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onceuponaloonatic · 3 years

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(i just read most of surrogate au on a road trip i Love) do you want to do chaeyoung is hanging out with jihyo and baby nico but jihyo has to run in for a work thing or smth and so chaeyoung is left alone with nico. chaeyoung however has Zero childcare skills and is so clueless. queue chaeyoung getting nontoxic paint and trying to paint with 2 month old nico, its literally all smears and both are covered in paint from head to toe by the end but sana and jihyo both love it and take one of the "artworks" and frame it.

thank you so much !! sorry for the wait !! also i only have three asks left so if you guys have any ideas please send asks!!

“Who’s the cutest baby in the world? You are.” Jihyo smiled as she tickled Nico’s stomach, earning her a giggle in response. Nico had just started giggling a few days ago, right after her second month of life had officially begun. Needless to say, her parents could not give enough of it. Sana had taken countless videos the first time Nico giggled, and had sent all of them to Jihyo. Now that Jihyo was watching Nico, she couldn’t get enough of her baby girl giggling. “I love you.” Jihyo kissed Nico’s cheek.

“Babe if you give her too much attention she’s going to be spoiled.” Chaeyoung giggled from the couch. She had received most of the videos from Jihyo, and she thought it was adorable how in love with Nico Jihyo was. She also knew her girlfriend needed this time with Nico. She hadn’t been able to spend much time with her lately and Chaeyoung knew it was eating at Jihyo. “I think it’s too late for that.” Jihyo picked Nico up and carried her to the couch where she sat next to Chaeyoung. She quickly settled Nico before leaning into her girlfriend. “You’ve seen how Sana is with her. Sana is like obsessed with Nico.” “Don’t pretend you aren’t too.” Chaeyoung giggled. “You are just as in love with her as Sana is. She’s my competition for your heart.” Chaeyoung smiled when a tiny foot kicked her arm as Nico wiggled in Jihyo’s lap.

“You know I love both of you right? It’s not a competition. I love both of you.” Jihyo nodded, resting her head on Chaeyoung’s shoulder. Chaeyoung’s arm snaked its way around her waist and Jihyo smiled. “I know. Don’t tell Nico though, we have a bet going.” Chaeyoung laughed as Nico’s foot kicked her again. Chaeyoung took her free hand and grabbed Nico’s foot, squeezing her clothed foot. Nico’s toes curled reflexively, gripping onto Chaeyoung's hand while she played with Jihyo’s shirt collar. Their perfect moment was interrupted when Jihyo’s phone rang. Jihyo sighed, moving Nico to one arm to pick up the phone. Chaeyoung squeezed Jihyo’s waist before letting go, moving to take Nico from her girlfriend. Nico giggled as Chaeyoung lifted her up as high as she could before bringing her back in. Jihyo eyed her with an amused smile while she talked on the phone, but it was quickly replaced with a look Chaeyoung knew all too well. “Your boss?” Chaeyoung asked once Jihyo was off the phone. “It’s Saturday. My boss knows I don’t work weekends.” Jihyo sighed. “But there’s an emergency in the case, if I don't fix it we might not be able to get the conviction.” “I get it.” Chaeyoung smiled. “You have an important job. Nico knows that too. I’ve got her, go.” “Thank you so much. I love you. You're the best.” Jihyo gave Chaeyoung a quick kiss before getting up to get dressed. “I know. I’m the best girlfriend in the world. It’s a curse.” Chaeyoung said dramatically. Jihyo laughed as she quickly threw on work appropriate clothes. Once she was dressed she pulled her hair up in a quick ponytail before moving to say goodbye. “Be good for Auntie Chaeyoung Nico.” Jihyo kissed Nico’s chubby cheek. “And you, no roughhousing.” “Can’t make any promises.” Chaeyoung giggled. “I’m serious. I should be back after lunch. You have Sana’s number but in case your phone dies it’s on the fridge. Her bottles with instructions are in the fridge. Sana wrote them so they should be pretty through but if you have any questions I’ll keep my phone on and Momo calls herself the master of bottles, she doesn’t need to eat until after her mid-day nap but if I’m not back by then you’ll need to take care of it. She needs to nap at eleven thirty, and she should be awake by one. The baby monitor is on but if there’s any issues with it-”

“Jihyo, it’s okay. Seriously you and Sana both spiral so much. It’s going to be okay. Nico and I have hung out before. I love you, have fun at work.” Chaeyoung giggled, kissing Jihyo one more time.

“Thank you. I love you too. Bye Chae, bye Nico!” Chaeyoung had to practically push Jihyo out of the apartment. “It’s just you and me kiddo.” Chaeyoung giggled, kissing Nico’s cheek before taking her over to the couch. She sat for a few minutes before Nico started whining. Chaeyoung quickly went through the usual list of Nico things but it quickly dawned on her why Nico was whining. “You're bored. Alright, let’s find something for you to do.” Chaeyoung went over to the baby bag Sana had packed and looked through it. She found a toy for Nico, pulling it out and giving it to Nico. Nico felt the toy, but immediately threw it. “Alright not that.” Chaeyoung sighed. She had spent time with Nico before, but not alone. She actually had never watched kids alone. Her best friend growing up babysat a bit in high school for some extra money, but Chaeyoung only went with her once and the kid was ten. It was nothing like taking care of a baby. It was a little overwhelming. So Chaeyoung did what she normally did when she had no idea what to do. Google.

After a quick “what to do with a two month old” google search and looking through a few articles she came to the conclusion she had no idea what she was doing. She had already tried toys, Nico had quickly rejected that. Sana and Momo handled tummy time so Chaeyoung didn’t want to do anything that would be wrong or confusing for Nico. Nico’s nap didn’t start for an hour, and she clearly wasn’t hungry. “What do you want to do baby?” Chaeyoung sighed, thinking about what to do. “You could help Auntie Chaeyoung with her work, would that be fun?” Chaeyoung’s answer came with a tiny kick to the arm and she took that as a yes. She carried Nico over to the makeshift paint station she had in the corner of their living room. Before she moved in, Jihyo had an old piano she had inherited from her family there. Now the piano sat on the other side of the living room and Jihyo’s dead plant that had been sitting in her living room for way too long had been replaced. Chaeyoung liked the change, it felt a lot more homey. “Alright let’s see. Here, this is non-toxic. Have you ever painted before?” Chaeyoung asked. “I’m guessing you haven’t. Your mommies are kind of boring. Let’s change that.” Chaeyoung smiled. “Do you know what color this is? This is red.” Chaeyoung smiled, getting some red non-toxic paint and putting some on her paint tray. She moved Nico so she was using one hand to support her body, Nico looking at her curiously. Chaeyoung put one finger in the red paint, showing it to Nico before putting it on the blank canvas. “Want to try?” Chaeyoung grabbed one of Nico’s hands and put it in the paint before putting it on the canvas. Nico giggled as a tiny hand print appeared on the canvas. “Like that? Let’s get some more colors yeah?” xx

Jihyo got through her work as quickly as possible. She wanted to be back before Nico’s nap in case Chaeyoung had trouble putting her down and she wanted to spend time with Nico. Thankfully, she got through it all quickly. She rushed home as fast as she could, noting she got home a couple minutes before Nico’s nap was supposed to start.

“Chae? I’m back!” Jihyo called when she entered the apartment. She took her shoes off before going into the living room. She saw her daughter and girlfriend sitting at Chaeyoung’s painting station. Both of them were covered in paint somehow but both had huge smiles on their faces. Jihyo couldn’t help herself but take a picture. “Hi baby.” Jihyo greeted after taking a picture.

“Oh hey! Nico look Mama’s back!” Chaeyoung giggled. “We made art.” “I can see that.” Jihyo smiled, taking Nico from Chaeyong and giggling at how much paint was on the denim dress Sana had put on her that morning. “Let’s go get you clean and then take a nap.” “I’ll clean up here.” Chaeyoung smiled. Jihyo nodded and carried Nico to their bedroom. She undressed Nico before putting her in the sink and gently wiping the paint off of her. She put on Nico’s pink frog print pajamas before sitting down on the bed with Nico in her arms. She rubbed Nico’s back and hummed to her as she waited for her to fall asleep. Nico was out quicker than Jihyo had ever seen her, and Jihyo gently put her in her crib before going back to her girlfriend. “She asleep?” Chaeyoung asked. “She fell asleep faster than she ever has with me.” Jihyo smiled, sitting in Chaeyoung’s lap. “Cool. Look at the art we did.” Chaeyoung showed Jihyo the canvas, which was covered in paint smudges and tiny hand prints. “Aww. We should hang this in the new living room.” Jihyo giggled.

“Hmm.. I think we should put it in Nico’s new room. The nice thing about moving is she will have her own room with us too.” “We could do that. Or you two could make a smaller one and it could go onto our new fancy fridge.” Jihyo offered. “Oh, sounds good. I meant to ask, would you prefer purple or blue for Nico’s new room? I was thinking we could do a sky theme with clouds and stars, but I wanted to ask your opinion first.” Chaeyoung asked.

“Chaeyoung, you really don’t have to-”

“No no no. You agreed to give me complete creative control of Nico’s room when you decided to give her her own room. It’s part of being my girlfriend.” Chaeyoung wrapped her arms around Jihyo’s waist.

“I was going to say, you don’t need to paint my daughter’s room. It’s a lot of work-”

“I know. But we can do it together. Nico deserves the world.” Chaeyoung kissed Jihyo’s temple. “Plus painting is kind of sexy, isn’t it?” “I can’t believe you.” Jihyo rolled her eyes, but couldn’t fight the proud smile on her face. Even if she was faking annoyance, she loved how much Chaeyoung loved Nico. When they were first dating, Chaeyoung had seemed apprehensive about Nico. Jihyo and her were already dating when Jihyo found out Sana was pregnant, but their relationship was only a few weeks old and definitely not in a place to be having kids together. Chaeyoung was younger than her too, so Jihyo was worried about how she would be with Nico. But ever since Chaeyoung had met her, she had been in love with Nico. And it seemed the longer they were together, the more Chaeyoung fell in love with Jihyo’s daughter. Nico was important to Jihyo, and so was Chaeyoung. She couldn’t help but be filled to the brim with happiness seeing them get along. “Love you too Hyo.”

#twice #surrogate au #jichaeng #park jihyo #son chaeyoung #nico #minatozaki sana

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professorkenobi · 3 years

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a catboy for christmas

Note: This is a big time jump forward in the stray catboy au, but you can read the last part here. And you can see adorable art for this snippet by the wonderful shatou here! Happy Holidays all!

For many years, Obi-Wan had dutifully broken out the ladder and strung up Christmas lights on his house every December. And, for many years, he’d opted against shopping for a tree, hauling it into his living room and decorating it, just for him to be the only person who’d enjoy it.

On the odd year that he had friends over during the holiday season, he’d break out the holly-trimmed dinnerware set from the storage bin in the garage, but that was about the extent of his indoor decorating.

He was always busy with the end of the semester anyway. To go to all of that effort just for himself was pointless.

But, with Anakin, it was different.

Halfway through the ordeal of stringing lights from the roof, Anakin came outside with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, still rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You were sleeping quite peacefully when I got up at seven.”

Anakin made a face. “Well, now that it’s a normal time to be awake I can help.”

Which was how Anakin ended up the one balancing on the top of the ladder, seemingly very much in his element, while Obi-Wan fed him the lights from the ground.

By the time they were finished, Obi-Wan’s hands were numb in his gloves and Anakin’s ears were stiff from the cold. So Obi-Wan went about making hot chocolate while Anakin started a fire, and Anakin roped him into watching not just Home Alone, but the sequels too (“How can this be the sequel, that isn’t even the same child,”—”Just trust me, okay, it’s really good!”—sigh).

He didn’t register exactly when he started rubbing his fingers over Anakin’s silky ears to warm them up, but he continued even after Anakin scooted closer and dropped his head onto his shoulder.

—

Obi-Wan asked around at work for the best Christmas tree farm in the area, so that weekend they bundled up and set about finding a tree to fit in the corner of the living room.

He’d been planning to pick out a tree alone, knowing Anakin was still struggling with venturing out into public, but as soon as he’d mentioned the trip Anakin had perked up and declared they should go right now, before all the good trees are taken!

Obi-Wan soon discovered out that by good trees, Anakin meant big trees.

“This one.”

“Anakin, that’s not going to fit.”

Anakin pointed at the tree with the axe in his hand. “But it’s the perfect tree! It smells the freshest.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. Smells the freshest, really...

The tree also happened to be ample enough to take up half their living room. But Obi-Wan ran a hand over the branches, checking for loose needles, and discovered that this was indeed the healthiest tree they’d seen so far. And if it was the one Anakin wanted…

“Alright then, looks like we found our tree.”

Anakin’s responding grin set off a delicate flutter in his chest.

The tree was almost too big to fit the racks on Obi-Wan’s sedan, but they somehow managed to secure it.

With Anakin taking charge of not only chopping the tree down, but also heaving its bulk through the front door, Obi-Wan couldn’t imagine not having Anakin with him for the task.

The realization that he couldn’t imagine ever not having Anakin with him again hit him like a snowball to the chest.

—

It got dark out so early at this time of year, but inside Obi-Wan’s little kitchen it was cozy and bright, filled with the spicy scent of baking gingerbread.

“Where’s the vanilla?”

“Middle shelf on the end.” He nodded in the general direction.

“Gotcha!” Jars clattered as Anakin rummaged through the cabinet. Obi-Wan set the last spoon in the dish drainer and wiped his hands on a towel.

He turned just in time to catch Anakin pouring vanilla straight into the mixer bowl.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you supposed to measure that?”

“Leave the science to me, old man.” Anakin cracked a sharp-toothed smile and started the mixer, mostly drowning out the jazz drifting from the speakers.

It was true that Obi-Wan wasn’t much of a baker. He was a fair cook, but tended to stick to the same rotation of dishes for his weekly meal planning. Anakin, on the other hand, was accomplished enough that he had a disquieting tendency to play fast and loose with the recipe.

It bothered Obi-Wan less than he would have thought. He couldn’t even bring himself to mind the mess. Not when it was created by Anakin flitting around the kitchen, getting a dusting of flour on his ears and everything else in the vicinity.

Obi-Wan busied himself drying dishes until the mixer powered down.

“Wanna lick?”

Anakin stood at his shoulder, holding out a beater absolutely drenched in white frosting. His other hand hovered underneath to catch any drips.

“Ah— tempting, but no thank you.”

“You sure?” Anakin shook the beater slightly, and a small glob fell onto his fingers. “It’s delicious.”

“It’s yours.”

He had been tempted. But forgoing something small to make Anakin happy felt the most natural thing in the world.

“Your loss!”

Anakin stuck the tip of the beater into his mouth and began enthusiastically licking up the frosting. Obi-Wan caught a flash of pink tongue twining between the wires and swallowed reflexively, heat rising to his cheeks.

He was dimly aware that he was staring, but he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away. Not as Anakin began cleaning off his hands, seemingly unaware of the picture he made with one sticky finger after another disappearing between his full lips and more frosting smeared across his cheek.

“You have a little, er, by your mouth there,” he managed.

“Oh, thanks.” Anakin wiped at his face, missing by a mile. “Did I get it?”

Obi-Wan chuckled. “Not quite— here, let me.” He swiped at Anakin’s cheek with his thumb and, unthinkingly, brought it to his mouth.

The taste of vanilla and sugar burst saccharine on his tongue.

“You were right.”

Anakin blinked at him, wide-eyed. “A-about what?”

“It is delicious.”

—

He was straining to reach the top of the tree when Anakin walked in from the kitchen, the last bite of a cookie in his hand.

“Wait, let me do that!”

Anakin swiped the star from his hands with ease and went right up on his tip-toes. He had just the extra couple inches that were needed to place the star in the right spot, nestling it among the highest branches so it wouldn’t topple.

Then he turned to him, a wide grin dimpling his cheeks. “How’s that?”

The sight of Anakin, backlit by the tree’s sparkling lights, bundled in Obi-Wan’s biggest sweater with pale thighs bare above argyle socks, and smiling at him with open joy—it stole his breath, made him feel a little unsteady on his feet.

“It’s perfect.” He reached up to push a stray curl out of Anakin’s face, and his hand got playfully headbutted in return. “Thank you, dear.”

Anakin went pink at that, ducking his head and busying himself with rearranging the garland on the tree. Obi-Wan felt his cheeks go a touch warm as well. He hadn’t meant to say it so… affectionately.

Well. Maybe he had.

Anakin tucked in the end of the tinsel and stepped back, surveying the whole picture with arms crossed.

“Looks finished, to me. Whaddaya think?”

“I’ll have to defer to your expertise. I, ah, actually haven’t had a Christmas tree in many years,” Obi-Wan admitted.

Anakin frowned. “So do you not have people over for the holidays or whatever?”

“Not really.”

“Then, do you usually, I mean...” Anakin looked down, picking at a nonexistent ball of lint on his sweater. “Will you be going somewhere else for Christmas, then?”

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan took him softly by the elbow. Anakin’s eyes, twin pools brimming with reflected light, caught his and held. “I was hoping we could spend it together. If you’d like.”

Anakin’s mouth fell open in a soft o. “You mean that? Just the two of us?”

Obi-Wan’s grip slid down the back of Anakin’s arm, searching beneath his overlong sleeve for his hand. It was warm, and he squeezed it.

“Of course I mean it.”

“Then, yeah.” Anakin’s fingers curled around his and squeezed back. “I’d like that.”

—

On Christmas Eve, they cooked dinner together with a backdrop of snow falling outside the window, dusting the back deck in a fluffy layer of white.

While they ate, splitting a saucepan’s worth of mulled wine between them (“You don’t eat the orange slices, Anakin.”—“What? Why wouldn’t you?”—“...I suppose you’re right, that’s a silly rule,”) Obi-Wan’s thoughts naturally strayed to the blackberry brambles, to the frozen dirt, the swirling flurries.

He looked outside, into the darkness, and then turned to Anakin, his head of curls golden under the warm glow of the evening lights, talking heatedly about—something about peppermint bark—and he was filled with overwhelming gratitude that Anakin was here and not out there.

Anakin’s arms stopped their wild gesturing. “Why are you smiling?”

“No reason.” Obi-Wan raised his glass to hide his lips and found himself inadvertently smiling even wider. “I just like listening to you.”

“Oh.” He was rewarded with a tentative little smile in return.

They ended up on the couch, their glasses topped off, with the fire crackling and the Christmas tree lit up in all its glory.

Obi-Wan wasn’t even sure which movie they were watching, but Anakin seemed to enjoy it. For his part, the mulled wine had gone to his head a little. Perhaps he could rest his eyes, just for a moment...

When he opened them again, the credits had rolled and the fire was starting to burn low. Anakin's head was pillowed on his thigh, curls carelessly tossed across his face. His breath rose and fell softly and his ears twitched every few seconds with whatever dream he was having.

Obi-Wan smoothed a hand over them until they stilled. He hoped it was a happy dream.

He would have happily stayed there all night, but his leg was starting to fall asleep. Yes, it was definitely time for them to retire to bed, but he didn’t have it in him to wake Anakin, not when he was sleeping so soundly.

So, very carefully, he gathered Anakin into his arms and carried him up the stairs.

Anakin didn’t seem to rouse, not even when his foot accidentally bumped against the doorway, but he did snuffle in his sleep and curl in closer to his body, probably seeking out warmth.

Obi-Wan thought he might’ve heard him mumble something, right as he deposited him in bed, but he couldn’t make it out.

With Anakin’s face so relaxed and beautiful in his sleep, he couldn’t resist gently brushing his knuckles over the delicate cheekbone.

“Merry Christmas Eve, Anakin.”

—

The thump-thump-thump of hurried feet running down the stairs was Obi-Wan’s only warning before he had a gift-wrapped box thrust in front of his face.

“Merry Christmas,” Anakin declared, his eyes bright and excited under sleep-mussed curls.

“You didn’t—”

Anakin practically pushed the present into his chest. “Nuh-uh. You have to accept it. I worked hard on it.”

After a beat, Obi-Wan set his cup aside and took the offered present. He recognized the glossy candy canes as his own wrapping paper. Anakin must have sniffed out the bin hiding under the bed.

He’d also found the roll of red ribbon, and had tied it into a bow bigger than the box itself.

Obi-Wan set the box on the couch next to him. “I won’t open mine until you open yours.”

Anakin’s brow creased in earnest as he caught sight of the modest collection of packages under the tree. “Obi-Wan, this is too much. I can’t let you—mmph.”

Obi-Wan had brought up a hand to cover his mouth. “Not another word. They’re for you.”

Anakin tried to say something, making the hairs on Obi-Wan’s arm stand on end as soft lips brushed his palm. He quickly drew back.

“Fine,” Anakin frowned at him. “But it’s still ridiculous.”

Obi-Wan wagged a finger playfully. “If I hear any more complaints out of you, young man, I’ll start taking them back.”

“But I want them!” Anakin pouted at him, and he had to hide his smile behind his hand.

An almost overwhelming feeling of fondness swelled in Obi-Wan’s chest as he watched Anakin tear into his gifts. He amassed a small pile of mostly practical items— clothes and socks, warm and sturdy ones that wouldn’t go threadbare and leave him shivering. A set of products for his curly hair. A few hobby engineering volumes that came highly recommended by the countergirl at Obi-Wan’s favorite local bookstore.

