#So museums and places of interest are closed

[gnar-slabdash]

Okay, so I did in fact call Paypal and Visa and use Nate Voice to make myself a nuisance. The full rundown is very long and probably not that interesting, because, like, the goal wasn't to be an ass or do a scam, the goal was just to take up space. But damn, I think I did a pretty good job of that. So I'm gonna give you the tl;dr up front and put the whole play-by-play under the cut.

tl;dr

PayPal still has no idea what's going on (or is pretending not to), whereas Visa has instituted a policy of basically hanging up on anyone who dares to mention it. The only material impact of any of this (besides wasting their time) was I managed to lodge a complaint with Visa about their policy of demanding that complaints only be made by email.

Nonetheless, this project did in fact allow me to:

have full conversations and take up space instead of trying to be as polite and efficient as possible

persist and push back and not let go of the issue when I was given the brush-off

think of (and execute!) different angles of attack when it was clear the head-on approach wasn't working

get correctly gendered by every single person I talked to??? (usually on the phone I get about 50%) I'll probably do it again sometime. Not with Visa specifically, I've about had enough of their shit. But maybe call my representatives. If this is what it takes to do all those responsible citizen things that I've been too scared to do before? Then let's go steal some self-confidence.

Since I wasn't able to do it at McRory's with a whiskey in hand, I did it outside the Evergreen Aviation Museum with an Irish cream-flavored iced latte in hand. Close enough.

I called PayPal first. I started by asking for information, but she told me this was the first she was hearing about it. So I told her about it instead. At length. While still insisting "You know, I'm hoping you can help me understand this, I don't really, ah, I don't really get it but what I'm hearing is [insert full explanation that I clearly understand better than her]." Eventually she sort of gets it and tries to tell me that it's all about how if companies want to use them they have to follow their Terms Of Service, and if they don't want to follow them they can just use a different processor. And I think this is the first place where *I* would have thrown in the towel, but Nate would push back and find a new angle. "So did the Terms of Service just change? Because these companies, yeah, they chose to use you and follow the terms of service, but they were able to sell these products previously, so did you just change up the agreement on them?" She kinda just mumbled some more about the terms of service without actually saying anything, and I decided I was about done with that and gradually circled around to ending the call.

Accomplished nothing, but 15 minutes of accomplishing nothing was an excellent low-stakes warmup to just get me talking.

My first call to Visa was when I learned that they've got a new policy in place to deal with people like me. The policy goes like this: As soon as they hear the words Steam or Valve, they read you a long script about how they understand your concerns and you have to go to the website and email them and they pinky promise they'll take you seriously. And then when you ask if you can register you concerns over the phone or speak to a manager, they tell you a manager will only tell you the same thing, and when you say "Yeah, I, I get that, but at least then I'd know that, you know somebody higher up has heard the concern, so I'd like to talk to them anyway," that's when they read the next part of the script: "This is all the information we can provide, so we will be disconnecting the call now." And then they hang up on you.

Second call went about the same, I can't remember what my plan was there but it clearly didn't work. Third call I still told them this was about Steam but I told them I wasn't looking for information, what I wanted was to talk to a manager because I had concerns about their policies of how they're treating customers who ask about it, how there's no way of knowing that a complaint by email is heard and not everybody can submit a complaint by email. And this time, this is when I learn how little they give a shit about customer service at all at this point because she starts reading the "I'm about to hang up on you script" WHILE I'm still talking and she doesn't even pause when I try to stop her and then she hangs up.

And here, again, is where *I* would have stopped. Actually, let's be completely honest here: *I* would have stopped after Call #1, if I even did it at all. But here's the point where I actually thought "Okay, I'm done now. That was the last one, there's nothing else I'm going to be able to do with this," and started walking back to the car. But Nate had other ideas. I realized there was another angle here.

Call #4: I refuse to say the word "Steam." And I'm pretty damn sure this guy figured out that's what I was talking about and really wanted to get me to say it so he could turn on the script as he kept pushing for more specifics. But it wasn't relevant and I wouldn't say it. Instead, I started by explaining that I was unhappy with how I'd been treated on previous calls, and then got around to "And they kept telling me the only way I could make a complaint was, was to make it by e-mail, but I can't do that, so what I'd like to complain about, actually, is this policy of only taking complaints by e-mail, because that's -- that's just bad accessibility policy."

And he told me,

He fucking told me,

"Well, if you'd like to make a complaint about that, you can do that by e-mail."

It took. So much more circling. So much more explaining. But I did eventually get him to open a ticket right there on the phone to register the accessibility concern. I also had to be very careful to stop him from making the complaint be about the people I had talked to on previous calls -- but I realized afterward that he probably couldn't have done that anyway, because that was the point where he asked me if I had reference numbers for those calls and I had to tell him "No, of -- of course I don't, because they hung up on me."

I couldn't get more than two or three minutes out of those first three Visa calls, but this last one was another good 15 minutes.

Takeaways:

You know, I was a little worried that if I did this on top of already having the rp blog, I wouldn't be able to turn it off. And that did sort of happen, I had some perfectly normal phone calls I had to make afterward and yeah, I could not switch out of Nate Mode and left some stupidly long voicemails, but-- because the goal of the project was to take up space but not to be an asshole -- I think it's fine actually? I honestly kind of have a problem with trying to be over-efficient when I talk and cram the most information into the smallest and fastest package and cut out anything extraneous, and it's actually really counterproductive. It's not the best way for other people to process things, and it makes me come off pretty abrupt. So honestly? If this makes me slow the fuck down and spend more time actually explaining myself and engaging with people, and feeling like I deserve to take up more time and space? Then that's??? GOOD????

Boy, Visa is fucked.

I have one regret: On the last call, in order to file my complaint I had to give them my actual name and account info. My name ends with N. And the urge to add "The N is mostly silent" was so strong and I so regret not giving into it. NEXT TIME.

Because yeah, I think there will be a next time. Like, if this is giving me the power to just pick up the phone and be a benevolent nuisance, I should be using it. Might try calling my representatives. Might try to make it a weekly thing.

Very fun additional outcome: In case anyone on the internet didn't notice by now, I'm a trans guy. I pass 100% in person, but only about 50% of the time on the phone. This time? 5 phonecalls. Not a single "ma'am."

