#i would cut off a toe for the chance to write about this poem in a formal context

[vampiresuns]

Portrait Of The Lawyer As A Young Man

3k words. All of Julianus’ life has been about fulfilling social expectations. Not any more.

Note: This fic contains some time changes. They’re all separated but they’re not linear. This pieces art is the cover of the centennial edition of James Joyce’s ‘Portrait of the Artist As A Young Man’.

CW: Superficial discussions of unhealthy family dynamics.

The song for this piece is Expectations by Belle & Sebastian. Saoirse, Meredith and the Crew of The Jagged Ruby belongs to @apprenticealec​.

Part 4 of Secrets Of An Ancient Moon series; you can read the rest of it here.

Dusk fell in the sky making the colours of the water change. Meredith whistled at Jules to get their attention, calling them aside. When they reached port again in four days, they’d reach Jules’ original destination, marking the end of their voyages in The Jagged Ruby. Julianus didn’t need Meredith to tell them this, they already knew: they had been counting the days obsessively, watching them slip by as they found a chance to speak to the Captain.

Meredith had found them first. It was now or never.

“Hopefully this,” Meredith said, raising the legal study Julianus had made for her a couple of months ago, “will help us with our Syd problem. I’m not going to pat you in the back, Sanlaurento, so just let me say this: you’ve got it in you, you’re a pain in my ass, I hope whoever opposes you in a court shit themselves. Now, leave.”

When Meredith looked back up, Jules was still there, looking at them with a frown and an intensity which the Captain had seen in them before, but never directed at them. Jules had been travelling with them for months. When they had manifested on the ship to become Meredith’s personal pest and unlikely legal advisor, the Quinquennial meeting was in the long term future still, they had time for it. Now, the meeting would happen in three months.

In all that time, Meredith had had time to watch them, even if they didn’t want to. She hated to admit it, but the asshole had guts. J.C. was clever, a fast learner, and seemed to know themselves well enough to anticipate their shortcomings. Analytical and strong-willed, in other circumstances they’d make an excellent addition to the crew.

They learnt the basics of sailing faster than Meredith had given them credit for, their basic knowledge of sword-fighting was getting honed by the week. They had never taken a shot against an actual person, but their aim had gotten notoriously better. Julianus got treats for the crew if you left them unsupervised, and somehow, always, found someone to help with legal advice, no matter were they were.

So yes, Meredith had seen that intensity before. She’d seen it when they put themselves between a vendor and a guard, suddenly carrying more presence and even a slight high-society touch to the way they conducted themselves. She’d seen it whenever they tried, again and again, to perfect something, never expecting to be handed anything. She’d seen it whenever they talked about Injustice, or the Sea Palace, or Freedom, or People.

It all shone through, even through the many flaws or annoyances Meredith saw in their character — anxious, irritable, high-horsed, mysterious for no damn reason.

“I said leave, why are you still here.”

“Meredith?”

The Captain raised an eyebrow. Sanlaurento never addressed her without an honorary.

“I didn’t remember us being friends— You smooch my quartermaster and…” Meredith stopped, a grimace overtaking her face. “This is about them, isn’t it. No, I’m not having a heart to heart about fucking Saoirse with you. Sanlaurento, I’m still your fucking Captain.”

“No, it’s not about Saoirse. It’s about me.”

“Right, because that’d make me care.”

J.C. frowned back at Meredith, trying to resist the urge to roll his eyes but failing to do so. “Even if they are a factor in my considerations. I’m well aware that if I talked to them, I could manage to see them anywhere and write to them even, given they write to Jacqui all the time.”

“If you’re going to talk anyway, at least do me the favour of going to the point, Sanlaurento.”

“Captain, I want to stay.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

The sky was clear in the island of Sirenia, a cool late winter evening as Sanlaurento walked around a patio in a black, formal attire, with a green jacket with golden buttons. 

“You’ll do great, stop worrying. You already did great in your dissertation.”

“But my dissertation was just me talking about International affairs.”

“One last viva, and you’ll be a lawyer.” 

Julianus exhaled. “You’re right, one last viva. This ends today.”

“Did someone Come with you?”

“No.”

Their friend snorted. “You didn’t tell anyone about today, didn’t you?”

Feigning disinterest so the conversation could end, they looked over some handwritten diagrams.

Julianus sighed. “Actually, this time I did.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

“Do I have to apply to the Sea Palace? I know I said I wanted to, but I don’t know any more.”

“Of course, Cleo,” their mother said, “it’s the best academic institution around, you might have a chance. You lose nothing by trying”

“They were weird though, you know? Off. Like, they give me a bad feeling.”

Their mother no longer sounded patient when she spoke: “You’re going to have to let go of turning down opportunities at every chance you don’t like everyone in front of you, or everyone in front of you doesn’t automatically think you’re brilliant. Besides, you insisted, and this is a matter about your education, your safety and your future. You’re applying.”

Julianus tensed, curling their toes inside their shoes, trying to ball them like they would their hands. They couldn’t ball them into fists right now, that’d give them away. If they gave themselves away, their mother’s reaction would be worse. “It’s not— that’s not—”

They exhaled, giving up. “You’re right, Mama.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

In their 27 years, Julianus had been called a lot of things.

Weird by their classmates, dense by their parents. Unnecessarily complicated, dramatic, attention seeking, stupid. All of them also by their parents who said things in annoyance and in anger without measuring any reaction, nor waiting for any explanation. Stupid, perhaps, was the funniest.

They never called them Julianus, only ‘Cleo’, too, to the point their mother often said they made a mistake in choosing their first name.

Their Cleo was a lot of things but never what they themself said they were. ‘Intelligence’ was arrogance, ‘mistakes’ stupidity, or worse, something unforgivable; a lack of consideration for everyone around them and the marking of their mother in their failure to raise a child who wanted to do anything with her. 

Too loud, too quiet, too stiff, too needy, too this, too that, too weird, too feminine, too masculine, too much.

Academic settings were different. One of the few places they had some control over themself. Yes, their classmates might’ve thought them closed off, weird and even a bit of a “lunatic” when they were growing up, but their classmates also knew they were passionate about defending what they loved, including their friends. A willing ear to listen, offering food, advice and comfort to whomever asked, without thinking too much about it. Quick to rile up but never one to deny help. Their teachers and professors always knew they tried, that they wanted to learn, that they wanted to go to further, deeper horizons. 

Their own self, learning and what they could do with that education was their constant ongoing project. Their poems and stories, a constant conversation with the world. Not self-centredness, not absent-mindedness.

Only twice they had been told in academic settings that they weren’t enough. One was in the Sea Palace. The scholars called them an histrionic, low-pedigree charming but insubstantial kid, with poorly honed magic and more enthusiasm than capacity. Others worked better, others could sit still for longer, others had more steady grades — not the valleys of those subjects which did not interest them, with good but unremarkable grading, versus the stellar records of those subjects which obsessed them needlessly. A nice attempt, but a definitive rejection. 

The other was in that last Viva Voce in Firent. It hadn’t gone terribly, they had passed, but with meagre first level honours in comparison to their full honours approved dissertation. They were expecting to do worse, that was true. They weren’t expecting to have three examiners who did not let them finish a single explanation, one even laughing at their face for asking for a question to be clarified. 

“If you keep this way, I doubt you will have it in you to be a good jurisconsult,” one of them had said.

Julianus had looked at them with icy, saccharine sweetness, eyes like daggers and making apologies they didn’t mean as they took their diploma. They left the room thinking what did they know? What did any of these people know about Julianus Cleopatra, who wasn’t born with the Surname Sanlaurento, but had chosen it anyway? Nothing. They knew nothing.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Julianus had never been in many places they belonged.

The night was clear as The Ruby made its way through the waters in the night.

“What about you?”

“Yeah, Jay, tell us a story. All you do is work, kid. Grab a glass! Cut yourself some slack from those books, lest your vision becomes worse.”

Julianus couldn’t see why not. With a bright smile on their face, they grabbed a glass of beer, before joining the Crew that was lounging around on the deck, enjoying the night. 

“Does it have to be something I’ve heard, or does it have to be an original?”

“Right! Saoirse did say you wrote.”

Julianus blinked. “Saoirse mentioned me?”

An echo of warm laughter rang between the crew. Someone patted their back. “You’ve got it bad for the Quartermaster, don’t you? But tell us your story.”

"My story?” They snorted. “Oh, you don’t want to listen to that.”

After taking a drink, they let their own play on words slide, and chose a story to tell. “You know how they say that those who are the most impertinent have the best chance. Well, this cabin boy risked it all for a venture in a ship from the northern seas, whose flag it was under was at war with an Empire. The cabin boy, well, we’ll call them boy, had been searching for a place to fulfil their ambitions, and saw in this ship the right chance. The kind of person who wished to be remarkable, and do what’s right

“So one day, the ship runs into an enemy ship. Goes the Captain and says: ‘If we fight them, this ship might be sunk and we might not live the night’. So goes the cabin boy, who had developed a fondness for this ship; the fondness one does when one loves a place, but the place does not love one back, and yet one clings to the nostalgia of the good things. The cabin boy did not realise this yet, so the cabin boy goes and says: ‘If I time it right, I could sink it.’

“Though often trifled with silencing commands, the cabin boy was intelligent and daring so the cabin boy repeated: ‘If I time it right I could sink it. Was this not why I trained all these years as a cabin boy?’ 

“The Captain said: ‘No, you are just a cabin boy’, but at the insistence of our protagonist, the Captain said: ‘If you destroy that ship, I will give you silver and likewise gold, here in this very sea, and I will give you my only daughter for you to marry, if you make a renowned Captain out of me—’”

The story was not a happy one. It was a story of betrayal and disappointed hopes. It finished with the cabin boy, who making himself one with the night, went to sink the enemy ship, under the very noses of the unsuspecting crew. Yet, when the cabin boy came back and demanded their acknowledgement, the Captain denied them. Though the cabin boy had no interest in claiming the bounty, the Captain had not expected them to live, but fearing the Cabin Boy would take the credit and disrupt the order of things, the Captain slew them, and the sea took them in. 

Someone gasped with indignation. “And no one aided the cabin boy?”

“No.”

“Did the Captain kill them then?”

“That’s for you to decide.” 

“So the cabin boy didn’t die? Or did they?”

“In a way. It’s less about physical death, though it can be about it.”

“Isn’t this the Raleigh story?”

“Of the Golden Vanity?” Said Sanlaurento with a smirk. “Perhaps, but everyone tells it differently.

“If you don’t make it as a law person, I say you become a writer.”

Julianus laughed. “Why not both?”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

The last time Julianus Sanlaurento had seen their parents was when they sailed off to an apprenticeship. There had been no grand goodbyes, no heartfelt words. They had all fought around a week before, and J.C. was not yet forgiven. It was, perhaps, one of the biggest fights they had had with them, and the memory of it, along with the cold shoulder they were given would cling to them for some more time.

Nothing was worse than the hypocrisy, though. Or the pity. Too much to everyone around them, a brilliant child when they weren’t in the room.

Before they left, their father had pulled them aside to tell them they were brilliant, and that they were proud. Jules had wanted to say thank you, and just thank you, from the bottom of his heart, but they couldn’t, not after last week. Instead, they said:

“You always say that, until I’m brilliant in a way which neither of you like even if you still let me do it. You’ll hate this, but I don’t exist comfortably anywhere, and perhaps, I’ll never exist comfortably here.”

“That’s not our fault, Cleo.”

“It’s not about whose fault is it— it’s— you know what, Dad? Nevermind.”

Their only comfort was Maricus, whom they clung to at night when they were alone in their quarters, with only their things, their cat and an acceptance letter as they realised they were completely, and utterly alone. They were alone, that was true, but at least, they were themself and they had had enough.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Not wanting to try the Captain further after she dismissed them, Julianus retreated to the crew’s quarters. They sat against the wall nearest to their bed — if one could call a hammock a bed — picked up their notebook and began writing. They wanted to be left alone, so they buried their nose in their writing.

They didn’t expect seeing Saoirse when they looked up, leaning against a column as they watched them write. 

“Raleigh again?”

“No, I’m leaving the fictional man rest for a minute or two.”

“Meredith told me you were staying.” At this, Jules stopped writing. “Said you were on permanent crew member probation until you defended your case and your position in Ethari. Then, if she didn’t change her mind, she’ll make you try as a permanent member of the crew, if you also haven’t changed your mind about it.”

Saoirse snorted. “If I was told I’d meet a human like you a year ago, I would’ve thought the person telling me such was drunk.”

Julianus raised an eyebrow at them, wanting to ask what that was supposed to mean, but Saoirse’s eyes were full of tenderness when they met them.

“Meredith also told me you asked. Did you because of me?”

“No,” Jules said as they closed their notebook, standing up to stretch their legs. “I don’t want to part from you, that’s true, I care… a lot about you, and I hope you care about me just the same. I don’t want to stop seeing you everyday, and I don’t want to stop kissing you everyday, and I don’t want to stop learning from and about you. I haven’t mastered the language yet, and there’s more of the Code to study, there’s so many things I haven’t done yet, but it’s not about you, it’s about me.”

Saoirse watched them as silence fell between them, Julianus’ dark eyes looking everywhere but at them. When they did look back at Saoirse's ice-blue ones, their eyes were clouded with tears. “This isn’t quite it, either, but do you know what’s like feeling you’re unwanted everywhere? Because who you are has a big red ‘wrong’ sign attached to it?

“I just don’t want to go. I see, I can see a future here, and I think I’ve been in enough places where I have been unwanted, or wanted wrong, for me to deserve to have a shot at the future I say I want to have. Not the future I was supposed to have by whomever thinks knows me better than I know me.”

Out of all the reactions Saoirse could’ve had, J.C. wasn’t expecting them to stop leaning on their column, and open their arms for them. 

Their smile was just as tender as their eyes. “I know you enough to know that if I ask if you want a hug, you’ll say no, but in about five seconds you’ll change your mind.”

Jules’ half laughed, half sobbed. Unable to fight Saoirse’s logic they closed the distance between them, wrapping their arms around their waist, as they felt Saoirse’s arms sling under their arms to hold them close and safe between their arms. Like they were protecting them — from what? Neither of them knew; neither of them asked.

Instead, Jules was happy to bury their face against Saoirse’s chest, taking in the smell of them mixed with linen of their shirt. Saoirse’s cheek rested against the top of their head, only moving to plant a kiss there.

“Julie?” Saoirse said. “I know more about cages than you’d think.”

“I never said anything of—”

“You don’t have to say it for me to know. Before I was what I am now, I was in one, so to speak. Trapped, perhaps, is a better word. Cages all look different, but they all feel the same. There are no cages here, you deserve better than that.”

“I know, I know that now.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Only if you keep calling me ‘Julie’.”

“Were you never told not to make deals with strange Gods?” 

As they spoke, Saoirse brushed their lips against theirs, themselves an offering for Julianus to chase. Chase them they did, pressing their lips against Saoirse’s over and over again. 

“You’re not a strange God. Or rather, you’re not a stranger to me… You know? You don’t have to tell me what you were before, but I will say this: whomever decided to trap you, is or was a fucking coward.”

Saoirse laughed, the sound ringing around the room on its own accord. Soon enough, Jules found themself laughing too.

No, of course they didn’t want to go. 

#the arcana #the arcana oc #my writing #secrets of an ancient moon series #saoirse #jc sanlaurento #the janiverse #joirse #meredith #meredith's crew #yeah raleigh was real but we live in a world were the brits don't exist #dani's ocs

[darling-i-read-it]

Compromise

Hannibal Lecter x reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: hints at cannibalism 

Author’s Note: Hi darling! I hope this was about what you were looking for, I tried to bend Hannibal a bit and the reader a bit to fit what I thought was canon. I am also writing this just after finishing the renion so I’m hyped @ netflix season four pls 

Requested: by anon, Hey can you imagine that Hannibal s/o is a very independent woman but also carefree and Hannibal try to convince her to move in to his house but she is a bit stubborn since she decorated her apartment and doesn’t want to give up her pink kitchen.

Summary: the request

Genre: fluff

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

(not my gif)

Hannibal thought that on most levels you were the woman that was right for him. Or perhaps you were simply the woman that everyone would figure was right for him so he could pass for some sort of emotional balance. It might help with clients, to know that he is grounded and has a small family to call his own. Plus you were compatible in almost every way. You could cook and you were an independent figure so he wouldn’t have to worry that much about you being incredibly nosy about his business even if you had the normal amount of curiosity.

He figured that you would want to do the only liable thing and that was to move in with him. That was the next step in relationships and he knew this because he dealt with patients often who couldn’t figure out the next step.

You had been going on stunning dates for a few months and he enjoyed them, you enjoyed them. You stimulated his brain and that was a must have. You were in desperate need of a companion and he was in need of someone to understand him.

He was years away from meeting Will Graham and you were half of him not that Hannibal knew it at the time because he had yet to meet Will. You were careful and your fingertips spoke words he had never heard before and you were quiet and content. You were also loud, your laugh echoing off the walls of his home and office as though it were a train tunnel. 

But you had never really wanted to live with Hannibal.

You were stubborn, more stubborn than he had originally noticed. He took that as his mistake although there was no fault in the fact you were very good at hiding it when you first met. Now you were stubborn and loud and still easily loveable because you were comfortable. You piqued his interest.

“I’m not going to move in with you,” you said simply, flipping through the pages of one of his old Ted Hughes books. You were reading through Birthday Letters as though it was your lifeline. He had read a few of the bitter love story poems to you and you enjoyed hearing his voice along with them. You would never say it but when you read Ted Hughes now you let your mind carry his voice along the lines as though he was beside you.

“Why?” he questioned. It was a simple ask but it would make you think. Why wouldn’t you move in with him? He attempted to predict your answer. Perhaps you would blame your trust issues or your stubbornness. Maybe you tell him another story of someone who wronged you in a way that left you on your toes.

“I have a pink kitchen and I like it better than yours.” 

“I must admit, that was not what I was expecting you to say.” You gave him a look.

“I like to keep you on your toes.”

You sat on his bed and he walked over to where you were sitting. He got down beside you, the comforter dipping a bit at the added wave. You gave him a look through a side eye and he caught it so that you had to keep looking at him. You closed Birthday Letters which you hadn’t actually been reading. 