Anakin saved the largest package for last. “What’s this, Obi-Wan?”

“Go on, open it.”

He tore away the paper and stared down at what it revealed.

“It’s a coffee maker,” Obi-Wan said. “I thought you must be tired of making do with a teapot every morning.”

Anakin just kept staring.

“It came very well rated, has all the functions, you can set it to start when you wake up and—” he realized he was rambling. “Is it alright?”

Finally looking up, Anakin smiled at him. For some strange reason, his eyes were shining, tears threatening to spill over. “It’s perfect, Obi-Wan. Thank you so much.”

He scooted closer and wrapped Obi-Wan in a tight embrace, his breath fanning warm on Obi-Wan’s neck. Obi-Wan returned the hug, rubbing soothing circles on Anakin’s back.

Far too soon, they pulled apart. Obi-Wan reached for his little present, beyond curious to see what Anakin had come up with.

Anakin looked to the side. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get more.”

“Shh, I didn’t expect anything.” Obi-Wan pulled at the bow and opened the box.

He traced his fingers over the smooth curves and contours of the wood in awe. “Anakin,” he breathed. “You... you made this?”

Anakin started wringing his tail in his lap, his eyes downcast. “It’s not much, but it’s… well I…”

Obi-Wan clutched the carving tight to his chest. “I love it. Thank you. Although…”

Anakin’s face fell instantly. Obi-Wan’s heart hammered a staccato beat even as he pulled the ribbon loose from the wrapping paper and brought it up around Anakin’s neck.

To their credit, his fingers only trembled a little as he carefully tied the ribbon into a loose bow around Anakin’s neck. Like a flamboyant necklace, or perhaps a, like a collar…

“You are worth more to me than any gift you could give me.”

The beautiful color that graced Anakin’s cheeks made taking the risk of saying out loud what he felt in his heart worth it. He wanted to say more, there was so much in his heart that was aching to be spilled, but before he could speak Anakin was leaning over to grab the Santa hat off the table and placing it on Obi-Wan’s head, the fuzzy brim nearly falling into his eyes.

“Merry Christmas, Obi-Wan,” Anakin said softly, his eyes twinkling.

Joy bloomed in his chest. “Merry Christmas, Anakin.”

#stray catboy au #obikin

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lightthewaybackhome · 3 years

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Sorry this is so long. Probably should have done a 2 parter.

"My darling girl, when are you going to realize that being normal is not necessarily a virtue? It rather denotes a lack of courage!" - Aunt Frances, Practical Magic

My whole life, as far back as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be artistic. I’ve wanted to create. I love beauty. I love artistry. I love creation. I love the artsy look: jewelry, tattoos, flowing clothing, and funky hair. It is a personal aesthetic I keep returning to, especially as I get older. As a child, I tried so many different forms of art—painting, photography, drawing— but none of them seemed quite right. None of them got what was in my head out. All of them fell short until I started writing. Writing was a flame, a fire, a drug. Writing allowed me to express what was in my imagination. This is the first thing to understand.

Everyone is artistic and art is everywhere. I’ve believed this as long as I can remember. There are amazing artistic feats in our world: books, movies, video games, paintings, sculptures, and magnificent pieces of music. Yes, art can be very high and very special. But, art can also be found in charcuterie boards, homemade quilts, sourdough bread, cocktails, soup, and all ordinary things if we but look and see. Art can be high magic and art can be ordinary. This is the second thing to understand.

As I’ve embraced being a homemaker, a HearthKeeper, a woman where she’s meant to be, I came across the term domestic artist. As much as I didn’t like the book Eve in Exile by Rebekah Merkle, it gave me this. It gave me the term domestic artist. That stuck with me. It spoke to me because it captured both the first and the second thing. It captured the never-ceasing call to create which haunts me at all times, and it elevated and honored the ordinary in a sprinkling of fairy dust. It said, “Yes, you have to cook today. Three meals plus snacks and drinks. It’s your job, but, but, what if, what if instead of looking at it as some drudgery, some Cinderella enslavement, what if you looked at it as an opportunity to create beauty?”

Not every meal, every outfit, every moment of your day can be a work of art. Some days you just have to do what you have to do. Some days get upended in the opening credits with a broken washer or a sleepless child. Some days plans change. Life changes. One minute life looks like this, and then the next it’s on to something completely different. But, the beauty of being a domestic artist is that you can create art in any of these moments and in any setting. You can find art in any moment and in any setting.

See, the world tells us that homemaking, HearthKeeping, is boring. It tells us it’s pointless. A waste. You could be changing the world. Only dumb useless women keep their homes. And that’s because they’re either tied down by a dictator of a husband or the demands of children or the cultural trappings of their religion. Courage, dear heart. Courage! Homemaking is magic. Homemaking is flexible. Homemaking changes with the seasons and the woman. I, I am a bit bohemian, a bit rustic, a mixture of rugged and romantic. I grew up a tomboy, but have embraced being a woman in her home since I was a child. I love leather and lace. I love cottage-witch aesthetics. I love boots and long flowing things. I like deer heads, linen, skulls, and ruffles. I like feathers and dreamcatchers, but I also love to decorate with open space. I love pies and feeding my husband. But, look at this, one of my best friends is a classic. She loves clean lines, traditional and timeless pieces. She loves modern accents. She loves beachy highlights and hammocks. She’s not into farmhouse, rustic modern, or raw-edged wood. On any given Sunday, she’s in a pencil skirt, simple top, simple heels with her three daughters in matching dresses while I’m in distressed boyfriend jeans, a mullet-tucked top, and wearing my crow skull. We’re very different, but we’re both homemakers who love making our homes.

I have a woman in my life who quilts and that flows out into their decorating. So many of her things are beautifully hand sewn. If she wants it, she makes it. Another friend grew up in Africa and her home is filled with her love of that culture. One dear friend loves plants and grows amazing flowers that she uses to create Instagram-worth bouquets. Another woman isn’t super fluffy-feminine but she has an eye for remodeling and so is constantly making improvements on her home: flooring, painting, and more. My sisters, like me, both enjoy a minimalist approach to decorating and all three of us have a special place for coffee. Both my sisters’ homes are welcoming and peaceful even with kids running around like crazy.

That’s the point, the world tells women to band together, that we’re a sisterhood, that we should go out and change the world, abandoning our homes before we’re relegated to only kitchen and nursery work, but reality tells me that the most amazing women I know are busy in their homes. This is sisterhood. This is where we bloom. It is here that we have flexibility. For over five years, I’ve struggled with chronic health issues. Homemaking lets me decide each day what I can do and how I’m going to do it. Homemaking lets you change what you do for each season of life. Lots of littles? Keep it simple. Empty nest? Explore. Somewhere in between? Keep growing. Lots of energy? So many things you can expand into if you just refuse to believe the lie that homemaking is beneath you. Don’t be normal. Don’t believe that homemaking is a waste of time. Don’t buy into the lie that you are somehow being less than everyone else when you raise your children, love your husband, and create beauty. Have the courage to be strange. We were made for this! It suits us. This is an environment women thrive in.

When I got over my grammar inhibitions and started writing, I felt like my soul came alive. I felt like I’d finally found what I’d been searching for since I came into this world. It doesn’t matter whether I’m writing an epic story or writing about HearthKeeping or just word doodling, writing, words, stories just flow from me. Wonderfully, homemaking is like that for me, too. I want to read books, I want to learn, I want to talk about it, I want to do it. It’s not perfect. I don’t always feel glorious, but I do feel ‘right’ when I’m doing this. I feel like I’m where I belong. I feel like this is a place I can both rest in and grow in. I feel safe when I’m having a fatigue flare up and I feel excited when I think about all that I can do.

A real-life example: Sundays are long hard days. They’re days that generally spike my fatigue and my husband is worn out. They’re both the best and hardest day of the week. When we get home I make a cocktail and we crash. Inevitably, the minute I sit down my man asks for a snack and what we’re having for dinner. For several years, this drove me up a wall. It is Sunday. The day of REST, why is it my responsibility to always make food? Epic sigh. Epic whiny sigh. I would meal plan for the whole week and then wing it on Sunday and Monday, always with poor results and grumpiness on my part. Then, one week as I meal-planned, I realized that I could also prepare for the weekend. Lightbulb. Facepalm. Really? Why had it taken me into my 40th year of life to realize that if I want a quiet, restful, happy weekend, I should just plan snacks, drinks, and meals ahead of time? I’m going to blame it on my chronic health, brain fog addled mind. I’m going to blame it on laziness. I’m going to blame it on being a young homemaker. Some are understandable, some are inexcusable.

Sundays now involve way less stress because I can immediately prepare snacks and know what we’re eating the minute we get home. No more attitude issue. No more stress. Easy and nice.

Did this change the world? Does this matter to anyone but myself? Did my husband even notice? Maybe not, but this is homemaking. This is HearthKeeping. It is my job and my calling. Even without notice or world-shattering consequences, I’m pleased with the outcome. More than pleased, I’m really happy about it. It brings me joy and delight to find a better way to take care of my family. It allows me to sprinkle my Sunday afternoon with just a little bit of artistry. I make drinks, snacks, dinner. I feed my family.

See, one of the lies that the feminists preach is that we’re wasted in our homes. And yet, the majority of the women I know who work outside the home aren’t doing glamorous jobs. They’re not travel bloggers or world-renowned chiefs or CEOs. They’re cosmetologists, retail workers, bank tellers, nurses, teachers, and such. Now, none of those are bad. Working outside the home isn’t bad. (I think each family has to decide what family looks like to them.) Please, please, don’t read that as degrading. I worked retail and I think retail is important. These are all God-honoring employment in which you can strive and serve. I’m not bashing any of those jobs. I have many many dear friends who work outside the home. What I am saying is that I think we as women need to ask ourselves if leaving our homes en masse was worth it. Has it given us all the joy, delight, and fulfillment the feminists promised us?

I’ve done both. I’ve been a co-owner of a business that I helped grow from nothing to something amazing. I’ve worked as an everyday retail worker. I write and am the main editor for a small neighborhood magazine. And I’m a HearthKeeper. I will tell you right now, no qualifications, that HearthKeeping is the most satisfying job I’ve ever had. It not only challenges me every day but it also works with me. The boundaries are what I set in place and so I grow as I can. The work never ends, yes, but it also never ends. There is always something else to explore.

I think being a homemaker is largely attitude. You can buck against what you do, and most women do. Just spend two minutes on Pinterest looking at doing laundry or dishes and the bitter hatred comes pouring out. Look at the complaints women make against their churches: we’re relegated to doing nursery work and kitchen duty. What if, just for a moment, we decided to be Domestic Artists? What if, for just a moment, we tried loving our jobs instead of complaining? What if we thought that dishes meant food and good times and healing of the souls around us? What if we saw laundry as a way to keep beauty and cleanliness around us? What if we saw it as our privilege and delight to take care of the food, children, clothing, cleaning, cooking, gardening, growing of the next generation, and the men of the world? What if we embraced the domestic arts and saw them as truly magnificent, glorious, unique arts? How many of us would be able to say with a straight face that working retail is more fulfilling than managing a small world? Is it more fulfilling to go work in an office than it is to orchestrate a place of welcome, rest, and renewal for your husband and yourself? It might be more visible, but is it truly more long-lasting?

I can say that it isn’t. I can say that I think being a homemaker is uniquely suited for women and that we should have the courage to go against the grain of our world and say no. No, I’m not going to give all of myself to work outside the home when the home is far more challenging and interesting. No, I’m not going to believe the lie that homemaking is oppression and boredom. I will find beauty in the ordinary and I will embrace art in the everyday. This is one of those amazing jobs where it is what you make it. It is what you pour into it. If you think it’s boring or demeaning you won’t get anything out of it. If you think it is challenging and rewarding, you will get the world out of it. You will grow yourself and those around you. Think about what a wonderful thing it would be if we made our homes our careers! If we women really took on the label Domestic Artist in our own individual ways.

#homemaking #hearthkeeper #housewife #prose #trad wives #traditional femininity #domestic artist #writing #artists on tumblr #art

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all-consuming · 3 years

Text

Some Dramione reading material for you. Made by our brilliant fandom writers. Neatly compiled for your enjoyment. One-shots first, followed by multi chapter. Hope you can find something to tickle your fancy. ( * represents a personal favorite)

<3 an obsessed Dramione shipper

1. (Not so) Fake Dating by MsRen

A fter claiming she'll be bringing a date to Christmas at the Burrow, Hermione finds herself in a bind considering there is no boyfriend. Until Draco insists that he can fill the role. Faking a relationship can't be that hard, can it? After all, they've already got the tension down.

2. Whiteout by gubabuba and LovesBitca8

Detention with Draco Malfoy shouldn't be this complicated, should it? || Seventh Year AU (Bonus:ART)

3. A Drop in Pressure by featherandink

Hermione Granger is in pursuit of an answer.

4. Queen of Lonely Hearts by raven_maiden

Hermione Granger has a brilliant idea for the office Christmas Party this year. Her coworker, Draco Malfoy, begs to disagree.

5. A Patient Man by LadyKenz347

Draco Malfoy is fine to wait. He's a patient man, after all, but when Hermione remains oblivious to his advances, he decides it's time to take matters into his own hands.

6. Caffeine Cold by HawthornSparks

He grabbed her by the waist, pulling her into him as he stared down at her, breathing furiously, teasing her with his aching hardness pressed tightly between them. “This isn’t a game, Granger.”

“Fuck you.” He grinned briefly, sharply, before leaning in hard and fast again, bruising her lips - she was sure of it.

7. Slowly Toward Desire by phlox

Hermione decides then and there to stop thinking she has any idea whatsoever of what to expect from Draco Malfoy. She hasn’t a clue.

8. The Department of Inter-Magical and Nonmagical Relations by badjujuboo (miztrezboo)

Hermione Granger annoys Draco. The way she chews her pen annoys him. The way she stares at him with her big eyes and the way she always argues infuriates him. And just when did he start thinking of her as Hermione, anyway?

9. Beltane by elithein and senlinyu*

When Draco had heard the week before that several eighth years were planning to sneak out and perform a Beltane sex ritual in the Forbidden Forest, he dismissed it. Fertility rituals were intensely private magic, not something anyone with respect or common sense would enter into experimentally while attending school. Ravenclaws. Fuck all Ravenclaws. (Bonus: ART)

10. Ungentlemanly Behavior by missELY and morticiahavisham

After a tipsy hook up, Draco Malfoy has an apology to make. Hermione Granger would prefer not to hear it. But when they're forced to work together on a tricky translation, she's finds she can't avoid it.

11. When What’s Right is Wrong by LovesBitca8

A smutty AU of The Auction Chapter 19 wherein Draco cannot find a magical solution to his problem. (Bonus: ART)

12. The Art of Seating Etiquette by inadaze22

Hermione believes that every problem has a solution, and that solution can be found in a book. That is, until Draco starts sitting to her right every Friday. She has no answers until help comes in the form of an unlikely source: Ron Weasley.

13. My Brown-Eyed Girl by PacificRimbaud

Draco and Hermione have a lazy snuggle in the grass behind the Quidditch pitch. (Bonus: ART)

14. Out of Order by worksofstone

Hermione's stuck in a broken lift with a tipsy Draco Malfoy. What a way to spend the Friday before Christmas.

15. Fuck,Marry,Avada by Lilian_Silver *

Some years after the war, the gang meets up at the Leaky to play a silly game, with very real consequences.

16. The Unintentional Voyeur by DramioneDreaming

When Hermione Granger walks into the Prefect bathroom looking for a way to release some tension she doesn't expect it to be quite like this...

17. Familiar faces, worn out places by LovesBitca8*

“You are at St. Mungo’s. You were in a coma.” He looks me over again, taking a pause. “I am a Healer here now,” he says, like it explains something. My fingers stretch, drifting across his sleeve. He looks down, like I’ve thrown mud at him. Forcing my vocal chords together for the first time, I whisper, “What’s your name?”

18. Apples & cream by LovesBitca8

She could have taken her things and gone through his Floo without a word. She could have ignored him on Monday morning, as though last night had been no more than a fever dream and too much Firewhisky...But she’d come back to bed. (Bonus:ART)

19. Strange you Never Knew by raven_maiden

Something strange is up with Malfoy, Hermione's fellow Auror and secret shagging partner. Ready or not, she's about to find out.

20. Seeker Fit by elithien and senlinyu*

“Will the Head Girl grace the pitch with her presence for today’s match?” The timbre of Malfoy’s cool lilting drawl slid down Hermione’s spine.

She stared determinedly at the book on her lap. “As I have explained many times now, I despise Quidditch. Sitting in the rain, watching people zoom around on broomsticks, risking their lives for the sake of a game is not even remotely enjoyable.” There was a pause and she glanced up to be greeted by the sight of Malfoy, dressed in his Quidditch uniform, carefully tightening the laces on his dark leather shin-guards. (Bonus: ART)

21. Voices Drifting by raven_maiden*

After one last night together at the Ministry Gala, Hermione Granger plans to purge her secret shagging partner from her system. But when it comes to Draco Malfoy, nothing goes according to plan.

Multi-Chapter

1. When Midnight Comes by Curly_Kay

“Granger, look at me.” Draco walked up to her, his silver eyes searching hers. “We are stuck in a time loop, all of us. I don’t know how long it’s been happening, but it’s been going for weeks and I’m the only one who has been outside the loop. I’m the only one who has remembered anything from one day to the next, that is before now—before you.” His throat bobbed with a harsh swallow. “Please, I need your help.”

2. Couples Weekend by LadyKenz347*

Sneaking away for a weekend in the woods with your fake boyfriend and your best friends is bound to have its hiccups, but no one could prepare for what this weekend has in store.

3. Wait and Hope by mightbewriting*

“Harry,” Hermione began, voice very controlled, but she could feel the blade of panic slicing at her vocal cords. “Why was Draco Malfoy just screaming bloody murder about his,” and the word almost strangled her as she said it, “wife?”

Harry's green eyes blew wide. Healer Lucas pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly displeased with the recent series of events.

“He was referring to you, my dear,” she said. “That was the other question you got wrong. Your name is Hermione Jean Granger-Malfoy.”

Hermione had to be sedated again.

4. The Right Thing to do by LovesBitca8

Hermione felt the pounding in her ears again. She would see him for the first time since the Great Hall, gaunt and stricken at the Slytherin table with his mother clutching his arm. She hadn't meant to look for him. Not in the corridors, not beneath the white sheets of the fallen, not on the way to the Chamber of Secrets with Ron, but she was a stupid girl.

5. Don’t Threaten Me With a Good Time by monstersleadmehome

Lucius Malfoy hires Hermione Granger to whip his son into shape so he can find a pure-blood bride and receive his inheritance. What could go wrong?

#dramione #dramione fanfiction #my latest reads #thank you to our fandom writers #we don’t deserve you

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gravelyhumerus · 4 years

Text

Criminal Minds College AU - Chapter 8

Title: “I may just take your breath away” / Sweater Weather AU

Relationship: Jemily

Word count: 35,604

Summary:

Penelope hacks the college. JJ pets a cat. There are three blowjobs. Need I say more?

Slow-burn Jemily college AU where they live across the hall and despite all odds, the universe pushes them together. AKA they’re silly gay babies who pine after each other for months.

Read it on AO3

Tumblr: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, (bonus scene), Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty, Epilogue

JJ adjusted the textbook in her hands, rolling onto her side to get comfortable with it. Behind her, was the calming sounds of Penelope’s pop music and her dancing fingertips as she typed code into her computer.

She had only a few pages left to read, but she was having a hard time focusing. JJ’s brain kept drifting to the events of that weekend. On Halloween, they played spin the bottle. JJ’s spin landed right on Emily, meaning that they had to kiss.

But it was not chaste. As Penelope most eloquently put it: “you two were seconds from ripping each other’s clothes off in front of us.”

JJ couldn’t wrap her head around it.

Emily had really kissed her. There was tongue. It was not a peck to play the game; they had gone at it like teenagers in the backseat of a car at a lovers’ lane.

It made reading her textbook difficult when she knew what Emily’s tongue felt like against hers. It made doing her essay challenging when she could remember the taste of her lips. It made doing just about anything next to impossible when JJ was desperate to kiss Emily again.

“Did you know that it’s Hotch’s birthday tomorrow?” Penelope asked, spinning in her chair to look at JJ.

“Wait, what?” JJ asked. She looked up from her textbook.

“So... I’ve hacked into the college database,” Penelope said, turning back to her computer, her hands were once again typing a mile a minute. “Because of the whole thing with Reid not telling us about his birthday, the poor thing, and I didn’t want to miss anyone else’s.”

“Maybe we could do a co-birthday?” JJ mused, thinking about the logistics of that.

“You read my mind, my beautiful sporty friend,” Penelope replied. “I’ve almost got everyone’s, just a minute.”

JJ stood up, walked over to Garcia’s side of the room. Somehow, her side of the room was cleaner than JJ’s, despite the sheer amount of things. Her desk was covered in trinkets, decorations and her wall covered in posters, art prints and photographs. JJ’s, on the other hand, had significantly less stuff, and way more mess. She was a busy girl and her desk was basically useless with all of her books and loose paper and miscellaneous things she needed to deal with ages ago.

