#im thinking of applying for a fucking business license

[stevethehairington]

Hey ur in ur Steve feels so Im gonna share an angsty Steve hc I had yesterday: The reason Steve's parents are so distant is because Steve is the result of an affair his mother was having with someone else. His father was also having an affair but Mrs. Harrington got pregnant.

They decided to stay together and keep Steve to save face since keeping an image of being family-friendly is integral to Mr. Harrington's business. Both of Steve's parents tolerate him to maintain their status but truthfully they really don't like him.

Steve had no idea that Mr. Harrington wasn't his real father until he saw his birth certificate for the first time at age 16 while applying for his drivers license.

He spends years after that wondering why nobody ever seems to want him. His parents. His birth father. Carol. Tommy. Nancy. Why isn't he wanted?

hi!! omg i am SO sorry it took me so long to reply to this!! i saw it come in like right as i was heading to bed for the night, and then i kept telling myself oh i'll respond when i get home from work and then i would totally forget skfljs SORRY.

BUT!

OH GOD THAT IS SO ANGSTY!!! and SO HEARTBREAKING.

like, on the one hand i actually think steve would be almost a little relieved to know that he isn't actually related to his father, yknow? bc like one of his biggest fears, one of his worst nightmares is that he turns into his father. that he ends up being exactly like him. it terrifies him. and i think knowing that, genetically, they are not the same would serve as some sort of small comfort to him. like, it would almost make him feel like he has a better chance of not turning out like him bc like it's not in his dna, yknow? he would feel like he has more control over that.

but the on the other hand, god, finding out that his father isn't actually his father would be devastating too? bc like. that was his father. like they may not have had a great relationship and steve may not have liked him all the time, but i do think that steve did love him to a degree. like i dont think it would have all been bad. there might have been moments of his childhood with his dad that were nice. so finding out that those were built on a lie just crushes him. that he doesnt even get to keep the few good moments he has without them being completely ruined.

and like, just knowing that his whole life has been constructed around this lie? that he was just a pawn in his parents' weird, fucked up relationship drama and their perfect family charade. that they only kept him around to keep that up. ooohhhhh that would hurt.

and then oh GOD, nancy telling him that it's all bullshit, that he's bullshit, that they're bullshit, ohhhh, that would cut deep oh my god, it would cut so deep. fuck.

why isn't he wanted? 😭😭😭😭😭

#asks #anonymous #steve harrington #stranger things #ohhhh feeling so sad about my boy again #😭😭😭

[glitterglockz]

okay so i just don’t know anymore. need therapy and been just thinking. rn im 21 and just graduated from college. tough four years. but im struggling to adjust to not being in school and feel like im not thinking big enough. little ambition but idk i have plans in the fall and I’ll be busy w a new opportunity. i just wanna keep winning like yumeko. or idk if i should take this time to focus on other things like improving my health, having fun and relaxing. in my ideal world id wanna work 2 jobs ideally one being Sephora and the other bartending but i would equally benefit from working from another makeup store or a nice clothing store like Nordstrom or urban outfitters two of which i applied to. i also hit up my old job target which reminded me of my old ting 😭. but idk i feel so far from control and things are not working out in my favor but i could be wrong and maybe these rejections will prove to offer future benefits such as me working at a better store or getting more money or a better opportunity. i love makeup. it’s self expression, a complement to an outfit, beauty. i made an ig page solely dedicated to makeup. i plan out looks and take pictures and videos. this week imma do a rainbow under eye and then cheetah/leopard print and pink zebra maybe green and then but for makeup my goal is to get more traction on my page, set trends, capitalize off it through brand deals and sponsors, get free makeup and learn how to do makeup professionally, do peoples makeup and serve looks. okay so that involves me doing my makeup more, posting consistently, researching techniques, trying diff products and applying to jobs with makeup. i can also start blogging about makeup too. I’m also thinking about getting my bartenders license during this gap of time. Im horny asl and i can’t wait to get some rump. i love missionary and freaky shit. love getting my pussy ate and trying new shit. im getting back to my thickness. trying to be a curvy bitch in a body car ( g wagon). but yeah i wanna be a bad bitch 😍 serve looks and always be on point. be iced out and fly and an it girl. but yeah ik this nigga w good dick and he’s an aquarius and a lil disrespectful so idk if i should i think one last time and then that’s it. he’s said he’s sorry and all but idk if im being fooled out the pussy. but does it matter if we fuck and most likely how would that make me feel? why am i so intent on leveling up everything in my life but not in my sex or romantic life. dealing w the same bs, im not having it ! it’s also me too, i be acting crazy and not standing up. not respecting myself and shit so am i getting what im putting out ? let’s think more about our dream nigga or gf and think of ways i want to prepare to receive them. anyway. health i need to get better at that too. i want to eat a better diet, walk everyday and maybe smoke less but it’s always tricky i feel like smoking does wanders for my mental health. writing too and maybe it’s about rewards and courage. limiting smoking to 3-4 times a week instead of everyday. but let’s see drinking more water and im invited to interview at club Pilates which would also be a good opportunity for me. maybe Pilates will help me find peace and myself. or is that me expecting too much out of a job ? ive been getting so irritated lately. little things are pissing me off. but let’s see trading rn is going well but I’m still practicing and need to develop a better strategy and research more. need 4-5 streams of income to pay off my credit cards and live my soft life. but i like learning new things and being in certain spaces that promote growth:

[jemej3m]

objection

because im now a law/crim student, this is all im gonna fuckin write about 

anyway here’s andrew as neil’s defence attorney (totally inspired by @aymmidumps‘ amazing andrew here)

gruesome crime descriptions but neil’s not a butcher in this one

*

“Wesninki’s applying for an appeal,” was all Andrew heard from the minute he’d stepped into the office. It was all anyone could - and would - talk about. 

Reasonably so, Andrew presumed. Nathaniel Wesninski had been locked up since his nineteenth birthday, when he slit his father’s throat. Andrew reckons he should’ve never been charged with murder, especially when considering his father was the Butcher of Baltimore, but Andrew had been just an undergraduate student at the time. There was nothing he could’ve done. 

Now, though. 

Now Andrew was just over thirty and steadily climbing the ranks. He hadn’t intended on becoming a defense attorney, but it just so happened that he was damn good at keep kids out of jail. The juvenile detention system was just a cog in the wheel of dysfunction, after all: he knew that first hand. 

Survivors of violent assault who had killed their attackers were also common clients of Andrew’s. Those with mental illnesses and drug addictions found their way into his stack of case files, too. He’d always thought he’d be on the right side of the law, throwing shitty people in jail and fixing the system one day at a time. 

This was alright too, he supposed. 

“Hey, Minyard,” Boyd leaned against the door-frame of Andrew’s office. He had his own private space, unlike the others, who often shared offices with two or three of their colleagues. Andrew was just lucky. Or favoured. 

“Let me guess,” Andrew said, without looking up from his file on a thirteen-year-old being charged with battery and theft. “Dan’s pissy because I didn’t turn up to dinner on Friday, there’s free coffee in the break room, Wesninski’s applying for appeal and Wymack wants me?” 

“Uh,” Matt squinted. “Yes? How the hell did you guess?” 

Andrew gave Matt a bored look. “You talk too loud. The walls are thin, you know.” 

The man huffed, conflicted between being impressed and disgruntled at Andrew’s usual bitchiness. He simply threw his hands up and vanished from Andrew’s doorway, most likely to groan to his wife about how incorrigible Andrew seemed to be. 

He threw his file onto his desk, locked his office door behind him and swung past the break room to dump three packets of sugar into a free latte. By the time he arrived at Wymack’s door, the man was already stood up, most definitely unimpressed by Andrew’s tardiness. And his lack of tie. 

He did wear a tie to court. Most of the time. 

“Nice of you to finally show up,” the old man grunted, tugging on the cuffs of his casual blazer. Andrew fucking hated blazers. They were always too tight around his shoulders. “I suppose you already know what this is all about?” 

“Seeing as Allison, Robin and Renee have all tried to talk my ear off about it, yes. I’m aware Wesninski is trying for appeal.” 

Wymack wasn’t impressed. “What you don’t know is that he’s come to us to represent him.” 

Andrew paused. Now that was interesting. Nathaniel Wesninski was halfway between New York and Baltimore. Why the fuck would he recruit from seedy South Carolina? There was no viable reason, unless - 

“Kevin,” he deduced. “How do they know each other?”

“Moriyamas and Wesninskis ran in the same circles, before it all got shut down.” Wymack arched a brow. “Wesninski figures that Kevin is the only person he can trust.” 

“Kevin won’t do it,” Andrew shook his head. “He doesn’t touch anything Moriyama related with a ten-foot pole.”

“Wesninski knows that. Which is why he’s asked for you: Kevin passed him on.” 

Andrew closed his eyes, very, very briefly, as he cocked his head at his boss. “You want me to get the most notorious gangster’s son out of jail.” 

“At least have him commuted to manslaughter,” Wymack suggested. 

At least, Andrew thought. He remembered looking over the Wesninski case in his third year. Nathaniel Wesninski had laughed, incredulous, as the FBI lead him away in handcuffs, nearly losing his fingers in an effort to cling onto the knife that he’d used to end Nathan Wesninski’s life. 

That wasn’t manslaughter. That was homicide of the first degree, plastered over the front page of every newspaper the next day. 

"You’ll owe me,” Andrew warned. 

“I’ll cover your bar tab at the Foxhole for the rest of the year,” Wymack conceded. 

Andrew huffed. “It’s February.” 

Wymack arched an eyebrow. 

Andrew had a feeling he’d regret this. He hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his slacks and rocked back on his heels, looking to the ceiling. “Fine.”

“It was an order, not a request,” Wymack grunted. “Get out of my office and get a visitation permit.” 

Andrew, already fed up with a case he’d only just been assigned, turned on his heel and dutifully marched off. 

*

The drive was nine and a half hours. Andrew could’ve made it a single-day round trip on a plane, but he refused to fly somewhere he could drive instead. He booked a half-hour slot with Wesninski on Saturday afternoon: if he found the man interesting enough, he’d bribe a guard to let him back in Sunday morning. Then he’d drive home, midday Sunday. 

At least Wymack was letting him stay in a nice hotel in Philadelphia. It almost made the journey worth it, but he wouldn’t jump the gun. It would only be a worthwhile trip if he figured that Wesninski wasn’t hopeless. The man was just 29. It was nearly 10 years since he’d been locked up. Andrew’s chances were - practically slim to none. 

Half-way through the drive Nicky called. 

“Heard you’re going to see Wesninski,” he said, the phone somewhat masking Nicky’s obvious curiosity.

Andrew sighed. “Aaron needs to shut his mouth.” 

“Aaron comes to family dinners,” Nicky objected. “He has every right to tell me whatever he wants. Speaking of - if I promise you a whole loaf of garlic bread, will you come to the next one?” 

Andrew huffed. “I’m busy.” 

“Yeah, yeah, you hate socialising, you’ll tolerate dealing with Aaron at work but nowhere else, blah blah. What about me? Your dear, old cousin?” 

“Fine,” Andrew grunted. “Now, leave me alone.” 

“Yes!” Nicky crowed, but whatever response he had after that was cut off. Andrew dropped his phone back in the passenger seat, turning the radio back up and relaxing into his chair. 