“You’re going to spend the night,” he assumed.

“Like a slumber party,” you promised. Hannibal nodded slowly.

“If you spend the night tomorrow, like I imagine you will, does that not constitute you simply living here.” You shook your head.

“If I lived here I would help you with dinner. I would have my half of the room and have to share your drawers. I would have to bring my books to your bookshelf. It would be a clutter, you would hate it,” you tried to convince him. 

“Will you by any chance be telling me the real reason you won’t move in tonight?” You sighed, the book slipping from your fingers onto your lap.

“I already told you the reason. Your kitchen is nowhere near pink enough for my taste. That is the honest to God reason.”

“If I got off pink towels to hang from one of the ovens would it make you more inclined?” You shook your head.

“It would not.” You took a beat of silence. “You’ve been in my kitchen Hannibal.” You were right. It was a stark difference from his own but he had never met a person with a kitchen quite equipped like his was, for many different tacts. You just obviously didn’t cut up human bodies in yours. If you squinted you could sort of tell that it was a kitchen where he cut up human bodies.

“You can bring the blender.”

“Warmer.” “How about I allow a few things here and there, a compromise for you moving in.”

“Why do you want me to move in so bad?” He pretended to think about it for a moment.

“If we moved in you wouldn’t have to hold that Ted Hughes book as though you were reading it and I can just read it to you. Isn’t it normal for people in our situation to wish for a shared living space?” You smiled.

“What’s our situation?”

“We’re in a relationship.”

“We are? You should have told me.” He shook his head lightly and why he did so you let out a sigh. “What if you let me cook a few nights. I don’t want to give that up. You can teach me a few new recipes and I can cook your favorites.”

He highly doubted that but he was glad you were finally seeming to bend.

“That sounds reasonable.” 

You nodded.

“It’s settled then.” He nodded.

“Perfect. You move in tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

#hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecter imagines #hannibal imagines

[rixxy8173571m3w1p3]

Mamihlapinatapai Or The Season Of Longing

A/n: Here is another fic. Since it's been raining like crazy and I have spent way too much time indoors because of the weather, I decided to write this. The poem featured in this fic is called Lluvia by Jorge Luis Borges. I finally figured out how to put things under the cut so that my followers don't have to scroll through a large post 😅 It's another piece set before Doofus Rick and the reader were dating. Feel free to check out the other fics in my Masterpost.

In this fic the reader isn't the only one longing

___________

Imagine that instead of a blue sky, there was an off white, almost grey sky, and what should've been wispy white clouds were blankets of rumbling thunderstorms without a drop of rain; that was how you thought you might've felt. There was a name to this feeling, but you weren't sure what to call it; as though you were missing something you couldn't place; not sadness or grief, but whatever came in between. No, nothing bad had happened, and there hadn't been any disagreements between you and Rick, but something did occur which fed this alien feeling. It seemed that only a few days ago you were alright, but then you invited him over and he had a chance to look over those books you had mentioned. That day he had returned home from work and came over right after; offering his best of smiles and a piece of candy from his labcoat pocket as soon as he crossed the threshold of your doorway; it was nothing out of the ordinary, but it was charming all the same.

With swiftness, you had led him to your hallway closet so that you could bring down the box of books sitting on the upper shelf; that was where you kept a great portion of your father's old books. Father had been a fan of languages and botany, but ventured into the bizarre mystery from time to time; being a master of neither, you had hidden them away for a later date; mostly because the memories were more disheartening then they space they took up. With all your might, you stood on the tips of your toes in a vain attempt to reach, but your fingers barely brushed the edge of it; you should’ve just used the step ladder. It was Rick's small huff of effort which alerted you to his nearness as he unexpectedly stretched up and grabbed said box when you had a little trouble. Goodnaturedly, he carried it towards the kitchen while you took a moment to calm your girlish heart.

Coaxed away from your thoughts by the dusty cardboard and the delighted guest, you nodded lightly to give him the go-ahead to help himself. His gentle presence made him a joy to study; not in the way he examined things in the world or of the world, but in the way one does when fascinated by a butterfly or a fresh bloom hidden in an otherwise barren bush; he was a miracle. With care he pulled out one book after another, glancing through their pages and making piles for which one's he'd like to borrow. In a way he seemed to belong to this house; as though what wasn't found within pages of novels could be sought, and felt beyond reason; flowing calmly and relished in these favorable moments. Although it wasn't much, and that borrowing books could be of little consequence except to the reader itself, you hated to see him go.

Now thinking of it days later, you found yourself wondering about its significance as well as a plethora of other things as you walked to the store and back. You hadn't needed anything in particular, but you felt slightly better being outdoors; the fresh air allowed you to believe you could think better. The sounds of light traffic and grass being cut somewhere along in the neighborhood felt timeless as you walked around the corner, almost home. The wind blew, rustling your clothes and you narrowly lost the receipt that hung out of your pocket, but that didn’t bother you.

Rain clouds were rolling in from the west and you hoped it wouldn't rain before you reached home. And the closer you got, the more you could see the familiar house of your lovable neighbor. A smile couldn't help but stretch across your face at the thought and you hoped he was home so that you could ask if he'd had a chance to look those books over but that alien feeling bloomed again; the sinking, drowning, heavy feeling. How you wanted to be with him despite what reason thought was logical. The dance of your heart would've loved nothing more than to place a dozen or more kisses upon his smile lines while he stammered into the next week. Oh, your foolish heart had taken on a personification of its own these days; speaking and thinking of itself and it's wants like a second brain; draining you whenever it appeared.

Yet, before you knew it you had reached home and dropped off what you had bought before stepping out again. From your front yard, you could see that he was in the garage and you questioned whether you should go over and attempt to alleviate this feeling; it’d vanish whenever you were with him. You must’ve stood there thinking for a while as to what ought to be done for the pitter-patter of rain broke this trance-like state and you ran back towards your front porch. How silly you have become as of late with this strange crush of yours. Weren’t you past these sort of schoolgirl feelings? Perhaps, but it was more than that.

You sunk into your wicker bench and listened to the sound of the rain as it hit the roof and walkway. The earthy scent of the lawn and the splash of puddles as cars drove by was a welcomed distraction. A nap didn’t seem like such a bad idea. Yet, gentle footsteps and the sound of a closed umbrella woke another sort of feeling within you; that of hope.

“Golly, it - it sure is raining cats and dogs t-today.” he commented.

The words were out of your mouth as soon as you were aware of him; of this creature who walked out of a daydream. “I didn’t think I’d get to see you.”

“Huh? Are you alright? Did s-something happen?”

“I'm fine,” you answered; all at once conscious of him and your surroundings. “it’s just...I thought about coming over to ask if you checked out any of the books but it started to rain.”

“Th-that's part of the reason I'm here,” he confessed. “I-I had noticed you went out for a-a walk and wanted to make sure you had come home safely.”

“As you can see, I made it back in one piece. Although, I did get my hair wet. Though, that's the least of my problems.”

“Do you mind if I-I-I take a seat?”

Patting the space beside you, you nodded. “Not at all.”

He set his umbrella to the side before he seated himself and turned towards you. His warmth radiated from him and being as tall as he was, the bench might’ve been too low to the ground since his legs seemed to stick out too much, but he made no complaint. From his inner labcoat pocket, he pulled out a small book. “I thought y-y-you might enjoy this.”

“A book?”

Handing it to you, he commented. “I thought y-you might enjoy this collection of poems. I um - I bookmarked my favorites but I'd like t-t-to know what your thoughts about them would be.”

You knew this whimsical creature was well-read in many respects, but you hadn’t given much thought to the possibility of including works of a more abstract nature. “Sure, that sounds lovely. Though, I hope you don't mind me asking. Do you read works like this often? It's not because I find it strange. Honestly, I find it fascinating and wonderful that you would even consider it, but I ask because I thought….well, I thought you only read serious works related to your work.”

Scratching the back of his neck, he explained. “I read whenever I-I-I find the time and it uh - it usually doesn’t matter what the subject may be. In the pursuit of knowledge, one reads everything. For example, th-the terms and conditions for some computer programs or limited warranties at times list amusing reasons why y-you might be able to get a replacement for a damaged product. It keeps things interesting.”

“I see. It certainly makes sense.”

With a smile, he sighed with contentment as he looked towards the street. “Boy, th-this weather reminds me of a certain poem. It's called um - it's called Lluvia. That's the Spanish word for rain.”

“That's right,” you remembered; his last name should’ve been a reminder enough. “you can speak Spanish. I forget sometimes since you only talk to me in English. So, tell me, how does this poem go?”

“Please forgive me since my Spanish is a-a little rusty.”

Taking a deep breath, he recited calmly. “Bruscamente l-la tarde se ha aclarado, porque y-ya cae la lluvia minuciosa. Cae o cayó. La lluvia es una c-cosa qué sin duda sucede en el pasado. Quien la oye caer ha recobrado, el t-tiempo en que la suerte venturosa. Le r-r-reveló una flor llamada rosa y el curioso color del c-colorado. Esta lluvia que ciega los cristales, alegrará en p-p-perdidos arrabales. Las negras uvas de una parra en cierto. Patio que ya no existe. La mojada, t-tarde me trae la voz, la voz deseada, de mi padre que vuelve y que no ha muerto.”

You stared at this man, amazed by his fluency and ability to fascinate you with the simplest things. Yet again, a reason to be marveled by him. “Whoa, I don't know what you said, but it sounded beautiful when you said it.”

Turning towards you, his smile seemed brighter than usual albeit a bit sheepish. "It's n-nothing special."

"But it is, especially since you can think and speak in more than one language. I can't do that."

"I-I can teach you if you'd like."

"No, that's okay. You're busy enough as it is, but I appreciate the thought. You really are so incredibly smart."

"And you…eres maravillosa."

"What?”

His smile faltered a bit, and he thought to himself for a bit on what he was about to say before his smile returned; albeit more gently. “Eres amable y-y dulce. No soy digno de una amiga como tu.”

“Rick,” you started; confused as to why there seemed to be some sort of admission that you weren’t able to understand. “all the poetic talk is lovely, but I don't think it's fair if you reply in a way I can't understand."

"Si pudieras entenderme," he sighed, wringing his hands in the nervous way he did. "me pregunto qué creerías si te expresara cuánto me preocupo por ti."

Raising from the bench, he said to himself. "Si puedo llegar a la luna, algun dia podria...¿Q-que estoy haciendo?"

"Rick?"

“I’m o-okay. I uh - I zoned out there for a second. I’m sorry.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

He studied you for a moment longer; a world of words unsaid in his melancholic glances. Was something secretly hurting him like it was hurting you? You could only wonder as thoughts were drowned out by the sound of the rain.

———————————-

It was warm and comfortable with him sitting beside you. His presence always provided a sense of calm that was softer and sweeter than that of the sedatives that eased your anxiety. Why you could fall asleep right here if it weren’t for that fact that you’d be mortified if you allowed it to happen.

“Are you a-a big fan of the rain?” he wondered.

This question had come after a half-hour of companionable silence. “Hmm, it’s not the rain so much as the memories that accompany it.”

“Do y-you want to talk about it?”

“Only if you don’t mind hearing it.”

“I-I don’t mind.” He reassured you.

“Well,” you started. “my dad enjoyed rainy days since he said the plants almost seemed to smile when rainwater hit their leaves.”

“Th-that’s a nice thought.“

“Yeah, I thought so too. When it rains like this, and I’m watching it fall,” you softened; feeling lighter because you had someone to share your thoughts with. “it feels like I’m looking through a curtain. It’s not completely see-through, but the shapes I can see appear softer and more mysterious like how you must’ve appeared when you showed up. Too bad I wasn’t paying attention.”

Oh, you did not just say that out loud. “Or something like that.” You added.

If he had noticed you had tripped over your words then he gave no indication of it. “Gosh, I-I never thought of it that way b-before. I usually see it as part of the pr-precipitation cycle and it smells nice, doesn't it?”

“It does. I wouldn’t mind bottling up this scent, but then it might lose what makes it special.”

Yet, if you could bottle up his scent, it would’ve been nice to keep nearby just in case you wanted a little piece of him.

“That um - that reminds me,” he brightened. “I had baked some mandarin scones before walking over tonight, and I-I-I thought you’d like t-t-t-t-to try them but I didn’t want to risk them getting wet. I-I thought we could share some over tea tomorrow if that’s alright with you.”

Tea time with Rick was like what others did over rounds of drinks; it was to unwind and talk about the day; minus the drunkenness and the unforeseen embarrassment. “Don’t you have to work tomorrow?”

“Gee, I um - I was supposed to, but there was a shift change. Actually, I have a shift t-t-tonight in a-about an hour, but I had wanted to make sure you were alright before I left.”

“Why?”

“Because I-I thought you were going t-to walk over.”

So he had thought the same thing. “Oh, well like I said earlier I had planned to or thought to, but the weather put a damper on things.”

“Yeah.”

“Though, isn’t it funny that we both had the same thought?”

He smiled at that. “It's because gr-great minds think alike.”

What right did he have to be this adorable you thought. All you could do was smile up at him and fight the urge to run your fingers through what appeared to be soft hair; as odd as you had initially thought his haircut was when you met him, you couldn’t imagine him any other way. Still, drawn to his bright, kind eyes, you wondered if you were being attracted by some invisible force to test the limits of this friendship, and yet you knew well enough that now wasn’t the time. Following a slow blink of his, you mentioned without looking away. “Now that we have gotten to see each other, it's probably time to let you go. I wouldn’t want you to be late for work.”

“Y-you’re right.” he straightened; jumping up on his feet with much more agility then seemed possible for someone so mature. “Until next time.”

There he was leaving again when you didn’t want him to. Still, you had no right or claim to him. At least, not yet. “See you tomorrow.”

Grabbing his umbrella, he motioned to open it but paused, and slowly, but surely turned back; his smile almost boyish. “Gosh, I-I will see you tomorrow, right?”

Clutching the book of poems to your breast, you giggled. “Whichever way it may be, we will. I promise.”

Fin

#doofus rick x reader #doofus rick #rick sanchez x female reader #j19z7 #j19ζ7 #j-19-zeta-7 #rick and morty #rnm fanfiction #rnm #Rick x reader #my fanfiction #my works #rick sanchez x reader #Rick Sanchez

[sarahwroteathing]

English 284 (1)

Word Count: 1495

Summary: Your proposal to teach a new class combining art and literature is accepted... under one little condition. (College AU)

Warnings: Language

A/N: We’re doing impulsive writing again because it worked well the last two times. Oof. Here we go again, folks. Image is of a painting mentioned in the chapter: “Ophelia” by Sir John Everett Millais. (Source)

Steve’s Perspective .

“Fellas, it’s happening!” you said, shoving the door of the lab open with your hip, laptop balanced precariously in your arms.

“Seriously? I changed the code yesterday! How did you get in here again?” Tony complained, letting his head fall forward onto the table with a dull thunk while Bruce scoffed.

“You changed it to my birthday, smartypants. Besides, my ID is still authorized on the card reader. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you enjoy my company.” 

You pulled a spare chair over to the table where Tony and Bruce were working, planting your own laptop primly on a stack of battered notebooks. Bruce’s probably. Tony abandoned paper ages ago. 

Despite the token protest, Tony was actually your closest friend at work, a pairing that completely baffled your colleagues. The specific brands of eccentricity displayed by English professors and Engineering professors didn’t tend to mix well. But the Dean of Studies, Pepper Potts, had recommended befriending Tony on your first day, and his quick humor and ostentatious confidence had effectively drowned out the imposter syndrome that plagued you during your first semester teaching. You’d met Bruce Banner only a few days later, and sharing lunches in Tony’s lab in the basement of the Engineering building had solidified into sacred tradition by the end of your second week. 

“Did you hear back about the new course proposal?” Bruce asked.

“Yes! I got the email notification on my way over here, but I haven’t opened it yet. Tony, tell me your wife isn’t going to break my heart.”

“We don’t talk about work at home. But I read your proposal, and it sounded… Well, I wouldn’t take that class, but it sounded like something Pepper would be into.”

You squirmed anxiously in your seat, logging into your email with a deep breath. You’d worked on this course proposal for the better part of a month, editing and re-editing the syllabus at least a dozen times. You had titled the course “The Painted Word.” A full semester class studying famous myths, plays, poems, and novels and the works of art they inspired. 

The idea formed when a picture of Sir John Everett Millais’s “Ophelia” i had sparked a lively debate among the students in your Shakespeare seminar. You’d spent the next week researching artistic representation of iconic characters and stories, and when you’d given a few of your classes the soft pitch of the course, you’d acquired more than enough signatures on the interest form to issue a formal request with the Dean of Studies. Being met with such enthusiasm had lulled you into a sense of security and excitement. In your mind, the course was already set in stone. Which is exactly why the email on your screen landed like a gut punch. 

“She said no?” you asked faintly, your eyes scanning and rescanning the first sentence. “While I appreciate your enthusiasm and the care and attention you put into your work, I do not feel that I can approve the course as you’ve submitted it.” 

You blinked owlishly but made no move to intervene when Tony snatched your laptop from its place in front of you. Bruce rolled his chair to read over Tony’s shoulder, and they wore twin expressions of puzzled displeasure which would have made you laugh if not for the current state of your professional goals. 

“She didn’t say no! It’s conditional approval,” Tony corrected, his expression clearing as he reached to roll your chair closer to him. “Look.”

I’m intrigued by the course description you’ve laid out here, and it certainly has no equivalent in our current course catalogue. I think we would be remiss to limit the course to the English Department and encourage you to consider an interdisciplinary approach with the Art Department. If you’re willing to collaborate with one of their professors so that students can benefit from the expertise of both relevant disciplines and gain credit with either department, I’d be happy to approve the course for the spring semester. I’d recommend getting in touch with Steven G. Rogers. He has taught a number of interdisciplinary courses during his time here, and I believe he would be a helpful resource for you. 

“She doesn’t think I can handle this on my own?” you asked, running your hands through your hair in frustration. “I have a Ph. D, dammit! I don’t need a babysitter.” 

“I’m sure that’s not what she meant,” Bruce said, reaching around Tony to squeeze your shoulder. “She just wants to open up the class a little more. You know the college has been pushing for more interdisciplinary classes.”