[righteousdelusions]

In a different state for work and you'd think I'd be less online but this is like my safe space so I'm using it more. And specially because it's hotter (thermic feeling it's 35°) and I just can't cope I really can't cope I need to go back

[yeyinde]

i'm sure it's been done 1000000x before but stripper!reader x John Wick would go so hard esp if you're not even a willing participant.

like maybe he's there to scope out the club (and maybe he ran into you at the museum earlier, and his interest was piqued the moment you started rambling about ursus arctos californicus and followed you to your second job. it's whatever), and your paths keep crossing. he's just the polite (weirdly so) older man in your bracket, always sitting in the shadows and drinking nothing but sparkling water. and that should be it.

but you can't stop staring at him. and that's quickly becoming a problem so you offer him a lap dance (because at the very least, if he's like every other man who pays for an hour of your time behind closed doors then you can give up on this confusing muddle of emotions whenever you feel his eyes on you), but it doesn't go as planned. instead of leaning back and grunting at you, he peels his jacket off, eyes politely averted, and slips it over your bare shoulders, unbothered by the glitter and the stench of secondhand smoke that clings to your skin, and now soaking into his expensive, Italian-cut suit.

he offers you lapsang souchong from a small thermos tucked inside his jacket, and seems content to just watch you drink tea and make idle conversation about your job, your boss, your life. Twilight Zone—he's never watched it, he confesses with his palms pointed skyward. you stumble just a little when the flashing neon lights catch the milk-white of his rough skin. he's a beautiful man—tall and lean and soft spoken—and sometimes you wish he'd just disappear because there's too much politeness inside of him, and it feels like battery acid on your skin. but you don't. don't ask him to leave. don't change shifts. you just tell him that's a travesty because sometimes you think you could listen to Rod Sterling talk about oddities for hours.

soul-soothing, you say, instead of what it really is: a mindless distraction from the feeling of unwanted hands on your skin—sticky with nicotine; leaving stains behind—but he looks at you—through you—like he knows what you refuse to say. brooding eyes fossicking through the lies you lay on the table until he chisels the truth from your glitter-stained head, cradling it like a precious gem as he nods, slow and measured, and tells you he'll watch it later on as he pours you another cup of tea. he always says drunk up when he does, but you swear that sometimes it sounds like he's saying i'll take care of it.

and it becomes a little bit of a gag, too, because he never, ever gets a proper lap dance despite paying for one each time. things come up—he has to leave only minutes after you walk through door, leaving behind food that he insists you eat, or comfortable clothes he makes sure you put on. ones he never accepts back, and that always fit you perfectly. or he just wastes his hour listening to you prattle on about whatever it is that has your attention that week, offering a small smile and a slow shake of his head when you try to give him more to make up for it. a little wink, too. a secretive this is just for us he keeps tucked inside the rucksack he carries, filled with homemade food, tea, and gifts you don't deserve. all crammed beside the bits and pieces you tell him about yourself. your life. your wants, dreams.

and it's weird. he's weird. a fifty-something widower who is much too good to be in a place like this, to spend time with a broken, sad little thing more than half his age. they'd write tragedies about this, you joke, flipping through an original print of The Idiot that you didn't believe he actually had. but he just shrugs, palms open, skyward, and says he's stopped believing in the desolate outcome of Russian romance a long time ago.

(he leaves his rare copy of The Idiot behind despite giving away a small fortune.)

but it's difficult to escape the fatalistic nature of your relationship. one built on debt and obligation—a transactional affair. services rendered. money deposited. and it doesn't surprise you much when the financial elephant in the room moves, shattering the illusion of choice when the man holding the end of your leash says he's sending you to Europe. a business partner thought you were a pretty little bird, and you're easier to giftwrap than a couple of Lamborghinis.

and it comes to a head when you catch him killing your boss—and maybe it's your fault for letting it slip that he's giving you away, but you thought you could trust him to keep that secret—and reflectively, you grab the gun lying on the floor, but he's just as unbothered by you shakily pointing it at him as is he by the gurgling man lying at his feet, staining the bottoms of his expensive leather loafers with blood. even calmly corrects your form, a little "hold it like this, honey," slipping out as he instructs you how to handle a gun to his own potential detriment. and the that's it, that's my good girl that follows when you obey his instruction is almost too much. so you run. and he follows—straight to the stage where your boss' men stand around, guns drawn, and try to take him down.

futilely, of course, and all you can do is stand there—wide-eyed—on stage as the gentle, polite man who refused every sly attempt of yours to seduce him takes down every man in the room until it's just the two of you remaining in a bloodsoaked room. neon lights slipping through the mess until it glints like the glitter they slathered over your skin. music blaring. smoke dissipating. if your feet didn't ache from the heels they picked for you, you might think it was a dream. a nightmare, maybe. except the monsters are the ones being slaughtered, and you can still taste the faint curl of smoke from the cup of pu'erh between your teeth. hear the buzz of his voice in your ear—i won't let them take you from me, honey.

and when he's finished, he sits at the end of the platform in the "throne," your leash held in his pale hand, and asks if you'd like to dance for him. only him.

(and he'll tuck you into bed later on that night after bathing you—refusing to let you lift a single finger as he gently scrubs the glitter from your skin, thumbs sliding over the indents in your wrist, the marks of your shackles the only remnants of the club that was burned to the ground, no survivors—the Twilight Zone theme playing softly in the background as he curls his lean body over yours, murmuring into your ear to sleep before leaning over to tuck your leash into the drawer of his bedside table.)

[chika-seno]

[Non-MC reader in LADS, kindly block or don't interact if you're not interested]

With the popularity and the angst of the non-mc fics, I just have one idea to propose. Instead of us lamenting about the situation, how about the situation in reverse? Instead of bathing in jealousy, its him who feels inadequate and unable to intervene in your relationship with someone else.

The MLs, tied to some fate they can barely comprehend or remember making at the time is bound to the MC by their actions or through a soulmate like connection. He has no idea how to break it, and how to move forward with you in the picture.

You're probably someone ordinary and new he's encountered in this life. You could be the cashier in a cafe, a receptionist in a clinic, some worker in a seperate division of a museum, an air traffic controller, or an engineer. Either way, you're connected to him through his job or interests, and he starts to fall for you slowly.

You might have felt the same. Or, he might have escaped your radar. At the eventual revelation of each of his pasts, it's clear you're a new connection, a marker of a totally new life he could either move forward in or abandon for the past. The reality scares him shitless, since he has no tie or obligation to make you fall for him and vice versa. You could slip away from him easily, and maybe it would be the last lifetime you two would share as potential lovers.

He talks about it with her too. She's in the same boat, terrified and lost. There's someone nice at her job, someone she met through a mission-gone-wrong. They have no evol, but they make her feel so alive and unrestrained from her past mistakes and present condition. But she worries her baggage might take a toll on them, and they'd eventually leave for someone, never fully comprehending the connection they share.

Regardless of their decision and dedication, it's not long until you eventually show them your new relationship status. Whether it be a ring or a social media post, he's standing in the sidelines with some bastard hugging you close, taking their rightful position by your side.

Can they hold you closely as he could? Could they make you happy? Could they imagine staying by your side until your last breath like he would?

When you talk about them, it's nothing he could absolutely compare to. The way they make you laugh, blush, and feel secured in their presence feels so different from what he can do. He's just some friend you managed to get from a chance encounter. Nothing set in stone, meant to escape from his grasp when you eventually turn away from him.

He feels bitter. He lashes out in different ways but ultimately realizing you should live your life without them in the picture. He looks at you and your significant other, swarming with jealousy at the pretty picture he's not included in. To be with you till the end sounds like a happily-ever-after he has no place in.

In another lifetime, you would be in their place. Lamenting and cursing the world for not giving you their love and dedication. But in this version, he's in your place, doomed to be a bystander.

While there's no guarantee to be with the main character like him, it's not like you're running out of options either. Spared by fate and the cruelty of responsibility, you instead have to move forward in life and in death without him by your side.

[petermorwood]

More on pre-electricity lighting.