It was a further five hours after that disturbance till his arrival at SCI Phoenix, Philadelphia. Andrew would always despise how depressing prison complexes looked. Chain link fences and brick boxes, splayed out like a progression of architectural failures. The parking lot was enormous and empty. Andrew parked far enough away that his nice car wasn’t in direct sight from the prison’s visiting entrance, fixing up his suit and tie and slinging the strap of his briefcase over his shoulder. 

The guard by the door snapped his fingers for identification. Andrew flicked his license towards him, gaze deadened by boredom. The guard almost winced when Andrew sighed, looking to the clock. Once he was finally granted access, he took the lanyard and shoved his way through the doors. 

Visitation was close to shutting up when Andrew arrived, miserable loved ones reaching for final hugs and brief kisses. Andrew was lead by the duty guard to a private room, waiting by the barred door. 

Wesninski was already waiting for him inside. His hands were cuffed to the table, fiddling with a blunt key. His red curls were overgrown and messy, the grey jumpsuit hanging off his small frame. 

When the door clanged shut, Wesninski looked up. His eyes were the most spectacular blue Andrew had ever seen, his face marred by horrific scars and the stitches used to hold him together. He looked ridiculously unimpressed. Andrew, meanwhile, smothered any flickers of emotion as intrigue sparked in his chest. 

Damn, he thought.

“Unlock him,” Andrew said, to the guard. 

The guard arched an eyebrow. “You sure?” 

“Obviously,” Andrew said, rolling his eyes. He didn’t have knives on his person - they’d set off the metal detector - but he was never vulnerable. He made a promise that he’d never be taken advantage of again. 

Wesninski flexed his wrists when the guard unlocked them, giving Andrew a thinly veiled look of appraisal. The guard immediately skittered off to stand outside the door, holding the interrogation room’s keys in tightly clenched fists. 

“So,” Wesninski said, holding out a hand. “You’re the famous Andrew Minyard.” 

"And you are the infamous Nathaniel Wesninski,” Andrew returned, ignoring the warmth of his skin as they shook hands. He sat down: the shitty metal chair creaked. “We both seem to have names and reputations that precede us.” 

Nathaniel’s eye twitched slightly. “I prefer Neil.”

Andrew leant back in his chair, leg crossed at the ankle. “You seriously think they’re going to let you out?” 

“Well,” Neil admitted. “Probably not. But I figured I’d give it a shot. It should be safer out there now.”

“You’ve been hiding in here? Who from, your father’s ghost?” 

Neil was not impressed. “His bosses, actually. But since Kengo’s second son was shot between the eyes and his first son locked up for it, I should be fine.”

“Riko and Ichirou,” Andrew deduced. “Kevin’s mentioned them once or twice.”

Neil just glared. “I can’t believe that coward won’t help me.” 

Andrew narrowed his eyes. “He owes you, does he? What for? Helping him escape the Moriyamas? Wait - that was me. What about coping with his trauma and reestablishing his career? Nevermind - that was me, too. Goodness, you haven’t been around much, have you? Right, right,” Andrew leaned over the table, resting his chin on his laced fingers. “You’ve been in jail for ten years.”

“You are not funny,” Neil snapped, gripping onto his blunt key.

“I don’t know if it’s worth my time, Mr Wesninski,” Neil flinched again. “Convince me.” 

“Other than it’s what is just?” Andrew arched an eyebrow. Neil huffed. “Fine. I’ll pay you. Double your normal fee.” 

“Prison pays well, does it?” 

“Blood money,” Neil had the audacity to wink. Dammit, Andrew thought again. “I already know you’re quite happy to spend dirty cash, Minyard. A G6, right? Bit of an upgrade from your mother’s car.” 

He should not know that. “You’re not exactly winning me over, here.” 

Neil leaned back in his chair, fiddling with the stupid little key. He must have spent the last decade tracing it down to its current blunt status. Andrew wondered what it used to unlock. 

Okay - he was intrigued by Neil. And yes, his narrative fit Andrew’s bill. And some spare cash wouldn’t hurt: he could sent Nicky and Erik over to Christmas for the summer. 

“What’s something you’ve never given anyone?” Andrew inquired. 

Neil looked up from under his ruby-tinted lashes. “What?” 

“I want something that no one else has.” Andrew leaned further forward, leaning in close. “What do you have to offer me, Wesninski?”

For a moment, Neil simply stared. His fingers stilled. He definitely had a few tattoos and scars, from what Andrew could glean at the little slice of a sharp collarbone, exposed by the jumpsuit. 

It was silent - almost electric. Andrew watched as something behind Neil’s eyes crumbled, the exhaustion settling in, the loneliness of a man who had known nothing but pain and suffering and isolation. 

“Everyone knows Nathaniel Wesninski,” Neil said. “No one knows Neil.” 

Andrew felt the remnants of a smirk tug at the corner of his lips. 

“I’ll tell you the truth,” Neil offered, glaring at the table like it offended him. “I’ve never told the truth before.” 

Andrew stood up, offering his hand. Neil followed suit, grip hesitant where he clasped Andrew’s hand.

“I’ll get you out of here,” Andrew said. 

“You’ll try,” Neil corrected him. 

“Here’s something you should know about me, Neil,” Andrew tugged on his suit jacket, fixing his cuffs. “I never fail a promise.” 

Andrew felt Neil’s gaze, watching him as he left. As Andrew filtered past the guard, he snuck a two hundred into the guard’s pocket. 

“Nine o’clock, tomorrow morning,” he said. “Bring him here.” 

The guard, moon-eyed, just nodded. 

Andrew glanced over his shoulder for one last assessment of his newest client. Neil was leant against the table they had spoken at, arms crossed as he glared in Andrew’s direction. His hair flopped forward, masking one eye. Like this, with his tattooed forearms and shoulders and hell-fire hair, he looked dangerous. 

In his right hand, he played with his key. 

Andrew spun on his heel and left. He knew he’d made the right decision. 

Neil Wesninski would get out of jail, if it was the last thing Andrew did. 

*

#andreil #andrew minyard #lawyer!andrew #felon!neil #neil josten #all for the game #defence attorneys don't always suck! #aftg #tfc #the foxes #law firm!foxes #david wymack #kevin day #tw: a lil bit of mentioned murder #the tension between them is just #mwah #i love my boys #jem writes

[undinoble]

Crazy long text ahead i warn you, just explaining some process I went through while drawing this Frank and Julie low light dying thingie, probably gonna drop some wips along the way, you may want to see… idk, dealer’s choice

!TRIGGER WARNING! Violence, death, suicide. Proceed with caution.

Well where do we begin? The inspiration maybe?

Exploring the magical world of Spotify when a band came in, one of the first songs (if not the first one) of theirs I heard was Partners in Crime by Set It Off, you know, love at first sight, love for their voices, their music style, aaand the lyrics, OH BOI the lyrics, check it out:

“You’ll never takes us alive We swore that death will do us part They’ll call our crimes a work of art You’ll never takes us alive We’ll live like spoiled royalty, lovers and partners”

Dunno, for two passionate juvenil delinquents that just wants trouble this line really fits to me, the dreamy couple feels invencible.

“Everybody freeze Nobody move Put the money in the bag Or we will shoot Empty out the vault And me and my doll will be on our way”

It’s actually interesting to think of the Legion robbing a bank, it’s not like troublesome teens didn’t do that in movies c’mon, it’s a small city, they wear masks, ez!

“Our paper faces flood the streets And if the heat comes close enough to burn Then we’ll play with fire ‘cause

You’ll never takes us alive”

THIS. This is so a Legion thing to say. Can you imagine their masks all around the streets as a warning like “HEY, WE ARE HERE, FEAR US” I love this

“Here we find our omnipotent outlaws Fall behind the grind tonight Left unaware that the lone store owner Won’t go down without a fight Where we gonna go He’s got us pinned Baby I’m a little scared Now, don’t you quit He’s sounded the alarm I hear the sirens closing in”

The second big moment, the adrenaline along with the instrumental is crazy for real

“The skies are black with lead-filled rain A morbid painting on display This is the night the young love died Buried at each others side”

THIS. (again) is the main theme of the drawing, it’s where the inspiration flood over me, the scene was clear in my mind, c’mon if you read till here there’s absolutely no reason not to listen to the song you won’t regret im not even getting payed to show it off

ACTUALLY FORGET IT- i just won a sub on Cody Carson’s stream WHAT IS LIFE??????? Thanks Max!!!

I totally didn’t draw this while listening to the music when i should be working what are you talking about??

Hold the sketch, focus on the gun. It’s dope aint it?

Anyways, here goes the lore, along with the music lyrics I filled up the gaps, well, Suz and Joey are not around, maybe doing school stuff Julie didn’t feel like doing so she decides to hang out with Frank in the meanwhile, they’re on the lodge, bored, upset about the world cause it’s what teens do in their free time, listening to one of their mixtapes, probably Frank’s, the more hardcore one when the idea hit: what if they try some good mischief? “There’s a small banks a mile from here, want some adrenaline babe?” And oh of course she does, grab your mask, here we go

Sorry, not a big legs-drawing fan…

They grab their knives, put on the masks, get ready, drive to the bank. I didnt really think this part through, the song says it all. Long story short - they rob the bank, the police arrives, the action begins.

They brought their knives, didn’t expect the cops to show up with guns, damn they didnt even know little Ormond cops had actual guns. After long minutes of hiding on the bank safe the couple decides to fight their way out, they would be more useful alive than dead so laws could apply, but that went out of question once Frank stabbed the first bank employee on his triumphal way out, the police don’t think twice before shooting to protect the citizens inside.

Frank and Julie have too little time to react, the stress and anxiety kicks in, they go feral, crazy cinematic bullet avoids, for a moment it’s possible to get away. It all happened too quick, but in Julie’s vision it went slow motion. She just saw a cop leaning behind a car, aiming directly at Frank, even her fastest reaction wasn’t fast enough to stop the trigger from popping. With tears in her eyes she watches as the bullet hits her boyfriend right in the chest. 

She snaps. One target in mind, she sprints to the cop and stabs him over and over until she’s sure he won’t see the sun set ever again. She takes his gun and rushes towards Frank who is kneeling against a taxi holding his torax, she screams that they must go to the hospital immediately but he refuses, hospital would be just a quick stop on his way to jail. No fucking way. 

He demands to go back to the lodge, the cops are too busy helping their wounded partner to look for them, they think Frank may be dropped dead somewhere on the street after multiple shots, the two of them must flee before the cops realize the mistake and go hunting for them. NOW.

Julie side-carries Frank back to their car, the lack of a license of her own won’t stop her from driving as fast as the car can. Breathing heavily while constantly telling Frank to hold on, they will find a way out, they must do. Oh what a fucking stupid idea holy SHIT. 

The travel takes half the time it usually does and still feels like hours. The car gets all red with Frank’s blood that keeps leaking. Once they arrive, Frank wants to go upstair, Julie shouts at him to keep next the central campfire once he should grab some heat (and for god’s sake why is he still carrying the money bag they stole????), anyway he gets the last word and they climb the stairs up and lay on the bed, Frank hisses from the pain but also sighs in relief for the soft spot under him, ignoring Julie cursing besides him, saying she can still call an ambulance, she doesnt want to lose him, Suz and Joey will be devastated, although he just replies with the phrase they were saying sooner that day “They’ll never take us alive”.