“Who the hell is Steven G. Rogers, and why does she think the sun shines out of his ass,” you muttered grumpily, determined to hold onto your bitterness just a little longer. 

“The sun couldn’t possibly shine out of his ass with the stick he keeps up there,” Tony said mildly, shocking a laugh out of you.

“Oh, God, tell me I won’t be stuck teaching with a stuffy old grump for a whole semester.”

“I’ve never had someone ask me to lie to them before. This is a weird feeling. Takes the fun out of it, almost.”

“He’s not that bad,” Bruce protested. 

“How do you both know this guy? I’ve never heard of him before in my life. This is - ” 

You broke off with a sigh, reclaiming your laptop and searching the faculty directory. 

“Why does this stupid website never have any pictures,” you complained, scrolling through his profile. 

“Be grateful. It would only make it worse for you,” Tony said with a smirk before smacking your hand away from the keyboard. “Wait, wait, wait! Does that say ‘Gentle Yoga?’ What the hell does that mean?”

“Yoga but in a sweater? On a pile of pillows and he braids your hair after?”

Tony snorted and started to respond, but you clapped your hand over his mouth immediately.

“Shut up. I heard it as soon as I said it. Don’t make it worse.” 

“It’s just low impact yoga. Lighter stretches. For people who don’t feel comfortable or able to do standard level yoga. We usually get a few students with sports injuries or disabilities.”

You and Tony both turned to look at Bruce, staring in silent shock for a few moments before speaking.

“...Did you say we? Why did you say we?”

“Bruce, do you have something you’d like to tell me?”

Bruce rolled his eyes, pushing up from his seat and crossing to his bag on the other side of the room, very pointedly ignoring you and Tony who were frantically scooting after him in your rolly chairs. 

“Bruce!” 

He had pulled out his phone and was typing something, but he pivoted to block your view when you tried to peek.

“I’m texting Steve to see if he has any open spaces in his teaching schedule next semester. You’re welcome.” 

“Why do you have his number?”

“Because we take turns teaching gentle yoga, which I’m pretty sure you’ve already figured out at this point, so drop it. And Tony has his number too by the way.”

“What?”

“Judas.”

“I thought you said he had a stick up his ass?”

“Well, the stick is sometimes useful, okay? And he’s not the worst person I’ve met. After a few whiskeys, he even approaches fun.” 

You let out an incredulous laugh, abandoning your chair to pace the length of the lab. 

“So you’re saying I should give this guy a shot?” you asked, massaging your temples against the stress headache that was starting to creep in. 

Bruce’s phone chimed quietly.

“He says he has an open space. Should I put in a good word for you?”

You wandered back towards your laptop, looking wistfully over your syllabus. 

“What are the chances this class will still be recognizable after his input?” you asked mournfully.

“You can change your mind and say no if you disagree with him. Find someone else,” Bruce said with a shrug. 

“And he’ll pull his weight?”

“He’ll pull all the weight unless you strongarm him out of it,” Tony said with a laugh. “Look, Pep knows what she’s doing. If she thinks you two would work well together, she’s probably right. Her last recommendation turned out alright, didn’t it?”

“You keep trying to lock me out of your lab,” you pointed out half-heartedly, but you gave a nod to Bruce who immediately started typing. 

“Yeah, well. Gotta keep you on your toes.”

“He said to send him the syllabus and let him know when you can meet to talk about it,” Bruce cut in, tucking his phone back into his bag. 

You let out a deep sigh, nerves already fluttering to life in your stomach at the thought of having to pitch this class to a colleague again. 

“What are the chances this turns into a huge disaster?” 

“I’d say about 50/50. Either way, it’ll be entertaining.”

“Tony!”

“What? She asked!”

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

Alright guys, what do we think? Are you into it? Excited? How do you think the meeting will go? Do you wanna read more? Let me know! Asks, reblogs, and replies make the world go ‘round!

Part 2

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

Tags: @aubzylynn @shifutheshihtzu @internalbullshit @lilasiannerd-blog @kennadance14 @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @iwillbeinmynest  @scotlandasshole @netflixa @hardcorehippos @singingprincessstudent @sophiealiice @blue1928 @tinuviel015 @jacks-on-krack @a-book-pressed-rose @fvckjamesbarnes @bbparker @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @feelmyroarrrr @breezy1415 @orangespocks @multifandomgirl-us​ @majesticavenger​ @buckybarneshairpullingkink​ @patzammit​ @pato-el-cerdito​

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers series #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fic

[spaceskam]

prompt from anon: I noticed this posted on another blog, not sure if you’re taking requests. But Vlamis posting a picture packing a blunt also made me think of sleepy and lazy Malex sex after smoking together. Even Forrest and Alex? Feel like Forrest would be all aboard the pot train. Just makes me feel like a lazy early summer evening when it’s still kinda cool out and smoking just feels that much better. 

ao3

Michael Guerin had spent a lot of time reminding himself of Alex Manes’ beauty. And, yet, nothing he could picture in his mind compared to the real thing.

Alex had turned up at his door, still in his fatigues and his eyes quietly pleading for assistance in getting out of them. Every time he showed up, he was always itching to shed them and, with his hair buzzed all short, Michael always had to assume he wanted a moment to be himself. Who was Michael if not a master at giving him what he wanted?

Like any other time, Michael pulled the 24-year-old into his trailer, silently undoing his uniform jacket. The first time he’d done this had required a lot of assistance--these things were ridiculously complicated and layered--but now he’d gotten it to a science. As an act of sheer defiance, he threw it on the ground and threw his hat right after it. Alex looked at it for a moment, conflicted on whether he should let it go on or if he should fold it nice and neat. Michael stole his attention by pressing a kiss to his lips and undoing his belt.

Michael stripped him bare, including his underwear and socks, and it should’ve been weird. If it were him and he was standing naked in front of someone that wasn’t Alex who was fully clothed, he’d probably feel so vulnerable that it’d hurt. But Alex was just leaning into him for comfort, not giving a damn what he looked like because he knew Michael didn’t mind. Which, in itself, was an understatement.

“Not sure if I believe in a big man upstairs, but, if he's here, he took a lot of time makin' you perfect," Michael told him, smiling as Alex huffed a tired laugh against his neck.

Michael let his fingertips slide over the ridges of Alex's military-primed body and over his slim waist waist and his hips and the curve of his ass, a silent praise of every inch that made up Alex Manes. He shivered slightly in his grasp and Michael pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his shoulder before peeling off him.

He moved to his makeshift closet and pulled out a shirt, boxers, sweats, and socks for Alex. They were what Alex always wore whenever he came down. Michael redressed him slowly, pressing kisses wherever he could because he knew Alex liked it. He'd learned quick that he would do whatever Alex liked.

Once he was fully dressed, Alex fell heavily on him and Michael wrapped him up in his arms. He breathed him in and kissed his jaw before just nuzzling close, swaying slighty. He could never get enough.

"You're tense," Michael murmured as he rubbed over his shoulders, "When's your next drug test, Private?"

"Guerin," Alex sighed lightly. They fell silent for a moment, nothing but their breathing. Michael didn't prod, but he also knew him. Anything that put him in a position that he couldnt escape quickly made him antsy. Getting high meant he was stuck with Michael until that wore off.

But, as much as his military brain told him not to put himself in a compromising position with another man, Alex Manes wanted nothing more than to be in compromising positions with him.

"I just took mine for the year last month and I'm home for a month," Alex told him, leaning back a little. He put a hand on Michael's cheek, his thumb grazing over his bottom lip. His eyes focused in on his mouth for a few moments before he sleepily dragged himself out of it. "What'd you have in mind?"

A few minutes later, they were in the front seat of Michael's truck and heading out into their spot in the desert. Alex, softened from a long plane ride and months of "special training, can't talk about it", cuddled up into his side. He always only did that on his first night back, always giving himself that little window of being young and attached again. Michael savored it.

He put his truck in park as he got to their spot and cut the engine. Alex didn't give him a chance to move before he grabbed his chin, bringing his face his direction before giving him a soft kiss. One kiss dragged to the next dragged to the next, every movement slow and lethargic and sucking Michael of every last fucking brain cell. He didn't know how to explain how much he'd missed him.

Alex's hand wandered lower as his tongue teased against lips, distracting Michael just enough to steal the joint from his pocket before sliding out of the passenger door. He left Michael hanging mid-kiss which instigated a soft laugh. Michael licked his lips, still tasting Alex on them before he slid out of the driver's side and followed Alex into the bed. He'd already undone a sleeping bag, making himself comfortable inside. Michael eyed him as he sat beside him, grabbing a blanket to drape over him.

"Lighter?" Alex asked. Michael slid closer, grabbing a lighter out of his pocket. Alex leaned close and let him light the joint for him. Michael watched in sort of a trance as Alex breathed in, his eyes closing and he leaned back.

He slowly pulled it out of his mouth and blew out a puff of smoke. Michael leaned in, inhaling it secondhand. Alex peeked his eyes open and smiled. God, he was gorgeous, what the fuck.

Alex took another drag, this time holding it and reaching out with his bare hand to grab the back of Michael's head. He pulled him close and breathed the smoke directly into his mouth, lips so close to touching and all. Michael shut his eyes as he breathed in. They sat there close for a moment before they slightly shifted their position into kiss. It was just as slow as Michael’s mind felt and only ended when Alex nudged him back slightly and held out the joint.

They passed it back and forth, still staying close. There was something so undeniably sexy about him dressed head to toe in Michael’s clothes and cuddling into them. Part of him wanted to rip them off him so he could feel his skin, but another part wanted him to stay just like that forever.

Slowly, as they came to a stopping point, they let the high slowly sink into their system. Alex seemed a little more effected, a little more smiley, a little more amused by the sky, a little more willing to curl tug on Michael’s curls just to watch them spring back into place.

“Hmm, you were right,” Alex said, “I think I needed this.”

“Yeah, I think you did too,” Michael chuckled. He was still as close as he could get, that stupid sleeping bag the main thing separating them. He raked his hand through Alex’s short hair and got lost in the way he almost giggled.

“I like you so much,” he said. Michael grinned, his hand sliding to cup the side of his neck. Alex sighed heavily, leaning into it. “Why are you so far away?”

“Me far away? You’re the one traveling to fight wars in the Middle East,” Michael pointed out. Alex laughed a little more and shrugged.

“Yeah, but you are so far when I’m there,” Alex pointed out.

“But I’m always here when you come home, that’s gotta count for somethin’,” Michael laughed right back. Alex smiled all wide.

“Yeah,” he said, looking at him through half-lidded eyes, “Yeah, it counts.”

They stared at each other for a little before meeting in another kiss. There had to be something poetic about kissing under the stars in the desert. Michael hadn’t quite found the poem yet, but he knew it had to exist. Maybe he needed to write himself. But even he couldn’t find the words to do Alex justice, so maybe not.

Maybe this moment alone could stand as their poem. Would his 10th grade English teacher accept that?

“Why are you laughing while you’re kissing me? What’s funny about kissing me?” Alex asked. Michael scrunched up his nose, noticing that he was laughing before he tilted to kiss his cheek.

“Just thinkin’ about something funny,” Michael said. Alex gave an over exaggerated pout that.

“Think about me,” Alex demanded. Michael wanted to get him high more.

“Well, that’s the world’s easiest request.”

“Can I give a harder request?” Alex asked. Michael raised an amused eyebrow, already ready to laugh before Alex asked. “Get in here with me.”

“It’s a one person sleeping bag.”

“Oh, what a shame it’ll be to be pressed so close to you that you’re all I can feel, I’m so--”

They were both silenced by laughter as Michael started trying to climb into sleeping bag. It took a little maneuvering, a lot of laughing, and the perfect amount of pressing together. Alex wrapped his arms around his neck and interlocked their legs. Eventually, they settled in comfortably and laughter subsided.

“Hi,” Alex whispered. Michael smiled again and bumped his nose into Alex’s.

“Hi.”

Alex pulled him into a kiss easily, everything just as slow as it’d been all night. Michael would never admit it, perhaps because he could never find the words, but he liked when Alex went all slow. It made it feel like they weren’t racing against the clock to be with each other, there was no rush. It was just them, both in Michael’s secondhand, soft clothes. There was no reason to pretend the had a time limit. Michael knew they didn’t. Yes, Alex would leave, but he would come back. One day, he would stay. It was okay. No time limit on them, just a time limit on him being gone.

“Sometimes... Sometimes when I’m out in the desert, the other desert,” Alex said against his lips suddenly, voice soft like he was telling a secret, “I can only think of you. And sometimes, when we get high, I’m so scared that when it wears off, it’s all gonna be gone. You’re gonna be gone. I’m in the wrong desert.”

Michael swallowed harshly, the giggly mood gone for good. He slid his hand up Alex’s side, hoping to make him realize that he was real. He was here. He was going nowhere.

“I’m not gonna be gone,” Michael promised him.

“I know,” Alex whispered, “But...”

“No. You’re in the right desert. I can prove it to you,” Michael insisted.

“How?” Alex asked.

Michael thought about it. How could he prove it? Part of him considered digging behind the seat in his truck to see if he could find his microscope, but he figured Alex wouldn’t know what a slide of the Middle Eastern desert looked like in comparison. Instead, he rolled slightly so Alex was on his back and Michael hung over him.

“We’ll wait it out,” he said, “And it’ll all be real.”

“Okay,” Alex agreed, pulling him into another kiss.

They just kissed for awhile, the sleeping bag too tight to really allow them to do anything more than half-assed dry humping and groping. Honestly, neither of them seemed to mind. It brought back memories from back during the summer after high school where they had Alex’s 15 minute break to hook up in the bathroom of the UFO Emporium but were too scared to risk anything more.

But tonight it was just easy. He was at peace and Alex seemed to be more sure that Michael was indeed right there with every passing second. He didn’t want to leave.

Eventually though, as it stared getting closer to 3 in the morning, they slowly decided they should go back to the airstream. It took them longer than they’d ever repeat to get out of that damn sleeping bag.

On the ride back, Alex was curled against him again, this time humming along to the radio and telling him impulsive stories about that super classified shit he was doing that he really shouldn’t be sharing. Michael knew he’d kept bigger secrets, so it wasn’t too big a deal.

“So, you’re gonna become, like, an officer?” Michael asked as they pulled up to the airstream. Alex nodded.

“Yeah, the plan is to eventually outrank my dad and then laugh at him,” Alex said. Michael snorted.

“I believe in you.”

They fell into bed and Alex felt right beside him. He seemed to snuggle up so close that there was no chance of him picking up and leaving before the morning came. Of course, Michael had thought that before.

Still, he smiled as he wrapped Alex up in his arms and he gave that sweet little pleased hum. Alex pressed his face against his neck, huddling close.

“I like being so close to you,” Alex said. Michael smiled.

“I like being close to you too.”

Michael couldn’t wait until the future when he never had to be far away.

(ps if you enjoyed any of this at all, go read @prouvaireafterdark ‘s slightly sillier, slight smuttier fic with a similar premise)

#malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #roswell new mexico #my fic

[darktypeimagines]

hi there! im a bit new here but i really love your writing a whole lot!! could you maybe possibly do a drabble for piers who has a crush on a fellow musician who makes indie music and also really likes him back and they keep writing songs about eachother until one of them is finally like "oh thats about me" ?

So… uh, I wanted to write actual song verses… but I’m terrible at it, so I spared you the pain of that.  I hope you like it, though. 😊  This ended up being slow-burn-y, so sorry if that’s not what you meant.

Definition of a drabble (according to google): “Traditionally, a drabble is a piece of fiction that is exactly 100 words long.”  HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! nope.  Put it under a read more because it’s much, much longer than my usual posts.

 ———————————————————————————

It wasn’t often Piers completely and totally fell for someone.

But there was just something captivating about you; the way you carried yourself, the type of music you crafted.   The verses clung to him and he caught himself humming the melodies as he went about his day.

He knew he had a problem when he checked his playlist and found he’s listened to one of your songs 50 times in one week.  And it was proven when, after catching a glimpse of you at an indie music festival, he felt that familiar electricity overcome him.  Head to toe, in his gut, stopping his breath short. But before he could react, you disappeared behind the crowd once more.

He had a problem.  He had fallen for someone he had never met.  Someone he knew only from sight and song.

Piers ignored the feelings. It was just a crush.  It would fade in time.

It did not.

And, what was worse was, without even realizing it, he wrote you into a few poems he jotted down.  It was a nighttime habit he had, all the way back from his teenage years.  When he was trying to figure out a song, he’d write a poem first, then adapt it.  

So, as he laid curled up in bed, Obstagoon cuddled up next to him, he scribbled out his thoughts.  The light was dim, as always; he’d put on a lamp, but that’d require waking up his Pokemon. Plus, there was just something about the soft flicker of a half-broken neon sign that felt… right?  Probably just nostalgia, growing up in Spikemuth, where everything seemed to be just barely holding on.

As he struggled to read his own scratchings in the unstable light, the realization overcame him.  When he started, he wrote vaguely.  The poem-turned-song wasn’t supposed to be about anyone specific.  But, somehow, someway, his stifled thoughts ended up on paper.  And in reading it over, it wasn’t just about you; it was about his feelings for you.

It made him extremely uncomfortable and he didn’t know what to do.

For now, he tucked the notebook away, and finally turned on the light.

Months went by.  The two of you kept passing each other by, but never exchanged a single word.  While Piers still had feelings for you, they weren’t as suffocating as before.  Fortunately for him.

But as he walked through Spikemuth on a chilly autumn day, he heard a familiar voice echo through the metal and concrete alleyways.  He could tell he was coming from a radio, probably from inside someone’s house, at full blast.  Piers stuck around to listen to the rest of the song in full, feeling increasingly drawn to it as he made out the words.  He already missed half of it, but got the gist of the theme: a missed connection, regret for what could have been.

For some reason… He couldn’t shake the feeling it was almost as though the song was describing… him?  Was he just imagining it?  But then, the music cut to reveal the ending sung as acapella.

And it was you.  Your voice. Between feeling that the song was about him, and then suddenly realizing it was your song, he suddenly felt unsteady on his feet.  He had the distinct feeling of wanting to run away and run toward the problem at the same time.

