– clearly, all he wants to do is disappear.

“How about this,” Nadia says, turning towards Syran and Ilya, hand still on Asra’s back, “I’ll take him home and you guys enjoy the rest of your drinks. You’ve barely started these glasses, while we’re almost done. You call me when you’re finished and I’ll come back to pick you up, okay?”

“Nadi, you don’t have to–” Ilya starts, but she waves a hand to interrupt him.

“It’s no problem, really,” she smiles kindly, “You guys just enjoy the night, yeah?”

Syran looks at Asra, now clearly on the verge of tears. Whether they’re from hurt or anger, she can’t tell. Probably a mix of both. But he knows what she’s about to say nonetheless.

“Don’t worry, S,– I’ll be okay, yeah? I asked you to come out, it’s just fair that you enjoy your time. Seriously.”

Syran nods, resigned, knowing how stubborn Asra can get. “Okay but–”

“I’ll call you later, promise.”

“Promise,” Syran retaliates. A concerned frown doesn’t leave her face, even as Asra and Nadia carefully slip out the table, then towards the end of the counter, well hidden from Valerius’ attention. Syran spots Nadia talking to Joon, probably asking him to let them out through the back.

And just like that, Syran is left at the table alone with Ilya, both of them in awkward silence, staring at their drinks. Finally, Ilya speaks.

“I’ve never– I’ve never seen Asra like that.”

Syran looks at him, notices the worry in his features as he twirls the glass in his hands.

“Yeah, he tries to hide his feelings, when he can, the idiot,” she smiles bitterly; stars know how many times she’s tried to tell Asra that bottling it all up doesn’t help anyone.

“I can understand that,” Ilya looks up at her. “I hate to pry but– who’s–”

“Lucio? The guy Valerius cheated with. Also, Nadia’s ex of like–” She tries to do mental math. “Four? Years ago?”

“Yikes,” Ilya just says, taking a big sip of his drink.

“Yep– it’s– a lot.” Syran sighs, “We thought he was going to be out of our life after Nadia broke up with his ass, but– guess not.”

She inhales, exhausted only at the thought of all that happened in the past. Things were definitely messier than now. She takes another swig of her drink.

“Well–” Ilya smiles, putting his glass down, “what if we did something about that?”

The glint in his eyes is mischievous, and Syran raises an eyebrow from behind her drink.

“What do you have in mind?”

🂱

Pranks have never been something Syran thought about. Never felt the need to fill someone’s shoes with toothpaste, or hide a fake spider in the bathroom, or whatever it is that the kids do these days. She always felt bad for those people in prank videos that get visibly hurt.

But this– she didn’t mind this one bit.

She and Ilya are running out of the bar, lungs filled with laughter, as Lucio and Valerius’ screams fade behind them. They run long enough until their legs give up, and even then, they find it in themselves to keep laughing.

“Jesus– their face– priceless!” Syran heaves out.

“I told you–” Ilya adds, big smile not leaving his face, eyes all crinkled up and blush on his cheeks. “Cranberry juice always works–”

They haven’t done anything that spectacular, really, but Syran will realise this later, when the adrenaline has rushed out of her. Right now, spilling juice on those two idiots’ white clothes and making Lucio trip on his ass was enough to make her night.

“Didn’t expect you to punch Valerius, though,” Ilya grins at her, as if impressed.

Yeah, and that too.

“Me neither– I don’t condone violence, but–” Syran finally feels her breath coming back to her, “–but, god, he deserved it.”

“Sure did–” Ilya laughs with her, adjusting his coat.

They stare at each other for a few seconds, all smiles and excitement, rush of electricity that Syran hadn’t felt in a while. Not like this.

“Well–” Ilya starts, “Maybe we should– uh. Go?”

“Yeah– I could call an uber?” Syran suggests.

“Actually, I was more thinking, like– I can walk you home, maybe?” He seems almost scared to ask for a second, but then his features relax. “Honestly, I feel bad calling Nadia now and it might be good to shake the alcohol off.” He looks up at the clear sky. “It’s a nice night, anyway.”

He’s right. It’s hard to see stars from the city, but the moon is bright and beautiful.

Syran doesn’t quite know what to say, though she agrees with not bothering Nadia. She is probably busy taking care of Asra right now, and that reassures her a lot. But Syran’s house is a good thirty minutes walk away, not to mention that Ilya would have to walk back through the city for more than that.

“I– I don’t know. It’s a long way for you– and it’s late–”

“Syran, I assure you that I’ll be fine, I like walking.” He chuckles, “If anything, I know you will punch whoever gets in our way.”

Syran laughs, although a little flustered under Ilya’s endeared stare. “Yeah, I’m basically a pro wrestler now.”

They end up chatting along the way, although the cold winter wind catches up on them, but they don’t mind that much. They’re too distracted by their conversation to think about that.

Getting to know each other like this, casually, with no pressure, without inhibitions, has become natural to them. They get to talk about things that they never addressed, make jokes that seem so dumb and niche they are surprised when the other laughs.

Ilya was the last one to join their group of friends, so she can imagine he felt a little distant from everyone else at first. But it’s been over a year now, and the group feels really solid, like pieces of a puzzle fitting together with harmony.

Still, Syran always felt like her and Ilya never really got to talk much like this, just the two of them. And maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the way Ilya makes her feel at ease, but she doesn’t feel as skittish around him anymore.

Sure, her heart still jumps when he laughs, and any little brush of their arms makes her breath hitch, but– but– there’s not much of an excuse for that, other than she’s clearly got feelings for him.

It is a crush. A heavy one at that.

But she can live with it, she can just enjoy their friendship and not act on them.

They are close to her building when they are laughing at a story Syran is telling, of one time where she and Asra got lost in a park and thought a ghost was haunting them.

“I swear, Asra tried to act all brave, but–” in the middle of the phrase, a strong fit of pain hits the side of her head. She had managed to ignore the creeping migraine until then, but suddenly, it feels like her brain is about to explode. She holds a hand to where the pain is, eyes shut and slightly crouching forward.

“Syran? You okay?” Ilya reaches a hand to her shoulder, tone immediately shifting to heavy concern.

“Yeah– just– I get migraines– sometimes,” she mutters through the pain.

“That’s not good,” Ilya says. “We’re almost to your place, you think you can make it?”

“Ye–yeah– sorry–”

“Why are you apologising? Had I known, I–”

“Don’t want you to worry,” she utters, finally feeling like she can open her eyes a little, “I’m used to it.”

It does nothing to ease Ilya’s concern though. If anything, he seems to worry more, reaching to fully encase Syran in his arm, supporting her as they walk.

“Really, I’ll be okay,” she says.

“Yeah, I’ll believe that when you’re home and feeling better,” He scoffs, his hand rubbing up and down Syran’s arm. “Don’t forget I’m basically a doctor.”

It makes Syran laugh a little, “Right, Doctor Devorak, ready to help.”

“Is that a mocking tone I’m sensing, Miss Elkas?”

“No–” Syran says, teasing, although through the pain, “I wouldn’t dare.”

Ilya laughs, then seems to hold her tighter. “Almost there.”

They finally reach her building, and she gingerly gets out her keys to open the door.

“Thank you,” she turns to say goodbye to him, “Get home safe.”

But he just stares at her. “Didn’t I say I’ll stop worrying until you’re home?”

Syran chuckles, “But I am–”

“Yeah, I meant home home. I’ll take you up–” then he widens his eyes, catching himself. “That’s if– if you’re okay with that, of course.”

Syran thinks about it for a second, but the pain is too strong to argue right now. She just nods and mutters a okay, and goes to let Ilya through before her.

Sometimes things just don’t go as planned, though.

As she’s about to follow behind him, something hits her shoulder, and hard. She turns just in time to see someone running past her, then she loses her balance and hits the floor.

The last thing Syran sees before passing out is Ilya’s hands reaching for her.

#an writes #fic writing #julianxapprentice #julianxsyran #julian devorak #portia devorak #ilya devorak #pasha devorak #nadia satrinava #lucio morgasson #asra alnazar #muriel #the arcana fic #the arcana #part 3

[coastaldragon]

Dragon Diary 1/7/21

So...this is my resolution for the year.

I wanted to start a kin-related diary. I found myself missing how often I used to muse about myself and my experiences here, and have long since felt...detached from myself. Stuck in the loop of going through the motions of “human.”

A week late on my first entry, but so it goes.

These entries will just be flow-of-consciousness blabbles for the most part. I’ll talk about any kin-related thoughts I’ve had that day, how I’ve been feeling, how my otherkinity has affected my day, etc.

I have a lot of catching-up to do with you all, so the first few entries may seem disjointed and a little long. Lets get started. This is long. And a bit negative. But hopefully they won’t all be.

cw for death and drug mention and health talk like needles and stuff

I don’t quite remember why I dropped Tumblr like I did. I think I was getting annoyed at all the UI changes, and just overall very busy with “real life.” These things happen. I slowly drift away from a platform. Sometimes for weeks, months, or years in this case. Then I’ll drift back. Kind of like a scrap of wood on the waves.

In the time I’ve been gone life has been...interesting. The source of the stress that caused me to awaken in the first place is gone. He OD’d in...2014? 2015? Some time around there. My grasp of time is worse than ever.

We hadn’t even known he’d be using anything. Turned out he was stealing my late father’s remaining fentanyl supply. One of those guys who preys on widows like my mother. He lied about everything. His entire past as we knew it was a lie. And he was just leeching off of us.

It was...hard. I was the one who found his body upon getting home from work. My mother is still traumatized, even now. Even after all he did. She did love him.

I think all that hardened me quite a bit. And I’m sad for it. I’m still trying to soften myself again, but my trust has never been shattered like that before or since.

My now health is...poor. I had a great job working at an independent pack-and-mail sort of place for a few years. Very laid back, when the customers were nice. Helped me build a lot of strength and muscle. Quite enjoyed showing off by hefting 50lb boxes onto my shoulders. Helped me feel less weak in this squishy human body of mine.

But about...2 or 3 years ago [again, time is a myth to my brain] I woke up and my shoulders were just.

Locked.

It felt like someone had stuck paint spanners under my shoulder blades or something. Not only that, but I was weak. I barely had the strength in my arms to lift a half gallon of milk in the morning.

We thought I’d just hurt myself showing off, somehow. So we gave it some time. Took ibuprofen, used pain creams. Took a few days off work.

But it didn’t get better. It got painful. And the moreso. And moreso. And then my back began to have trouble as well. It was spreading. I felt...ill.

So. Doctors. Tests. More bloodwork than I’ve ever had in my entire life. [10 vials at once for one appt!]

My primary, who is a garbage person I never wish to see again, insisted it was just a sprain. Or something. Whatever. But I knew it wasn’t. My mother knew it wasn’t. Everyone I knew knew it wasn’t.

Specialist time! At the behest of my cousin, who has a litany of autoimmune disorders, we hooked up with a rheumatologist. Who I will call Dr.M. 

Dr.M is an angel on Earth. I am convinced of it. A full year he spent with me, ordering tests, trying treatments, working with me to figure out what the hell was going on. And we did. And what a mouthful it is.

Ankylosing spondylitis. No, it’s not a dinosaur. [Though I do think I’m ‘hearted for ankylosaurines...I don’t think it’s related lol!]

You can look it up if you like. But basically: My immune system is fucking crazy and attacks all the things. Most places describe it as being a lower spine disorder, and while that is certainly where its centralized in most folks, that’s not all it is.

For example mine is, obviously, centralized in my shoulders and upper back. But it does aaaaaaaaaaall sorts of crazy shit. Every day is different. Joint pain, exhaustion, GI trouble, stomach upset, lack of appetite, murderous migraines. The usual for an autoimmune illness. But also wacky shit like costochondritis [painful inflammation of the cartilage of the ribs], random organ inflammation like in my kidneys [not fun], lungs [I had a 3-month stint of chronic bronchitis last winter], and even my heart [very not fun.] Sometimes it likes to attack my “integumentary system” aka shit like my skin and hair meaning I’ll have weeks where my hair just. Sheds. Like a damn cat. It gets everywhere and w/ my long-ass quarantine hair it’s so annoying.

This attack dog immune system does mean it’s unlikely for me to catch little bugs like your common colds and stuff, which is appreciated. But it also likes to maul anything else it deems foreign. Like medication! I took Humira shots for a few months and had a “paradoxical reaction” aka it did the literal opposite of what it was meant to, because the injections pissed off my immune system so much it went scorched-earth on whatever it could. Mostly my thighs, since that’s where the injections were. I still get stabbing pain in them and it’s been over a year. [No, I don’t think I can sue Humira over this. Though I have discussed it w/ my Dr.]

This also means that if I do get sick, it’s bad news. Something strong and unique like COVID? Death. Deaaaaaaaaath. Would likely trigger something called a “cytokine storm” aka my immune system nukes everything and my organs die and so do I.

So guess whoooooooo’s been locked up at home for almost a full year now? :’)

I luckily am able to work from home, though it barely pays the bills, and my health has suffered from a lack of being able to Do Stuff I normally would.

As a result I decided to get back in touch with myself.

It started with Second Life, because of course it did. A new dragon avatar came out. Shiny and mesh and easy [by SL standards] to modify. So me and a few friends [some kin, some not] made a group for sharing stuff for the av and just hanging out. It’s fallen by the wayside unfortunately but those nights spent chilling in SL with a bunch of other dragons roaring and goofing off felt really really good.

And then I made a kin Twitter. [And found some exceptionally cool kinfolk in the process.] 

Then came Othercon the virtual otherkin convention and OtherConnect, the Discord spawned from the community that rapidly formed within the con. Othercon felt incredible. Panels and lectures about the history of otherkinity and alterhumanity and how we are today and rep in the media and just so! Much! Cool! Stuff! And tons of great kinfolk too! 

To not only be within a community but seeing others like me and speaking with them, not just typing back at words on a screen. It was...so very, very reaffirming. It felt like a second awakening almost. I wanted to cry for finally, truly not feeling alone.

And now I’m here. Because I need to be. Because something, deep down, is telling me I’m going to be needing myself sometime soon. So I’d better get started.