“Did you know that Morgan is a gemini?” Penelope asked.

“Figures,” JJ replied, hoping that was the right response.

Garcia had two monitors on her light, wooden desk, and a large desktop computer that she had built herself tucked underneath. On one monitor, was a file that she was slowly adding to, of birthdays written in white text on a grey background. Her own was there, alongside Spencer, Hotch, Derek….

JJ then watched as Garcia typed out Emily’s birthday: October 12. They had missed it too!

“Oh my god,” Penelope said, “why don’t they tell us these things?! How did we befriend such secretive people.”

“Wait, when was that?” JJ murmured, grabbing her wall calendar and flipping through the pages. “Oh my god I saw her that day. She was baking cookies, alone.”

“Alone?” Penelope whimpered.

JJ thought back to that night. She had barged into the kitchen, talked all about her impending break up with Will, and ate Emily’s cookies. She felt awful. Obviously they didn’t know each other as well then, but why was she alone?

“She didn’t even tell Derek,” Penelope said, “oh that sweet summer child. Who hurt her?”

JJ always celebrated her birthday. Be it a family dinner or a full on birthday party when she was a kid, JJ was used to a fuss made about her each year. It was harder after Ros, but her parents refused to let the day pass without at least a cake and a present.

As she befriended Penelope last year, their birthdays were filled with presents and friendship and alcohol, both girls making sure to give the other a thoughtful gift and make a fuss for the day.

Her heart was breaking that three of her new friends were about to let theirs pass without anything to show for it.

“We should have a party,” JJ blurted.

“You read my mind.”

JJ frankly welcomed the distraction from her circular thoughts about her kiss with Emily.

———

JJ left another store empty handed. She had first placed an order at a store downtown for a birthday cake, with three names on it which confused the baker, then began to wander downtown searching for presents.

She had another half hour before she was supposed to meet back up with Derek and Penelope, who were at the dollar store buying decorations, and she had hoped to find something for Emily by then.

The three of them were quite efficient at party planning, and they had to be with such a quick turnaround time. JJ had been tasked with finding a present for Emily.

For Hotch, they wrangled a bottle of the nicer whiskey that he liked, because even at the age of 21, he was somehow already an old man in his tastes. Spencer was also easy, because Penelope was working on knitting him a scarf. Apparently it was from the show Dr. Who, but JJ didn’t really know much about that besides that it was British and both he and Penelope were big fans.

Emily was a lot harder to shop for.

What could JJ get for her with the thirty dollars that they all had pitched in to fund her present? Not much. Especially since JJ knows that Emily comes from money. If she wanted something, she could probably just buy it for herself, right?

It was also difficult because it would be from her. It would be a token of her affections. What were her affections? Did she want to simply sleep with her? Date with her? Be her best friend? JJ’s thoughts were a mess.

JJ had been in just about every store downtown, browsing clothes, gift stores, even a plant store in which she contemplated the meaning of getting Emily a cactus. Nothing was quite right.

She had almost given up when she wandered past a used book store. She had never been in before but always meant to. Out front was a stack of old milk crates filled with books, mostly romance novels and thrillers, and inside the window, beautifully bound antique books were resting in the display.

A bell dinged as she walked in, and an elderly man waved at her from the counter before returning to his own book.

Inside, the smell of old books filled her senses, mixed with the smell of apples and cinnamon and the earthy smell of all the old buildings in her college town.

Stacked floor to ceiling were mountains of books, towering over her head.

There were a few other patrons in the shop, some sitting and reading, others wandering the stacks, pulling out the occasional book.

JJ slowly made her way through the maze. It was larger inside than she expected, with thousands of old books surrounding her, no matter where she looked. At times, she had to step over a pile of books in her path.

The books were organized by topic, but within that, JJ couldn’t discern a clear system.

She climbed the creaky staircase and pondered what kind of book Emily would like. Is buying her a romance novel too forward? JJ wondered. She probably wouldn’t be able to find one with two women anyways.

Did Emily like fantasy? Sci-fi? Non Fiction? Should JJ get her something she’s read? JJ realized that she hadn’t read anything that wasn’t for school in ages.

JJ felt overwhelmed. Was she thinking too hard?

She did a double take at the window sill, realizing that the movement that caught her eye was a black cat basking in the sunlight.

JJ reached out her hand tentatively to pet it. The cat nuzzled her hand, and began to purr. JJ smiled, spending a few minutes giving the cat much needed attention.

The cat then stood, apparently growing bored, and ran off to investigate something or chase a mouse or whatever bookstore cats got up to.

Where it lay was a small book. It was old, but not as old as some of the other leather bound texts in this store. Its white cover had a simple drawing of a boy, and written in a looping script: “Le Petit Prince.”

JJ smiled slightly, picking up the thin book. She leaned against the windowsill and carefully flipped through the pages, admiring the illustrations and trying to decipher the premise with her limited understanding of French.

It seemed like it was for children, with whimsical art of a boy on a small planet, a king, a rose and a fox, among other things. She read the first few pages, about a boy falling in love with a flower, and decided it was perfect.

It was a sign, JJ thought, the cat led her to this book.

The cat—which reminded JJ of Emily with its standoffish exterior but affectionate personality—had clearly shown her that this was the perfect present.

There was no price on it, and JJ worried that it would be out of her budget. Holding it to her chest, she descended the steps and brought the book to the clerk.

“Hello sir,” JJ greated him, setting the book down on the table, “How much is this book? ”

He was seated in a comfortable looking chair behind a counter with an old-fashioned cash register. The sign on it read, ‘cash only’ and there was a tip jar in the form of a cat mug.

“Oh this is an excellent choice!” The man lifted the book up, examining the cover. “On ne voit qu’avec le cœur.”

That was French. JJ didn’t know what it meant, only catching the word “heart” at the end. She nodded nonetheless.

“You speak French?” He asked her.

She shrugged. “I’m learning.”

“This book will teach you more than just French,” the man said. “Trust me.”

JJ didn’t know what he meant, but nodded. He still hadn’t told her how much it was.

“It’s a gift,” JJ explained, “for a friend.”

He handed her back the book, smiling at her. He gave it to her for fifteen dollars, seeming to make up the price on the spot. The black cat waited for her near the door, letting her pet him on the ears before she left.

JJ left the door, hugging the book to her chest.

———

Wrangling three of their friends into attending a surprise party was harder than it looked.

With three student athletes, nights during which none of them had games, or practices were scarce, so it took them until the next Friday before they found a free evening. Then, they had to go through the ordeal of convincing them to show up at Derek’s room at the right time.

JJ felt giddy with the secret, greatly enjoying the party planning and doing something special for her new friends. On her Wednesday afternoon study date with Emily, her excitement for the party almost overpowered her nervousness with the girl due to their recent kiss. JJ caught herself looking more at Emily than her notes, alternating between imagining them kissing and imagining the look on Emily’s face when she received her present.

By seven that Friday night, they had fully decorated Derek’s tiny dorm with streamers, balloons, and just about anything Penelope could find at the dollar store. A happy birthday sign was strung over one of the windows, with the addition of their friends' names written in marker on poster boards taped underneath.

Their presents were wrapped messily, as JJ wasn’t particularly good at using wrapping paper. The cake sat on Derek’s desk reading “Happy (belated) birthday Emily, Hotch and Spencer!” in red icing on white cake.

The three of them were frantically blowing up balloons and checking their phones. JJ felt slightly light headed by the time they were done.

Hotch and Emily were coming for a “study date” with Derek, and Spencer was expecting a Dr. Who marathon with Garcia. All were supposed to be there any minute.

There was a knock on the door.

“Get ready!” Garcia squealed, “someone’s here!”

She opened the door, and instead of the birthday kids, it was David Rossi, who JJ had met for the first time a few weeks prior. He was 22, only a few months older than Hotch, in his first year of his masters. He and Hotch were close, and Emily and Derek knew him well since he TA’d one of their classes.

“Rossi?” Derek said, “you came!”

“I never turn down an invitation to a party,” he said.

“I have to admit,” Derek said, “it’s not that much of a party.“

“It’s more of a magical birthday get together,” Penelope said as she ushered him in.

“Good thing I brought enough alcohol to make it a party,” he said.

He pulled a very expensive looking bottle of vodka out of his backpack, and more beers than should fit in a normal sized bag.

“I take it back,” Derek said, “this is definitely a party.”

There was another knock on the door.

“Come in!” Garcia said, picking up a balloon to throw.

Spencer opened the door trailed by Hotch and Emily, all looking confused as they were bombarded by a dozen balloons cascading down from above and a series of hugs from the group. All were looking around with a mix of shock and happiness on their faces.

“It’s technically none of your birthdays today,” Penelope said, “Because you are all such awful private people, BUT I got the goods and figured it out. We thought we would celebrate all of you guys, and our amazing friend group, with this little shindig.”

“It’s wonderful Garcia,” Hotch said, almost smiling, “Thank you.”

“Don’t just thank me!” she said, “It was Miss Jennifer’s idea, and she got the cake. And my beautiful Derek helped me with the decorations and loaned his room, which might I say, is strangely large for a single room.”

Derek chucked, “It was my pleasure, happy birthday you three.”

He pulled Spencer in and ruffled his hair.

“We’ve ordered pizza too!” JJ announced, “It should be here any minute now.”

“You’re too good to us,” Emily finally spoke up, after standing in the doorway with a dazed expression on her face.

Penelope guided them in, and the group exchanged hugs and laughter, and Hotch got a very Italian kiss on the cheek from Rossi. Penelope put silly birthday hats on their heads, and took photos like a proud mother.

After a few minutes of chatter—about the decorations, how they managed to keep it a secret, and most importantly, the illegality of Penelope hacking into their personal data on the university server— JJ’s phone pinged and she ran to the foyer to get the pizzas.

Munching on greasy food, there was a companionable silence with the cheery sounds of the music in the background.

As pizza wrapped up, their chatter resumed and the room filled with overlapping conversations. JJ noticed Rossi had snuck off to fish something out of Derek’s mini fridge, pouring something out into shot glasses. Then she heard the sound of whipped cream.

At that sound, all heads turned towards him. He had three cups filled to the brim with whipped cream and he looked like he was about to burst into laughter at any point.

“BIRTHDAY SHOTS!” Penelope squealed.

“No way,” Hotch said, “I’m not doing one of those.”

“One of what?” Spencer asked nervously.

“It’s not a blowjob is it?” Emily asked with a laugh.

“A blowjob?” Spencer asked even more nervously.

“It’s a shot, kid,” Derek assured him, “you just can’t use your hands and there’s the-“

He gestured at the whipped cream with a laugh.

“White stuff!” Emily said, tying up her hair into a ponytail in preparation.

Rossi had to explain the premise several times, before it sunk in that they had to fish out the small shot and drink it all without using their hands. Reid looked at them suspiciously but he warmed up to the idea after Hotch offered to go first so he could see how it’s done.

The older boy had definitely done a blowjob shot before, efficiently grabbing the plastic shot cup and downing it, his cheeks covered with whipped cream.

Emily was enthusiastically buried in the whipped cream but struggled on the follow through, spilling most of the vodka into the larger cup before she drank it.

Reid seemed nervous to get the whipped cream on his face, reeling back and wiping his cheeks then trying again.

Eventually, Derek reached his hand into the cup, retrieved the shot and held it up to Spencer’s mouth.

“Look ma, no hands!” Morgan quipped before rubbing some leftover whipped cream on the younger boy’s face as the group laughed. Reid was laughing happily, beaming as he wiped his face.

With the celebratory shot in their system, it was time for cake. JJ carefully used Penelope’s bright pink lighter to ignite candles on each piece for her three friends as they sang Happy Birthday to them.

“Happy birthday to you!” They sang, “happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Hotch, Spence and Emily! Happy birthday to you!”

They blew out their candles. All were instructed to make wishes.

As the night progressed, JJ got more and more nervous about the present. What if Emily hated it? Would she ruin the whole night? Penelope and Derek had assured her that it was a good present but what if they were wrong too?

JJ busied herself with cutting the cake, distributing pieces and making sure everyone had forks and napkins.

Rossi, who was their unofficial bartender, was stationed near the mini fridge and passed out fresh beers when called upon.

“Gifts!” Penelope exclaimed once they had made good work of the cake, dragging the presents out from their hiding space under Derek’s desk.

She handed them over to Emily, Hotch and Reid.

“We all pitched in,” Derek said.

All three looked perturbed at the fuss, murmuring “you shouldn’t have” as they looked at the gift. Spencer opened his and laughed, wrapping the incredibly long striped scarf around his neck and thanking Penelope. Aaron actually did smile at his present and expressed his gratitude by pouring them all shots.

Emily held hers for a moment, staring at the wrapped book with an unreadable expression on her face. JJ watched, holding her breath as she turned it over, then placed it back down.

“Will you excuse me for a second?” Emily said, her voice tight and sounding very… formal.

JJ gulped as Emily stood, and exited the dorm, shutting the door behind her. She immediately thought that she had done something wrong.

The group looked back and forth, not quite sure what to do, as the commotion happened mid way through Hotch doling out shots of whiskey and some were already half raised.

A moment passed as JJ thought about whether it would be worse for her to follow or leave her be. Maybe she wanted to be left alone? Maybe JJ was the last person Emily wanted to see?

She knew there was a lot about Emily that she didn’t know. Like JJ, the other girl kept a lot close to her chest. Over time, JJ had learned some details of her childhood, but not all, and what she knew didn’t look good. Maybe all of this was a bad idea? Emily might have had a reason that she didn’t celebrate her birthday. This could have been an awful plan and it would have been all JJ’s fault.

She stood and grabbed the book, deciding to follow Emily. She slipped out the door and walked slowly down the hall, unsure of what she would even say to Emily once she faced her. Hey I just gave you a gift and you all but ran out of the room before you opened it, did I offend you somehow? Or I’m sorry?

JJ wasn’t sure what she was sorry for. She just knew something was upsetting Emily and the last thing JJ wanted to be was the cause of that. In fact, she wanted to make Emily happy and make sure nothing ever bothered her ever again. It would probably be weird for her to say that, right?

She assumed that Emily had gone to the communal bathroom, as she left her lanyard with her room keys behind her in Derek’s room. If she had left the floor she would have been locked out.

JJ took a breath outside the door, then pushed it open.

Emily was standing in the bathroom that all of the girls floor shared, with its small row of stalls, old fashioned sinks and blue tiled floor. A frosted window that looked out into the courtyard. Many mornings JJ found herself brushing her teeth next to the other girl.

Emily had her arms braced on the sides of the sink, leaning forward and looking at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed and her breathing was coming in quick breaths.

“Em?” JJ said softly.

Startled by the noise, Emily looked away from her, quickly pulling up a corner of her shirt to wipe her eyes.

“You ok?” JJ asked, tucking the present behind her back.

“I’m fine,” Emily said, standing up straight and giving her a half smile. Her posture was stiff, her smile forced.

“You don’t look fine.”

Emily stepped back, leaning against the window sill. She crossed her arms, still avoiding any eye contact.

JJ walked forward, slowly closing the distance.

She leaned on the wall beside Emily, trying not to stare at her and make her feel uncomfortable.

“Did I do something wrong?” JJ asked. Her voice sounded small in her ears. She immediately kicked herself, upset at how this might sound like she was making it all about herself.

“No!” Emily exclaimed, shaking her head. “No. It wasn’t you it’s…”

She trailed off.

“I’ve never had all this before. The friends and the party and the gifts. All this attention… it’s a lot.”

She slid to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. JJ did the same, turning to face the other girl. She didn’t want to push too hard lest Emily flee from her again.

“It’s all so nice,” Emily whispered.

“Then what’s wrong?” JJ asked softly.

Emily sighed and began to bite her nails. Her posture was hunched over, curled up on the cold tile floor.

She began to speak, then stopped herself, gritting her teeth and blinking hard. She looked over at JJ reluctantly, seeming to think hard about how to answer that question.

“I was always the new girl wherever I was,” she said. “I was never anywhere enough to make friends, real friends that is. Or have anything like all this. I would do anything to fit in and it never seemed to work.”

JJ’s heart felt like it was breaking for her friend. She tried to imagine Emily trying to be anyone else other than the Emily she knew and couldn’t. Fitting in is hard, let alone fitting into new countries and learning new languages. JJ knew she wouldn’t have been able to keep it together.

Emily shook her head, picking at the skin around her nails anxiously, JJ could tell that sharing all of this was incredibly difficult.

“I lived in a dozen different countries and was barely there long enough to make friends and when I did…” Emily sighed. “I fucked it up. I make things worse for people.”

Emily buried her face in her hands, her breaths coming harder now. Her voice was shaky and quiet, almost whispering to JJ.

“My mom was never around on my birthdays. She would leave me a present. Maybe. This year she didn’t even call.”

Emily paused.

“And then you guys do all this.”

Emily looked up, staring with unfocused eyes into the bathroom, JJ could tell she was thinking of someone else, some other day. She looked lost.

JJ wanted to hold her hand, wanted to comfort her, keep her close. She was always called the mom friend, it was in her nature to try and make sure her friends were taken care of. Her feelings for Emily complicated things. If she was anyone else, she would grab her hand, no questions asked, but she felt herself second-guessing each move.

Her actions suddenly felt like they had more weight to them. Knowing that she liked Emily made everything strange. If she held her hand, would it be weird? She didn’t know. Normally, she wouldn’t question holding a friend’s hand, hell, she’d already held Emily’s hand.

But that was before she was gay, or bi, or whatever. Before she knew she liked girls. Liked Emily. Now, touching her felt scary, like she was doing something wrong, even if she was simply trying to be nice.

Fighting against her anxious thoughts, JJ reached out, tugging at Emily’s wrist until her hand clasped onto hers. JJ ran a reassuring thumb over her hand. She sighed a breath of relief when Emily leaned into the touch.

“You’re our friend,” JJ said, simply. “And we care about you.”

Emily nodded, still not looking at her.

“When I held your present in my hands,” Emily said, “I just couldn't stop thinking of my friend Matthew. He surprised me on my sixteenth birthday, pulling me out of some stupid event my mother had dragged me to. That was the only time I got a real birthday present before now.”

JJ hadn’t heard about this friend. Emily didn’t really talk about her past, beyond the general facts. JJ had to stop herself from prying, fighting back her curiosity in favour of letting Emily talk.

She squeezed Emily’s hand in a gesture she hoped would be encouraging.

“Your gift just brought back a lot of memories,” Emily said with a whisper. “Matthew basically saved my life. He was the only friend I had before now I guess.”

She looked over at JJ.

“I’m sorry,” Emily said, wiping at her eyes.

“Don’t be.”

JJ pulled Emily into her, wrapping her arms around her and holding her tight. Emily let out a muffled sob and fell into her, with her head tucked under JJ’s chin. They sat like that for a while, JJ listening to Emily’s ragged breathing and JJ running a calming hand over her back. Emily’s face was buried in her shoulder, her soft hair tickled JJ’s face as she held her tight.

She focused on rubbing Emily’s back, making patterns with her hand on top of her soft sweater. Emily’s arms were wrapped around her waist.

For a moment, tears pricked at JJ’s eyes. Watching Emily finally be vulnerable to her, for her to share something, even if she left out details, was a lot. She blinked them back and focused on steadying her breathing, being a calm presence for Emily.

After a moment Emily pulled away, creating some distance between them, wiping her face with her sleeve and sniffling.

“JJ I don’t want you to get hurt,” Emily said, her voice cracking, “I just bring people pain.”

“What happened, Em?” JJ asked.

Emily looked at her with teary eyes and shook her head.

“You don’t have to tell me, Emily. But I need you to know that whatever it is, I’ll still be here. I care so much about you and just… like being your friend. I don’t care what happened in your past or if you think you’re going to hurt me. All I care about is us.”

“I like being your friend,” Emily said with a teary laugh.

JJ smiled at her, pulling her into another hug. Holding her tight feeling like the girl would break into pieces in front of her if she let go.

“Do you want your present?” JJ asked carefully, still hugging Emily. She could feel the other girl nod.

JJ pulled back, taking the wrapped book from the tile floor and placing it in Emily’s lap. Emily carefully began to unwrap it, as if she wasn’t allowed to rip the brightly patterned paper.

“You know you can rip it, right?” JJ said with a kind laugh. “Just tear it open, it’s part of the fun!”

Emily looked at her nervously, and half heartedly tugged at the wrapping paper.

“Harder!” JJ said, demonstrating by pulling on it and making a satisfying tearing noise. JJ assumed that the girl didn’t have the opportunity to tear open presents as a kid, and JJ wanted to make sure she didn’t miss out on that joy anymore.

Emily laughed and tore at it, ripping the paper off and revealing the small book underneath. Le Petit Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.

“I read this as a kid,” Emily breathed, staring at the cover reverently.

She opened the cover and looked through the first few pages.

“L’essentiel est invisible pour les yeux,” Emily quoted the novel just as the book shop clerk had done.

“What is essential is invisible to the eyes,” JJ translated. “I don’t really get it. I tried to read it before I gave it to you, but didn’t make much headway.”

“It’s about love,” Emily said as she flipped through the pages.