Interesting to see this one pop up again after nearly two years - courtesy of @dduane, too! :->

*****

After experiencing a couple more storm-related power cuts since my original post, as well as a couple of after-dark garden BBQs, I've come to the conclusion that C.J. Cherryh puts far too much emphasis on "how dark things were pre-electric light".

For one thing eyes adjust, dilating in dim light to gather whatever illumination is available. Okay, if there's none, there's none - but if there's some, human eyes can make use of it, some better or just faster than others. They're the ones with "good night vision".

Think, for instance, of how little you can see of your unlit bedroom just after you've turned off the lights, and how much more of it you can see if you wake up a couple of hours later.

There's also that business of feeling your way around, risking breaking your neck etc. People get used to their surroundings and, after a while, can feel their way around a familiar location even in total darkness with a fair amount of confidence.

Problems arise when Things Aren't Where They Should Be (or when New Things Arrive) and is when most trips, stumbles, hacked shins and stubbed toes happen, but usually - Lego bricks and upturned UK plugs aside - non-light domestic navigation is incident-free.

*****

Here are a couple of pics from one of those BBQs: one candle and a firepit early on, then the candle, firepit and an oil lamp much later, all much more obvious than DD's iPad screen.

Though I remain surprised at how well my phonecam was handling this low light, my own unassisted eyes were doing far better. For instance, that area between the table and the firepit wasn't such an impenetrable pool of darkness as it appears in the photo.

I see (hah!) no reason why those same Accustomed Eyes would have any more difficulty with candles or oil lamps as interior lighting, even without the mirrors or reflectors in my previous post.

With those, and with white interior walls, things would be even brighter. There's a reason why so many reconstructed period buildings in Folk Museums etc. are (authentically) whitewashed not just outside but inside as well. It was cheap, had disinfectant qualities, and was a reflective surface. Win, win and win.

*****

All right, there were no switches to turn on a light. But there was no need for what C.J. describes as stumbling about to reach the fire, because there were tinderboxes and, for many centuries before them, flint and steel. Since "firesteels" have been heraldic charges since the 1100s, the actual tool must have been in use for even longer.

Tinderboxes were fire-starter sets with flint, steel and "tinder" all packed into (surprise!) a box. The tinder was easily lit ignition material, often "charcloth", fabric baked in an airtight jar or tin which would now start to glow just from a spark.

They're mentioned in both "The Hobbit" and "The Lord of the Rings". Oddly enough, "Hobbit" mentions matches in a couple of places, but I suspect that's a carry-over from when it was just a children's story, not part of the main Legendarium.

Tinderboxes could be simple, just a basic flint-and-steel kit with some tinder for the sparks to fall on...

...or elaborate like this one, with a fancy striker, charcloth, kindling material and even wooden "spills" (long splinters) to transfer flame to a candle or the kindling...

This tinderbox even doubles as a candlestick, complete with a snuffer which would have been inside along with everything else.

Here's a close-up of the striker box with its inner and outer lids open:

What looks like a short pencil with an eraser is actually the striker. A bit of tinder or charcloth would have been pulled through that small hole in the outer lid, which was then closed.

There was a rough steel surface on the lid, and the striker was scraped along it, like so:

This was done for a TV show or film, so the tinder was probably made more flammable with, possibly, lighter fuel. That would be thoroughly appropriate, since a Zippo or similar lighter works on exactly the same principle.

A real-life version of any tinderbox would usually just produce glowing embers needing blown on to make a flame, which is shown sometimes in movies - especially as a will-it-light-or-won't-it? tension build - but is usually a bit slow and non-visual for screen work.

*****

There were even flintlock tinderboxes which worked with the same mechanism as those on firearms. Here's a pocket version:

Here are a couple of bedside versions, once again complete with a candlestick:

And here are three (for home defence?) with a spotlight candle lantern on one side and a double-trigger pistol on the other.

Pull one trigger to light the candle, pull the other trigger to fire the gun.

What could possibly go wrong? :-P

*****

Those pistol lanterns, magnified by lenses, weren't just to let their owner see what they were shooting at: they would also have dazzled whatever miscreant was sneaking around in the dark, irises dilated to make best use of available glimmer.

Swordsmen both good and bad knew this trick too, and various fight manuals taught how to manage a thumb-shuttered lamp encountered suddenly in a dark alley.

There's a sword-and-lantern combat in the 1973 "Three Musketeers" between Michael York (D'Artagnan) and Christopher Lee (Rochefort), which was a great idea.

Unfortunately it failed in execution because the "Hollywood Darkness" which let viewers see the action, wasn't dark enough to emphasise the hazards / advantages of snapping the lamps open and shut.

This TV screencap (can't get a better one, the DVD won't run in a computer drive) shows what I mean.

In fact, like the photos of the BBQ, this image - and entire fight - looks even brighter through "real eyes" than with the phonecam. Just as there can be too much dark in a night scene, there can also be too much light.

*****

One last thing I found when assembling pics for the post were Folding Candle-lanterns.

They were used from about the mid-1700s to the later 20th century (Swiss Army ca. 1978) as travel accessories and emergency equipment, and IMO - I've Made A Note - they'd fit right into a fantasy world whose tech level was able to make them.

The first and last are reproductions: this one is real, from about 1830.

The clear part was mica - a transparent mineral which can be split into thin flexible sheets - while others use horn / parchment, though both of these are translucent rather than transparent. Regardless, all were far less likely to break than glass.

One or two inner surfaces were usually tin, giving the lantern its own built-in reflector, and tech-level-wise, tin as a shiny or decorative finish has been used since Roman times.

I'm pretty sure that top-of-the-line models could also have been finished with their own matching, maybe even built-in, tinderboxes.

And if real ones didn't, fictional ones certainly could. :->

*****

Yet more period lighting stuff here, including flintlock alarm clocks (!)

[capesandshapes]

If you're an American and you're really scared about the Trump administration overtaking the Institute for Museum and Library Services, I'm just going to quick break down how this works on the library side from someone who has worked in libraries, made the director handbook for libraries in my system, managed archives, and continues to engage with libraries pretty actively:

-Federal funding for the bulk of libraries in the US is far less than most people think it is. This is because the majority of libraries are sustained by local and state taxes in their area.

-Typically new developments like growing stem programs, hotspot services, and adding library locations is done through federal grants. In a few select states because of how they've structured their libraries and how new their libraries are to the system, Federal grants do technically still pay for ebook services and (less frequently) day to day operations in libraries that have less foot traffic, but still serve an important role to the communities surrounding them. A few libraries do pay additional staff via federal grants, but typically core staff are funded via state and local taxes.

-There's a whole lot of reasons why libraries are funded the way that they're funded, part of it is that conservatives at one point did argue that a library should provide enough value to its community that like it is supported only by the local and State taxes, which is a valid reason.

Another argument for why libraries don't take more Federal funding that's been popping up a lot in the 2020s is that taking a significant portion of your funding on a federal level would make you more beholden to the federal government and encourage them to begin making restrictions that impact the ecosystem of libraries and what you are allowed to have on the shelves, which likely wouldn't necessarily serve your patrons. It also would basically mean that book banners would have a place to go to push their agenda wide scale.

