#<- eh its wednesday somewhere

[madeofloveandpeace]

DO IT FOR HIM, DO IT FOR THEM!

#trigun #nicholas d. wolfwood #wolfwood wednesday #<- eh its wednesday somewhere #wolfwood #trigun 98 #tri98 #trigun badlands rumble #nicholas d wolfwood #trigun shitpost #trigun meme #trigun edit #my edits #trigun 1998 #trigun '98

[mortuarywriting]

Wip Wednesday! I can offer uhhhh

Academically it was widely acknowledged that dagons, by their nature, generally lend themselves to be solitary creatures when under ideal conditions. They had a predisposition to spread themselves out to not compete for resources and to avoid disputes over their ideal territories.

This was also, within the draconic community, a longrunning bit that every dragon outed within society played up.

Generally speaking it was better for dragon populations to be underestimated. For those who were in the know, it was far more likely to find dragons living in tight-knit communities with a potentially wide variety of dragon subspecies (not including the varied cousin species of drakes, wyrms, wyverns, and so forth that more often than not shacked up in dragon communities as opposed to setting their own up).

Staunch traditionalists might be more inclined to stick to only forming weyrs within their family ties, but even those in modern days are more likely to have a handful of subspecies involved- when you're a species with long lives and longer memories? True "species purists" among dragonkind are seen as particularly concerning outliers given the oldest dragons (with the proper time, prompting, and inclination) can probably trace bloodlines back to the advent of a subspecies and all those slain before their branch could fork out. The year in question is largely contested as some of the eldest dragons are still on scattered calendar systems that largely predate the gregorian calendar (and some will argue the finer points between the Huángdì and Xiuhnelpilli systems. Please do not encourage this unless you have the stamina to keep up with dragons that have been napping for centuries. Do encourage this if you have insomnia), but its been a few millenia since that was largely considered acceptable.

Where was this going? Right right, dragons and commitment.

While they as a general rule commit to the bit, that doesn't mean all dragons are in hiding. Some people in positions of power have thrived letting people know that they're dragons. They they can, will, and have considered something to wholly and completely theirs that the concept of hiding their existence from their hoard is unconscionable.

This is also an exaggeration, but it keeps the more mundane population feel safe so eh. Let them keep their blinders on and feel safe somewhere in this world.

'Cause that's at the end of the day what dragon-run areas are- ridiculously safe. Modern day analytics have all the data mapped out, barring an increase in lower-stakes firefighter activity and the odd five alarm fire? Dragon-run areas are some of the safest you can find, little to no crimes recorded.

This is largely in part because dragons take care of their own messes. And heaven wouldn't recognize the fool that tried to harm a hatchling in a dragon's domain.

Given hatchling status is generally a polite umbrella status for anything under 150 years old? Humans tend to do just fine in dragon domains as well.

But, again, humans don't like to know the nitty-gritty details and tend to be partial to their blinders so. Discretion is the better part of valor and all that.

The thing about the data, though, is unless you're being paid to look at the it? You rarely will. Every so often an "unidentified dragon" is in the news for some questionable disappearances or high traces of suspicious ash when, in reality, the wrong circles tried to move into a protected neighborhood. Tried being the operative word.

Given most well connected circles run with at least some non-mundane members can give you a warning a mile away when you're edging into dragon country, it's probably for the best that the swift and decisive action was taken. After all, it's very rare that dragons settle an area so thoroughly that it hadn't been a long-standing claim by an elder of their community.

No, multiple dragons don't usually claim a certain swath of land as the same hoard. Sure, there may be times where a dragon may have a claim to the land and another wants something contained on it, that's a common enough circumstance. Politeness states you discuss with the dragon who owns the land. The risky option is to take it regardless, and hope it wasn't significant enough to provoke the dragon to come after it. The dumb option is to try to kill the other dragon for it.

That's not to say some dragons don't try to make their hoard out of pilfered pieces of others' hoards. There are. It just happens that those contrarian bastards tend to run out their welcome and, once again, as a species with long lives and longer memories? Some fights aren't worth dying for.

But that does bring us politely back to where we were going with this. Dragons dying for causes.

They're bad at doing this.

Any dragonslayer throughout time would tell you it takes time, meticulous planning, and opportunity for you to get ahead enough on a dragon so you can properly take care of the issue. This is true.

It is also true that a dragon will outweigh you, has very sharp teeth and talons, and- most importantly- have some abilities you may or may not have taken into account properly. Dragons get very crafty when they feel so inclined, and when someone is trying to take out your eye you find craftiness far more compelling

If you ask any of the dragons about the lineages of noted dragonslayers they'd probably be able to answer for the ones who hung up the lance, cast aside the sword, and followed a more mundane path that allowed themselves to fade into anonymity or legend. Their lineages flow down through time and while the dragons will always know, Steve who works in HR is about as qualified to slay the average dragon as you'd expect anyone you meet in the clearance section.

Its the ones who claim to descend from famous dragonslayers that you start having problems.

Let's start with "the lineages you want to look for either died to their hubris ages ago, fell prey to a plague, were taken by the fey, or are now politicians," it's a solid foundation and explains that you just need a little sugar-coated lie to make someone think they're invincible and pay the ultimate price for it.

#rambles from the morgue #Yes yes I was having fun with this #No no I have not gotten to the point I was actually rambling toward with All This

[dirty-bosmer]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by: the ever-talented @thana-topsy and @thequeenofthewinter. Once again, I had nothing prepared, so thank you, friends, for the motivation to write <3

Tagging: @gilgamish @atypicalacademic @justafoxhound @skyrim-forever @chennnington @inkysqueed @dumpsterhipster @kookaburra1701 @snowberry-crostata @nuwanders @wispstalk @sylvienerevarine @sheirukitriesfandom

Snip from my Skyrim necromancer fic, Slither and Writhe

The carriage hit another rock, and Sylawen lurched forward, praying silently that this time the whole damn thing would fall apart. Or maybe just a wheel. A wheel if she was lucky. Oh please, Stendarr? Is one loose linchpin so much to ask for? 

But no matter how fervent or how sincere the plea, the carriage trundled on, and Sylawen was forced to realize (not without a note of bitterness) that she did not in fact bear Stendarr’s favor, and the only way left to avoid reaching Skingrad was to throw herself out the carriage door. Fathis had doubtless informed Loriel he was bringing her home. Knowing her mother, she was at the stables already. Sylawen could see her in her mind's eye, the vision as clear as spring water— Loriel pacing wildly, Loriel waiting in agony, Loriel gnawing her nails down to blood-crusted quicks, another handful of hair gone grey from worry.

At the image, Sylawen’s stomach curdled inside her. She pulled the sleeping draught Fathis had given her out of her purse, threw it back, and imagined she was elsewhere. 

Not half an hour later, her consciousness was somewhere between the top of her head and the carriage roof when Fathis’ voice pulled it back into her braincase. “You know,” he said, flipping the page of The Courier, reading by the dim glow of his magelight, “you could always enroll at the College of Winterhold.”

Sylawen squinted. “Wha?”

“I could write your recommendation. Really, it would be my pleasure.”

She scoffed groggily, her mouth tasting of sleep. “Only the desperate and the damned go to Winterhold.”

“Is that so? My son happens to be the Arch-mage there.”

“Eh, Mother says Savos was kind of weird as a kid. Said he failed most of his classes first year too.”

“You’re one to talk. Loriel mentioned your near perfect record of absence in Illusions first semester.”

“Well, that doesn’t count because it was Illusions and no one actually needs illusion because It’s the laziest, most useless of all the schools. I was not about to spend all of fall quarter fiddling around in someone else’s mind, because let me tell you, most people have nothing interesting in there anyway.” 

An ageless grin stretched across Fathis' face. It had a way of crawling under Sylawen's skin, making her feel he knew something she didn't. “If your grandmother heard you talking like that, she’d weep.”

Sylawen flushed but rolled her eyes, then shut them. Illusion. She hated Illusion. She wished she could tell him illusion was for the weak, a field of mind games and emotions, just alteration without the grounding laws of physics. Alteration for people who were bad at math. Illusion required Sylawen to be too close to others' emotions, and though she hated to admit it, sometimes she simply didn't understand how other people were supposed to feel. What was angering to other people? What was calming? Calming was her mother’s voice in the study as midnight valerian simmered in the retort. Sylawen, did you know a land dreugh will regrow its limbs with every molt? Did you know scribs breathe through spiracles that pull air directly into their tissue? 

Calming to Sylawen was verifying each of her mother’s words with her own eyes, the silence of her makeshift laboratory at the edge of Father’s property. The sharp sting of alcohol. The smell of fresh blood. A scalpel in one hand, rat-tooth forceps in the other as she peeled back the skin of a freshly snared hare. Calming was the scratch of charcoal as she sketched every nerve and every vessel, each striation in the muscle that her mother had conjured into her mind when she'd said, Sylawen, did you know a rabbit’s hindlimbs are so powerful it can jump over three feet in one leap?

But when Sylawen focused this image and reflected it onto the minds of her classmates, it hadn’t soothed them. It made them prickle. It made them break out into cold sweats and cringe inwardly until they were slumped over in their seats and dry heaving. She’d gotten in trouble for that on the very first day of tutorial. All her classmates had assumed she’d been playing a cruel prank. Her Illusion professor had made her stay late to clean the chalk boards, and after the third time it happened, Sylawen simply stopped showing up to class.

She didn't tell that to Fathis, of course. Instead she snorted quite uncouthly. "Illusion, pah," she muttered out with the last of her breath, and then she fell soundly asleep.

#wip wednesday #skyrim fic #slither and writhe #CW blood #a sprinkle of magical head cannons #necromancer #sonny writes

[morningstargirl666]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Anyone following the TBBW will know I'm doing some editing on the series right now, and I've just recently started editing The Little Wolf. To no one's surprise, I'm sure, I've decided to add some more scenes (and potentially, two more chapters). So here's a snippet of what's to come:

“4…3…2…1…” Niklaus pulled his hands away from his eyes, opening them to glance all around the woods surrounding him. “Ready or not, here I come!”

Somewhere in the distance, the trees giggled. Niklaus grinned.

He began stalking through the forest, keeping a keen eye out for broken branches and disturbed ground, anything that could indicate where his brother and sister had fled to to hide. And then, after passing several trees, the leaves of a shrub to side rustled, as something had moved inside it. Niklaus narrowed his eyes on it, moving towards it, a smirk slowly growing on his face.

“There’s nowhere to hide where I can’t…” he trailed off, pausing just in front of the shrub, curling his fingers into claws. Then he struck. “...FIND YOU!”

He leaped forward, parting the sides of the bush only to reveal empty air. Stumped, Niklaus stepped back, blinking in confusion. Then his eyes lightened with realisation and he spun around, face clouding over with anger.

“Kol! That’s not fair! Magic isn’t allowed!” he yelled into the woods, knowing his younger brother would hear him.

Cackling laughter was his only response. Niklaus scowled.

His annoyance was immediately sidetracked however, when his sister’s terrified scream sliced through the woods.

Eyes widening, Niklaus broke into a sprint, heading straight in the direction he’d heard the scream come from. “REBEKAH!”

Kol arrived at her side before he did, closer to her and probably having known where she’d been hiding. But as soon as he arrived, skidding to a stop amongst the leaves and dirt, she rushed to his side, enveloping her little arms around his middle. Her head barely reached up to his shoulders.

“Nik!” she cried out in relief, hiding her face in his chest.

“What?” he asked worriedly, bending down to one knee and holding her hands tight, “What is it?”

Rebekah didn’t answer, merely pointing instead to something Kol was already hunched over, inspecting intently.

“I think it’s dead,” his brother declared, poking the mound of feathers with a stick.

It was a bird, Niklaus realised. Pretty, colourful feathers decorated its plumage, a mix of yellows, blues and greens - a starling.

Rebekah let go of her brother to go berate Kol, shoving him away from the small bird. “Kol, stop! What if it isn’t!”

Niklaus looked between them, blinking as he tried to put it altogether. “What’s going on?”

Kol sent him a toothy grin, one of his first milk teeth having fallen out last night.

“Rebekah was hiding and then she put her hand behind her and touched it. Screamed like a little girl.”

Rebekah stomped her foot, face turning a bright shade of red. “That’s because I am a girl, you idiot!”

Niklaus eyed them both warily - Rebekah and Kol were the closest in age out of all his siblings, only two years apart. As such, their arguments could get rather…heated.

It was just better for everyone if you left them to it.

Stepping around the two of them, Niklaus crouched down and inspected the little bird. After a moment’s hesitation, he picked it up, noting the body was still warm underneath all the feathers. However, the head lolled limply, and there were specks of red decorating its plumage, feathers wet with blood in places. 

Niklaus bit his lip. “I think it’s a starling.”

“Well, I think it's a dead starling,” Kol said, peaking at the bird over his shoulder.

Rebekah clenched her jaw, hissing her words out through her teeth. “It. Is. Not. Dead.”

Niklaus ignored them both, bringing the bird closer to himself and gently cradling its head. His heart broke for it - had this been one of the starlings his mother had brought with her when their family had arrived here?

“What happened to you, eh little guy?” he softly whispered to it, smiling sadly. The poor thing didn’t answer.

(He’d tried talking to other animals since he met the wolf, but so far, they didn’t talk back like the wolf did).

“Maybe another bird attacked it,” Kol suggested.

“Why would they do that?”

Niklaus didn’t need to turn around - he could hear Kol’s wild grin in his voice. “Because some birds eat other baby birds for breakfast.”

“That’s not true!” Rebekah shrilly protested, voice an octave too high in her fear. Kol had probably made some scary gesture to sell the story. “Nik, tell Kol it’s not true!”

“It’s not true, Rebekah,” Niklaus reassured her, sending her a smile over his shoulder. For Kol, however, he sent a terrible glare. “Right, Kol?”

“Chickens are practically cannibals Nik, let alone wild bir-”

His glare intensified, jerking his head at a shaking Rebekah, which shut Kol up immediately. 

His younger brother rolled his eyes, mulishly folding his arms over his chest. “Right. Yeah, ‘course I lied, Rebekah,” he muttered.

Niklaus forced a smile on his face, standing to his feet with the little bird in his hands, talking to Rebekah before she could ask further questions.

“Come on, Rebekah, let’s take it to mother. Maybe she can help it.”

It wasn’t a lie for Rebekah’s sake - he hoped they could. But Kol sent him a sceptical look regardless, clearly doubting so but following along out of curiosity for all things related to magic.

They found their mother outside their home folding washed linens and clothes that had been set out to dry, Elijah and Finn nowhere to be found, helping father for the day.

“Mother! We found a starling that fell from the nest!” Rebekah called out when they rounded the corner of the farmstead, chickens scurrying out from under her feet as she raced past.

Esther quickly finished folding the piece of cloth in her hands, placing it down on a table to the side before turning and crouching down, just as Rebekah arrived in front of her.

“I see that, little love,” she said with a smile, before turning to Niklaus, who still carried the poor bird, “Is it alive?” she asked, holding her hands to take it off his hands.

“I don’t think so. But it’s still warm.” Niklaus handed the small bird over, so very gentle with it. He looked up hopefully at his mother. “Can you save it?”

Esther hesitated, clearly trying to find the right words. She looked down at the bird cupped within her palms forlornly, before meeting the three expectant gazes of her children.

“I’m sorry, children, but I’m afraid some magic is beyond even me,” she said softly, regretful.

“So it is dead?” Rebekah asked brokenly, her face falling.

“I told you,” Kol whispered in his brother’s ear, too low for Rebekah to catch. Niklaus sent him a glare, shoving his smug mug out of his face. Kol giggled, their mother sending them both a reprimanding look, before turning her full attention to Rebekah.

“Yes, it is,” she confirmed gently. “But what do we say about death?”

“That it’s not the end,” Rebekah answered confidently.

“Exactly.” Esther smiled, handing the bird over to her. “Why don’t you build a small pyre for this little one so we can honour the short life it lived?”

Like magic, their sister’s entire face lit up. “Yes, let’s do that! Nik, will you help me?”

She turned expectantly to her older brother and Niklaus never really could say no to that face. He smiled, wide and true.

“Of course, Rebekah.”

“And what am I? Chicken fodder?” Kol cried indignantly, too used to being tied to Rebekah at the hips.

As the siblings turned around, already arguing about the logistics of how to build a little pyre for such a small bird as they walked away, Esther smiled, going back to her work. It was when she turned her back, reaching for more dry cloth, when she heard it: a thud as something hit the ground. Movements stilling, Esther slowly turned around, eyes falling to the floor.

It was another bird. A starling. Its eyes were rolled back, beak open, neck bent at an odd angle, splayed pitifully across the ground.

Slowly, Esther looked up to where the bird must have fallen from.

Two gleaming onyx eyes stared down at her, a raven perched on the wooden arch of their home, shoulders hunched over. Its ink-black feathers shimmered in the sunlight, puffed up from the cold. Esther’s breath caught in her throat, her face turning ashen.

There was blood on the raven’s beak.

It didn’t blink and neither did she, Esther only daring to breathe again when it spread its wings and flew away. Eyes still on the retreating bird, she slowly walked over to the dead starling on the ground, moving her gaze to it when the raven finally disappeared into the treeline of the woods in the distance.

She knelt down, picking up the broken bird in her hands and after a moment, closed her eyes, cupping her hands over it. Words were whispered, chanted under her breath and when she opened her hands, a very alive starling flew out of them, flying off into the sky.