Emily slowly turned the pages, smiling down at the whimsical illustrations and murmured about it in French that JJ couldn’t quite make out.

“I could translate it for you if you want?” Emily offered.

“Is it as good in English?”

“No,” Emily said with a laugh.

JJ beamed, happy that her gift was no longer making Emily upset. She hoped that whatever bad memories she had about birthdays were being amended with some joy from today.

“Well then I just have to get better at French so that I can understand it,” JJ said. “I’ll need a good tutor.”

“This is an amazing present. Thank you JJ.”

They smiled at each other.

“I’ll read it to you,” Emily said, “And you can stop me and I can explain anything you don’t understand.”

JJ’s heart fluttered at the thought of Emily reading a love story out loud. Though, from what she saw it was about a boy being in love with a flower so it couldn’t be that romantic, could it?

“Sounds like a plan,” JJ said. “Should we get back? I wouldn’t want to worry the others.”

Emily nodded, then the two of them stood up together. JJ’s legs had fallen asleep while sitting on the cold, tiled floor so she dramatically shook them out, making Emily laugh.

God her laugh, she wanted to hear that forever. She’d do anything to keep Emily smiling and happy.

As they walked back to the party, it was Emily who took JJ’s hand.

Maybe they could be friends. Maybe that would be enough.

#criminal minds #cm #criminal minds tv #jemily #emily prentiss x jennifer jareau #prentiss x jj #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #gravelyhumerus cm college au #my post #my writing #after all that i almost forgot to actually post it #hope u all enjoy xoxoox #kennedy is not in this chapter i am sorry to her fans

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sockablock · 4 years

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Chapter 4: Just a Parlor Trick

“—and this is your room! Or it will be, soon, once we get your stuff moved in.”

A blur of curls flew past Nott and dove headfirst onto the bare mattress. Two-feet-two of little halfling boy sprung up, danced around in a circle, and surveyed his new kingdom by bouncing on the bed.

It was—as Nott would be the first to admit—pretty bare at the moment. Caleb had already taken all of his belongings, but there hadn’t been that much to begin with. Aside from the bed-now-turned-trampoline, there was just an oak wardrobe, and a rug. The only other fixture of note was the window, framed by thin blue drapes, currently open and letting in the sea breeze.

“What do you think, Luc?” Yeza grinned from the doorframe. “How do you like it?”

“The ocean is so cool!” Luc’s hair flew around in a storm as he jumped. “And the people—there’s so many people, Dad! That big turtle at the restaurant—his back had a pipe in it!”

Nott felt the ghost of a touch on her arm. When she caught Yeza’s tentative expression, she forced herself to relax into it.

The illusion had held so far, hadn’t it? And besides, her husband already knew the truth.

“It’s okay,” she said quietly. “It’s okay. I’m okay.” Then she gave her son a smile. “And what do you think about the house, sweetie? Do you like your room?”

Luc, mid-air, gave this some thought.

“It’s smaller than my old room,” he said. “The window is bigger. Can I put my pictures up?”

There was a box of posters somewhere in the moving van. Apparently, some time in the last three years, Luc had gotten incredibly invested in a semi-popular cartoon series featuring a team of adventurers who solved mysteries in the Marrow Valley. Yeza had told her during one of their rare reunions that the clerk at the store was all but giving them away; something about increasing promotional awareness.

“Of course you can put your pictures up, Luc.”

He beamed a freckled, toothy smile.

“I like it, Mom! Can I put them up now?”

— — —

Jester hummed cheerfully to herself as she made her way through the streets of Nicodranas.

The novelty of such an act was not lost on her, and not just because she’d spent most of her life indoors—the last time she’d hurried down a road like this, it’d been under much less enjoyable circumstances.

But Jester had more tricks up her sleeves these days, and skipping between street merchants and bustling crowds, weaving through the Opal Archways in the middle of rush hour, she was certain she could hide from any watching eyes.

She squeezed the picnic basket in her arms, packed tight with the best pastries money could buy. She’d keep an eye out, too, for that little sidewalk café that did the strawberry-mango drinks Momma liked, though Jester suspected that her mother was just feigning enthusiasm to get her to eat more fruit.

The stoplight above flickered twice, then turned green. She looked both ways, then skipped across the street.

Maybe she should make a stop for sandwiches. And flowers, while she was at it—and over there, a book sale! Now that Jester was finally back home, with the Chateau such an easy walk from her apartment, every weekend she did her best to bring the whole city to her mother’s boudoir.

Not that—and here she giggled at the thought—Momma needed any help there.

The Ruby of the Sea was busy, after all. Just not too busy for her little sapphire.

— — —

The thing was, Essek’s mother was busy.

She was always busy, and with good reason at that; for longer than Essek had even been alive—and how much longer before that, gods knew—Deirta Thelyss had been the Umavi of Den Thelyss, and therefore a permanent and immovable fixture in the intricate political dance of the Kryn Dynasty.

In another life, perhaps, Essek might have followed in her footsteps and joined her in running the country—though, if she got her way, there was a good chance that he ultimately would. But, as the Dynasty and Empire so far had managed to maintain a tenuous hold on peace, currently there was little need for a person of Essek’s particular talents.

The irony of that statement occasionally made him want to laugh, though he didn’t much feel like laughing now. It had taken a considerable amount of willpower to even drag him over to his desk, and there he sat with his forehead to the surface, lamenting that going back to bed hadn’t solved his problems.

Why was Mother bothering to attend the upcoming Clovis Concord Gala? Not a single one of these coastal cities was closely allied with the Dynasty, and the sheer geographical distance between them made the two nations vaguely aware of each other at best. In fact, Essek had chosen Nicodranas specifically because of how little the Bright Queen cared about it.

Which meant the unavoidable fact of the matter was that Mother was coming just for him.

The wood of his desk was cold on his head. If she were here now, she’d tell him to sit up.

Actually, she’d probably say much more than that. If Verin was telling the truth—and his brother had always been on his side when it came to Mother— fending off another round of her attempts to force him home would only be half the struggle.

He kicked his chair back and listened to the way his wheels slid across the floor. Distantly, he could just make out some muted shuffling coming from the kitchen, and he had to remind himself that it was probably not a burglar, but Caleb.

Today was his second day in the apartment, and the man would probably need a few days to settle in. Though, Essek noted with a hint of satisfaction, Caleb seemed like a very efficient person. He’d actually…quite enjoyed their negotiation last night, despite how long it ended up being. For just a few hours his fear of an impending maternal maelstrom had been staved off by the way Widogast sometimes quirked his eyebrow while he was reading, or by the way he’d gently tap the clip of his borrowed pen with his thumb…

Essek had let him keep it, afterwards. He hadn’t even considered doing otherwise.

And as that thought crossed his mind, his restful silence was shattered by a crash.

— — —

“Knock-knock, Momma!”

“Ah, Jester! Come in! Close the door behind—oh, bother.”

This was immediately followed with the sound of air snapping to fill a void, then another minor explosion accented by four scrabbling paws.

“Nugget! Oh, Nuggy, I’ve missed you so much—”

Marion Lavore hiked up her skirts and gently side-stepped the slobber on the floor. She made her way back to her chaise lounge just a moment after Jester peeled herself from the dog.

“He’s getting quite big,” her mother said, artfully removing the exhaustion from her tone. But two decades of living under Momma’s roof gave Jester all the hint that she needed.

“Oh, I want to take him back, I really do, but the apartment doesn’t let us have dogs.” Jester sank into a plush sofa with Nugget wagging his tail at her heels. He put his head in her lap and drooled.

“And…your luck with finding a…a new apartment?”

“We’ve all been busy, Momma,” Jester sighed. “Beau is working all day long to set up a new library by the Quay, and Yasha disappears all the time even though she’s…feeling better now. I think it’ll be a while until everything’s calmed down and we can look.”

Marion pointedly did not think about the many curtains that Nugget had already eaten in three months.

“Ah, well. I understand. And how are you doing, my sweet?”

Jester giggled. “I’m doing good! I’ve been drawing and painting a lot by the sea, and keeping busy with other arts and crafts. Did you know people on the Internet will buy dozens of tiny clay dick statues? The Traveler thought it was very funny.”

Her mother’s expression was an ocean of calm. “Oh, is that…is that so? Well, I’m glad to hear you’re finding ways to…spend your day.”

“I brought some to show you!”

“Oh, how...lovely…”

“Some paintings, Momma.” Jester set aside the picnic basket and fished around in her knapsack. The bag was a horrifically pink mess of burlap and loud, jangly pins. Jester had to shove aside quite a few rolls of brushes and capped paints as she searched.

Marion watched her work with interest. “Well, even if you had brought a…the statue, I would—oh, Jester. It’s beautiful!”

Jester beamed as her mother took the canvas, gingerly like it was—and it was—fine art.

In her hands, a stunning landscape of the sea beside Nicodranas at dawn, pale pink light glancing off the tide and a thin breath of sun just above the water.

“It’s for you, Momma!”

“Oh, Jester, I couldn’t possibly—”

“Take it.” She laughed. “I have lots more at home, but this one’s my favorite so you should have it.”

Decades of living with a burgeoning artist had taught Marion not to hug the piece to her chest, though she quite wanted to.

“I’ll hang it up, then. In a place of honor,” she said seriously. “Maybe heading up the stairs? The light there is lovely, and that way I know the most important people will get to see it.”

Jester’s smile could have swallowed up the world. “Thanks, Momma.”

“No, thank you, my sweet. Now, come. What else have you been doing? What’s new and exciting with your…what did you call yourselves? The Mighty Nein?”

Jester helped her mother lay out a feast’s worth of pastries across the coffee table. Nugget eyed the bounty like a lit fuse until Jester also produced a chewing bone, which he gleefully snapped up and began to gnaw.

“I wanted to make sure we didn’t have a repeat of last time, so I stopped by a pet store,” she explained, munching on a strawberry tart. “And we’re all doing good! Caleb’s move went well, and Nott’s family just landed.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” her mother said. “You know, it would not have been a problem for them to stay with me. At least while they got settled.”

“I know, I know, but I think since she already had a place, she wanted them there, you know? And anyway, she said she didn’t want to impose.”

“Of course,” Marion nodded. “And perhaps the Chateau is…it would be a bit unconventional for a family to stay here, hm?”

“We did it!”

“We did, but we are an unconventional family.”

Jester laughed, then brushed a few crumbs off her skirt. “What have you been doing lately, Momma? Any news? Any interesting clients?” She waggled her eyebrows for emphasis.

“Well,” her mother smiled faintly, “actually, I…might have something interesting to tell you. I was, ah…well, I was invited to a party. To sing, but also as a guest.”

“What?!” Jester threw her hands in the air. “Oh, Momma, that’s amazing!”

“I, ah…might decline.”

Jester’s elation vanished instantly. “Oh, Momma. Is it…the outside…?”

Marion shrugged. It was a decidedly unrefined gesture, and left a little crinkle in her robe. “I’m just…well, you know I’ve made a little progress since you got back, but…I don’t know. I’m not sure I’d feel so comfortable being in a place like that alone.”

Jester reached across the table to pat her mother on the hand. “I understand. It’s probably just a dumb party anyway, I’m sure you won’t be missing much!”

“It’s…well, it’s the 400th Anniversary Gala of the Clovis Concord.”

“Oh, man.”

“Tell me about it, dear,” Marion sighed.

There was a moment’s pause, filled with the sound of thoughtful chewing.

And then:

“What if we went with you?”

Marion blinked twice.

“I beg your pardon?”

— — —

They left Luc in his new bedroom happily slapping tape to the wall. Yeza had been worried that this would damage the paint when they’d eventually have to take down his posters, but Nott reassured him that getting back the safety deposit for this apartment was already a lost cause.

“There was a…small incident,” she said, as he poured her tea, “involving electricity. And…a mild fire.”

“Oh, man. Did you guys blow the fuse box or something?”

Nott debated whether or not exploding a microwave with voltaic bolts fell under that category.

“Mm, yeah, it was something like that.” She watched him sink into the chair across the table, paying special attention to the way his glasses bounced on his nose.

He hadn’t needed glasses three years ago. He hadn’t been quite so pale, either.

“So, how is your friend Caleb?” Yeza asked, tilting his head slightly at her silence. “Is he alright? Settled in and everything?”

Nott quickly scrounged up her smile. “He is! Actually, his place is really nice. Cheap, too, from what I’ve heard.”

“Oh, that’s great,” Yeza sipped his tea, leaving a little half-crescent above his lip. “I was worried about him. You told him for me, right? How much I appreciate this?”

“Of course I did. And I told him plenty that he didn’t have to, but he really insisted, and…well. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t happy that he did.”

Yeza put a biscuit in her hands. “We’ll send him a fruit basket, then. With pineapples! Heck, I should send one to all of your friends, for pitching in for the plane tickets. They’re really kind.”

“They are pretty great, aren’t they?” Nott took a bite, coating her tongue with chalky crumbs. “They’ll probably be around at some point—they want to see you and the boy again.”

“Is the tall one still around? With the pink hair? I liked him.”

Nott gave a laugh. “I’ll tell him you said that. It’s been quiet these last few days, you know, so it’ll really be great to have the company back. Not that—oh, gods, not that you and Luc aren’t—”

“I get it, I get it,” Yeza shook his head. “Don’t worry. Like we said over the phone, right? It’ll take…there’ll be an adjustment period.”

Nott set her mug down on the table. Her smile was a little less firm now.

“You and Luc are here,” she said again, quietly. “You’re here, but I…I’m talking about my friends, I shouldn’t be saying those things, should I? I…should focus on you two—”

“Hey, no, Veth. Not at all.”

“But it is unfair,” she sighed. “I…sweetie, I’m so happy to see you, and the boy, but now that…Caleb’s gone, and the two of you have moved in, a…a part of me, an awful part of me, already misses—”

“Veth, it’s okay—"

“It’s not, I mean we’re married—gods, wait, I’d never betray—”

“Veth.”

A hand touched her shoulder. Yeza’s voice was low and soft. “Honey, it’s okay. It really is okay, and I…I know. It’s complicated. I know. We haven’t been a family for a while—and none of that is your fault, it just isn’t. It’s just…been a tough few years, for us, but also especially for you. I doubt I could’ve survived what you’ve been through, after all. And things have changed—I’ve changed, I mean—I snore again, and I’ve gotten used to Edith helping around our house, and…I guess what I’m trying to say, is that it’s only natural…it’s only fair, that you’re allowed to change too. It’s okay. We talked about this, right?”

“Right,” Nott murmured.

“So it’ll be okay. We’ll make it work. And it’s still you, right? You still love me, right?”

She felt herself nod. Then, gently, “I didn’t stop loving you.”

“Well, that’s good. Neither did I.”

This time, she risked a glance up, and saw his smile. Yeza’s smiles were always a little lop-sided, smushing his freckles, and crinkling one eye. She’d made fun of that when they were younger, and let go of a breath when she saw that hadn’t changed.

As she exhaled, she gave a nod. Then a chuckle.

“Right. Right. Of course we will. We’re…probably going to have to enroll Luc in school. It—it’s summer now, but when autumn swings around…what is he? In first grade? In second?”

Yeza laughed. “This fall will be his first year of school.” Then his eyes widened. “Oh, gods, it’s his first year of school. He…I don’t even know if he’s ready, if he’s…wait, is it different in Nicodranas? Are there tests? Is this a good school district, I—I didn’t even check—”

This time, it was Veth who stopped him. “Relax,” she said, and poked Yeza’s nose. “His dad is the most brilliant chemist in the world. We can look up all that other stuff.”

She brushed his cheek with her other thumb. “Like you said. We’ve got this. We’ll make it work.”

— — —

It had started with a recipe for blueberry muffins.

It had ended, more or less, somewhere around the time that Caleb realized neither he nor Essek owned measuring cups—and anyway, the blueberries were looking a little mushy so maybe he should wait until next week to surprise the Brenattos, that way he’d have a chance to get better ones, even though their move-in day was technically today—

And at that point, Frumpkin had jumped into the cabinet, dislodging what sounded like years’ worth of unused pots, knocking down an avalanche of dusty pans.

The last skillet clanged like thunder as it spun to a stop on the floor.

“Mist. Frumpkin—”

Ever the cat, Frumpkin deftly wove out of Caleb’s grasp and darted for the counter. He perched himself unblinking at the edge of the sink and licked his paw, as if for emphasis.

Caleb sighed. He crouched down to reach for the nearest displaced kitchen implement, a stock pot.

“You know,” he began, exasperated, “you could at least help me out with this mess.”

“Is that so?”

He whipped around so quickly that his head hit the handle of a drawer. One hand flew up, he startled, “Miste—Essek?”

His landlord raised a curved eyebrow. With the mid-afternoon light streaming in through the windows, the purplish tint to Essek’s complexion was something akin to a dusting of twilight. His hair was half-tousled, like it’d been mussed by something, and his hand lingered on the doorknob.

“I…my cat,” Caleb managed. “That is, er. I apologize. Deeply. For the commotion.”

Essek looked him over. “I thought we had agreed on silence last night, no?”

Caleb hung his head, and he could feel disappointment coming, undoubtedly with despair on its coattails.

“I have broken the terms,” he said mutely. “I…I am sorry. I understand what that means.”

His gaze clung to the polished floor. Which was why he missed it when the heavy stock pot took on a faint, shimmering, blueish glow. And then the saucepan began to shine. And then a wok, a spatula, a bowl—

All of the fallen cookware slowly began to rise through the air. As they moved, a parade past Caleb’s amazed expression, slipping by Frumpkin’s outstretched paw, each individual pot righted itself, formed into lines, then were quickly and neatly whisked away into the cabinet above.

The doors clicked as they shut.

“I…but that—what spell was that?”

Mentally, Caleb kicked himself. He should’ve apologized.

But Essek only chuckled. “Oh, that was just a parlor trick. An idle curiosity about the…shall we say, limits of gravity. Particularly regarding how easy they are to break.”

Caleb scrambled up to his feet. “But I have never seen control like that on such a grand scale before. Your spell, it—Telekinesis only controls one object at once.”

“Well,” Essek allowed himself a smirk. “Telekinesis is a watered-down version of what true dunamancy can accomplish. I will say, even getting that far was impressive. I have seen your documentation.”

“Gods,” though, Caleb noticed, there was not a trace of resentment in his tone. “Here I thought our transmutative literature was the most advanced there was.”

Essek shrugged. “Please, do not misunderstand me. It is good, for Empire wizards, especially. Until then, I had been under the impression that your lot only excelled at evocation.”

“We are a dab hand at necromancy too,” Caleb said dryly, “if the stories from twenty years ago are believed.”

This actually won a laugh. “Maybe I am the one being too cruel. It was your people who pioneered the earliest manipulations of air elemental magic, no? It is truly an interesting method for conquering gravity.”

“Yours is better,” Caleb said, before he could stop himself. “If you think that a parlor trick, my friend, I hesitate to ask else you could accomplish.”

“Why hesitate?”

And then, Caleb blinked. Somewhere in the distance, Frumpkin nudged his shoulder, but in that moment, all he could focus on was Essek.

“I…excuse me?”

And with that, the spell was broken. Essek slid into a kitchen chair.

“Nevermind, nevermind,” he waved his hand. “And please. Do not worry about that mess. I am not so unreasonable to think that accidents can never happen. Just, ah…you have been a wonderful roommate so far. In the future…?”

“You have my word,” Caleb said. He slipped the carton of slightly-mushy blueberries behind him.

“Excellent,” Essek nodded. “Well. If that is settled, I might sit here and, ah…get some work done?”

Caleb, dense as he was, got the message. “I just—of course, I will be gone in a moment, I’ll just put these things away—”

“No rush at all. I am not in any hurry.”

And indeed, whether or not Essek was just being polite, it did seem like the man was…a bit distracted. Caleb had no right to poke into his business, which was a violation of Section II, Subsection IV anyway, but he couldn’t help but ask Frumpkin to take the tiniest peek at Essek’s face.

Something was bothering his landlord. And for once, still basking in the afterglow of powerful magic, Caleb was almost sure it wasn’t him.

He found out just as he was heading to his room.

“Might I, ah, ask you a question?”

Caleb had enough composure to turn around at a normal person’s pace.

“Yes?”

Essek ran a hand through his hair. “Actually, it…it is more of a favor.”

“Oh,” said Caleb. And when more was required, “Yes?”

“Yes already?” He blinked. “But I did not say what it was.”

“I meant,” Caleb amended, leaning against his doorframe, “please describe this favor to me.”

“Ah,” said Essek. “Right. I, er…”

How in the gods’ names was he supposed to phrase something ridiculous as this?

“I wonder…” he tried, “that is…if you might…would it be…are you perhaps…are you busy this weekend?”

Whatever he was expecting, this absolutely was not it.

“I—no?” Caleb said, out of pure shock. Then he shook his head and added, “I do not think so, no.”

“Ah,” said Essek. Somehow he seemed even more uncomfortable now. “That is…excellent.” It did not sound excellent. “If…well, if that is the case, then…do you think you could…help me with something?”

Caleb waited patiently. “With something?”

“A date.”

“A what?”

“No—not—oh, gods, I am doing this wrong.” Essek actually put his head in his hands, and Caleb once again had to throttle his own surprise.