I hope I don’t drift away on the tide again. I’ve missed this site, worse for wear as it is.

But I’m a bit tired today. A nasty headache lingering from yesterday’s nastier flare up. Accursed cold fronts. I used to enjoy them but not so much these days. Ah well.

I know there wasn’t much kin talk in this first entry, but as I said, we had a lot of catching-up to do!

#Diary 2021 #dragonkin #otherkin #I'll tag these for now but if folks would rather I didn't I'll keep them to myself. :>

[thewritepages]

The Diary of the Older Collegiate (#TheFreshman Series) (2)

Synopsis : Annabelle Green is somewhat in a situation no thirty year woman would want to find herself in : (Un) Happily divorced, childless and with a job worth peanuts and migraine. The downward spiral of her life doesn't seem to end anytime soon until her sister reminds her of her most cherished dream.

College.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

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

MAY 10, 2019

3.30 A.M.

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

Maybe Kat was right- A few days away has done me good.

I've actually stopped bawling every ten minutes. I have even managed to sleep for five hours straight last night, which is a significant improvement.

My family members quickly realized that I had to no intention to talk about the disastrous interview or about my estranged husband. Instead, they've tried distracting me with all sorts of things-

Mum: "Anna, darling, come here and help us with the gardening."

Me: "Who's the other person in the 'we'?"

Kat: (appearing out of nowhere) "That would be me."

Me: "Okay, fine. Wait...Mum. Didn't you complain of knee pain? You may have arthritis! You need to stop exerting yourself."

Mum: "Oh, Anna, really, it isn't so bad-"

Me: "And you, Kat, what do you think you're doing here? Without GLOVES?? You may develop toxoplasmosis! Do you know how toxic-"

Kat: (rolling her eyes) "Oh, now enough already Miss Know-It-All. I was going to wear them! Would you please-"

Me: "On second thoughts, gloves won't suffice. According to Youronlinegynac.com, You have to make sure you wear long sleeve blouses, long trousers, rain boots and a mask, for good measure."

Mum: "Anna-"

Me: "Plus, you're carrying twins for heaven's sake. Don't you ever read pregnancy articles? You must give your back as much rest as possible-"

Kat: "I JUST GOT OUT OF BED-"

Me: "Back to you, Mum. The morning sun is not very good for your aging skin. I think-"

Kat: "You know what, Anna? Never mind about us. You should probably go back to sleep."

Jeez, so much for being considerate.

So, yeah. That's what I've been the entire week – Eat, Read and Watch Movies. Sometimes, Kat pops in to chat but storms away ten minutes later claiming that my "Ridiculous Internet Articles" exasperates her. I completely fail to understand why she gets so agitated about it. The other day when I told her all about Kim K's regime for fighting flabby abdomen and about her extremely shapely hips despite having four kids, all she did was glare at me for a full minute and then stomps away.

Must be the hormones.

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

MAY 11, 2019

3.30 A.M.

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

IT'S DEFINITELY THE HORMONES.

I MEAN, HOW COULD SHE - I WOULD NEVER – IT'S JUST IMPOSSIBLE –

Calm down, Anna. Deep breaths. In and out. In and out.

Okay... let's just rewind all that.

About two hours ago, I was just roaming around the house, munching on Pop Tarts, having nothing else to do with sleep permanently erased from my mind. Passing through the corridor, I suddenly spotted the narrow staircase leading up to the attic.

Deciding to go check out the old stuff stashed up there, I climbed up the rickety staircase, opening up the dusty wooden door. As I rifled through old furniture and documents, a familiar cardboard box caught my eye. It was labeled "ANNA'S STUFF. DO NOT TOUCH." In my old scrawly handwriting. As my gaze lingers on the label, memories seep into my mind. Why did I skip college? Why did I leave town? Why did I sacrifice everything...for him?

With shaky hands, I open the box.

The box was filled with dozens of college applications, unfinished application essays and my high school books. I touched the frayed sheets, decaying with years, wondering how life would have been, if I had just taken the chance.

"Anna! What happened? " Kat dropped down beside me, breathing heavily.

"Kat! Why did you come up here? The latest article in the Mom-to-be e-magazine says that –"

"Oh, will you just stop with your goddamn articles and tell me what the hell is wrong? Why are you crying?" Her gaze shifted to the box.

"What's in that?"

I quickly closed the lid. "Nothing, nothing. I'm just being my usual pathetic self, I guess." I wiped my cheeks hastily.

"Aw. C'mere, Annie." She opens her arms wide, offering comfort. I accepted it gratefully.

"Okay. Now tell me what's wrong."

Despite my state of weakness, I still found the strength to roll my eyes at her. "Really? You want me to tell you the messy details of my marriage, once again?"

"Oh lord, not that. I'm sick of hearing your big, sad story." I let out a sad chuckle. "The other reason for your misery. There's something else, I know it."

I sniffed. "How do you 'know'? "

"I just...know."

"Jeez, and I thought I was the weird one."

She broke away from the embrace and looked at me right in the eye.

"Now, will you stop deflecting the topic and tell me what the hell is wrong with you?"

I looked here and there for some distraction. A few moments later, I realized that I was trapped.

"It's nothing, really."

"I'll be the judge of that." She smiled kindly at me.

And that was it. I began to bawl like a two year old.

"I wish I never skipped college. I wish I never gave up on my dream. I wish I'd waited like you d-did. "I swallow the huge lump in my throat. "And you know what's the worst part? I gave up everything, for that...that bastard!" I threw my face in my lap, muffling my high decibel cry.

Kat, on the other hand, waits patiently. Ten minutes later, I sit up straight, staring at her with bloodshot eyes.

"So...no words of comfort or consolation?"

"Why is there a need for that when the solution is right in front of you?"

"What do you mean?"

Her face grows impatient. "You sound like you're eighty and lying on your deathbed or something. You have so much of life ahead of you, so many opportunities waiting for you."

I shake my head, still not getting the point.

All of the sudden, she grabs my face tightly and looks at me with happiness glimmering in her eyes.

"You wanted to attend college, right? Get a degree? Discover your talents? This is the moment, Anna! You can finally live your dream!"

I stare at her for a solid minute. And then I stare at her some more.

"Well?" she inquires.

"Me? Attend college? Now?"

She nods vigorously. "This is your chance, Anna. What's there to stop you?"

I blink. She blinks.

Suddenly, I explode into a full-fledged, insane laughter. I laugh and I laugh, till my cheeks hurt.

Kat waits again, calmly as ever. She appraises me grimly. "If you're done with the schizophrenic behavior, would you be kind enough to tell me what you found so funny about what I said?"

"What's funny about it? Seriously? I'll tell you what's funny." I stand in front of her. "Look at me. I'm a thirty year old divorced, childless woman with nothing to look forward to. I've spent my entire life listening to complaints, be it from my boss in office or from my husband back home. Now that my darling husband has got rid of me, I have to work extra shifts to pay the rent, the bills, everything."

"So what, Anna? This is what you've always wanted to do. You are an intelligent, young"- I snorted-"independent woman, as far as I've seen you. You deserve a fun college experience, even if you think you're twelve years late for it."

"Well, sorry to burst your bubble, Kat, but I really am twelve years too late to apply. And anyway, which college will be willing to take me in?"

"Any college would be lucky to have you, Annabelle Green. Just you wait and watch." She strides out of the attic, determined and excited.

Oh, well. Now that I think of it, all of this was probably a part of the mood swings she goes through. I bet she'll forget all of this by breakfast time.

Yeah, nothing to worry about.

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

A/N :

Hi there, thank you for taking the time to read my new diary styled new ChickLit series:

"The Diaries of an Older Collegiate"(#TheFreshman).

If this chapter ignited an interest for this series, please let me know by reblogging or sending me a message. It helps a lot and keeps me motivated. Till then stay healthy :)

Love and Kisses,

D <3

#chicklit #teenagers #young adult #writers on tumblr #womenwritingfiction #fiction #funnyshit #college life #university #holy heck #literature #romance #diariesoftheoldercollegiate

[sociallyawkward--fics]

I Will Wait and Hope

Part of the “Power of Love” series

Part 1: I Have Loved You For a Hundred Years  [ao3]

Part 2: Certainly Fucking Feels Like It  [ao3]

Okay, full honesty, I don't know if this holds up to the standards I wanted to keep this series at. I feel like it's not as good as the other two, BUT I've had it written for weeks just staring me in the face and I figured there's not much more I can do unless I rewrote it, which I didn't want to do, so I'll let you all form your own opinions! Also, I tried giving it a last couple edits but I have a possible migraine coming on, so if I missed anything that would be why lol.

I hope you guys enjoy this one as much as the other two!

Summary: Geralt's done the hard part, he told Jaskier how he felt and broke the news of his immortality. Telling Ciri what's going on should be easy. Right?

Word Count: 1284 words

[ao3 link]

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

They didn’t stay at Yennefer's for too much longer. Winter was approaching fast and they only had so long to travel from where Yennefer’s up to Kaer Morhen before the paths became too dangerous for Jaskier and Ciri, or before the passes closed from the snows. They spent one more night at Yennefer’s (in which Geralt and Jaskier made wonderful use of the soundproofing spells Yennefer had enchanted all the rooms with, thankfully uninterrupted by Ciri).

Yen saw them off the next morning, tossing her usual insults at Jaskier, having a heartfelt moment with Ciri, and even going so far as to give Geralt a hug. She pulled him aside as Jaskier and Ciri finished packing and began readying Roach.

“You did the hard part,” she said. “You told Jaskier you were in love with him, and that seemed to go quite well. Now, you need to explain the situation to Ciri.”

Geralt resisted the urge to deflate. Emotions, opening up, having conversations; it was all too much for him. Things used to be so much simpler.

“Oh, grow up, Geralt,” Yennefer said, though not unkindly. “You need to be having these conversations with her, and she deserves to know what’s going on. Both with you and your bard, and with how she plays into all this.”

“Fine.” Geralt said.

Geralt did not tell her that day. Or the next day, or the day after that, or the day after that. Jaskier kept shooting him looks, but he never said anything since Ciri was always around. On the rare moments they had alone together, always brief, Jaskier would always tell him that he understood that it wasn’t his place to tell Ciri for him. He immediately followed that with, “So tell her already because she can see that you’re on edge and it’s making her nervous as hell.”

At least Jaskier always peppered his prodding with kisses.

And it wasn’t like he was wrong. Ciri had been edgy lately, skirting around Geralt more and more as the days passed, watching him carefully out of the corner of her eye. Her scent had gone from its usual rose-sweet to something sour and rotten with nerves. She seemed too nervous to even talk to Geralt, and hadn’t hugged him since the morning he let her go to the market with Yen.

They were a week out from Kaer Morhen when Geralt finally broke.

Mostly because Jaskier started withholding kisses until he got over himself.

“Let’s talk,” Geralt said stiffly.

Ciri looked up from where she was fiddling with her dagger on her ratty bed. The inn hadn’t had many rooms left (and they hadn’t had much coin), but it was the best they could manage, even with Jaskier paying off the rest of the sum with a performance downstairs. Geralt patted the edge of he and Jaskier’s (also shitty) bed and she slowly made her way over and settled next to him.

“There’s something we’ve been meaning to tell you,” he said, still just as awkward.

Ciri glanced at the door. “We?”

Geralt hesitated. “I. But it involves Jaskier. And you.”

Ciri fidgeted with her hands in her lap, avoiding Geralt’s gaze. “Did I do something wrong?”

Geralt’s eyes went so wide he thought they would bulge out of his head. “No!” He said, too quickly and too loudly.

Ciri flinched, making Geralt wince.

“No,” he repeated, somewhat more controlled.

Geralt took a few moments to try and figure out what he wanted to say, but he never had been good with words. That was Jaskier’s department, not Geralt’s. Not to mention that it had been under two weeks since Geralt learned he had emotions and he hadn’t quite been able to process that properly, yet, even with Jaskier’s help. Decades of habits and thought patterns were hard to unlearn.

Ciri, unfortunately, was not as patient as Jaskier, and not as used to Geralt’s tendency to take too long to formulate his thoughts and answer questions.

“Geralt?” She asked, voice shaky.

Just get it over with, Geralt thought. Like severing a damaged limb.

That wasn’t the best analogy. This was why Jaskier was the famous bard and poet, not Geralt.

“Jaskier is immortal.”

Ciri jerked back a little and blinked. “He’s what?”

“Immortal.”

“How did Jaskier become immortal? Did he… do something with a god of some sort? Or did he drink something weird again? Like that time he drank the funny potion and his hair and skin went pink for a whole week?”

Geralt let out a heavy breath, grateful witchers couldn’t blush. “No. As Yennefer explained it, my… love for him was so strong that it became infused with chaos and magically linked our lifelines.”

Ciri’s shoulders relaxed for the first time in weeks. “Aww,” she cooed teasingly. “I knew you loved him all along!” She gave him a cheeky grin. “And I knew Yennefer’s plan would work to get you together.”

Geralt scoffed, but couldn’t hide his smile. He scrubbed a hand against her hair, ignoring her yelps of protest as she tried to shove his hand away. After finally shoving him away, she scooted over to settle against his side. Hesitantly, he draped an arm over her small form.

“Roach is also immortal.”

Ciri nodded against his ribcage. “That makes sense. Otherwise she would probably be too old to carry you.”

“And,” Geralt started, ignoring the quip for the moment, but cutting himself off and clearing his throat to buy himself some time. “Yen said it may affect you, too.”

Ciri pulled away and looked up at him. “Please don’t tell me I’m frozen at twelve.”

Geralt shook his head and tried to remember what Yennefer told him. “She said… the magic surrounds you, but it’s not exactly affecting you the same. At least, not yet, because you’ve still been growing. It may come in later in life, you could stop ageing in your early twenties or so, but she’s not sure how it’ll manifest on you.”

Ciri wrinkled her nose.

“As Yen said, ‘the magic of love is a fickle thing.’”

“That’s weird.”

Geralt shrugged. “It’s pretty weird.”

She turned another cheeky grin up at him. “But now you’re stuck with us!”

“Seems so.”