-all this is not to say that this isn't going to hurt libraries.

This is going to hurt a lot of rural locations, independent libraries, and summer reading programs-- which are important resources for education, socialization, and just the general well-being of our nation's youth.

These programs provide an important break for parents who have months-long stretches where their kids are suddenly home all of the time and don't have the same easy social access that they had before.

I cannot put into words just how important summer reading programs are for communities, they provide so many opportunities for kids to learn and interact and foster a lifelong appreciation of reading.

Even if you have just read a hundred books to get an ice cream cone, you were reaping the emotional and social benefits of reading, we learn so many cues in communication from reading and so much empathy.

I cannot put into words how much reading impacts child development. When you teach a child to read and you teach a child to read well, you are giving them tools to communicate with the world around them-- and summer reading programs help maintain and in some cases supplement the skills that kids develop during the school year. Learning is not something that should be restricted to just 9 months of the year.

Reading programs are important programs to the development of our nation's youth!

A lot of the additional summer programming is done through grants, and while a lot of states have really expansive Grant opportunities, the federal funding cuts in other areas are likely going to result in people looking really close at what we're spending on and why.

-one of the most important things that you can do for your state libraries is continue to use their services, show that you appreciate what they offer. If you want a program to remain, you have to be an active part of it.

Most libraries are allowed to count services in patron numbers to show interest in ebook catalogues and other things, but visiting in person and using community courses when you can helps further support the existence of branch locations.

Some states are likely going to get hit harder by this than others that have larger systems, but you using and talking about your local library helps make a case to hold onto the funding they have and look into additional ways to replace federal funding.

-what is an ungodly awful part of this is that we're going to see a lot of national libraries get hit hard by this. And national/federal libraries are typically legal libraries and special topics libraries.

It's a lot of historical preservation, information about our environment and agriculture, medical research, and technology AS WELL AS collections/limited libraries that were created via federal funding to inspire diversity and inclusion. A lot of these libraries don't have bustling locations to inspire funding via foot traffic, but they do provide resources to our library ecosystem. A really important way that they do this is by making large print, braille, playaways, and other ability aids accessible via the interlibrary loan system. They even scan items that are too fragile or precious for transport so that patrons and different systems can use them.

Just running down a short list of times that national, federally funded libraries have really helped my patrons via interlibrary loan services: one of the various libraries for the deaf and blind provided me with the cds that I needed in order to allow a patron to read the next cj box book while long haul trucking, I have received copies of photographs of people's parents on reservations via interlibrary loans and using grant funding have also uploaded photos of people's family members and newspaper articles that are relevant to their family history, I've actually received sheet music for a trombone player as a result of the various music libraries , and there was a niche queer library that mailed us so many books that were requested because we didn't have access to any of the 1970s queer pulp paperbacks and a patron desperately wanted to read the books that she had seen on shelves when she was growing up but never been brave enough to check out. (The art on their covers was wonderful)

THESE ARE IMPORTANT SERVICES TO OUR LIBRARY ECOSYSTEM. We want these services and access to these collections to remain, because you never know what is going to happen to you in this life, and because people deserve the opportunity to interact with their own history and their own culture. These will be lost if these libraries are no longer funded.

SO WHAT DO WE DO?

What can you as an ordinary person do?

1. Kick up a fight and make sure that you are hounding your lawmakers the moment you so much as sniff someone trying to defund your libraries.

2. Use all the resources that you can to show that they actually matter to you and do so while understanding that because life gets busy, your usage is also advocating for other people in the community who don't currently have the time to use those resources but would appreciate them later on.

3. Make sure you're talking about libraries and what they offer to other people, a lot of people don't know what their local library has going on.

4. Take the time to volunteer and look into ways to donate not necessarily money, but your time and resources to the library. Not every library takes old books, but some that won't put your books on the shelves will put them in the library book sales. Not every library allows volunteers to shelf, but they do often allow for people to join their friends of the library organization and help raise money and come up with community events and staff them.

5. You can donate money, but I want to note with donating money, that not every library is structured the same.

Please check with your local librarian how their donations work.

I have worked at libraries in the past where we got donated money that went into the city slush fund, and are late fees also went into the city slush fund... Which was used on a road. Not a road near us, but just a road. One that actually kind of fucked a lot of people over.

We actually had to come up with a separate method of donation for monetary things that classified them as being earmarked for specific services and usage so then the city couldn't take it. Which is insane but you know.

We would take money from patrons and ask them if they wanted to go into our general fund, or if they would like it specifically to go towards the repair of our roof.

A lot of people once they realize the reason why we were asking about the repair of our roof did in fact get heated about the way that the city was treating us, but the city still fought back about whether or not we would get to hold our own donations rather than specifically earmarked ones.

Just having people know how our donation system worked and fight for us to actually hold the money that had been donated specifically to us did make a difference in the end, because suddenly we had a roof. And, you know, some people lost seats in elections.

EDIT:

-YOU CAN ALSO START A BOOK CLUB THROUGH YOUR LIBRARY, WHICH IS SO IMPORTANT!!!

Most libraries will give you a free place to meet and promote your event, you can also engage with your community and make new friends,

aaand something that's really important is that you can show your support to the books that you love.

Not only do book clubs encourage foot traffic, they help promote different niches of offers, and form lasting community bonds. Heavy book club usage has in my experience actually shaped when we had our library hours. Like to the point where we added an extra day a week because they were coming in so frequently and they had indicated that they would keep coming in with even more people if they were able to come in on the weekend.

It also allows libraries to show that our space is being used, and have like a solid number of formalized meetings that happened there and helped us exist.

You can start a book club for almost anything in most cases, though most libraries ask for a lack of profanity in the name of your organization, and if you formally affiliate with your library then most branches help clubs acquire their books at the same time and arrange resources for whatever events you have planned.

[jellychannie]

Happy Birthday, Love.

Jel's Birthday Special 2025!

ft. barou shoei, yukimiya kenyu, rin itoshi, reo mikage, zantetsu tsurugi, ego jinpachi (separate)

~ how they would be on your special day!

cw: GN reader, est. relationship, aged up charas (21+) except zantetsu and obv ego, might be ooc, inconsistent, not proof read, boyfriend! barou, husband! yukimiya, suitor! rin itoshi, fiancé! reo, best friend! zantetsu, coworker! ego

wc: 1364 (about 100-300 individually!)

note: it's my birthday! (1/8) and my head just popped up with an idea to create these scenarios with my bllk top 5 + ego!! enjoy!

Your boyfriend, Barou would wake up early before you, tidying up the already tidy shared space. He'd make you a stack of pancakes, plating it like he's some Michelin-Star chef.

He soon woke you up with a kiss on the forehead, his deep voice the first thing you hear for the day. You'll definitely hear much more. “Happy Birthday, my queen,” he muttered against your face. It was a simple greeting, but it was Barou so everything wasn't too simple.

He kept his hair down the whole day, just for his partner. You two went out the whole day, venturing around malls, museums, any place your pretty little brain wanted to take you. His pockets might've had a close call with drought, but it was all worth it for you.

When you two came home, you were met with a surprise party with the people closest to you. You'd kiss him and say it's the best birthday ever, but when you turned back to him, he was already down on one knee.