Then, in a move made by a part of him so bold he didn’t even know he still had it, Caleb re-entered the kitchen and down in the seat across from Essek.

“I think, perhaps you should start from the beginning.”

Essek nodded miserably. He breathed in.

“You are right, Caleb.”

He breathed out.

“So. It’s like this…”

— — —

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longitud-de-onda · 4 years

Text

Porque el querer causa pena, pena que no tiene fin

pairing; mad sad genius (we never got a name) x reader summary; you can love someone with all your heart, but nothing compares to the madness that exists in their absence rating; t warnings; language, a bit of alcohol, angst, it isn’t specifically covid-19 but it is a pandemic science fiction story, so the quarantine and other situations are taken to the extreme which could be potentially triggering depending on how you’re handling the quarantine. word count; 3.0k a/n; this is fanfic for ngozi anyanwu’s for all the lovesick mad sad geniuses which aside from pedro’s amazing performance, is a brilliant monologue. we’re taking the title from the rosalía song (maldición, cap. 10: cordura) that helped inspire this.

You met him at an art gallery. It was your own show, and you were standing in the corner drinking wine from a clear plastic cup, the edge of which was sharp against your lips. You held a paper plate with five almonds, a mozzarella and tomato crostini, and a mini chocolate cupcake carefully balanced in your other hand.

He was standing in front of your favorite piece. No one else was. Probably because the gallery owner told you it wasn’t the sort of work that would stop anyone. That out of all the work in your collection, it was the type that belonged in the back, where it would be found by the people who cared enough to wander there, whose interest would likely be piqued enough for them to enjoy it. It hurt to hang it up on the back wall and not up in the front where you wanted it.

But he hadn’t stopped at everything else. He had walked into the gallery minutes before, giving every painting a quick glance before settling on the one in front of which he was standing. He had been there for almost five minutes before you decided to walk up next to him.

He looked over upon seeing you approach and your heart stopped. He was the most beautiful person you had ever seen. His smile reached his eyes and you found yourself falling into them. You almost asked him if he would model for you.

You didn’t paint portraits.

“This one is beautiful,” he told you.

You smiled and took a sip of your wine. You didn’t need convincing that it was beautiful. That much you already knew. It was the one piece you were confident beyond belief about.

“What do you like about it?” you asked, jutting your chin up at the painting in question.

“The artist seems to have cared. You can see the brushstrokes. They’re more detailed than the others. Someone only spends that much time on something they really care about.”

That was when you fell in love with him. Thirty-three words. That was all it took.

Your first date was dinner after the gallery closed for the night and he dragged you out to his favorite burger joint because he said you deserved it after opening an exhibition. After wolfing down more than enough food and splitting a tub of fries, you spilled out onto the streets in a pile of laughter and joy and you’ll never forget the look on his face when you asked for his number.

Your second date was a night you’ll never forget. He had taken two days to contact you after the first night, and you had begun to worry you would never hear from him again, but he called you and said he wanted to meet you at 6pm the next day and to dress nicely. You showed up where he told you too and he was there with that goddamn smile.

He took you to a Chinese restaurant and said I’d take you somewhere nicer but I don’t think you’re that kind of woman. And you would have slapped any other guy in the face but he looked so earnest and he was right about you. It was like he could read you like a book. And when you laughed he’d sometimes stop laughing with you just to stare with a certain reverence that made you question what you did to deserve the sort of man who looked at you that way.

He took you past all the big theaters showing musicals and stopped at one tucked away with a modest set of doors but the grandest entry hall you had ever seen. You let him lead the way as he took you through the doors into the auditorium and you walked down the aisles to seats near the front.

You didn’t know what you had done to let him know you loved comedies, but he had picked out the perfect play. By the time it was over your stomach hurt from laughing so hard and your eyes held the watery ring around them from your tears. You hit the cool night air just as it started raining, and any other time you would have run for cover but with him and his smile next to you, you didn’t give a shit.

The aimless wandering that night was your favorite part. You were doubled over laughing as he told you the parts of the play he liked, and the parts he didn’t.

“She was a fucking genius and a poet, you know?” he said.

“Who?”

“The playwright.”

“What? Why?” you asked.

“She wrote a play about another fucking genius,” he said. “And despite it being the funniest shit ever made, it still had all those deep-ass lines. You know, like, ‘If you got one friend when you die then most people never have something like you.”

And he didn’t know why you started giggling until you calmed yourself enough to tell him what the real quote was in between fits of laughter. He had that look from earlier that night on his face. The one where it was like he didn’t even know you could see him. He gazed at you like he could see you. Not just on the surface, but underneath everything too. Like he could see every thought that went through your head and took the time to hold every one and appreciate it before letting it go.

He leaned down to kiss you and you tilted your head up to meet him and you wondered how you hadn’t kissed him before. Why you didn’t when you said goodbye your first night. Why you didn’t when you were getting to know him over a burger. Why you didn’t let him kiss you that first fucking moment when you fell in love, right there, after he told you about your own goddamn brush strokes.

You fell in love all over again the following weekend when he took you to his favorite spot in the park, a large grassy hill overlooking all the kids playing below and you spread out a blanket and ate sandwiches that he had put into little ziploc bags. You told him that he should have packed some wine and he said baby, we didn’t need any alcohol our first two dates and you flushed and told him about the wine you had at the gallery and he laughed.

“I probably wouldn’t have had the guts to walk up to you without it,” you protested when he jokingly expressed mild disappointment.

“If you hadn’t walked up, I probably would have shouted ‘where’s the fucking artist, I need to talk to her!’ by the end of the night,” he said, and you found yourself laughing again.

“Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing that’s happened at one of my exhibits,” you said.

You met him every morning before work to go out for coffee, even if it meant waking up an extra hour early because he’s a morning person. You had his coffee order memorized by the third day.

He invited you to his apartment one day and you found yourself laughing over home videos of him as a kid late into the night. When you said goodbye, your heart yearned to stay. To take one of his shirts and wear it as you curled up next to him in bed. Instead, you kissed him good night.

After dinner one evening, you brought him to your place and showed him the little studio you had in the most well-lit room. He spent almost an hour exploring it, asking you questions about every little thing, the brand of paints you liked best, the angle you preferred to set your easel, your favorite tools, your favorite color, and telling you how honored he was to be in the workplace of a genius.

You didn’t tell him he was the smartest person you had ever met.

You didn’t tell him that he was the genius out of the two of you. That he could talk about his work and you could listen for hours to his voice but not understand a single word he said. That he would talk like no one was listening and then say the most serious shit. The sort of thing that made you rethink life, and by the time you had escaped from your thoughts he was already on another topic, rambling about the multitudes of things he loved. He saw the beauty in everything.

How the hell could a man like him love you?

He was the sort of person you would hear about in movies. The type to never stop dreaming. Someone watching the two of you would think you both mad. He had his head in the clouds and you would watch from below in awe as if his brain was firing off fireworks, and then you would speak about anything and he would give you that smile and that goddamn look that drove you crazy.

Your entire life he was there, living his own life without ever having met you, and you often wondered how many times you had almost met. You lived in the same city, surely there must have been times. Hundreds if not thousands of moments in which your paths nearly crossed. Whether what kept you from meeting was a mere 3 feet of distance in a crowd or a mere 3 minutes of time and space in which one of you was running late or early to something along which way you would have found him.

But you were lucky to have met him when you did. Gotten to share the brief moments while they lasted. That was before the virus hit.

You were sitting on his kitchen counter, covered in acrylic paint he had bought at the grocery store as the two of you detailed messy renditions of Van Gogh’s work on his cabinet doors, and he had wrapped his dirty hands around your waist, leaving two purple handprints on your painting shirt, and pulled you into a kiss. And this one was different. It was deeper, searching for more. There was more heat and passion. Your whole relationship, months of it, had been slow and beautiful and intimate, but there were times where it was more like friendship then romance and neither of you minded as you walked along the fine line between the two, happy with the state of things as they were. But you had loved him since the first day and you didn’t mind the idea of, one day, collapsing naked and sweaty into bed with him instead of snuggling up against his side as he wrapped you in his arms like he usually did when you did decide to spend the night.

But that was for another day. You broke apart after minutes to return to your project. By the end of the night you were screwing the doors back in and he was admiring everything. If you were being honest, he was completely helpless when it came to handiwork. Couldn’t hammer a nail, tighten a screw, sand some wood, or even recreate a decent Starry Starry Night, but that didn’t matter. Because his kitchen looked vibrant and beautiful and the art reminded you of all the ideas you could see swirling in his head. The fucking genius.

The reports had started to come in by then, but it wasn’t until the following morning that you realized how serious everything had gotten. Schools announced that day that they were closing. He called to tell you he was working from home. You got the call that evening that you would be too.

A week later and you had met with him once, in the park. It was a long trek for both of you, living on opposite sides of the city. But the brief kisses, kind words, and soft touches on the waist, thighs, arms, neck, jaw, nose, back, anything? Those were all worth it.

The following day you learned you couldn’t leave your neighborhood. You video-chatted with him in tears. If only you had let yourself follow the thoughts of moving in with him instead of stamping them out as soon as they started to take root in your head. If only you had let him spend the night one more time. So you wouldn’t be clinging to his fading smell on the t-shirt you stole from his closet.

It was like your whole world cut out when the strikes started. No internet. No cell service. No connection. The postal service was all but gone, and you had no way of connecting with him. Your only source of news was the newspaper, three times a week, delivered to your doorstep. And your neighbor who got it every day and would shout to you the important things.

You wished you had photos of him framed around the house.

Then when you did, the sight of him staring at you from every corner of your apartment was enough to drive you mad with longing that you took them all down.

When the government got the strikes under control, they started to introduce the plans for rolling out the internet services again. Things had become grim. You spent every night dreaming of him, but you were starting to forget his face. Did his nose curve that much? Were the creases around his eyes that deep? Was his shabby beard that full? Did he have dimples, or were you just making that up?

You would stare at the photos on your phone, desperately trying to commit him to memory. Remember how he looked when the man in the photo came to life in three dimensions. How did he walk? How did he wave his hands?

By that time, life was different. You didn’t make art anymore. What was once your life had been shoved into your studio room, the light turned off, and the tubes of paint left to dry up. Your apartment didn’t smell like clay and charcoal and linseed oil anymore. You didn’t have it in you to keep painting. You went to the grocery store once every fourteen days, grabbing produce and frozen goods, bottles of alcohol and some cleaning supplies before handing over your newly minted ration card to receive the staples. Rice, pasta, beans, eggs, flour, sugar, a couple bags of dried fruit, a bottle of milk. It wasn’t so bad when you lived on your own, but you felt bad for the mothers and fathers in line behind you, knowing that their children might be too picky to even eat the food they were lucky to get.

The introduction of connectivity services was a slow process. Neighborhood by neighborhood across the country so as not to overwhelm the systems. There were new rules. It was only to be used for three things: education, work, and essential communication between legal family members.

Your finger hovered over the call button next to his name hundreds of times, but you could never press it out of fear that someone would be watching or listening. You knew that when you walked the streets they were. It was likely the same for your phone now too.

One day in a drunken fit of anger and yearning and the craze of love, you deleted all the photos on your phone, hoping that maybe without them you could forget how much you missed him.

You tried to forget him. But every night you dreamt of his slowly warping face. You wondered if he was doing the same.

Sometimes you would watch the DVDs you had and try to replace his image in your head with the actors. Sometimes it would work and weeks would go by with only dreams of the movies. But it would always lose its effectiveness. Usually around the time that you remembered that he was probably your soulmate and you didn’t get enough time.

In every single one of the possibilities of your lives together that you daydreamed about for hours every day, there was never enough time. But this reality was the worst. You were sure of that.

You had read every book in your house. Read every poem you could get your hands on, even the ones you had risked your life for in searching them on the internet, carefully saving pdfs and screenshots and printing them out on the dwindling paper in your apartment. Words didn’t do the same thing they used to anymore. They didn’t bring joy and excitement and escape. You stopped reading them.

You talked with your neighbor for the first time in a month. It seemed that almost everyone had stopped reading books. You wondered if people stopped doing other things too.

The world before was starting to blur around the edges. You couldn’t remember if the path you liked to walk in the park had such an erratic course or if it was more subtle than you could remember. What did you like to do on the weekends? There was a place, a building, that you liked to go to. You couldn’t remember what it was called or what was inside, but you remember the feeling of standing there. The musty smell and the awe and the sensation that you were staring out at all of humanity. And you had no idea what the fuck it was.

You weren’t sure how much of the world before you had forgotten. But you couldn’t shake him from your memory. You wished you could.

When you weren’t working you were cooking or eating or sleeping. And when you weren’t doing that, it constituted the dangerous time where you didn’t have anything to do and nothing to interest you.

And every fucking thing you did, be that making pasta or lying on the floor and staring at the ceiling, made you think of him. You had loved him as you’d never loved anyone before. And you never told him. Did he even know that you loved him? Did he know that you knew he loved you back?

You would close your eyes and the only thing you were sure of in your mind’s image of him was that goddamn smile.

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stuck-in-hawkins · 4 years

Text

August 18th 1989

Stranger Things Fanfic

Pairing: Will Byers/ Mike Wheeler

Rating: Teen & Up

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24656785/chapters/59757316#workskin

August 18th 1989

The ceiling fan swirled the summer air around. The nights were getting cooler and although it made sleeping more comfortable, it meant summer was ending, as was everything else.

Mike lay awake, feeling the contrast between the cool wind from the fan and the warm body beside him. He wondered how much time they had left. The clock was obscured by one of their shirts on the bedside table. How many more minutes could he hold onto Will? He gently pressed his forehead against Will’s back. How was he going to do this? How were they going to go back to being alone?

Will had saved him from an all consuming darkness. He had managed to pull him out of a downward spiral. When El ran away to chase down old demons… when Mike hadn’t been able to save her, he had fallen into drinking to cope and he had been drowning himself. During that time, Will reached his hand out and held him. In so many ways, he had lifted him out of that unforgiving place in his mind. In Will’s arms, the loneliness and self-loathing thoughts were kept at bay. He was a light that Mike basked in.

But now… that light was leaving, like a ship in the night. This would probably be the last time he could hold him like this. The last morning to wake up with him by his side. Mike drew him in closer.

Will was leaving for college. His world was going to open up beyond Hawkins. He would meet more people like him. People that were out of the closet, proud, and sure of themselves. Not confused like Mike was. Will would meet someone who didn’t need to keep him secret. Someone who would show him off, like the gem he was. So, he and Will would be going their separate ways. And, as much as it hurt, they would end things here. Will could move on and be with someone who deserved him. Mike didn’t want Will pining for someone hundreds of miles away. Will had already been hurt once by a long distance relationship, his first boyfriend. He watched Will waiting on the phone calls and then feel completely crushed when they ultimately had broken up. Mike didn’t want to be on either end of that call.

“You could come with me…”

“No, Will. It is going to end. One way or another. It’s better for us to end it now, when things are good, when we have a choice, and still be friends. If we don’t do it now… it will just end with one of us really hurting the other.”

And as awful as Mike felt saying those things, they were true. He knew it. They depended on each other. Too much. Will was terrified at the idea of living on his own. For him, Mike moving out there with him would save him from that fear, that isolation. Mike didn’t want to admit it, but he was just as afraid. He had spent most of his life building his identity around the people in his life. He had been their leader, the Dungeon Master, the Paladin. Now, he would be Mike Wheeler, recovering alcoholic and the only one of his party left in Hawkins.

Will had tried so many times to convince Mike to come with him. He had even tried to stay behind, to find a school in Indianapolis instead, someplace closer. But Mike hadn’t let him. He refused to let anything get in the way of Will achieving his dreams, even himself. After everything Will had gone through to get into an arts college in California, Mike wanted more than anything for Will to succeed.

Yet, here they were, in the still, dark hours of the morning. They could only have minutes before Will’s alarm rang. Maybe a few hours before Will’s flight. Then, the separation Mike had fought so hard for would be complete. And he would be alone.

He nuzzled against Will’s back and felt the tears roll down his cheek. He tried to keep his breath steady. He didn’t want red eyes that would give him away. Will would see them and find a way to convince Mike to join him on that plane.

Mike needed to let him go. Will needed to grow past all the pain Hawkins had brought on him. He needed to meet new people, discover who he was, be proud of who he was among people like him. Mike had seen glimmers of it when he’d driven Will out to the Pride Festival in Westlake Park that summer. He had seen Will open up in another way entirely. He’d never realized how much shame he carried from being gay. How much it had weighed on him. But there, among other people like him, the weight lifted, and Will seemed lighter and more open. Mike wanted that for Will and he knew he would never have it in Hawkins.

All the things that they shared: the kisses, the caresses, the heated moments… They were all supposed to be a placeholder. They were all parts of getting Will through the hell of this last year, through the breakup with his first and only boyfriend, June. They had been a part of getting Mike through El running away to join her sister to find Dr. Brenner. Will’s presence had helped Mike avoid drinking himself into stupors. He had tempered him, comforted him. And now, Mike realized, it wasn’t a placeholder. It never had been. It was love. It was unconditional. And he was going to lose it.

He sniffed his tears back. Will stirred in his arms, “Mike?”

No. Please, he thought, go back to sleep.

“I’m fine, Will. Just having trouble sleeping.”

Will turned to him and brushed his fingers against Mike’s cheek, feeling the tears. “Mike…”

“It’s just from yawning, Will. I’m fine.”

It was an unconvincing lie, but Will didn’t push it. He brought his lips to Mike’s and pressed a kiss on them. Mike pulled him in and kissed deeply. Their breath was sour with sleep but Mike didn’t care. He wanted to make this morning last. He would be selfish here. He would hold him close just this last time, then he would let him go.

____________________________

Mike and Will found little ways to close the space between them for most of the morning. Their hands intertwined beneath the breakfast table. Will’s head leaning on Mike’s shoulder as they brushed their teeth. Their fingers searching for each other in intermittent moments throughout getting ready. The touches were precious and numbered.

Mike, Joyce, and Will loaded everything in Mike’s car. He had promised to take them to the airport. But Joyce asked for the keys, and Mike saw something in her eyes. She would have the weekend with Will in California to help him get settled. She knew what it meant to him, having the car ride. He gave them to her. They spent the trip in the back seat. Will nestled in the crook of Mike’s neck. Mike’s arm around him and his head pressed against Will’s hair. Their hands laced and thumbs grazing over each other. Mike wished the morning would slow down. He wished he could just make the summer last longer. He wanted to stop time so that he could hold Will like this forever.

But, when they got to the airport, Will’s fear took over and their hands separated. Mike saw Will put on his mask around the strangers. Contact between them would signal them as gay. It would make them the target for remarks and stares that neither of them had the strength to fight today.

They went through the motions of getting Will and Joyce’s passes, the bags weighed and checked, and made their way to the gate.

A voice called on the PA, announcing that they would be boarding in 30 minutes. This was it.

Will stood up, “I should probably go to the bathroom before we board. I’ll be right back.” His eyes flicked over towards Mike and he understood.

“I’ll come with you. I have to go, too.”

They walked into the bathroom and waited out the other person in the bathroom. Once the older man left, Will and Mike went into one of the stalls. No sooner had the door closed, Will had thrown himself into Mike’s chest, hands clutching his shirt tightly.

“I can’t do this, Mike. I can’t.”

Mike held Will, “Why do you always short change yourself? You are so strong, one of the strongest people I know. You’ll do more than make it there: you’ll flourish.”

Will’s hands wrapped around Mike, “I don’t care about that. I just want to be with you. Please…” He lifted up his head, “Come with me. Come to California with me.”

“Will…”

“Just for the weekend. Please, Mike.”

“Will…”

Will pleaded, “I saved up for an extra boarding pass.”

Mike held Will’s face in his hand to calm him. Brushed his thumb against his cheek. Mike had fallen in love. He didn’t know when it had happened but it was undeniable.

And it hurt him so much to say, “No, Will.” His voice cracked and he broke down. “It has to be here, Will. If I come with you…” I won’t want to leave… “I would have to leave you there. It’s better that it ends here. So that it’s like you’re going off on a grand adventure.”

Will leaned his head and shook it on Mike’s chest. The door opened and they held their breath, not moving. They waited like that until they were alone again.

Will relaxed against him. “It doesn’t feel like an adventure. It feels like I’m leaving you behind.”

“You aren’t. I’ll be okay.”

Will lifted his head. “What will you do here?”

Mike hadn’t gained back his ambition for college after El left. He had signed up for community college, but he still felt aimless.

“I’ll help get Hopper back on his feet.” It was the only goal that he strove for, getting Hopper sober again. Will had helped Mike and he wanted to pay it forward.

“Are you going to spend your life waiting for her?” Will practically spat the words. “You just going to play the martyr? You need to live for yourself, Mike.”

He winced and bit back the temptation to fight back. He didn’t want to argue, to waste these precious moments. “I’m working my way to that, Will. I promise I am.”

Will collapsed in his arms, sobbing into his chest. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t, Will.”

“You said that we have to end it.”

It had been a decision he’d made a while ago, that when Will left, they would stop what they’d once called an arrangement, but became something so much more. He’d rationalized it a hundred times, reasoned that it would be best for them both. But now it was here and he didn’t want it to end.

“Only some things. I can’t kiss you from a thousand miles away.”