Jaskier came back to the room barely minutes later, glistening with sweat and grinning wildly from his post-show euphoria. He set his lute case by the door next to Geralt’s swords, grin growing impossibly wider when he saw them curled together on the bed.

“I take it the oaf finally made an effort to communicate?” He teased, striding toward the bed.

Ciri giggled, then fake gagged as Jaskier leaned over to give Geralt a peck on the lips.

“Gross,” she said.

“You’re gross,” Jaskier replied, wiggling a few fingers into her side to make her squeal.

Ciri groaned. “I can’t believe I’m stuck with your grossness for immortality.”

“Get used to it sweetpea,” Jaskier said, pressing a more lingering kiss to Geralt’s lips. “Immortality is a pretty long time.”

And frankly, Geralt was fine with that. 

Multiple lifetimes of Jaskier’s music and teasing and kisses. Multiple lifetimes of Ciri’s sass and cheekiness and warm hugs. Multiple lifetimes of having a family (or, at least, a family he saw more than just for a few months every winter).

Geralt pressed a kiss to Ciri’s temple, chuckling at her continued squeals of “gross,” and leaned over to accept yet another kiss from Jaskier (and he was certainly getting as many as those as he could, now that they were no longer being withheld). Jaskier would probably say he “could get used to this.” Geralt didn’t know if he ever would.

But he at least had the time to try.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #witcher fanfic #witcher fanfiction #witcher fic #geraskier fanfic #geralt/jaskier #power of love series #My writing

[is-it-madness]

So... apparently tumblr just decided to not post chapter 12? Like... it’s completely gone. Unbelievable. Anywho... currently reading @fadingfics ‘s incredible story and I absolutely love it!! I highly recommend it and you can find it on AO3. I have chapter twelve linked below.

Summary: Faith and Loki are fuck buddies. Someone who was there when no one else was. When Faith was fucking around with a married man who all of the sudden decided to grow a conscience right after his wife got pregnant with twins. When Loki was cheated on by his fiancée only a couple of weeks before their wedding. It is a comfort thing and they were perfectly fine with it, why make it complicated with a baby? It’s ridiculous!

Chapter 12: Speechless

Madness List: This is a list of my reactions, so spoilers below the cut :D

1) ‘How long had it been? 2 weeks? 3 weeks? Sort of… and it still felt like it had happened the day before. At least for Faith. She thought after a few days she’d be fine and after a few weeks things could possibly be getting better. But it wasn’t the case. It still hurt that Loki ignored her, that they weren’t talking to each other, except when necessary.’

Ohhh... that hurts. A lot. ;-;

2) ‘Loki was still the only reason why Stark assigned laparoscopies to Faith and, as bad it was, she wasn’t gonna let this interfere with her job.’

I’m proud of her :’D Okay only partially

3) ‘Faith had one hell of a headache that morning. Migraine. She hadn’t had a migraine in months, but when her hand and the left side of her face fell numb and the black spots danced in front of her eyes, she recognized the typical aura symptoms and knew what was coming. She was in the OR when this happened.’

There’s always something, huh?

4) ‘“It’s just a migraine, Clint, I ain’t dying.” Faith said at the same time Loki got in and heard her. Clint looked at them both and decided he had to leave the room.’

SMART MOVE CLINT 😭😭😂

5) ‘Then she stood up slowly, heading for the door, but when she tried to open it, she noticed Loki’s hand holding it closed.’

🤭🤭🤭

6) ‘Faith turned around to find Loki barely a few inches away from her and this time she couldn’t avoid looking straight into his eyes. It might have made her heart skip a beat too. “What--?” She started, but never finished, as Loki’s lips interrupted her. A hard and painful kiss that trapped Faith against the door. Her mind didn’t react, but her body did, her hands resting on Loki’s chest, shaking and too scared to move elsewhere. Loki’s arms crept around her waist and fisted the hem of her shirt.’

AAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!!!

7) ‘Why had Loki done this? He couldn’t tell exactly why. It probably included missing her and wanting her back, wanting to feel her close. He acted on an impulse, as if the feeling was stronger than him.

8) ‘“We can’t--” Loki started, shaking his head and taking a step back. “Is that what you told Sigyn before or after she found the US pics?” Faith interrupted him. Loki didn’t say anything.

YEAH!! YEAH LOKI!!! BOOM TAKE THAT!!! Do I even have the right to be mad at him though? Because like... they aren’t technically in a relationship. This is hard 😩😭😭

9) ‘Loki couldn’t think of any explanation. She was right, and he had already beaten himself up over that episode with Sigyn, wondering what would’ve happened if she hadn’t found the pics.’

That’s... that’s what you’re worried about??? Smh.

10) ‘Faith sighed, unconsciously rubbing her forehead. “Great move, though.” “What?” “Well, you haven’t exactly talked to me in over two weeks. So why did you--?” Loki looked at her blankly. “Go home, Ash.” He said. “Get some rest.”’

*shakes Faith* IS YOU BLIND?!?! IS YOU NOT FEELING THESE FEELS?!???

11) ‘Loki walked back to the OR, Faith walking 5 feet behind him. He shouldn’t have done that; he should’ve stopped himself before doing it. It was stupid and pointless and a complete waste of time. But he couldn’t stop. No matter how much he tried to deny it and go against it, truth was that he needed her back… truth was that they both needed each other back, but pride and hurt would never let them admit it.’

12) ‘“Um… Dr. Ashley? You phone was ringing.” Peter said quietly and handed her the iPhone.’

Oh sweet, precious bean. You’re the only unproblematic one here, I swear

13) ‘“James?” Loki dropped the chart.’

OH SHIT!!! YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME!!!

#madness list #a heart on the mend

[calpalirwin]

BUB

Summary: What’s better than your best girl and best mate getting along? Well, nothing really. If you knew the rumors were false, that is. 

A/N: You’ve heard of enemies to lovers. You’ve heard of fake-dating to real dating. Might I introduce a new trope called hostility turned platonic friendship turned stand-in boyfriend? Aka my brain child with @here-for-the-uproars​

Content: Swearing, general tom-foolery.

DISCLAIMER: NOT A poly!Cashton or poly!5sos fic!!!!

Need to catch up? Part 1 Part 2

And away, and away we go!

Part 3

“Oh, I’m never gonna be able to get up there,” Sam said, eyeing the bunk beds in the tour bus. She graduated with her doctorate and as a graduation present, her boss was letting her take the summer off to go on tour with Ashton. “You’re only young once, Sam,” the older lady said with a knowing wink. “Go enjoy yourself. Your job will still be here when you get back.”

“There’s a ladder right there, baby,” Ashton told her, pointing.

“I’m gonna bang my head so much…”

“Yeah you are,” Ashton winked, grabbing her ass.

“Fletch,” she laughed, turning in his arms to face him. “I’m serious. Can you switch with Cal?”

“If I do that, then I can’t do this,” he pouted, spinning her back around and lifting her into the bunk with fluid ease.

“Hey. Hey!” Sam squealed as she landed on the soft mattress pad. “Oh, this is cozier and bigger than I pictured,” she commented, laying down in the bunk.

Ashton giggled as he rested his arms against his bunk. “Yeah, we had to do some remodeling of sorts when Luke decided to become six and a half feet tall!” He said the last part a bit louder so Luke could hear.

“I’m 6’2” at best!” came the retort from the living room area of the bus.

Ashton and Sam laughed. “Anyway, now they’re long enough for GIRAFFES and wide enough for when the girls come along.”

“And still too tall for me,” Sam finished.

“Again, there’s a ladder right there.”

Sam wrinkled up her nose. “Nah, I like it better when you lift me.”

“Me too,” Ashton agreed with a flirty wink.

“You need to learn to keep your hands to yourself,” Sam giggled, playfully swatting at his hands.

“Can’t,” Ashton said simply. “One, I always gotta be doing something with my hands. Two, you’re way too hot, baby.”

“You’re right about the first part,” she agreed with another giggle. The drummer had the worst case of restless hands she’d ever encountered. A restlessness she was more than happy to take full advantage of. “As for the sec-”

“Also true,” he cut her off, leaning into the bunk to kiss her.

~~~

“Ugh, my head,” Sam whined, hands pressing to her temple. At two weeks of tour life, the loudness mixed with the bright lights were beginning to make her head spin. Even when it was dark, it wasn’t dark enough.

“You okay, baby?” Ashton asked, concern written across his face as he tugged her closer to him.

“Whoa, don’t do that,” she said, pushing at him, feeling the pain slosh around in her skull.

Ashton frowned. “Do you wanna go lie down in the bunk?”

“You won’t be mad?” Sam asked, her eyes squinting. Some Motrin and a quiet tour bus sounded like fuckin’ heaven. 

He shook his head. “No. If you don’t feel good, you don’t feel good.”

“I can lay down in here, Fletch,” Sam protested, feeling bad anyway. She had come to watch his shows, not get sidelined by a damn migraine.

“Nope, bus, c’mon,��� he said standing up and gently tugging her to her feet.

“Okay, okay,” she laughed weakly. “But, I can go to the bus myself. You’ll be late if you walk with me.”

Ashton was about to protest, but he thought better of it. He knew hoisting her into his bunk would make it hard to focus and he definitely couldn’t cause his band to miss their cue because he got handsy with his girlfriend ten minutes before they were supposed to go on. “Alright then,” he said, kissing her forehead. Get some rest if you can. I’ll be there as soon as I get done and shower.”

She nodded her head barely. “Mmkay. Love you. Break a leg.”

“Love you too, baby,” he smiled, placing another kiss on her forehead.

“Oh, fuck this…” Sam muttered as she stared up at Ashton’s bunk on the bus. She reached on tiptoe to pull her blanket down, but no way in hell was she climbing up there with her head pounding like it was. She swallowed the Motrin with a swig of water and pushed back Calum’s curtain on the lower bunk before crawling inside and trying to get some sleep.

Ashton was the first one on the bus after practically sprinting backstage to change and shower, wanting to check on Sam, Calum on his heels. 

“Baby?” Ashton called out softly, drawing back his curtain. “What the fuck?” he muttered when he didn’t see her there. He could hear her snoring softly, but where the fuck was she? He frowned, crouching down to the bottom bunk and pulling back Calum’s curtain. He smiled when he saw her curled up and fast asleep. “Baby?” Ashton whispered, nudging her gently awake. “Baby, I’m here.”

“Shh, sleeping,” Sam mumbled at him, a hand swatting him away.

“Baby, you’re in Cal’s bunk. C’mon, gotta move ya up a floor.”

“No!” She rolled further into the bunk. “Too high. Couldn’t reach. Didn’t listen.” The broken sentences fell from her lips, a charming characteristic she only did when she was dead tired.

Ashton chuckled. “I’m sorry, baby. But I’m here now. C’mon, I’ll lift you in.”

“Too warm. Bed cold.”

“Hey, mate can you move? I’m exhausted,” Calum’s voice sounded.

“Trying Cal. Someone won’t move, though.”

Sam smiled at Calum’s voice. “Bub bed warm. Fletch bed cold. I stay. You shh,” she continued to speak in broken sleepy sentences.

Ashton and Calum shared a glance. Both men knew that moving a sleepy Sam meant death. The woman may sound cute when she was in a sleep state like this, but she was also mad as hell if you dared disturb her. Calum shoved passed Ashton and crawled into his bunk. “Night, mate,” Calum told Ashton, drawing the curtain closed. 

Ashton drew the curtain back open with a sharp pull. “So, I’m supposed to sleep by myself? In my cold bunk?”

Sam nodded, already curled up against Calum. “Should listen. Sam smart, ‘member? Sam doctor.”

Ashton rolled his eyes playfully. “I can’t believe I just got bubbed in my own relationship…”

“You Fletch. He bub. I’m baby princess,” Sam explained.

“Well, move over cuz Fletch is coming in,” Ashton said definitively, crawling in the bunk.

“What?! No!” Calum protested as Ashton’s body pressed into his. “It’s too small for three people!”

“Shut up and pass me my baby,” Ashton muttered, pulling Sam across Calum’s chest and onto his. “There, we’ll sleep side by side, and she can sleep right here on top of me.”

“If you start fucking, I’m shoving you both out,” Calum grumbled. “Now, close the damn curtain, and let me sleep.”

“Mmm, Fletch,” Sam mumbled happily, nuzzling her face into Ashton’s neck. “And bub,” she added, a hand patting Calum’s chest affectionately. “Love my boys.”

“And we love our girl,” Ashton murmured into her hair. “Go back to sleep, baby. We gotcha.”

In the morning, Calum was curled up in Sam’s blanket, his own blanket still trapped underneath him and Ashton. “Hey!” Sam said, snatching back her blanket. “Blanket thief.”

“Bed thief,” Calum retorted, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I was cold.”

“So was I!”

“Bullshit, you slept on a heater!” Calum told her, pushing Ashton’s shoulder. 

“He was right next to you all night! How were you cold?”

“How were you cold?!”

“I wasn’t. I just want my blanket.”

“Shut up!” Mike grumbled from further down the row of bunks. 

“Sorry, Mikey. Want me to make pancakes?” Sam called out.

“Yes, please.”

~~~

“Yeah, um how much fabric do you think it would take to make a blanket for two people in love and one blanket thief?” Ashton asked the lady at the counter. “Say they’re all about this big?” he added, gesturing at himself, Calum, and Sam.

“He’s joking,” Sam put in quickly as the lady gave them all a weird look. “Can you point us in the direction of your king sized blankets?”

“Aisle 4,” the lady said, pointing. 