Yukimiya's the type to stay up with you until the clock strikes 12. He'd be the first to greet you, planting a bunch of gentle kisses along your face, “happy birthday, my sweet.” he mumbled between kisses, his arms all around you as you two sat in bed.

And in the morning, he'd sleep in with you. If he woke up before you, Yukimiya would pull you closer to him, his eyes tracing over your face. He tucked a strand behind your ear, and laid there until you woke up.

He'd wake you up at noon if you continued to sleep in until late, not wanting to delay his plans further, as much as you enjoyed sleeping. He'd let you get dressed and soon took you out to a museum on one of your interests.

When it got dark, he took you to a restaurant, nothing too fancy, but he knew it was your favorite place. It was a day worth remembering, where you two ended up stargazing on your apartment's balcony until late with him.

Rin called you early in the morning, telling you to get dressed nicely by noon after a pleasant “happy birthday,” with his nice, smooth voice.

Noon time soon came in, and Rin knocked on your door, hands busy holding on a few boxes and bags. He walked into your home, setting down the boxes on the coffee table.

“Explain yourself,” you demanded, meeting his softened gaze.

“Why not?” He replied.

He was only courting you (so far) and just couldn't call you his (yet…), so he shows himself as one capable provider. He saw your lists, so he decided to save you the burden and buy it all for you. At once.

When asked on how he got them, the exact types you wanted (some of them were the limited edition ones too, and the offsales), he just shook his head, saying it was some wild guess. “Since you liked this color, I decided why not?” He lied.

He's kept a little list of your wants, hoping to buy them one by one as the months pass, but something possessed him to buy everything.

When you looked at him with a gentle gaze, his heart started to beat rapidly. You started expressing your gratitude to him, hugging him all of a sudden. His heart was booming, it was obvious he was whipped. He can't help but muster out a little smile, and you bubbled with laughter at the sight of it.

His boiling point was when you suddenly pressed a quick kiss on his cheek. When you pulled away, you were caught off guard when he suddenly dropped to the floor.

His face was red like a tomato, all flustered and silent. He didn't seem like the type to faint, but here he was. You two ended up cancelling outdoor plans, staying inside and ordering food.

Someone so stoic like Rin, all flustered over a kiss. It was your birthday, but the day felt like an entire win to him. After all, he now has a partner before the clock struck into the next day.

“Happy birthday, Darling,” your fiancé wrapped his arms around you as you cooked. The next thing he said almost made you drop the ladle, “What do you think about going to Hawaii?”

Reo would set up an entire itinerary months before your birthday, what to do, where to stay, until when? Heck, he could go for forever if you loved the place.

When he said that he was planning an absolute banger of a trip, you worried about the luggage. But well, being impulsive may or may not be along the lines of being prepared. He helped you pack your clothes, and the other items before practically running out the door, into the car, and out into the airport.

You'd look at Reo, absolutely puzzled as to why he'd suddenly go all out, when he definitely had just spoiled you in the past occasion. He shrugged, acting like it's some normal occurrence in his life.

Once you two had arrived in the hotel after hours of travel, he'd look at you in admiration before bringing out the plan of an entire helicopter ride around the island.

After an exhilarating day, he cuddled up to you in the bed, the view outside evident from the floor-to-ceiling windows in the room. “I love you so much, can't wait to marry you,” was the last thing you heard before falling asleep.

“Happy Bath Day,” he said confidently, adjusting his glasses. You looked at him, amused. At least there was the effort.

“You mean birthday? Thanks,” you replied.

“Yes, birthday. That's what I mean,”

Zantetsu was the first one to greet you through text at 12AM, and he was waiting at your doorstep to start your daily journey to school.

He stuck with you throughout the day, watching every single interaction you had. In classes, you noticed he was trying to listen closely in classes, but the audible grumble every now and then told you otherwise.

Once the school day was done, Zantetsu was quick to pull you out of the building, taking you to a secluded area in the school.

“Uhm,” he coughed. He was about to continue when he stopped himself, opening his bag and taking something out of it. A plain white envelope was soon in his hands, offering it to you.

He wouldn't allow you to open it– yet. He would slip on his own words, before ultimately sputtering out “I like you.”

He soon let you read the letter, as you processed what had been going on. You then realized as you read the letter, that this guy really had feelings for you.

Safe to say, you felt the same, and now you'd be beside your favorite himbo at all times. After that, he treated you to your favorite snacks at the convenience store.

“Happy birthday, diamond in the rough,” he'd say to you, setting down a cooking cup of instant ramen on your desk. You had been working overtime, monitoring Blue Lock's current upbringing, and seeking for any possible improvements to the project. 

Diamonds in the rough, a name he calls the boys, but you were the Diamond. Singular, in the rough. It wasn't too much of a difference to you, but you were too oblivious to him. 

Ego would ask you to work next to him that day, and he ended up taking your workload, saying it's just a “typical thing I gotta do,” which left you with your noodle cup next to his, and a stack of papers already sidelined. 

That was probably when you realized what Anri had meant when he didn't treat anyone else like this. Everytime you made a comment, he'd reply to it in agreement, instead of correcting everything. 

You thought it was just some special treatment you had for your birthday, but you didn't think so when he offered the seat next to him at Blue Lock's next games. You were his diamond, after all. He was just waiting when you'll actually realize what his intentions were.

thank you for reading! reblogs are really appreciated!!!

masterlist

jellychannie 2025

[st4ytiny]

A sickly romance in the air

Warnings: Tooth rotting

AN: YUNHOOO YUNHOOOOOO ONE CHANCE BEFORE I DIE PLEASE

In highschool, all your girl-friends had partners, they went on dates, had a prom date, a sweet boyfriend or a cute girlfriend calling them up after hanging out together. It made you sick to your stomach. Not out of jealousy but because you just couldn't imagine being in a relationship. Not at all. Maybe you weren't made for love?

Everytime your parents or a friend would ask you'd just say "I’m focused on school" or "I am comfortable being single”. You were confident about it. That was until you saw this guy at the local aquarium. He was there so often you could almost predict every time right. So naturally you ‘coincidentally’ were there. Then you started going to the museums, thrift markeds, downtown cafes and you saw him everywhere. Were you following him or him following you? 

It continued all spring until one day, 1st of June actually. He came up to you and introduced himself. He was taller up close than in the distance and you smiled at him as he reached out a hand. “I’m Jeong Yun-ho” His voice was kind and smooth. You take his hand and introduce yourself as well. “I’m (Name) (Last-name). I’ve seen you around town.”

As you shook his hand, there was an unexpected warmth in his touch, a sense of ease that made you feel like you’d known him far longer than you actually had. You weren’t sure why, but something about his presence made the air between you feel lighter, like you didn’t have to be so guarded or closed off anymore.

He gave a small chuckle, almost as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. "I guess I have a habit of popping up everywhere, huh?" He said it with a teasing smile, his eyes sparkling with genuine interest. You felt a slight blush creep up your neck and you quickly looked away, trying to brush it off. "It’s kind of strange, actually, I somehow always run into you." you admitted, your voice quiet but light. 