Will looked up, “Can we still say it?”

Mike answered, “Yes.” He held the back of Will’s head, entangling his fingers in his hair, “I love you, now.” He pulled Will in and kissed him.

“I love you now,” Will kissed the corner of his mouth. “And now,” he kissed Mike’s jawline. “And now,” he kissed Mike’s nose. He had to stand on his toes to do that.

It made Mike smile, through his tears, that were flowing freely now.

He heard the echoes of the PA system and they both held each other tightly one last time.

_______________________________

Mike watched Will walk through the gate. He forced a smile as he waved. This was Will succeeding. This was Will getting closer to his dream. He needed to be happy about that. He could be selfish and cry later. Will smiled back, but immediately wiped his eyes. He handed the woman his boarding pass and looked over his shoulder one more time before disappearing through the gate.

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purplesurveys · 4 years

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1013

surveys by -thoughtlessdork

Have you ever had the chicken pox? No. I’m constantly in a place of waiting for it to pass by, because everyone tells me all people are bound to have it at one point in their lives (idk how true that is, though). I am also told it gets a lot suckier as one gets older, so...not too thrilled about it at all.

how often do you do laundry? I don’t handle that chore myself, but it’s done 1–2 times a week in our house.

Have you ever been evicted? Nopes.

would you grow your own garden? I don’t see that happening. I’m a magnet for killing plants.

do you know anyone who snores? I do.

Trigger warning kinda, by the end.

what is your favorite font? Proxima Nova. It’s the default font that my org used for all documents and works-in-progress, and it ended up becoming my actual real-life favorite. I’ve always picked out that font even outside of org matters.

do you know what a wombat is? Sure.

would you make a good movie critic? Not at all. I don’t know enough about different filmmaking elements to make a reliable critic. I’ve criticized things like acting, plots, and dialogues in the past, of course; but there’s still so many things that go into films that aren’t overtly projected like lighting, symbolism, hidden meanings, etc. I don’t have a very good nose for those.

what goal are you aiming for this year? In the last 8 weeks of the year? Hmm...avoiding corona would be at the top of that list, lmao.

are you currently reading any books at the moment? No. I’ve stopped opening the book I used to constantly mention on here.

when i say foxy lady what comes to mind? Beyoncé’s character in the Austin Powers movie she was in lol; her name was Foxxy.

would you have liked to have lived during the Victorian times? Wasn’t this era like a golden age of sorts for the UK? I’d love to visit for that purpose; but given the still-horrible hygiene and living conditions for most people of the time, I wouldn’t choose to live there.

would you own a Siamese cat? No.

have you ever had an ultimate adrenaline rush? I don’t think so. I’ve had bursts of energy in the past, but I wouldn’t call any of them an ultimate adrenaline rush.

do you like deviled eggs? I’ve never had them; it’s not a common dish here. But they always look so good in the American shows I watch??? I really hope they taste as good as they look.

what tends to upset you? Hearing anything about animal abuse.

what's the farthest you've walked? I can’t give you a distance, but my parents opted for us to walk the whole time we were in Bali (except if we had a tour day which included transportation). Walking in an unfamiliar - and very humid - country and not knowing where anything is (this was before food and travel apps got as detailed as they are today) and ending up walking long stretches because you can’t locate any good local spots is a very easy way to run out of patience, apparently.

what is your favorite horror movie? Carrie was pretty fun.

what does your favorite shirt look like? It’s a twist on the Chicago flag, made black and red and with a raised fist in the middle. At the back it says “CM Punk: Best in the World.” Been my favorite and most overused shirt for the past 9 years. My friends tease me about it sometimes, but I don’t care lol, the shirt is very significant to me.

is your life like a daily routine? It is, but I prefer that it is. I like when things are in my control and, for the most part, predictable. I enjoy spontaneity in short bursts.

were you ever told as a child if you eat carrots you'll have pretty eyes? So many times.

what career are you most interested in? Communications and media, so it’s great that I’m headed there so far.

have you ever seen a rooster? Sure.

what time do you usually wake up? I wake up wake up by 7:30 or 8 AM, but I usually also wake up for a bit any time between 4–6 AM. Sometimes I choose to stay up from then, and sometimes I’d want to go back to sleep.

what do you think about religion? It’s good when people use it for good, or if it has helped save a person’s life. In my own personal experience, though, it’s beenhard to find Christians who aren’t hypocritical. So even though I see religion’s potential, I don’t have a lot of trust in believers themselves.

what made you feel most accomplished in your life so far? Graduating college.

have you ever seen a lunar eclipse? I saw the super blue blood moon two years ago, which according to a quick Google search is a lunar eclipse! So yeah, I’ve seen one.

what are you allergic to? No allergies.

do you ever feel like people hold things you do or say against you? Only my mom does this.

what can't you afford but wish you could? Front-row Wrestlemania tickets. My childhood (and now adulthood) dream is to go to Mania 50 which is only 14 years from now, but at least I still have more than enough time to save up for it.

what is one word that sums up this year so far? Revelatory. ever felt like you were putting your life in danger? [trigger warning] Yes, it’s called suicidal tendencies. what do you like with your eggs? If scrambled, with cheese. If omelette...stuff that crap up with everything lol. Tomatoes, bell peppers, mushrooms, cheese, ham, bacon, and onions are all good in my book. what remedy do you partake when experiencing the common cold? The good ol’ wait-for-it-to-go-away life hack. would you ever spend a weekend in the mountains in a log cabin? That sounds amazing. I sure would. have you ever been called a psycho? No. have you ever taken martial arts? would you? No but I was always a little envious of my cousin who was taken to taekwondo class every weekend when we were kids. Sure, I’d take classes if I had the chance. who is someone you look up to? Nacho, but he’s gone now. is there something you're anxious about? I have work jitters for tomorrow, but they’re manageable for now. Otherwise I’m feeling pretty good. what is the longest you've gone without sleep? A little above 24. what is the longest you've been on the phone? This makes me cringe now, but it was like 8 hours long or something like that. It was still the ~honeymoon phase of that relationship and we were still clingy. We never did it again after that. do you care about calories? No. do you know someone with a really annoying laugh? Nah, can’t think of anyone. what band do you mostly always listen to no matter what mood? Paramore. have you ever been to Indianapolis? Nope.

what type of bread do you like to eat? I eat white bread all the time, but my favorite kind is brioche. do you have any great great grandparents still living? Two greats is a bit too much don’t you think? Lmao. Anyway, my last great-grandparent died in 2010. I never knew my dad’s grandparents, and my great-grandfather on my mom’s side had died all the way back in the 70s. what is one country that you really want to visit someday? India. who usually cooks or what do you usually crave the most? Those are two different questions haha. My parents take turn cooking; and as for my craving, I find myself seeking sushi most of the time. ever been associated in a program that was a complete waste of time? Yep, like that one time I had to attend this 5-hour mandatory program/seminar before my driver’s license could be issued to me; it taught me nothing I didn’t already know about driving, and it used driving tutorials that I’m pretty sure were recorded in the 90s. This seminar took place in 2016. do weird numbers call your phone? Not regularly. Occasionally an unknown number will come in, but I reject all those. where are you right now? Sitting up on my bed. do you tend to care about other people's feelings more than your own? Yes. I really shouldn’t. what type of lifestyle do you want to obtain? if you haven't obtained it [trigger warning] I haven’t even figured out yet if I love life enough to want to stay in it. A type of lifestyle isn’t much of a priority for now. what was something that use to frighten you as a child? Getting lost at the mall. have you ever been on a train? Just once. who's been in your life the longest? did you expect this person to still be around? Apart from family, Angela. Yes, she’s here for the long haul. how do you feel about anatomy? Fascinating. I’d take a class on it. Insert interesting fact here: Read this on Reddit a few days ago, so I’ll just copy-paste the whole thing: “When Jadwiga, the King of Poland (medieval Poland referred to every ruler as King regardless of gender), was considering a marriage proposal from the Grand Duke of Lithuania, a chief concern among her court was that said Duke was rumored to have massive genitals to the point that they would kill his wife on their wedding night. Two of her councilors volunteered to travel to Lithuania to try and discover the truth of these rumors, which naturally meant they would watch the Duke as he bathed. They returned and happily reported that not only weren’t the Duke’s genitals fatally large, they were in fact a tad smaller than average, so nothing to worry about. Thus Poland and Lithuania were united, and the rest is history.” Got a chuckle out of that one when I read it that I just had to scroll through the entire thread again just to be able to share it here lmao.

#survey #surveys

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tamersmile888 · 3 years

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Wolf Pack Season 2: Chapter 35 Season Finale

First day back from vacay....

...and everything's already busted. I'm regretting that we didn't stay a couple days longer.

Unfortunately, we can't spend forever sleeping our days away and putting off what needs to be done. It was time to get back to work. It broke my heart to see how upset Sunnie was when she knew I was leaving. She even refused a bear hug and she loved those. She didn't understand that I was doing this for her so that she could have a better life than I did growing up. So that we could finally buy a home. But that stuff didn't matter to a kid. I told her that I was sorry and that I would be gone only for a little while. That didn't make it any better. She had no idea how hard it was for me to leave her too.

The babysitter told me that after I left, Sunnie just stood there staring at my paintings. Waiting for me to come home.

But I guess she got tired of waiting and decided to take a nap.

Later that day, a friend of Dad's came over. She used to do free repairs for him whenever I wasn't around. She told me how sorry she was. “He was such a kind man. Everyone in the neighborhood loved him, and you know he knew everyone.” She said she was just dropping by to give her condolences. I thanked her for all she did for Dad and offered her a piece of art from my collection in the lobby. I was happy to give back to someone who generously lent a hand to my dad when he needed it.

I also got a visit from our local librarian. She said the library just added a Kiddy Corner where volunteers could read to children. “We would love to feature a piece of my artwork.” She knew how much the library meant to me and believed my story could inspire all the kids who saw it. Reminding them that anything was possible. Of course I couldn't say no to that. It was definitely a knew style for me, but it became one of my favorites.

I think it was one of Sunnie's favorites too. Once I finished up, with Sunnie's approval, I donated it to the library.

Finally, it was the weekend. Sunnie must have thought I was getting ready to leave for work because she ran into my arms and gave me a big bear hug. I told her that today Daddy was spending time with his family.

First, we went to the library to see the knew Kiddy Corner. Seeing my art hanging on the wall really brought things full circle. Just a few years ago, I was selling my paintings to earn cash so I could buy Korbin's car. That car brought me to an abandoned house next door to this exact library. In this library, right upstairs, I hacked my way to Daniel and we found home again. Never knowing that it would all lead me right where I am today. If that painting could inspire every kid who ever sat down on that rug to never give up hope, it was all worth it.

I know I would be telling that story to Sunnie until she got sick of it. But at least she'd never forget it.

It was a nice night, so we decided to grill some food and enjoy it under the stars.

June said she was so honored to see the man that I had grown up to be. I told her that I had the most supportive partner a guy could ever ask for. We were a team. All three of us. When we worked together, there was nothing we couldn't do. This was only the beginning.

And a new beginning was way overdue. The next morning, our upstairs bathroom decided to throw in the towel.

June and I just laughed about, our socks soaking in toilet water. Without saying a word, we both knew what each other was thinking. It was time.

So I searched around for someone houses until I found the perfect one...

Definitely a fixer-upper, but with a new paint job and new walls, we could make it anything we wanted it to be. This could be our dream house.

It definitely wasn't what June was expecting, and she wasn't completely on board at first, but I couldn't blame her. It was a lot to take in. “It has...potential. I trust you.” That's all I needed to hear.

My smile got even bigger looking over at Sunnie. I think she felt it too. “Sunnie, this is our new house. What do you think?” She just grinned, her eyes wide, probably imaging how freely she could run around in all that yard.

Seeing the excitement on our faces must have lit a spark in June. “What are we waiting for? Let's go build our home.”

#SeanDiaz #DanielDiaz #LifeIsStrange2 #TheSims4 #thesims4basegame #basegameonly #simsstories #simstories #tamersmile #wolfpackseason2 #wolfpackseason2finale #basegame

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hideyseek · 4 years

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50 Questions You’ve Never Been Asked

tagged by @usersoup <3

What is the colour of your hairbrush? it is .. black and turquoise, though i must admit that since i’ve cut my hair i rarely use it.

Name a food you never eat? huh. caviar? i tend to forget about the existence of foods i don’t eat until i’m on the instacard website. chocolate ice cream, i guess. that’s like, a normal-person food i never consume.

Are you typically too warm or too cold? i am constantly too cold. as i type this i am in my apartment in sweatpants under a blanket and my roommate is in shorts and a tshirt.

What were you doing 45 minutes ago? mm i was reading a room of one’s own, at risk of sounding like the pretentious humanities major i am. i’m reading it out of desperation (we are in possession of the writer’s block and we would like to give it up as soon as possible), after having had it in my head to read since i came across a lin-manuel miranda tween in like 2015 telling all young writers to read it

What is your favourite candy bar? i don’t really like.. candy. twix or butterfingers, if i had to pick one at gunpoint.

Have you ever been to a professional sports event? yEAH u fucking bet i went to winterguard international championships twice in high school and bands of america championships once (both as part of my school’s winter/colorguard). i’ve never gone to a pro sportsball match though.

What is the last thing you said out loud? oh, are you really out there alone? (at my roommate, who is on the balcony with a desk lamp rigged up for optimal dirtball making).

What is your favourite ice cream? vanilla. or hazelnut. i fucking love hazelnut.

What was the last thing you had to drink? not to associate myself with brands, but i am drinking sprite as i type this.

Do you like your wallet? yes! i had my wallet nicked on a bus in the middle of the semester and my replacement is a lovely narrow black folding wallet that i am infinitely fond of.

What was the last thing you ate? the dregs of my cheezits, pepper jack flavor

Did you buy any new clothes last weekend? mm no, though during my phone call with my grandma earlier this week she told me i should buy more clothes no less than four times. she thinks i should own and wear more “pretty girl clothes” and i haven’t the heart to tell her that i think gender is fake.

The last sporting event you watched? i participated in a harry potter pub quiz over zoom the other week, if that counts. otherwise, probably something televised and american football related, several months ago.

What is your favourite flavour of popcorn? KETTLE CORN KETTLE CORN KETTLE CORN KETTLE CORN KETTLE CORN KETTLE CORN

Who is the last person you sent a text message to? oH thank god i have an interesting answer to this one -- my stage manager/playwright friend, whose recent play i am dying to get a copy of.

Ever go camping? yeah. my family used to go every august with some family friends.

Do you take vitamins? mm just vitamin d. (fuck off this was not meant to be a dick joke).

Do you go to church every Sunday? nah.

Do you have a tan? not anymore... even during the semester i spend most of my time underground in a basement rehearsal space or in the on-campus computer labs. (hence the vitamin d)

Do you prefer Chinese food or pizza? these are?? not equivalent at all in terms of scope? chinese food, of course.

Do you drink your soda with a straw? nah. can-to-mouth for me.

What colour socks do you usually wear? depends on how cold i am: i have some very lovely warm purple socks and some red and black socks that my dear friend gifted me for christmas last? year? but otherwise i have just sports shoes height white socks and black socks.

Do you ever drive above the speed limit? i am gay, i do not drive.

What terrifies you? failure, mostly. i hate that that’s my answer, but there you go. failure, or being putting myself in a situation where i don’t really have a choice in what happens to me.

Look to your left, what do you see? mm, i just moved from the study to bed so: the empty space in the loft bed railing where the ladder is, a blank wall, the edge and hinges of the bedroom wall.

What chore do you hate? none, really? i’ll get really passive-aggressive about some of the small apartment tidying things in my head, but not often enough that anything comes to mind now.

What do you think of when you hear an Australian accent? how my linguistics prof last semester had folks self-identify if they spoke non-american english in the middle of lecture

What’s your favourite soda? hm, hm. oH. there’s a vietnamese sandwich place in my hometown that has the best lychee soda. (a handful of google image searches informs me this is elisha aerated brand)

Do you go in a fast food place or just hit the drive-thru? hm, most of the time when i’m going to fast food i’m going to in-n-out with either a pile of theater people or my high school friend group, so sitting. er, going in.

Who’s the last person you talked to? roommates, in person.

Favourite cut of beef? i could not name cuts of beef if u asked me to really nicely. actually jk i know uh, ox... oxtail? i like oxtail soup.

Last song you listened to? am in the middle of listening to trenchh by cavetown but i’ve been alternating fob and cavetown and bastille on shuffle on spotify.

Last book you read? ella enchanted by gail carson levine, because it is my #1 comfort book.

Favourite day of the week? i like thursdays. they just sound nice.

Can you say the alphabet backwards? if i had like, several minutes, i probably could do it. but everything after w would involve me counting (counting? reciting?) from the beginning.

How do you like you coffee? i’ll drink it any way but black. i have discovered i do not like dalgona coffee. but i like the dark chocolate mocha that peet’s does in the winter a ridiculous amount.

Favourite pair of shoes? i have this pair of converse that’s grey stripes that always makes me feel like a Cool Arts Student, even though it’s actively terrible for my arches.

The time you normally go to bed? to bed? midnightish. to being asleep? usually 1-2ish.

The time you normally get up? eleven in the morning, apparently, since that’s what’s been happening now that i’m not setting alarms. during the school year, usually 7:30 or 8 because i work in the scene shop half the mornings of the week.

What do you prefer, sunrise or sunsets? conceptually? sunsets. aesthetically? also sunsets. metaphorically, though, i prefer sunrises.

How many blankets on your bed? i’ve got a blanket (duvet, maybe? comforter? i have never really vibed with these western concepts of bedding) and another knitted blanket.

Describe your kitchen plates: black and square and slightly chipped because roommates and i get a bit aggressive with cramming them onto the drying rack.

Do you have a favourite alcoholic beverage? i like hard cider. (i like soft cider better than hard cider, but the apple taste drowns out the alcohol taste enough for me to have a pretty good time.)

Do you play cards? haha yeah. whenever i’m home i play 24 with my little brother and lose a lot. or my family’ll play 21. or BS, which i fucking hate because i cannot lie for shit.

What colour is your car? still gay, still don’t drive.

Can you change a tire? mmmmmmmmmmm no. i have a shocking lack of car-related life skills for someone holding down a job that mostly involves wrenches.

Your favourite province? oh boy. hubei province, bc there’s no country specification and this feels less impersonal than if i were to just point somewhere in australia.

Favourite job you’ve ever had? hm, let’s limit this to work i’ve done for money, just to narrow the field down. (i tend to like the work i do a lot.) i really really enjoy working as a sound technician, especially as a mic assistant (it checks my “meeting people” box and my “helping people with their emotions” box and my “storytelling for an audience” box because at the theater i work at, pre-show mic check is me talking about my day and has resulted in a handful of people telling me i should try standup). the hours and pay are kind of crap, though. you don’t get friday nights when your friday nights are spent backstage of the same show you’ve heard twenty million times at this point. i also enjoy teaching computer science, because i just fucking like computer science. christ, i just,, miss being at work :c the production of newsies i was gonna do this summer got canceled.

How did you get your biggest scar? mm, pass.

What did you do today that made someone else happy? i, hm. everything that comes to mind feels vaguely manipulative, since i can’t really tell if people were made happy? oh! i had an extended slack conversation with one of the academic interns for the cs class i help teach that was basically just us bonding over word humor. he seems like the kind of person who would have gotten a kick out of it.

I tag: @kittog @wali21 @capt-ann @lemon-yellow @iamanonniemouse @raccoon-sex-dungeon @snakesonacartesianplane @eternalflarg @swimmingseafish (do it if u want! don’t let me bully u into anything)

#tag game #SOUP I LIKED THIS A LOT! THANK U #no pressure friends #!#but also i enjoy holding knowledge about the people i like

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writersmacchiato · 5 years

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Remnants | Harry Potter x Reader | Teacher!AU | Part Two

Summary: Harry is the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor who might possibly have a crush on the Astronomy professor, but he’s still healing after his breakup with Ginny and you know - being martyred as a child.

word count: 2.5k+

There was something to be said about solitude on a Saturday night. It was brimming with potential energy, all the unknowns and possibilities waiting to be cast. Perhaps, years ago, you would have been out there. A night on the town, with your closest friends, laughing until it hurt and there was never an end to sight. Sometimes you missed those moments of being so utterly carefree, but the chaotic hurricane of it could only be contained for so long.

It wasn’t like you were alone.

Your cat was a handsome boy, such a proud thing, and a faithful companion. His purrs often the only noise in your apartment, chest rumbling, as you read a book with little regard to anything else. He had been abandoned on the street as a kitten, pitifully mewling, you only hearing the cries after stumbling into the alleyway to throw up the contents of what had been your days digressions. Those were the days you drank more than you should have. His eyes regarded your reproachfully and in your drunken state, you had wrapped your jacket around his skinny frame. He was dubbed 'Sir Henry' thereafter and your days together intertwined.

Saturday was your day to do absolutely nothing. It was rare you went home on the weekends during the school year, too many things to do with so little time. Stress was ingrained in every fiber at this point.