“Thank you,” Sam smiled brightly, skipping off in the direction of the pointed finger. 

~~~

“Okay,” Mike said, his green eyes worried as he eyed Sam sandwiched between Ashton and Calum on the couch. “Real talk. Are you a throuple?”

“We’re not judging,” Luke added. “We just… the nightly cuddling… we’re your friends. You can tell us.”

Ever since her migraine two weeks ago, all three of them had been sleeping in Calum’s bunk. Sam on the premise that it was easier to get into, despite Ashton buying her a collapsible stool; Calum on the premise that it was his bunk and he wasn’t switching; and Ashton on the premise that he slept where Sam slept. And with the king sized blanket solving the blanket thief problem, all three had come to enjoy the new sleeping arrangement more than they cared to ever admit out loud.

The not-a-throuple laughed at the blondes before Sam answered, “It’s just nice to be held. I mean, I’ve personally never slept better. It’s fun too. Like a fort almost.”

“And there’s a strict no funny business in Fort Hood,” Calum interjected.

Sam rolled her eyes. “It’s Fort Rhythm, bub. Fort Hood is already taken.”

“I like cuddles and forts…” Luke pouted.

“Focus!” Mike told him. “So, not a throuple?” The attention was back on the three on the couch.

Three head shakes with a uniform, “Nope.”

“So, can we build a fort?” Luke asked.

~~~

“Who needs mattress pads when I can do THIS!” Sam laughed, sprawling across all four men after Fort Luke Sucks Balls was manifested in the living room area of the tour bus. “Oh, damn partner… I knew you were broad shouldered, but damn, you are an actual giant.”

“Watch that mouth of yours,” Ashton growled playfully, grabbing at her chin as her head moved to lay on his chest.

“You know what?” she asked, readjusting herself across her human pillows. “Just for that, you get stuck with my feet,” she giggled, wiggling her toes in his face.

“Bad idea, baby,” Ashton said, gripping her ankles in one hand and tickling her with the other.

“No! Stop!” she squealed, her weight constantly shifting on the other men-earning protested groans- as she lunged forward to try and pry Ashton’s hand off her feet. “Stop! Please!” She continued to fight between laughs, tears falling down her cheeks as she fought for breath. “Fletcher!”

At the full middle name usage he stopped immediately. “I told you it was a bad idea.”

“Tickle me again and you’re out of Fort Rhythm.”

“You can’t kick me out of the fort that you half named after me!”

“Hey, bub, wanna teach me how to play drums so we can kick Fletch out of Fort Rhythm?”

“Can you replace him in the band, too?” Calum smirked.

“Alright, I won’t tickle you,” Ashton relented. Then, with a dangerous smirk, “Fellas?”

Three pairs of hands started ticking Sam’s feet and ribs while she screamed and squirmed. “No! Stop it! Someone’s gonna get hurt!” Sam’s voice echoed around the bus and almost like her words willed it to be true, she smacked Ashton straight in the face. 

“Motherfucker!” Ashton winced in pain, a hand cradling his cheek. “Alright stop!”

The tickling ceased and Sam scrambled to Ashton. “Shit, Fletch, are you okay?!”

“Fuck, I’m glad that wasn’t a fist,” Ashton grumbled, removing his hand from his bright red cheek. 

Sam’s blue eyes went wide before her lips were on his cheek, feeling the heat from her unintentional slap. “Fuck, Fletch, I’m so sorry!”

“Duly noted. No tickling in Fort Luke Sucks Balls,” Ashton continued to grumble. 

“Or sex,” Calum added. 

“Anything else?” Mike asked, getting up and moving to the kitchen area, rummaging around. 

“Name change!” Luke shouted. 

“Admit you’re 6’4”!” was the unison retort before Sam went back to apologizing profusely to Ashton. 

“Baby, I’m fine,” Ashton assured her.

“I’m so sorry!”

“It was my fault.”

“You’re right, but I’m still sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine. I’d hate to have you hit for me real. Damn, woman,” he said with a proud small smile. His girlfriend kicked ass.

“Alright, here,” Mike declared, waving everyone over to him. “Sign,” he instructed, handing Luke the bottle of mustard. 

“What the fuck?” they all laughed, looking at the tortilla that had the following written in ketchup:

Fort Luke Sucks Balls Rules

No sex of any kind

No tickling 

The makeshift contract already bore Mike’s initials in mustard. The bottle of mustard got passed around as they all added their initials to it.

“Can we all watch a movie now or something?” Sam asked once the aptly named Tortilla Treaty was signed. 

“Mean Girls?” Luke suggested. 

With the fort named at his expense, they all agreed that watching the movie of his choice was more than a fair arrangement.

“You know there’s plenty of space in here, Fletch,” Sam whispered once they all got comfortable in the fort. “You don’t have to be shoulder to shoulder with bub.”

“I know. Just gotten used to it I guess.”

Sam moved so she was lying on top of Ashton. “Me too,” she agreed, her face nuzzling into Ashton’s neck, a hand resting affectionately on Calum’s chest. 

“Hey, no sex,” Mike’s voice piped up before a piece of popcorn flew in their direction. “And not a throuple my ass.”

“Look, if you want Sam cuddles, just ask. You don’t gotta be rude about it,” Sam joked, tossing the piece of popcorn back at Mike who caught it in his mouth.

“Okay, I want Sam cuddles,” Mike relented, holding open his arms. “Get over here, queen.”

“What about me? I want Sam cuddles,” Luke put in, crossing his arms across his chest in a mock-pout.

“And none for Luke Hemmings!” Sam laughed at him, before sandwiching herself between both blondes.

The bunks weren’t slept in for the rest of the tour and monthly fort cuddles were added to the BUB Accords when they all got home.

_____

Tag List (Wanna join? Just ask)

@goeatsomelife​ @flameraine​ @cashtonasff5sos​ @here-for-the-uproars​ @cxddlyash​ @1-irwin-94​ @baldcalum​ @sparkling-chaos​

#BUB #someone order more bub content? #ashton irwin #calum hood #luke hemmings #michael clifford #5sos #ash fic #galcal irwin

[always-against-the-grain]

the hangover

Summary: Negan punishes you for being hungover during a run.

Pairing: Negan x reader (female, named Eddie)

Tags: Negan smut, Negan x reader, rough smut

You lay flat on your stomach, one arm and leg hanging off the edge of the bed. In your slumber you could vaguely feel your symptoms of a migraine, dizziness, and nausea creeping up - they were instantly catalyzed by the sound of your alarm. You instinctively hit the snooze button and lifted your head to read the time:

5:00am

“fuckkkkk,” you groaned to yourself bringing your pillow over your head.

You told yourself you had to get up, you could not miss an assignment. Negan would have your ass, and not the way you would like him too.

You mustered your energy and literally rolled yourself onto your feet. You stumbled through your room, sporadically dressing. The fast movements amplified your symptoms, you occasionally had to stand still with a fist over your mouth to control your urge to puke. Your insane headache didn’t help either, it felt like someone stuffed cotton into your skull through your nostrils.

You’ve always had poor impulse control. Saying yes to another drink, another line or bump, yes to a stranger at the club. And last night yes to tequila with the rugby folks.

The semi and two other trucks were set to take off at 5:30. You were on track to be out there early but your bathroom break took longer than usual considering you urinated for what could have been 2 minutes,  took extra time to pep talk yourself and debated with your stomach over the sink. Which led to you getting (in your opinion) the worst seat in the house. The semi, sandwiched between the driver and Negan. 

_______

“Well good morning doll!” He said trough the rolled down window.

Jesus fucking christ wanna lower voice, you thought to yourself

“Good morning” you responded, your voice cracking as you scooted making more room for him.

Negan opened the door, got in, and you braced yourself.

Slam

Oh fuck, you felt like you skull was gonna burst with the pressure.

Negan observed you, noticing the subtle eye-roll under the skin of your eyelids, and your deep swallow - again holding down whatever you last drink and meal was. He knew.

The beginning of the ride was fine but after a half hour, your nausea was exacerbated. You tried to counteract the effects by taking deep breaths and small sips of water. Luckily you didn’t blow chunks in Negan.

The group scavenged some homes, and stores in a nearby plaza. Your last location was a pharmacy. You didn’t believe in god but at that moment there was a fraction of a possibility for you. Your first thought was to get your hands on some aspirin and some not-so-expired Gatorade. But first the job - supplies. You all cleared the place and began loading non-perishables and first aid items into your bags.

Negan walked down the hygiene aisle towards you.

“This is for you, Eddie.” His long arm stretched out to hand you a small white bottle.

You turned it around to read the label: 800mg ibuprofen

You played dumb, “what’s this for?”

“Com’n doll, I know a hungover kid when I see one”

You smiled down at the bottle in disbelief, “Guess I didn’t hide it very well”

“You most certainly did not,” he teased, “I mean, you were boring as shit on the way up, kept drinking water - probably cause you didn’t wanna throw up, and you’ve had that same sheen of sweat on your face all day.”

“Plus” you leaned down towards your ear, you got a whiff of his cologne and felt the heat of his breath on your neck, “you’re a walking distillery.”

You looked up at him confused, you’re brain not having the best cognitive function at the moment to breakdown his metaphor.

“You reek of alcohol, hon”

“Shit, really?”

“Oh yeah, shits oozing outta you!”

“Fuck, alright, thanks for these,” you said gesturing at the bottle.

“No problem doll,” he walked behind you, putting a light hand on your hip, and whispered in your other ear,  “Oh, and we’ll discuss this event further”

What the fuck does that mean?

The ride back was much better. You were tired and almost caught yourself falling asleep on Negan’s shoulder. 

When you arrived the other group was already in the garage ready to unload. Negan stepped out of the semi and held the door open as you followed. You took three steps before Negan hooked his hand under your arm pulling you back. He turned you around.

“Listen, as cute as I found your little attempt to hide your hangover, you could’ve seriously compromised the run. And I can’t let that go unpunished.”

Those words, his voice, instantly turning you on. You wanted to rub one out right there in front of him.

“So eat, get cleaned up, whatever but meet me in my room immediately after”

You nodded in understanding, he released you with a slight push. _______

You made your way through the hallways, nervous and a little scared but mostly hoping it’d end up like last time.

You knocked on Negan’s door.

“Come in!”

You opened the door slowly and stepped inside.

“Have a seat doll” he gestured with his pen toward the couch across the coffee table from where he was sitting.

Negan was on a long coach, ankle on his knee, jotting things down in a notebook, probably taking inventory from today. He was wearing a cotton white tee and his usual black pants.

You sat down. Waiting for him to say something. But there was nothing.

“So, you wanted to talk?” You broke the silence.

“Damn straight I do.” He said not looking up from his notes. “What you pulled today, was unacceptable, so we’re gonna come up with an appropriate sanction. And I’ll let you make the first offer” he finished his final markings and drew his eyes to you.

“I am personally am not a fan of consequences so I couldn’t tell you”

“Com’n, you’re smart, well, most of the time, what do you think I should do with you?”

There was another streak of quiet.

“Well I’m thinking you can have 2 weeks of fence duty, or considering our history, we can come up with a private punishment that serves both parties” he suggested. “I think you’ll enjoy the latter, but no pressure doll, it’s your choice. I won’t force anything on ya, just thought we’d have a little fun.”

“Like a sexual punishment?” You wanted clarification

“That’s a safe assumption to make, Eddie” he laughed, knowing you weren’t so innocent but still managed to ask the question.  

“Well, I don’t want fence duty cause it’s been hotter than the devil's dick lately.”

Negan laughed, “you got some colorful language there doll”

“So what do you have in mind?” You asked, adjusting yourself in your seat, stuffing your foot under your knee.

He set his notepad off to the side and rubbed the stubble on his chin, “What are you into?”

“Well, I, uh, never -“

“You haven’t had this sort of sexual experience have you?” He tried to put the pieces together

“...um, no,” you said shyly

“Oh okay. I want you to know that with me, you just gotta let me know what you like and what you don’t and I’ll adjust. You know I don’t disappoint. So, Is there anything you want to try?”

“Well, you’ve probably noticed, I like being roughed up, manhandled if you will. So...”

“Have you ever tried spanking?”

“I mean it’s happened a during sex, hell you did it last week, but not as an isolated thing”

“How do feel about me bending you over my bed and giving you your punishment?”

You looked over to his bed, and back at him, “yeah, I’m open to that”

Negan pushed off his knees and stood up. You looked up at him from your seat, his predatory eyes making your core tingle. You got up to meet him.

He began attacking your neck, sucking hard at your skin here and there, drawing out moans from you. His hands wandered at your back, made their way under the crewneck sweater you were wearing.

“No bra?”

“Thought I’d make this go quicker”

“Is your mind always in the dirty gutter?”

“Not as much as yours” you whispered in half moans

His hands made their way to your chest, pinching your erect buds.

“Fuck” you groaned

He pulled the hoodie off, revealing your upper half. His hands hooked under both sides of your jaw and began kissing your lips, slipping his tongue in your mouth.

Both of you staggered towards the bed.

“Bend over. Hands behind your back”

You did as you were told. You heard the clicking of his belt. You were worried he was gonna use that on you. You turned her head back, trying to get a better look.

“Relax doll, this is for something else.”

He grabbed your wrists and wrapped his belt around them. He then slipped your loose fitting running shorts down mid-thigh, eyes locking with your womanhood.

“Do I turn you on this much doll?” He asked, taking a thumb and spreading your juices around, swirling it around your clit.

You wiggled your hips trying to get more friction. 

Negan removed his finger, “not yet”

“So you want 10 hard ones or 20 moderate ones? Before I fuck into next week” he asked and he roughly caressed your buttocks.

“10”

“Alright. I want you to count them out, you miss one doll and we’re starting from the top”

“Yes, sir”

Negan groaned at your words, squeezing your cheeks one last time. There was a pause before you felt the first one.

Smack

Ah fuck

“One” you moaned, eyes glued shut. It hurt but you were oddly into it.  

Smack

“Two”

Smack

“T-three” you began breathing heavy

Smack

It took a little longer to answer

“Four,” you said softer

“What was that sweetheart?” He asked menacingly

You didn’t answer, you knew he heard you and you hated repeating yourself, the situation didn’t change that.

“You know the rules. You don’t answer we start over” He reminded you

“You won’t” you challenged him

His clothed body leaned over you, feeling his semi-hard bulge over your ass. He tangled his hand in your hair and pulled your head back.

“From the top” he ordered and carelessly let you head fall

Smack

“One” your voice at a slightly higher pitch

Smack

“Two”

Smack

“Three”

Smack. That one a little extra hard on the next one, your wrists wrestling against the belt around them.

“Four,” you said it clearly this time.