"Maybe it’s fate," he said with a grin, the way his eyes twinkled making it clear he wasn’t being too serious. "But you seem like you’ve got an eye for spotting me. Are you stalking me?" You let out a laugh, the idea of you stalking someone feeling ridiculous, but somehow, it didn’t seem offensive coming from him. He had a way of making everything seem so effortless, so playful.

"Not stalking," you replied, your smile widening a little. "I think we have a few things in common actually. The aquarium, thrifting, cute cafes… yeah I could go on” His grin softened into something more sincere, and he gave a slight nod. "Fair enough. Why are you here so often?" he chuckled, his attention going back to the sharks swimming around the aquarium. It was easy to get lost in his gaze, his voice carrying a calmness you hadn’t expected from someone you’d just met. While he admired the fish, you admired him. He looked back at you and you quickly moved your gaze to the fish as well. You shrugged a little, unsure of what to say. "I just... I like the peace here. People overwhelm me.. What about you?”

"Yeah, I totally get that." He leaned back slightly, still looking at you with that same quiet intensity. "I think it’s the whole place—like, how everything moves in its own time, without rushing, you know?" You nod in agreement. There was something about his words that made everything feel suddenly deeper than it should’ve been. You had expected this interaction to be brief, a quick exchange of pleasantries, but now you found yourself drawn into his conversation, the chemistry palpable.

"So, do you come here often?" you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it. He raised an eyebrow playfully. "I mean, we’ve seen each other a few times now, right?"

You smirked at the playful teasing in his voice. "Touché." He took a step back, his hands in his pockets, as though considering something. "How about we grab a coffee sometime? I feel like we’re destined to keep bumping into each other anyway. Might as well make it less... coincidental." The invitation was so casual, yet it sent a small flutter through your chest. You’d never been the type to go out of your way for anyone, let alone a guy you had randomly run into so many times. But something about his presence made you reconsider your boundaries.

"Sure," you replied, trying to sound as casual as he was. "I’d like that." A smile stretched across his face, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to disappear. It felt like a new chapter was about to begin, and you weren’t sure if you were ready for it—but the idea of it excited you more than you’d ever admit. "Great," he said, a slight grin playing on his lips. "Can I text you?" he asks as he shakes his phone and you giggle as you type it in quickly. “I’ll see you around” You smiled and as he walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just another random encounter. There was something more to it, something that you couldn’t quite put your finger on, but it felt right. Maybe you weren’t made for love after all. Maybe love was finding you in the most unexpected places.

Songs I listened to: Falling Behind - Laufey, Fairy of shampoo - TXT, 134240 - BTS

[thosewickedlovelies]

A guide to writing fics set in museums / with a museum worker character

Hey hi hello it’s your local museum worker here, offering you some insight and tips to writing museum-related fics! This is primarily organized as a list of different jobs you could have in a museum and what their duties entail. This post might also be useful to you if you’re considering working in museums and want to know What Goes On In There. Let’s go!

For simplicity/fic-writing purposes, I would divide museums into 2 very rough groups: large national or city museums that Have Money (think the Smithsonian or British Museums, or the Chicago Field Museum or the Royal Armouries Museum in Leeds); and smaller local museums. These could be local industry and culture/history-of-our town museums, historic houses, or  really niche subject museums run by One Person With A Passion.

Big national museums have a fuckton of staff and money (museums can never have enough money. But these places are very well-off compared to somewhere small that might always be hustling and writing grant applications). If you work here you’re likely to have a specific role in a particular department, and you probably won’t do much outside this role (ex., if you work in collections management, you probably won’t also design exhibits)

The smaller the museum, the more varied your workload will be/the more likely you are to be doing a little bit of everything. You’re probably organizing collections storage, manning the front desk, and desperately running fundraising efforts, all at once. 

To this end, smaller museums are more likely to be closed one or two days a week- you’ll be there, probably cleaning displays or managing storage, but visitors won’t be.

A lot of (most?) universities also have museums, so a college town setting is also doable. But the same big vs small museum disparity is still possible! At Penn State University, for example, the Palmer Art Museum is its own (recently redone iirc) building in the center of campus with a lovely plaza out front, while the Matson Museum of Anthropology is uhhhhh a couple classrooms in the Anthropology Department (which they’re currently rebuilding tbf, so we’ll see what they’ve done with it in 2025).

Types of Jobs

Curator

The one museum job that everyone can name. Nominally the person in charge. Probably laments that their job is way more admin than fun hands-on stuff now.

Actually this is the role I have the least knowledge of, but I think that’s partially because this job might vary the most from place to place? Structural organization can vary a lot between institutions, but I think the higher up you get in any field, the more your job tends to consist of meetings/overseeing, designating, and ~liaising~

A list of things a curator might do:

Planning or approving events and fundraisers, schmoozing with donors and members at said events, approving or designing a schedule of exhibits, publish outreach/advertising or research materials, oversee hiring, approve new object acquisitions (or de-acquisitions), generally make sure that the museum is working within the scope of its mission and if necessary, change or refine their mission

The curator might not necessarily control a museum’s funds; in this case they’ll liaise with the people who do, likely a Board of Executives or Board of Trustees. Once they get the money from these people, though, they could potentially redistribute it as they see fit.

 If you work in a fuckoff museum like the BM, you could also be the curator of a specific department, arranged by overarching subject, geographic area, time period, or even object type (eg Curator of Archaeobotany, Curator of Korean Collections, curator of coins from the medieval period). These categories can be more or less specific depending on what kind of holdings your museum has. I think these types of curators would still be able to do interesting things, as they aren’t the ones who Oversee The Whole Place.

You can also be an assistant or associate curator, like being an assistant manager.

Education/Engagement

These are the people who design fun extra activities (esp for kids) in the galleries or relevant events/workshops/lectures the public can attend. They might be called Engagement/Education Officer or Events Manager or anything similar

Again, the bigger the museum you work at, the more specific your role is likely to be. You might focus on web content/outreach and social media, manage the ‘friends/members of the museum’ program, or engage with shareholders, etc

Or you might do things like develop content and events to engage adult audiences. Workshops or lectures connected to new exhibits, after-hours visits. These people are also probably the ones with an eye on accessibility- you’ve probably seen advertisements for museums’ early or late hours for older visitors, or ‘quiet hours’ for people who might be overstimulated by normal museum hubbub, or tactile workshops designed for visually impaired folks.

I think most places would try to have someone specific for kids activities at the very least. They’ll be designing little activities or dress-up stations for the galleries, kiddie mascots or scavenger hunt trail kind of things, as well as, potentially, activities for any digital elements in the museum. They probably also coordinate school visits and act as a tour guide for classes, and will lead the kids in specific workshops or lessons in classrooms attached to the museum.

As a note on technology- some people would probably say that integrating digital elements into exhibits is the ~next big thing~, that museums have to get with the times in this regard, but opinions vary. Big science and technology museums are the most likely to have the most digital and techy elements in their exhibits, so if this is your setting, your character could also be a generic “tech person”. I would go so far as to say the smaller/more local the museum, the less technology you’re likely to have, but smaller museums are able to get grants, some of them potentially for specifically this type of thing, so it’s totally possibly that they have a few tablets with integrated activities, or some other Digital/Screen Thing.