He went straight home, and after restlessly trying to figure out what to do, he turned to what he did best: writing music.  After several long nights, many hours of lovesick doubt, and one instance of nearly scrapping everything, he finally had something he felt he could release, loosely based on the poem from months before.  Normally, it would take far too long for him to work through the all the hoops in order to get it officially released.  But, luckily, there was a small concert planned in Spikemuth; he wasn’t originally going to perform, but he could easily change that… Plus, he knew you were already scheduled to perform there.

The night of the concert came.  It was rainy, but one of the few benefits of living in Spikemuth was protection from the elements.  The rain pattering on the metal above was a familiar sound, but it would soon be drowned out by music.

Despite it being a smaller concert, a few vendors and a food truck showed up.  The stalls held both official and unofficial merch, but no one really minded in this city. This wasn’t Wyndon, after all.  As the first fan trickled in, picking spots and browsing the pop-up shops, Piers scanned around for you. It seemed like you hadn’t shown up yet.

And, he soon got distracted by his own fans, and wasn’t able to look for you.  Before he knew it, the concert was about to begin.  He looked up to the stage and his breath hitched as he saw it was you.  All he could focus on was you, the spell only tightening its grip as your song began.  It was the same one he heard on the radio, but seeing a performance in person is always a different experience.

Time seemed to slow and it was though no one else was around.  While he felt the song was about him before, that feeling was magnified now.  And finally, at the last line, you made eye contact with him and smiled.  With a fluttering heart, he managed to return the smile.  That moment, which was likely just that, stretched on longer in his mind.  Time snapped back in place, and you exited the stage, where Piers lost sight of you.

His thoughts were cluttered for the rest of the concert. So, when he bought his mic up to the stage and prepared himself, he felt something he hadn’t felt since the very beginning of his music career; nerves.  They never really went away, of course, but this was the first time in a long time that he could remember feeling nervous about how people would react. How you would react.

It was a rocky start.  He started on the first verses and was a little out of tune.  But then he caught a glimpse of you again, all the way in the back, and the words came easily.  

He hadn’t meant to stare at you the entire time, but he just couldn’t help it.  The song was meant for you, after all.

Overall, the song was an obvious response to yours.  Anyone who was paying attention could tell.  Similar theming; a lost chance at love.  There were even lines that were basically spin offs of yours.  But there was one main difference.  His song ended on a line that expressed he still had hope they would meet someday. Another chance.

Either it was one of his best songs, or the crowd was super hyped. The cheering continued far after he exited the stage.  They were so excited, Piers decided to wait in the musicians’ lobby in an adjacent building rather than rejoining the crowd.  It was already an emotional day and he just needed a break.  He scrolled through his phone mindlessly, trying to get his mind off of things, but it didn’t help much.

The music quieted, as did the crowd.  The last act had finished and it seemed people were heading out.  Piers thought about heading home himself, but figured he’d wait just a bit longer.  After hearing the door creak, he looked up and stiffened.  As what was becoming the usual, your sudden appearance surprised him again.

The two of you stared at each other for a few moments, only the pinging of rain on metal between you.

“Hey… What’re you still here for?” He asked tentatively.

You sat down on the couch beside him.  He seemed to tense up.  He sat hunched over a bit, fiddling with a black ring on his index finger.  He would occasionally glance at you, but not for long.

“You like the concert?  I know it wasn’t much, but I hope you liked it.” He paused.  “I’m glad you were able to come.  Made my day.”

You told him the same, and began gushing about his song.  He smiled, holding eye contact with you.

“Yeah, I heard your song on the radio.  Took a bit of inspiration an’ made something of my own. Couldn’t help it.  What you wrote was just one of those songs that gets you in the heart, you know?”

You knew.

“So…” He sighs, “I s'ppose I may as well ask.  Maybe I’m just imagining things, but- you wanna get together?  Or at least get to know each other? Dunno if you realized it, but that new song was meant to be about you.”

You had an inkling.  But it overjoyed you to hear him say it.  He seemed to notice your reaction and grinned.  And then, you told him the truth; that YOUR song was also about him!

Piers sat straight up for a moment, then relaxed, still smiling.

“That settles that, then.  Guess I was right all along.” He fidgeted a bit with his choker. “So… was that a yes, right?”

Of course it was.

#piers #piers x reader #pokemon #pokemon swsh #pokemon imagines #pokemon sword and shield #x reader #ask #scenario #darktypeimagines

[softestgentlest]

Lily & Harry - high school fanfic

Harry Styles.

Harry fucking Styles.

An egotistical, quick witted asshole with a silver tongue and easy charisma.

He's also irritatingly privileged; not only is he filthy fucking rich, but he's also extraordinarily intelligent, and to top it all off, positively, mercilessly, despicably gorgeous. As if he wasn't already dealt the winning hand, his otherworldly physical attractiveness afforded him the freedom to do whatever the hell he pleased, whenever, and wherever he wanted to do it.

And, of course, in some cruel twist of fate, he most often chose to utilize his influence by victimizing me: Lillian Mercier, a quiet, harmless junior, whose sole desire is to graduate ASAP, so I can move onto Cambridge University by the Fall of next year.

I'm on track to receive my diploma a year early, according to my guidance counselor, but I've got to keep my GPA above a 3.8 at least, if I have any hope of getting admitted into my uni of choice.

My mind is humming, sifting through upcoming exams, assignments, papers that need writing, and a number of other priorities as I open up my locker.

I'm just pulling out my SAT prep book, when a series of excited murmurs echo through the crowded hallway. A girl a few feet away turns, whispering to her friend, "I think my ovaries just exploded, dude. Look at Harry's haircut."

I roll my eyes, swapping the prep book with the AP English text that's currently weighing down my bag. I try to focus on my mental "to do" list, but I'm now annoyingly in-tune with the girl's conversation, unable to block them out.

"I know! How could he have gotten even hotter? And look at his outfit...like, he can literally make anything look good."

"Oh my goooodd dude, he's graduating this year. I honestly think I'll die, like, he's the only thing that makes this school tolerable."

"Shhhh, they're coming over here."

The girls go quiet, and I tense, keeping my eyes trained on the interior of my locker. Harry will be graduating at the end of the year, as he's a senior, and with that knowledge, I feel intensely relieved.

Even if I can't graduate early, he'll be gone, and I'll actually be able to enjoy my senior year.

A smile plays across my lips as I stretch to reach the top shelf of my locker, standing on my tippy toes. I'm 5'3, and these lockers were clearly built by men of average height, with little to no regard for high schoolers of smaller statures.

I know I threw some flash cards up there in the rush to make the bus yesterday, but even when I step up and onto the metal base of my assigned storage space, I still can't seem to-

I gasp, as I lose my footing and fall backwards. Luckily - or, maybe unluckily - my fall is broken by something solid. I hear a soft grunt, and large hands grip my waist, steadying me.

I pant, pressing a hand to my racing heart, when I feel something soft brush against the sensitive shell of my ear, "good morning to you too, clumsy."

I shiver, and pull away, immediately recognizing that deep, accented voice as it burns hotly into my skin.

Do not engage, I mentally remind myself, forcing my trembling hands to occupy themselves with the contents of my backpack.

He tssks, clicking his tongue, "Aren't you going to thank me?"

"Thanks." I concede through gritted teeth.

He chuckles, leaning too close for comfort once again, "it was my pleasure, Lillian." His voice drops an octave on the word 'pleasure,' giving it an unnecessarily sexual undertone, if only to get under my skin.

At the corner of my vision, I see his shadowed silhouette as he leans against the locker beside mine, tall and domineering as ever.

I ignore his presence, slowly zippering up my bag, and securing my lock, before reluctantly turning to face him.

The first thing I notice is the lack of hair. What had once been long, lustrous, chocolaty curls, is now shortened gossamer strands of hair falling over his forehead in a provocative, untidy tumble. The new cut exposes his defined jawline, and those sharp, light catching cheekbones.

As usual, he's dressed to the nines, somehow managing to make his unexpected attire look effortlessly appealing. Today, he's clad in a strange mix of professional, and bohemian pieces: a blue and white checkered wool jacket, a dark pinstriped suit, a red beaded necklace. He's got on bright pink socks, and white loafers, and his signature assortment of rings.

I clear my throat when he catches me checking him out, "Harry, I didn't know you could sew."

He looks perplexed, considering my assumption with furrowed brows, "I can't."

"Oh, then I suppose it was your mother who made that jacket from one of her tablecloths?"

He tilts his head to one side, and runs his fingers roughly through his freshly cut curls, "this," he snarks, smoothing his hands down the woolen fabric, "is a $2,000 jacket, love."

I roll my eyes, hitching my bag over my shoulder, and turn to walk away, only to come face to face with Mitch and Nick, two of Harry's equally asinine friends.

"Excuse me." I prompt. The two boys ignore me, smirking over my head at their scumbag leader.

I huff, turning back around, knowing full well that they aren't going to do anything unless he commands it. "I don't have time for this, Harry." I cross my arms, pursing my lips in annoyance, "I'm gonna be late to class, and so are you."

His mouth curves dangerously, drawing my attention to the pillow-soft push of his lips. "And we wouldn't want that, now would we, Lillian?" he pronounces my name so that it drips from his shapely lips leisurely, provocatively. "What with your big plans to graduate early."

Immediately, I recoil, meeting his expectant stare with wide eyes, "H-how...?"

"Oh, you thought I wouldn't find out?" He pushes off the lockers, Stepping closer, "did you know that you're GPA is just .01 points less than mine?" His voice is honeyed, sickeningly sweet - it sets off warning bells in my head.

I swallow nervously, taking a small step backwards, "I don't see what that has to do with my plan-"

"Oh, but it has everything to do with your plans." Again, he advances, but this time I hold my ground, tilting my head to meet his stare, "you see, we weren't competing before...not really. But, if you graduate ahead of your class and maintain that same GPA, well...Cambridge won't even look at me, regardless of my achievements, because you'll have the edge."

I blink, processing his words, "You want to go to Cambridge...?"

He quirks a dark brow, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

I'm dumbfounded, "But...but I-you...but-that's just ridiculous!" I nearly stomp my foot at the sheer absurdity of the notion, but opt to clench my fists at my sides instead.

He looks utterly amused, and leans a bit closer, a challenge in his eyes: "is that right?"

"Why would you want to go to Cambridge?!" I note how whiny my voice sounds, but I'm too distressed to care.

He's full on grinning now, his emerald eyes dancing with glee. "wouldn't you like to know" He purrs in that slow, sexy drawl, his voice dropping so low that it can only be heard by the two of us.

It is then that the bell rings, shrill and disruptive, tearing me from his trance-like stare.

I realize how close we've gotten, our faces perhaps six inches apart. I can feel the warmth of his body radiating off of him and wrapping around me. Before I can stop myself, I inhale his intoxicating scent: spicy and earthy and masculine, like cigarettes and pine and the leather spines of old books.

For a fraction of a second, my eyes slip shut...he smells so damn good.

Then, just as quickly, I blink, and step back, my heart racing in my chest. I did NOT just...

He straightens, raking his eyes over my trembling frame with an air of affected smugness. Silently, he steps the side, watching me as I collect myself, an embarrassing blush infusing my cheeks.

Slowly, I move down the hallway towards my class, uncharacteristically unconcerned with the possibility of being marked tardy. I can tell that he's following, as students all around turn to stare behind me. We're in the same English class.

My brain seems to have gone into overdrive, conjuring up insane reasons for why I'd smelled him and liked it enough to consider doing it again. Impossible. Harry's a prick. The bane of my existence. Sure, he's wildly attractive, but never have I ever been even remotely interested in him...sexually. So what the hell was that?

Why am I all hot and blushing and trembly? Why?! Especially after he'd dropped the Cambridge bomb! I mean, really? Of all the schools for him to choose, it had to be my dream school. And of the thousands of people I'll be competing with to be admitted, it just had to be him.

Harry's one of the smartest people I've ever met, and he's got the resources and connections to get into any school he wants. The chances of two kids from the same high school getting into Cambridge are absolutely zero, and whether I graduate early or not, Harry's a shoe in for a spot there - he's the ideal student: rich and intelligent and driven, with a shit ton of community service and extracurriculars under his belt, and with a number of published poems and short stories.

He'll take my spot there just by aiming his perfect white grin in the right direction. And if we were both admitted, by some miracle, that would be even worse! 6 more years with him?! I'd die. I couldn't take it. I'd-

"Ah!" I gasp, colliding with a tall boy for the second time today. My books fly out of my arms again, and I fall flat in my ass with a soft yelp of pain.

"Woah! Are you ok?" A voice asks, and I glance up to find a familiar blonde boy looking down at me.

"Um, y-yeah." I say, quickly moving to stand up. Like a gentleman, he reaches down, offering me a hand, and I take it, allowing him to pull me gently to my feet. "Uh, sorry about that. I wasn't paying attention..." I smile sheepishly,

"Oh, no, it's totally fine." He grins back, then kneels down to pick up my books. "As long as your ok."

"Really, I'm fine." I giggle, kneeling down to help. "Your Neil, right? I think we have psych together?"

He hands me my things, standing up, "close! It's Niall, and yeah, 6th period right?"

I nod, "Niall. Yeah, I'm Lily. I'm the one always shouting out the answers and then getting yelled at." I giggle nervously, feeling a little self conscious around this boy with pretty blue eyes and a kind smile.

He laughs, "well, I'm definitely not one to shout out answers. I'm terrible at Psych." He gestures for me to walk with him, and I do, "I'll walk you to your class, just to make sure your alright."

I roll my eyes playfully, but follow, "I already ran into you. Don't let me be the reason that your late to class too."

I lead the way to the English wing, and we joke lightly about our Psych teacher, Mrs. Campbell. By the time we've arrived, the bell has rung, and I know that he's going to be late because of me, but he doesn't seem to care.

"Hey," he calls out, just as I'm about to open the door to my classroom, "maybe you could tutor me sometime? In Psych? You always seem to be yelling the right answers, and I could really use the help..." he rubs the back of his neck nervously, and I can't help but smile at how cute he looks.

"It's the least I can do after running into you." I say, "let's talk in class later?"

"Yeah, sure!" He backs down the hallway, "I'll see you then, Lily!"

When I enter the classroom, there's still a smile on my face, and I quietly make my way to an empty seat in the back. My teacher, Mr. Gray, shoots me an inquisitive look, since I'm not one to show up late to my favorite class, but he doesn't call me out on it.

"Alright guys," he says, "while I was reading you essay submissions from last week, I noticed quite a few spelling errors, so I thought we might have a little bit of a...spelling bee today, just to see where we all stand when it comes to commonly misspelled words." The class groaned collectively, and he laughed, "nothing to worry about. This won't count for a grade, I just want a chance to see where everyone stands. It'll be fun!"

Mr. Gray proceeded to split the class into two groups, and two at a time, he called students up to the board, and in tournament fashion, the winner played the winner from the opposite team. I could tell that he was saving certain students for the end, since they would likely beat out all the competition, thereby depriving their teammates of turns. By the time it got to me, only a few students were left on the opposing team.

"Ok, Kim," he called to my competitor, "your word is Accidentally" Kim correctly spelled two words, and then swapped out with another teammate, Jamie, who only beat me on one word.

"Alright, this is it, guys. Last two. Harry, join Lily up front."

Immediately, my eyes found him, just as the rest of the class turned to watch him rising from his seat. He took a step towards me. Then another. I sort of shivered, watching him move, observing his long legs, slowly closing the space between us with their every measured step. There's something almost feline about it - the way he moves - very masculine...and very...sexual, if that makes any sense at all.

I averted my eyes as he took up the space beside me. Again, the drowsy scent of books and pine with undertones of coffee and tobacco invaded my senses, and I felt my knees threatening to buckle.

"Harry, your word is 'allegiance'"

I felt him smiling, tasted his smooth baritone, skating hotly down my spine: "A-L-L-E-G-I-A-N-C-E. Allegiance."

"Lily, controversy."

I spelled it correctly and held my breath, gazing stubbornly straight ahead.

"Harry, 'immediately.'" He did the same.

"perseverance"

"Accommodate"

"I-N-T-E-L-L-I-G-E-N-C-E, Intelligence." I glanced over at Harry, noting the look of intense boredom on his face as he stared off into the distance. Clearly, this was too easy for both of us.

"Too easy is it, Lillian?"

"Uh, w-what?" I snapped out of my reverie, glancing at Mr. Gray, who looked rather amused.

"If you think it's too easy, we can really put you two to the test. What do you think class?" Mr. Gray looked around, and the class erupted into excited giggles and shouts.

Realizing my mistake, I felt my cheeks flush hot with embarrassment, "oh I-I didn't m-mean to say that um...out loud sir..."

The damage had already been done. Mr. Gray grinned, clearly excited to have piqued the class's interest, "alright then, let's try....sacrilegious."

Harry, looking rather more alert than he had before, turned to look at me, holding my stare even as each honeyed letter fell from his lips "S-A-C-R-I-L-E-G-I-O-U-S" the flecks of gold in his eyes danced, embers crackling, glittering.

"Conscientious, Lily."

"Oh, um..." I quickly averted my gaze, glancing nervously at my trembling fingers, "C-O-N..." my heart wobbled in my chest. What's comes next? "...S-C-I-E-N-T-I-O-U-S, Conscientious." I want this to be over...

Harry chuckled beside me, low and slow. I felt his eyes on me. "bureaucratic." He spelled, quick as a whip, and all eyes were back on me.

"Bourgeoisie." Amidst the nerves and exhaustion, my stubbornness gave way to another correct answer. I won't lose to him. Not this, not Cambridge.

He managed "clairvoyant," "coalescence," and "kaleidoscope." I got through "lachrymose," "mnemonic," and "pharmaceutical," and then, finally, he messed up.

I heard it in his voice first, knew before it happened that I had won. Mr. Gray - once again proving himself to be my favorite teacher- threw "triskaidekaphobia" at Harry, and we both froze.

"T-R-I-S-K....A-D-E-K-A-P-H-O-B-I-A." Harry murmured uncertainly, sounding just as breathless as I felt. The class had gone silent, and I could hear my heart racing.

"Incorrect." Mr. Gray uttered, but before the class could erupt into cheers, he continued, "let me just say, Harry, Lily, that was extraordinary. Really, very good show." He slowly began to clap, and our classmates followed suit, whooping and jeering at Harry good-naturedly.