The morning was spent sleeping in for how long you could bare it, never staying in later than nine. Sunshine and Sir Henry tickling at your face always woke you up, but there were worse ways to be woken. Sitting on your small balcony, sipping ice coffee and reading both the muggle and wizarding paper, Sir Henry perched on the patio table eating his breakfast. The rest of the day was unmarked by nothing, it was full of maybe's, perhaps, should I? A day could be spent caught up reading a novel, engrossed completely in the world that was being conjured. Or, even simpler, sitting in pajamas all day and watching movies. It really depended on your mood.

Despite insistence from your friends that you needed to get out, there was no need to. You were content to be in your own company - you, yourself, and Sir Henry. You lived an easy life, but that was bound to end after you met Harry fucking Potter - the boy who lived.

It was inevitable that you wouldn’t learn about him, coming to be quite knowledgeable on the man. His confidence in you rose and so did your feelings, creating a whirl of guilt and confusion. The words he spoke to you were told in the mindset that you were a friend, someone that he could rely on. It felt like a sham to you, listening as he bared his heart to you, knowing that you could not share the same vulnerability that he did. Your feelings would come to light and that was not an option.

He told you one evening that he was looking forward to the weekend, because he was going over to visit Ron and Hermione.

“I spend most of my free time with them,” he laughs to himself, "they must be sick of me."

"Anyone growing tired of you?" You gasp, holding a hand to your chest. "Unbelievable!"

"They're all I have," he admits, the traces of laughter gone. "Besides you and them, I don't really...have any close friends."

"We all care about you, Harry."

A smile finally crosses his face and you return it, trying to navigate the sudden sea of emotion that swept through you. He saw you as a close friend and it warms your heart, yet it also shot down any hope you had of him returning your more than friendly feelings.

You thought about inviting him over, on occasion, but decided against it. The sight of him in your home would be too much to bare. It was a line between friendly coworkers and more that you were afraid to cross. Of course, there was the oddities that were bound to happen. Neville coming over to your apartment, Harry in tow, with the pretense of spending a day with friends outside of work. Nights spent laughing long into the hours, a feeling of warmth and content - something so rare to feel - a constant companion to the events.

---

"Harry?"

He smiled at you, eyes squinting a bit. "Hello."

"Uh, hi?" You scan his attire; sweater tucked into jeans, the gel he put in his hair in an attempt to tame his curls, eyes sliding down his nose, and the beginning shadow of facial hair. He looked like every day, normal, Harry (outside of work, his robes did him justice).

"Can I come in?"

It wasn't as if he hadn't been to your apartment before; him and Neville had visited multiple times. Not at ten pm on a saturday night, unannounced, possibly drunk, and staring at you as if you hung the stars in the sky.

"Yes, of course."

He smiles, shuffling in and letting out a soft 'hello' as Sir Henry pads down the hallway. It warms your heart the teeniest bit to see him crouch down and stroke behind the feline's ears, but that doesn't lessen your confusion.

"Harry," you start, crossing your arms. "I mean this in the nicest possible way, but what the fuck are you doing here so late?"

His eyes blearily meet yours and he at least has the grace to look sheepish. There is a tension in the room, but what exactly couldn't be placed. It felt like waking up to clear skies, but feeling the electricity in the air that signaled a storm coming.

"I was at Ron and Hermione's..." he starts, "and we were talking about you."

Out of everything you expected, that was not it.

"What, why?"

His cheeks, while already flushed, seemed to turn a shade darker. "They think I should tell you."

"Tell me what?" You asked the question, hope flaring in your heart.

"That you're really pretty. Like, really, stupidly pretty. I forget what I want to say around you, because you're just so damned gorgeous." He rambles on, words slurring together but his expression soft.

Your heart thumped steadily in your chest. Those were the words you had fantasized about him saying, but not in these...circumstances.

"Come on, buddy." You pull him to his feet, leading him to the couch in the living room. He plops down with an 'oomph', head sinking into the cushion.

"This is soft," he rubs a pillow.

You smile slightly, despite the situation. Seeing Harry in this state, eased and unbothered, was refreshing from the usual stress he seemed to be plagued by. His green eyes watched you intently as you wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, the depth of them swirled with a mesmerizing emerald speckled with gold specks that resembled stars in the night.

“This is soft, too.” He murmurs, eyes dropping shut.

“Get some rest, Harry.” You push the hair from his forehead, slipping his glasses off and setting them aside. “Goodnight.”

You whisper the words, but Harry is already asleep.

---

The next morning you awake with the odd feeling that something was wrong. Of course, it was Sunday, and nothing ever occurred on a Sunday. Sunlight trickled through the white curtains into your room, casting rising shadows along the floor. But, where was--

Sir Henry.

He was absent, his usual meowing in your face missing from the usual wakeup call.

You shuffled into some slippers, throwing a light sweater over your pajamas, venturing out into the hall with trepidation. Sir Henry was rather taken with Harry and it was likely the former had decided to curl up on the sofa. The thought warmed your heart, despite the nerves that were bundled in your stomach.

Harry was still asleep when you crept into the living room, arm tossed over his eyes. Sir Henry, as predicted, was laying on his stomach on the back of the sofa. His green eyes stared at you with interest, perking up when you headed into the kitchen. Setting out his breakfast, Sir Henry brushed your legs as he passed by.

Should you wake him up? Make breakfast, then wake him up? Casually asking if he meant what he said the previous night? Maybe it would be best to pretend like nothing happened - just a drunk friend staying the night. Totally normal.

“Good morning…”

Had your nerves not been so frayed as they were, you might have cooly responded. Instead, a shriek - however short lived - escaped from your mouth and you were spinning, wide-eyed as you turned to look at Harry. He winced at the noise, mimicking your own (albeit for different reasons) cringe.

He squinted at you, or rather the general shape that resembled you, then started to feel around for his glasses. “Uh, not good morning?”

“No!” You burst, “I mean, yes, good morning. Not, not good morning.”

Oh Merlin’s Beard, you are hopeless, you grovel inwardly.

Harry, if he hadn’t been so hungover, might have further inquired about the weird state of being that you were currently inhabiting. Instead, the headache that stabbed behind his eyes took more of a priority.

“I’m sorry - do you have any advil or ibuprofen?”

Anything to be taken from this awkward moment, “oh yes. Yes, right.”

The normally collect and cool professor that you were at the school was entirely missing as you fumbled through the drawer in search of the medicine.

Unknown to you, the brave and diligent DADA professor was willing his red cheeks and racing heart to go away.

You were both the worst.

---

Harry stood on the stoop of your doorway with a bouquet of sunflowers and roses, enchanted by Hermione to not wilt.

The previous week had been a disaster.

It all started after the fiasco in the kitchen, the morning after his drunken confession and passing out on your sofa. The tension in the kitchen had been stifling; Sir Henry had even fled the room, unable to bear it. Words that wanted to be said was stuck in his throat, ironic after the word-vomit from the previous night.

There was the smidge of hope that once he left that everything would be back to normal with you. On Monday, barely 24 hours after the encounter, Harry stood outside his classroom sipping his coffee. His eyes were trained on the corner of the corridor, waiting to see your smiling face as you drop by for a few moments of conversation. It never occurs and he starts his lessons with a sinking heart.

Amidst all the awkward, sad, pitiful pining - there was a student who watched both of her professors miserably go about life. Curiosity piqued, Rose Weasley had asked him about her observations. Harry merely brushed it off, but it was obvious to anyone in the school that he was not okay and something was bothering him.

He didn’t dare to step foot in your office, wondering if that was worse than if he decided to show up. The only time he saw you was during meals and the contact was limited; you chose to sit on the far end away from him.

This entirely could have been avoided if he approached you and properly told you his feelings. Hermione and Ron had boosted his morale the night he had dinner with them, to the point where he felt he could do anything. He could do anything but confess his feelings to you, it seemed. Truthfully, he was afraid.

Very afraid that once he laid out his cards on the table that you would walk away. Afraid that things would continue on as they did now, you ignoring him. Afraid that he’ll have to once again fix the hole in his heart that seemed so utterly hopeless until he first saw a flash of your smile.

So, now he stood outside your door. Flowers in hand and his heart on his sleeve, ready to confess all of the things that he thought about you - how amazing you were, how utterly brilliant you are, how stars twinkle in your eyes.

He swore that nothing felt louder than when he knocked on the door, the echo bouncing down the hall. His hands felt particularly clammy in that moment, squeezing the flowers in his hand a bit too tightly. Hearing the door open made his heart stop.

“Harry?” An array of emotion flash across your face, too much for him to pick out how you feel seeing him there.

“I need to explain myself.”

It’s then that you notice the flowers in his hands, lips curling up in a small smile despite yourself. When seconds slip by and you haven’t slammed the door in his face, Harry feels the tiniest shred of hope. There is a soft ‘meow’ from behind you and you break at the sound, fully opening the door to let him inside.

Harry spots Sir Henry watching him with curious eyes, as if he knew what was about to transpire. And, Harry, well...he just wished he had the same insight.

---

Harry fucking Potter was really stood outside your apartment complex with a bouquet of magically enhanced flowers looking like a kicked puppy.

Or maybe you were dreaming and the tacos you ate earlier were definitely bad, you had food poisoning. That made more plausible sense than Harry being here. And, despite how much you wanted to close the door and pretend like this wasn’t happening, he was there - with flowers. Your favorite flowers.

Sir Henry coming up behind you to see who was at the door only cracked the last of your resolve.

There was never a situation where you didn’t know what to say. But, what does one say when the man they’ve secretly harbored feelings for comes over to their apartment drunk and says you’re pretty, then pretend like nothing happened? Certainly not…

“Tea?”

___

Everything taglist: @venusstarlight108 @knivestheresnothingtoit @yajairayellow @awesomefaith14 @ardentmuse @salladwinston @maddieb97222 @anchy-bananchy @staygoldponebone @unique05sstuff

Harry Potter taglist: @p-adfoot

Series taglist: @clockworkherondale @notperfected @bluemadcnna @anxious-trashpanda @nat-arlett @daddyloonglegss @quinn-n-quill @mikariell95 @my-awakened-ghost @unique05sstuff @xphantomphanphanaticx @souhmhey @wicked-witchxx @cookies186

#harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader #harry potter #hp x reader #hp imagine #teacher au tag #i love this ship

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teacuphuman09 · 5 years

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Inceptiversary 2019 MasterPost

It will soon be July and you know what that means! IT’S INCEPTIVERSARY TIME!!!!!!

In case you don’t know (and that’s fine, we love new blood in this fandom), Inceptiversary is the yearly celebration of the release of the film that keeps us darlings dreaming bigger: Inception. It takes place over five weeks (July 1st to August 5th) and includes fandom focused events, challenges, and content. It’s when we Inceptionites come together to strengthen the community, show appreciation, and welcome in a new generation of dreamers!

ALL SHIPS ARE WELCOME in the Inceptiversary festivities and we encourage you to explore a ship you haven’t before. You never know what you might find!

“But wait, teacup,” you say. “How am I to keep track of all these awesome events? How will I know what’s happening and what’s to come?”

I’m glad you asked, dear dreamer, because we have the super-organized and equally awesome @freighttraininmybrain over at the Inception Social Calendar and the miraculous trio of @flosculatory, @deinvatiwrites, and @dbshawnblog on the @Inceptiversaryblog keeping us from succumbing to Inception FOMO! So hold onto your grip on reality because the unbelievable details of this year’s Inceptiversary are laid out below!

1) Theme Weeks:

Inceptiversary is structured over five glorious weeks, each of which caters to a theme in fandom. Fans are encouraged to post and reblog all manner of content related to each week’s theme. Memes, fics, fanvids, artwork, conspiracy theories; all will find a home! And you may just discover something you didn’t know you needed in your life.

This year’s Theme Weeks are:

Week 1, July 1 - 7 No Stone Unturned - Inception Gen Week

This is a special Theme Week this year as we’ve paired it with a prompt challenge of the same name that will be run by @bayta-darell! The Inception fandom has a ton of love to go around, but what about the non-romantic kind of love? This week, we're focusing on all of the great platonic and familial relationships with a series of daily prompts. These are just meant as a starting point to get you inspired and by all means, disregard these as much as you want! All Inception content that isn't based on romantic or sexual relationships is welcome, and fanwork recommendations are certainly encouraged as well. Have fun, and happy Inceptiversary!

Day 1: Backstory

Day 2: Team Dynamics

Day 3: Character Study

Day 4: Rare/Underappreciated Characters (Philippa, James, Miles, Nash... anyone outside of our main dream team)

Day 5: Non-Canon Interactions

Day 6: World-Building

Day 7: Post-Canon

Week 2, July 8 - 14 It’s The End Of The World As We Know It:

Zombies! Meteors! The Rapture! Girl Scouts! It’s the apocalypse and we want to know all about the survivors!

Week 3, July 15 - 21 Curtain Fic:

Domestication at its best! Bring out all your happily ever afters and spend a week in bliss as your favourite ships ride off on magical rainbow unicorns and make all their dreams come true!

Week 4, July 22 -28 In Between The Lines:

We all have them. Those headcanons about what went on behind the scenes of Inception. What happened to Tadashi? Is Ariadne hiding gills under all those scarves? Just what did the team do with all that time left over in the dream? And for Nolan’s sake, did the damn top fall over or not?

Week 5, July 29 - August 5 Crack/Fluff:

It’s been a long month so kick back and relax with a large dose of everyone’s favourite guilty pleasure: Crackfic! We all need those fics that are purely for entertaining silly and happy ideas. They’re a soft place to land and a great opportunity to get wacky ideas out of your head! Indulge and enjoy the ride!

2. Watch Parties (@corinnetags, @noitsnacktime, @freighttraininmybrain ):

Watch parties are an excellent way to meet other people in fandom and tend to create a ton of inspiration for future wips! All movies are connected to the cast of Inception in one way or another and will be held on either Slack or Discord or both depending on host availability/preference. The schedule for all viewings can be found on the Inceptiversary Social Calendar.

3. Watch Party Bingo: (@withinmeloveresides1, @zuulee63)

On July 1st, 16th, and 31st, Inception Bingo during the Official (not really) Inception Watch Parties! You can check out the viewing times on the Inception Social Calendar. More info to come!

4. Inception 30 Day Challenge (@flosculatory):

The 30 Day Challenge is such an interesting and entertaining look into the minds of your fellow Inceptionites! Learn how others feel about your favourite Inception moments and enjoy a look back at why we’re all still here, nine years after its release.

5. Trope/Kink Bingo (@teacuphuman09, @dreamhubbies):

One of the most popular aspects of Inceptiversary is the Trope/Kink Bingo, and goodness, does it ever deliver! Scoot on over to @inceptiversarybingo for info on how to get your hands on your very own bingo card, then indulge your (not so) secret desire to write all the tropes and/or kinks your little fandom heart desires!

6) AELDWS: (@teacuphuman09):

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a stake in this year’s Arthur/Eames Last Drabble Writer Standing event. AELDWS was missed last year, but in 2019 it’s returning to its roots and eliminating one writer every week until a champion is crowned! (I’m coming for you, @deinvatiwrites)

7) Inceptionkitties: (@a-forger-and-a-point-man)

The Caption Contest is back! Send in your purrfect puss pics, captioned with a quote from Inception and you could win all the fame and fortune of the Inception cat fandom! Get to it, meow!

8) Inception Quiz (@thingsbeginningwitha, @betterpausenow, @freighttraininmybrain):

Known by some (me) as one of the most difficult quizzes of all time, the Inception Quiz tests your knowledge, dedication, and attention to detail of all things Inception. Think you can handle it? (You can!) More details to come!

9) Inception Positivity: (@flosculatory)

Do you have a fandom crush? Someone you admire or look up to? Someone you feel needs to know just how important and appreciated they are? Then jump over to @inceptionpositivity to fill out a submission form and send your love across the fandom!

10) Fic Recs: (@teacuphuman09)

Looking for a specific fic or wanting to read along with the Theme Weeks? @inceptionficrx (@teacuphuman09) has what the doctor ordered! We’ll have weekly reading recs as well as special recs for Wednesday Hump Day and Bunk Fic Fridays (@avacynner); little pick-me-ups and some pants-tingling to see you through the weekend!

11) Inception/007 Battle Royale: (@a-forger-and-a-point-man)

The who, what, where, and when has yet to be announced, but get ready for yet another fight to the (canon)death! More details to come!

12) Inception Big Bang: (@dreaminghigher)

Back after a few years off, the Inception Big Bang is a fantastic event that combines titillating fic ideas with gorgeous artwork! Head on over to @inceptionbigbang for more info, and hurry because sign-ups are almost closed!

13) Fandom Auction for @nolaespoir: (@corinnetags)

Fandom lost an incredible talent and friend, Nolaespoir, and this year’s auction is in her name, with proceeds going to charities dedicated to suicide prevention and mental health. Check out the auction site and bid on some amazing items up for grabs!

14) Here’s a list of other Inceptiversary blogs and tags you should follow to keep up to date on the festivities:

First and foremost there is the Inception Blogs Masterlist, curated by the incomparable @a-forger-and-a-point-man

Are you a member of the InceptionSlack yet? It’s a great online platform that allows us to communicate directly and get to know each other! We have chat rooms for just about everything from career support to writing & art, and everyone is welcome! We have the best custom emojis, let me tell you! This is also where the Watch Parties will be hosted, so if you’d like an invitation, send @teacuphuman09 or @deinvatiwrites an ask!

Looking for something a little more Inception-centric than Slack? Want to be part of everything Inception related? The Inception Discord is the place to be! So head on over and check their platform out and enjoy some sweet, sweet discord!

Wondering about who’s who or the history of our fandom over the past nine years? @flosculatory and @gessorosso have put together two wonderful resources! The Friending Meme is a place to put your deets if you’re wanting to connect with others in the fandom and the Fandom Page (which now houses the Friending Meme!) is an ongoing collection of events and moments in fandom history. If you’d like to contribute something to the Fandom Page, please contact @gessorosso.

You should obviously be following #inception, #inceptiversary, and your ship tags (tumblr.com/tagged/[search term]), but may we also suggest:

#christopher nolan

#emma thomas

#wally pfister

#hans zimmer

#tom hardy

#ken watanabe

#marion cotillard

#leonardo dicaprio

#dileep rao

#ellen page

#joseph gordon-levitt

#cillian murphy

#michael caine

#lukas haas

#tom berenger

#pete postlethwaite (RIP)

14) Where can I find the Inception Button I keep hearing so much about?

RIGHT HERE!

That’s it, that’s all (it’s not, there’s always more). So get ready because we’re just days away from Inceptiversary 2019!

#Inceptiversary #Inception #fandom #I will go down with this ship #party (tom)hardy #Inceptiversary Master Post

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amelatonin · 5 years

Text

Wine and Dine

Pairing Trevante Rhodes x black reader

Warning fluff, one mention of peen

Summary Tre wants to cook for you

A/N My first public fic 😯I had been working on this on and off for a while, but I almost scrapped it today after reading Take Our Time Part 2. @supersizemeplz Girl, I promise I didn’t steal lol The similarities made me uneasy but I guess this is the way to a woman’s heart. Anywayz, I felt like this blog was unintentionally becoming a Florian fan blog so I decided to start with a fic starring my baby Tre.

Be sure to tell me how bad it is! Constructive criticism requested. Enjoy!

***

- you tryna get fed? -

If you had no filter you would probably type something along the lines of ‘yep. Fed some dick 🙃’ But you were still trying to win over the guy you were dating. So, to be more ladylike you went with:

- who says no to food!? when and where? -

- tonight. my place. You can even come grocery shopping with me now if you’re free -

You raised an eyebrow. Food was one of the things that brought you two together. You met through a mutual friend at a birthday dinner some months back, but only recently became romantic. There were plenty of conversations about your favorite dishes and some dates to dope local restaurants, but grocery shopping and getting cooked for? That was next level, wasn’t it?

- oh you’re trying to cook for me? 👀-

- precisely -

The proposition was a pleasant surprise that made you smile. You weren’t expecting to see him so soon considering you had just went on a date the previous Friday to the art museum. However, you did notice that your interactions were becoming more frequent. The art museum date had you on a high all week, you two had talked everyday since. You would be lying if you said that wasn’t exactly what you wanted. All you thought about was spending more time with him, though you didn’t want to be the first to admit it. You sent your reply:

- I’m listening… What’s on the menu? 🤔-

- you’ll just have to come and see 😌-

- bet. -

A quick uber ride later and you were meeting Trevante in the produce section of a local grocery store. It wasn’t as busy as you expected but it was 5 on a Friday evening after all. He lit up when he saw you, “Hello gorgeous,” he greeted you with a warm hug that lingered a tad longer than usual, not that you were complaining.

“Hey!” It was nice that he was as excited to see you as you were to see him. He hadn’t changed since leaving work an hour prior and he looked delectable in the business casual he wore to the office. The button down and slim fit slacks fit him perfectly. It had been your day off and even though you looked good, you wondered if your knee length t-shirt dress and white canvas shoes were too much of an under dress. What else could he expect from you with 30 minutes notice? He was going to have to take what he got; the dress complimented your curves and he was lucky you even fluffed your curls, filled in your eyebrows, and put on your Fenty gloss.

You ran your mouth about your work week while he picked up items and placed them in the basket he was holding. You enjoyed talking to him so much you didn’t even realize you weren’t really paying attention or offering much help until the third or fourth stop.