Engagement Officers are probably the most likely people to be drafted for out-of-hours events, so that’s a potentially fun thing for your character to do. Some museums, particularly bigger ones, have event spaces attached that anybody can rent out, for weddings, galas, markets, etc, so they might also take care of these bookings as well.

Exhibit Design

This role has a lot of nebulous terms: exhibit coordinator, design constructor, exhibit programmer- but these are the people who design the exhibits. They’ll come up with a theme or narrative, a design scheme, choose the objects, write the text. They’ll probably come up with some marketing material as well, that matches the design scheme, or they’ll liaise with the marketing people who will.

These people might not be as familiar with the collections as the collections management folk (below), depending on how strictly divided your roles are, so they’ll likely consult with the collections people on choosing objects for a particular exhibit or theme (they say that good exhibit design builds an exhibit from the objects up, but I digress).

These people will also direct and participate in the install and deinstall (the actual terms) of exhibits- putting the objects on the right plinths/stands and arranging everything just so in the cases. Genuinely there’s a lot of psychology behind exhibit design- colors, lighting, the way you might design an exhibit to be navigated vs the path people will actually take through the gallery, people’s sight lines and where their eyes go first, how the display of any given object affects people’s perception of the importance of that object. Fascinating stuff, many books on the subject. 

There are also a lot of accessibility concerns to be considered here- how bright is the gallery, how large is your display text, at what height is the central eyeline of your cases?

Museums often loan objects to and from each other’s collections, so if you’re building an exhibit and you’d really like to include X type of object but your museum doesn’t have any, you can borrow some from another museum (this isn’t necessarily a guarantee- museums are allowed to say no to these requests, but I think manners would dictate that they should have a good reason)

Museums sometimes tour whole exhibitions as well- the objects, the text placards, maybe even the stands for super special or fragile items- and exhibit coordinator people are the ones who would handle those arrangements.

Potentially good opportunities for angst stories here- wow things come to life at your museum, you fall in love with a statue but oh no it’s only at your museum for three months

Collections Care

People who work in Collections Management have the most direct contact with the museum objects themselves. You probably work here if you prefer objects to people. When a museum gets new material, these are the people involved. They might not always initiate acquisitions, and the final approval is probably down to the relevant curator, but 98% of the time they’d be consulted (I hope).

A mind-boggling statistic is that most museums only have like 10% of their collections on display at any given time. Yeah. Forreal lol. But collections folk will know where the other 90% is and what’s in it (particularly the longer they’ve been there). 

There’s usually a head Collections Manager. Other workers might be a Collection Assistant/Associate, Collections Officer (we like calling people Officers for some reason), Registrar, or some variant of these depending on the specific flavor of your duties. 

Main job duties can be divided amongst documentation and database work, organization and storage of objects, and lite conservation. Just how much/how technical the conservation work depends on your own training, but also on the size/funding of your museum. The more money, the more likely your museum is to have its own lab with people specifically trained as conservators. More on them later. 

Here’s what happens when a museum gets new stuff!:

Ideally, it goes to a ‘quarantine zone’ first. This is a separate space or room where the objects can relax for a few weeks to a few months (ultimate best practice is actually a year, but, you know. that’s a long time) to ensure that they’re not harboring anything icky (bugs, mold, etc) that will infect the rest of the collections. It’s ideally super-sealed and climate-controlled, but the primary feature should be that it’s away from the main collections store.

Collections folk do the paperwork. They’ll give each individual object a unique number (following their preexisting system that will allow it to be identified distinct from all the other objects in the collection). They’ll create a ‘collections record’ for the object- documentation containing any and all information about the object. This includes the accession paperwork (everything that says ‘we legally own this now’); provenance info (all previous owners and everywhere else the object has been in its life); measurements and description (in painful detail); and conservation history and concerns (ie ‘there’s a crack in the side so pick up with care’, ‘this was repaired in the 70s so that glue is gonna fall apart any day now’).

(I'll say as a fic writer that this would be an great time to wax poetic over a beautiful statue or painting; you can’t write “This golden crown deserved to be worn by a great king, or maybe by that broody Roman general in the painting in Gallery B” in the collections paperwork, but you can think it.)

For fiction’s sake, your collections records could be either paper or digital, but in an ideal world a museum would have both setups, for security’s sake. So you’d fill out some long forms and/or input all the information to the digital collections management system (‘the CMS’, or referred to by your specific software’s name, as there are many out there). The CMS is not a static archive, but rather a living register that’s updated every time an object is interacted with. The object records also include where an object is at any given time (‘normally in Case E in the Fancypants Gallery, currently in Conservation Lab A for repairs’).

Once the objects are done in quarantine, they’ll go to storage. If they’re being displayed immediately, they’ll probably go to some interim storage space/shelf with other objects for the same exhibit and in that case only get a temporary setting. Every object will get labeled with their object number (directly on them, with a special pen that’s safe for this. Or if it’s really tiny, like a coin or jewelry, then their own tiny box will get the label). Small or fragile items, or items grouped together, will go in their own boxes (made of acid- and lignin-free cardboard or polyethylene plastic, like Rubbermaid totes; lined with polyethylene foam and then acid-free tissue paper). Stable ceramic vessels might sit directly on lined shelving, particularly if they’re very large or heavy, like many stone objects.

Listen, every type of object has a particular way(s) of storing that’s best for them, you’re gonna have to look that up yourself or consult someone if you need that level of detail

Ideally, before being stored away, objects are also photographed. This could be part of the Collection Officer’s duty, and/or your museum could have a photographer on staff. (say it with me:) This is more likely if your museum is really huge and/or has a backlog of unphotographed collections and has hired someone specifically, even if temporarily, to improve its collections documentation.

I would say a collections person, or anyone with a museum studies degree, should have some minimum amount of conservation knowledge that includes basic storage standards for different object materials, how to spot potential preservation problems (like if your bronze axe head is actively oxidizing or if that green spot looks the same as it always has since starting and pausing decaying), and maybe how to give objects a basic clean or deal with certain types of problems. But the nitty-gritty science is more the realm of Conservators, someone with a degree that ends in -Sci or who’s done some other certification course.

The general collections store should always be dark, slightly too cool for prolonged human comfort, and labeled to high heaven. Objects will most likely be grouped by material- ceramics/pottery, metals, precious metals and stones (jewelry or beads), stone, glass, wood, bone/ivory/other organic material like feathers or teeth or anything that can be decorative, textiles, paintings. A museum often has some paper material/documents, usually part of or related to a group of objects they acquired, but generally paper and photographic material is the realm of archives and archivists. Yet again, the bigger/more well-funded the museum, the more likely it to have a separate archive department, so your character could also work as an archivist in a museum.