I turned to glance at him then, not feeling very excited about having won. I couldn't help the little gasp that escaped my throat when I saw his face. He had curved his mouth into a grin, ran a hand through his hair boyishly, a calculated carelessness slackening his features - but I saw it in the way his lips twitched, in the way his eyes glossed over and darkened to muted jade.

He's upset. I realized, moving closer without really thinking about it. He's really, really upset.

"H-Harry?" I heard myself whisper, voice trembling. Everyone had, by now, moved into their own little groups, all talking animatedly about the results of our little duel, so they weren't really paying us any mind.

His smile faltered - just for a moment - "good game." He husked, his voice raw. He held out a hand, quirking a brow, watching me with those expectant eyes.

It was then, in that moment, that I realized, very suddenly, that Harry is...beautiful. Like, proper beautiful, like earth shatteringly, mind numbingly gorgeous.

The realization hit me with such immense force that I had to grab his outstretched hand to keep from crumbling to the ground. "O-oh." My mouth parts on the startled little noise, and suddenly I'm very aware of the gentle press of his cold rings against my fingers, his large hand claiming mine, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he holds me. "Uh-huh." My response catches in my throat and comes out sounding like a strangled hiccup.

Quickly, I pull away, stumbling back a few steps, I tear my eyes from his face, flailing my hands around like a monkey.

What the fuck?

•••••••••

LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT A PART 2 💛

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles friends to lovers #harry styles imagine #harry styles x oc #fanfic #imagine

[thecleverdame]

Wild Times In Charming Acres - Chapter One

Inspired by episode  14x15

JustinSmith!Sam x Reader, mentions of past Sam x Reader

Summary: Transported to another reality you find yourself married to a man named Justin Smith who may look like Sam, but couldn’t be further from a Winchester. As time goes by you decide to indulge in this Pleasantville world and wholesome husband.

Warnings: Fluff, smut and humor

Beta:  ilikaicalie

Words: 2k

Part Two is currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

-

You’ve been here a little over a month - you think. It’s hard to distinguish how long you've physically been in this place and how long you’ve known who you really are. You remember Dean casting a spell while you and Sam stood in the middle of the intricately drawn sigil on the floor.

And when you came to, you were here, in Charming Acres.

You woke up next to a man who looked like Sam but was decidedly not. Not in the way he talked or looked or acted. He rolled over in bed that first morning, shooting you a pouty little look of distress. “Who’s Sam? You must’ve had one of your dreams again.”

This Sam, or rather Justin as he insists on being called, is the polar opposite of the guy you’ve been dating for almost two years. You can’t do this on your own, you need Sam to get out of here. So for the last four weeks, you’ve been doing your best to assimilate, all the while working to jog Sam’s memories back to life.

MONDAY

“I’m home bunny rabbit!” His voice calls up the stairs accompanied by the front door slamming shut.

You sigh, earmarking the journal in hand and hollering back. “Oh good, I’m coming down!”

You had found a series of journals hidden the back of the closet inside a hat box, although you’re not sure why the former you, Beatrix Smith, hid them. All they are is a compilation of recipes, dull-as-dirt gossip and detailed gardening arrangements.

Bounding down the stairs you’re met with the sight of him. It still gets you every time. There he is in a Mister Rogers sweater and tie, glasses perched on his nose, hanging his overcoat in the closet. You’re married to Ward freaking Cleaver.

“How’s my girl?” He smiles, leaning down to place a kiss on your cheek.

“I’m just great.” You force an unnaturally wide smile.

“I could smell dinner from the driveway.” He tilts his head, admiring you as if you’re his prize chihuahua. “It smells delicious.”

“Just meatloaf and mashed potatoes.” You never really took the time to cook before, but you’ve been forced to learn on your feet. In Charming Acres cooking and cleaning seem to be your primary functions.  “Nothing special.”

“Everything you make is wonderful,” he quips. “Let's have a drink before we eat, shall we?”

--

At supper, he drones on and on about some meeting at work that you could less about. You sit, sipping white wine, and try to feign interest.

“You know I don’t like to think ill of people, but I swear to you sweetheart, I’m not sure the man has honorable intentions. He inserts himself into every conversation, by golly it’s all I can do to hold my tongue.”

“That sounds...just awful.”

“Thank you!” He nods enthusiastically. “Bob thinks I’m overreacting, but the man is almost intolerable.”

“Bob is an idiot,” you comment without thinking and Sam sits up straight. Too harsh. “Sorry, I just meant, you’re so good with people honey, and Bob doesn’t strike me as a person who reads people well. That’s all.”

“Well,” he relaxes a bit. “You’re probably right.”

You’re not sure how much more you can take of this bland existence. It’s bordering on mind-numbing, the same mindless details day in and day out. You decided this morning you’re just going to go for it. There’s been hardly any physical contact since you got here. Sure, he occasionally put his hand over your shoulder but the most intimate he gets is the pecks on your lips every night before he rolls over to go to sleep.

“What’s that on the counter? Do I spy a letter from the Women’s Lit Society?” He purses his lips, looking like he’s discovered a naughty little secret.

The Charming Acres version of you writes poetry about sunflowers, spring rain and hummingbirds taking flight.

“Nothing gets by you,” you chide. “They’re publishing my poem, Morning Dew, in the national newsletter next month.”

Sam leans in, both forearms on the table, “I am just so darn proud of you.”

“It's really not that big of a deal.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You know, some guys have wives who just watch TV and gossip all day long, but you, you’re pursuing your talents. I say bravo and well done.”

He’s smiling to himself as he goes back to cutting his meatloaf into neat bite size pieces.

“S-Justin,” you almost slip. You’re getting better at it but continuity is still a weak point.

“What is it?” He looks up, setting down his fork to give you his full attention. Justin is nothing if not attentive.

“Do you find me….attractive.”

He scoffs like you’re asking the most ridiculous question he’s ever heard.

“Of course, you’re my wife. The most beautiful woman in Arkansas,” he affirms and you can’t help but smile.

“I was thinking...” you have to be careful. You don’t want to spook him. “You’ve been working so hard and on Saturdays you have the bowling league and I have my book club. It feels we haven’t had the chance to spend much quality time together. I’ve been a little...lonely.”

“I had no idea.” He’s gravely serious, his head nodding in thought. “Well, I’ll tell you what bunny rabbit, this weekend I’ll say heck to the league and we’ll go to the opening of the new botanical gardens. That sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

He’s not even in your orbit.

“That does sound nice, but to be honest I was thinking I’d like us to spend more time together in terms of...romance.”

“Romance?” He sits back in his chair, a grimace overtaking his mouth. “Right…”

“I just - I miss you like crazy and I thought it would be good for us to...to rekindle our marriage.”

“To be honest I feel like a complete numbskull. You’re right, you always are. When’s the last time I brought you flowers? Or we went dancing at Joey's? We used to go out every Friday night. I haven’t been showing you just what a special little lady you are.”

“That’s not exactly what I-”

“I’ll start right now.” He thrusts a finger into the air. You watch as he gets up with determination, opening the cupboard under the sink and rooting around until he retrieves two tapered candles. Then he’s sorting through the junk drawer for matches. He sets both candles in the middle of the table, blowing the dust off the wicks before striking a match and lighting both.

Then he takes his seat, looking rather proud of himself and reaching across the table to squeeze your hand.

--

He’s having a nightcap, watching the news while you’re frantically flipping through the pages of Beatrix’s most recent journal. The other version of you tracked everything from menstrual cramps to Justin’s favorite television commercials, there must be something about your sex life.

Halfway through the pages, you spot a red dot on the upper righthand corner of a page. You flip back scanning the notes and sure enough at the bottom, in tiny cursive letters is the sentence: made sweet love

Rolling your eyes you keep going, page after page until you find another telltale red dot and the words: most romantic evening, made love and talked for hours

You flip back looking between dates. Six months.

You double check, scanning through the pages again, but there’s nothing other than sewing tips and cocktail recipes.

Six months between sweet love making, no wonder he’s wound so tight, he’s must have blue balls big enough to be seen from space.

“What are you reading?” He asks from the doorway, scaring the living daylights out of you.

“Just...some old gardening techniques.” You rebox the journal and shove it to the back of the closet.

“I’m beat,” he yawns, taking his pajamas out of the dresser drawer.

He disappears into the bathroom for his nighttime routine and you rummage through the closet in search of the one and only piece of lingerie in your wardrobe. It’s a silk nightgown that leaves plenty to the imagination. It comes almost up to your collarbone and halfway to your knees. But it’s sleeveless, thin little straps over your shoulders that show more skin than any other article of clothing you own.

“Honey,” you call to him, stripping down and pulling it over your head.

“Yes?” His voice is garbled, brushing his teeth.

“I was thinking about the conversation we had earlier and I wanted to talk to you about something else.” Pulling the thick, floor-length robe off the closet door you put it on as he wanders out of the bathroom in striped pajamas.

“Is something wrong?” He looks at you, concerned.

“No, well, nothing’s wrong per say, just...not enough.”

“I don’t follow.”

“When I was talking about wanted more romance in our relationship, I was thinking more along the lines of...intimacy.”

“Intimacy?” He stares blankly.

God, he is clueless. You’re going to be forced to spell this out.

“Tonight, I was hoping that you would...make love to me.”

Several waves of realization fall over his face. Eyebrows shooting up, his mouth falls open for a moment before he recovers. “But...my birthday isn’t until next month.”

“Why should we wait for a special occasion?” You open your robe letting it fall to the ground, revealing the modest nightgown and he reacts as if you’ve flashed him your pussy.

“Oh - oh my goodness,” he gasps softly, cheeks flushing red.

“You don’t like it?” You step closer, swinging your hips.

“I do!” He gushes, his eyes looking you over from head to toe. “I just - I wasn’t prepared.”

“What do you say?” You press yourself against him. His breath hitches as you slide two hands over his chest and around the back of his neck. “I want you.”

“What has gotten into you?” A nervous, excited grin tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“I told you, I miss you.”

“Well…” He’s clearly embarrassed but also aroused.

After methodically turning off all lights, pulling the curtains, setting the alarm and slipping over the covers, your husband kisses you with a series of closed mouth kisses. He gently pulls your nightgown up past your hips and rolls between your legs. He almost grabs your breast through the nightie but thinks better of it, instead shoving his pants down and grasping his cock.

You can’t see much, between the darkness of the room and multiple layers of blankets covering you both, but you can feel him. Sam’s cock is huge, but Justin doesn’t have a clue how to use it. He just shoves himself inside with a mighty heave, moaning and rocking deeper and deeper until you open up for him.

Normal Sam, your Sam, would have his thumb on your clit, sucking on your nipples while he's fucking you into oblivion.

But in contrast, this version of him is moving on top of your body with both hands braced beside your head. His face tucked into the crook of your neck, moaning breathlessly as he pants about how much he loves you and how beautiful you are.

You just lay there, staring at the shadow of the ceiling fan as he humps you for the better part of twenty minutes before giving a few finishing strokes and cumming.

“That was amazing.” He kisses your cheek, pulling out and rolling onto his back. “Come here, let me hold you bunny rabbit.”

It’s the first time, in a long time, that you’re utterly speechless. He pulls you into his arms, stroking your hair as if you’ve just gone wild on each other and require some kind of aftercare.

“Yeah,” you nod, laying against his chest. “That was...something else.”

“My little minx.” He teases, patting your back.

While it’s not exactly the vigorous lovemaking the vague journal entries lead you to believe, it does spark a thought. He’s got no clue what he’s doing with that beautiful cock and powerful body. But as luck would have it, you are just the woman to teach him.

-

-

Part Two is currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

Tags:  @smallgirlbigpersonality @mereka18 @gryffindorable713 @trainlikeawinchester @winchesterprincessbride @bamby0304 @saxxxology @notyourtypicalrose @mariekoukie6661

@kittenofdoomage @little-big-mac2 @emoryhemsworth @mystriee @atc74 @holyfuckloueh @bunnybaby121115 @mogaruke @darkmystress00 @jaspesangriento @kazuha159 @mirandaaustin93 @crispychrissy @schilj79 @wilde-abandon @hennessy0274-blog @bojabee @miss-samantha-winchester @impalaimagining @andkatiethings @astephez @ladycynthia @mrswhozeewhatsis @lenawiinchester @feelmyroarrrr @mrs-meghan-winchester @har-rystyles @mistressofallthingsgeeky @theamuz @maui137 @stars-and-seas @vale0413 @impala67trenchcoat @curly-haired-disaster @ericaprice2008 @livelikeawinchester @althehufflepuff @itsthesamegametoday @bohowitch @spnwoman @just-a-normal-eccentric @gallifreyansass @StoneyGGirl @lonely-skys @81mysteriouslyme @missrandomista @soupornatural @stars-and-seas @natura1phenomenon @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @81mysteriouslyme @likhelbentin @mrooks0205 @zombiewerewolfqueen @winchesterprincessbride @squirrel-moose-winchester @fortisetgloriosusinarduis @closetspngirl @dominodoll @rainflowermoonlibrary @cleighwrites @camelotandastronauts @imarockstar45  @thebeastinside19 @courtney-padalecki @itsthesamegametoday @virtualgirlfriendsan @daisymoder72 @fandom-is-my-middle-name @mysticmcu @luciferseclipse @malinda1997 @sunlight-dean @rockhoochie @collette04 @sandlee44 @ohnowin-chester @maddiepants @fandom-princess-forevermore @geeksareunique @femdeni314 @lazinessisalliknow @samwinchesterssexyface @the-yellow-girl96 @that67chevy @that-weird-asian-gorl

#tedtalk!sam #sam winchester smut #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fanfic

[artificialqueens]

Wake up (Branjie) - TheDane

Authors Note: Hey everyone. Thank you so much for your comments on my last fic. I’m extremely grateful and happy for everyones attention! I’ve gone fully abroad the Branjie train, and I’m having so much fun so please come talk to me om @ArtificialDane

A massive thank you to PinkGrapeFruit and VeronicaSanders for keeping my pronunces straight, catching my mistakes as well as a special shoutout to V for surviving in spite of the mouthwatering treats 

//

Vanjie ran a finger over Brookes’ cheek, following the bone, tracing it in the dim light. Vanjie dug the heel of his foot in, forcing Brooke so close he swore he could feel every inch of the other’s dick against his stomach.

-

“Huh?”

Vanjie woke up, something was wrong. Definitely wrong. The bus was moving, the engine humming. The soft snores from their fellow queens and the quiet voices coming from what the promoters pretended was a living room told him he was where he was supposed to be. Vanjie laid still, listening to the sounds, America rolling by outside, as he tried to figure out what was going on. He was warm and comfortable, safely tucked in Brooke’s embrace. One arm was under his head and the other, draped over his waist, holding him close. The duvet covering them both left Brooke’s dumb twinkle toes sticking out the end. Vanjie moved around, slinging his leg over Brooke’s body and ready to go back to sleep clinging to the other when he realised why he had woken up. Brooke’s cock was pressing against his stomach, his pants straining to keep in the mouth-watering treat that was begging for Vanjie’s attention.

“Hey.”

Vanjie tried to keep quiet, his voice as low as it could go. The bunk was way too small for two people, but they made it work, their relationship still so new that Vanjie couldn’t imagine not spending every second glued to Brooke’s side when he had the chance.

Brooke had pulled him into his bed on their first night on the road, Vanjie ready to pretend to sleep in his own cot, but Brooke had shut it down with a single please, his blue eyes filled with something that almost looked like fear. Vanjie didn’t really understand it. In his eyes Brooke was almost flawless, poised and professional, never scared of buckling down when it needed to be done, willing to take on any challenge if he believed in the end goal. On Drag Race he had come in with his stupid little flag, declaring himself the queen of the north before he had even properly stepped into the workroom - but in this, in their relationship, Brooke always waited for Vanjie’s cue. He waited willingly for him to tell him where they were going and what they were doing, and Vanjie had felt his heart melt. Brooke so rarely outright requested anything, so how could he say no, even less so when the sound of Brooke’s heartbeat rocked him to sleep better than anything else ever had.

Vanjie had honestly expected it to be more of an issue, sharing such a small space. His willowy tree trunk of a man barely fitting the tiny ass bunks to begin with, but so far on the tour the only real problem had been Yvie ‘calling it like it is’ when he had loudly told them to keep their shit on Brooke’s side, which had made Vanjie yell right back that Yvie could suck his dick and get his own damn boyfriend if he had a problem with him using his bunk for storage. It hadn’t gotten anywhere near their argument on Drag Race, but Vanjie could still feel Brooke in the background, watching them, the man without a doubt ready to swoop in and pick his ass up if they got into it, Brooke breathlessly telling Vanjie he had been genuinely scared that he would have gotten himself disqualified once he had sobered up if Silky hadn’t grabbed his arm.

“Brooke.”

Vanjie watched Brooke, his strong nose, his mouth hanging slightly open,  high cheekbones and that blonde hair, still shaved at the sides. The bushy brows he so often heard Brooke swear over when he had to de-drag with the glue sticking to them like a whore to a rich widower. His chest was naked with his pyjamas bottoms low on his hips.

Vanjie ran a finger over Brookes’ cheek, following the bone, tracing it in the dim light. Vanjie dug the heel of his foot in, forcing Brooke so close he swore he could feel every inch of the other’s dick against his stomach. Brooke’s cock a piece of art, a mouthful of perfection that Vanjie would write poems about if he had been gifted with any talent in that department besides making dirty innu, innoendi, innoendiucions on Twitter.

“Wake up.”

Brooke scrunched his nose, his hips stuttering, and Vanjie held his breath, one of Brooke’s eyes opening slowly.

“What?”

Vanjie smiled, the other’s voice gruff with sleep, an annoyed expression on his face like he wasn’t the one that had originally risen Vanjie from his slumber.

“Hi, Papi.”

“Why did you-”

Vanjie pulled his leg, forcing Brooke against his body, the other man’s mouth falling open in a surprised moan, and Vanjie laughed, pulling the curtain that surrounded their bunk completely shut before he caught Brooke’s lips in a kiss. He was sure both of them had morning breath, but that was another thing about new relationships. It didn’t matter, at least not yet.