“So, what are we eating?”

“Tuscan butter salmon.”

“Oh wow. That sounds delicious,” you only cooked like that when you were feeling fancy, “I don’t know if you can pull it off, Tre,” you teased.

“I can. I will. And you’ll be finding out tonight now, won’t you?” he looked you up and down and licked his lips. You swore you noticed his eyes linger on your hips. The look he gave aroused you slightly. How dare he ooze confidence and sex appeal so effortlessly. You had to shake off the thirst.

“I’ll believe it when I see it. Don’t disappoint me, Rhodes.”

"No need to worry,” he winked.

The last stop was the seafood counter for fresh salmon.

…

“Welcome back,” he said as he opened the door. You adored visiting his place. The 14th floor condo had huge picturesque windows that gave a breath taking view of the midtown skyline. The view was gorgeous now, but it would only get better when the sun began to set around dinner time. Right in front of the center window was his high top dining set. The overall interior design was exquisite- modern yet cozy.

“Alright. Make yourself comfortable. I’m going to get started in there,” he set you up with a glass of wine, and the TV remote.

“So I don’t get to help you in the kitchen?”

He hesitated for a moment before confessing, “Really, I just wanted you to relax. I don’t want you to lift a finger, so no.” he laughed. You didn’t protest. You enjoyed the idea of him catering to you and decided to put on a movie. But, instead of focusing on the TV you explored. Each time you visited, you checked his massive collection for new records and books. Nothing new this time around.

You took a peek at him working in the kitchen. Facing away from you, he worked diligently at the stove. His shirt was slightly fitted allowing you to see some of the contours of his back muscles as he cooked. He was ripped with broad shoulders which made you want to climb him like a tree. Watching him cook for you wasn’t sedating your attraction to him at all. The scent of fresh garlic took over the open space encouraging you to watch the master at work up close. You asked him about the recipe: where he found it, how often he made, if he’d 'wined and dined’ any other women with it recently. You know, the essential questions.

He laughed, “No, actually. You’re the only woman I’ve tried to impress for minute now. And you’re the first to get 'wined and dined’ with this recipe,” he made sure to mock the way you said 'wined and dined’.

“Mhm. I feel special,” you leaned against the counter top as you watched him stir in his ingredients milling over his response.

“As you should,” he took a taste test of his sauce, “C’mere,” he took another spoon full to feed to you.

“Wow. That’s really good,“ legitimately impressed, you wondered if he had taken any cooking classes.

“Yeah, but it’s not there yet,” he bit his lip, wheels turning. He was focused on his craft and his diligence was sexy. You left him to search his spice rack for the missing piece and returned to the couch.

About 15 minutes later dinner was served.

“It smells amazing!” You said rushing to the dining table that was decorated with burning candles, flames mirroring the glow of the sunset.

“Tuscan Butter Salmon, with pasta and a side of tossed greens salad and homemade garlic bread,” he watched for your facial expression as he placed the plate in front of you. It looked amazing and your face said it all. “Dig in, dig in,” he motioned for you to hurry up while pouring more wine.

He sat back to watch you react to your first bite. Part of him wanted to make sure you actually enjoyed the food, but most of him wanted to take you all in. Even in your “everyday” high puff and some simple stud earrings he found you breathtaking. The subtle pink glow of your lips did something to his insides each time he looked at you. You froze, “Oh ma gawd, this salmon is so good. Literally the perfect texture. And this sauce? Out of this world! The fresh rosemary makes such a difference. Great choice pairing it with the pasta and the wine!”

"What did I tell you? I know what I’m doing.” He took his first bite and started to nod, he was proud of himself, “okay okay chef Rhodes doin the damn thing. I really out did myself.”

The food was so good there was barely any talking for the rest of the meal. You two stuffed your faces and managed to drop in a word or two about your weekend plans. You also tried to high jack his recipe.

He took his last bite, “Y/N, you’re not getting the recipe.” He looked at you as he shook his head with laughter.

You took a sip of wine, “Tre, stop being stingy. Why not?” you whined, giving your best pout.

He hesitated, “Because I need a reason to keep you coming back for more.”

Silence. You weren’t sure how to respond. There was something about the way he said what he said and the look he gave you when he said it that would’ve made your knees give out if you were standing. With or without elaborate meals, those eyes were enough to keep you coming back for more.

“Can I be honest with you?” he looked down at his hands. Your heart sank, you were not ready for him to tell you something ridiculous like he has an estranged wife or three baby mamas and five kids.

“Yeah?” you said with a raised eyebrow, getting up to take the dishes to the sink.

He followed you with the rest of the dishes you couldn’t manage. “I’ve been thinking about seeing you everyday this week,” he put down the dishes and gently pulled you to face him. Tilting your chin up he said, “You’re gorgeous, intelligent, passionate, ambitious- I can’t get enough of you,” he took your face in his hands and planted his soft, full lips on yours. He was just as passionate with his kissing as he was with his cooking.

He gently pulled his lips away. You had to consciously make the effort to not say 'woah’ aloud. Instead you said, “I feel the same way. I’ve been thinking about you all week, too,” you beamed at him before biting your lip.

"I uh- I haven’t wanted to wine and dine anyone in a while and I want to be the only one doing it for you from now on,” he intentionally used your phrasing from earlier, “I want to make this official. I want you exclusively. Y/N, I want you to be my girl.” The words fell out his mouth. And though he meant everything he said, he still felt corny like a high school freshman asking his crush to go steady.

You placed his hands on your hips and pulled him in for another kiss, “that’s exactly what I wanted to hear tonight.”

#tre #trevante rhodes #trevante rhodes x you #trevante rhode x black reader #trevante rhodes fic #originals #melaoriginals

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lady-divine-writes · 5 years

Text

Klaine fic - “Need for Speed: New York - Chapter 1” (Rated NC17)

Summary:

It's been years since high school graduation, and Kurt and Blaine are living the lives of their dreams in New York City alongside their best friends, Nick and Jeff. Car racing behind them, they're working towards the future - Kurt and Jeff at NYADA, Blaine and Nick at NYU. But soon after moving from their tiny apartments to a bigger loft, bits and pieces of Ohio start to weed their way in to their lives - along with some New York grown angst, causing rifts that hopping behind the wheel of a Mustang might not be able to solve.

Read on AO3.

“One grande nonfat mocha …”

“That’s me!” Kurt called, reaching over the heads in front of him and grabbing his coffee.

“… and a tall black, one cream one sugar, with a blueberry muffin.”

“That one’s mine.” Nick wrenched his arm through the crowd to snag his cup from the barista, along with the small brown paper bag that had his muffin nestled inside. "Ugh! I wish we could find a bigger place!" he complained. His remark received glares from a handful of people who had no investment in what he was saying, but felt offended by his tone of voice. He followed Kurt to an empty table in the corner by the window where they could watch the rain pound the pavement, cleaning away the grime from the glass.

“Unfortunately, most of the coffee shops on this side of town are about this size,” Kurt commented, setting his cup down and grabbing an extra chair from a nearby table. “I know it’s crowded, but I think we’re out of luck.”

“I’m not talking about the coffee shop, Kurt!” Nick groaned, putting down his suitcase and landing heavily in his seat. “I’m talking about our apartment! It’s tiny! If we had a bigger place, then Jeff could dance at home. We need more space to move around."

"More room to move?" Kurt opened the lid to his coffee and took a deep breath in, sighing in contentment at the sweet scent of chocolate mixed with the strong jolt of Arabica he needed to fuel his day. "So what you’re saying is you guys ran out of places to have sex, right?"

Nick threw Kurt a pointed look, glancing nervously around to see if anyone took notice.

"No. I mean we're spending all of our spare time at the dance studio at NYADA. It would be nice to live somewhere with enough floor space where Jeff could practice at home so we’re not riding the subway back and forth at one in the morning.”

“An apartment with that much space would cost a small fortune. Trust me. The idea has crossed my mind many, MANY times.”

“Really?” Nick opened the crinkled top to his brown paper bag, shoved his nose inside, and took a sniff that caved the sides in.

“Yeah. Your place is tiny and you have a corner unit. We don’t. Ours is microscopic compared to yours.” Kurt opened a browser on his phone and pulled up the classifieds. Space wasn’t the only issue for Kurt. After last summer’s temperatures hit triple digits and stayed there, Kurt had declared himself done with their apartment. But when several exhaustive searches turned up nothing they could afford, he’d come to the conclusion that finding a new place within their budgets close enough to school to make the commute worthwhile might be a pipe dream.

“I have to admit that it's nice though, hanging out at NYADA after hours. It's quiet, it’s air conditioned in the summer, and George the janitor has been helping me with my homework."

Kurt snapped his head up. "Your law homework?"

"Yeah. He majored in criminal law. At one time, he was one of the foremost attorneys in the country! Six figure salary! But he gave it up to be a janitor.”

Kurt raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Nick shook his head. “I Googled him. He’s legit.”

“But why in the world would he do that? Give up a career and all that money to plunge toilets and mop floors?””

“Because he wasn’t happy. He didn’t want a career in law. His dad wanted him to. He wanted to work in theater, but he said he wasn’t any good. Had two left feet and couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket – his words. Working at NYADA was the compromise. He says it's like going to the Met every day for free, so the decision was easy."

Kurt laughed and went back to the ads. “Only in New York.”

“I guess.” Nick stared out the window, focused on the people running back and forth trying to avoid the rain. There were a handful of commuters in dark coats and rain boots speed walking from bus stop to bus stop to subway terminal. But mixed among them were the tourists meandering slowly on their way to wherever, huge smiles on their faces as if getting caught in a New York rainstorm was exactly what they had hoped for. He spotted one couple coming off a bus hand-in-hand, beaming at one another, obviously in love.

Probably honeymooners, he thought, adverting his eyes when they stopped at the curb and started to kiss.

New York was for lovers. It was written everywhere. It was one of the reasons why he fell in love with the city the moment he got there. He and Jeff were so much in love, it hurt. This was definitely where they were meant to be.

Or so he thought …

“Hey. Hey, Nick.” Kurt’s concerned voice and the touch of his hand pulled Nick’s eyes from the window. “What’s going on with you? You’ve been in such a funk lately.”

“I … I don't know.” Nick looked down into his cooling cup of coffee, avoiding Kurt’s eyes. His fears and doubts were stupid. He knew they were. But if he saw Kurt looking at him with worry, he’d unload everything. And there were things going on in his head he wasn’t prepared to admit to right now.

Though, if reassurance was something he felt he needed (and it was) there was no better source for that than Kurt, if for no other reason than he and Jeff went to school together.

If there was something Nick didn’t know, Kurt would.

“I just think maybe Jeff's getting a little tired of having me hang around all the time, you know? At school?”

Kurt’s worried eyes widened with confusion.

“I mean,” Nick tried to clarify, “that’s kind of his world, and maybe I shouldn’t interfere?”

Kurt’s eyes became wider until they took up a good portion of his face, and Nick backpedaled.

“I don’t know. Forget that. What I mean is, it would be nice to just ... stay in."

"Why in the world do you think Jeff's getting tired of you!?” Kurt barked, attracting the attention from diners at nearby tables that Nick was trying so hard to avoid. “From what we hear through the walls, you guys don't ever get tired!"

Nick’s cheeks turned the color of a brand spanking new fire truck, polish and all. “Kurt!”

"And," Kurt continued, "do you know how embarrassing it is to walk to school every day with Jeff and his incredible hard-on!? Seriously, Nick! It's like every morning!"

“Kurt!!”

“I’m not kidding! At this rate, you’re going to have to buy that thing its own MetroCard!”

"Alright, alright! I get the picture! But, you know, if we’re talking about erections, going to school with your boyfriend isn't much better!" Nick argued, leaning across the table and whisper-scolding through clenched teeth, praying he could stop the current discussion before they gathered an actual crowd. “If you guys aren’t going to stop with the early morning shower bjs, then you may want to consider asking Blaine to change the cut of his jeans … or start wearing slacks. WITH underwear!”

That worked.

"Touche.” Kurt returned to the listings on his phone, scrolling past ads he’d read so many times, he had them memorized. There wasn’t going to be anything new, he told himself. Not since last week. Blaine had offered to up his contribution on his portion of the housing costs so they could widen their search parameters, but Kurt refused. He didn’t want Blaine carrying the financial weight, regardless of how large his trust fund was, or how much profit he made off selling his house. Besides, Kurt had to be realistic. Considering what the job market was like in the arts, it would be nice to have a hefty nest egg to rely on.

Kurt bit his lip at his own line of thinking - talking about their finances as if they were an old married couple.

As if that nest egg was theirs and not just Blaine’s.

Kurt tried not to think of it as theirs, but it got hard when Blaine constantly referred to it like that.

Their savings.

Their money.

Put aside for their life. Their future.

Kurt was a hopeless romantic. Had been all his life. He loved Blaine heart and soul, saw them spending the rest of their lives together. But he wasn’t naïve. Unfortunately, things do happen. He didn’t think they would happen to them. They were such a clear-headed and balanced couple. But they could. So Kurt started a nest egg of his own, and contributed to their savings as much as he could. He still flipped cars from time to time. He’d made quite a name for himself in Ohio, so when he went back to visit, he had a list of people willing to wait months for him to get their ride up on a lift and give it an overhaul. Plus, he had customers who were loyal to him, who drove up to New York just for an hour of his time. On a good weekend, he could come home from a trip to see his dad with a cool ten grand in his pocket.

Not too shabby for a side gig … a legal one.

He’d almost convinced himself to open up a shop in New York, but even with the high demand, the price of rent and the time commitment didn’t outweigh the potential profits.

Besides, he didn’t want to be known as an auto tuner.

He wanted to be a Broadway star.

But he didn’t hang up his coveralls completely. It was good to have something to fall back on. And with high performance race cars always in demand, he could have a steady source of income. Though, for the price of some of these shoebox apartments, it might be cheaper, and more lucrative, to open up a shop and live above it because damn! How the hell did college kids move to New York and survive without humongous trust funds?

He had no idea. Television definitely didn’t prepare him for this.

He was about to exit out of the browser and pull up the Variety! website when he stumbled on an ad tucked at the bitter end that looked interesting. The picture had originally turned him off. He thought it was another bodega for rent. But after a third read, he felt the slow burn of excitement flutter like butterflies all over his entire body.

"Nick, when are you due back at the office?"

"In about …" Nick looked at his own phone clock and sighed the sigh of a man about to surrender himself to a long afternoon of dull research, even duller coffee runs, and chalking it up to experience “… thirty minutes. Then I’m off at four. Why?”

Kurt shared the listing to Nick’s phone, then clicked the hyperlink to dial the realtor’s number.

"What are your feelings about Bushwick?"

“I don’t think I have any.” Nick opened the listing Kurt sent him and read through it. His eyes went wide, a smile spreading his lips despite the promise of a painstaking afternoon. “But I’m beginning to have some.”

***

“Bushwick? What the hell’s in Bushwick?” Blaine laughed, undoing the buttons on Kurt’s jacket and snaking his hand inside. He needed this closeness, needed to feel his boyfriend after a long day without him.

He was also freezing his ass off and hoping he could leech some of Kurt’s never-ending warmth so he could feel his fingers again.

Kurt shifted in his seat, moving closer and putting a hand over Blaine’s to help keep him toasty. He wasn’t a big fan of P.D.A. on the subway, but it was so crowded at this hour, no one was paying any attention.

“A big ass loft, that’s what,” Kurt said, thrusting his phone into Blaine’s view. “Big enough for you, me, our friends, our stuff, your ego …”

“Nonsense. Nothing’s that big.” Blaine took the phone, the screen loaded to a slideshow of pictures showing every inch of the loft in question, plus a floor plan and a list of amenities. Kurt and Nick had taken the liberty of submitting a pre-qualification application, and with help from Nick’s legal and financial expertise, they’d been provisionally approved. All they needed was to tour the place with their boyfriends and get the final okay from the realtor.

But as far as Kurt and Nick were concerned, they were in love.

“That definitely looks big enough for all our stuff. Hell, I could probably park my Mustang in there and we’d never bump into it! But why do we need to move to a new place?” Blaine had no objections to moving. He agreed they needed more space, and yesterday. But he enjoyed giving his excited boyfriend a hard time.

It was like foreplay to him.

“Well, aside from the things I’ve already mentioned - more space, less per month in rent, our own washer and dryer, living with our best friends in the world - I have two words for you: air conditioning.”

“What? You don’t like sleeping in the kitchen on hot summer nights with every window in the place open?”

“No.”

“Not gonna miss that one little bit?”

“Not a bit.”

“Too bad, because that is literally my favorite thing about living in the apartment we have now.”

“And yet, I still manage to love you.”

“Go figure. Have Nick and Jeff seen it yet?”

“They’re supposed to meet us.” Kurt scrolled through the text conversation he’d been having with Nick since Nick left his internship to pick up his boyfriend. “The last I heard from him is that he and Jeff had met up and they were heading out.”

“Give or take five minutes in the coat closet for a little hanky panky,” Blaine joked. “Or should I say an hour? If they find a place with a lock on the door, we might not seem them till midnight!”

Kurt wanted to rebut in defense of his friends, but Blaine was probably right. If there was a couple in this city that had more sex than Kurt and Blaine, it was Nick and Jeff.

Kurt knew because he heard most of it first-hand.

***

“I thought you guys said this was a loft?” Jeff wandered through the kitchen, opening cabinet doors and peeking inside, looking for what, no one knew. “When does a loft have bedrooms?”

“According to the website, it’s a conversion,” Kurt replied.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning they had to knock down the wall between a loft and a two bedroom apartment, and since it was too complicated to replace, they just left it. Something about the plumbing. They gutted the extra kitchen, renovated the bathroom and …”

“And created this enormous airplane hangar of an apartment,” Blaine finished.

“A-ha. And it’s two hundred dollars less a month than both our old apartments combined,” Nick said.

“That’s because we’ll be living in Brooklyn instead of Manhattan,” Jeff pointed out.

“But our rent is coming up in a week,” Blaine mentioned, circling the place for a second time. At this rate, they won’t need gym memberships. Then could just jog around their apartment. “I don’t want us all paying double. If we say yes to this place, when would we be able to move in?”

“Like, now,” Nick said. “We’ve been talking to the realtor all afternoon. She has the keys and she’s bringing them down.”

“I thought you guys said our approval was provisional,” Jeff said.

“It took us close to five days to get the keys to our last place. Why are they so eager to rent this place?” Blaine asked.

“Technically, this is a historic building. The owners are filing to make it official, but in the meantime, there’s a developer trying to buy it out and turn it into an IHOP or something. They need to have all the apartments filled by the end of the month to make their case that it’s still viable as a living space while they wait on certification. They’ve apparently had tons of nibbles, but no follow throughs.”

“And they’re desperate. They’re trying to fight off gentrification.”

“And they’re going to do that by renting the biggest space I’ve ever seen at a steal to four white gay guys?” Jeff asked.

“Hey, I don’t make the rules,” Kurt said, throwing open the drapes to let the afternoon sunlight in. “I’m just willing to benefit from them … uh … just this once, of course.”

“Look at all the room you’ll have to dance now, Jeff.”

“Yeah,” Jeff said, taking a few experimental steps, running the soles of his shoes against the floor one at a time to check the grip of the wood grain. “It’s great, but is this really what you want, Nicky?”

“Yes. I mean, you’ll be able to practice at home now. No more late night trips back and forth from NYADA.”

“Oh, I don’t know …” Jeff wrapped his arms around his boyfriend’s waist and squeezed, lifting him an inch till their noses touched “... I was starting to enjoy those late night trips. All that alone time together, late nights on the train, catching dinner on the corner … it was kind of romantic.”

“But if you practice at home and we don’t have to spend time on the train, we’ll have more time to do other things late at night.”

Jeff frowned, his brow pinched together as he tried to decipher the meaning behind his boyfriend’s cryptic words.

“Other romantic things?”

Jeff’s brow pinched further, and Nick raised his eyebrows in an attempt to help him. They stood like that, staring at one another, deadlocked and waiting for Jeff to figure it out, until Kurt lost his patience.

“Sex! He means sex, Jeff! If you don’t have to travel to NYADA every night, you get to have more sex! Though how that’s possible, I have absolutely no damn idea!”

Across the room, Blaine laughed so hard, he stopped breathing.

“Oh!” Jeff smiled like the bear that stole the honey and got away without getting stung. “Okay. I’m sold.”

“Great!” Kurt grabbed his phone out of his pocket and looked at the screen. “Oh, that’s the realtor. She’s on her way up. This is so exciting! I can’t wait to start packing up our stuff and moving it in!”

“Hey, would you guys mind if Nicky and I stayed the night?” Jeff asked. “So we can celebrate early?”

“Celebrate?” Kurt shot Blaine a look, but it was no use, as the man had his head in his hands, laughing up a storm. “But there’s no electricity! And you guys won’t have a bed!”

“Kurt - that is the weirdest thing you have ever said to us.”

“Whatever.” Kurt pushed open the sliding door. “Just do us a favor and don’t baptize our room before we get the chance.”

Jeff clapped a hand over his boyfriend’s ass, causing him to yelp. Jeff smirked. “We’ll do our best.”

#klaine #klaine fanfiction #klaine fic #frankie writes

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