After he got to the fourth one for the second time he gave he gently rubbed his markings, giving you some relief, and switched cheeks.

Smack

“Five” you gritted through your teeth

“Halfway there doll. And damn baby, you are soaking” he brought his fingers to your center again, feeling your slickness. He brought two fingers inside you and you bit down on the sheets hoping he’d give you release.

You slowly pumped his fingers in and out of you, his thumb playing with your bundle. When he felt your walls quiver he pulled them out, causeing a frustrated sigh to exit you.

“Patience, doll”

Fuck you

Without warning, he brought the next blow

“Agh! - Six!”

“You alright doll?” He wanted to make sure you were okay with everything.

You nodded, your cheek rubbing against his sheets.

Smack

“S-Seven”

Smack

Smack

“Eight! Nine!”

You were heaving, your face buried into the mattress, your torso rising and sinking, your back glistening with sweat.

He stepped back and pulled your shorts all the way down through your ankles. He roughly spread your legs out more.

The next blow went where you didn’t expect it to.

Smack right on your center

You moaned loudly and he entered you in one swift motion, you didn’t have time to fully register the sting or count it. He grabbed onto the belt, bringing your upper body slightly off the mattress. He jackhammered into you. Wet, slapping sounds filling the room.

He felt you getting close, your center squeezing his member tighter and your moans getting louder. He let his grip on the belt relax and you flopped back onto the mattress.

He shimmed his hand to your front, causing his body to press against you tightly. His penetration was slower, but he took his time to go extra deep, while his fingers worked your clit.

“I’m close” you barely got out.

He kept himself buried deep, his girth keeping you stretched out, he focused on stimulation.

“Com’n, Eddie, come for me” he practically ordered.

God his fingers

You tensed up and immediately came undone. Sighing in relief.

“There she is” Negan praised

Negan pulled out of you. And began caressing your vulva. You jolted forward at the oversensitivity.  

“Oh, I’m not done with you yet” he gripped your hips and pulled you back into place.

He utilized your secretions and brought his fingers to your puckered hole. Spreading your juices around it.

“This okay doll?”

Fuck it

“Yes da-, yes sir”

“Daddy huh? You can call me that, dirty girl”

His fingers continuing the swirling motions

“So is this okay doll?” he leaned over and nibbled at your muscular shoulder.

“Yes, daddy”

He straightened up and worked one finger in and felt you tense up.

“Shh, shh, relax doll. I got you” He soothed you, and began pumping that single finger in and out.

You felt more liquid land on your hole, you were certain he used his spit, but it helped his finger enter and exit much easier.

After serval minutes he asked, “ready for another one?”

You nodded

Smack

“Answer me!”

“Yes”

Smack

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, daddy”

He slid a second finger inside you. It was tight and stung a little but it was also pleasurable. You started to back your hips into his fingers.

“That’s it” he encouraged

He pulled his fingers out and rubbed the tip of his dick at your hole. He pushed his half his head in and pulled out, he performed that movement several times.

“I’m going to go inside you now, sweetheart”

“Okay,” you said nervously

“If it’s too much you can tell me to stop, and I’ll stop” he reassured you

He pushed his entire head in. It was wider than his two fingers but not unbearable. He stilled for a moment.

“Relax”

You took semi-deep breathes. Negan pushed half-way on your exhale.

“That’s it, keep breathing”

Negan timed his movements. Every time you breathed in he exited and when you breathed out he pushed back in. Eventually hiding his whole member inside you.

“Harder” you muttered at him

“Your a fucking bad girl, Eddie. Wanting me to fuck your ass harder”

He dug his fingers into your hips and pumped violently into you.

“I’m gonna come in your ass” telling you, not asking.

His groans and movements became frantic, and with one final grunt, Negan blew his load into you. Giving you lazy pumps as he softened.

He pulled out of you, and you heard his zipper close. But he wasn’t done yet.

He brought his hand back to your recently used entrance and used his dripping cum as a lubricant. He scissored your anus while using his other hand to flick your clit. You began bucking against him, faster and faster, feeling the coil tighten in your gut, eventually convulsing around his digits.

“Ah fuck!”

He pulled off his shirt and wiped your back dry, making his way to your center to clean both of your fluids.

He tossed his shirt to the side, untied you, and gave you a playful, light smack, “try to handle your liquor better next time”

You sat at the edge of his bed feeling the ache on your backside and rubbed your wrists. Negan was washing his hands in his small kitchen.

“I can handle my liquor, Negan” you told him

Negan laughed, turning off the faucet, flicking the excess water off his hands. He reached for the overhead counters and pulled out a bottle of alcohol and set on the counter.

“Let’s see” he turned to you, daring you.  

#negan #negan x oc #negan x reader #Negan thirst squad #negan smut #The Walking Dead #twd #negan fanfiction #twd fanfiction

[binnie-binnie-bambam]

where I’ve been...?

hey. I feel like I owe y’all an explanation as to where I’ve been for the last 3 months. but imma put it the whole big detailed story under the cut just in case y’all don’t care haha and coz I don’t wanna clog up people’s feed with my incessant rambling.

TL;DR: I’ve been through 3 months of mental hell and that took a big toll on everything, including my love of a lot of things, so I’ve been struggling but I’m gonna try to be on here more and I’m sorry for being away for so long and not saying anything about it. Thank you to everyone who has tagged me in things and sent me messages during this time, I have seen it, I promise, even if I haven’t been in the right headspace to respond, you have made this time even just a bit more bearable, and for that I thank you greatly.

so yeah, things have been rough to say the least. I want to explain what’s been going on because I’ve always been pretty open on here and I know a lot of other people struggle with the same things so I don’t feel so alone. basically, I’ve fallen into another awful depression. I’ve lost my passion and drive and desire, I’ve lost the ability to find joy in things, I have no interest in hardly anything at all, I’m just not...me...right now.

I mean, my whole summer was crazy busy because I was spending almost all of my time doing wedding prep for my best friend/cousin’s wedding so I really didn’t have much time for myself and if I did, I was too exhausted to do anything I wanted to do. that’s when my partial inactivity started. I also started to see a new psychiatrist over the summer and he started me on new meds around August. since August, over a span of ~5 months, I’ve been on and off 6+ new meds, being treated for severe anxiety, panic attacks that resurfaced after being free of them for over 4 years, severe depression, ADHD, and trying different things to see if I had bipolar, as well as having a heart condition, thyroid issues, and fibromyalgia all going haywire.

I was pretty much ok through September, aside from some not so fun side effects that got me on and off 3 new meds in that month alone. like my mood and motivation and everything was fine, we had the engagement party and bachelorette party at the beginning of the month, I got to spend a bunch of time with the guy I have a (stupid) crush on, I was busy, things were going pretty great, honestly. but October rolled around. the first half wasn’t so bad, we had a girls’ trip for a weekend sort of as a last hoorah before my best friend got hitched and that was a lot of fun and I’m super thankful I was able to go, especially since I originally thought I wasn’t going to be able to make it due to family circumstances.

and wedding prep continued on, until I was driving over to my aunt’s house for the last day of prep and things started to hit me. my aunt and I got really close this past year and this was the last time I was spending with her for a long time, like sure we see each other once in a while but I was going over there and going shopping with her and doing all sorts of stuff multiple times a week and I think I just got scared of the idea that I was facing a new normal all over again when my normal had already changed so drastically at the beginning of last year. and also the fact that my best friend was getting married and moving an hour away when she used to be 10 minutes away and I saw her all the time. like we had the rehearsal dinner the Sunday before the wedding and my oldest cousin made this speech (because she knew she’d be sobbing too much to actually make it at the wedding) and she talked about us three girls as kids growing up and all this stuff about my best friend and how perfect her fiance was for her and it was just all really sobering I guess?

and I spent a lot of nights that week writing and rewriting a letter to the couple and I definitely spent most of that time sobbing over everything and sometime that week my mood just plummeted. my dad got /really/ concerned because the change in me was /so/ drastic but there wasn’t much we could do with only a few days until the wedding so we just hoped for the best and waited till my appointment with my psychiatrist to figure out the next step. I ended up getting a migraine at the wedding (I know it was from stress and from being so upset) so I couldn’t have a good time like I wanted to and I knew I’d regret it and I definitely regret it but I can’t change anything now. I got to hug the bride and groom goodbye just as they were leaving and I’ve never struggled so hard trying not to cry, which I mean, my best friend was sooo close to becoming a sobbing mess hugging me too, and the groom, well he was a blubbering mess (he’s a very emotional dude, all three of us have sobbed watching movies together, we’re a sight lmao) so I didn’t feel too strange haha. but it was a really weird feeling and it was really hard to sleep at the hotel that night. we drove home in the rain the next morning and did absolutely nothing the entire day.

then the news hit about Woojin and I spent my Monday night quite literally sobbing myself to sleep. at that time, I was still pretty new to skz but it still hurt like hell and I know my depression warped the emotions out of proportion but it was still so incredibly painful. but nothing could prepare me for the news about Wonho. nothing. I was already so deep into my depression and that just, I still don’t even have words. something hasn’t hit me that hard in I don’t even know how long. I couldn’t even cry, it took me over 2 months to cry about it because it just hurt too much. I still can’t listen to any of their music, I can’t even see photos of them without bursting into tears, and I’m ashamed at myself for being so attached to something that I react this badly, but even more so, I’m upset with myself that I can’t support them when they need it most because it causes me so much physical and emotional pain I just can’t deal with it. I’m not giving up on them, god no, I know it probably sounds like I am, but I swear I’m not. I love them way too much for that. it’s not even possible to describe how much mx and Wonho mean to me, I’m not giving up on them, I’m just handling things in my own way at my own pace, I guess.

from then on, things just spiraled out of control. on and off more meds, more and more problems arose, I really felt like I could not keep my head above water. and on top of it, I had the 7th anniversary of my grandma’s death in early November and the 10th anniversary of my grandfather’s death in early December and to say the least, that did not have the best effect on my mental health. it’s been 3 months of pretty much hell. I genuinely have /no/ interest in things I used to do, none of my hobbies, everything, and I mean everything, is a chore. it’s still like this. but I’m trying to do more to fix it. I’m seeing my doctor next week and I just spent 6 weeks getting another med out of my system so hopefully when I see him, he’ll try something new and we’ll actually make progress instead of taking 2 steps forward and 8 steps back. I haven’t lost hope yet.

there’s been many, many times in these past few months where I’ve felt like I’ve already hit rock bottom and I’m just waiting for the final blow to finish me off. but, if I’m being completely honest, what’s kept me going has been my really close friends on here that have stuck with me this whole time and my love for kpop which thankfully, god thank you, hasn’t diminished whatsoever despite everything. I can confidently say, I wouldn’t still be here without my friends, you know who you are my loves. y’all keep my world turning and no matter how painful it can get sometimes, I wouldn’t have made it this far, I wouldn’t want to keep going, I wouldn’t owe my life to you guys, so thank you, more than words can express. I love you all to the moon and back. and then some.

so this has just been paragraphs upon paragraphs of me rambling so I really don’t know why you would’ve stayed and read the whole damn thing, but if you did, thank you, I feel a lot better getting things off my chest. and this isn’t to say I’m back completely, I can’t guarantee how active I’ll actually be, but I’ll do my best to spend some more time on here because I genuinely do miss this place and all the amazing people in it. I’m so sorry I’ve been gone so long, especially without any real explanation. I’m going to do my best to rediscover my love for things, I may have lost it for a time, but it’s not gone completely.

~

until next time, this has been “aly won’t shut up”. thank you and goodnight, I love y’all

#sorry i've been inactive #things have been rough #i'm doing my best #one day at a time #i still talk too much tho haha #aly won't shut up #but yeah #if you've been wondering where i've been here's the big long explanation #i'll see y'all soon tho #i love and miss y'all lots

[couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name]

- opening night went well!!!

- I mean there were six different flash flood warnings, two tornado warnings and I had a migraine from hell but. the show went on!!

- me when Wonka’s mic started cutting out during God damn ‘pure imagination’ and I knew I wouldn’t be able to get to her until after ‘candyman’ so that’d be three songs down the drain

- whatever was going on sorted itself out though skjfdskj thank God

- shoutout to the director for cornering me in the bathroom and asking ‘so when do you want kids?’ and me for taking entirely too long to figure out she meant when should the cast come get their mics kjfsddsjkffds I WANTED TO SACRIFICE MYSELF TO THE STORM

- I over heard the teen interns(tm) talking and one said ‘(company’s name) is my favorite cult’ and it took all my strength not to crack up because...my friends that I have from this company. our group chat is literally called ‘the cult’. love that this mentality is still alive in the younger generations 

- an entire table just. went missing.

- idk the other two sound people set up a folding table in the dressing room for kids to put their mics on and when we went back later it was....gone? who steals a table I’m yelling

- a mic went missing during intermission and that was Drama because it was supposed to go on another kid for act 2, so that girl is on the verge of a panic attack, and the entire room spends like 20 minutes scouring for this mic before the girl that had it in act 1, who kept INSISTING she left it on the table....found it in her bag dkfjdfsds

- afterwards she literally went ‘well, you guys have all been great, but I’m just gonna go die!’ and ran out a back door lmao

- the Oompa Loompas: hey I know none of us have mics and we’ve been screaming this song all week but what if....we were super quiet tonight? wouldn’t that be hilarious?

- they brought out the boat for The Boat Scene(tm) and the audience started cheering their asses off- like, the scene hadn’t even started yet. they were just cheering for a wooden cutout of a boat lmao

- oh my God during her song Veruca screamed loud enough to blow out her mic so she sounded muted during her oompa loompa verse HELP

- also some of the audience got like....big mad at her verse saying parents are to blame if their kids are brats. people were really offended by that lmao

- I was sitting in the last row of the audience and the glowing golden tickets onstage were NOT good for my migraine so I was trying to block them out with the lady sitting in front of me’s head but she wouldn’t stop moving rip

- a lot of the mics were WORKING but the kids still sounded quiet for no clear reason so I really hope that was just like...them being nervous and it won’t be an issue again tonight

- Wonka accidentally introduced both of Charlie’s parents as ‘Mrs. Buckett’ and you could just....see the regret on that kids face lol

- every time they sing ‘cheer up charlie’ I get the good luck charlie theme song stuck in my head

- okay so I know the show is supposed to be one of those Outside Of Time pieces like I get that but none of the ensemble kids in ‘candyman’ really have costumes like they’re just in their normal fucking modern day summer clothes and then here’s Charlie looking like he just emerged from a chimney in Mary Poppins....it’s weird

- Augustus got a lot of laughs lol they LOVED his death scene

- there was NO reaction when Charlie found the golden ticket I was so mad this poor kid was just jumping around happily to a dead audience 

- but overall it was a really good audience and the kids did really well!!! let’s go round two tonight!!