Esther went back to her work like nothing had happened but every so often, her hands shook and her eyes darted to sky, looking for shimmering black wings. And deep inside the crevices of their home, not far away, a large mouse - around the same size as the starling - took its last breath, dying for seemingly no reason at all.

#klaus mikaelson #rebekah mikaelson #kol mikaelson #esther mikaelson #fanfiction #the little wolf #morningstar writes #klaroline wip wed #there's a lot of missing context to this scene #but just know #I'm about to go full fall of the house of usher on esther's ass

[morrak]

Untitled Wednesday Library Series, Part 93

Last week, I promised a sister book to Bayton and Maughan’s Plant Families. This is that. Lorraine Harrison’s 2012 Latin for Gardeners: Over 3,000 Plant Names Explained and Explored.

Also published by the University of Chicago Press and also presented by Quarto, though a different imprint thereof time and credited specifically to one Lindsey Johns.

The How

As last week, bought it somewhere. Would’ve been around the same time as Plant Families, but I have no memory of how the connection between the two got made for me. They’re obviously meant as companions, but there’s no named series or advertisement of matched books in either. Seems like a flopped landing on the marketing end, but then again I still paid for both.

The Text

I stand by my judgment of Plant Families as an unusually audienceless production. The same is mostly true here. You know the dream sequence in A Serious Man where Fred Melamed is Fred Melamed? With that in mind, I withhold strong feelings. You can see that is book is well informed; it’s nicely composed; but at the end of the day, is it convincingly for anyone? Eh.

What is it, though, like, descriptively? I’ll explain.

Definitions, mostly. In terms of formula, its defining goes “[English of the (usually specific epithetical) Latin (or Latinized Greek)], as in [specific epithet]”. In terms of pictures, it has them.

It is definitely a kind of dictionary, though which kind of dictionary it thinks it is isn’t all that legible. Pictorial, ish. It’s got detailed insets sometimes, and most of them in clear families scattered throughout the less inspired lexicographical stuff. Sometimes it wants to do full-page profiles on species or genera or guys like previous feature Joseph Banks.

It has a very token glossary and a billboard of a bibliography, but I’ll credit it for its (unpictured) list of image citations, of which precisely 3 out of 221 aren’t to RHS’s Lindley Library.

The Object

Everything I said last week applies here, though I’m less charmed by the layout work this time. It is extremely sellable, [though|by virtue of being] pretty on the nose.

The Why, Though?

Y’know, I actually really like having a not-quite-actually Latin dictionary this (ha) specific. I don’t like the way it works so hard to be ‘for gardeners’; it fails at that in a way that occasionally makes it look silly. What saves it is unfortunately unusual niche it chooses to occupy.

Taxonomy is complicated and obtuse, even in fields that’ve taken pains to be as descriptive as possible in recent decades. A curious novice — or, more likely, a bumbling journeyman — can look up words on, say, the internet, but that’s hardly a recipe for concision. This does a less than stellar job of covering all the bases it might, and the illustrations are definitely repurposed — custom ones for anatomical structures are notably absent, and often the pictures present are thoughtlessly cropped from thoughtfully composed arrangements — but it’s an attempt. Better than no book at all, and probably more generally useful as a reference than last week’s. Odd ducks still float.

#images #untitled wednesday library series #on botany

[purplesurveys]

1750

Think back to yesterday, what were you doing around this time? I think I was just playing a game on my phone, taking breaks in between to baby Cooper and squish his cheeks.

What was the last thing you watched on the TV? The music video of 3D. :)) The song is really catchy but holy shit can it stand on its own without the rap. I almost immediately preferred the alternate version and am so grateful they decided to make one.

Do you think pets can get annoying easily? Uhhhhh, no. Pets can get annoying on occasion, but if you're easily irritated by them then maybe you're the problem...

Did you know that pickles have no calories? No, but I also don't have any strong feelings about learning this because I don't even like pickles haha.

Do you enjoy family get togethers? It depends on the side I'm seeing. I always enjoy the food lol but I have different relationships with different relatives, and there are certain sides that I can much more easily vibe with.

That said, my family's dynamic definitely falls under the Filipino stereotype of my dad's side typically being more boring, and my mom's side being lots of fun to be with (for the most part).

In a group of three, do you often feel like the third wheel? I mean, it depends on who the other two are. I am louder around certain people and quieter around others.

What color are your pants? I'm not wearing pants but my current shorts are purple and white.

Is there snow on the ground where you are? No.

What is keeping you warm right now? Nothing, actually, even though I'm feeling increasingly cold. I should get my blanket soon.

Has anyone bought you a piece of jewelry? Yes, a previous significant partner and a close friend.

How far away is your next birthday? Seven months away.

Do you have plans for that birthday yet? Not really yet. I don't start planning on what I want to do until the start of the new year.

When did you last take a shower? This morning.

Have you ever been to the Grand Canyon? Nope, I've never seen it.

Have you ever flown somewhere alone? No and I don't know when I'll ever have the courage to do so haha. It feels so daunting! I don't even think I'm ready to travel on my own yet.

Are you more serious or funny? I definitely try to be more lighthearted but I know when to be serious. Work drains me enough during the day so I like to let loose once I'm out of that headspace.

Is there someone that annoys you but you haven’t told them? Eh no one annoys me these days other than, like, certain celebrities that I have muted on social media anyway so that I never see them.

When is garbage day in your area? Wednesday.

Who/What was the last thing to really irritate you? My brother acts like he's king of the fucking world and never does any chores. The untended pile of laundry we had earlier was irritating me to no end so I just folded everything so that that part of the house can look neat again, even though I'm already in charge of a couple of other chores.

I feel like he thinks he gets a pass because college life is supposed to be exhausting, but it feels like such a funny insult to the 9-6s my sister and I have, lmao. In any case, I ended up enjoying folding the laundry because I found it therapeutic after my long day.

Do you think people either love or hate spongebob? At least from how I see it, most people love Spongebob either for its nostalgic factor, the timeless memeability of the show, or both. I fall under the category of loving Spongebob for both of those reasons.

The people I know who aren't interested only feel that way because they didn't grow up watching the show, but they don't actively dislike it.

Have you seen that new “Lie To Me” show? I've never even heard of that. I love the 5SOS song that shares the exact same title though, hah.

What is something you’d rather be doing right now? I'm perfectly content where I am right now.

Do you find that people are too hard on you? No, but I'm sensing that it's about to be that way soon. I don't want to talk about it now though.

Do you take surveys often? I wouldn't say so, but my activity does come in bursts. It'll be radio silence for most Monday-Fridays, but I might take 3-4 a day on weekends.

Do you tend to slam things around when you’re mad? Sometimes, but I wouldn't call it a habit. I wouldn't want it to be one.

Do you know anyone who hates/dislikes chocolate? I don't think so. I don't dislike chocolate per se, but I tend to avoid it because I find it too sweet.

Could you vote in this last election? Yes; I've been voting since 2016.

Have you taken a shower today? Yup.

How much sleep did you get last night? Around 7-8.

Do you have more girl friends or guy friends? Girl.

What is your current mood? Relaxed, happy, content.

Is there anything on your mind at the moment? How I'm in a really uncomfortable position but I'm too lazy to move around. Also thinking about how much my back and neck hurts, and my stomach is also beginning to feel upset most likely because of how I wolfed down that samgyupsal earlier lol.

Are there any movies out that you’d like to see? Oppenheimer, but I'll save that for when my dad's back home so we can watch it together.

Have you ever been on a website called Stickam? No, I don't think I've heard of it either.

Have you ever hated yourself? Yes. I don't anymore, but I did, and it wasn't a good place to be in.

Are you hungry? No, I am VERY full hahaha.

Did your parents ever ground you? Yes. At the time I had actually been very surprised that they did, considering 'grounding' isn't at all a thing where I live. Anyway, I had gotten in trouble on multiple occasions both for swearing and having horrible grades, so my parents would take away my laptop for indefinite periods.

Where was the last place you went out to eat? This Greek place where I had a Very Corporate Lunch with my workplace's CEO (aka my new boss from here on out), Bea, and one of our clients. I felt sick the whole time. Why am I even in this position? I don't care for corporate talk. Can I go back to being a manager who is more hands-on with the dirty, day-to-day work?

Have you ever felt like you needed a better life than the one you have? Better isn't really the word for it. Maybe 'more fulfilling' is more apt, and I'm definitely feeling that way now.

Do you own an MP3 player of some kind? No, not anymore.

Do you have a moment in your life you wish you could replay over again? Yes, Yoongi's concert. I think of going back to that time at least once a day. Every time I remember I've seen a member of BTS I always break out into a stupid giggle and feel like I'm floating on air for the next half hour haha. UGH I LOVE YOONGI BRING HIM BACK TO ME

Have you ever been in a play? If so, did you like it? I mean I guess, in my first school, but it was always a class performance where we'd do a song number. No, I never enjoyed those mandatory performances.

What is one musical artist you wish wasn’t making music? Chris Brown. I wish everyone can just start ignoring him.

When was the last time you cleaned something? Earlier tonight when I mopped the floor, tidied the dining table, and washed everyone's dishes.

Have you ever been so sick you had to be taken to the hospital? Yes, on two occasions.

Do you like your smile? Yes. :)

Do you have someone that you think truly understands you? Sure.

When was the last time you doubted yourself? Yesterday at the aforementioned lunch. My feelings at the time were like 20% doubting myself, 80% openly acknowledging within myself that, "holy shit, I CANNOT fake it til I make it here. Everything they're talking about, from next year's contract and the company's profit is making me want to vomit all over this table."

Is there anything currently bothering you? Yes my entire back is killing me and I just need a masseuse who'll use my back as a punching bag for five hours straight.

Would you say that you’ve got something ‘special’ about you? I think about that way about myself and everyone. We all come with our own charms.

Who was the last person to cheer you up when you were down? Jin.

Are you scared of what you do not know? I'm past that point already, considering what I've been able to survive before. I just enjoy going with the flow now.

Is there anything in the next six months that you’re looking forward to? Leaving my jobbbbb. I've decided to stay for the time being just so that I can avoid looking like an asshole who leaves as soon as she gets promoted, but resignation actively hangs in my mind everyday because the more I get settled in my new job, the more resentful I get.

Were you/are you popular in high school? I was in the inner circles, but I hated being in the spotlight so I still preferred to be the wallflower in my groups.

Do you really care what people think about you? No. I have other things to think about.

Do you find yourself treating others like you’d want to be treated? Not always. I will snap sometimes without meaning to and it always makes me feel guilty and self-reflect at the end of the day, but in general I do my best to go about every day thinking of two things: treat people the way I'd want to be treated, and that I never know what people are going through at a given moment so just be fucking nice.

Are you constantly envious of others? I genuinely cannot tell you when I last felt envy.

Are you more of a whiner with things or a do’er of things? Doer. I'll grumble within myself but it's not like I have a choice for the most part so I just go ahead and do Things.

List three of your favorite TV shows: Breaking Bad, Friends, Descendants of the Sun.

Would your friends say you’re a relaxed person or stressed? STRESSED, lmao. They will be the first to tell you that, for sure.

What do you find yourself worrying most about these days? How well I can adjust into my new role at work. Maybe I'll get into it more another time, but it's 11 PM on a Friday night and mulling over work feelings is the last thing I want to be doing.

Would you say it’s hard to earn your trust? It's easy for me to trust people and just as easy for me to take it away.

Who was the last person to compliment you? Coleen.

Anything interesting happen this past week? Sure, but it's not the good kind of interesting.

When was the last time you felt scared? Wednesday, when I had to go through multiple unfamiliar roads to get to my destination that day.

What’s on your mind this very second? How I want to skip the current song that's playing, anddd I just did.

Do you know the difference between ‘your’ and ‘you’re’? Yes.

Do you correct other people’s grammar/spelling when talking to them online? Never.

Is bacon one of your favorite foods? I love bacon, but it's not my favorite.

Are you one of those people who like to sleep in on the weekends? No. I'll barely sleep during weekends since it's my only time to do normal life things really.

Do you like things vampire related? Eh, just Twilight.

Have you ever cussed at a parent or teacher? Nope. I've sworn around my parents, but not at them.

When was the last time you saw snow? I've never seen snow.

Have you ever felt stupid after saying something? Yes.

Do you find yourself cold at the moment? Not anymore; I turned off the aircon for now since the cold had been getting too uncomfortable earlier.

Are your nails currently long? Yeah a little bit and I'll have to cut them soon.

Are you the kind of person who does not like talking about their past? Certain remnants of it sure, but I'm generally an open book.

Do you have long slender fingers or short chunky ones? My fingers are long and slender and I loveeeee them.

Do you think your foot size fits your body type? I guess so. My feet are really tiny hahah I'm like a size 6.

Are you the competitive type? Yeah, in every sense of the word. I mean I've gotten better at handling losses but I still like to treat most things like a race/contest; it's just a better mindset for me to be in to be motivated to do my best.

Are you more of a mommy’s person or a daddy’s person? Dad's girl.

[momorin-translations]

DIG-ROCK Impish Crow Vol. 1 Part 2: One’s Daily Life

Track 02 それぞれの日常 One’s Daily Life (8:19)

Listen along here: https://open.spotify.com/track/7HWf1vpHtn6aqcsbo35tBj?si=eccb380d99674e6e

Girl: Hey Hibari-kun, want to hang out somewhere after this?

Hibari: Ahh, sorry. I have practice at the studio today.

Girl: Ehh? Do drummers really have to practice that much?

Hibari: We’re working on a new song right now. If I miss today’s practice, all four of us won’t be able to meet up for a while. 

Girl: You said that last time too.

Hibari: Did I? Sorry~

Girl: Geez…

Girl 2: Ah, there you are! Hibari-kun! 

Girl 2: I got tickets to Impish Crow’s next live!

Hibari: Ah, you bought them! Thank you~

Girl 2: I tried to get them first thing on the release date and finally got one! All my other friends said it was sold out!

Hibari: I see… I’m sorry. We wanted to increase the number of tickets at the last minute, but…

Girl 2: Don’t worry about it, it’s something to celebrate! Impish Crow’s getting more and more popular after all! Hibari: Yup, thanks to you. 

Hibari: About those who couldn’t get tickets… I’ll see what I can do. It’d be nice if we could get more by the next live though. 

Girl 2: Thank you! Everyone will be happy with those thoughts alone!

Hibari: I’ll leave it up to you to let them know, okay? Ah, shoot, I have to get going.

Girl 2: Heading to practice? 

Hibari: Yup! See you. 

Girl 2: Yeah! Do your best, okay~? 

Girl: Going around trying to please him, how annoying. 

Girl 2: A woman who can’t even suppo-

Girl: So annoying. 

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Hibari: Ah, Mitsuru? 

Mitsuru: Yeah.

Hibari: Good work today. How did your studio work go? Are you able to come to this evening’s practice?

Mitsuru: It’ll work out.

Hibari: I see, that’s a relief. Ah, I’m just about to leave campus. 

Mitsuru: Are you tired? 

Hibari: …Ahh, you found me out. I really can’t hide anything from you, Mitsuru. 

Hibari: Ah, I’m fine! It’s not a big deal or anything. I was just thinking that having a good face and a rich family has its perks, stuff like that.

Hibari: Ah, setting that aside, keep up the good work. 

Mitsuru: Yeah, talk to you later. 

Hibari: Later. 

Mitsuru: Hibari said he’s okay, but… He sounds exhausted. I’ll buy him a vanilla shake later. 

Mitsuru: That’s right, I should let Toki know about today too. 

Manager: Hey, Mitsuru! It’s about time. Oh, how rare. I thought you’d be napping on the sofa.

Mitsuru: I had to take a call.

Manager: A call? Ah right, you had plans after this. It was some sort of hobby with the indie band, um…

Mitsuru: Impish Crow.

Manager: That’s right, ImpCrow! Going out of your way to practice together, you’re quite studious. 

Mitsuru: I want to play as much as I can. Practice is fun, after all.

Manager: I see, it sounds like you’re making some progress with your live. With your skills, I think it’d be more worth it to work at the studio though.

Mitsuru: If we do a live, guests will come. I don’t know how well tickets are selling compared to other bands though. Manager: It doesn’t bother you? Mitsuru: Hm… I wouldn’t like it if there were zero people who came to listen, but it’s not like that.

Employee: Alright, next! It’s time for the bass.

Manager: Oops, come on, get in there. Make lots of cool sounds! Mitsuru: Yeah. 

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

Toki: 40 yen is your change. 

Customer: Thank you. 

Toki: Thank you very much.

Cafe Manager: Mizukawa-kun, you’re done for the day. Thanks for the hard work. 

Toki: Ah, yes! Thank you very much, Manager. 

Cafe Manager: Ah, when are you working next? Toki: Ah… Next week on Wednesday, was it? Is something the matter?

Cafe Manager: About that… Recently, it’s been quite busy on Saturdays.

Toki: Ah… This week on Saturday, I should be able to work for about two hours in the afternoon. 

Cafe Manager: Really? If you’re able to come, I’ll give you a small bonus!

Toki: Eh, for real? Then, I’ll be here on Saturday. 

Cafe Manager: Sorry about this as always… You’d think we’d be able to have better wages with a privately run café like ours, but… You’re really a great help. 

Toki: Discussing things like this helps me out a lot too, so please reach out to me again. 

Toki: That’s right, I should put Saturday’s shift on my calendar. Let’s see… Hm? A message from Mitsuru?

Toki: Hmm. It looks like everyone will be able to make it today. “Roger that.”

Toki: Ah. Again? 