After 20 minutes of agony, low whispers of memories of how they met, what they had been through together and a huge amount of blood moisturing the covers, Frank says he’s feeling light-headed, Julie looks at him and he’s paper white, the blood loss is finally getting to him, she wants to cry, scream, curse and stab that damn cop a hundred times again, but all she does is cuddle her head harder against his shoulder and tell him she loves him, that she will keep his legacy alive, with Joey and Susie, she will revenge him. He chuckles and slowly feels the life being drained from his weaked body until everything goes black.

Julie need a few seconds to process. Frank died. For real. He was good a few hours ago, he was right. They would never take them alive. Death could do them apart, but, he never said for how long they would be apart.

She reaches for the gun on the hand under Frank’s body. THAT DAMN GUN. She aims it to the side of her head, never leaving Frank’s side on the bed. Triggers it.

“Partners in crime”

Damn did I just write a fucking fanfiction? This shit is way longer than I expected, did anybody even get down here?

Well, this is the part of the drawing where i left cause I just couldn’t afford to work on it, have in mind everytime the file were opened the whole lore came in my head, and fuck did i feel dizzy writing it all down. Hell the bloody details get me, seeing Frank so white with a blue undertone simulating the lifeless body gave me headaches fr. My escape was drawing other things until the courage to finish it came back. It was easier because the story kinda faded away from my mind, the drawing became “lighter” to deal with.

Well, guess that’s it. I hardly have this big insight while drawing, to visualize the finished piece on my brain and it’s just so fucking cool, making art with so many mixed feelings along, and overall pride, cause i feel so proud with the result you have no idea. It isn’t perfect tho, but i like it anyway. So, thank you so much if you made it all the way here. gonna sleep now for fucks sake im gonna pass out bye

#dbd frank #dbd legion #dbd julie #dead by daylight #frank morison #julie kostenko #frank x julie #art #art process #drawing #illustration #creative process #fanfic #fanfiction #dbd fanfic #trigger warning #death #blood #suicide #wip #work in progress #dbd fanart #set it off #partners in crime #digital art #digital illustration #digital drawing #dbd frank x julie #world needs more of them as a couple #gonna draw ghostfrank next tho

[foolgobi65]

Mahabharata (any characters or pairing) + college au + meet messy + “alexa, play wonderwall.” (at this point im just picking things at random lol)

play wonderwall : you’ll see lol  basically used this as an excuse to write a version of the scene u and i both acknowledge as our favorite. the single most iconic scene in the entire epic, bar none. for our sake, i really hope that you like it!! also the “meet messy” is basically random people in the crowd meeting this trainwreck of a family in all of its glory. also i think rhea’s modern au krishna goes by shyam yadav??? i tried to use a different first name at least but none of them sounded as nice so i gave up lol sorry rhea. 

--

“Are you fucking kidding me?” 

It seems like the entire university is gathered on the front lawn to watch the swearing-in ceremony of new Union President Dharamraj Kuru after what many reported to be the nastiest student election season perhaps ever seen. Jarasandha Magadh, after years of refusing to graduate, had at the last minute been put in the hospital and, apparently, sustained injuries so extensive that it had effectively argued that his already completed coursework should be all that was counted when factoring in his final mark. 

“Especially given said student’s...extensive history...with this institution,” Shyam had apparently said when arguing Jarasandha’s case to University Administration, Jarasandha himself completely unaware and apparently furious when he was brought out of his medically induced coma. 

Jarasandha’s party’s hastily promoted candidate Sahadeva was wildly acknowledged to be weak, young, and meant to be nothing more than a rubber stamp on business as usual. Dharamraj, whose upstart campaign effectively communicated how poorly “business as usual” had treated the student body, was suddenly flooded with factions of students seeking an alliance so that their respective organizations might be allocated larger portions of the budget everyone assumed Dharamraj would soon control. 

Everyone was right. Dharamraj won in a landslide, and now here everybody is, watching him deliver his maiden speech as their new President. 

“Shisupal,” Dharamraj sighs, “what exactly is your problem?” 

“My problem,” Shisupal shrieks, walking up to the dais from where Dharamraj stands, surrounded by his friends, family, and his girlfriend Yagna. “You’re asking me what my problem is, Brother?” 

“Brother?” someone in the crowd asks, too low to be heard at the front. 

“I think they’re related on their mother’s side,” someone else responds. “Both their mothers are sisters, but Pritha was adopted out to a friend of her father so was never close to her biological siblings.” 

“Jesus,” another laughs, “are they all just cousins?” 

A wide assortment of Kurus stand on stage, jubilant after so many years of them trying and failing to win elections at the university their fathers had once ruled. Yagna, from a prominent family herself, at Dharamraj’s side. Shyam Yadav, whose sister Subhadra is in love with Dhananjaya and whose father was like a brother to Pritha when she was lonely in Kuntibhoj and Vasudev not imprisoned with his wife. 

Yes, they really are all just cousins. 

Vrikodara steps in front of Dharamraj, arms crossed and looming nearly half a metre taller than Shishupal. Yet, Shishupal is not cowed -- though many men more intelligent than he would have been. 

“I’m not afraid of you, asshole. Everyone knows you’re just the gun in Dharamraj’s hand, and your brother is a pacifist. You won’t touch me.” 

“You would be surprised,” Dharamraj says mildly, smiling slightly as the crowd laughs at the thought of violence from the slightly frail Dharma, always seen in the library or sitting under the tree outside it, smoking cigarettes as he argues with professors twice his age about obscure legalities and wins. 

“You wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Shishupal spits, “you’re too much of a coward to hit a person when they know it’s coming. That’s why you’re just stabbing us in the back, selling us out on the first day when we put our reputations on the line to back you for President.” 

“Shisupal!” Vrikodara roars, Dhananjaya striding to stand next to him, Suyodhana and Radheya on either flank despite what is rumored to be their own tensions with Pandu’s sons. The family is closing ranks at this attack from one their own, it seems, but then what is University politics if not a way for people to find some entertainment from other people’s drama. 

“What,” Shishupal retorts, “you expect us all to shut up while you commit to sinking half of the budget into that wastrel’s pathetic fund? You plan on just giving our money away to anyone who spins a sad life story and begs for cash?” 

Well, University politics is about this too -- the eternal question of which students should be helped, and how much. The fund in question is the brainchild of Shyam, a way for individuals to apply for rapid monetary relief in response to uncontrollable circumstances, and be granted what they need with almost no questions asked. 

“Shisupal,” Dhananjaya steps forward, sensitive as always when his best (and only) friend’s name is brought up. “We’ve let you get away with more than we should because you happen to be our mother’s nephew. If you continue to embarrass us in public it won’t end well.” Shishupal laughs. “For you or for me? As far as I can see, you’ve all been duped by that street-trash pretending to be Vasudev Yadav’s son.” 

Dhananjaya glares. “Uncle Vasudev is more our mother’s brother than your mother is her sister. Slander his name at your own risk.” Again, Shishupal refuses to cower despite what the crowd acknowledges as fierce odds -- Dhananjaya doesn’t actually attend the University, only visits frequently from the Indian Air Force Academy to spend time with Shyam, and his brothers sometimes as well. The man is licensed to shoot a gun, for god’s sake, but Shishupal continues to stand firm. 

“Even now, you’re all standing in front of him,” Shishupal taunts, “Dancing to his tune and protecting his reputation when you know as well as I where he came from. He didn’t even speak English until he left that shithole after killing his own uncle, and you idiots are planning to sink my money into his scheme? Not on my watch.” 

“No,” a voice comes from the back of the group on the dais, “there’s no need to make that face. I can fight my own battles, Dhananjaya. Especially against an absolute clown, like Shishupal.”  

“A clown,” Shishupal shouts, “you’re calling me a clown?” 

Shyam rolls his eyes, having pushed his way to the front. Behind him Vrikodara is grinding his teeth, Dhananjaya’s fingers hovering at his own waist as if wishing for a gun. 

“Well I could have called you a motherfucker,” Shyam shrugs, “but I’m quite fond of your mother. In fact, she was the one who’s begged me to forgive you every time you’ve done something like this.” 

Shishupal snarls. “My mother doesn’t beg, street-trash, and she certainly wouldn’t lower herself to beg from you. People like you are only demanded from.” 

Shyam shrugs again. “Suit yourself. But consider this your last warning -- say another word, and I won’t let you go like I did before.” 

“Before? Before?” For some reason, Shyam’s threat has only made Shishupal angrier, face turning purple where it was red. “Before, as in that time last year, when you stole my wife from the wedding hall at gunpoint. Is that what you mean by before?” 

The crowd goes still at the reminder of the biggest controversy to rock their collective social circle. 

Shyam raises an eyebrow. “The whole point of that was that she wasn’t your wife when we left.” His lip curls in a sneer of his own, eyes suddenly cold. “You were treating her so poorly that she asked what to her was a complete stranger to kidnap her on her wedding day. I wouldn’t talk so loudly about before.” 

Nearly a year ago, Shishupal was to be married to Rukmini Bhoja after years of forcing her to stand attendance at his side during all campus events, despite her not actually being enrolled as a student. Both of their families were rich, well connected, and sought increased prestige through connection with the other. It was, people remarked, on paper the perfect match. 

Of course, Rukmini was intelligent, witty, kind, and one of the most beautiful women most people had ever seen. Shishupal passed classes off of sheer intimidation, threw rocks at the college cats, and supplemented these qualities with his insistence on growing a patchy, horrible, beard and kept his oily, stringy hair long. Worse, there were rumors that Shishupal was even meaner drunk than he was sober, and that once Rukmini had been seen walking away from him clutching her arm and had returned with a scarf wrapped around her shoulders to cover where otherwise might have been a visible pattern of bruises. 

The wedding, everyone had agreed, was to be a tragedy, and would only serve to make Shishupal even more insufferable. When the nightly news had aired the extraordinary report of a young woman staging her own kidnapping, apparently begging one of the groom’s family connections to attend her wedding and hold a gun to her head as they walked out, it was widely agreed to be answer to their prayers, and above all a job very well done by the erstwhile bride to be. When it was revealed that the “kidnapper” was Shyam, well, that just made the whole thing even funnier. 

When classes restarted, Shishupal prowled with a whole new look -- clean-shaven, and short hair. Rukmini Bhoja was noticeably absent from campus events, but a few months in Shyam had been seen getting off the bus at the station near campus and kissing someone who looked just like Rukmini goodbye. 

It seems the rumors about that last bit had found Shishupal too. “Stranger,” he scoffs. “Is that what we’re calling it these days?” 

Shyam’s entire body, always loose, always slightly in motion, goes completely stiff. More than Dhananjaya, more than Vrikodara, it is Shyam who now suddenly looks like an apex predator. The crowd, not even the one facing Shyam directly, finds itself taking a step back. 

“What exactly is it that we’re calling,” Shyam asks softly -- sound only heard because it’s being picked up by the microphone on the podium awaiting the rest of Dharamraj’s long-forgotten speech. 

Shishupal rolls his eyes, sneering. “I’m glad that bitch made such a spectacle of herself when calling off the wedding. I wouldn’t have wanted to marry a whore, you know. Why take seven rounds to get something she sells, no?” He smirks, as the entire group on the dais -- the whole horrible writhing mass of Kurus and their assorted friends and family -- advance as one. “Or, I guess she was the one who was buying,” Shishupal laughs, looking at Shyam who appears to be frozen in place, his face a perfect picture of overwhelming rage. “She paid you to take her, didn’t she? Poor bitch didn’t even think you’d fuck her for fr--” 

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU SON OF A BITCH!” 