#ww vagueblogging 2k19 #molly mumbles #musicals

[pi-cat000]

MSA time travel idea (part 29)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, Vivi POV, 8, 9, 10, Lewis POV, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, Lance POV 18, 19, Lewis POV 2, 21 , 22, Vivi POV 2, 24, 25  Lewis POV 3,  Mystery POV , Vivi POV 3

Part 30: here

. 

Clank. The screwdriver clatters on the concrete, impossibly loud for something so small. Arthur grimaces at the noise, attention jumping up to the workshop door in guilty anticipation. When several seconds pass and his Uncle doesn’t come barging in to deliver a lecture on how he shouldn’t be sneaking into the workshop without permission, Arthur returns to the half-constructed box of plastic and wire he has positioned on the desk before him.

He squints in the dimming light. The sun has almost set, casting a small square of orange light on one half of the workbench. Arthur is hesitant to open the garage doors or switch on the main lights, knowing it would tip off his Uncle. An unusual lack of clients that week had left the garage wholly empty and the benches clear. Even Uncle Lance, who practically lived at the workbench, is out, giving him the window needed to finish his current project.

The project? Fix his Uncle’s old VCR. Then Lance would finally be able to re-watch all those old wrestling tapes he kept boxed, gathering dust, up in his room. The VCR, broken for as long as Arthur could remember, had been a permeant fixture of the living room until relegated to the shed out back.  Arthur has his doubts on how enjoyable he would find watching two men role around or whatever they did in pro wrestling, but his Uncle probably kept the tapes around for a reason. The point of a gift was to do something nice for someone else. So far, he has pulled the whole thing apart, spotted then fixed the fault, and is fitting it back together again.  Not like the VCR is super complicated. Not like the computer, which had been a lot harder to reassemble. Uncle Lance had not been pleased about that one. “Arthur!” The sudden address almost has him knocking the whole thing to the ground. He doesn’t, but it’s a near miss. “What have I told ya about messin around in here!” Arthur jumps up, dropping the screwdriver out of sight onto the seat. Not that the small action helps him any. Not with the incriminating mess spread across the workbench. “I’m not!” He blurts. His Uncle folds both his arms and gives him that unimpressed, ‘you’ll be grounded in your room for the next week if you don’t start explaining quickly,’ look. Despite Arthur now being almost the same height as Lance, the other man seems awfully tall when he’s angry. “I mean…I’m not ‘messin around’ I know exactly what I’m doing. Also, I’m only using the tools, none of the electrical equipment, just like you said. What’s dangerous about that? Not like I’m about to stab myself with the screwdriver.” He quickly delivers the pre-prepared excuse before his Uncle can start lecturing. More unconvinced frowning. The arms remain crossed. Maybe he should have skipped the ‘stab myself with a screwdriver’ part. Lance didn’t think Arthur dumb enough to do something that stupid right? Right? “Is that the VCR?” His Uncle spots the partially assembled project. So much for the gift being a surprise. Arthur clears his throat, “Yeah. I found it in the shed.” Anything in the shed was free game. “What the fuc…ah…heck ya doing to it?” Lance's next expression is more confusion than anger. Confusion is good. Arthur can work with confusion. “Fixing it,” Arthur can’t help but feel a little proud, “I just need to put the casing back, and it’ll be done.” “What for? We don’t own any tapes?” Pride becomes awkwardness, and he looks down to the ground, “Ah…what about the ones in your room?” His Uncle coughs, “Those old things? Ya’d hate wrestling.” “Yeah? I mean…I fixed it so you could watch them…” He trails off, suddenly embarrassed. His Uncle goes quiet. Why had he thought this was a good idea again? Of course, his Uncle didn’t want to watch the tapes. If he had, he would have bought a new VCR or got their one fixed by a professional. It’s not like it was expressive or anything. A weight lands on his head, and Arthur is treated to the sensation of a hand ruffling his hair. “Yeh a good kid,” His Uncle mutters before speaking louder, “I’ve been tryin to fix that thing for a good while. How long did it take ya?” The embarrassment evaporates, and Arthur lets himself grin, attention jumping up as he rushes to answer the question, “Like…four hours. I know, that’s a long time, but it took me way longer to disassemble it than I thought it would. I had to make notes and stuff because I only had the instruction manual to work from, and I didn’t want to mess up and not be able to put it back together.” He gestures at the paper-strewn workbench. “Not what I…” His Uncle starts then grunts in amusement, “That’s impressive.” Arthur feels his chest inflate and his back straighten. Impressive. His Uncle thought it was impressive.

“But you’re not getting outta trouble that easily. From now on, tell me when ya want ta use the tools…” Arthur is too happy to properly register the rest of the lecture. He is happy, right up until… “Stop. Ugh.” …His Uncle’s voice cuts off abruptly. Confused, Arthur tries reacting, but finds himself frozen, stuck staring at this Uncle’s still expression. Wind, birds, the hum of the workshop’s generator: it all drops away. Silence. The world shifts sideways, sunlight dimming. Reds, browns, and oranges are replaced with shades of grey, colour draining from the walls and floor. “Yuck,” The third, familiar, voice continues, “Enough of the mushy sentimental nonsense. It’s giving me a migraine.” Arthur, abruptly able to move, recoils violently to the side, stumbling back and spinning to face sound. Relaxed in the work chair adjacent to the bench, is a recognisable figure. A second Arthur. Green skinned, twirling the screwdriver idly between two fingers, it gives him a lazy wave. “Sup,” The creature greets jovially. A memory. This was a memory just like with Lewis and The Cave. The realisation hits him in the chest, taking his breath away, ripping the energy from his limbs. Arthur is not ten years old, avoiding homework, presenting Uncle Lance with his latest endeavour. That was the past. A memory. Grief and disappointment travel through his every cell, coiling painfully about his heart before sinking into greyed-out workshop floor. Arthur’s attention drifts to his Uncle who is still frozen, face morphed between a stern frown and half-crocked smile. This is the present. His own personal hell. “Personal hell? That’s a bit much,” The demon laughs, amused, pointing the screwdriver at him, “Humans. Kill one relative, and it’s like the word’s ending. You’re all so dramatic.” “Why are you here?” Arthur hastily retreats across the room, putting his back against the door. Between him and the doppelganger stands the frozen, desaturated silhouette of his Uncle. Whereas before, in the memory, Arthur had been shorter and barely reaching his Uncle’s eyeline, now, he is standing a head taller. Still dressed in the oiled work shirt and pants he’d be wearing for the last twelve hours, Arthur's mind churns trying to compute events around him. These are same clothes he had been wearing when…when he had… “What did you do?” He snaps, trying and failing to stop his voice from shaking. The pain weighs on him, deadening any other observations. He’d like to return to the blissful unawareness of the memory, please. Why is the bastard demon ruining even that? “Me?” The demon scoffs, “I didn’t do anything. You came here all by yourself. A mental safehouse of sorts. It happens now and then. I call it ‘ignoring reality’ but whatever, same difference.” “Can’t imagine why I’d want to ignore reality. What a mystery. How will you ever figure it out?” Arthur retorts, lacing in some sarcasm, feeling along the door for the handle. A patronising grin, “No need to be rude. We’re supposed to be a team here. It wouldn’t be right if I just let you hide out and waste away back here.” “Why not. You have my body, what else do you want?” Arthur finds and tries the handle, jiggling it about. It is stuck fast. Funny, this door didn’t have a lock in the real world. Arthur could just scream. “Our body. OUR.” The demon stands, chucking the screwdriver down. The screwdriver’s blue handle turns grey like the rest of the environment, and it clanks once on the desk before freezing. “In all honestly? I get lonely, driving around all by myself. Being stuck in a cave for a century or two will do that to a guy. Sure, the whingeing is a little annoying, but hey, what’s a road trip without friends.” “You killed...” He swallows the sentence. It’s too painful to say. “We are not friends.” “Ouch.” The demon stalks closer, green eyes flashing, “Now that one really hurt…” Arthur stills, dread growing exponentially. The room suddenly feels tiny and very constricting, like it is shrinking in on him, forcing the two of them closer together. “…and after all the fun we’ve had. That’s despite exceptional levels of restraint on my part. I’ve killed, what, two or three people? That’s nothing.” They are now a half meter a part, and, despite being almost identical, the demon looms up over him. “Take it from the expert. This,” A loose but pointed gesture towards the frozen memory of his Uncle, “can always get worse. For instance, Lew’s family, I can kill them quickly or slowly. I’m leaning towards quick, more time to hit the road, but hey if I need to prove a point…” “NO!” “…I will.” Arthur’s yell bounces abnormally around the empty workshop. In attempting to inch along the wall and give himself room, he has managed to back himself into a corner between two shelving units. Now, he’s boxed in with the doppelganger standing far to close. Body language nonchalant, at odds with an unnaturally blank expression, the threat hangs in the silence. “So enough of this. How about you join me up front." A hand is extended, accompanied by an abrupt smile. Green eyes half-closed with delight it sings, “It’s what you’ve always wanted.” Yeah, when he was with his friends and having fun maybe he had once wished to spend more time up front driving with Lewis and Vivi. After all this, it seemed so dumb to want something that stupid. Arthur studies the ground, stalling, increasingly dismayed. The grey concrete is speckled with small pot-marks from where he or his Uncle have dropped tools or equipment. What he doesn’t want is to be subjected to strange emotions or stuck with his own thoughts, trapped, watching this thing continue to rip his life apart. When had wanting anything ever worked out well for him? Not like this decision mattered anyway. It was just an illusion of choice. The demon could pull Arthur out any time it wanted. His hand twitches up. Obviously, he’s moving too slow, because there is a sigh of inflated irritation. A hand slaps over his wrist. Before Arthur can flinch, the world dissolves. There is a yanking sensation, then light, sound, and smell return. The van materialises around him. The seats are firm, indented from use, there is the lingering smell of greasy food, and sound of an idling engine. Arthur is briefly stunned into non-thought, mind running a blank, while he deals with the stimulation onslaught alongside a disorientating deluge of conflicting foreign emotions. Of course, after he acclimatises, the despair it right there to swallow him up again. Hopelessness is a heady darkness, eating him up, leaving him with barely a coherent thought. It makes him tired. Dully, Arthur notes their location as they turn onto the highway, having just been stopped in a rest area. Nice to know he’d been enough of an inconvenience that the demon had needed to pull over and fish Arthur out of his memories. An inconvenience. That was the extent of his ability. Story of his pathetic life. While Arthur wallows in his failures, he idly notes the road as it curves ahead, recognising a collection of stone bluffs passing on the right. He knows this section of highway. They are on their way to Kingsman Mechanics. Home or to what was once his home. Maybe, if he unexpectedly tries to wrestle for control at just the right moment- perhaps on the tricky turn coming up, -he can send the van flying. Take them both out. At this point, Arthur is willing to try anything to save Lewis’s family. Road safety be damned. The road dips down into a tight turn. Arthur tracks the van’s progress. Right on the road’s bend, Arthur throws his weight against the nothing and space restraining him, trying to get some response. He, maybe, manages to freeze the body for a millisecond before getting shoved aside with disgusting ease.   “You know. If this body dies, I’ll still be here. You’ll be gone for good though,” The demon comments conversationally, shrugging their shoulders in a ‘what can you do’ movement. ‘Bet there’s a reason you don’t ride around in a possessed corpse.’  Another failure. Add it to the list. “Aside from the fact that I have standards.” A laugh. “I mean, hey, one of us needs to.” More amusement at his expense. Arthur winces and doesn’t bother engaging further, choosing instead to sink down and wrap himself in his blanket of misery. His only consolation is that this pain is all him and not the demon. The demon is still feeling a mix of satisfaction and enjoyment. Small potatoes when put up against his own overwhelming desolation. When it comes to negative emotions, even without his body, Arthur has the bastard beat. It is not much of a consolation.

Part 30: here

#MSA #mystery skulls animated #fanfiction #fanfic #arthur kingsmen #the demon? #angst #suicidal thoughts #depression #Arthur bad times continue #well this is depressing #emotional disorientation #possession #dark

[newts-fan-case]

Balance

One-shot/Chapter number: Chapter One

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Young!Ballerina!OFC

Genre/Warnings: Fluff, Smut (in future chapters). TW for slight mention of eating disorders (in future chapters)

Rating: Rated M for future chapters

Word Count: 1800+

Summary/Author’s Note: Hello again! Here is the first chapter of my first Tom Hiddleston x OFC fan fiction (that is not a one shot). Like I said before it’s about a young ballerina that bothers Tom with the noise she makes, they met and lots of things happen... Sorry, I'm not really good at summaries. Any grammar or orthographic mistakes are my own, I hope to improve with this because English isn’t my first language, so just let me know if you spot any mistake that could be easily corrected.

Tag list is at the end and the text is under the “Read more” cut (I hope) for better scrolling. Any comments will be greatly appreciated, any constructive criticism will be strongly encouraged and if you want to be tagged or removed from the tag list just let me know! I hope to publish a new chapter every two weeks (early if I can, but don’t hold your breath) and on weekends mostly. If you read this, thank you and without further ado, the chapter:

“…Yes, Mum, I just landed. I’m gonna go fetch Bobby first, have a nap and then I’ll go grocery shopping.” Tom said to the phone. 

“Alright, Tom, remember you will come visit Friday, you can stay all you want and please bring that gorgeous pup of yours!” He could hear lots of noise on his mother end, she must have been in one of her clubs. “I already miss him so much, I’m having second thoughts about giving him to you.”