Toki: Hello, Mom? What is it? I told you I wouldn’t be able to go home for a while, I told you that last time. Transportation costs are absurd and besides, I’m really busy with stuff right now. Stuff means stuff, alright? Things like college and work. 

Toki: That’s right, the band too. Like I said, the band isn’t like that! We’re not trying to become famous or earn loads of money. Anyways, I won’t be able to show my face at home for a while. 

Toki: Geez… Easier said than done, huh… 

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

Tsugumi: Then, thanks for the hard work! Toki: Yo, Tsugu. Good work today. 

Tsugumi: Eh? No way, it’s Toki!

Toki: What’s that supposed to mean, “no way”?

Tsugumi: Because, what are you doing here? 

Toki: This is the road to the station.

Tsugumi: That’s not what I mean. You could’ve waited inside, y’know? Everyone at the store already knows you. 

Toki: That’s why I don’t want to. Come on, let’s go. 

Tsugumi: Why don’t you want to?

Toki: They’re always staring at me. What did you tell your co-workers about me?

Tsugumi: What’d I tell them? You’re my neighbor and childhood friend, a guitarist in our band since middle school, we moved out together, and your hobbies are doing laundry and ironing clothes.

Toki: Hey wait, did you have to mention that last part? 

Tsugumi: Ah,  and also about how you’re super attached to me-

Toki: HEY! 

Tsugumi: Just kidding~ I told them you write really cool lyrics too. 

Toki: Telling people so casually about people’s old wounds… If you tell anyone about that I’ll really kill you. 

Tsugumi: Roger that~ It’s a secret between just you and me, right? Okay okay~

Toki: Geez… 

Tsugumi: Ah right, this. Bentos for four, let’s all eat together if we get hungry at the studio later! A job with free food really is the best, right? 

Toki: Oh, there’s coffee jelly in there.

Tsugumi: You like that, don’t you? The manager made sure to put that in there~

Toki: As always, older people really like you, huh… 

Tsugumi: It’s my virtue!

Toki: Well said. Come on, enough of that, we should walk a little faster. They’ll be mad if we’re late. 

Tsugumi: What’s with that, says the person with long legs. 

Toki: I don’t-

Tsugumi: Yes you do! 

Toki: Seriously, I really don’t. 

Tsugumi: You’re so irritating~ 

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hello hello and welcome to another dig-rock track!! as always, please let me know if there are any issues w the translation and i’ll make sure to revise them asap <33 i’m falling more in love with impcrow they’re so cute TwT i hope you enjoy as well~

#dig-rock #impish crow #rubia leopard #hound roar #drama cd #mintlip

[bigskydreaming]

I kinda wanna fucking scream, so here, have a offline bullshit rant post.

So I’ve literally been trying to get my stupid fucking meds for over a MONTH now at this point, which I’m sure you can all see like, my mood is just wooooonderful these days. Not an excuse, casual reminder that yeah you do gotta take care of your own space so if my mood is dragging anyone down, I’m totes on board with blocking or unfollowing or y’know, burning me in effigy or something. Okay maybe not that last part. But still. You get it. And its not even that like, I need mood stabilizers per se, lol, so shout out to the armchair diagnosticians helpfully peppering my inbox still in their quest to oh so slickly be like ‘hey you’re a hot mess, take your hot messness away from tumblr’ like lol, didn’t ask.....nah, its mostly the perpetual lack of sleep and chronic pain issues that I have zero distraction from when my specific combo of meds isn’t able to let me actually weaponize my ADHD properly and power through that. Its a whole thing. Whatever. Just go with it.

POINT IS. So I’ve been trying to do this for over a month now, first obstacle was even just getting the money together for my refill appointment which is a whopping $150, because I have to pay out of pocket for mental health stuff these days because I had to switch my insurance over to something that paid out more heavily for physical benefits like my jaw surgery.....and because of the pandemic, and how many psychiatrists in my area and that I could actually reach aren’t taking new patients during the pandemic since most of them are conducting business virtually still, like, I have barely any resources for seeking out and trying new psychiatrist offices in the meanwhile that might charge less and I’m kinda stuck with the one I have because the last thing I can afford is to have like, NO psychiatrist at the moment, y’know?

So first I had to have that to even BOOK the appointment, which took forever because rent and food are a joy to accrue when you can barely manage to function as an actual employee of the capitalist machine ahfsklhflkahflakf, but so then I did that and like, got an appointment put on the books for August 19th. That was the soonest they could fit me in back when I paid them for my appointment about a week and a half ago. No, two weeks ago now? Eh, time is fake. ANYWAY, so that wasn’t gonna work for me, so basically the entirety of last week was devoted to constantly calling and trying to check in every other hour to see if they had any sooner cancellations I could take, because for whatever fucking reason, they just ‘don’t do’ a cancellation list wherein they call the next person on the list once they have a cancellation. Whatever.

So finally got a cancellation slot with a virtual appointment last Saturday night at random as fuck 8:40. Okay cool. Most of my refills are fairly simple, no real changes, but two are controlled substances so like, they have to do their due diligence and go through the proper protocols before giving me another prescription to one or whatever. Fine. Okay.

So I call the CVS they sent the prescription for my ADHD med to, the very next morning. One of the controlled substances, and the key med to like....making me functional instead of a rambling disjointed whirlibird of a thought emitter. Problem is, that medication is on back order. Won’t be in until Tuesday. Ugh. Okay, fine. Nothing I can do about it, because while the specific provider I spoke to in order to GET my refill prescriptions was taking an appointment the night before, the actual offices that schedule appointments and connect patients through to their providers was closed for the weekend, so I couldn’t even ask for them to send the scrip somewhere else.

SO. I go back to the CVS on Monday, hoping that maybe it came in early because not like I can do much else in the meanwhile. Course its not there, but oh well. I toy with the idea of calling to ask my provider to send the scrip to a different pharmacy (only had it sent to this one cuz its within walking distance to me, and since I can’t drive for medical reasons and Uber’s are expensive as fuck, just for errands, like, even though walking is sooooo not fun for me physically, like it is what it is). I decide against it because here’s another fun fact about this controlled substance....for security reasons, pharmacies don’t have to tell people over the phone if they have it in stock or not. Like, they won’t just say no we don’t have it in stock - I mean, they WILL say that, but that doesn’t actually mean anything because that’s what most of them say about that particular medication no matter whether or not they DO, and then just cite security protocols, so you have to actually GO to the store in question to ask them and even get a real answer to whether or not they even HAVE it in stock to FILL a prescription if its sent over. And no, the provider won’t just send scrips into several different pharmacies at once and just be whichever has it in stock can fill it - because again, controlled substance.

SO. I decide its not worth it to try getting the scrip sent over somewhere else, because I’d have to at least waste money on an Uber to even travel to various pharmacies and even check if they CAN fill it sooner than this one, when at least this place will have it in tomorrow. Its just one more day at this point.

Except then I go back on Tuesday. Oh sorry, don’t know why that other person told you we’d have our order in today, our shipments of that medication don’t come in until Wednesdays.

So I go back Wednesday. Success! They have it in stock. I go to pay, pulling out my goodRx coupon that was just printed out that morning, specifically citing the price for CVS at Target. The pharmacy manager says sorry, we don’t honor that coupon here for controlled substances like this one. I say: record scratch? He’s like yeah, that’s at the discretion of individual pharmacies, and we don’t honor that price for this specific medication, because we don’t want to attract customers only coming here to get that medication filled for that price. (This pharmacy is right at the edge of Inglewood and Culver City, for anyone who is familiar with those neighborhoods. The implications are exactly as they appear to be). So I’m like, what’s the regular generic price? He quotes me something that’s $180 more than the coupon, and thus $180 more than I have since I was focused totally on getting THIS amount ASAP, so I could get these meds so I could do more work and make more money. You see the train of thought. I’m like well that’s awesome, I don’t have anything close to that. Hey. Weird question. Why did nobody I talked to the past three days in a row that I’ve walked into this store in person to request this refill, like, mention this little tidbit about not honoring this coupon so instead of waiting for a backorder that would do me no good, I could have been spending that time having my prescription transferred somewhere that WOULD honor it?

He’s like, well did you mention to any of them that you’d be using a goodRx coupon for this particular medication? I said, yup. He said, you sure? I said well the specific process each time was I came in, I asked if this medication was in, they said what’s your name and date of birth, I provided that info, they said are you paying out of pocket, we don’t have valid insurance info for this on file for you, I said yup paying out of pocket with a goodRx coupon, they said *clickety clack of the keyboard* nope, sorry, we won’t have this medicine in until Tuesday, I mean Wednesday. 

He’s like, well you must be misremembering or they would have told you at the time that we don’t take GoodRx coupons on this medication. I’m like, dude, it was you. It was literally you that I spoke to two of those three times, right here at the counter, in person. I’m gonna go ahead and trust my memory of those interactions and what was said there over yours since you don’t actually remember having talked to me two times in the last three days. He’s like, I gotta go help another customer. There is no other customer. I leave. Fun day for everyone.

So then I call around town to at least check which CVS will actually honor the coupon I have and the price that I can afford to pay it at. I don’t bother asking if they even have the medication in stock because I know its not guaranteed to be a CORRECT answer, but at least I can see who accepts this damn coupon. Also, reason I’m only trying big brand pharmacies instead of smaller, hole in the wall ones is because again, controlled substance, and I know from experience that the bigger brand pharmacies are at least more likely to have that med in stock whereas most smaller ones tend to run out very quickly as they usually only get enough for their existing/regular customers and a little extra.

I find a CVS five miles away - not walkable, gonna have to Uber. Call my psychiatrist office again to ask them to transfer the scrip, front office says they’ll send the request to my provider, who usually checks and fulfills such requests in 24-48 hours. I’m like okay cool, can I get a phone call to let me know when that happens, so at least I know when to check back to follow up if it hasn’t happened yet for whatever reason? They’re like no, the pharmacy will send you a text or call when they get the prescription sent over and you can take it from there with them. I’m like okay, but I’ve done this a bunch of times and know from experience the pharmacy does NOT in fact always call or text, so is there a certain time to follow up to inquire if the provider has already sent the scrip and the pharmacy SHOULD have it by now or if the delay is on the provider’s end? Front office is like yeah no. I’m like, swell.

So that was yesterday. I call the pharmacy (which I still don’t even know if they have the medication IN STOCK to fill the scrip even once they GET the scrip, and won’t until I can actually Uber out there, but one thing at a time at this point) at like 9 pm, they’re a 24 hour pharmacy, and they’re like nope, we got nothing (this is after spending an hour and a half on hold to even TALK to someone at the pharmacy). Called them again today at noon, still nada. Technically I have another 29 hours before the window in which the provider is supposed to send the refill scrip to this new location, before I can be like, okay so they still haven’t done it, can we send him a nudge or another request. The 24-48 hour window will only actually EXPIRE after their offices close on Friday meaning it’ll be Monday before I can even actually REACH someone again to ask them to send the scrip again, if the pharmacy hasn’t ACTUALLY gotten it by Friday night, and pessimistically, I’m not super inclined to assume that they will at this point. 

I’m antsy, irritable, hungry because I don’t even know for SURE sure if the new pharmacy will ACTUALLY honor the coupon or say no sorry we don’t do that here either, whoever told you that was wrong, or if they’ll even actually have it in stock versus I’ll have to have it sent somewhere else AGAIN, so I have to pinch every penny possible in order to ensure I have the most money possible once my prescription IS filled in case the price is more than I expected again or in case I have to take Ubers there or further than I expected or basically....shit happens that I don’t expect. And this is what I’m basically spending all my time doing instead of working, because trying to get work done in this state is like....the harder I try to make it happen, the less it actually gets done, so I try and prioritize this and its roadblock after roadblock dragging out and wasting my time, and like yeah, I can post and shit while I’m doing this aka sitting on hold or walking around town trying to get shit filled because its fine if I ramble incoherently along the way in posts, but actual WORK work requires like....fucking coherency and succinctness and not having to stop and start every five minutes to call someone else, and oh yeah, being able to power through migraine spikes. And just.

I’m very annoyed about anything and everything to do with this shit. The hoops you have to jump through to even get the stuff that like....actualizes your hoop jumping ability, is just....*gnashing of teeth*

Anyway. So that’s my offline bullshit rant. Yay. The end.

[justkeeptrekkin]

Your Life is Golden

a ficlet inspired by my need for angst and badass Aziraphale content. 

***

“Crowley. We’ve known each other for a long time, and… no. That’s not right.”

Aziraphale steps in a puddle, and it splashes muddy water up his leg. He sighs, continues walking. “Crowley, old chum. Six thousand years, eh? Or was it longer? We’ve been through an awful lot, you know, and… no, no, no. Bother.”

He passes a shop window and catches sight of his twisted, anxious expression. He tries to correct it, looks away. Shakes his head to himself and starts rewriting his speech in his mind. 

“I’ve been in love with you for a good few decades now, Crowley, and I think it’s about time I did something about it… how about we go a little faster, after all?” Aziraphale nods a little to himself. “Not perfect, but it’s something.”

Aziraphale turns the corner opposite the bookshop, a bottle of far too expensive wine in his hand. At roughly three o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon, Soho is still busy, still filled with tourists, the smell of beer and Chinese food in the air. For the rest of the world, life goes on; for Aziraphale, the world has changed. He settles into a familiar and delicious anticipation that has always prefaced seeing Crowley, but this time, things are different. The End of Times never happened, and since then, Aziraphale has waited for the moment he could summon enough bravery to invite his friend over.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you how I feel for a while, now,” Aziraphale presses on, muttering to himself and prompting a few funny looks from passers-by. “Naturally, if you don’t want them to, things needn’t change, but…”

It’s only as he’s crossing the road that he sees that the shop light is on. 

And it’s only when he steps back onto the pavement that he picks up the lingering taste of multiple demonic auras; the footprint in the sand betraying Crowley’s recent presence. Though he’s not here any more. 

It’s when he ascends the steps to the shop door, hand poised by the handle, that dread sits on his chest and makes him nauseous. 

Aziraphale pushes open the door.

He has never had his shop ransacked before. There have been moments where he’s imagined what he’d do, if someone broke in and tried to steal anything; how far he’d go to find and punish whoever did it; whether he’d simply forgive them like he’s meant to. Worse than that, he’s allowed himself to imagine what would happen if Gabriel and Sandalophon came back, like they did during his shop launch; what would have happened if they’d simply turned around and seen Crowley, top hat and all, holding a box of chocolates.

Now, the sound of his brogues against the wooden floor sounds more hollow than it ever has before. It fills the room too much. It aches. 

He casts his eyes about the fallen books; some of them are charred. Some of the bookshelves have come down. There are claw marks in the floorboards.

He puts down the bottle of wine. The door is left open behind him, and he can hear people talking about normal things. 

Aziraphale extends a hand- a hand that doesn’t feel like his own- and sees it land on a copy of Sappho’s poetry. The pages have fallen open to one of her lesser known elegies. The fingers dance across the words like they’re scribbles, silly little pictures that no longer make sense. Crowley had bought him this particular book. His eyes turn away from the book and scan the shop, trying desperately to absorb what’s in front of him and failing. Everything in chaos. The sharp tang of sulphur in the air; demonic battle. It isn’t a smell that he’s come across in a long time. 

“Crowley,” he says to himself. 

Then, as it finally begins to settle. “Crowley.”

He steps over the shattered splinters of a table, stumbles over scattered books. He turns on the spot, looks up, around, behind and below. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for; he hopes he’ll find something that will tell him who won this fight. At the centre of the bookshop, there are more claw marks across the floorboards, little troughs like Crowley had been scrabbling for something to hold onto. 

He’d been here looking for Aziraphale. 

He breathes in suddenly, gasps like the air is forcing its way into his throat, pouring itself inside him- and he feels his hands shake. He feels himself fall back inside his body again, sees his fingers trace the claw marks, feels the jagged wood beneath his fingers, trying to reach for Crowley- too late. 

“No,” he croaks. 

Aziraphale falls to his knees and clasps his hands together, almost in prayer. He unclasps them and presses his palms together instead, poised in front of his face. And yet, there’s the ache of knowing that no one is listening. And so he runs his hands through his hair, sitting on his heels and willing his mind to think of something. But he has only ever known how to pray and hope, not knowing how to do. 

“Where are you?” he asks Crowley, asks in a whisper to himself. “Crowley, please. God, please tell me he’s alive.”

It falls from somewhere above; it falls down in front of him, tickles his face and lands on his leg. Aziraphale looks at the single black feather, picks it up and holds it like it’s alive. All that’s left of Crowley.

Perhaps you’d expect him to cry. Perhaps you’d expect him to try praying again. Perhaps you’d expect him to remain paralysed in shock, or walk out the door, or figure out a rescue plan. You’d expect Aziraphale to reason with himself- remind himself that Crowley’s wily, after all, persuade himself that there’s no way he could have lost this battle. You might wonder whether he’d fall into his old habits of staying quiet, asking no questions, or whether he’d gather up his bravery and do something. Do something, for the one being he’s loved outside the appropriate realms of angelic adoration. 

There is no miraculous plan for this catatonic mind. What happens instead is this: hope and despair and fury. Incandescent, invulnerable fury that suddenly sparks into life. Something dormant and hiding in the heart of an angel that has not been unleashed since the stars were first moulded, since the volcanoes were first filled with lava and since the first lightning kindled. Something old and deep, something that lives only in divine beings that have seen the dawn of time, something that can only be described as titanic. 