Shishupal’s eyes immediately roll up into his skull, as a result of Shyam Yadav’s fist colliding with Shishupal’s jaw. No one bothers to catch the body. 

Silence reigns for entire minutes as everyone watches Shishupal, crumpled on the ground. Watches Shyam Yadav, standing over him wild-eyed, with his right hand still in a fist.

“Oh Alexa,” a gentle female voice calls out from the crowd. Everyone turns to stare, open-mouthed, at Rukmini Bhoja standing in the front row, absolutely grinning at this turn of events. She gazes back at them, turning towards Shyam again and laughs. “Alexa this is so sad. Play ‘Mmm Whatcha Say.” 

#ok i will say that the idea of rukmini basically organizing her own kidnapping/hit job where she hires krishna to attend and kidnap her at g #thats chefs kiss to me #i cant believe i never thought of that before its t ha t funny #mahabharata #also the mm watcha say gag was too good to not include when he gets clocked the fuck out at the end sorry lol #also i decided to make vasudev only brother-like for kunti #so that subhadra/krishna arent arjuna's cousins lol #also she seems even in canon to be closer to vasudev than her other siblings so we're rolling with it #anyways i hope u like it!!!! #these are all being churned out like stream of consciousness and then i hit publish lol so i have no idea if theyre any good at all #but thank u for the opportunity to put a version of this down on paper #maya writes #avani008 #also lol i used none of their traditional names because i thought it would be funnier to give them all long pretentious names that flowed ni #*nice

[jiyeong]

bmblb flowershop au

been CRAVING this for weeks so i wrote one on twitter and im gonna do a post here too so i don’t lose it in my 43k tweets in case i ever do anything more with it (’: but here’s my bee flowershop au pls enjoy. it’s set in late spring/early summer

yang, age 18 and freshly out of highschool, gets her driver’s license and immediately asks for a motorcycle. taiyang gives her the keys to the family minivan instead and tells her if she wants a deathmobile, she can get a job and buy it herself

she’s walking down the main shopping street looking for job opportunities when she sees a cute girl putting up a “help wanted” sign outside a flowershop. it’s blake. the cute girl is blake.

it’s a delivery job and she applies immediately and gets it mostly because she’s the only one who applied, but ironically also because the minivan is big enough to hold large bouquets, has a 5star safety rating, and also does not go faster than 35mph so its extremely unlikely that she will be in any accidents lol

blake’s family’s shop is very popular, and they do a lot of weddings and big events. it’s an on-call job and she gets called in maybe once or twice a week. it’s always blake calling her in, and they always have a nice chat before she has to go deliver the flowers

she finds out blake is the owner’s only daughter, so she’s probably off limits so like ok. disappointing but whatever it’s easy money and she gets to talk to a hot girl every time she goes to work so this is fine

but then she starts getting some really weird deliveries...

the first one is to a wrestling tournament at some prep school. it’s for a boy (sun wukong, the delivery slip says) who giggles like a little schoolgirl as soon as he sees her coming with the flowers, and before he’ll sign for the delivery, starts talking to her about sports and her workout routines, etc

he’s a nice guy, they talk for a bit, and she asks if he got the flowers because he won and he says no, it’s the nationals and he made third place. the whole time he’s grinning like it’s some kind of inside joke, so that’s what she figures it is.

when she goes back to the flowershop, she tells blake about it, about how weird it was delivering to a wrestling tourney of all things- and she’s laughing too.

yang mentions looking at the delivery slip and that she’s never heard of the flowers before. this gets blake GOING.

she tells her that they’re ranunculus flowers, more commonly known as buttercups in some other flowershops, and that they symbolize attraction, that you find someone charming.

“huh. guess he has some big fan out there,” yang laughs.

“yeah,” blake smiles softly, “guess so.”

the second time it happens, it’s a delivery to some small town fashion magazine publisher. this time, blake mentions the flowers before yang leaves.

it is a mixture of carnations,lilies, and white orchids, and they all symbolize, to some degree, beauty. yang supposes it’s fitting considering she’s going to a fashion magazine, i guess??? this makes blake laugh a bit. yang thinks her laugh is really very cute.

the flowers are for a velvet scarlatina. yang notices her fidgeting as she drops them off in her office. it’s not a nervous fidget, more like she’s excited but is a bit too shy to say and doesn’t know how to express it, maybe?

so yang asks. velvet’s surprised by the question, but she smiles and tells her anyways. she’s just been promoted to lead photographer, she’ll have an entire photo editing department to lead starting tomorrow, and it’s probably the biggest thing that’s ever happened to her. it’s exciting! she’s excited! yang congratulates her, she’s genuinely happy for this girl. she seems like a hard worker.

as yang turns to leave, velvet stops her, holds up a camera slowly, and softly asks if she can take yang’s picture. to test out her new lens, she adds.

it’s a little weird, but okay; artsy people are always weird, yang’s smokin hot on a normal day, AND she’s having an incredible hair day today, if she does say so herself. so she agrees. before she leaves, velvet hands her a small rabbit’s foot, “for good luck.”

this time, yang tells both blake and ruby/weiss about it. blake seems amused, but doesn’t say much, and ruby immediately demands to see the rabbit’s foot charm.

while ruby is occupied by the charm, weiss asks yang how her new job is going. yang gets stuck talking about blake, how cute she is and how smart she is and how nice she is. her smile and her face and her voice.

at this point even ruby’s tuned back in.

so, they do what any good sister/sister’s weirdly obsessive girlfriend would do. they tag along the next time she gets called in to work.

ruby and weiss immediately drift to a section of shop on their own, distracted. ruby’s picking out a bouquet of roses for weiss (ugh, yang thinks) as yang walks to the counter where blake sits. this time the bouquet is simple, made of only one flower: gardenias.

“it symbolizes purity and love,” blake tells her.

“wow i feel like 90% of these flowers symbolize purity and love,” yang jokes. it makes blake chuckle, so very softly, and yang feels like a hammer has dropped in her chest. love. oh no.

“probably accurate. gardenias though, if you were wishing to send someone your undying love anonymously, you would send them gardenias,” blake muses, eyes drifting over to ruby and weiss making a fuss in the corner. “it’s a symbol for a secret love.”

yang’s head is screaming. oh no.

yang ends up leaving (ditching) ruby and weiss there with blake.

the flowers are being sent to the same prep school as the wrestling tournament, but instead of the gym she’s headed for the locker rooms. there’s a sign for a track meet today, and the flowers are for an ilia amitola, some star on the team, yang guesses, as she walks through the school.

ilia is the only one still in there, and yang senses the hostility immediately.

ilia absolutely GRILLS her, there’s no other way to describe it. she asks her question after question about her tastes, her hobbies, her personal life. it’s a little intimidating, and yang is still sort of distracted from her revelation at the flowershop (oh nO) so she answers them all.

ilia’s quiet for a bit at the end before signing the slip and letting yang go.

“don’t fuck it up,” she says as yang’s leaving the room. what the hell???

when she gets home she immediately storms into ruby’s room.

“i think im in love with her,” she’s freaking out. pacing. weiss is in there too, because of course she is, and they’re both just staring at her blankly.

apparently, it was obvious.

“I don’t know why you’re freaking out,” weiss huffs. “when was the last time you dated a girl? like, actually, with feelings??”

“shut UP weiss you’re not invited to this conversation. ruby, sweet ruby, my wonderful adorable baby sister with a strange addiction to model guns and extremely violent shooting games, how the fuck do i get over the cute flower girl that makes me feel like i want to bash my head against the concrete??”

“uhhh well, for one, i think weiss has great ideas so im re-inviting her into the conversation. (”thank you,” weiss huffs, because she was raised to be polite even while offended) and two, just, like, uhhh don’t???”

they convince yang to confess to blake. but yang’s like ok it’s been a while since ive had actual, swear-to-god, feelings, so she wants to do something ROMANTIC. something BIG. something GAY.

yang’s saved up a nice chunk of cash from her job - and okay, who needs a motorcycle when you could get a girlfriend? and like, okay, blake works at the shop, so she’s not quite sure if flowers are an appropriate idea, but she’s literally always reading books on flower meanings and flower dictionaries and looking at natgeo magazines etc so she watches shia lebeouf’s just do it video and why the hell not

but she has to do it right - and she asks the only flower experts she knows other than blake. blake’s parents. she wants to get their okay as well anyways - she’d quit if she had to - so it’s like two birds one stone. but yang’s been charming them since her interview, and they’re almost strangely enthusiastic about helping set up their only daughter.

she gets weiss to place the order, because ruby can’t stop giggling on the phone. it’s a HUGE bouquet - full of every flower that symbolizes love that mr & mrs belladonna recommended her. it’s almost embarrassing listening to weiss list the flowers and knowing that blake is the one receiving the order.

the bouquet is so huge that yang insists that she needs help carrying it. conveniently, ruby and weiss are busy doing something gay, so they aren’t free to help her. blake raises her eyebrow when her parents send her off with yang to help. yang thinks it’s very attractive.

the address is a meadow right on the outskirts of town. lots of rolling hills, lots of swaying trees, the sky is clear and you can already see the moon even though it isn’t nighttime yet. it’s all very scenic, a perfect wedding venue. it’s late afternoon when they leave the shop.

“preparing for a wedding so late in the day is so strange,” blake comments on the way there, playing with the radio stations like she owns the van. it makes yang’s heart clench. can you die early from too much feeling? how awful. “what eccentric people, to be having their ceremony so late at night.”

“aha... y-yeah, eccentric people for sure,” yang sweats.

they park on the hill, and there’s no one there. blake steps out of the van, confused. she’s looking at the sunset and it’s as picture perfect as she thought it would be, but where is everyone?

and when she turns around, yang is holding the very large bouquet perfectly fine on her own. she almost shoves it into blake’s face.

“they’re for you,” yang blurts out immediately. “i’m the eccentric people.”

blake’s all ??? for a second. and then it sinks in and she’s laughing because, “do you know how much these flowers cost? did you literally spend all your money on a bouquet of flowers for me, a florist’s daughter who is literally around flowers all day?”

turns out blake has also been spending her money on bouquets for all of her friends uncharacteristically often, with their consent of course, just to get the cute new delivery girl into the store more so she could see her and maybe have a chat. they’ve been returning the flowers with small favors of their own - non-consensual blake makes sure to point out - namely, yang’s favorite workout spots, some really cute not-at-all-candid pictures of yang, and what basically amounted to, yup u guessed it, an entire autobiography of yang herself. god.

they kiss as the sun’s last rays are fading, laughing, on a hill almost an hour’s drive away in a rusty old minivan, and over a ridiculously unnecessary amount of flowers. it’s pretty fuckin gay.