“Yes, Mum, I remember. I bet Bobby will be absolutely delighted to see you again, I will start to take him on walks without carrying him that much so we can start running soon. And I missed you, too.” He chuckled, absentmindedly shaking his head while he picked his luggage from the baggage claim area.

“Oh! Don’t be silly, I miss you very much too, and I miss seeing your face without all that hair that makes you look like a tramp,” she huffed, “I hope you shave and get a cut soon.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be holding my breath for that, I happen to like the beard and the longer hair, thank you very much.” He heard Diana sigh on the other end and smiled, picturing her shaking her head in a resigned manner.

“Alright, alright… I have to go now, Blanche is saying that it’s my turn. I love you, Tom, bye.” She made kissing noises and he smiled.

“I love you too, mum, see you on Friday.”

“See you.” He hung up, and sighed. He really had missed his family this few months and was really glad he got to spend the holidays with them this year. Tom couldn’t wait to see his mum, sisters and nieces. 

Getting a cab at noon wasn’t very easy, but after a few tries he was finally able to catch one, he gave the cabbie Luke’s address and mentally prepared himself to call his publicist and friend.

Luke, like always, answered after the third tone, “Luke Windsor”

“Hey, Luke, I just got to London, I’m on a cab right now to pick up Bobby, are you ready?” 

“Tom, lovely to hear from you, yes, your little nightmare is ready, you owe me a pair of new shoes and a belt.” His friend didn’t sound very mad, but he didn’t sound happy either, Tom closed his eyes and sighed.

“Okay, sorry about that, mate. I’ll be there in an hour maybe less if the traffic isn’t so bad, thanks for taking care of him”

“Yeah, you’re welcome, although I’m happy you don’t have any trips coming soon, because I’m not volunteering to look after him anytime soon.” Tom laughed but immediately stopped when he could hear a loud clash through the phone, “For fuck’s sake! Bobby!!” Luke shouted, he must have left the phone on a table because Tom could only hear his muffled voice, “Give me that… bad dog, stay there… no. Stay.”

Tom strummed his fingers on his leg and waited for the phone to be picked up again, a bit of shuffling later and… “Luke, I’m really sorry, I’ll pay you everything he may have broken, sorry, but he is just a puppy, he will learn soon enough and-“

“Tom, stop. It’s fine, it was just a cup of coffee, I’m glad he didn’t cut himself with the shards. And you will be here soon, so I won’t kill him to stop his adorable puppy eyes.”

“Great, thanks mate. Did you already walked him?”

“Yes, yes, he is ready to go, and I hope you get here soon ‘cause I have a meeting in two hours and I don’t fancy being late.”

“Right, see you in a bit.”

“Goodbye.”

Tom put away his phone and then yawned. Jet lag was really getting to him, he couldn’t wait to get home, shower and have a nice long nap, hopefully until dinner. These time changes were impossible to keep up with and he was practically living out of coffee and red bull. When he got to Luke’s house he asked the cabbie to wait for him and went to fetch Bobby. His friend opened the door before he even got there and a brown mass of fur came running and barking to greet him. 

“Hello buddy! Did you miss me? Yeah? Good boy! I missed you lots too!” The puppy barked excitedly and kept jumping to try and lick his face, Tom knelt and scratch him behind the ears, the puppy’s tail didn’t stop waggling and Tom had to keep turning his face to stop Bobby from licking his mouth and eyes. “Oh, you’re such a good boy! Yeah!”

At that moment Luke exited his house with Bobby’s bag, where Tom guessed were his harness, toys and bowls.

“Here, all his things are in there, I had to wash him the other day because he thought it would be fun to play in the mud, so there is a bottle of shampoo in there too.”

Tom stood up and put the bag over his shoulder, then he gave his friend a hug and thanked him, again, for looking after his dog. They said their goodbyes and Tom got back in the cab, with Bobby in his lap with the head out of the window. He gave the driver his address and they were home a few minutes later. Bobby had calmed a bit on the ride, so he quickly paid the driver -with a generous tip for allowing the dog in- got his things from the boot and made his way inside the building. 

He greeted the doorman and walked to the elevator. Normally he would’ve taken the stairs but with all the things he was carrying and the tiredness that seemed to creep on him, even more now that he was so close to his house and bed, he decided to not risk himself falling. ‘Better safe than sorry’, he thought.

When he finally was inside his house, he quickly let the dog down, got rid of the bags that were making his back hurt and started shedding his clothes to take a much needed shower. He practically raced upstairs to his ensuite and there he took off his shoes, pants and underwear, then he jumped in the shower and couldn’t help the loud moan that fell from his lips when the warm water touched his back and relaxed his tired muscles. 

He took his sweet time washing himself. He quickly dried his body and put a towel around his waist, he didn’t bother drying his hair, something he was sure his mother would have chided him for not doing and went to his bedroom to take his long needed nap. The man put on some clean boxers, checked the time on his bedside clock -1:37 p.m- and fell  face first on the bed, he got comfortable and closed his eyes, expecting to instantly fall asleep and sleep at least three hours.

Tom was startled awake with what sounded like… ‘Hammering? Who the hells starts hammering at…’he checked his bedside clock and groaned. It was only 2:16pm! He hadn’t even slept an hour yet! And the sound seemed to be coming from right upstairs, just above is head. He could already feel a migraine forming and then Bobby started barking from downstairs, obviously. He groaned again and buried his face on the pillow -that was wet now- because he hadn’t dried his hair and now he really regretted it. 

The noise finally stopped and he sighed contently, cuddling his pillow more and thanking the heavens that he could get to sleep again when…

Thump, thump, thump-thump-thump-thump-thump.

‘Bloody hell!”

The man couldn’t take it anymore, he put on some sweatpants, a shirt and went upstairs to knock on his neighbour door, he  prepared a speech in his mind to kindly ask whoever lived there that he needed a God damn nap or else…

Nobody answered, he was getting more and more irritated by the second, the noise was louder up here so he tried knocking a bit harder, and again, nothing.

He couldn’t hear any background noise except for the on and off thump-thump-thump, so he tried one last time. Just when the noise stopped, he knocked harder than the other times. Finally he could hear light footsteps approaching. A few seconds later the door was being opened and he found himself face to face -or more like face to chest, her face, his chest- with a beautiful young girl wearing a bun, headphones hanging around her neck -which explained the no-hearing thing- a leotard with light pink tights underneath, a flimsy skirt, leg warmers and a pair of shiny new pointe shoes on her hand. 

‘So, a ballerina then, that may explain the noise,’ he thought. 

The girl shyly smiled at him, with a flushing face and the shiniest eyes he had ever seen, leaning against the doorframe and sort of expecting… something… Right!

“Hello! Hmm… Sorry… I’m Tom,” he extended his hand, “I live downstairs, didn’t mean to interrupt your practice or whatever you were doing but-“

“Oh, its okay!” She said, letting go of the door so it opened wider, shaking his hand delicately, “I’m Claire, I’m sorry, are you here for the noise? I didn’t realize there was someone downstairs and I guess it would be annoying to hear the tapping while I break in the shoes.” Claire looked to the floor embarrassed, fidgeting a bit with the shoes in her hands. 

“Erm, yes, normally I wouldn’t mind. Really. It’s just… I got home from a large trip today and I’m a bit jet lagged, so if yo could… keep it down for a bit?”

“Oh! Yes, don’t worry, I was done with these pair anyways, and I’ll try and keep the breaking to a minimum here, and practice too, so I don’t bother you with the noise,” the girl bit her lip and Tom couldn’t help but stare, thinking about what it would be like to kiss those pink lips… ‘Wait, stop! She must be over a decade younger than you, and we all know how that ends’

“No, no, no. Don’t compromise your art for me, it’s just for today, really.”

“Well… If you say so…”

The two of them stood there in an awkward silence, Tom was so occupied admiring the young beauty before him, that he didn’t notice her getting slightly uncomfortable, until she snapped him out of his reverie saying:

“Well, hmm, Tom, was it?” He nodded, “guess I’ll see you around?”

Tom absentmindedly nodded again while she started to close the door, “Yes, yes… I’ll be seeing you…” His mumbling got cut off by the door closing slowly in front of his stunned face.

‘Great Tom! I bet she thinks you are an idiot and a pervert now.’ The man sighed and made his way downstairs, still thinking about the beautiful young ballerina, wishing he could see her again soon.

Tag list: The one in italics couldn’t be tagged

@lilyrosebae​ @drakesfiance​ @redfoxwritesstuff​ @charliepeaceout​ @magic-dust​ @bambamwolf87​ @starlord829 @bookgirlunicorn​ @godhateskyleigh​ @aknerdchick​ 

#tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston #my writing #balance fanfic #tom hiddleston fan fiction #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston x ballerina!ofc #rpf #mine

[jilldsumner]

First time tumblr.

I’m in the East U.S so, Good evening. This is literally my first public encounter where I am confident to use my real name. I never started a facebook account, no instagram, I was on imgur about 7 years ago but I don’t remember what my username was then.  I’m on bored panda. I make a lot of funny comments and upvotes, but haven’t done any submissions of my own. 

I’m basically a divorced introvert with agoraphobia, bipolar 2 disorder , major depression, panic disorder, weather migraines, social anxiety, a long history of panic attacks, daughter of a toxic mother, unemployed, and as of Sept 2018 I am thyroidless. 

 I am a living meme... I have 3-5 friends because I used to have a job and I knew them for over 10 years so they sort of adopted me. Even my job was solitary, and I picked the area, the basement. I worked as a pet groomer for 18 years, up until my last breakdown in March 2018. I checked into a mental hospital because I thought I had some sort of brain tumor causing a psychotic episode(never had one, but couldn’t explain it any other way). On day 2ish, after they were treating me for withdrawal { with all negative drug tests!} they zeroed in on my thyroid. I can’t pinpoint when my symptoms started, but they built up one at a time so I didn’t put them together. And my previous T4 test had been done in May 2016 and it was closer to the low end than problematic. In 2 years it was 5 times higher than the highest normal level. When somebody says your thyroid controls everything, BELIEVE THEM! I was too weak from losing almost 15 pounds in 2 months and suffering Parkinson's like tremors to do it myself, and a screamingly high pulse (130-150 sitting still) and blood pressure. And if being diagnosed wasn’t crushing enough I developed a goiter that started swelling around the nerve bundle of my neck that served my left ear and larynx. My neck went from 15 inches to 17.5 inches in a couple of months. And the endocrinologist got scared when my levels were not responding to medication, I lost my voice, developed vertigo, and lost my frigging hearing in that ear!

 Other than endless doctors’ appointments, testing, therapy and medication checks for the mental hell I was trapped in, I don’t remember much of 2018. Except for the one time my Mother had to drive me to the doctor for my post-op check-up and she side-swiped a car.She claimed she had no idea where to turn. The same route I had Driven Her every 2 weeks for 5 MONTHS!  And the entire year of her living with me (she won’t frigging leave my house) telling people I was afraid to stay by myself, which was NOT true, but it made her look good so what did it matter if she slandered me. What I did need her for was to take care of my 2 dogs and 4 cats, she couldn’t do that, other than feeding them. Screw cleaning the boxes or messes, or letting the dogs out With any reasonable frequency. I needed her to supply , in some form, 3 meals a day even if she could just bring in groceries.  She couldn’t remember to do that. She couldn’t remember to wake me up to give me my meds when I was finally able to sleep. I would fly into rages from the uncontrolled hormones, and thus useless mental illness meds and she would make it worse with a lecture that I Hurt Her Feelings. Her back up lecture was “Why don’t you love me” Followed by the sermon “You’ll miss me when I’m dead”.   She took over my home with her clothes, her magazines, her sloppiness, her junk food diet, and her “anxiety” ( she has to get out and go places while at the same time putting clips on my curtains to block out all sunlight because she doesn’t want anyone looking in at her) .Then there was her constant “ you’ll be able to go back to your old job soon.” Never mind that I had somehow lost the ability to do what I was so good at. And she wouldn’t listen to the words coming out of my mouth. She may be my Mother, but I’ve been doing Me for 40 ish years, and so far I’ve had 100% accuracy. 

Sorry for starting off with a play by play for the last year of my life. I wasn’t expecting to get on such a roll.

#depression #mental disorder #toxic mother #unemployable #starting over #venting #reaching out #coming out of my cage #thyroid disease #making new friends #not giving up #want to be a writer #alone and lonely #dry humor #only child #talented and gifted #determined #she believed she could so she did #cat mom #crazycatlady

[mariequitecontrarie]

People Will Talk: Part 2

Summary: Atticus Gold and newcomer Belle French have developed a relationship no one in Storybrooke approves of, and people make their opinion known in small-minded, small-town fashion: he’s too old for her, and the pretty young librarian needs to find friends her own age. When Gold ends the relationship to protect Belle’s reputation, the town turns on him again. To make matters worse, his friends and family are mad at him, too. But as we all know, love wins in the end. Chapter Summary: Gold hasn't seen Belle in two weeks and Alice is not happy with him. Belle gets an unpleasant surprise. Rating / Word Count: T / 3000  A/N: Continuing Marie’s Three-Year Writing Anniversary Rumor/Assumed Fake Dating/Family AU that no one asked for. @maplesyrupao3 -- bless you!

On AO3

Part 1 on AO3 | Part 1 on Tumblr

Two Weeks Later

“Alice, why are you looking at me like that?”

Gold held his breath and waited, cursing himself for asking. He was guaranteed not to like the answer, but anything was better than the silent treatment.

Alice stopped dusting the cabinet of china dolls to fix him with another poisonous glare. “Because you’re a horse’s ass who has more money than brains.”

“Noted. Can you at least keep up with your duties while you insult me? Time is still money, dearie, even here in the barnyard.” Squabbling, at least, was familiar territory.

Gold waved a hand around the tidy pawnshop, wondering who worked for whom. He owned the store, but Alice called the shots. Sometimes it seemed like his only job was bankrolling Alice’s Amazon Prime spending sprees while she worked her way through Storybrooke College.

The only person he knew who shopped more than Alice was...no, he wasn’t going there.