Aziraphale falls into the centre of himself. He feels himself step back and feels something else take over; not quite displacing him, not controlling him, rather covering him like a cloak. He sees its blinding light, feels its scorching heat, and he wears it. He flexes his fingers inside its gloves and rolls his shoulders against its hot fabric. Wings explode into existence; eyes open, white and burning all over his body; hot tears run boiling down his cheeks like acid. He shines all over. A perfect, blinding ring sizzles above his head, appearing slowly as condensation does from a glass on a table. He bathes in his righteous fury until everything else evaporates. 

When he stands up, his fingers gently wrap around the single, black feather. 

***

At three thirty-two in the afternoon, on the streets of Soho, people stop and stare at the wind that gushes out of a bookshop doorway like a flood. They watch as sheets of paper- perhaps pages from books?- fly out of the doors like leaves in an eddy. They marvel at the strange, beautiful, blinding light that burns through the windows. 

People in the adjacent Chinese restaurant see the windows suddenly shatter and take cover. And everyone within a three mile radius suddenly presses their hands to their ears against a terrible, ringing noise. 

A screeching bird call, an angel crying in outrage. 

***

Crowley wakes up to the sound of nothing. He knows he’s in Hell. 

He opens his eyes. Black feathers- his own feathers- scattered across the floor. His pale arm stretched out in front of him, nails digging into his palm. The taste of blood on his tongue. He groans. It’s been a while since he’s bled. 

When he breathes in, something burns. It scalds his skin and he gasps, a staggered breath that only becomes more fractured when his ribs expand and touch the chain wrapped around them. Slow, careful movements- he tries to prop himself up as gently as possible to get a better look. He sees the metal wrapped around his ribcage, sees manacles around his wrists and ankles, tastes- tastes it. It’s not blood that he’s tasting, then- it’s metal, like a horse’s bit between his teeth. He’s chained to the wall like a feral animal. 

He’d like to say that it’s overkill, but he knows how frightened Beelzebub is of him, now. 

He rolls his tongue underneath the bit, tries to swallow- it hurts. His throat is dry and every breath struggles inside of him. The manacles dig into his wrists. But none of that hurts like the chain around his bare torso, his shirt stripped to reveal his pale, almost-translucent skin and the burn marks from adamantine. Crowley pants, teeth clenched against the bit, and stares wide-eyed at the red sores; stares in amazement and confusion and horror and eventually, acceptance. Because adamantine only burns angels. 

Well that’s new, he thinks. Aziraphale really has been rubbing off on him, it seems. 

The heels of his boots kick against the dusty floor. His cell is small, bare, dark. There are bars and a little post-box shaped hole in the door, like this is a pale imitation of a Hollywood movie set. 

He growls. They’d known. They’d waited. They’d somehow known that he’d decided to surprise Aziraphale by swinging by early; he’s just that fucking predictable. His dedication and loyalty to an angel, his puppy-dog pining for Aziraphale so blatant that they’d waited for him there and ambushed him. Hastur, Ligur, Beelzebub- the three of them cornered him and they fought, really fought tooth and claw, for the first time since the Fall. 

They’d torn his wings. 

They’d thrown him across the room. 

They’d dragged him across the floor like they were auditioning for Paranormal fucking-well Activity. 

“Azzurghs,” he tries, the cold metal in his mouth flaking and sharp. Bastards is what he’d been going for. Then, “Azzuruhuh.” Aziraphale. It just comes out a pained whine.

His back meets the wall. His head knocks against it. He casts his eyes up at the ceiling. 

God. I’d ask why you’ve forsaken me, Crowley thinks, but I’m getting pretty used to it.

***

The people of London go quiet all at once as they feel the Earth shudder. 

That moment of dread and confusion- the incomprehensible scale of whatever is coming, whatever’s out there on the prowl suddenly dawning on them. People in meetings stop mid-sentence, feeling the vibrations under foot- they look through the window down at the streets below. Tourists on the London Eye peer through the glass, seeing a blinding white light across the river. Children splash in puddles, see the water tremble with the footsteps of something huge. Pub-goers stare at the shattered remnants of their pint glasses. The ringing in their ears has subsided, but the anguish of it is still echoing in their head. 

Something’s out there. Something’s hurt. And it’s fucking angry.

***

Time in Hell runs differently. It isn’t just slower; it loses meaning. After all, time is angel-created. It’s something that brings order to the universe, something that contains chaos and makes everything just a little bit more organised and tidy. Something like that has no place in Hell. It’s therefore hard to know just how long Crowley’s been lying on the floor of his cell, adamantine burning his skin and bones aching. Dust in his throat. Eyes closed. 

He’s grown soft. No- not soft. Brittle. He’s become fragile, something hollow and aching and desperate to be filled with validation and love and attention and everything that Hell isn’t. It’s made him foolish, made him someone who waits. Like a dog at the door. When will they come? 

What’s worse, though, is that it’s not Beelzebub or Hastur or Ligur that he’s waiting for to walk through that door. It isn’t punishment that he’s waiting for in particular, even though God knows that’s what he should be used to by now. Trained to expect pain after waiting, alone, long enough that he begins to wonder if they’ve forgotten about him. Yes, even though he’s been trained to live like this, they’re not the ones he’s waiting for. 

When will he learn that Aziraphale won’t come? 

***

Even if he does come, it’s always when it’s too late. Crowley reminds himself of this, as he considers Aziraphale possessing Madam Tracy. It was only after he’d pushed Crowley away that he’d come back. And-

Well. Obviously Crowley’s forgiven him for that. Forgiveness; that’s one of the only angelic characteristics he has left. 

***

Aziraphale could come.

Endless time swims around him in a fog; Crowley has been lying on the floor, waiting, hoping, for some indefinite stretch of no-time. 

And Aziraphale could come. That part of him fights back- the same part of him that runs after Aziraphale time and time again, the part of him that saves books from burning ruins and begs for Aziraphale to run away with him. No matter how much Hell try and kick him down, no matter how many times Aziraphale proves it wrong, that little bit of hope always flickers back into life. 

It’s pathetic. It’s all Crowley has right now.

***

He hears his rattling breath and feels something wet on his cheeks. His wings have unfurled at some point, too exhausted to keep them in. They’re tattered and tired, draped across the floor.

***

There had been one afternoon recently, after the apocalypse. It had settled on them that they could be together without the weight of impending war sitting on their shoulders. So, they’d decided to be a little frivolous and go for a day out. 

Aziraphale had suggested the beach. Crowley had shrugged, closing his eyes in resignation behind his sunglasses. “Fine,” he’d sighed. Anything for you, he’d thought. And they’d hopped in Crowley’s Bentley and rolled down the windows, plummeting down the motorway towards the South West coast. Lulworth Cove was meant to be busy that day, the warmest day of the year so far, but he knew it would be quiet. Crowley had willed it so. 

Crowley had kept his eyes on the road, the white lines streaking till they blurred, the bad local radio station chattering in the background, soon to turn into Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy. Aziraphale was smiling so much that day. Aziraphale smiled in so many ways, and that day it was like the first: angelic and beatific, the way God had smiled the day She created the world. Maybe it was because he saw the world laid out in front of them, ready for them to live it in a way they’d never been allowed before. Maybe he was just in a good mood. Either way, Crowley had found it impossible not to stare. 

The wind had rushed through the rolled-down windows, and once they’d hit the country lanes, Aziraphale poked his arm outside and let the air pull through his fingers. Crowley had watched him close his eyes and smile again, that smile. 

“We could live like this forever, now,” Aziraphale had said. “You and I.”

Crowley had driven and known that that moment was important. Like initials carved into a wall, that moment would stick around with him. 

You and I, Crowley thinks now. Is it so naive to think you’ll come for me?

***

The ground shakes beneath him. There’s the sound of demons and poltergeists and incubi screaming down the corridor, outside his prison cell door. 

Crowley’s eyes snap open. 

There’s a screeching sound. It’s not anything demonic; he’d thought it was at first, but that was before he realised he could hear it inside his head. No, it’s something far too- far too something to be demonic.

Furious?

Hurt? Righteous?

It’s a sound that frightens him. It makes his heart stutter and his feathers ripple nervously. His pupils are dilated in the dark, but they narrow at the sound, fight-or-flight response kicked in. Something’s coming; something awful, something that Hell hadn’t prepared for. And just for a moment, the relief of that chases away the shadows in his mind. 

The sound of demons screaming, louder now, mixing with the ringing in his ears. A thud, as something- someone, more likely- is thrown down the corridor, landing close to Crowley’s door. And-

Oh, God. That light. It burns and it soothes all at once, it pours through the cracks of the door, stretching out towards Crowley like it’s searching for him, trying to bring him into its embrace.

The door falls from its hinges.

Crowley scrabbles up onto his knees. He hangs his head, turned away from the light, his hands splayed on the floor. Then he hears his voice in his mind. 

Crowley. 

The light doesn’t burn anymore. It’s like a switch is flicked and the anger in it simmers down; still there, oh yes, it still bubbles beneath the surface. But what Crowley feels overwhelmingly in that moment is not anger, but something kinder. The bright, shining feeling of his smile. 

He dares to look up. 

From his knees, prostrate on the floor of Hell, Crowley beholds the light of a star poured into the vessel of a human. The shape of Aziraphale, covered in bright, wide-open eyes and wings that encompass the room. They curve around him, like that very first day at Eden. And Crowley turns his head to watch them surround his broken body, a sunflower following the orbit of the sun. 

He looks back up. Cannot look away; there is something about that light that is less like the sun, and more like the moon. Fascinating, hypnotising, calming. And he gazes into the pair of eyes in front of him, the pair that he knows, with blue irises, watching with love. 

There’s something else in those eyes, too. There’s love, and there’s also something destructive- something frightening, something he hasn’t seen since the days of the Old Testament. Something that threatens floods and plagues for anyone who stands in Aziraphale’s way. 

A scalding white hand reaches to touch Crowley’s face. He closes his eyes, and feels only a soft warmth. Soft. Just as Aziraphale always is, even like this.

My dear, he hears inside his mind. 

His mouth suddenly feels empty. The bit and the chains are gone. 

“You came. I wasn’t sure,” he laughs sadly. 

The hand on his cheek grows warmer, almost uncomfortably hot. Aziraphale doesn’t respond- out loud, or in his mind. He doesn’t need to. Crowley feels it in the heat of his hand, feels it pouring under his skin; that they are on each other’s side; that Aziraphale will never sit by and watch ever again; that he will always come. 

He feels it in the press of Aziraphale’s lips against his.

The ground fractures beneath them. Hot air meets cold air, rain meets sun, and water meets hot oil. The room shudders with it. Hell vibrates with it and Heaven feels it, too. Two sides coming together, the order of the universe disrupted. 

God smiles when She sees it. 

And perhaps it’s because Crowley’s been awake for what might be weeks in here. Perhaps it’s because he’s been waiting for Aziraphale to come for him, to save him like this for millennia. Whatever the reason, Crowley suddenly can’t keep his eyes open. He feels himself relax into Aziraphale’s arms, inside the cocoon of his wings. 

He holds onto consciousness and feels himself being carried through the seven circles of Hell, over purgatory and back home. 

#good omens #my writing #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #ficlet #fan fic

[shinymooncolor]

For my fellow Sweater Weather fans ❤️ @lumosinlove - thank you!

Kudos to @frombeauxbatons for helping me with Finnish.

@wxlfstxrx and @siriuslyqueer love youuu 💕

Sweater weather chats #10

The team goes to Vegas. Kris gets a new phone. Olli speaks Finnish. Remus and Sirius are in their honeymoon phase. The team dads ship it. Kasey gets cuddles. Logan gets lost. Leo is mad. Everyone bets on Sergei. Dumo is not a fan of Russian cheering during sex. Will we ever find out about Prague?

Wednesday 9.22 pm

Eliascookie: eyyy fucking love wifi in the air. 🤪

Dumodad: shhh someone is trying to nap and you guys are loud 🥴

Logantremblayzzz: sorry grandpa. Not all of us are old and cranky.

Sergei_81: careful I fight people for you

CarbO’Hara: and we love you dearly for that. But no denying you and dumo are old and cranky. You could literally both be Leo’s dads

Ollibear: he looks more like sunny and sergei’s baby than dumo’s

Blizzard: ohhh a love triangle 🙊😳

Sunnysideup: as much as I love sergei, I wouldn’t get between him and dumo. They’re the bromance of our gen :) also not my type

Kaneyoudigit: yeah. Where does that butt slap come from anyways? Even when one of them is out or injured they find time for that 👻

Bradygunz: I don’t think anyone understands it... where does it come from? Something about Prague - Allison was super cagey about it.

Dumodad: shhhh let us sleep. Night boys. Got another few hours and practice tomorrow is not optional. Sleep.

Nadotheman: VEGAS BABY

Krisvolley: practice and a game Nado.

RussianGod: DONT be boring krissy

——

Friday 12.33 pm

Remus created a group chat

Remus added Dumo, Sirius, Sergei, Sunny and Krissy

Remus named group chat HELP

Remus: okay boys. Sorry for this but I’m a little worried. We’re in Vegas and with a whole day of no games and only practice tomorrow once we touch down in LA, I can’t keep an eye on the entire team.

Dumo: haha dont worry go have a nice date with cap. God knows he’s cranky enough that you were away for that course for three days.

Sunny: don’t worry I sleep with ear plugs anyways 😜

Remus: hey we have separate rooms!

Krissy: wE hAvE sEpErAtE rOoMs....... it’s ok remmy 😉 cap plays better after you do whatever it is you do.

Sirius: alright stop. I wasn’t cranky. And leave Remus alone. You’re supposed to be the mature ones. Also Krissy?

Krissy: yes. I got a new iPhone and made the mistake of asking timmers and Olli to help me set it up on the plane. Now I can’t get it to change back. They set it to Finnish. Have no fucking clue and haven’t managed to get hold of Olli yet. 😳😳😳😳

Sergei: cap and re go enjoy honeymoon we take care of babies

Sunny: 😜😜😜😜😜 enjoy it while it lasts. Before you know it’s chores, babies and using alone time to catch up on sleep

Dumo: yeah. Don’t take your blissful kid free life for granted. 😈

Krissy: didn’t Logan and the other two walk in on your guys doing it in the kitchen last month?

Dumo: so?

Sergei: haha just kitchen? I’ve caught them worse. Is ok. You understand when you have babies. 😆

Krissy: I have a baby. I’m just single 😫😫😫

Sunny: want us to find a girl for you?🤓

Krissy: no thank you. Leave my sex life alone.

Sergei: u even have one?

Krissy left the group chat

Dumo added krissy to the group chat

Dumo: Sergei is sorry......... also he walked in on us maybe 5 times calm down. There’s nothing like Russian cheering to kill a mood....

Sunny: 5? That can’t be right. You were bunnies when she was pregnant last. I saw things I cannot unsee 🤯🤯🤯

Sirius left the group chat

Remus: you broke Sirius. Anyways I’ll leave the babysitting to you guys then.

Sunny: HAVE FUN REMUS 🥳🥳

——

Friday 2.54 pm

Logantremblayzzz: guys I’m lost. I’ve been walking towards that big pointy thing and the map from the hotel is crap and I got away from finn and he’s not picking up

*picture of map*

Blizzard: Logan.

Blizzard: THATS A MAP OF PITTSBURGH. WE’RE IN VEGAS. ALSO ITS UPSIDE DOWN.

Blizzard: how the fuck have you lived to see 23? 😆

Logantremblayzzz: oh. That makes more sense. 🙈🙈🙈

Newt-leo: what do you mean you lost Finn? Are you both lost somewhere in Vegas? Just use your phone and get back to the hotel...

Blizzard: Finn left his phone here in the room😂😂😂 better send out a search party

Logantremblayzzz: well I don’t know what happened. I can’t find him now. 😭

LeWilliam: There’s literally one strip of road in Vegas and you’ve gotten lost. 🐸

Dumodad: I swear to the fucking hockey gods we were never this stupid. Idiots. Get back here for 5, and we can go have a team dinner for those who want. Sergei is buying

Evanderbell: ohh @tylerthemighty and I are in!! Thanks @sergei_81!!!

Sunnysideup: he’s sleeping? Hahahah he’s gonna be unhappyyyy 😂

RussianGod: hehe thanks we’re play too...

Nadotheman: he means game. But yeah. Free dinner 😎

Prongstar: I think this one @logantremblayzzz has to go into the promo videos hahahahah 😂😂😂 I’m telling Marlene.... 😘

Ollibear: is anyone looking for Finn?

Newt-leo: yeah me and @krisvolley are going out now

——-

Friday 3.44 pm

CarbO’Hara: THANKS FOR DITCHING ME LOGAN

Logantremblayzzz: I was lost too! Not my fault you wander about

CarbO’Hara: I was talking to a puppy and when I got back up you were gone 😔 didn’t have my phone. Had to ask two Cher’s and an Elvis how to get back. 😫

Newt-leo: you’re back at the hotel now?

CarbO’Hara: yes. Forgot my phone.

Newt-leo: WELL THATS FUCKING GREAT. 😡

Walkietalkie: uhhh someone is in the dog house 😂😂😂

Nadotheman: bad fish... no goalie love for youuu

Blizzard: I can cuddle ya Finn. No worries. 😘😫😘

Logantremblayzzz: you’re not cuddling Finn. Go cuddle Nado if you need to.