#rwby #bumbleby #headcanons #that's my tag for long au posts like this lol #very GAY very INDULGENT #very long #also they're both poor because flowers are freakin expensive guys jeez #bee flowershop au #COMPLETE with flower meanings that i literally googled as i was writing the original tweets #god if i could write i'd write THIS and also the harry potter au that i am also typing up in bullet points instead of actual sentences. #writing is HARD and i appreciate every single person on ao3 thank u so much for my life

[things-we-used-tc-share]

Hopeless Wanderer

Warnings: smoking mention, sex insinuation

Ship: All of them. But not LAMP

Plot: Four travelers see the world, and meet each other under different circumstances, in different places and fall in love for a couple of weeks each time.

--

Peak District, UK, 2017

The wind caught light ebony curls, blowing them from piercing blue eyes hidden behind square lenses. The tired eyes still seem to smile, lips curling at the view from this hill. “It is rather beautiful isn’t it?” The man turns to meet a much quieter voice, pale skin in the sunlight and a dazed smile. 

“Nothing is quite more beautiful than nature itself,” The hills stretched out for miles, the valleys dipping below them like God himself had run his hands through them, molding them to suit his vision. The Atheist knew better, but it’s enough to make him believe. Such a wonderful design, beyond Human imperfections. Flowers sprung below the shades of trees, green as far as the eye can see as it decorated the hillsides. 

“I agree,” The stranger sits on the grass “Would you like something to eat? I imagine you’ve been walking as long as me,” He acquiesced, smiling with a nod, he’s handed a sandwich and a bottle of water, joining the man on the ground. “My name’s Patton,”

“Logan,” 

The two get along well if Patton wasn’t so excitable and Logan was not so quiet. They finish their walk together, and spend the next few days in and out each other’s lives; reading books together, holding hands. It’s such a soft and quiet version of what could’ve been love if they’d had more time. Then, they depart, continuing their journeys away from each other. 

--

Algarve, Portugal, 2017

“Why are there so many fucking hills?” The boy curses, hoodie tied around his waist as it bangs against his jeans. Yes, black skinny jeans in the heat of summer in a country notorious for hot weather. He never claimed to be good at thinking things through, his aesthetic always came first. 

“Because that’s the way God intended,” Came a snort from behind him. Dark skin in the sunlight, curling light brown hair in dark brown eyes; a stranger with a smirk on his lips. “Wearing all black in the middle of summer, not a good outfit choice,” Heavy accent, moving through English much smoother than the purple haired man could in another language.

“I was talking to myself,”

“Then perhaps I should talk to the asylum,” The stranger holds out a bottle of water “You look lost,” Despite his own reservations, he takes the water because he’s never felt quite so dehydrated in his life “Lost by several countries, you’re so pale the sun is reflecting off of you,” That grin doesn’t falter, teasing but in a way that the man knows he means no harm. 

“Very funny,”

“So what’s your name? Or should I just keep referring to you as ‘ the boy who makes bad decisions’, first wearing all black, now accepting water off a stranger!” His lips quirk just a little.

“Virgil,”

“Roman,”

They shake hands and Virgil admits that he is a little bit lost and there doesn’t seem to be anything but hills in this country and really, he hates hot weather so he doesn’t know why he came here. Roman directs him to the town. They talk, get ice cream together. By the end of the day, Roman is kissing him.

For the next two weeks, Virgil almost believes that he was the reason he came here. By the time he’s back home and the distance is killing him, he decides perhaps not.  

--

Amsterdam, Netherlands, 2019

Dodging bicycles had never been something that Logan expected to be doing with his life, and yet he was still doing it. “They have roads for bikes,” He mutters to himself, bewildered and yet somehow in awe. The air smells different here, warm but not boiling and at some points of the street a little sweeter.

A city full of artistic license and history is not quite everything Logan is interested in. But when he’d thrown darts at a map and asked himself where is the best place to run away for a weekend, his mind had taken him here. So here he was, in the busy streets of Amsterdam trying to figure out which coffee shop actually sells coffee. 

Nursing an iced coffee and enjoying the warm weather, he sits at the edge of a canal and swings his legs, watching the little boats go by with interest. It does seem calmer here, it feels calmer. Also, the streets are cleaner and Logan loves clean. “Careful you don’t fall in,” Ironic as the voice startles him and he looks up to see a man with dark hair falling into two-toned eyes. 

“It would be easier if, perhaps, you didn’t startle me into the canal,” But he smiles nonetheless, as the stranger sits down, another American in a city much calmer than either are used too. “Weekend away?”

“I’m actually here on business,” He nods further down a street “Well, supposedly, I really think the higher-ups came here to smoke for a weekend, seeing as half of them missed the meeting we were here for,” Logan snorts in response, shaking his head “Not my scene really, my name’s Virgil,”

“Logan,” They shake hands and watch the ducks paddle along for a moment.

“I’ve got to admit, there’s an ulterior motive,” The other speaks shyly and softly, carding his hands through black hair. He looks up at Logan with his grey-and-blue eyes with reddened cheeks “Think you’d like to spare an afternoon?”

He spares the afternoon and the day after. He didn’t get to see as much of Amsterdam as he’d liked, but he did rather enjoy the time he spent in Virgil’s hotel room. Much like before, quick love that lasted only for a few hours at a time and could hardly be called love at all (But far less innocent than the hand-holding that Patton had provided, or the gentle kisses of Roman). Somehow, it is worth the feeling of loneliness that follows.

--

Las Vegas, NV, 2020

“You drink like you’re afraid of the alcohol,” Patton startles despite the already loud noise, glass halfway over his lips “And if you are, you shouldn’t be drinking at all,” The man chuckles, cheeks red under the flashing lights, fingertips trailing over Patton’s wrist. 

It feels like the fireworks going off in the sky. “Happy New Year, stranger,” 

“Do I get a kiss with that?” Patton only laughs in response and shakes his head, offering the glass to the newcomer. He was already alone after his friends disappeared for the night, leaving him with machines that he doesn’t even know how to play and a glass of alcohol that tastes too bitter. 

“I feel like I should have a name first,” “Roman,” 

Roman’s a smooth talker, with a nice accent and dark skin and honestly, he’s everything that Patton had never encountered before. Sweet, but confident, flirtatious but still taking into Patton’s comfort zone. He’s bored of all the noise and so is Roman, so they sit outside with a drink that the elder man actually likes and watch the fireworks. 

He also gets his kiss.

--

Valetta and Sliema, Malta, 2021

“I definitely have a sunburn,” Logan mutters to no one in particular, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbow. Despite the copious amounts of suncream he’d applied, his skin was desperate to sabotage him. He clambers up to sit at the edge of a large fountain, watching the buses roll past as he opens up his phone to try and decipher which one he needs to be getting. 

“You definitely have a sunburn,” He glances up before a bottle of suncream is handed to him “Your skin is not made for this weather,” 

“Or this country it seems,” Logan chuckles, but accepts the bottle, rubbing some onto his forearms “Are you from around here?” The stranger snorts, shaking his head.

“Do all accents sound the same to Americans?” Logan has the decency to look embarrassed “I’m not Maltese no, I’m Portuguese, quite a bit of distance there,” He chuckles “Where are you trying to go?” Logan holds out his phone, not wanting to butcher the pronunciation, Roman nods “Yeah that’s where I’m going, come on I’ll show you the bus stop, and then I’ll buy you a drink,”

The weather doesn’t ease up but the sun does, well into the night when the heat is still humid and they’re sharing a drink on the rocks of the beach, feet dipped in the water. It’s content, nice, they talk about their lives and their holidays. Logan falls asleep with his head on Roman’s shoulder and the other doesn’t want to disturb him, but as the night gets darker he does.

They spend time together for the next few days, happy to have some company in a land where they know no-one. But that’s it, that’s all, they’re not looking for another heartbreak just yet.

--

Gainesville, FL, 2021

Virgil shoves the last box into the corner of the room, staring at the empty room filled with boxes with a sigh, before thanking the delivery man with a smile. Alone, he stares around his flat before a timid knock is at his door. Confused, he goes to open it to see a man with fluffy brown hair and a beaming smile, hands clasped giddily. “Hey there, I’m Patton I live...oh wow your eyes,” A look of adoration passes the strangers face as his peers through wide circular glasses. “Sorry! I live upstairs,” He gestures to the flat upstairs to solidify his point. “I was wondering if you needed help with your stuff,”

Virgil's lips quirk just a little at the giddy man, and how he bounces on the balls of his feet like an excitable child. “Sure, I could use a hand,”

“I’ll go get some drinks first,”

When Patton returns he’s holding two jugs of juice whilst precariously balancing a plate of cookies that Virgil quickly confiscates before they end up all over the floor. He unpacks the glasses first. 

Patton turns out to be quite interesting, strange and somehow capturing the magic of childhood innocence consistently, but nice. Usually, Virgil prefers the calm, but he has a feeling this man was going to change his mind. 

For once, neither of them have to say goodbye either.

Taglist:

@analogical-mess // @unikornavenger // @mycatshuman // @creativity-killed-thekitten// @theresneverenoughfandoms // @charmingprincey // @aclickonapostwillchangeyourlife // @heck-im-lost // @k9cat //@stilljittery//@romansleftshoulderpad // @sanderssideslibrary // @max-is-tired//@therealmoshar//@punsterterry// @trashypansexual// //@demigodnamedathena//@sevencrashing//@misunderstood-shadow //@aphriteblack//@jemthebookworm//@sandersandthesides//@penguinkool//@georganabanana//@importantrunawaystudentstuff // @ao-koshka // @dangerous-doodle // @river-waterfall // @hell-or-high-waters // @no-sleep-gang-posts //@wxlcomxtothxjunglx

#sanders sides #moxiety #royality #analogical #prinxiety #logicality #logince

[weirdponytail]

Adobe Rant

Alright, I do this about every 3-6 months to Cor and I can’t at the moment so you guys are getting this.

I fucking hate Adobe.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I love their software!! Which is why I’m so angry at them and why I hate them so much. 

I ended up going to this magnet school for middle school and there was what I think was a mandatory tech class for the first two years and an optional one for the third. I took it all three years, and while I wasn’t that great at anything in particular, I was trained how to do a bit of everything (besides coding, I opted out of that to ditz around in Blender and now kinda regret it?) in Photoshop, Flash/That-Which-Is-Now-Called-Animate, and taught the super basics of tossing together an amature website in Dreamweaver. We got basic instruction in Blender, as well as this other program I can never remember. It was all on Mac, so familiar territory for me since I’ve been penned in by my dad’s obsession with Apple devices despite their outrageous prices.

(Rant continues below the cut)

Trouble was that I was trained on CS4. So by the time I got to high school/college, Adobe had moved out of the single payment model of the CS line and into their money grubbing subscription based Creative Cloud (CC) line. 

Instead of buying a program for a one time only sticker price that was admittedly a crazy amount to begin with, you now can only purchase the license to the software. You need a license to use it, which previously came with the one time purchase and was lifetime/as long as that thing survived. Haha well they only let you get that license and thus access to the software now on a monthly or annual subscription. Instead of a swift kick to the nuts/ovaries of $300-$600, you now are slowly bled of $20-$50+ A MONTH. 

This wouldn’t be as much of a problem if they had continued supporting their CS line, but nope. Adobe pretty much dropped it. Not only that, but now students are forced into this bullshit monthly plan instead of getting a much MUCH less expensive single rate from their university or college when they are required to use things like Photoshop, Illustrator (I’m going to have to get that soon which is part of why I’m so pissed), Flash/Animate, or anything else. Some universities do offer a decreased yearly rate for Adobe CC, but that’s still around $150 for my uni, and not only is it restricted to the first 1000 students that apply for it, but the reduced annual rate only lasts for ONE YEAR. Hi, last I checked, a degree takes anywhere from two to four to six or more years, you fucks! It’s like Adobe thinks every college student goes “HERPDEDERP IM A COLLEGE STUDENT IMMA BE MAKIN BIG MONEY AFTER A YEAR OF EDUCATION!”