“Ssh.” Vanjie smirked, their noses almost touching. “Be quiet.”

Brooke was staring at him, Vanjies skin prickling with the intensity he knew was there. Their curtain was thin enough that the orange light still shone through, illuminating their faces. Vanjie ran a hand over Brooke’s chest, the other gasping again, and Vanjie laughed. This was exciting, Vanjie was grateful for Silky’s snoring on the other side so loud, he was sure no one could hear them, but Brooke didn’t know that. He had no idea who was awake and who was asleep, how much privacy they had, and Vanjie had every intention of taking advantage of that.

“Pleas-”

“No.” Vanjie kissed Brooke again, his lips softer than anyone who wore as much lipstick as they did should be allowed to be, his hand pushing Brooke’s pyjamas down, his dick springing free. “I got this, ho.”

Brooke groaned, Vanjie barely capturing the sound as he closed his hand around Brooke, a hot flash of arousal rushing through his body when his fingers almost didn’t meet. Brooke was pulsating in his fist, the other man clearly getting his game as he bit into his own lip, teeth white in the dim light. Vanjie moved once, his hand gliding from tip to root, Brooke slick and perfect. His thumb dancing over the head on every upward stroke, the thick foreskin like butter.

“Get these cookies.”

Brooke laughed, the voice cut off by a moan as Vanjie twisted his hand.

“You’re, fuck- you’re insane.”

Vanjie smiled, Brooke’s broken whisper filling his chest with pride. Vanjie spit in his hand, tightening his grip. Brooke moved even closer, his hand sneaking into Vanjie’s hair, holding it tight, their bunk almost creaking but Vanjie couldn’t find it in himself to care. Brooke was a delight to touch, so responsive and fun to play with. Vanjie could tell he was going to come, Brooke already wound up so tight from whatever he had been dreaming about, though Vanjie hoped it was him.

“Come on hot stuff. Gimme what I want.”

Brooke kissed him, a broken sound swallowed between them as he came, Vanjie’s hand getting painted in warm spurts of cum, thick and heavy, Brooke shuddering apart as Vanjie pushed him past his limit, the moans turning to whimpers as Brooke grew too sensitive.

“Thank you.”

Vanjie released Brooke, a satisfied smile on his lips. He wiped his hand on his shirt, pushing at Brooke’s arm, the other removing it from his waist, Vanjie pulling his shirt over his head so he could dry them both off, Brooke hissing when Vanjie touched his dick. Vanjie threw the shirt to the bottom of their bunk, kicking it into the corner before he moved Brooke around, He easily rolled onto his back so that Vanjie could splay out on his chest, Brookes breath still returning to normal as Vanjie settled, spread on top of his boyfriend like a king.

“What about-” Vanjie knew what was playing in Brooke’s mind, Vanjie’s cock half hard between them, Vanjie loving the torture of pushing against Brooke every once in a while, the other almost moving away with sensitivity.

“Just sleep lover boy.” Vanjie kissed Brooke’s chest, the sound of his heart exactly where Vanjie wanted it, his hand spread out, thumb slowly tracing circles on the skin of Brooke’s chest. ”I’ll cash in later.”

#rpdr fanfiction #vanessa vanjie mateo #brooke lynn hytes #branjie #smut #wake up #thedane

[babblydrabbly]

In the Margins (Steve Rogers x Reader)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Characters: Steve Rogers, Tony Stark

Rating: General

Word Count: 1k+

Warning(s): None

Summary/Prompt: Set at Avengers’ Compound. Steve finds a rough draft from one of your notebooks. Avengers!Reader.

---

Steve hadn’t thought anything of it. He knew you’d been sitting at the common room table that morning. You were talking to Tony, who no doubt brewed up the coffee wafting over from the connected kitchen minutes before. Steve pour himself a mug as the two of you had laughed it up about something, hardly noticing him.

Steve decided not to interrupt, and shuffled off. He checked his emails, took a walk around the compound. Apart from quietly observing a unit of SHIELD recruits training on the grounds, it was a rare, relatively Avengless day.

And it wasn’t until he came back to put his cup in the sink that he saw something on the floor where you had been sitting. Stark wasn’t working on anything that Steve could remember (Tony Stark rarely bothered using pen and paper). It must have been yours.

He bent to pick it up and asked FRIDAY where in the compound you were right now when he suddenly stopped short. With a passing glance, Steve saw whatever was on the page had been repeated over and over-- A narrow set of stanzas. A poem? He wondered.

Steve glance up around the room coyly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looked back down at your familiar handwriting. He’d get an earful for reading anything of yours still in progress. Still, he couldn’t help skimming the first few lines.

Steve had started walking to your room as he read, his legs half on auto pilot to get to you. He got about halfway through the poem when his smile fell, his brows drawing together in a tight furrow. Then he read it all again.

---

Your work really was a mess. You flipped through a few of your current books, looking for something you’d been working on a few days ago. You dabbled in poetry once in awhile-- Nothing too insightful. It really was just a hobby you kept in the margins of paperwork, on loose leaf amongst your notebooks. In between mission debriefs and dossiers, any one of the avengers could pick out your paperwork from the endless, absent doodles all over them. Sometimes you shared limericks with Tony or Barton to get a laugh out of them. You just had yesterday morning in the kitchen. Tony teased you about the state of your current journal, reminding you that your Stark-grade tablet and FRIDAY could save you all the trouble of crumpled papers and hairbrained notes.

“I like to write it out.” You explained. “Helps me… get the words out better.”

Tony barked a laugh as you cringed at your own sentence.

“Right.” He said, “Real wordsmith.”

He chuckled again when you slammed your notebook closed and picked it up to smack him in the arm with it. From the corner of your eye, you could see Steve enter the kitchen a few yards away, and your heart gave a telling thud. You cleared your throat, leaning down to pick up some of the papers. Tony caught sight of the super soldier as well and rolled his eyes. You wanted to smack him again.

“I will slap those waggling eyebrows of yours right off your face.” You threatened in a low voice, but the two of you simply burst into chortling laughter all over again. And then, Steve was gone.

And now here you were, about to slap your own face for not checking under the kitchen table before packing up to get to that meeting that morning. Meeting room, you thought. Maybe you’d left it there.

You weren’t too concerned. It was a private base. But most things that weren’t important got swept into a vacuum bag by the compound’s little army of roombas. It was just a dumb draft.

You tossed a stack of folders onto your mess of a desk and decided to cut your losses when a knock sounded at your bedroom door. You got up and rested your palm on the handle when a muffled, “Y/N?” Came through. You paused, your heart skipping another beat. This hopeless crush of yours was going to land you with a heart condition.

When you opened the door, Steve was standing a few noticeable feet away. You would have never noticed before, except there was something in his hands that suddenly felt like a huge object between you. It didn’t take a close look to see it was what you’d been looking for all day.

“Hey, Steve?” You started. You suddenly felt your cheeks threatening to flush. Just because he read it doesn’t mean he knows it’s about him, you immediately told yourself. He probably didn’t even read it!

Then why is he here?

“What’s up?” You tried again when he didn’t say anything. Well, it looked like he was about to try, until you opened your mouth again.

“I--” Steve began. He hesitated. You didn’t think you’d ever see the captain do that. Now your cheeks were on fire, and you weren’t really sure why. There’s no way he could know, was there?

“I’m sorry.” He said, and held up the folded note over casually. You watched a small smile finally form on his lips. He shoulders dipped. You felt yourself relax too.

“I found this in the kitchen. I’m pretty sure it’s yours.” You reached out and took the poem from him.

“Did you read it?” You asked, and Steve’s smile spread into an apologetic grin.

“Yeah. I did.” He conceded. “I know you’re not a fan of sharing. At least not until you’re ready. I’m not either.”

You looked down and unfolded the paper to find not just your poem, but something more. In the margins of the paper were drawings. Leaves, of all shapes and sizes, being swept across the page in an invisible wind. Like in the poem you had written, of what the day was like when you met Steve Rogers a few autumns before. You’d just been transferred to the upstate compound. He’d been on a run, while you’d been on a walk. You hadn’t said two words to each other then but now...

“I read it a lot yesterday.” He suddenly said, and you remembered where you were. Here, now.

You swallowed.

“Oh.” You didn’t know what to say.

“You remembered it just like I did.” Steve said. Your heart skipped a beat. Okay, you were definitely talking about the same thing. But now Steve didn’t look so sure.

“That is, if that’s what it’s about.” He corrected. You saw a line form between his brows, his hands going straight to his pockets like he did when he wasn’t sure where to look or what to say. The poem crinkled in your hands as you wrang at it.

More silence. Then, he opened his mouth just as you you interjected. “--It is! It is. I just, uh. I didn’t think you’d remember.”

“Oh.” He replied, his voice quiet.

“You’re just--” You tried to remedy. “Busy, you know? You’re one of my closest friends here-- When you’re here-- It’s just—”

You wanted to say ‘nothing’. But that wasn’t true. And here was your chance to tell him that. Cut from the same cloth, birds of the same, awkward feather-- Whatever you called the two of you-- You didn’t want to dance around it anymore. You stepped into the hallway, giving either end a glance before taking the end of his jacket toward your door. Steve followed the gentle tug without resistance, his eyebrows shooting up as you stopped the both of you just inside your room.

“I’m kind of glad you found it.” You murmured, pushing up on your toes towards Steve’s face.

You felt a broad arm wrap around you tentatively, but his gaze found yours with a steady certainty that made the heat in your cheeks spread to your chest, then to the rest of you. Steve leaned down, his lips pressing to yours in a warm, chaste kiss. You kissed him back, thankful for paper notebooks and written words.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #captain america x you #captain america x reader #avengers x reader #avengers x you #mywords*

[hamilton-one-shots]

Piperson Part 2

In the morning, Philip went about his day fairly normally. He ate pizza for breakfast and cereal for lunch, then asked Georges to not cook dinner for him because he was going out with....

“Philip, are you alright?” Georges asked, genuinely worried as his roommate’s water overflowed out of his cup and onto the floor.

“Shit!” Philip cried out a few seconds later as he came back to earth. He put down the water jug and mug, then grabbed a hand towel and began soaking it up. “Sorry.. I’m just freaking out and being awkward over that stupid date tonight.”

“Right. You never did tell me who your Romeo was going to be,” Georges said slyly.

“Thomas Jefferson,” Philip replied flatly.

Georges’s eyes went wide. “As in your father’s mortal enemy?!”

Philip nodded and stopped cleaning up water to see how his friend would react.

Georges stayed silent for a couple of seconds... before bursting out laughing, harder than ever. “This is rich! It’s like- It’s like you’re in some kind of fairy tale! Oh, he really is like your Romeo because if this goes any further, your father will kill you!” Georges had to hold onto the counter to keep himself from falling as he laughed, only stopping when Philip threw the sopping wet towel at him. Georges scrunched up his nose and tossed it onto the counter. “Ew!”

“It’s not funny! It’s.. It’s just a date. For charity,” Philip said, half reminding himself in an attempt to ease his nerves.

Georges rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help but make one more joke, a grin spread across his face and a sly edge to his voice. “Fine. But, if you’re wrong, use lots of lube and tell me how big it is.”

Philip went to his room and began choosing his outfit, blocking out his roommate’s words as best as he could. He decided on a simple lavender button up and a dark gray blazer, slacks, and a brighter purple tie. Once he was dressed, he brushed his hair out, deciding to just loosely tie it back with a silver ribbon that he stole from Georges, and waited. He paced around the living room for a couple for minutes before Thomas arrived, knocking at the door.

Philip went over and answered it, taking a deep breath before pulling it open and giving Jefferson a small smile.

Jefferson returned the small smile and spoke casually. “Hi, there. You look nice. Are you ready to go?”

Philip was tempted to return the compliment - he liked how Jefferson’s magenta suit brought the color front and center, while it was really more of a decoration on Philip’s - but how would he say it? And how would Jefferson respond? Would he think it was weird? Did Jefferson seriously mean it or was he just being casual and polite? Was Philip reading too much into a simple compliment?! “Yeah, I’m ready, just a little nervous about this dinner, I guess. You look nice, too,” Philip rushed out, deciding it was best to just be up front about his feelings.

“No need to be nervous, hon. We’re just getting some dinner,” Thomas chuckled, almost entertained by the younger boy’s nervousness. It was cute. “Come on. And make sure to let me know if I cross any boundaries.”

Philip nodded and stepped out, locking the door behind him before following Jefferson down to his expensive looking car. Philip really had to admit, he was glad that Jefferson opened the door for him because he would’ve been too scared to get so much as a fingerprint on it himself. He got in and put on his seatbelt, then waited quietly as Jefferson went around and got into the car. Jefferson turned on the car and began driving, putting on some quiet music. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to fill the silence.

“So, Philip, tell me more about yourself. What are you studying? How old are you? Are you even gay or are you just doing this for the charity?” Jefferson asked, just trying to start a conversation. He was sure that he’d like to go out with Philip again, he seemed like a sweet guy, but if he wasn’t even interested in men, Thomas didn’t want to freak him out.

“I’m 21, English major. I want to be an editor and I’ve already got a job at the school newspaper. I also get paid by guys to write poems for their girlfriends, so I forge their handwriting and do that. And, yes, I am gay,” Philip informed him, finally feeling calm.

Thomas nodded. “That’s interesting. I think guys should write their partners poetry themselves, but you’re making money off of it, so you can’t really complain.”

Philip nodded. “What about you?”

Thomas thought for a few seconds before responding. “You already know I work for the government with your father. I’m older, you could probably guess how old, but I won’t tell you my actual age. And, as you know, I’m gay.” He paused for a second before deciding to take his chance. “If we hit it off, would you be interested in going out again?”

Philip paused for a second and looked down at his hands, blushing brightly. It was an important question, sure, but he just asked it like it was nothing.

“That doesn’t necessarily include anything sexual,” Jefferson clarified. “I mean like another date.”

“Right..” Philip responded. It was times like this that made Philip wish he wasn’t so awkward.. It wasn’t like this was anything serious, like they were doing anything besides getting dinner.. Of course, there was the off chance of them hitting it off and after what Georges said.. No! Bad Philip!

“We’re here. Are you sure you’re okay to go out tonight? You don’t look too good,” Thomas pointed out, sounding a bit worried for the younger boy.

Philip shook his head. “I’m okay.. It’s just.. My stupid roommate said some stupid things and I’m freaking out a bit because I’ve never been out with an older guy,” he explained sheepishly.

“Oh, I see,” Jefferson responded, nodding. “Like I said, we don’t have to do anything besides get dinner. Don’t worry about a thing,” he reassured.

“Thanks..” Philip took a deep breath and smiled a bit, getting out of the car once Jefferson parked and following him to the entrance.

“And don’t worry about stares. People will probably assume you just work for me or something,” Jefferson informed him.

“Right. Thanks,” Philip responded, nodding to himself.

The pair went inside of the restaurant and were taken to a quiet booth in a corner, which told Philip that Jefferson probably lied about how they’d be seen, but that was just to help him feel better, right?.. Yeah. He was thinking too much into this. He sighed as he sat down and looked through the menu, Jefferson sitting a respectable distance away.

“So, do you drink wine? This place has a wonderful selection, but I wouldn’t be offended if you preferred to just have some water.”

Philip hadn’t, in fact, had much alcohol besides on his last birthday, but he figured there was no harm in trying it again. “I could have some wine,” he said with a sure nod.

“Alright, then.” Jefferson smiled, ordering them a wine once the first waiter came by. Philip blushed, embarrassed as he was carded, but Jefferson assured him it was fine.

“You are only 21,” he pointed out. “I’d be more worried if they didn’t card you.”

“Right..” Philip nodded. He still hated how obviously youthful he was compared to Jefferson.

Another waiter came by and took their food orders about a minute before their wine arrived and was poured into glasses for them.

Philip took the smallest sip and quickly learned that he was right to do so as he unconsciously scrunched up his nose at the taste. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t really his taste. Still, he figured there was no harm and accepted it.

The two were fairly silent until their food appeared, not really knowing what to say.

“Macaroni and cheese?” Philip asked as he saw Jefferson’s dinner choice, part curious and part genuinely surprised. His nerves ruined his attention span, so he hadn’t really noticed what Jefferson had ordered.

“Well.. Yeah. I’ve been told I’m a little obsessed with the stuff and I like how this restaurant makes it,” Jefferson explained with a shrug, as if it was obvious.

“Makes sense. I guess you just seemed like the kind of guy who would rattle off some complex order,” Philip admitted, though it did seem like kind of a rude thought.

Jefferson nodded. “I get that. It’s fine.”

Philip smiled and began eating his own food, just some chicken alfredo, and taking the occasional sip of wine.

Surprisingly enough, the night went well. More than well. The two were drinking and laughing and learning about each other, only to learn that they wanted to know more. And it seemed like the night ended too quickly, but Philip did promise Georges that he’d be home before midnight. And as silly as he was, his roommate could quickly turn into a mom friend. Philip didn’t feel like having a mob searching after him because he wanted to spend a few more minutes with a guy he was planning on seeing again.

Thomas walked Philip up to his apartment door and kissed his cheek before letting him get his keys, watching as he paused. “Are you ok-”

Philip cut Thomas off with a kiss, wrapping his arms around his neck and standing on his toes, sighing contently against his lips. If Philip's father knew, he'd kill them both, but at least Philip knew he'd die happy.

Despite just how sudden it was, Thomas was quick to return the affection, leaning down and putting his hand on Philip’s waist, letting him decide when to pull away. Of course, there was a part of him that hoped he never would.

“So, second date?” the younger man asked with a small grin.

Thomas nodded quickly. “Oh, definitely.”

“Great.” Philip winked a bit before opening the door and going inside, closing the door behind him and leaning against the door with a pleased sigh.

Georges’s head popped up from behind the couch and smiled over at Philip. “How did it go?”

Philip looked him in the eyes. “Remind me to thank Theodosia.”