RussianGod: come on blizzard. We do goalie sandwich 🥪🥪🥪🥪

Blizzard: gimme five minutes boysss 😍

Krisvolley: we’re heading back now. You’re paying for our cab Finn. Leo is really mad 😉

Friday 3.52 pm

Timmyforrealz: awww 😍

*nado and Kuny cuddling blizzard in a goalie sandwich*

Ollibear: there’s a lot of bromance in my room right now. 😂

Walkietalkie: at least they’re fully clothed. 🤞🏻

——

Friday 6.33 pm

Sergei_81: IM NOT PAYING FOR YOU All

Dumodad: yes you are. It’s your turn. 😘

Sunnysideup: u know it. It’s the deal. Shouldn’t bet if you can’t pay up.

Sergei_81: is thanks I get for fighting for you all.

Sirius: you keep bringing that up. But you love fighting for us. We love you for it 😜

Dumodad: haha cap’s got a point my friend. And you’re a glorious fighter. Haha your punches are feared through the league. Even the linesmen try to avoid getting between you and your victim

Nadotheman: you know there’s a bet in the league? First rookie to take you down gets a Rolex from a draw? Everyone chips in at draft? 😜

RussianGod: is true hehehe I put money in on never so I want watch

KrisVolley: was that an option? 😳 how did I not think of this

RussianGod: I’m smart just not in English. English stupid. Russian best 🥳

—-

Friday 9.33 pm

Ollibear: Mä oon niin ilonen mut mulla on ikävä kotiin. Mulla on ikävä muumeja.

Ollibear: Ja mun äitiä.

Ollibear: Tykkään myös tosi paljon pannukakuista.

Prongstar: Olli.exe stopped working…….

Sunnysideup: eh anyone’s got an eye on Olli? He’s defaulted to Finnish… 🙊🙊🙊

Dumodad: @timmyforrealzzz @nadotheman @russiangod

Dumodad: WHAT DID YOU IDIOTS DO NOW

KrisVolley: hahahaha Olli just had some shots. The waitress was making googly eyes at him and I guess he couldn’t say no 😆

Timmyforrealz: I think we should get him back to the hotel 😁😁😁

Nadotheman: not it!!!!

RussianGod: I got him. He dont walk

——-

“Kuny, he can’t even walk”

“I’m got him. He very drunk. Hehe not hold liquor well for Finn. Is embarrassing” Kuny snorted and hoisted his teammate more firmly over his shoulder.

“He owes me $100 for bribing the driver to take us”

“Sä oot hyvä venäläinen. Et ilkee venäläinen. Tunnen pahoja ja ilkeitä venäläisiä.”

“Any idea what he’s saying?”

“Not sure is even Finnish. Sound like just words”

#lumosinlove #sweaterweather #sweaterweatherchats #lumosinlove ocs #sweaterweatherchatsnr10

[grace-lost-in-space]

Therapy - “What a Dum-Dum”

With anxious hands, I clutch the letter to my professor which my therapist asked me to write last week. I did it. I was brave—or at least that is what people often call me. The dictionary defines B-R-A-V-E as: ready to face and endure danger or pain; showing courage. Courage? There is that word again, creeping up from the pits of my stomach into the back of my throat. I can almost say it, but not quite. My entire life has been spent preparing to endure danger or pain—it is what I do best. I am best defined by that very sentence. Perhaps my mom should have been more creative in naming me. 

I take a deep breath before using all of my energy to open the door to the lobby of my therapist’s office. Doing so forces my body to immediately retaliate with a loud wheeze. When people tell me to “take a deep breath”, they often forget that I have asthma and a dangerously low BMI, so this so-called simple therapeutic technique wreaks havoc on my body but, like the rule-follower that I am, I do it anyway. The door lets out a loud squeal as I concentrate all of my weight on pulling it open. A kind of foreshadowing, perhaps, of what is about to take place. 

“Hi, Grace. I’ll let Legs know you’re here.” I hear from behind the reception desk. Ms. Rita recites the exact same line every Monday and Wednesday. I smile—although, I have no idea if it is visible through my mask. I respond by waving politely because I have not truly spoken in 11 months. Through the dizziness which insists on accompanying me to each and every appointment, I make my way to my usual chair and I sit. I begin counting soon after and I get to  137 before my therapist arrives in the entryway and says “Grace.” After one year together, I still only know her by her shoes and her voice. As I stand unsteadily, I wonder about this trend with social workers wearing riding boots. Is this an unwritten rule of their ethical code? Is there some sort of advertisement during NASW conferences? “Invest in THESE fine leather boots and you won’t BELIEVE how much progress YOUR clients will make! Order now for $10 off. You may qualify for an additional discount if you have feathered hair. Offer not available in Alaska and Hawaii.”  I make a mental note that I must research this more and find an answer because it is a common theme of every social worker who has walked into and out of my life. Cue “these boots are made for walkin’…” lyrics. I stop myself before it gets too cheesy. 

I walk slowly behind her and after what feels like an hour, I make my way into her dimly lit office and find solace in my usual black leather chair. Although it squeaks, it has been faithful for the past twelve months and it has seen me through many meltdowns, remaining sturdy as I hide behind it. Like clockwork, it squeaks as I sit down and I decide to give it grace since, after all, it has been the most consistent thing in my life for the past year.  My feeding tube pump begins to beep, signaling a low battery, so I take out my charger and begrudgingly plug myself into the nearest outlet. “So, Grace,” she starts “how are you? Did you write the letter to Dr. W?” I respond by shoving the now crinkled papers into her lap, happy to rid myself of the trauma that haunts the wide-ruled pages. 

Legs and I sit in silence (see what I did there?) as she reads the letter which took me three days to write. I look to my right, at the dusty mahogany brown bookshelf which is adorned with a mixture of exactly 42 stuffed animals, toys, and action figures—my doing, of course. There was a day where an exhausted Legs decided it would be best for me to organize the shelves rather than doing any sort of processing—so I did just that and, in doing so, ruined a perfectly good pair of fishnet tights. But, I digress. 

After what feels like a less than sufficient amount of time to read this trauma-filled nightmare of a letter, she hands it back to me and says “Okay. Here you go. You can do whatever you want with it.” I look at her god-awful work boots as if I am looking into her eyes and I express obvious confusion. In true selective mutism fashion, I remain silent but my facial expression speaks volumes. I hastily shove the letter back at her and write on my note pad “you keep it.” I wait. What am I waiting for? That is a great question and one which Legs is also clearly eager to know the answer to. “So, how is pumping going?” She asks. Again, I glare at the hideous riding boots, wholly confused. Did I just spend three days writing this letter and disclosing mounds of trauma for her to read it and hand it back to me with no intention of processing it? Yes. Yes, I did. 

I look back to the bookshelf and re-count each and every item which remains beautifully organized if I do say so myself. I follow the rules again and force a deep breath before writing “Why did he do it? Why did he pick me? Why did he do this to me?” Almost immediately, she shoots back with “because it made him happy. He liked it.” I decide instantly that another deep breath is necessary and I question my insanity because surely no therapist would say what she just said to me. I remain still—a defense mechanism which I have learned is often useless. Continued silence looms over both of us like the beginning of a funnel cloud—eerily still but preparing to invoke chaos—until she asks “Why do you read Harry Potter books and watch the movies?” More silence. I begin to question how those boots do not yet have holes in them from my hazel laser pointers. She finally answers her own question, as my pen remains frozen in my hand. “Because you like it. It makes you happy.” 

My mouth gapes open which, thankfully, is hidden behind my Peppa Pig mask. I glance over to my right at the wall from which my feeding tube pump is getting its power. I realize that in order to run, I will first have to unplug myself which would surely be anticlimactic if I were to be so unlucky as to tangle the cord or trip over it. Unplugging yourself from the wall and leaving a therapy session seems simple enough but when you are accident prone and have a history of falling into bushes and rolling down hills, you learn to be cautious and question everything. I look around the room. No bushes. No hills. Only me and Legs and those atrocious riding boots. I stare down at my platform converse shoes. I wonder to myself why I choose to wear these shoes each week. These shoes are not optimal for running and I am a runner, or at least I am categorized as such in dusty medical charts which exist somewhere in what I imagine to be a damp basement of a two-star hospital. I make a mental note to never wear platform shoes to therapy again. 

As I continue with my silent existential crisis, Legs takes an early exit ramp and asks about the sucker from our last session—the one she handed me on my way out the door during my last session. “Did you practice eating the sucker?” She asks. I nod and smile, with tears beginning to form in my eyes. When I cry, my eyes turn from hazel to green. It is an easy task to recognize when I have been crying. I wonder if Legs has noticed this. She turns slightly to her right and reaches into her candy dish which sits on another dusty brown table. She grabs a pineapple flavored sucker and holds it up in front of my face. “Here” she insists. Pineapple? Are there creatures that enjoy pineapple flavored Dum-Dums? And, furthermore, why are they called Dum-Dums? Who chose that name? Who thought, “Aha! We shall call these…Dum-Dums”? Again, I digress. 

“You don’t want to be weird, right? You told me you don’t want to be called weird. It would be normal to eat a sucker. Normal people eat suckers.” Enticed by the idea of being called “normal,” (a rare occurrence in my world), I oblige. After 27 seconds, I manage to unwrap the sucker and put it against my lips. “Just eat it.” She says. Once again, I glare at The Boots. I manage to put the sucker—in all its sugary, pineapple glory—in my mouth and leave it there for exactly three seconds before the sensation becomes too much to handle. I smile as a steady stream of warm tears flows down my cheeks. I consider this progress, since it is the longest I have ever been able to keep a sucker in my mouth. My smile grows wider as I recognize this small victory and I feel truly proud of myself. 

“Eh…that was…okay…I guess. But it wasn’t a good job. You could just eat it but you won’t. When you eat the whole thing, that will be a good job.” She says. I immediately break into a full fledged sob and I wonder just how green my eyes must be at this point. I sob, and I sob, and I sob. It feels as though the tears are endless. My Peppa mask is now heavy from absorbing tears and snot. This must be attractive. 

And, at that moment, I manage to stutter over a word. “L_____.” If you are new to this circus, L is my previous therapist and a fellow boot-wearing social worker. “What?” Legs asks, obviously confused. 

My sobs grow louder. My brain wants to tell her that she is acting like L but my mouth refuses to function properly. I manage a hurried glance at my pump charger and I consider making a now-or-never break for it. I somehow sputter three words like a lemon on a used car lot. “Please…be…nice.” I say. It takes exactly 14.5 seconds for me to vocalize these three words but, again, it is progress. 

“I can’t understand what you’re saying but you are doing a good job with your words” Legs promises. 

Still sobbing, I try again. “L______.” I stutter on the L but it comes out clearly. 

“What?” She asks. 

“Mean” I say, choking back tears.

“Did you say mean?” She asks. 

I nod for “yes.” 

“Well, I’ve got another patient, so I guess—“ she starts. 

I interrupt her by yanking my pump charger out of the wall. I do so without proper planning and I let out a loud cry. I am not typically a loud crier. I am quite proficient in the art of “quiet tears.” Enduring many, many nights of various people hurting me has taught me to improve upon this skill. I try my very best to stop drowning in my own tears. I can feel it happening the same way it happened with L. 

And I run. And I run. And I run. 

Because I AM good at something: running. 

#therapy #anorexia #beating ed #beating anorexia #anorexia relapse #arfid #autism #selective mutism #therapy with legs #legs is my therapist #ed recovery journey #feeding tube #gj tube #remember this #always remember #lit #spilled words #spilled thoughts #spilled writing #spilled ink #writers of tumblr #vignette #therapy vignette #spilled pages #excerpt from a story i'll never write #excerpt from a book I'll never write

[rest-upon-the-morning-light]

JonMartin fic

So I’m trying to get back into fic writing, especially for TMA, and have a multi chapter fic planned but wanted to start with a smaller one shot style fic to warm up. It’s been an age since I’ve written anything, much less something that wasn’t just reader based or smut lmao. I’ve added trigger warnings but if I missed any do let me know! 

Any feedback would be great and if you like this, please send me prompts! Happy to write anything from fluff to smut, just as long as its TMA based :D 

So! Here is my cute fluff JonMartin fic! Enjoy~ 

Everybody Wants To Be A Cat 

Word Count: 2240 

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of Animal Abuse, but nothing to graphic. Anxiety. Self Worth Issues. Season 1 Jon being Season 1 Jon. Season 1 Martin being Season 1 Martin.

Fandom: The Magnus Archive

Pairings: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood 

Summary: Martin was certain of two things. One, he had an enormous crush on his boss. Two, his boss hated him. Who knew a one eyed beast of an alley cat would bring them closer?

Martin Blackwood has two problems.

Problem number one. He was absolutely certain he was more than a little bit in love with his boss.

Problem number two. His was absolutely certain said boss hated him.

 Well, hated was probably a strong word. Hated implied that Jon thought of him at all, and it was far more likely that Jon thought of him very little throughout his day. Except, of course, when Martin did something wrong. Then those piercing eyes of his would be solely fixed on him whilst he shouted about how inept Martin was or how stupid his mistake had been.

It hurt, those moments. It hurt that the only time Jon ever truly seemed to see Martin was when he was angry at him. Not when Martin did an amazing follow up on a statement. Not when he’d created a great rapport with a statement giver or their family. Not when he brought Jon tea. Just when he did something wrong.

It was a running theme in this annoyance Martin called his life.

He still couldn’t help these feelings though. Jon was an arse half the time that much was true. It infuriated Tim to know end when Jon would lash out at Martin. “He has no right Martin. Mistake or not he’s your boss, he’s supposed to help you, not act like a massive dick all the time”

It was harder for Tim and Sasha in a way. They’d been Jon’s equal for a long time, working together. Moving to the Archive was always going to be a bit of a challenge. To have friend become boss. Especially for Sasha, who everyone thought was going to be become Head Archivist. But neither had held any real resentment over Jon for the change. After all, it wasn’t his choice, it was Elias’s.

But Jon’s sudden shift from rude but mostly recluse and occasionally friendly colleague to rude very recluse and stick constantly up arse boss was harder than any of them expected.

Martin could understand. It was big position and Jon seemed like the type to take everything he did very seriously. This meant holding everything in the archive to a high standard. His assistance included.

So yes, Jon was awful to him a lot of the time. But he was passionate. He cared. For all his blustering that none of this was real, Martin could see how much he empathised with the people who had given those statements. How he looked like he’d personally failed them when a follow up revealed they had died not longer after they’d come to visit the institute.

His crush probably wasn’t the most healthy but sue him! He liked being a bit in love. He liked having inspiration for his poetry. He enjoyed the fluttery feeling in his stomach when he came into work.

He just wished Jon didn’t quite hate. No. Didn’t quite dislike him so much.

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

There is a cat that has been hiding the alleyway behind the Institute for several days now.

Martin noticed the poor thing when he’d been taking out some rubbish that accumulated in the Archive. Usually that sort of thing wasn’t his job, but he’d been done for the day anyway and he liked to be useful, even if no one really noticed.

It was a mangy young thing. Light brown fur matted, one eye seemed to be damaged and it hissed every time Martin so much as approached it.

He couldn’t just leave it though. Poor thing needed help. It was out here, lonely, forgotten, damaged by the people that probably at one point said they’d love and protect it.

Was he projecting onto a stray cat now? God this was a new level of sad.

So he did what someone in his position did best. He researched.

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

There is a surprising number of places to buy cat supplies near the Institute and the workers in the shop were incredibly helpful with his questions.

Approach slowly. Don’t try to touch or hold the cat. Leave out food and water. He’d also bought a small plastic hut and shoved a warm blanket inside for the large cat. He didn’t know what breed it was. Just that it was grumpy and hurt.

It didn’t take a great deal away from his own funds either. His job paid well enough and he didn’t exactly go out with people very often, buying expensive drinks or tickets to shows.

His special treat was usually some sugar drenched coffee.

He couldn’t see any physical injuries on the cat, apart from its eye, so he put some treats in the hut, left out the food and water, then left.

He came back everyday with more supplies to keep the large growling cat comfortable. Every day that passed the cat came a little bit closer to him. He grinned at that. Hoping one day it would come close enough to pet.

He’d read somewhere that when cats blink, once and slow, it was a sign that they trusted you. Martin waited for that day with bated breath.

Tim and Sasha were a little bit suspicious as to where he was going on his lunch breaks. He told them he just taking a long walk, getting some fresh air away from the dusty old archives but he knew it wasn’t the best lie.

Lying for the sake of his job was one thing. Lying to his friends for no good reason was another.

It wasn’t like he doing anything bad. It was more that he wanted this for himself. He wasn’t even too sure why. Part of him wondered if he was worried the cat would somehow take some natural liking to either one of them or both. He didn’t want to lose all his hard work.

Or, if he was being more honest with himself, he didn’t want the cat to abandon him for someone better.

Yeah. New level of pathetic had been reached.

But one lunch, a few weeks after he’d first spotted the broken but massive feline, that the lying and the ill feeling became absolutely worth it.

Because the cat approached him.

Martin didn’t move a single muscle. He was sat on a small wooden box in the alley. Far enough away as to not frighten the poor thing, but close enough that the cat could make contact if it wanted to.

And today it did.

He held his breath the closer it got, keeping eye contact with its good eye the whole time. It paused for a moment, right in the front of his bent legs, before it let out a small mirp noise and butted its head against his knee.

“Oh hello” Martin laughed, chest feeling lighter than it had in an exceptionally long time.

He reached out his hand slowly to pet its head and let out another sign of relief when the one eyed cat let him.

“Well” he began

“I can’t very well keep calling you cat or beast in my head, you’ll need a name”.