I went browsing the Adobe questions forum and found someone asking if Adobe is going to go back to the single payment (which they could still rake in $500 a pop if they wanted jfc) system because they couldn’t afford the monthly payments. 

Some lady with a star next to her name and a ‘certified adobe professional user’ or some shit says, and I’m quoting here, “If you can’t afford it, you’re probably not ready for professional software yet. Try Inkscape, it’s free.” 

EXCUSE YOU?!

Lady, you don’t even KNOW this person! Offering Inkscape is a good fucking idea, yeah. But don’t preface it by snootily saying in essence, ‘oh. You’re not professional. You don’t make money off your work. You’re not good enough for professional software.”

BITCH I WAS USING THIS SHIT IN FUCKING MIDDLE SCHOOL. I WAS ELEVEN FUCKING YEARS OLD! IT’S NOT ‘PROFESSIONAL!’ IT’S WHAT’S BEEN PROVIDED ON THE MARKET AS THE COMMON FUCKING TOOL FOR MULTIPLE JOBS! ***THERE ARE CHILDREN ON YOUTUBE MAKING ANIMATIONS FOR FUCKING FUN!*** DON’T CALL HIM UNFUCKINGPROFESSIONAL FOR NOT BEING ABLE TO AFFORD THIS $20 FUCKING DOLLARS A MONTH CREATIVE CLOUD SHIT!!

Adobe has shown absolutely no sign that they’re even listening. It’s all about draining people of money at this point and it’s working for them due to the fact that it these programs were firmly embedded in millions of jobs and lives to the point that some businesses couldn’t work without them, or people would lose tons of money while retraining on a freeware alternative due to being unable to afford the new CC software. 

I’ve been seething about this for years now. As I get deeper into my degree I’m starting to encounter reminders that for several courses after this semester I’m required to have Adobe Illustrator or a freeware equivalent which has a sketchy version for Mac that may or may not be compatible. Even in my off time/hobbies, I’ve been toying with the handful of Mac-friendly animation freewares and the learning curves for most that have the features I’d like are so steep that it’s a waste of effort and time. 

Anyway, rant not over, but deflated enough that I can go back to watching Netflix.  

Fuck you Adobe. 

#adobe creative cloud #adobe cc #ket rant #i fucking hate adobe cc so much #if you think apple is bad for draining customers check adobe cc out

[chraneness]

Sort of a Masterpost for y’all who care.

So....honestly, it took me a long time to figure out my WIPs and I was never pressured to make a masterpost so I never did. I am also super busy applying to as many scholarships as I can cause my dream college is super fucking expensive. But I digress.

I think I have 4 WIPs going right now. I only have one that is really developed, the others are a bit half-baked. I’m gonna intro then all now though, so y’all know what really goes on in this weird-o head of mine.

Dennis’s Shit-

Yeah, this one doesn’t really have a name that pulls you in or anything, but I hold it most dear to my heart. A guy named Dennis is chased out of his home by his father who just lost Dennis’s mother and couldn’t bare to look at Dennis anymore because he looked too much like her.

So yeah, he is chased out when he is young and taken into a gang environment, selling drugs and shit. He is taken in by and mentor that he tries hard to please, but when it doesn’t work he will rebel against the system. So it’s basically his story of moving up in the gang life. Gotta love it.

Bittor-

This next one has had a bit of development, but not as much time spent on it. This is about a society in space called Bittor (a Bittorian society), it takes place on a spaceship the size of a planet.

Each person is born and bred for a specific purpose to keep the place running. Each generation seems to get smarter and better at the jobs. Granger is a 14 year old GENIUS programmer. He skipped learning English and can only read binary.

Zenth is a bred pilot. He has had his license revoked so many times for “reckless endangerment”. He does stupid shit.

Both boys are too skilled for their times and Zenth’s rebelliousness could get the best of them. Then where would they be?

Umm...Unnamed?-

Yeah, I didn’t try to name this one.

Rob is a present working in the marshes. Ash is a Nobel Woman in the empire. Mark is a winged messenger. They will go against the unfair system. There will be a twist, but this one is even less developed. Sorry guys, kind of disappointing with that one.

The Temple-

This one is in the middle of a transformation of ages and stuff, and nothing is in order yet, but I’ll give the best explanation I can. There are two kinds of robots. Metal skeletons, your basic robot, or ‘tin can’ is the slang. The other one is humans that get surgery and get robot parts put in them. Chris leads the robots against the Powerborns.

Powerborns are pretty straightforward. Born with powers. I know, I’m creative. There is no order to it, they either have powers or don’t, it doesn’t have anything to do with DNA or any real logic. They have to fight the robots, needless to say.

Rowland is the main character, he was a strong Powerborn that was converted into a half-robot by surgery. He was decked out with all the weapons a teen boy could ask for. He is Chris’s biggest weapon. He also has a conscience. It gets interesting.

Thank you so much if you have read this much of it! Please tell me if you wanna be tagged for anything. I love you all! Have a great day/night my friends!

People I would like to see this:

@jaycewriteslikealot @the-violet-writer @timelessziowl167 @happy-humpback-whale @writeblrs @state-gaypanic And all my mutuals out there!

[sabraeal]

#51 sounds really cute! :D

#51: things you said as we danced in our socks

Set a few weeks before graduation

Wide Florida Bay | Previous

Horns rattle from the tinny speaker, and thebriefest bass guitar, before abruptly cutting off. Shirayuki frowns as shescoops up her phone, flicking the screen on – that clip is so unsatisfying, she reallyneeds to fix it –

r u done?im doneim dooooooonnnnne

She glances up from the mixer whirring away, catching the bookbagslumped against the wall of the vestibule, abandoned the moment she walkedthrough the door.

I just got backObi still has one more though

ugh ofctell him hes an overachiever and he should b ashamed

(He’s been sitting like that for almost fifteen minute,pointer hovering over Add Class, hisdesignated selection time bleeding out, only fifteen more before the juniorsgets to start picking their classes too –

“I shouldn’t bother,” he says, toneless. “You have to applyfor it.”

She tucks into his side, laying her head on his shoulder. “Sodoes everyone else. You have just as good a chance as anyone.”

“You’re not doing it.”

She blinks, tilting her head up. “I’m not the one interestedin informatics.”

“It’ll be over my credit load,” he tries instead. “I’d need permissionfrom the dean –”

She tweaks his elbow, just hard enough to make him squirm. “Good thinghe’ll be your graduate advisor.”

It takes a bit for him to blush – or at least for her to see it – but there’s pink just under bronze on his ears, and that’s enough. “That’s not – that’sonly if Admissions all goes temporarily batshit and lets me in.”

His chest shakes, breath coming quick, and she slides her hand down,covering his. “You should do it,” she says, studiedly casual. “What’s the worstthat can happen? They say no?”

His breath steadies, but not easily. “Right. Yeah.”

The click is less than a second. “Fuck ‘em, right?”)

i don’t think i’ll tell him that

FINELAMEsuzus been done since yesterday bcuz hes a slackerwhen obi is done we should celebratelike unreal amts of booze celebrate

It’s – it’s not that her heart pounds, it’s just – quiet,now that the mixer is off. Everything is more – noticeable. Now that she – she’s –

She’s thinking about the last time they got drunk at Yuzuri’sbehest, looming over them as she poured more and more shots, tellingthem it’s a celebration, everyone has todrink –

– I don’t think you’dbe so hard to figure out, darlin’. Obi’s drawl is liquid in her memory,pouring over her like honey. Just have toknow where to touch –

uh sureI guess?

u guess?is there some sort of problem?

She thinks of Obi, chest heaving,slack-jawed, eyes wide – if I capsize inyour thighs, high tide – of what he’dlook like with swollen lips, panting down her body, spreading her legs –

Ugh. She shakes her head. Thewhole thing is just – just – a pop-up she can’t shake, an ad that keepsplaying over her day at odd intervals, only instead of it being for somethinglike experimental allergy medication or Cialis, it’s for Obi, like she suddenly needs to be reminded every few minutes thathe’s attractive and also experienced, like maybe she should consider –

no!everything is fine!

It will pass. It always does.

…whatever the ideas r percolating ill let u know what we decide but like def booze

This isn’t – it isn’t a problem. Everything is fine – very fine, the most fine.

All her papers are written, revised, and already sitting in drop-boxes, her only final is a multiple choice test about European History, most of which she learned just from living with Kiki for a year. If anything, she is set, living her best life –

“God.”

Her whole body flushes, toe-tip to hairline, and she’s so busy trying not to think of skin under her lips, of hearing that in an entirely new context, that she nearly misses the slam of the door.

Obi tilts a long-suffering look toward her as he leans against the wall, toeing his shoes into the tray. “I’m glad that’s fucking done.”

There isn’t a problem, because whatever this is, it’s just a phase. Something that will definitely pass.

It just never takes this long.

“Did your test go well?” she asks, clearing her throat, like it might expel the images her mind is supplying as he saunters around the corner, shirt already pulling up taut torso, sun-bronzed abs on display.

“Hope so,” he sighs, balling his T-shirt up in his hand. “Otherwise Lata’s going to give me a few more of these for putting off our action plan.”

It takes her a whole minute to realize what he’s pointing at, to see the thick silver sprawl of scars across his back and not the way his muscles ripple beneath the skin, the way his shoulder blades make his whole back look like an anatomy model.

She frowns. “Professor Forenzo would never –”

“I know, I know,” he says, waving a hand at her as he crosses into his room. “Gimme a minute, I gotta get out of these clothes. It’s killer out there.”

“Right,” she replies, faint, definitely not noticing the way his hands settle on his waistband, definitely not thinking about his skin shining with sweat –

She doesn’t have a problem, it’s just – just that she hasn’t figured out a way to get him back, to close out this prank so she can – can stop thinking about that stupid song, and capsizing on thighs and what it might feel like if he –

plans decidedwe gonna go C L U B B I N G

Shirayuki’s teeth grit down, her hands bracing against the counter. This is fine. They’ve gone before, a nice little place above a bar in downtown Wilant; it’d been all 80s songs and they’d all had a little more than they’d bargain for, and Obi –

– you’re a squeezing hips, neck-kissing girl, aren’t you, darlin’? –

Ah, maybe she…shouldn’t think about that. He didn’t even remember it in the morning.

“You all right, Doc?”

She jolts, watching Obi settle on the couch, bare feet kicked up on the coffee table, arms sprawled out over the back, remote in hand. Her hands tighten on the counter, trying to ground herself, trying not to have her knees go weak as she traces the delicate bones in his feet, the strain of his t-shirt over his biceps –

if obi gives u shit tell him its obligatorythis is the price of fucking friendship okay

“You might not want to get too c-comfortable,” she stammers, stacking cookies, trying to look like she’s doing something in the kitchen, and not just – ogling him. “Yuzuri says we need to go out and celebrate.”

His head turns toward her, just slightly. “Celebrate what?”