Still glowering at him like he was something she scraped from the bottom of her shoe, Alice worked her way around the perimeter of the shop with her feather duster. He had to admit she did keep the cobwebs at bay and his stockroom organized, even if she annoyed the hell out of him in the process.

He glanced at the restored cuckoo clock on the wall. It was almost lunchtime, and Alice had been scowling at him since she’d shown up for work this morning. Trying to ignore her, he eased behind the counter and opened the books.

She fell silent for a short, precious moment, then slapped her hands on the countertop.“Ha! I know what your problem is. You’re in a foul temper because you haven’t seen your sweetheart. Belle hasn’t popped in for two weeks. What’s wrong? Lovers’ quarrel?”

“Beg pardon?” he asked, pretending to study his ledgers.

Feigning ignorance never worked on Alice. So like a Jones. Stubborn and mouthy, just like her father. She continued to bore holes into the top of his head, muttering to herself about how he was apologizing to the wrong person until he looked up with a long-suffering sigh.

Talking, talking. Why was the girl always talking? An ocular migraine threatened to form, sharp and urgent above his nose. Tiny sparks exploded in his peripheral vision, and he pressed his fingers against his forehead.

He supposed he could send his little conscience home from work to get her out of his way, but she was more than an employee—she was his goddaughter—and he’d promised Hook he would keep tabs on Alice while he was at sea. Killian “Hook” Jones’ career as a Naval officer meant lengthy tours of duty up to six months, and he knew Alice and her papa missed each other dreadfully while he was away. Guilt poked his conscience; he hadn’t emailed Hook with an update in at least two weeks. But he knew his oldest (and only) friend would question him about Belle, and he was neither willing to lie nor ready to confide. Besides, he reasoned, Alice could text her papa anytime she wanted with her smartphone thingy.

“If you’re not going to work, why don’t you study?” he murmured, trying to concentrate on his July sales numbers. “Isn’t there a women’s lit paper due tomorrow or something?”

“Books!” she shouted, making him jump. “That’s it! Why don’t you take these books back to the library for me?”

Alice plopped a pile of novels on top of the financials, jarring him from his thoughts. He pinched the bridge of his nose hard. Now he would have to rework the column of numbers all over again.

“I was hoping to get advice from Belle on a dress for my date with Robin on Friday, but this’ll give you an excuse to see her instead.” Alice grinned, delighted with her solution.

He shoved the books aside with a huff. “I’m not looking for an excuse.”

“Why the hell not?” Abandoning the pretense of working entirely, she dropped the feather duster on the floor and hoisted herself up on top of the counter.

He set his teeth on edge. “Belle and I aren’t friends anymore.”

“Friends?” She smirked. “If you’re friends, then I’m straight. Hate to break it to you, Uncle Atty, but you two have never been friends. She’s in love with you! And you love her, too.”

“What makes you say so?” he asked carefully, looking at his nails.

“Oh, I don’t know. The dark circles under your eyes. The constipated look on your face. You look like a saggy, twitchy, miserable old man.” She held up a brown paper bag. “Want a sandwich?”

He turned around, assessing his appearance in the antique mirror that hung on the wall behind the cash register. “I am a saggy, twitchy, miserable old man,” he snapped. “And no, I’m not hungry.”

“When Belle’s around, you look all soft and floppy and happy, like Rabbit does whenever I come home.” Alice smiled another cheeky grin.

He smiled back at her in spite of himself. “Well, I’ve been called worse, dearie, but If you’re expecting to bring me to heel like that stupid old dog of yours, it’ll be a cold day in hell.” He slammed the ledger closed and headed for the workroom. The girl trailed after him, still clutching her paper sack.

“I have egg salad,” she teased, shaking the bag. “Your favorite.”

It used to be. He shuddered, his stomach lurching. Eggs were a definite no. Now whenever he saw any sort of egg concoction, he thought of Belle’s pinched, white face on that hot July afternoon thirteen days ago when he ended their friendship. Not that he was counting the days since they’d been apart.

“I don’t eat eggs anymore,” he said. “Too much cholesterol.” No one knew his house had been egged besides Belle, and he wasn’t going to whine about it to Alice. He still had some pride. “You don’t like eggs, you don’t like Belle.” Alice spread her hands wide and twirled in a circle. “What do you like, Sam-I-Am?”

He pulled a face. “Peace and quiet. Both seem to be in short supply.”

Laughing at his sour expression, she plopped down on one of the stools at the work table and dangled her sandwich in front of his nose. “How about marmalade? I’ll trade ya.”

Alice was volunteering to eat the egg salad and offering her favorite lunch. Things really were as bad as they seemed, then. “Fine.”

Resigned, he sat down beside her, accepting half of the sandwich. He took a small bite to stop her prattling, but he had no appetite. Food had no flavor, the whole world drained of color and light without Belle. He missed her; her laughter, her touches, her insatiable appetite for stuffed crust pizza.

“Eat,” Alice insisted, clucking over him like a little mama.

He swallowed the bite of sandwich and forced himself to take another. “So, did you choose a dress for your date?” he asked, attempting both to change the subject and rejoin the land of the living. “Where are you and Robin going?”

“It’s just Tony’s.” Alice shrugged like the occasion was no big deal, and took a massive bite of her sandwich.

A six month anniversary is an important milestone.” He took out his pocket square and folded it into a perfect crown, trying not to be hurt that she hadn’t asked his advice. “Your father wouldn’t know style if it bit him on the arse, but I know my way around a clothing boutique.”

“I know,” she said around a mouthful of egg salad. “But I was kinda wanting the opinion of another woman. No offense.”

‘Another woman’ meant Belle. He cleared his throat. “None taken.” Not for the first time he was reminded that walking away from Belle didn’t only affect him. Alice looked up to Belle like an older sister, and he hoped his relationship failings weren’t driving a wedge between Alice and Belle, too.

Poking at the crust on his sandwich, he wondered what Belle was doing right now. She was probably balancing a book on her lap while she ate, dropping sandwich crumbs between the pages and... no. Gold mentally slapped himself. Cutting a person out of your life meant giving up the right to wonder.

Alice polished off the first half of her sandwich and started on the second. “Belle was at Granny’s the other night,” she offered slyly, employing her uncanny knack for reading his mind.

He choked on the sticky bit of bread in his mouth. “Oh? With anyone?” Ugh . When it came to the people he cared about, he was terrible at nonchalance.

“Yeah. Tall bloke with sparkling blue eyes and a strong, lean jaw.” She batted her eyelashes. “Didn’t recognize him, but it looked like a date.”

Date? Belle had gone on a date? He would find out who the bastard was and he would crush his windpipe with his cane. Gold looked down at his hands. They were coated in marmalade, the mangled sandwich crushed between his palms.

“Way to play it cool, Uncle Atty.” Alice smirked and he rose to wash his sticky hands. “I’m kidding. But I wouldn’t have made a joke if I knew you were this upset. Belle was at a booth with some other people. Ruby, Mulan, and Mary Margaret. Waved at me once, but she was picking at her food and staring at the wall whenever I tried to catch her eye. It’s obvious she’s missing you. Can’t you fix this?”

“I couldn’t possibly be intelligent enough to do that,” he said, grateful sarcasm was there to cover his relief at Belle not being on a date after all.

“Mmm, I see.” Alice rolled her eyes. “She’s the first woman who saw through your little act, isn’t she? Now you’re grouchy because you’ve gone and screwed up the best thing in your life because some Granny, Marco, and some other ignorant busybodies have their noses out of joint. Since when are you afraid of them, anyway?”

“Afraid? Ha!” He flashed his gold tooth in a warning snarl. This conversation was ridiculous.

“Cripes, this place can be so backward. Even the clock doesn’t move here.” Alice gestured down the street toward the clock tower, which had been stuck at 8:15 for twenty years. “I’d say we’re living in a land time forgot, but it’s been a common practice in most societies for younger women and older men to marry for generations.”

“Marry?” He sputtered. “Who said anything about marriage?”

“Obviously not you!”

He crossed his arms and grunted. “Reverse psychology doesn’t work on me, child. I used to change your nappies.”

“That’s right, you did. So why are you pretending I don’t know you?” She swallowed the rest of her sandwich in a gulp and chased it with half a can of Dr. Pepper soda. “People whisper all sorts of wicked things about me. Some of them are true and some of them are outright lies. We’re alike in that way, you and I. So what? If I paid attention to what everyone said, I’d never leave the house.”

“I know, honey.” He smoothed his hands over the smooth grain of the worktable, ashamed of himself. Alice had more than her share of bad days, days when she couldn’t come into work. Times when she came to the shop and wandered around as though in a dream, trailing her fingers through cabinets coated in dust, a faraway look in her eyes. What he suffered was nothing in comparison, and yet he couldn’t seem to ignore the thick fog of prejudice and judgment that suffocated him whenever he was with Belle.

“People talk no matter what we do; doesn’t mean we have to listen.” She patted his shoulder. “You sure as hell don’t listen to me, and I talk your head off every damn day.”

He gave her a fond smile and kissed the top of her head. “Don’t remind me.”

Day after day of pretending she was fine was exhausting, but Belle had been doing a fair job of holding herself together since Gold had unceremoniously dumped her on his front porch. She wasn’t sure it counted as a dump if you only fantasized you were a couple, but according to the ache in her chest, it was real.

The busier the day, the better. If she kept moving from task to task, she could ignore her shattered heart. She showed up for her library shifts without fail, she checked books in and out, and chattered with people about their lives. Today she had even helped several eleventh graders with their Marie Antoinette biographies. Staying busy was working until the last hour of the day when the flow of patrons slowed to a trickle and she sat down at her desk to open the mail.

She quickly sorted through the typical bills, catalogs, and overdue fine payments, arranging them into piles. A plain, clean white envelope addressed directly to her stood out from the rest of the mail, and she saved it for last. There was no return address, but the faint scent of antiseptic clung to the crisp envelope.

Belle ripped the envelope open and a drawing sketched on a piece of ruled notebook paper floated to the floor. What she saw made her bite down on her lip hard, the metallic tang of blood filling her mouth. It was a crude illustration, but she could make out the Beast from the movie Beauty and the Beast , drawn wrinkled and old, wearing a suit and tie and clenching a cane in his gnarled claw. He was ogling a young woman who was reading a book. The woman wore a version of movie Belle’s famous golden dress, but the skirt barely grazed her thigh and the bodice dipped all the way to her navel. Clearly, the image was meant to be of her and Gold.

She stared down at the crude representation, then crumpled it in her fist. It was a cheap attempt at an insult, drawing her to look like some sort of slutty temptress and Gold as a dirty old man. Rage ripped through her in a white-hot streak, and her mind narrowed to a singular purpose: finding out who had done this. Tonight.

Belle shot to her feet, knocking over her chair.

Granny’s Diner was the social hub of Storybrooke, and the best place to get to the bottom of nonsense, but she was far too impatient to wait until the library closed. She chased the last few stragglers out of the library and slammed the door behind her, jamming the key in the lock with shaking hands until it clicked. With frayed nerves, she stomped all the way to Granny’s, the drawing clutched in her closed fist. The early August evening air was warm and humid, and sweat trickled down her back as she marched down Main Street. While she hurried down the sidewalk, she tried to puzzle out who had drawn and sent the picture and why. Rumors and innuendo aside, there was something perplexing about caring so much for Gold and yet holding physical evidence that other people couldn’t see the tender, handsome man she knew.

Small towns produced small minds.

The tables at Granny’s were packed. It was Thursday during dinner rush—the most popular night—and people clustered inside the front door and on the patio outside, waiting for the chance to sit down. All the barstools were occupied, platters and baskets of food sitting in front of every person. Good. Belle wanted a large audience for what she was about to do.

She toed off her heels and climbed up on the counter. Mr. Clark from the pharmacy stared at her in horror, then sneezed and wrapped an arm around an enormous, sauce-covered square of lasagna, drawing it closer for protection. Ruby stood frozen at the cash register, and Ashley Boyd narrowly missed dropping the tray of dirty dishes she was carrying, almost colliding with town psychiatrist Archie Hopper as she narrowly saved the plates from slipping to the floor.

Behind the counter, Granny made an outraged, sputtering noise, the heat of her glare rivaling the sizzling grill. At the moment, it didn’t matter if Granny never sold her another hamburger or slice of chocolate cake for the rest of her life, Belle was getting some answers tonight . She turned around and faced the crowd.

“Who did this?” Belle called out, looking down over the sea of faces. She held up the drawing, still clenched in her shaking fist. The noise continued to drone on around her, the clatter of forks against plates, the townspeople oblivious to anything but their meals and their conversations. “I said who did this?”

“Look, Mommy!” yelled a blonde girl with curly pigtails. “That lady is fifty feet tall!” A hush came over the diner in a languid wave and all eyes turned to stare at Belle standing on the counter. Forks were laid down on plates with a quiet clatter. Time seemed to stand still and no one appeared to so much as breathe.  

“Does anyone want to confess?” she asked, shaking the drawing in her fist and glaring around the restaurant with narrowed eyes.

When no one stepped forward or admitted guilt, she dropped the drawing on the counter and ground it into the tile with her bare heel. “You’re all a bunch of cowards, you know that? Mr. Gold and I are friends, and it’s no one’s business but ours what we do. Your problem isn’t that he’s befriended a woman a few years younger than he is. Your problem is you’re a classless bunch of small-minded prigs.”

Jaws dropped and they gaped at her like fish in an aquarium, then fell back to their eating and chattering as though people stood on top of Granny’s counter raving like lunatics every day of the week.

Her limbs shook with anger, and she caught the sympathetic eyes of Mary Margaret and David Nolan. One minute they were sitting at the counter holding hands and sharing a basket of chicken fingers and the next thing she knew, they were flanking her, standing one on each side, like a pair of orderlies preparing to strap her into a straight jacket and wheel her away.

“Okay, Belle, that’s enough now, honey.” Mary Margaret’s voice was quiet and soothing, and Belle felt her knees begin to give out.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #golden wonder #woven rook #alice jones #mr. gold #belle french #people will talk #mqc writes #maries 3-year fic-a-versary