It didn’t acknowledge his words in any way, just continued to let him scratch behind its ears and watched him with its one working eye. He could almost imagine its thoughts.

“Silly Martin, just come up with one already. Stop wasting time”.

He let out a soft chuckle at the thought, a name ready on his lips.

“Jon” he smiled gently.

“I think I’ll call you Jon”.

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

 It went well after that. Martin made plans to keep the cat. It would help the dreariness of his lonely flat, and he was lucky his landlord allowed pets in his building.

He couldn’t afford proper insurance but the workers at the pet shop knew an emergency vet that wasn’t too expensive, so he could get Cat Jon’s eye checked out soon.

Giddy as he was with his newfound friend, he didn’t realise that he’d been less subtle than usual about where he was going on his break.

It was one grey, wet Wednesday that it all came to ahead.

He’d been sitting crossed legged on the ground, his coat below him as a sort of makeshift blanket to keep his trousers dry, when Human Jon found them.

He hadn’t even noticed Jon had followed him until the backdoor that led the alley burst open with a bang that echoed down the narrow way.

“Martin” shouted Jon, looking at some papers in his hand.

“I need you to take your lunch late and follow up on this report. You made several errors in your research that, frankly, a child could spot. I don’t know what you’re doing out here but if you have time to sit around then –“

Jon’s rant was cut short as he finally looked up to the picture that greeted him.

Cat Jon had leaped into his arms from the loud noise, clinging to Martin’s bright yellow sweater.

Martin froze, cat in arms as Jon stared at him with a look of equal shock.

“Oh” began Jon softly

“Sorry” Martin practically shouted.

“I – eh – this is, well um, a cat, I found? A few weeks ago, actually. I’ve been sort of taking care of it? Getting it food and water and um” he gestured to the plastic hut and blanket he’d laid out.

“He was hurt you see. Only one eye and really badly taken care of. Abandoned, I recon. So I’ve been out here on lunches making sure he’s, um, that he’s okay? Is that..is that alright?” he trailed off nervously.

He couldn’t look at Jon. It wasn’t exactly something to be ashamed of, taking care of a stray cat. But he could imagine Jon being the sort of serious no nonsense person who would see it as a waste of time, his lunch break or not. God would this make his relationship worse? Would Jon scold him for it? Did it make him seem more pathetic than before? Christ, was that even possible?

He didn’t notice the movement until Jon was sat beside him on the floor.

Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, sat on a dirty alley floor with Martin K Blackwood.

He watched with bated breath as Human Jon reached his hand out to Cat Jon and let out a small sound of relief when Cat Jon didn’t bite, scratch or run away.

“You poor thing” murmured Jon, eyes only on his (unknowing) cat counterpart.

“What have they done to you? Well, you look better now than you probably did before. Thank to our Martin here”.

Martin couldn’t help but blush deeply at that. Hot all over his face. He couldn’t handle this. Jon being all, all soft and gentle and calling him “our” Martin.

“You’ve been taking care of him then?” Jon looked up at Martin now. Eyes soft and kind for once. It nearly took all of Martins brain power to respond after receiving such a look.

“Yes” he began.

“Like I said, I found him a few weeks ago. Planning on taking him back to mine soon, get him out of the cold properly”.

Jon nodded, eyes never leaving Martins, hand firmly petting the cat in Martins arms.

“I’m sorry, about the work” Martin nervously bit his lip.

“I’ve been really worried about him so I rushed it to get out here on time. It’s no excuse and I know you don’t exactly think highly of my work in the first place. I’ll make sure I stay late tonight so I can catch up”

“Martin” interrupted Jon, eye straying on the bitten lip, a slight flush to his cheeks.

“I’m the one who should be sorry. I haven’t been fair to you these past few months. It’s been unprofessional at best and, well, and downright cruel at worst”

“Your job is stressful” Martin tried to defend

“And we both know I’m not exactly at the same standard at the others”

“Still” Jon continued.

“It’s my job to help you, not, berate you at every mistake. You came from the library, not research, so you have different skill set and – well, its been hard for us all. Not fair of me to put all that blame on you. God knows Tim could stand to be a bit more professional at times” Jon grumbled out the last part, a small pout to his lips.

Martin laughed at that, smiling wider than he could last remember.

“Tim just likes to keep you human, I think” he winked and watched with fascination as the flush came back to Jon’s dark cheeks.

Cat Jon leap out of his arms after that, toddling off to who knows where.

“Well” Martin began, getting up from his cross legged position on the floor.

“We still have time for lunch, we could, um, maybe eat together? If that’s okay I mean! You could help me figure out a name for him?” “You don’t have one already?” replied Jon, surprise in his voice “Uhhh not any suitable ones, no” Martin laughed awkwardly.

He couldn’t exactly say he’d name the poor blighter after Jon. He doubted Jon would take it as a compliment and he didn’t want to ruin whatever fragile peace they’d stumbled onto.

He held out his hand to help Jon off the floor. Jon eyed it, before bringing his own hand up and placing it into Martins larger ones. Martin pulled him up and held back a small gasp as Jon shot forward quicker than intended, his smaller hand landing on Martin chest.

Jon looked up at him, a small shy smile gracing his lips.

“Beautiful” Martin couldn’t help but think, face and ears bright red.

Jon pulled back, coughing every so slightly into his fist.

“Yes, well, I’ve named a cat or two in my time, it won’t be too hard” “Oh?” teased Martin

“What about Magnus? We did find him here” Jon shook his head at that, crinkling his nose slightly.

“Absolutely not, something more dignified. The Captain maybe?” “Captain?” countered Martin

“The Captain” continued Jon as they began to head back inside

“I suppose the one eye does give him a bit of a pirate look” Martin couldn’t help by laugh slightly as he said it.

“Yes” Jon laughed back

“Dignified but still fitting his nature” And off they went, back into the Institute. Unaware of any monstrous eyes watching them as they simply watched each other. A new, wonderful feeling developing between them.

Neither noticed that they still held each others hands as they made their way to the break room.

And if they spoke of cat names, and toys and flushed deeply when they did notice the hands still entwined, well.

Those moments were only for them.

#the magnus archives #tma #writing #fanfiction #jon and martin both project onto the same cat #cats just sat there like #pls someone fucking take me home #kiss already #jonmartin #god i love soft moments for them #hope you guys enjoy! #pls send me prompts they feed me #my writing

[musingsofsaturn]

Opening Up [Kristanna ‘Waitress’ AU] - Chapter One

[Masterlist for this fic]

Fandom: Frozen/Frozen II

Ship: Anna/Kristoff

Side Pairings: Anna/Hans, Elsa/Honeymaren, Bulda/Cliff

Chapters: 10/10 [COMPLETE]

Rating: M

This Chapter’s Rating: T for bad language

This Chapter’s Word Count: 1,700+

Summary: Waitress and baker Anna Westergaard's life changed forever when she discovered some startling news. Dr Kristoff Bjorgman didn't anticipate liking his new patients quite as much as he did. For better or worse, the residents of the small town of Småby Bend were about to be changed forever.

[Photo taken from Jenna’s Pie Palace. This chapter’s recipe is Blueberry Bacon Pie. (Or just blueberry if you’re veggie like me.) Bon appetit!]

Småby Bend was a small town of little significance to everyone apart from its residence. It had a charming market square which hosted a farmers’ market on Wednesday mornings, neat residential streets that were cited as being ‘perfect for raising a family’, and one small train station with a train running twice a day to the nearest city. It seemed like everybody knew everyone else, though nobody was really paying attention to each other. Time moved slower in Småby Bend; it wasn’t the fast-paced town for commuters and rat-racers. It was the steady home of routine mundanity.

Just to the west of the market square, nestled in between a book shop and a pharmacy, sat The Snøffnug Café. It had stood in the same spot for fifty years, and would be there for fifty more. The owner, Cliff, was known for being grouchy and stern – his wife had died twenty years earlier and he hadn’t been the same since. As an ex-army man, Cliff ran a tight ship; the schedules for his staff were specific and he expected punctuality, his stock was always carefully managed, and he valued the reputation the café had for serving the best cup of coffee to the East the North Mountain.

While Cliff didn’t give a wonderful first impression, the people who worked for him understood his ways. The anxious Elsa thrived on routine and organisation anyway, so the sweet-natured woman was in her element at The Snøffnug Café (although her eye did begin to twitch nervously if Cliff started to yell). Bulda was an outgoing and high-spirited woman, a mother hen to her friends and customers, who was quick with a sassy remark to her boss that somehow never overstepped the line. And then there was Anna.

There was the ghost of a confident, bubbly girl in Anna. She was known to many, but very few people could consider themselves her friend. Her exterior was reserved and collected, but those who knew her well recognised the swirling depths of the thoughts she was lost in. Everyone in Småby Bend knew her reputation for being the best baker for miles, and her talent for flavour combinations and perfect techniques drew in daily customers to the café.

In the early afternoon of a cloudy Tuesday, Anna was tucked safely in the kitchen of The Snøffnug Café, kneading some dough as a bubbling pot of blueberries cooked on the stove. Her hands worked feverishly, pressing the dough hard into the workbench, pulling it back in on itself, before pushing it back down with force. Outside of the kitchen, there was the background noise that Anna was well accustomed to; the chatter of customers, the whirring of the coffee grinder, the bell above the door chiming as someone entered or left.

In her peripheral vision, Anna noticed the slight frame of Elsa as she walked in and started to prepare a grilled cheese for one of her customers.

“Ooh, what’s today’s pie, then?” Elsa inquired lightly.

“Blueberry-Bacon,” Anna replied. “I wanted to make something sweet and familiar, with a bit of a surprise hidden in it.”

“Sounds amazing – save me a slice when it’s done!” Anna affirmed that she would, and the two women worked in silence for a few moments. “Anna, what did that pie dough do to you?”

Anna ceased her actions. “What?”

“Well, it- You’re treating it like you saw it kick a puppy.” She offered Anna a gentle smile, and Anna huffed quietly as she turned back to the lump of dough on the workbench. “Did you see it kick a puppy?”

“No,” Anna sighed. “I’m just worried. And angry, and sad, and confused, and-”

She trailed off, and Elsa placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Overwhelmed?” she offered, and Anna nodded. “Anna, listen to me, it’s going to be okay. Whether you are, or you aren’t, we’re here to support you, and you are going to be able to do the best thing for you. This not knowing isn’t helpful though.”

“I know.”

Elsa neatly flipped the grilled cheese in the pan, confirming that it was perfectly golden brown on each side. “Which is why Bulda went to the pharmacy and picked you up a test on her lunch break.”

“Yeah… Wait, what? Elsa, I don’t want-”

“Well, I’d better go serve this up!” Elsa interrupted her friend, picking up the plate and hastily exiting with her customer’s grilled cheese. “See you later, alligator!”

Resigned, Anna almost went back to kneading the dough, before remembering Elsa’s comment and deciding it had had enough. Lost in thought, she carefully stirred the blueberries on the stove, before tasting them and adding a couple of drops of vanilla extract. After giving the pot another quick stir, she tasted again. Perfect.

As she set off a couple of strips of bacon sizzling on a skillet, Anna’s thoughts continued to race. Her hand went to her stomach as she thought she could almost sense the stirrings of life there. No, that was ridiculous. She probably wasn’t pregnant anyway, and even she was, it was far too early to feel it. Shaking off the nonsensical thought, she flipped the bacon and fought to clear her head.

“I’m not pregnant,” she whispered harshly to herself. “I can’t be.”

 ~

 The second Bulda had flipped the sign in the door from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed’, she turned to Anna with an expression that said: ‘I will accept no arguments’.

“Anna,” she grinned reassuringly, “Time to pee on a stick.”

Anna’s protestations were weak and fell on deaf ears as Bulda frogmarched her to the café’s bathroom, closely followed by Elsa. Cliff had left an hour earlier, trusting the three waitresses to close the café.

Bulda dug in her handbag, pulling out a distinctively packaged box, which she thrust into Anna’s hands. “I told Gerda at the pharmacy that if she so much as breathed a word about my purchase today that I would personally see to it that that cat of hers would receive a lovely haircut. I was thinking dinosaur spines up its back. Thoughts?”

“I think you’re cruel,” Anna giggled in spite of herself.

“Eh, Gerda’s a gossip. Gotta keep her quiet one way or another. Now go. Pee.” Bulda’s firm hand shoved Anna into the bathroom, before slamming the door in her face. “Let me know when you’re done – we’ll set an egg timer.”

Anna carried out the test quickly, calling out to the other two to set the timer when she was done. Methodically, she washed her hands, before exiting the bathroom, sliding the test into her pocket so she wouldn’t have to watch it developing. Elsa and Bulda were sat at a table in the middle of the café, with the last remaining slice of Anna’s blueberry-bacon pie in between them. Anna spotted her baking timer, a cute egg design that had been a present from Elsa for her birthday a few years before, on the table as well. Wordlessly, Anna pulled out a chair as Elsa handed her a fork.

“Let’s not worry before we have to, eh?” Elsa smiled. “It was only one time, and it’s never happened for you two before – maybe Hans’ little swimmers don’t work! Wouldn’t that be something?”

“Wouldn’t that be something, indeed,” said Bulda. Anna remained silent. “Anyway, when you said that you were making a blueberry and bacon pie, I thought you were high. But I think it might just be my new favourite, Anna.” She punctuated her statement by popping another forkful of pie into her mouth.

“Thank you,” Anna replied softly. “Both of you, thank you for this.”

“Any time, sweetie.” Bulda reached to stroke Anna’s wrist affectionately.

Elsa grasped Anna’s other hand tightly, echoing the sentiment. “We’re here for you all the way.”

They waited for the remaining time to elapse in silence. When the timer went off, the shrill ring caused all three of them to jump, even though they’d been expecting it.

“One line means ‘no’, two means ‘yes’,” Elsa reminded. Bulda shushed her.

Anna’s hand shook slightly as she reached into her pocket, pulling out the pregnancy test with so much trepidation that it might as well have been a ticking bomb. She felt she could hear her heart pounding in her skull, and she realised she was holding her breath as she looked down at it. She blinked once, twice, making sure she was definitely reading it correctly. One for ‘no’, two for ‘yes’. She hadn’t made a mistake; two dainty pink lines were staring back at her.

Her voice came out as a whisper. “Shit.” Before the other two could even process the information, Anna had jumped to her feet, storming to the bin to fling the treacherous pregnancy test into it. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.”

Bulda and Elsa watched her as she made her way back to them, throwing herself back into her chair and angrily stabbing her fork into the slice of pie.

“Anna-”

“Don’t. Please don’t. You know what? It’s fine. I’m fine. At least now we know.”

The bell above the door rang as it opened, and all three of them turned. Bulda quickly got to her feet. “We’re closed, honey- Oh.”

“Well, what a relief.” Anna swallowed a lump that rose in her throat as her husband walked over to them and placed his hands on her shoulders. “You were late. I was getting worried about you, princess, but here I see you ladies are just eating pie.”

Nervously, Anna glanced at the clock. “Hans, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise the time-”

“It’s fine, princess. I was just thinking you were lying in a ditch somewhere, or off with some other man, but nope! Here you are.” His hands slid off her, and he flashed the other two women a hard smile, which they returned with hesitation. “Come on, I’m hungry, let’s go.”

Anna got to her feet. “See you tomorrow, girls.”

They called out their goodbyes in return. Hans’ hand went to her upper arm, gripping it tightly as he guided her forcefully towards the door. He yanked the door open, and possessively snaked his arm around her waist, pulling her close to him as they exited.

To an outsider, it would have appeared as though Anna’s husband was whispering sweet nothings in her ear, maybe pressing a kiss to her cheek. But a shiver ran through her body as he hissed furiously, “Don’t you ever pull another stunt like that, princess. If you ever keep me waiting more than ten minutes from now on, I will see to it that you never see the inside of that café – or your prissy friends – again.”

Next Chapter

#Frozen Fanfic #Frozen Fanfiction #Kristanna #Kristanna Fanfic #Kristanna Fanfiction #Frozen AU #AU Fanfic #AU Fanfiction #Frozen #Frozen II #Kristoff/Anna #Anna/Kristoff #Snow Sisters #Elsa and Anna #Anna and Elsa #Anna/Hans #Hans/Anna #Waitress #Waitress Broadway #Waitress Fanfic #Waitress Fanfiction #Coffee Shop AU #Kristanna Coffee Shop AU #Kristanna Multi-Chap #Multi Chapter #My Writing #My Fanfiction #Musings of Saturn

[todobakudekukiridenkishinsosero]

The car ride that changed everything :)

 BTW THIS IS MY FIRST POV SO PLEASE TELL ME HOW I CAN MAKE IT BETTER!!!! 

(Note this is aged up so the characters in this are 18+ and this is in my pov and if you don’t like it, then don’t read it and I also added a name so if you want me to do one with just y/n then ill do one)

Main Character: Cj 

Age:18

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Pansexual (possibly gay)

Another main character: Katsuki Bakugo

Age: 19

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Bisexual (if not then gay)

Side characters: Kirishima, Sero, Denki and mina 

                                           .

   it’s the start of summer and the bakusquad wanted to go somewhere so they all decided where they were headed too and they wanted to invite me since im always hang with them. Btw we live together so the bakusquad lives with me until everyone finishes school(college)

*goes to your room*

Mina: hey bestie!!

Cj: ah!- oh hi mina what do you need?

Mina: well….me and the bakusquad are going on a road trip and we want you to join and I think bakugo would like it the most 

*Nudges you a bit*

Cj: eh? m-maybe …..