“Being done with, you know…school.” It sounds weak, even to her own ears, and the grunt that comes from him tells her he agrees.

“We’re all going to grad school,” he huffs out. “We’re not going to be done with school for the next decade, if Lata has anything to say about it.”

“Well, it’s the end of undergrad,” she presses, feeling flushed. “And the end of our thesis work –”

“And just what is this version of celebrating going to entail?” he asks with a sigh. “I already have my sweat pants on.”

I’ve noticed is not the right thing to say. Neither is dumbly standing there, thinking how good he makes them look. “Yuzuri says we’re going clubbing.”

“Oh, no,” he says, firm. “No. I don’t dance.”

“She wants me to tell you it’s a non-optional social convention.”

“Is that how she’s getting Suzu to go?”

“Probably.” Her shoulders twitch in a shrug. “You know how she feels about this sort of thing.”

His eyebrows lift. “That there’s no better way to celebrated scientific achievement than to get trashed and grind on strangers?”

“Yes.” Not quit how she would have put it. “That.”

His look turns incredulous. “And you went for that?”

“It’s what she wants to do,” Shirayuki insists, because – because it’s not like she cares. It’s not like she’s thinking about the way he was dancing with anyone who showed interest the last time, wondering if he might –“She’s been here longer. Maybe this is the best way to celebrate. When in Rome, you know?”

“That is the exactopposite of an attitude you should have in Florida. Never do what people inFlorida do.” He rolls his head along the back of the couch to give her a flatlook. “It’s like you’ve never seenthe internet.”

She returns itwith a look of equal flatness. “We made it so the Olin maris can be bred in captivity. We’ve saved an entire species.We can spend one night doing what Yuzuri wants to do.”

“Yuzuri wants toget sloppy drunk and see if she can get Suzu to breed in captivity.”

“And we should support that.” She sighs at his incredulous look, padding out to put the plate of cookies in front of him. “Besides, I’ve seen you dance. You seemed – fine.”

That is definitely a word. That she can use. Safely.

“We danced at a gala,” he protests, “I wore a suit. Youstepped on my feet. That is not this. This is – swampy club dancing. It’s acircle of hell, not an activity.”

She refrains from mentioning the other time; she doesn’t think he’d appreciate remembering just how good he dances drunk to Come On Eileen, no matter how impressive it was.

“I think you just need to get excited.” She’s too used to his stare to shrivel under it. “You know, uh – get pumped.”

“Are you evenplanning on drinking?”

She grimaces.“No.”

“That is such awaste, you can’t even drive.”

She frowns. “Ihave my license now.”

He gives her apointed look. “You can’t even drive.”

She stares at himfor what must be a full minute before it hits her, grin breaking out across her face. “I have just thething to get you in the mood.”

“Aw, c’mon,” hemoans as she pulls him upright. “I’ve got so many Cutthroat Kitchens to watch. On this one, theycook spaghetti and meatballs and someone takes some lady’s garlic.”

“Look, you alreadyknow what happens!” She grins at him. “So now you can do my thing instead.”

He grimaces when she pulls out her phone, when he sees her bring up her music library, pleading, “No, don’t –”

“Why do you build me up –”

“I’m honestly concerned,” he mumbles over the tinny piano. “Do you know what kind of music they play in clubs?”

“–Buttercup, baby–”

“This is to pump you up!” she tells him, trying to guide him into a bobbing two-step, one he follows with the enthusiasm of a man walking to the gallows. “Get your blood flowing!”

“Oh my god,” he sighs. “Of course. This is your pump up music. Motown.”

“It’s uplifting.”

“You listen to Angel of the Morning when you get up, don’t you?”

Her mouth pulls thin. “That’s not Motown –”

“That’s not a no.”

“See,” she tries instead, “you’re getting more lively already!”

There’s a flash of teeth behind his lips, but he hides it in his shoulder. “Whatever, the song is ending. How about you put on an actual club song?”

Her finger hovers over her screen.

“This decade.”

“Fine,” she sighs, scrolling past her collection of 80s music. “I can do that.”

“Uh-huh, I’m–”

“Shawty had those Apple Bottom Jeans, boots with the fur –”

He stares. “All right, I’m concerned you don’t know what year it is.”

“They still play this!” she insists, starting to bop to the beat. “It’s on plenty of club mixes.”

“All right,” he sighs, taking her hands. “This is physically painful, Doc. No one dances like that at a club.”

“Plenty of people do,” she insists, leaving out that most of her club experience is seeing them on CSI reruns. She’s got a feeling he already knows.

“Come here,” he guides her closer, until their hips are almost touching. “Let me just – show you. End the embarrassment.”

“I’m not –” Embarrassing gets swallowed along with her tongue, because his hand hooks over her hips, her own right beneath, guiding her into a slower swing that barely involves feet moving at all. He’s not – not touching her anywhere else, but he’s so close he might as well be, and she’s just – aware. Of all of him.

He smells nice.

“Oh is this – grinding?” she squeaks. “I’ve heard about that before –”

“No.” His voice is entirely too deep. “This would be grinding.”

His hands tug on her, yanking her forward until his knee is between her legs, until every shift on her body brings her right down on his thigh and –

Oh, that is – that’s not –

Okay, maybe this is a problem.

“Oh,” she breathes, jolting away, right back into the wall. That should be it, end of moment, but she – she doesn’t let go of his hands, and then he’s crashing into her, just catching himself on the wall, her hands still twined in his –

“Sorry.” He swallows; she’s so close she can hear it. She can see it too, and the way his eyes are all dark, mostly pupil with a thin rim of gold. His leg is still between hers, and her hands press up by her shoulder, and he’s just – so, so tall –

If he’d just bend down a little, maybe she could –

“Eep!” she yelps, pocket buzzing. “That’s just – I think Yuzuri –”

“Oh,” he breathes, pulling back. “Right. Her clubbing thing.”

r u guys gonna be ready soon?i wanna b drinking already

Obi’s already wandered away, back to the couch, and she –

i think our night is already spoken forobi wants to stay inbut let’s do breakfast tomorrow

boobut i get to pick the place

#Anonymous #The Wide Florida Bay #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #my fic #ans #Obi is one of those guys who is like #your extremely attractive friend #and Shirayuki is not like...NEW to thinking about stuff nebulously involving him #but between here and the dinner her struggle is really... #that this is longer and much more sober period than she ever managed before #and stuff with Zen is weird #and so she can't just...start thinking about how her life is all planned out #two years at lyrias and then a PhD and everything is all set! #that's apparently a plan Zen forgot about #and now Obi's attractiveness is OMNIPRESENT #a constant companion #and she doesn't know how to DEAL with real attraction #it's not until the dinner that she finally puts together that OH HUH #she wants to be his GIRLFRIEND #and obv she's telling Yuzuri nothing #because Yuzuri would be like PLEASE JUST BANG AND GET MARRIED ALREADY and she knows it

[whirlybirbs]

                          PREVIOUSLY ON #BITTERCOFFEE | THE MASTERLIST

summary: #bittercoffee. in which the reader is ghosted after the date with bucky and tony stark is to blame. but, an internship opportunity at the tower has her ready to bite back. rating: mild swearing and a brainiac reader. fight me. word count: 1.6k a/n: my bittercoffee!reader is about to fuck shit up. sorry for the lack of buck-o in this one. he’s coming up next part. enjoy!

Bucky doesn’t come in for coffee the next morning.

And when you text him, wondering sweetly if maybe he had “avenging to do”, your text is met with silence. Nothing. You don’t text him again until late that night when you’ve hiked back from the shop in the rain. You ride the subway in silence. You have your earbuds in. No music. Your body rocks with the train. Your fingers move quick across your phone screen.

I hope everything’s okay?

You make it to your apartment, sad and somber and angry. You’re soaked to the bone and weighed down. The growing anxiety that Bucky had decided you weren’t worth his time, or maybe he didn’t like you enough was eating away at you, and though it feels childish, you cry. It’s muffled into the sleeve of your NYU sweatshirt.

Marissa comes in, having heard the quieted sobs, and offers you some microwaved pizza. You decline, to sick on sadness to think about eating.

“Sometimes boys just don’t work out,” she said, “No matter how much we like them.”

You look like hell, and the next morning? Still nothing. No texts, no Bucky. The coffee shop is slow and empty thanks to the rain. You feel the same way. You try not to let Matt into the inner turmoil, but he knows something’s not right.

You push the feelings down and away and pretend you’re fine.

You do for the whole week.

And then you begin to think you’re never going to see Bucky Barnes again.

Until, one night, on your walk back from campus, you notice you’re being followed. It’s a taxi - or at least you’d thought - until it follows you to the subway stop and a man in a suit steps out. He’s bigger, no older than his mid-forties, looking less than pleased with the rain. He sits in the same subway cart as you, gets off at the same stop. He walks past your apartment, though, and from your dining room window you watch him climb into another car. A black Lincoln.

The license plate reads ‘HAPPY’.

The back window has a Stark Industries decal on it.

You begin to notice more of strange little things like this - the same man comes in and gets coffee one morning. You pretend you have no idea who he is, but your heart rate is pounding and you’re half-convinced he’s going to gun you down at register one.

He doesn't though. He sits, he watches, he sips his coffee. You think maybe this is some kind of intimidation play.

You stand your ground though; you even bus his table, smiling and asking him how his day is.

When he’s leaving, you snap a picture of him, pretending to snapchat, and you save it.

Sniped.

You reverse image search him when you get home that night and land a positive ID. You’re hunched over coffee and the notes surrounding your midterm thesis paper around integrated militarized biotech. The blue light of your laptop illuminates the room, and you cheer, mouth full of popcorn, when you nail his name down.

You think maybe Bucky would be proud of you. You’re a good sidekick. But, well, that ship has sailed. Your heart hurts a little bit thinking about him.

The guy from the shop is Harold Hogan. Personal bodyguard and trainer to the one and only Tony Stark.

You begin to note more Stark property along your walk to work. The building across from you has been bought out. Apparently some housing project Stark is working on. You learn to look at the license plates. The Avengers Tower decal for parking is minuscule but apparent if you know where to look. It includes security clearance.

You’re clearly being watched.

And then your wifi starts to act up, too. Through some more backwards engineering, you delve into the internal system codes of the apartment router and find that a external proxy has been set up. Your cookies, data, history and any and all saved files are being copied and routed to an apartment in Queens. You get the IP address. You track it to a May Parker.

No doubt a relation to Peter Parker.

No doubt you were being watched thanks to that Stark Internship.

You call Bucky that night, curse him out on his voicemail - it’s long winded and angry and maybe you had a little bit too much wine - and tell him to tell Stark to fuck off. You don’t hear anything back, but you’re sure someone got the message -- if anything, Stark probably tapped into your cell long ago.

Things are starting to stack up against Iron Man.

You’re starting to think maybe there’s a reason why you haven’t seen Bucky Barnes. That reason has got to be Tony Stark.

You’re not sure why, but you can’t let it go. You know deep down it’s because you like Bucky far too much for it to just slip your mind. You didn’t date often -- and Bucky was pretty. Handsome and funny and shy and… Sad. You find yourself worrying about him, wondering if he’s walking around Brooklyn late at night, trying to find himself. You hope he’s okay. You regret telling him he ‘fucking sucks’ on his voicemail the other night.