#hamilton #hamilton fanfic #philip hamilton #thomas jefferson #georges de lafayette #piperson

[crayonurchin]

My grandpa is still in recovery from his stroke. He’s extremely active and being bedridden has really brought him down. One thing he does love is books and writing, especially poems. So to cheer him up, some of us grandkids are writing him some silly poems. Under the cut is one about a sock

(context cues, his wife is Di, my mum’s nickname is Foofie, he’s a very Scottish man)

I my oh me

Oh fiddle-dee dee

There’s much ado about socks

High or low

There’s no place to go

But this mystery-oh! What a pox

My right foot does shiver

The left all a quiver

But what is there to be done?

To hop about

Only to shout

“My socks, I’ve only but one!”

Perhaps just one foot

Can stay clean of the soot

The other will have to be strong

Like the oder is gives

Not strained through the sieve

Of fabric- Oh what a pong!

Perhaps, yes perhaps

There may be a chance

The blame’s on Foofie’s wee pet

His tum full of toes

And only he knows

The answer- as does the vet

But he’s stuck at home

With nary a bone

To keep all his munchies at bay

So it’s back to the theories

Good grief what a query

Why has my sock run away?

Perhaps in the night

The sock did take flight

And now’s in the Isle of Muck

But it is a crime

To leave a sock in the grime

Oh dearie, what rotten luck

Could it have hopped ship

In favour of quips

From a sea dog, old and crusty?

But a sock cannot swim!

Not even its twin

It’d be sodden, soiled and rusty

Let’s look to the stars

Could it be that far

Walking for science in space

It’d do pretty well

With no lungs to swell

The poor thing could quicken the pace

Maybe it’s gone to Neptune

Singing a wee tune

Hum tee tiddly tum

Well, I hope it has fun

As it leaves our dear sun

And leave me, dreadfully glum

My sock is no more

Just one is a bore

I suppose that this is my fate

So off I go hop

Down to the shop

My sorrow a donut will slate

But then, could this be?

An angel for me!

A glorious glowing friend!

It’s my lovely wife Di!

The laundry is dry!

She says I drive her round the bend

My lost other sock!

Back in the dock!

All laundered and fresh and clean!

But the other seems grimey

Well it would be a crimey

Oh Di, could you do the other please?

[selkie-elf]

Song of the sea chp 2

Guess who finally decided to update their fic after like four months? This dude who has a writers block: 

Read in ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14137992/chapters/34765178

” How are you feeling Taako?” Sazed asked, hugging Taako tightly. Taako wrapped his arms lazily around the waist of the tiefling and sighed. ”I’m sorry babe. I don’t know what got in to me last night” Taako laughed quietly in to Sazed’s shoulder. Sazed chuckled and carefully looked at the small bruise on his husband’s forehead. One long curl hid it pretty good.

”You must have hit your head pretty bad. Do you remember anything about last night?” the tiefling asked, walking towards the kitchen. There was a strong scent of coffee in the air. He remembered. He and Sazed had argued, again and he had run off. He had ran to the dock and then Kravitz… ”No, I don’t think I remember” Taako sighed, sitting down on the chair. Sazed mumbled something and poured a cup of black coffee to Taako and himself. Taako thanked his husband, wrapping his fingers around the warm cup. ” You talked in your sleep again honey” Sazed muttered, spreading the newspaper on to the table and started to read. ”What did I say? Something fun?” Taako smiled, taking a big gulp of bitter coffee. Sazed smiled to himself, before raising his eyes from the paper. ”Your usual gibberish. Something sounded like ”Karavi” or something. Oh and at midnight you turned your head and just shouted ”Seals!”. I tried to keep my voice down, but let me just say, it was hard” Sazed giggled. Taako stared at his coffee cup. ”Seals?” he whispered, ears perking up a bit. ”I have theory. What if you saw a seal and tried to pet it and got swept to the water? That’s something that you would do” the tiefling laughed and took a closer look at the paper. Taako joined the laughter, carefully tapping the bruise on his forehead. ”Clumsy me”, Taako whispered in to the cup, drinking the last drop of the coffee. Sazed folded the paper in half and stood up. He gave Taako a small kiss on a forehead, before walking to the door. ”I’ll go to the market. You need anything?” ”No, I think I’ll manage. And I can always go to the market myself if I need something badly” Taako smiled, stretching his hands, before reaching for the newspaper. ”Okay honey! And please, go and get the nets. There could be a lot of fish there after the storm. Love you bye!” Sazed yelled, before closing the door with a small slam. ”Bye” Taako hummed, eyeing the paper, trying to see what had caught his husbands attention.

A news article of a local artist who had started to make necklaces of seashells. They had become become a popular hit in the mainland, and people were excited to see if their small island would finally get some long awaited attention. An advertisement for stronger nets. That was probably the thing that had caught Sazed’s attention. Taako sighed and turned a page. Leaning his head on his hand he started to read one of Barry’s articles. He smiled weakly. He really liked his brother-in-laws writing style. This time he had written his usual stuff of rising tides and upcoming storms, warning people not to let their kids to wonder too close to the shoreline and taking care of their ships. Noticing the small text in the bottom of the article, written in cursive and careful letters, Taako quickly turned the pages.

It had been another year already. How many had there been now in total, twelve? Taako didn’t even bother to remember. It was not like anything had changed. He still missed her and Barry was not doing any better either, still writing his stupid poems in the end of his articles. He closed the paper throwing it to the weaved basked holding their fire wood. If Sazed had already seen the most important advertisements, he didn’t see any reason to keep the paper on their kitchen table any longer. Taako walked back to their bedroom, pulling a pair of grey shorts from their wardrobe. He changed his shirt to a brown sweater, a one where he didn’t care if couple bloodstains landed on it. After braiding his hair and grabbing the knife from the counter, Taako stepped outside.

Couple grey clouds still sailed on the sky, but the sun was shining. A pleasant breeze flew by as Taako walked to the deck. On the hill, Taako could see that Sazed had let Garyl out of his stall to pasture with their small hoard of lambs. Taako made a mental note go buy some oats later that week. Sazed had already thrown some hay for the animals, but most of the lambs seemed to be more interested in the fresh green grass on the ground. Taako would have much rather spent his day with Garyl, brush his fur and watch the as their sheepdog which Taako called Dupree would try to get the lambs to stay in formation. Sazed called the dog with a different name, but Taako didn’t really think that the dog cared. It just liked getting his belly rubbed and getting treats. It was not like the dog was going to get them any awards in best herder competitions, but it didn’t need to. Right now the dog was sleeping near the fence, curled up next to an old ram. Taako smiled and continued his trotting down the hill, his tail swinging from side to side anxiously.

The sea seemed to have calmed down. Taako still spent a good while on sitting on the shore, trying to see if it would throw an extremely mean wave at his feet. But there didn’t seem to be any. Small waves just rolled to the shore, barely touching his toes. When he was sure that the sea had forgiven his rage, he pushed his small rowboat to the waters.

Constantly on the edge, Taako rowed quickly to the nets and started to gather them on to the floor of the boat. The small fishes stuck on the net still tried to jump out of the boat with effortless gasps for breath. Taako tried to reach for the next net as fast as he could when he noticed something. A large shape swimming just by the side of the boat. Taako froze. Even in the dark water, Taako could see the golden glimmer of the creature’s eye, as it dived deeper, only to appear on the other side of his small rowboat.

”Kra…Kravitz?” Taako stuttered as the seal lifted it’s head above the surface to breath. Half of Taako’s body was still hanging over the edge of the boat, while his fingers were tangling in the net. But his eyes were completely locked in Kravitz’s. He just stared as the seals blew couple small bubbles to the surface before it dived again, a big back flipper splashing the water, sending small waves that splashed against the boat. After taking a moment of gathering his thoughts, Taako finally pulled the last net from the water. There was not as much fish as he felt Sazed had hoped for, but enough for a week’s meals for Taako at least. Sazed would probably preserve some of the meat in salt, something that would last in longer fishing trips. Taako took the oars and started to row back to the shore. When taking a quick glance to the water, he could see Kravitz’s shape following the boat, carefully swimming just near enough, keeping a small distance.

Taako finally rowed back to the shore and pulled the rowboat to the dry ground. Kravitz stared curiously as Taako started to untangle the nets from each other, before pulling them to the deck. The knife shimmered in the faint sunlight as Taako tried his best to get the struggling fish out of the web without doing damage their gills. ”Sorry fishies but I gotta eat” Taako murmured as the fish still tried to jump from his hand. He quickly hit the fish on the head, making it unconscious before placing it to the wooden basket he had grabbed from the rowboat.

While cutting up the fish, carefully gutting them, Taako could see Kravitz swimming in curious circles just below his feet who were dangling over the dock. Once on twice his silver fur would touch Taako’s toes, sending shivers down the elves spine. ”Shit”, Taako cursed as his knife went straight through the fish. He was good with the knife, Sazed had made him gut up the fishes countless times, but usually he didn’t have a three meter long seal splashing it’s flipper just below his feet. Taako could still cut up the meat so it could be eaten, but there was a chance Sazed would notice his mess up and giggle for a while. Taako groaned and looked down to the water:

” You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” Taako could almost swear that he saw a teehthy grin on the seals face. Taako tossed the fish to the water and the seal almost jumped up to catch the fish from the air. In the sunlight, Taako could see the white rows of sharp teeth in it’s mouth. Taako felt a shiver again, but it could have been just the water splashing againts his feet. Kravitz still seemed hungry, as he continued his swimming around Taako. Just as he was going to try the same trick, already raising his back flipper to the air, Taako made a proposal. ”If you want more, come up here. You look pretty in your human form” Taako threw the idea to the air, watching carefully for the seal’s reaction. For a moment the seal froze in it’s place before starting to swim further away from he deck.

Taako sighed in disappointment, before bringing his eyes back to the bloody fish on his hand. Maybe that was something you should never say to a seal, human, thing. Taako took a deep breath before burying his knife to the fish’s stomach. Once again, the knife stabbed way too deep, as he flinched in surprise as the long form of the seal jumped on to the deck. Now Taako could see the seal in it’s whole length. Grey spots were scattered all over it’s back, and some whiter fur grew on it’s face, making it almost look like a skull. Taako sucked up a small breath as two hands suddenly appeared from the chest of the seal, and pulled the the seal’s face up, revealing a gently smiling face under. The same smile that had brought comfort to Taako when he was hurt and cold. That smile made him loosen his scared grip on the knife loosen. ”Hi again. Taako was it?” Kravitz grinned. Stuck between his teeth, Taako could see some white fishbones. ”Yeah. And you are Kravitz right?” Taako asked, letting a small breath out. The man nodded and peeled of rest of his seal skin. Taako looked carefully as the beautiful man sat down next to him, keeping a safe distant. ”So Kravitz… What are you?”

#taz #the adventure zone #taakitz #taako #kravitz #selkie #fanfic #kuuttiwrites

[s0mewhere-in-time]

Sorrow and Pain

So this is the one I did fully on my own based off of the idea my friend gave me, because he was curious what I would try to write given the same starting point. This one I would definitely say is a trigger warning poem once it gets going so heads up on that. 

                                          Sorrow and Pain

For many a guy or gal they think of break-ups and stubbed toes

When they hear the words sorrow and pain because are their worst foes.

But me, oh it’s not even close; you see, these words make me remember nights fighting the demons off until dawn’s bright light thrusts them back into hiding.

It never destroys them but it buys me the time to think about why they’re there, and sometimes find a friend in whom I can at least attempt to try confiding.

Sorrow brings back the feeling of a life destroyed as my dad walked into my room and told me he was walking out the door. 

Sorrow is the first girl i crushed on so hard for seven years I fell in love, and when I told her I liked her she avoided me forevermore. 

It’s the nights spent shaking, tears pouring down as memories of exes breaking it off tell you that you’ll never be enough.

Those mornings after feeling wrung out like a rag, tired but knowing that when you stop fighting is the when they attack, calling your bluff.

You can say, “I’m fine, it hurts but everything will be okay,”

But you consider suicide and self-harm, thinking it’s the only way

That you could possibly vent and cope, your other options all have failed.

A little bruise here, a slice there, and in time, over years I’ll have prevailed.

Pain...it needs no explanation; yet, it can take hours and days to explain and cover the extent. 

The constant thoughts tearing you down, memories of being pushed around everywhere that you went. 

When your own brother, (your best friend), says you won’t be loved unless live your life by this set of conditions, it might work out but only if you do this or that. 

Pain is when that brother you looked up to says the person you are unmedicated makes him uncomfortable...the same guy who taught you to shoot hoops and swing a bat. 

So don’t go telling me you know pain because five years later writing about that day my brother talked to me man to man makes me want to scream.

The time of day, what he wore, the honesty as he said your girlfriend won’t love you if you don’t go to college cuts me to the quick and dashed that dream.

Sure, I tried to make it work and I knew we both still cared; but, that wound is one that will never heal. I can’t think about her without the scar tearing back apart with a heart-wrenching rip.

He was the person I trusted most, and that past-tense is never going away. No matter how much I love him, that trust poured out like water leaving a broken, sinking ship.

Tell me of your sorrow and pain, I will always find the time to listen, discuss, and give advice. 

Even when deep down I bury more of these stories, I have never regretted being kind instead of cold as ice.

This life is fleeting, so i beg you don’t waste it dwelling times things didn’t go your way, complaining about one time you had to face sorrow and pain.

I may not ever forget...but I learned and you can too, that without the risk of agony there would be not be even the chance of heartfelt love to gain.

(B.W.S.)

#trigger warning #s0mewhere-in-time #(B.W.S.) #spilled ink #tumblr poets #original poetry #original poem #Sorrow and Pain #love and life #coping

[kayliemusing]

16

Who are you? - My name is Kaylie. I’m 22 (soon 23). I live in Canada.

What are the 3 most important things everyone should know about you? - I’m a writer, I love Taylor Swift lol, I always need to process things before making a decision.

Where do you want to be in 5 years? - In five years I’ll be almost 28, I think. Hopefully I’ll have some semblance of a writing career or the beginning of one. I hope I’m financially stable, in a job I enjoy and maybe in Calgary (which I’m planning to move to this year but the decision hasn’t completely been made yet!!)

Are you more child-like or childish? - Child-like, because I don’t think that’s a negative connotation. 

What is the last thing you said out loud? - “Yeah”

How do you handle a rainy day? - I love a rainy day. I like to drink hot chocolate on a rainy day and stay inside so I can just watch the rain.

What did you want to be when you grew up? - I remember wanting to be a hairdresser and I also had plans to open up a vet clinic lol. Don’t want either of those things now hahaha

Are you more of a giver or a taker? - Giver. I’ve never been called a taker so I don’t think that’s me and I love giving to others, but I’m not going to say I’m completely selfless because I think I have my moments where I’ve been inconsiderate and taken from someone.

Have you ever been given a second chance? - Yes

Do you make your decisions with an open heart/mind? - My decisions I think are instinctual, so I listen to my gut feeling/heart.

What is the most physically painful thing that has ever happened to you? - When I was about fifteen or sixteen, I slipped and jammed my toe into the wall/baseboard and I broke my toe nail completely off my toe and I think it was fractured but I never actually went to the doctor for it lol. I remember even the blanket touching my toe hurt so bad that I needed advil like every four hours. Eventually and grossly, my toe nail fell off and I thought it was damaged for good but I kept managing the new toe nail as it grew and I fixed it!!

Who have you hugged today? - Nobody

If you could learn how to do three things just by wishing and not by learning, what would they be? - Singing, drawing, dancing

What 3 things do you want to do before you die? Live. That’s really about it, honestly. I feel like it sums things up quite nicely, actually.

What three things would you want to die to avoid doing? - Public speaking of any kind, anything that results in an awkward conversation or a moment of humiliation, anything that has me needing to approach a stranger/talk to a stranger/ice breakers with strangers, etc.

Have you ever saved someone's life or had your life saved? - No

What was the last thing you made with your own hands? - I wrote a poem a little over an hour ago

What was your favorite toy as a child? - I don’t totally remember, but I loved playing with Barbies and I had this Barbie Cruise ship and hot pink car which I used a lot.

What is your favorite thing to do outside? - I like going for walks or sitting by a firepit to relax.

How do you feel when you see a rainbow? - “Look, it’s a rainbow!!” is usually the first thing out of my mouth but I don’t know if I feel anything. I’m just kind of happy to see it and I admire that it’s pretty.

Have you ever dreamt a dream that came true? - This happens to me a lot!! I kept dreaming my sister and her bf would break up and they did. Along with other smaller things.

What one thing have you done that most people haven't? - Watched my dad die 

Are you a patient person? - Yes, unless it has to do with slow wi-fi lol

What holiday should exist but doesn't? - I’m not sure but I wish there was a holiday in the summer time that was really festive because I always feel like summer is boring in the aspect that there isn’t really any holidays (because I love festive things)

What's the best joke you ever heard? - I don’t know if this qualifies as the best joke, but Jim Gaffigan gave me a laugh when he said it’s called Covid 19 not because of the year, but because of the 19 pounds we all gained during quarantine.

Is your hair natural or dyed? - Mostly natural, but I do get blonder highlights just to make a little brighter and then I of course get it toned. My hair is super brassy blonde so I like to brighten it up.

What is under your bed right now? - Old painted canvas’s from high school lol and then an old bulletin board filled with old poems and quotes I liked in high school.

If you drive do you frequently speed? - No, because I’m terrified of having to talk to a cop if I get pulled over. (I hate feeling like I’m in trouble or I’ve done something wrong, and I also hate talking to strangers because it makes me nervous)

What is the world's best song to dance to? - Shake It Off by Taylor Swift

What song was on the last time you danced with someone? - I haven’t lol

Do you prefer Disney or Warner Brothers? Disney, but I do like Warner Bros movies.

Would you consider yourself to be romantic? - Yes

If the earth stopped rotating would we all fly off? - Yeah we’d probably all die

If you had to choose would you live on the equator or at the North Pole? - If Santa was real, the north pole, but for now I’ll say the equator because I feel like the north pole is a little too cold for me.

Would you rather give up listening to music or watching television? - Watching Tv. 

What do you think makes someone a hero? - Saving someone or being selfless/putting others first. 

What cartoon would you like to be a character in? - tbh spongebob

Name one thing that turns your stomach. - Caviar

What was the last thing you paid for? - Some scrubbing sponges, a journal and some leggings at wal mart.