I’ve always had a crush on bakugo since we met at UA but i haven’t had the courage to tell him i liked him bc every person who tells him gets rejected and im afraid i’ll get rejected too.

Mina: Then it’s settled! We’re leaving this weekend since it’s Tuesday and everyone will have enough time to get ready!!

Cj: okay

Mina leaves my room and i go deep into thought about bakugo and mumbling things, making me flustered and red.

Cj: *mumbling*bakugo is...hot…

Suddenly i hear a knock at my door so i open it and to my surprise its katsuki

Cj: Kat? Oh, do you need anything???

Katsuki: just wondering if you’re going with us on the trip

Cj: oh..yeah I am! *smiles*

Katsuki: oh okay then goodnight 

Cj: Night!

Bakugo POV:

Bakugo goes back to his room and locks his door and lays in his bed and starts thinking about me. Little did i know he liked me too.

Bakugo: Damnit! Why...I want him to be mines and no one else’s..ugh! 

He goes into deep thought about how i could be his and forever <3

                                           The next day(Wednesday)

Kirishima: *yawns* babe? You up 

Denki: mm...5 more mintues kiri 

kirishima:*chuckles* yeah okay * kisses his head*

Kirishima heads to the bathroom and takes a shower and does his hair and comes out and wakes Denki and he does the same thing.

Denki: let’s eat breakfast then wake the others up 

Kirishima: yeah okay 

  Kirishima and Denki have been together since 2nd year at UA so this makes three years of being together, they go downstairs and sees me already up and dressed and eating.

Kirishima & denki: Hey Cj

Cj: oh hey guys *puts his plate in the sink*

Boys: so can you wake bakubro up while we wake the other love birds

Cj: no problem 

i laughed at their comment about Mina and sero being together for 2 years, i knock on his door feeling that it’s locked so i yelled a bit.

Cj: hey bakugo time to get up we have planes with the sqau-

Before i could finish my sentence, bakugo opened the door up

Bakugo: I know dumbass...I was putting on my shoes and other things 

Cj: oh okay then, Kiri and Denki went to go wake the love birds up 

Bakugo: okay ima go eat breakfast now

Cj: okay

Bakugo and the others ate breakfast and they drove in my truck and blasted TikTok music and bakugo vibed with some while the windows are rolled down and everyone smiling and laughing with each other. We all arel going shopping for the road trip this weekend.

Cj: Hey guys ima pull over and get some gas

Others-expect bakugo: okay

Bakugo: I’ll help you with it 

Cj: okay…(Odd he never does that)

After pumping the gas we head to the store and the girls go together and same with the guys. After everyone got what they needed me and bakugo went to the bathroom and came out and we drive back home. 

                                        The next day(Thursday)

Everyone is asleep while i  were the only one up and it was around 12 in the afternoon, so i went and took a shower, did my face routine and did my hair, and put my shoes on.

To my  surprise, after i  went downstairs i see bakugo on the couch watching tv. So i  speak.

Cj: Hey bakugo 

You said with a smile

Bakugo: hey...Cj, where are you going? 

Cj: oh well I was gonna go on a little walk then was gonna go back to the mall and walk around there-

Without missing a single beat bakugo said.

Bakugo: I’m coming with you and you have no say in this got it?

Cj: I- okay then…(is bakugo okay?? He’s being nice to me and it’s kinda cute and sweet)

Me and bakugo go outside and starts walking around the block then get in the car.

Bakugo: Hand me the keys I’m driving

Cj: okay 

I hand him the keys and my phone hooks to the car blasting loudly ^E.T by Katy Perry^ and I  turn the volume down,

Cj: I’m sorry heh I forgot to turn down the music from last night 

Bakugo: Dumbass that’s loud as hell…

 We arrive at the mall and get out and started walking around the mall.

Cj: So….

Bakugo: huh? What dumbass?

Cj: why did you come with me? It’s so..unlike you

Bakugo:(shit...) well you’re always getting lost so I came to make sure that you don’t get lost or do or even buy something stupid

Cj: oh...heh I guess so 

Bakugo: So where are we heading to first?

Cj: Um hot topic…. Then spencers then the food court 

Bakugo: okay then let’s get going dumbass 

You guys go into hot topic and I see this black skirt and red top and gets it and some other clothes, snacks and etc.

Bakugo: That’s all your getting Cj?

Cj: Yes I am bc I wanna go to spencers before the food court

Bakugo: okay then 

I pay and leave to go to spencers. Once I made it we went in.

Cj: oo this looks so cute!

I found some more clothes and looked around more while bakugo followed me around.

Bakugo: Oi dumbass what are you looking for?

Cj: nothing just looking around- (is that a sex toy??)

i go up to it and notices what it reminds me of and i back away slowly and go pay for the clothes. Bakugo looking confused until he looked as well and left with you.

Bakugo: we agree to never speak of this?

Cj: agreed.

We head down to the food court and we found the place we wanted to eat at. we ate burger king.

Cj: hey bakugo?

Bakugo: Hm?

Cj: Thanks for coming out with me! 

I said with a warm smile.

Bakugo: oh no problem 

we leave after eating and head home and we had a squad night.

                              The next day at night(Friday,9 pm)

I were warming up the car and put my bag in the trunk with the rest of the squad’s stuff. Im driving and bakugo sitting on the passager side while kirishima is on the right side, sero in the further back with mina and Denki on the left side in the backseat. I may be wondering where they’re going well i’ll find out once you guys get there.

Cj: everyone ready? Nobody left anything before we pull off?

Everyone nodded and i asked who wanted to play the music from my phone and mina wanted it. So she played (All about that bass-Megan Trainor). Then i stopped and filled up on gas then started hitting the road.

Cj: So...what should we play

Bakugo: The hell you’re talking about dumbass

Kirishima: OH! Do you mean a car ride game?

Denki: aw man I love those 

Mina and Sero:Ikr! They’re always so fun to play epslly when we have a long drive to go!

Cj: Yeah how about I spy with my little eye?

Everyone agreed and even bakugo. i turned down the music so it’s like background music and Denki starts the game.

Denki: I spy something blonde and grumpy

Kiri: Bakubro!

Mina, Sero: Bakugo!

Cj: kats…

Bakugo: damn idiot! Tf why me!?

Denki: Idk you’re the first person I see bro

 Bakugo:tch...fine my turn

You start blushing for no reason at all.

Bakugo: I spy something red 

Denki: Kirishima’s hair 

Kiri: My hair?

Mina: Cj

Sero: Kiri’s hair 

Bakugo: No and Raccoon eyes got it

Cj: hah?! 

Mina: Yes! I knew it! Girls instinct

Boys: ohhhh…

i blush harder and harder meaning my face turning redder than Kirishima’s hair. The boys continue to laugh but get Bakugo’s point bc their the only ones who know his crush on me.

Cj:(why?...why me?)

Bakugo smiles at me and i  turn to the road while letting i window down so i feel something cold against my face. 

Bakugo: Your turn pinky 

Mina: okay! I spy with my little eye something bright!

Cj: oh the sun

Kiri: denki’s hair 

Sero: the sun

Bakugo: (dumb shitty hair) the sun

Denki: My hair 

Mina: Cj got it first! So Denki and Kiri you’re wrong 

Cj: Oh okay then 

We go another few rounds before everyone wanted to listen to music and do their own thing. Three hours passed and it was ^9:08pm^ and everyone had fallen asleep and i see this resting place so you pull over and the only person who wasnt asleep was bakugo to my surprise. So i get out and goes to the bathroom and so does bakugo.

Cj: I’m surprised 

Bakugo: what do you mean extra?

Cj: You’d usually fall asleep around 8 pm so it’s kind of weird ya know

Bakugo: oh well you look tired so I wanted to drive some anyway

Cj: oh okay...that’s fine 

We sit on the hood of the truck and look up at the stars and we talked more than ever and soon enough i fell asleep so Bakugo puts me in the passager seat and got in the car and shuts it off and fell asleep as well.

                                 The next day(7 am)

i woke up to music and bakugo driving so i sit up and notice his jacket on me and i look at him. Admiring him his eyes, his calmness, his body. 

 Bakugo: You’re gonna keep staring or say something dumbass

Cj: oh sorry

Bakugo: For what??

Cj: oh I assume it made you uncomfortable

Bakugo: no not really(should I pull over on this cliff? yeah)

Bakugo pulls over and gets out and opens my door and brings me out and closing the door behind me. giving bakugo a confused look. 

Bakugo: I wanted you to see the sunrise with me…

Cj: oh well it does look lovely doesn’t it?

Bakugo: yeah it does...hey can I ask you something?

Cj: yeah okay? (I wonder whats he’s gonna ask me)

Bakugo: okay...um do you like anyone?

Cj: um...yeah actually wbu do you like someone?

Bakugo: May I ask who it is and yeah I do dumbass

Cj: oh...well its you

Bakugo:oh...OH! wait really?

Cj:yeah...its okay if you dont like me-

Without a heart beat he kissed me, we both have a slight blush look on our face

Cj:w-what?!

Bakugo: i like you too dumbass 

CJ:oh um...what does this means now?

Bakugo lets out a sign and asks

Bakugo:ugh.....cj would you like to be my boyfriend?

I say back with me smiling like crazy, blushing mess

Cj:YES!

#bakugo katsuki #denki kaminari #sero hanta #mina ashido #katsuki bakugo #eijiro kirishima #bnha #my hero academia

[shireness-says]

Proximity

Summary: Killian Jones is not an idiot. Unfortunately, he’s also plagued by a problem - the uncontrollable urge to say something, anything when he finds himself forced to share space with another person. Will it ruin his chances with a beautiful stranger forever? ~2.3K. Rated T for language. Also on AO3.

~~~~~

A/N: The other day, I made a fool of myself in a restaurant, and @optomisticgirl was kind enough to laugh at me and tell me it should be a prompt. So, here we are. Thanks also to @snidgetsafan, my utterly stellar beta. She is French and trapped at home, and would like me to tag my “going outdoors whenever you want” porn. You’ve been warned. 

AO3 tells me that this is my 50th fic! Thanks to all of you who have been here since the beginning. Stay tuned - I’m planning something special to commemorate the milestone, which I should be launching in the next few days.

Tagging: @kmomof4, @katie-dub, @thejollyroger-writer, @let-it-raines, @scientificapricot, @profdanglaisstuff, @thisonesatellite, @searchingwardrobes, @snowbellewells, @spartanguard, @ultraluckycatnd, @teamhook, @ohmightydevviepuu, @shardminds

~~~~~

Killian Jones is not an idiot.

(It feels weird to say that, but Killian really feels that it bears mentioning under the circumstances. State it for the record, as it were.)

In most circumstances, he’d go so far as to call himself of greater than average intelligence. He’s smart and charming and quite the conversationalist when the situation calls for it. 

Unfortunately, he’s also plagued by a problem - the uncontrollable urge to say something, anything when he finds himself forced to share space with another person. Elevators are his ultimate nemesis, coaxing him to say all manner of stupid things he regrets immediately.

Unfortunately, it’s not limited to elevators. He only wishes he were that lucky. And unfortunately, it seems to crop up at the worst possible times. Such as at the soda dispenser at lunch.

You see, there’s an excellent deli just around the corner from his office. It’s nothing really exceptional just to look at the building, but the food inside is something else altogether. The bread is homemade and the cookies are fresh and the meat is always stacked tight and high and it may just be a sandwich, but there’s just something about it. There’s no other place he’d rather go for lunch.

It’s busy, today; that’s a thing that can happen at noon on a sunny Wednesday. He and Robin and Will know well enough to come early so they can get a seat, but they also know to get out once the order lines start backing up. While his friends duck out, however, Killian detours to refill his soda cup; like any truly respectable lunch spot, the machine is self-serve and the refills are endless. 

And that’s where the real trouble starts. 

Getting a refill of Coke is fine; it’s hard to muck that really. But Killian makes the mistake of stepping to the side to put a lid back on his cup, and when he looks back up to head for the door, she’s there. A woman. In his immediate space, right next to him filling up her own cup at the dispenser. She’s gorgeous, too - a blonde haired, green-eyed dream with a trim athletic figure and legs for days.

Maybe that’s why he can’t fight it - the irrepressible urge to say something, anything. In another setting, he might have managed something charming and flirtatious. But they’re in a state of shared space, and unfortunately, the blabbermouth urges that this triggers override any other instinct or effort. 

He doesn’t even recognize his own voice when he finally speaks; it’s somehow pitched lower than normal into something almost cartoonish, or like a theatrical sotto voce gone horribly wrong. 

“They’re leaving without me!” he declares before fleeing for the door, unfortunately not fast enough to avoid the look of utter confusion on her lovely face as he goes. 

He regrets it as soon as he reaches the swinging door, an impressive four steps later. Unfortunately, it’s too late to take the words back at that point. 

(Worst of all, maybe - besides the fact that his friends are decidedly not leaving without him, instead waiting patiently just outside the door - is the fact that she hadn’t even looked his way before he’d made an utter fool of himself. It simultaneously hurts his ego and makes Killian want to kick himself for bringing this upon himself.) 

“Someone’s got a look,” Robin comments with a smirk. “What’d you do?”

Killian sighs heavily. “Do you ever do or say something that you just… immediately regret?”

“Nope!” Will chirps back cheerily. “Pillar of decorum, me.”

“More like utterly shameless,” Robin quips back. “What’d you do this time, Jones?”

Robin and Will wind up in stitches as the sorry story of the sorrier encounter unravels, not that Killian blames them (much). He can’t believe himself either, and if it was anyone else, he’d be laughing too. 

“It was one of those moments where I just wanted to ask myself, ‘what the hell is wrong with you’, you know?” Killian says to conclude his lament. “I don’t know if you saw, either, but she was stunning, too. Which just makes it worse, somehow - of course I’d make a fool of myself in front of a beautiful woman.”

“Ah, don’t take it too hard,” Robin tells him with a consolatory pat on the back. “What are the chances that you’ll see her again, anyways?”

———

The chances are higher than any of them thought, as it turns out. It seems she must have started a job in the same building that houses their publishing office. He’s not quite sure where; there’s too many options to narrow it down. All Killian knows is that he keeps seeing her in the lobby and the parking lot and outside the windows.

(Mostly, he just ducks out of sight or around corners so that she can’t see him. It’s becoming a problem.)

Killian can’t help but admire her from a distance, even if he intends to never let the blonde see his face again for fear that she’ll remember the very stupid thing he said at the deli. She wears a series of trim skirts and tailored pants that always mold perfectly to her slight frame, and her hair has this bounce to it that’s just mesmerizing. Even if the sunny color hadn’t caught his attention, the way those curls move certainly would have; it’s hair that makes a man dream of sinking his hands into those curls, though he knows those are inappropriate thoughts to entertain about a woman he doesn’t even know, and doesn’t ever intend to.

That doesn’t mean he’s not horribly, disgustingly fascinated and smitten. 

The thing about his particular office building is that it’s older - beautifully so, with ornate carvings at the corners and tall ceilings that keep him from feeling quite so trapped inside. Older buildings, however, tend to have quirks, no matter how charming and architecturally pleasing they are. One of the particular quirks of this building is a series of elevators that seem to alternate breaking down in no discernible pattern. The beautiful original elevators from the 1940s have been preserved, to gorgeous effect, but it seems like their parts need replacing more than newer models. Technically, he could take the stairs; however, he works on the 8th of 10 floors, and most days, it just doesn’t seem worth the effort (or the workout) to haul himself up and down all those flights when he could take the elevator in a fraction of the time. Theoretically. Killian has learned from his own experience and that of his coworkers that it depends on the day. 

And today is not his day. 

It starts out fine, as he gets in the elevator to make his way down to the street for lunch. It’s a beautiful day out, and though he’d planned to reheat some leftovers - and in fact, had left a tupperware full of last night’s pizza in the break room fridge - with this kind of weather, Killian can’t bear to stay indoors a moment longer. It couldn’t hurt to go get a sandwich from the deli, anyways. 

Things get a little more complicated when the elevator stops on the sixth floor and his mystery blonde steps into the car. She’s distracted by her phone when the doors open, and takes a moment before stepping in; in fact, the doors start closing as she steps through the opening, causing her to startle a bit. 

“Those things will nearly take your arm off!” Killian blurts out in a mixture of nerves and horrible impulse rooted in space constraints.

(Elevators: once again, his nemesis.)

The blonde looks at him strangely at that, only to double take when she apparently recognizes him from before. “Hey, weren’t you the guy from —” she starts as the elevator begins its descent. 

“I don’t think so,” Killian quickly interrupts.

“No, no, at the deli, weren’t you the guy —”

For better or worse, the elevator chooses that particular moment to stop. Not a regular stop either, where someone might step on from another floor on the way down - the elevator breaks down between floors with a horrible, grinding halt that Killian knows means they’ll be stuck until the repairmen or fire department can pry them out. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, not quite under his breath - though then again, nothing is really out of earshot in the tight confines of an elevator. Of course he gets trapped with the one person he’s been avoiding for weeks. 

At least it causes her to drop that particular line of questioning for the moment. Her gaze has turned fearful, somewhere between concerned and panicked, as she looks across the little box at him. “Has this happened before?”

“More than anyone likes to admit,” Killian tells her. “Welcome to the Misthaven Building. It’s practically a rite of passage.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“Eh, don’t think about it too long,” Killian advises. “They’re good about getting us out quickly anyways. Just got to give the building manager a call.”