So, you start to formulate a plan. You think about sauntering right into the Tower downtown, strolling up the reception and asking for Tony Stark -- but no doubt the man was busy, and there was no guarantee security wouldn’t drag you out kicking and screaming when they explained he wasn’t there and no, you couldn’t speak to him.

Email was a no-go. He’d probably just ignore it. Phone, too.

You could knock on Peter Parker’s door and interrogate the high schooler for information on why you’re being watched. But, you knew why you were being watched -- it was because you knew too much about Bucky Barnes.

Then, when you think you’re shit bum out of luck, an opportunity falls into your lap. Trips and lands. You catch it by the throat.

Your last class of this particular Thursday is a lab; normally running about four hours, it leaves you hungry and tired and wanting nothing more than to bolt home and kick start your homework. Though working on your actual conceptualized thesis is fun, time seems to drag on.

But, today, you were talking internships.

“You know,” your professor’s name is Sarah -- she insists you call her Sarah -- and she’s sweet. The class is dominated by men mostly, so she excitedly chatters with you when she can. You like it. Sarah leans against your lab bench after the small lecture. You’re soldering some wires together on the mechanisms functions panel, “I have a certain internship in mind for you.”

“Oh?” you say, a smile tugging at your face, “Please, enlighten me.”

Sarah laughs. “I got an email earlier this week… NYU typically isn’t one of the Universities gets these type of offers, but… Stark Industries is looking to hire.”

You feel the color drain from your face. “Stark Industries, huh?”

“They’re looking for medical students, actually,” she murmurs, “But, I want you to apply. You’re biomedical and you’re great, so if anything, they’ll be even more interested.”

“Have you… put my name down on anything yet?”

Please say no, please say no.

“No,” she says and you nearly cheer, “But, the interviews are next Monday -- are you interested? I can always email them back --”

“No!”

Sarah nearly jumps back.

“I mean -- yes, I’m interested,” you reassure her, gloved hand touching the sleeve of her lab coat, “I’m just thinking maybe don’t let them know who I am or my major or...? They might discriminate because of the medical thing…”

Totally not because of other reasons.

“Right!” Sarah hums, “You’re so right. And the best part? You’ll be surprising Tony Stark.”

You nearly laugh in her face. “Are you saying…”

“He’s doing the interviews -- some special involvement campaign, I guess. He wants to get to know our grads, get to know who he’s hiring. After the whole H.Y.D.R.A. infiltration thing, it makes sense. A lot of grads have turned it down, but I can dig up some recommendations for you. You can bring them with you --”

“Please do,” you grin, hands clasped in a tight ball, “You’re the best.”

Sarah grins, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she claps you on the shoulders. “I’m so excited!”

Me too, Sarah. Me too.

It’s 8:30 am, Monday morning.

Marissa is looking at you like you have three heads.

You’re tugging on your patent leather heels, sweeping your hair into a professional looking bun. The romper you have on is black with a dipping neckline -- your blazer is bright red. You feel like you could kill a man with a single look. It’s a confidence boost. You need all the help you’re going to get.

“So... you’re meeting with Tony Stark. For the internship.”

“Well,” you mumble, bobby pin between your teeth as you fix your bun, “Not really.”

Marissa blinks down at your resume. In fine print, along the top, under your name, it reads:

‘Please, ask me about my slideshow!’

“You… You have a slideshow.”

You swivel your laptop across the kitchen counter. The screen glows alive with the slideshow in question.

Marissa’s jaw drops. She reads from the title slide.

“Why I’d Like Tony Stark to Fuck Off?”

You shoot her an award winning smile, sweeping your resume and faux cover letter into a protective cover. It slips neatly into your handbag and you yank the memory drive from your laptop as well.

“Is this some activism stuff?” she mumbles, “Anti-Avengers propaganda?”

You pause.

“Sure.”

And with that, you’re out the door. Behind you, Marissa shouts.

“Let me know if I have to bail you out of jail!”

TAG LIST:

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#bittercoffee #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #winter solider x reeader #winter soldier imagine

[appleciders]

7, 10, 12, 19, 25, 42, & 43 !!!

sol ur my favorite ily

7. Which fashion trends did you love?

ummm so we all know im The Worst at fashion but i guess like!! i love that flannels and button-downs and pocket t-shirts stayed in. and i love?? that overalls were in, even though i dont own any (tho i lowkey wish i did ngl). but getting to see cute girls in overalls was an incredible experience and i thank 2017 for it wholeheartedly

10. What song sums up this year for you?

i’m very tempted to say the mountain goat’s “this year,” because this year did try to kill me, and i’ve fucking made it. plus, it includes the lines i was seventeen years young and i drove home in the california dusk, which are fitting bc i’m seventeen and i can drive!

but honestly i’d probably say “someone to you” by BANNERS? because i do just wanna be somebody to someone, and i feel like this year… i feel like this year with you and our friends, i did feel the kinda love that thrums through the song? it’s all about wanting someone there for you, but above that wanting to be there for someone else—i feel like that’s what this stressful college shit has really brought out in us. idk, i just really like the song

12. What was your favorite movie of the year?

okay because i was very busy with shit, i didn’t go to the movies a lot, so i’ve missed out on a lot of stuff that came out this year. seriously, i think i went to the movies like max 6 times. but of those, i’d probably say wonder woman? like it def has problems but the first ¾ of it are solid fun

of things that didn’t come out this year but i saw for the first time…gosh. i loved pride (2014), and dangal, and miss congeniality, and a bunch of others that were Good

19. What was one nice thing you did for yourself?

um…wrote my college apps!!! which i’m still not done with but whatever. got my license!!! bought cool jackets!! kept writing, despite all the stress!

25. Do you regret not doing anything?

you know? there are a few things that i wish i’d done better or differently, but for the most part i’m happy with a lot of the choices i’ve made. i think if there was one thing i’d definitely have gone to australia in october when we were meant to

42. What are you most proud of accomplishing?

i’ve applied to 7 schools so far, and i’m proud of that. i’m proud of getting my license. i’m proud of the work that i put into my classes. i’m proud of the work that i did at my internship. i’m proud of my team for winning our last regular AYSO season. i’m proud of being able to keep such incredible friends

43. What have you learned about yourself this year that you didn’t know in the years prior?

i found out i have ADD? and that’s given me a lot of answers and help and understanding for both myself and my parents, and it was strongly needed support so im just ❤️

2017 end of year meme

#its been such a chock full year but im so proud of both of us for all we've done #ask #harrychata

[when-im-older]

Year in Review: 2016

Life is a fucking rollercoaster. That just about sums it up. I really didn’t want to do a Year in Review this time, but I think it’s always a good activity to look back in the year and try to sum up all it’s events into one. It really puts things into perspective and you might just realize that 2016 wasn’t as bad as people love to make it out to be. 

January: The start of 2016.

February: I went to my first Business conference called the Network of Empowered Women. It was a fun-filled weekend spent at the beautiful Lake Louise where I stepped out of my shell, learned how to truly network and realized that my path into the business world was really the right one for me. I couldn’t be happier with my life choices for the first time in my life.

March: I turned the magical twenty-one. This would have been a much more exciting milestone if I was American. But my Canadian self had already been the legal drinking age for three years so nothing really changed. But read this post on 21 Things I’ve Learned in 21 Years. 

April: I never considered myself to be smart. I was smart in elementary school, but that isn’t much of an accomplish. I always just saw myself as average in junior high and high school. My expectations of myself just dropped. However, April was the month I got 100% on my accounting final and I will never stop bragging about it. It’s honestly one of my biggest accomplishments, not just because I aced a test, but because I was finally able to prove to myself that I’m not a dumbass smart.

May: I applied to be a writer for my university’s blog (youalberta.blogspot.ca) and I got the job. It was one of the best things to ever happen to me. I hadn’t really joined any clubs during my four years of university because I didn’t feel like I truly fit in to any. I didn’t want to join one just for the sake of using it on my resume in the future. But, when I heard about the YouAlberta blog, I knew it was somewhere I belonged. I just absolutely love attending the YA meetings every month and thinking up random ideas to write about on the blog. It gives me a chance to write about something other than fashion and beauty. 

June: Okay. So, I got dumped. Dumped is such an ugly word, but that’s what happened. I won’t go into depth here because some things are better left private, but if you’re itching for a little bit more insight, stay tuned to the YouAlberta blog. I have a special post coming your way. But, everything happens for a reason and I wouldn’t change anything for the world. Happiness is a funny thing. Sometimes things have to get way worse in order to get better. But it was well worth it. 

July: I got my license. Wait, how old are you Taylor? Twenty-one? Oh. Okay. Wow. Good job. But I finally did it. That’s all that matters. I booked the test, learned to drive in three days and passed. Honestly, I’m just as surprised as you are. I only got docked marks for going 30 in a school zone. Apparently if it’s summer and students aren’t in school, you shouldn’t slow down. I don’t know if I agree with that. 

August: Thank God for good friends. Kevin, this is a special shoutout to you. Yeah, you’re not the best at comforting people but my goodness, you’re the best at being a friend. I went on a roadtrip to Jasper with some friends right before school started as my only “vacation” the whole summer. Yep, that’s how boring my summer was. It consisted of work and only work. 

September: I started my fourth year of university. It still sounds so weird hearing myself say that I am in fact a fourth year student. But, I was so relieved to go back to school. I had missed it so much (yes, you may call me a nerd). My life just felt so empty without university. 

October: I’m trying so hard to think of something that happened in October, but I’m coming up with nothing. It was filled with midterms so that was fun. Halloween also happened. I was a bunny, you can see that post here.

November: Okay, so I’m going to do a little bit of bragging here. If you get offended (read: jealous), get over yourself and stop reading (oh man, I can already hear the hate comments coming). This is my year in review and I’m going to say whatever I want. Long story short, I aced every single test. In all of my years of schooling, I have never been able to say that. I got top marks and didn’t get a single bad mark (by my standards). I don’t know what changed and how I suddenly turned “smart”, but whatever it is, it’s working. I am so damn proud of myself. Throughout my whole life, I just wanted to prove to people that I am more than this ditzy girl who talks about makeup and clothes and even if I show up wearing a dress to a final with my hair curled and full makeup, I’ll still probably get a higher mark than you. So next time you stop me to tell me that it’s dumb I’m putting so much effort into my appearance when I’m in university, check yourself before you wreck yourself. Wow, I’m feeling feisty today. Rant over.

December: I finished exams and headed off to Vegas to do the mandatory celebration trip of being twenty-one and legal in the US. I gambled (barely), I partied, I shopped. What more could a girl want? A 4.0 grade point average. That’s what a girl really wants. And I wish I could tell you that my wishes were granted, but I’m still waiting on one more mark to be released (plz hurry up Mr. Prof), so that news is going to have to wait a little bit longer. 

The end of 2016. 

Wow, so that was 2016. This year was filled with a lot of learning. I learned a lot about myself and although 2016 definitely wasn’t the best year, I’m coming out of it stronger than ever and for that, I am incredibly grateful and proud of. Here’s to hoping 2017 will be better (it will be) and filled with just as many wonderful memories. I’m honestly so pumped for this new year, let’s do this!

2015 Year in Review: http://when-im-older.com/post/136279938943

2014 Year in Review: http://when-im-older.com/post/106720896600

2013 Year in Review: http://when-im-older.com/post/71760926730

Any moments you would like to share?

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