Get anything good in the mail recently? - Yes, I ordered some colourful eyeliner pens from Colourpop and they’re beautiful

Tell me some of your greatest fears. - Spiders, enclosed spaces, loss, letting go, dying painfully, failure/not achieving my dreams, physical pain. Tbh the list is quite long.

What's the most eccentric thing you have ever worn? - This isn’t really that eccentric but in the tenth grade I wore these pants that were black and white stripes, however, the night before robin thicke wore the same type of pants when he performed that terrible performance with miley cyrus so when I went to school everyone made fun of me so when I got home I threw them away. 

Have you ever caught an insect and kept it as a pet? - We used to catch water bugs as recess and bring them into the class until the teachers were like pls stop.

You are spending the night alone in the woods and may bring only 3 items... - Sleeping bag, flashlight, tent

List five people you love starting with the one you love the absolute most. - My mom, my sister, my grandma, my best friend megan, and taylor swift of course

If you could have 3 wishes...but none of them could be for yourself...what would you wish for? - I wish that my mom could be financially blessed so she could cut her hours majorly and start truly living her life again, I wish that my sister could move out again for many reasons, and lastly I wish covid would end

How much money would it take to get you to drive to school naked in? - Nothing would make me do that because money could never bandage the scar that would be my humiliation looping forever in my mind.

Have you ever been on the radio or on TV? - I was on tv once for five seconds but it was just my legs and butt when I was walking through the neighborhood with my third grade class delivering christmas cards. Still don’t know why this warranted news coverage but oh well.

Have you ever named an individual part of your body? - No

What is the punishment you would come up with for Osama Bin Laden? - This is totally a random question, but I think death was a good call.

Is there anyone you trust completely? - My mom

Have you ever lost someone without having the chance to say goodbye? - Yes, my dad was in a coma before I could ever say goodbye.

Would you rather have an indoor Jacuzzi or an outdoor pool? - Indoor jacuzzi

Would you consider yourself to be intelligent? - Not really

Would you consider yourself to be wise? - Yes

Would you ever creep into the subway tunnels to go exploring? - If there wasn’t a subway that would trample me, yes.

Would you rather be a world political leader or a rock star? - Rock star baby

Have you ever given someone a love letter that you wrote? - No

Are you looking forward to any concerts right now? - Not currently, but when covid ends, I’m hoping to go to a TS concert in the future because I’ve never been.

About how many emails do you get a day? - Too many, but they’re all promotional.

Have you ever though about hitchhiking across the country? - No

Who would you bring with you on this kind of a road trip? - I would never hitch hike therefore wouldn’t bring anyone with me.

If you are single, at about what age do you think you will be ready to settle down? - Late 20′s.

Do you often wonder, when you say goodbye to people, if it is the last time? - Not always, but sometimes if fear sneaks in I’ll think about it.

What movie are you most looking forward to seeing when it comes out? - Jurassic World 3!!

What's on your key chain besides keys? - I have a cute little mirror that’s a kitty!

How do you feel about endangered species? - I love them and wish there was more we could do, but I also don’t think about it a lot.

Do you like feather pillows? - Yes

What was the last CD you bought? - I didn’t get a physical copy, but it was Taylor’s Evermore album on itunes. The last physical CD I got was her folklore album lol

Would you be willing to go hang gliding? - I’m not sure what that is oops!

Have you ever taken a lock of someone else's hair? - No and I’m concerned why this is a question.

Have you ever given anyone a lock of your hair? - Again, no and still concerned.

If you had a locket what would you put inside? - Probably a pic of my dad.

What is the difference (if any) between madness and brilliance? - It’s 11 pm at night and this is too philosophical for me right now.

Write any random sentence here - Random sentence. 

Say the sentence you wrote out loud. Did anybody answer? - I didn’t say it out loud, sorry :/

If you were to hit redial on your phone right now, who would it call? - It would either be my sister or my mom.

Miracle on 34th street: which is better the original or remake? - I don’t know if I’ve seen the original.

Have you ever been in a parade? - No

Do you turn the base up all the way in your car? - No. I can go a little loud, but not vibrating all the cars on the street loud.

Do you care if what you do annoys others? - Yes, I’m obsessed with people being mad at me.

What keeps you from being happy? - Dissatisfaction with life, depression, creative-blocks,

Can you talk for one hour without using the word 'like'? - No

Why is it that a fly can't bird but a bird can fly? - hahahah this was cute. But it’s probably because bird isn’t a verb and fly is a verb depending on the context.

What websites are addictive to you? - Tumblr and Youtube

Who do you love so much that you would clean live maggots out of their garb? - Taylor Swift

Have you filled out an organ donor card? - No

How many oxymorons can you think of? - I’m too tired sorry

. How many years old is your diary/livejournal/myspace? - I don’t have a myspace or anything like that, but my tumblr is about eight years old.

Would you ever wear vinyl pants? - It’s aesthetic, but no.

What was the last thing that you printed out? - A journal entry

What are you dependent on? - My mom lol

What do you look forward to each day? - Lately, nothing, but usually reading a new book lol

What did you think of the Columbine shootings? - So sad

What takes your breath away? - Taylor Swift’s lyricism!! Like???? Also, Richard Siken poetry.

Have you done anything recently that you regret? - Eating lol

Will you ever do it again? - Yeah

Would you rather live in a world of perfection or do you like the world now? - Perfection

Is a frightening world a more interesting world to live in? - No, and that kind of opinion is disappointing

In your opinion what gives people depth and character? - Hardships, because even though they hurt, we come out differently and we’re able to look at the world differently and also appreciate things more. 

What’s the name of your favorite band? - Of Monsters and Men

Do you have an account on neopets.com? - No. How old is this survey lmao

Who is the next person you will hug? - Probs mom

Where was your last vacation to? - I think it was BC a few years ago

Where was your last car ride to? - My moms work.

Where was your last bus ride to? - I haven’t been on the bus in YEARS.

Where did you last walk to? - To the car lol

What is the worst band in the universe? - I don’t know

What is the next book you want to read? - A book called A Court of Silver Flames by Sarah J Maas is one I’ve been waiting on for a long time and it’s coming out next month so that’s one I really want to read soon.

What gives you a peaceful feeling? - Soft music, worship music, laying on my couch watching game grumps, reading or journaling. Anything soft and content.

Do you ever stay up late watching infomercials? - No

Are you a light sleeper? - Not overly.

Are you a toys-R-us kid? - I was :(

Are you part of the mile high club? - I don’t know what that is

Would you rather be part cat, or part scorpion, and why? - Part cat, because i could communicate with my cats.

When you sleep next to someone who usually falls asleep first? - Me. I’m usually out before my head hits the pillow.

What is your usual breakfast? - Bagel w strawberry cream cheese or butter

How quickly are you willing to take drugs to numb pain? - Only if it feels intolerable

Have you ever had your car towed? - No

Have you ever used Kool-Aid to dye your hair? - No

Would you rather be naked and famous or dressed and non-famous? - Dressed and non-famous...

What band or singer do you believe started rock and roll? - I couldn’t tell ya.

If you had a large black vase what would you put in it? - Flowers or maybe some fancy decor sticks

Would you rather live in the city, suburbs or the country? - I feel like I can do any. If I move to Calgary we’ll see how I do in the city, but I think I’d definitely like country and suburbs. 

Would you ever participate in a 'sock hop'? - Don’t know what that is.

What’s your age? - 23

What’s your hair color? - Blonde, but it’s a lil brassy

What’s your eye color? - Blue/grey

#survey

[littleredchucks]

Hi. I kind of wanted to ask you about Lives in Abstraction for the fanfic commentary ask but found it so hard to chose just one section. Could you possibly do it for the letter by Victor in chapter 37? I’ve always kind of wanted to know what actually happened to Victor because the letter doesn’t say much.

Okey-dokey, so… when I wrote this it sort of killed me. I hated how sad it was and I fudged over a lot of details in the letter because it just seemed a bit much. Cos I know what happened to Bauer but I didn’t want to put it in the story. Nevertheless I’m going to give it a go, because I love Bauer and Rosey so much and it’s nice to revisit them from time to time, even the sad bits. I’ve written too much beneath the cut.

“I am so sorry, my Rosey (he wrote) for all that you suffered, for what befell you. I loved you so fiercely. I love you still. I am sorry you were stolen from me, that I had not the chance to grow old with you as I always hoped. I wish that we were still in possession of the crab phones that we fashioned, do you remember those? I am sure they could cross such distance, could connect us. But they are gone, I suppose. Everything is gone now. I do not talk of those years, do you know, because when I have tried it has made the people who heard my words rather upset, but you have asked me, and I can deny you nothing, and besides, perhaps writing shall be easier than talking. Perhaps I should apologise now, in case I write something which does not agree with you. Will you forgive me, my Rosey, my dearest one, for all that befell me?

(I really wanted the tone of this letter to be soft and melancholy and quite slow, especially to begin with, like Bauer is struggling with putting the words down and with ordering his thoughts. This is basically the only time when the story is in his voice but it’s not the voice he would have used in any other chapter, because he’s been through so much and is mentally fragile and just so tired in body and soul. The crab phones are a reminder of their time at Nice, obviously, of that most happy time, and when Rosey first felt a strange sense of foreboding about their future, because Bauer talked of dying together. And the phones are sort of their thing, in the Dali film and in a lot of fan art of them. Bauer is wishing there were some way they could communicate. I wanted to show that they were as important to Bauer as they were to Rosey, that Rosey’s feelings weren’t one sided, and that his narrative can be trusted, I guess, even when he’s been focused on only one thing, or stuck in the darkness of his own mental illness. And truly, no one understands Rosey’s mind better than Bauer, hence the apology in case he writes something that upsets him, because Bauer spent so much of their time together attempting to shield and protect Rosey. Still, he knows he can’t deny Rosey’s questions.

I spent some time at first still in Milan, at the San Vittore Prison, but not in any part that I had previously broken in to. I suppose they knew me. They kept me underground instead. They asked many questions, in a wide variety of ways, but I convinced myself to unlearn the answers they were looking for after a while, and so was no use to them, and told them nothing. They took things from me. They hurt me. My feet - my fingers - I - they … I cannot -I fear am not so easy on the eye as your letter seems to suggest that I was all those years ago. They kept me in the dark, in the very dark, for a very long time. I could not-

(Yeah. So, San Vittore was built in the late nineteenth century and housed a lot of political prisoners in Italy in WW2. It tends to be referred to as ‘notorious’ in most books. Not a nice place. My mother’s father and brothers were imprisoned in Spain during the war and I’ve been informed it was a similar sort of shit show. Also, books I have on San Vittore talk of how there was a lot of torture. My great uncle had his toe and finger nails forcibly removed during interrogation. Victor wants to be able to tell Rosey what happened, about all this terrible stuff, but in a way it’s too difficult to write it down, it still hurts him too much, and he also doesn’t want to think of Rosey getting upset, or worse, sighing at him for getting himself in to such trouble. I wondered for a long while about the phrasing “in the very dark” but in the end left it like that because it just seemed right. I felt like Bauer would struggle to describe that as well, he’s still afraid of that cloying darkness and believing he had been forgotten and left to die, but also that, as he ages, his ability to navigate between the languages he knows might be slipping too, hence the odd nature of his writing and wording and sentences going unfinished.

But then there were explosions and fire and I was able to count the nights by the sounds of destruction and then the guards fled but they did not unlock the door and no one unlocked the door Rosey and when they finally did it was not for freedom but for a new prison. Risiera di San Sabba. I believe they thought I was someone other than I am for they asked a great many questions, and did so much, so many things, to me, my body, to try and get answers. I recited for them my mother’s prayers in response to their demands and so they allowed me the job of carrying the corpses to the furnace rather than joining them in the oven. Then there was more fire, more death, and then they too were gone, and we were called free and expected to go on our way.

(I guess this is a continuation of that fear of the darkness and being left for dead. And I also wanted to somehow show that for Bauer, in writing this, a panic is rising. When he says “and no one unlocked the door Rosey” he’s panicking because he’s back in that moment and it’s terrifying him. It also affects his punctuation, he’s just trying to get the words out and doesn’t care that the sentence is running on. Until Risiera di San Sabba. I struggled with my history nerdiness here because I didn’t want to do a whole lot of background or filler information because Bauer just wouldn’t, that’s not where his head is at in this. Risiera di San Sabba was a concentration camp in northern Italy. It was a transit camp for Jewish prisoners being sent to Auschwitz but also a permanent camp for political prisoners. In the section a bit before Bauer notes that the guards knew him, or something about him, and so it made sense that he would end up there. It wasn’t a nice place. My partner’s family lost a lot of family in WW2. The story goes that they converted to Christianity to try and avoid the Nazis but it didn’t save many of them. To my mind Bauer talked his way out of execution by creating another character, and it because it was nearing the end and things were in such chaos in northern Italy at the time, he managed to survive. I also imagine Bauer has a rather poetic kind of speech most of the time. He is, through the story, occasionally crass but he also has a rather lovely way of speaking and so that final line “more fire, more death, and then they too were gone” seemed to fit. A lot of freed prisoners and refugees got stuck at San Sabba for years after the war because they had nowhere to go and in my mind Bauer, in a state of shock, was there until Maria found him, by chance, and took him with her. She tried to settle back in Milan but just couldn’t do it, too much had changed for them both, and so they began a slow drift toward Nice, ending up there without really meaning to, certainly without Maria knowing the full significance of the place.

I am sorry. I have written too much, things you do not want to read and-I still wait for you to finish my sentences, do you know. Still expect to feel the squeeze of your hand in mine. But you never shall, never again. I know. You are dead and I write these letters to a ghost. I even thought that I had received a reply from you, a beautiful thing full of love and memories and it brought such joy to my heart, but now I cannot find it anywhere. For how could you reply? It was a small consolation, a tiny shred of comfort, that at least you had died and they could not do to you what they did to-I miss you so. But even if you were living I do not think I could bear to have you see me. Though I long to see you, oh my beautiful Rosey, I could not live if you were to see what I have become. Such a vain creature I am. I used to revel in the way that you gazed at my form, at the press of your hands against my skin, as if you worshipped me. Childish fool that I was. But you did love me. You did? I found a copy of your poems. Not my copy, another copy, and I signed it for you and she said she would send it off to you, as if she could send a book of poems to the underworld. Did it find you, my dear, beloved, constant Rosey? I hope so. I hope that you know what your love has meant to me.

(The idea of finishing sentences is pretty integral to this story. It was the whole focus, wasn’t it? But it’s also a Noel and Julian thing, because a lot of this fic goes back to that relationship and that magic they have when they look at each other across the stage, that holding hands, trade mark tenderness. Hmm. But this is also where it’s revealed that Bauer thinks Rosey is dead. Maria didn’t say it to him, he was sure Rosey was dead when she found him and she just didn’t tell him otherwise, because she had honestly assumed that Rosey would attempt suicide again and possibly succeed. She didn’t want to give Bauer hope and then have it destroyed. I found the idea of writing to a ghost fascinating. To me it was a way of further showing where Bauer’s mind was, the level he was functioning. The lines between dream and reality are blurring and he can’t quite remember what’s true and what he’s just thought up or remembered from long ago. He’s pretty blunt and clear in his assessment of himself though, but not when it comes to his belief that Rosey loved him. I actually hate that his certainty in that might have been broken a bit, over the years. The memories of Rosey worshipping him are a real kick in the guts for Rosey though, they’re designed to be, because those memories are so sacred and he’s refused to acknowledge them. I also quite liked the notion of sending a book of poems to the underworld.

It gave me the thought to write to you, simply so that I might not be so alone. I try to paint, it is only water and colour and lines now on paper, and when I mumble to myself about the form or the colour they look at me strangely, so I try to hide what we all know, that I have lost myself, slipped almost completely from a mind that was never quite secure to begin with.

(So, this is really the way I feel about painting, more so now actually, than when I wrote it. And this is the most lucid I think Bauer is in this letter, strange considering he’s talking about the fact that he feels his mind is ebbing. And acknowledging that his mental health has never been great. I guess I wanted to show that Bauer was always aware of that, he wasn’t ignorant of his problems.

I miss you. But I am gad that you cannot see me. I am as dead to the world as you are in my way. It is for the best, I think. I only wish I could have laid bougainvillea at your grave, for it grows here, up the wall by my window. I wish I knew where you lay so that I could send some now. Who will know to do the same for me? It will be my turn so soon. Who will leave flowers for me to remind of the night I found my twin, my ‘found remembrance of spiritual love’, of complete love, who will there be to hold my hand? I miss your hand in mine…”

He signed it: “With all the love in the world, always and forever, your Victor”.

(I think I forgot to mention before how the idea of Bauer not wanting to be seen was important for me in this as well. Because the story covers so much of their lives I felt it was important to show that views can shift and evolve and that Victor’s understanding of his own body has changed, though not for the better. He always used clothing to hide or play characters but not with Rosey, with him he would waltz around nude or use clothing as an in joke. He always showed his heart so openly and clearly to Rosey and now he can’t even bear the thought. It’s not just that his body has been altered by age and torture and hardship, it’s that his heart has as well, and the idea of Rosey seeing that, which he would, is horrifying to Bauer. Finally I wanted to throw in the mention of the bougainvillea because that was another image that carried through the story. I love bougainvillea, they’re fascinating plants and I have several growing around my little house. I saw a lot of them in Europe when I was a little kid and have such strong memories of them. They are so vibrant, so strange in their colouring and flower formation and once they’re established they are hardy as fuck. But here the remembrance is sad. Bauer doesn’t know where Rosey’s grave is and worries that there will be no memory of what they were together. He’s not so fussed about being forgotten as an individual but the idea of losing the life they had together is painful for him. It was really quite sad. Damn. Um. And then it ends with the refrain of “always and forever” but is signed simply Victor. I tend to refer to him as Bauer, Rosey does too for a lot of it, and Bauer don’t self-refer in that way much. He calls himself an idiot or refers to his titles like Madman and General but I wanted this to be very pared down. Rosey calls him Victor when he’s being tender, and that’s what Victor is remembering most.I actually hated writing this a bit. I wanted to change my mind and have them find each other and have a happy ending. I had a good readership of about five who talked me through it and understood that it needed to go that way and I gave them fair warning, and that helped me feel less horrible about it. Sorry this has run so long but thank you for the ask.

#my writing #victor Bauer #Gui Rosey