This is his third time trapped in the five years he’s worked in the building; he’s well used to the ritual of reporting the situation and being told to sit tight. Like he has any other option. Still, his companion’s face relaxes when he tells her that people are on their way and they should hopefully be out within the hour.

“I suppose I should introduce myself, if we’re going to be stuck together.” It feels like more of a concession that he’d like, but truthfully, there’s nothing about this situation that he’s a particular fan of. Except, of course, the woman herself, but there’s no changing the multitude of mortifying circumstances under which they’ve met. “I’m Killian Jones. I’m with the publishing company up on 8.”

“Emma Swan,” she smiles in return. “Just started with the law firm on six.”

“A pleasure, Swan. Or, at least, as much of one as it can be under these circumstances.”

She laughs. “Same, I guess.” He should have figured, though, that she wouldn’t just let their previous encounter go - especially after finding out that she’s a lawyer. “Are you sure that we didn’t meet before at the deli?”

Killian sighs heavily. “Meet would be a strong word, but aye, we did. A little passing encounter at the soda machine.”

“I thought so!” she grins. “No offense, but it was an… interesting encounter.”

“Oh, none taken. That’s the polite way to put it.” That doesn’t stop him from blushing at the memory. That ridiculous voice, seriously. He still can’t believe it. 

“Yeah, it was… not what I expected,” Emma admits.

“I’m sure it’s not, since it’s not what I expected to say either. I’ve been kind of kicking myself ever since.”

“Why did you say it, then?” Emma asks with an amused smile.

Killian scrubs his hands over his face with a sigh. “I wish I had a better answer, but… do you ever just feel the urge to just say something, anything when you’re forced into close proximity with someone? Just to feel the air?” Emma nods tentatively. “I’ve got a particularly bad case of it.”

“Ohhhhh,” she exhales, as if in realization. “That would explain the arm thing when I got on the elevator too, then.”

“Precisely. There is no limit to the amount of stupid and ridiculous things I will say in elevators.”

“It was kind of what made me remember you,” Emma admits. 

“Of course,” Killian groans. “I swear I’m not usually so awkward, around lovely young women or otherwise.”

“Now that I know the story, it’s kind of charming,” Emma assures him. “At least I think so.”

“You’d be the first.”

Conversation gets easier now that they’ve talked about the elephant in the room. Emma proves to be just as charming as she is beautiful - funny and smart, with a great sense of sarcasm that weaves through their conversation. He learns that she’s just moved to town to be closer to her family - her brother is a county sheriff’s deputy in the area, and her sister-in-law a teacher - and she’s got a five year old son at home that she loves more than anything. Killian is even more impressed as he realizes she must have finished law school with an infant and as a single parent. Somehow, he gets the feeling that there’s nothing she can’t or won’t do if she sets her mind to it. In turn, he tells her about himself - the shenanigans he gets up to with Robin and Will, his brother states away, all the little coffee shops and quiet nooks he’s found since moving here himself. It’s easy to forget that they’re trapped when he’s enjoying their conversation so much, even if they are sitting on the floor of the elevator. 

All too soon, however, the car jolts back to life, making its way down to the lobby at last. Killian struggles to his feet as the car moves, before reaching down to pull Emma back to her feet as well. Even if she wasn’t wearing some very impressive and spindly heels that undoubtedly affect her balance, it’s the chivalrous thing to do. 

“Thanks for this,” Emma tells him once they’re finally back on the solid marble floors of the lobby. “I definitely would have been freaking out if you hadn’t been there.”

“It was my pleasure, Swan.” And it truly was; the circumstances may not have been ideal on the surface, but he can’t bring himself to regret it, as they’ve brought him into the company of an enchanting woman. It’s easy to realize that he wants more than just today; knowing that, Killian quickly screws up his courage. “I don’t suppose you’d want to get coffee sometime? Or dinner? I promise I make a much better date outside of elevators.”

“I’d love to,” Emma smiles, setting Killian’s heart soaring in joyous flight. “I’ve got to find out what you’re like in more normal settings and situations, after all.”

(He’s happy to prove he’s much better - and less vocal - at sharing space for more pleasurable reasons.)

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #my writing #Proximity #modern AU #yes i did actually say that in public

[sunfloweradoring]

the one where they meet

Character wise, obviously you know who one direction are! But for anyone that doesn’t know, Saoirse is based on Saoirse Ronan, George on George Mackay & Alex was on no one in particular!

Hope you enjoy my first piece!

masterlist

word count: 2.7k

2011

“Please! Honestly, I will do absolutely anything if you go with me, please!” Saoirse pleaded, her bright blue eyes intensely boring into my stubborn face. My arms were crossed tightly across my chest, brows slightly raised in disbelief.

“Look Saoirse, you know these kinds of parties are not my thing. How long have you known me? Like what, 4 years?” My words came out laced with a small chuckle. A gentle whine of defeat escaped her lips as she moved closer on the sofa, her hands snatching my left arm out of its folded position.

Saoirse and I had met when we played best friends in the film Atonement back in ’07 and soon became fast friends off screen as well. Only a year later her family had moved from Ireland to London, a mere three quarters of an hour from mine, and that almost cemented our friendship. Almost every day we were in each other’s company, giggling like little girls despite the both of us being 16.

“Okay, what about this,” She began, her hands momentarily squeezing mine as if to emphasise her begging. “We go to this party, you give it an hour and a half, and if you don’t like it, we can leave, and I promise to go and see that stupid kids’ film with you; how does that sound?” My head snapped to my left as I sent her a small glare.

“Not a stupid kids’ film.” I muttered. “Gnomeo and Juliet sounds adorable.” She smiled warmly, knowing my defence was slowly lowering. “Fine,” I sighed. “But only an hour and a half.” I warned.

“Thank you! I love you!” She squealed in excitement. “When me and George are finally an item, I will forever be indebted to you.” She spoke, standing from the sofa and bowing to me in hyperbolic fashion. I let out an unattractive snort to which her response was to whack my head with one of the cushions decorating her parents’ sofa.

“Okay, sorry!” I laughed. “He seems really nice, genuinely. If he has any nice looking friends, I won’t object.” I jested, pushing myself up from the sofa as headlights appeared through the living-room window.

“That’s why I want you to come to the party, eejit! Apparently, there’s this boy called Alex that’s going, that George knows from school and from all accounts he’s not too bad.” She smirked, wiggling her eyebrows at me. Before I could respond, Saoirse’s mother popped her head out of the study with a smile of her face.

“I think your folks are here, lovie.” Monica spoke in her gentle accent.

“Ah, thanks.” I nodded just before the doorbell rang.

“Right, I’ll see you on Wednesday, we’ll go to Oxford Street and get something to wear. Yeah?” Saoirse babbled as we both walked to the front door.

“What’s this about?” Monica playfully questioned.

“Oh, we’re going to this party I was invited to by George next Friday night. But we have to go to the shops before to make sure we look fab.” Her daughter explained, pulling the door open to reveal my older brother standing waiting.

“Awee, George.” Monica gently teased. “He seems like a nice boy.” She smiled, waving at my brother. “Hi Tom, you on taxi duty tonight?”

He nodded with a grin on his face. “Unfortunately, that’s me. Should start charging rates the amount these two need ferrying around.” He joked as I stepped out and over the doorstep.

I shook my head at his joke before waving at the Ronan ladies. “Bye! See you Wednesday, thanks for the lovely tea, Monica!”

                                                          ----------

My cheeks were flushed, my feet ached, and my fingers were gradually losing feeling from clutching mine and Saoirse’s bags as we went into what felt like the millionth shop.

“Promise it’s the last one, pet, honest. Just saw these really nice earrings online and they’ll go so well with that top I got.” She explained, excitement overflowing her words. Ordinarily I would have complained about being somewhat of a pack-mule, but her happiness was starting to rub off on me (although I would never admit it!).

As we walked into the warm shop, sheltering us from the February chill outside, her phone rang out in a shrill tone. Quickly retrieving it from her back pocket, Saoirse brought the phone to her ear.

“Hello?... Hiya, George!... Oh yeah, Alex wasn’t it?” Instantly her eyes moved to me, a devilish grin forming on her lips at the mention of this mystery man. “Oh reallllyyyyy?” The way she dragged out the syllables filled me with nothing but dread. “Well that sounds great… I’ll let her know, yeah… Okay, see you then, bye!” In one swift movement the phone was returned to the pocket.

“What was that about?” I questioned, slowly shifting my weight from leg to leg, feeling somewhat uncomfortable under her gaze.

“Well,” She grinned. “A little birdy just told me that Alex has seen a picture of you and rumour has it that he took quite the fancy to you.” She explained, her voice calling out in a sing-song tone.

“Fantastic.” I muttered sarcastically under my breath.

                                                         ----------

“Right, have a nice time girls. Are you sure that Lily’s mum is okay with picking you all up? I’m trusting George to look after you both until then.” Saoirse’s dad questioned, turning to his daughter who was sat in the front seat of the car.

“Absolutely!” Saoirse replied, unbuckling herself and shooting out of the car before any more questions could be asked. I followed suit, calling out a soft ‘thanks!’ before pushing the car door closed. “This is so exciting!” She squealed, the both of us turning around to look at the house we were about to enter. George, who was 18 now, had invited us to the party of one of his co-stars, also 18 Saoirse had said. This only really meant one thing: alcohol was probably going to be flowing. Whilst I was far from a prude, at 16 I did feel a little unsettled at the idea of being a party with loads of 18 and 19 year olds but I only had to get through an hour and a half.

“Let’s go.” I smiled, our arms linking together as we walked up to the house.

                                                         ----------

I made my way with Saoirse and George to two sofas and armchairs that were nestled away in the corner of the room. We sat down, almost completely ignored by the many people bopping around us. We’d barely been there 15 minutes when I heard someone shout over the music a loud ‘oh my god, it’s them!’, but before I could turn and investigate, a figure pulled up beside the arm of George’s chair.

“Oh! This is Alex,” George smiled, pointing the neck of his bottle towards the young man next to him. Alex was tall, dark hair, wearing some dark trousers and a checked top, that, in the lowered light of the London flat, looked a mixture of reds and black. I smiled gently, reaching my hand to meet his outstretched one and shaking it.

“Hi.” I spoke quietly, introducing myself. Even though Alex was speaking to me now, I could vaguely see over his shoulder and into the rest of the room that now seemed to be buzzing about something. Before I came across as rude, an unnamed girl came up behind Alex and cut him off, her forehead shiny from sweat, I assume as a result of her dancing.

“That band that nearly won the X-Factor is here.” She announced and before we could ask any further questions, she was off to announce the news to someone else.

“The X-Factor?” Alex questioned, swinging around as the rest of us stood up, intrigued.

“What were they called? One Direction wasn’t it?” George questions, to which Saoirse and I nod in agreement. I wasn’t an avid fan of the X-Factor. Indeed, I couldn’t even tell you the last time I watched more than one episode let alone an entire series. However, I did remember seeing a group of boys around my age on it this year, but I didn’t know how far they’d gone in the competition or anything.

“Let’s see!” Saoirse said, leading myself, Alex and George back into the rest of the flat to see. What must have been at least a hundred people had congregated in the main room of the flat, all laughing and chattering loudly. From what I could see, no one would particularly extraordinary; no one looked like they ‘nearly won the X-Factor’. I vaguely recognised various actors from different shows or films but no one looked like a rock star.

“Excuse me, sorry, ‘cuse me.” An accent I’d come to know and love chimed from beside me, yet I knew it obviously wasn’t Saoirse as the tone was far deeper than her voice. I glanced to my left and saw a young lad, peroxide blonde hair, attempting to weave his way deeper into the flat – probably in an effort to locate the free bar in the kitchen.

“Sorry.” I quickly spoke, stepping to the right to allow him through. He shot me a small smile of gratitude, glancing at the plastic cup clutched in my fingers and moved another step before coming to a halt.

“Ye wouldn’t know where aye could get eh drink, would ye?” He questioned, eyes slightly squinted to look at me. “’Aven’t had anything for ‘ours.” He explained. Instead of verbalising a response I simply nodded in the direction he’d previously been heading and led him towards the kitchen.

“Here you go.” I said, stepping to the side to display the vast number of bottles, cans and jugs of liquid to the boy.

“Ah, that’s brillian’ that. Absolutely mental in there.” He grinned, walking to the counter and grabbing a plastic cup, filling it with a concoction of beverages. “’Am Niall, by the way.” He said after taking a large gulp, turning around and looking at me.

“Y/N. Nice to meet you Niall.” I smiled, finishing the rest of my drink.

“How do you know Jack then?” Niall questioned, leaning his back against the counter as he eyed me. “Look a lil’ young if you don’t mind me saying.”

I almost wanted to laugh at him; he himself didn’t look a day older than me, but I shrugged. “I don’t, he’s a friend of a friend.” I explained. “What about you?”

“He knows Louis from somewhere I think.” He replied, looking at something behind me. I turned to see what caught his attention; two more men around his age entered the kitchen.

“Look at him! Already trying to chat a poor lass up before he’s even been here a second.” One laughed. The other simply chuckled in response as they both helped themselves to a drink each.

“Louis that’s not funny. ‘Am not ‘Arry!” Niall retorted to the boy that had spoken. The second boy nodded in affirmation.

“I’d stay away from him, if I were you. Bit of a ladies’ man our Harry.” He said. I nodded, smiling perhaps a little too much due to the small amount of alcohol in my system. “Liam.” He added, holding out his hand. I took it and shook his hand before introducing myself.

                                                         ----------

I spoke with three boys for a while, chatting about completely irrelevant things – probably in an attempt to avoid the mayhem outside the kitchen. Soon I came to understand they were three fifths of the band One Direction that everyone had been buzzing about outside. The remaining two members I had yet to meet, but from what I could remember, they were Zayn and the infamous Harry, the ‘ladies’ man’. Each of them seemed really sweet and genuinely, all equally as perplexed at the sudden rise to fame they’d experienced in only a matter of weeks.

“Lads!” Louis shouted from his seat atop the counter, beckoning to people outside the vicinity of the kitchen. Two more figures entered; the first was a slight boy, looking almost like a deer caught in headlights. His hair was jet black and he eyed me a little nervously before he shot me a timid smile. The second was a brunette, his wispy hair curling in what looked like every direction. His eyes seemed to light up as he smiled at the three boys I’d been conversing with.

“Hi!” He spoke cheerily.

“This is Y/N. Y/N this is Harry and Zayn.” Liam said, gesturing to me as I leaned against the fridge. Both boys acknowledged me with genuine smiles, but Harry seemed to be the more confident one as he approached me and held out his hand. When I took it, I was surprised that rather than shaking it as his friends had, he bowed his head and placed an almost non-existent kiss to the back of my hand.

“Lovely to meet you, Y/N.” Harry grinned, lifting his eyes to look at me. There was something about his gaze that struck me. Whether it was the intensity at which he seemed to be staring into my soul, or the brightness of what looked to be green eyes, I didn’t know, but I felt a gentle flush rise to my cheeks.

“And you, Harry.” I giggled, unable to bring my eyes away from his. 

                                                        ----------

“So tell me about yourself, then, Y/N.” Harry spoke, now it just being the two of us sat on the sofas and chairs I’d been occupying with my friends earlier in the evening. 

I shrugged gently. “Well, I’m an actor.” I began. “Started off with Saoirse in Atonement. I live with my aunt, my uncle and my two cousins. But they’re like my parents and my brothers so that’s what I call them.” I added, probably oversharing, but my extremely low alcohol tolerance was only screwing me over. Harry nodded, his eyes never leaving my face; it was as if he was only concentrating on me - no one else was in the room. 

“That’s cool.” He smiled. “Do you have any films or stuff coming out soon?” He asked, sipping from his cup. 

“Uh, yeah, actually.” I shyly responded. “It’s coming out in the summer. It’s called Crazy, Stupid, Love and Emma Stone and Ryan Gosling are in it. I’m just a minor character but it was so amazing to work with such talented people.” I gushed. Again, Harry smiled, his grin almost looking like it was going to split his face in half.

“That’s cute.” He breathed, looking at his cup as he gently swirled the content. “Hey um-” Before he could continue, Saoirse plopped down on the arm of my chair, her friend Lily (who I’d barely seen all night) standing behind her, eyes fixed on the boy sitting opposite me. 

“Lily’s mum’s here.” Saoirse interrupted, almost obvious to the fact she’d cut in on an extremely enjoyable conversation. I glanced at Harry, who seemed almost upset. But perhaps that was just the trick of the light and not his smile actually faltering because he quickly stood and the smile was back, pride of place. 

“I’ll be there in a sec.” I nodded towards the door. “I’ll just say goodbye.” The girls looked at me with glints in their eyes before slowly making their way to the door. Clearly there was no such thing as privacy though, because I could still feel their eyes on me as I turned back to Harry. “What were you gonna say?” I asked.

Again, I don’t know whether it was a trick of the light or not, but I swear I could see a small hum of colour take over his cheeks as he cleared his throat. “I, uh, I was gonna ask if I could take your number. I really enjoyed talking to you for,” He glanced down at the time displayed on the screen of his phone. “like 3 hours.” He laughed. 

Honestly, everything he’d said after ‘could I take your number’ was not registered in my brain whatsoever. A girlish giggle left my lips as (not at all subtly) my cheeks flushed scarlet. “Me too, Harry. Yeah, here’s my number.” I reached out my hand for his phone which he obliged. The stare of his gaze bore into me as I typed my number into the device before handing it back to him.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” His breath fanned over my cheek as he leaned in, placing a small kiss on my cheek before embracing me. 

I could have died on the spot. 

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