Another thing the collections care folk probably do is ship objects. Remember how I said that  museums loan objects and exhibitions to each other? The stuff’s gotta travel somehow! If things are being shipped internationally, they’ll go in big wooden crates, with specifically dimensioned partitions inside. Then it will be lined with our favorite foam and tissue paper, cut so the objects sit snugly inside. I haven’t personally worked anywhere with a possibility of local shipments, so I can’t say where the threshold might be as to when a museum would just pay an employee to drive the objects over vs ship them with a shipping company. But the preparations would be similar, minus the big wooden crate but with extra-careful packing (and paperwork and insurance etc)

Conservation

Conservators are the people who work in labs with fancy equipment. Not every museum will have a formal conservator or a lab of any kind; sometimes the collections care person fills this role, or if something urgently needs care beyond the abilities of the museum’s equipment, they might send it away to a lab elsewhere, the same way you can send your old VHS home videos to a professional archive to be digitized.

If an object is actively deteriorating in a way that could harm itself or other objects (as opposed to like, at risk of fading bc the lighting is wrong, which is a straightforward fix related to the environment), that’s when a conservator would intervene.

Some methods/machinery by which you can analyze objects:

Ultraviolet (UV) and infrared (IR) light - Different materials absorb and react to light differently, which you can use to identify them. Useful for seeing things like the different layers of paintings

Stereo-microscopy (microscopes, of varying strengths)

At magnifications of x5-x100 you can see things like tool marks from an object’s manufacture, traces from wear, deposits, and coatings

At x50-x500, with a thin sliver of a sample, you can see (and hopefully identify) fibers, layers, particles, metallographic structures 

You can get information from objects without taking samples, but samples are usually worth the information. 

energy dispersive x-ray fluorescence spectrometry (EDXRF) - EDXRF allows you to identify the elemental composition of the surface layer of an object. So it might tell you what a tool is made of, and also the composition of the objects it was used on, if they left traces

scanning electron microscopy (SEM) - an SEM uses a focused beam of electrons to produce a magnified, high-resolution image of the surface of an object

X-radiography, both film and digital - X-rayy are beneficial for objects that might be covered by dirt or corrosion and can show you details of an object’s construction or hidden structural weaknesses

I’m not a conservator, so if you want more hard science-based info, ask one of them lol

Listen to me. If you take nothing else away from this post, let it be this:

 Once an object is in a museum, it is never seeing natural daylight again. Sunlight is the ultimate enemy of every object’s lifespan. If you need to see an object in the sun or moon light for ~magical spell reasons~, you will straight up be stealing that object to smuggle it outside.

Okay. That being said, you do hear (and could probably google) stories about museum employees stealing things from their museums on purpose to prove a point about security or insurance to their higher-ups, so like. Depending on your type of museum, it might not be impossible to steal from lmao. (Don’t tell anyone I said that.)

Possibly the most useful advice for you to keep in mind when writing your conservator or collections care characters would be that touching objects hurts them. It might not hurt them now, it might not even hurt them in ten years, but every time you handle an object, there’s a risk that you’ll damage it. Not on purpose, obviously, but to err is human. The simplest, most effective advice my conservation professor ever gave us was “don’t handle an object if you don’t have to.” That means don’t move an object without a plan and a place to put it, first examination should always be visual, not tactile, etc. Unfortunately, that means that your character cannot walk around lovingly handling and caressing their favorite objects (unless this is a Night at the Museum situation where the objects are caressing them back, ykwim)

Museum Technician

These people probably have a lot of different names, but basically, technicians are the background muscle of the museum. They do the technical construction of bigger pieces of exhibition material, up to and including the exhibition cases themselves. 

So they wouldn’t deal with the small mount that the object rests on, but they might build the big plinth that the mount sits on. They’ll help move things around the building, particularly big heavy things, hang big framed works, assist with exhibit installs, and generally do most things which might involve power tools/equipment or heavy lifting

I worked in a big museum that hired a third party company to supply their technicians; I interviewed at another place that hired their own. If you’re a small museum, you might just have a freelance person that comes in once or twice a week to help move things.

Other

Other miscellaneous roles one could have in a museum: researcher (for exhibits and/or collections), gift shop or cafe worker, security guard, room attendant, translator, archaeologist, consultant

Honestly, TL;DR? Just have your character be a consultant of some kind. “Oh no, I don’t work here, I’m Y’s friend. They called me in to provide some expertise on X subject that they’re doing an exhibit on.” This could work for literally any subject- history/archaeology/anthropology, art, transportation, science and technology, anything you might find pictures of in an archive, idk. This could get you into an office or meeting room of some kind in the ‘employee only’ space of the museum, or potentially all the way into the collections store if you’re giving them information they were missing about some objects. Otherwise you’d probably (hopefully) need a key or some other kind of security clearance to get into the collections store.

Whew, that was a ride, huh? I hope this guide was useful to someone! I’m always open to answering questions if you think I forgot something or if anyone wants more details <3

[reiderwriter]

More Than Words

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female BAU!Reader

Requested: yes

Summary: After telling a white lie to your family about your relationship status, your forced to beg your coworker Spencer to pretend to be your boyfriend for a weekend wedding.

Warnings: Light smut at the end, penetrative sex, creampie, mentions of Spencer's childhood.

A/N: Thank you for the request on this one! Ever since I rewatched Season 7 and saw Spencer dancing with everyone at JJ's wedding I've been thinking non-stop about him just holding you close like that and I'm going to shut up now because 8k words of that is more than enough lmao.

You can find my masterlist here, and I just started posting all my stuff on AO3 as well, so if you prefer to read there, check it out!

Despite knowing about your brother’s impending nuptials for the last 18 months, it was in the final two-week stretch that you actually started panicking about getting the date that you’d promised them. It was one sweet little white lie that you had made that had just spiraled out of control, but you’d yet to actually manifest the secretive boyfriend who was “very real actually, mom, he’s coming to the wedding actually.”

It was that statement that had sealed your fate, and always one to wear your emotions on your face when you weren’t on a case, it wasn’t long before someone noticed your building anxiety and guilt.

“Okay, spill Y/N. You look like you just witnessed your favorite author kick a puppy or a kitten or something,” Penelope said when you dropped some files off in her room that morning, spinning around on her chair to face you as soon as she caught your reflection in her monitor.

“It’s this wedding I have to go to,” you sighed dramatically, falling into one of the other chairs in the room kept for visitors.

“Want me to help you get out of it?” Penelope offered, patting your hand comfortingly.

“I’m not sure my brother would be too pleased about that, since it’s his wedding and all. My mother would drag me down all the way from here herself if she had to.”

“Okay, so a no-show is a no-go. Then what gives, my sweet avenging angel? There has to be something serious to get you looking all glum.”

You sighed and ran a hand through your hair before straightening up and leaning into Penelope more, creating an air of secrecy.

“Promise you won’t tell?”

“Oh sweetie, if only you knew the secrets these four walls held,” she replied dramatically, pulling a laugh from you.

“Last year, I was so, I don’t know, jealous I guess, of all the attention my brother and his fiancee were getting because of the wedding, and it just felt like every time my mom called me, she would only want to talk about them because of the wedding. I felt left out, and I already live so far away anyway, so it’s hard to have that connection with people back home, so I might have told a small, tiny, inconsequential lie that now actually has consequences?” Your face flushes at the confession, and you can see Penelope trying her best not to blurt out her thoughts, intent on letting you continue.

“I told her I was seeing this guy. He’s amazing, he works in the FBI just like me, and he’s smart, and he takes me on dates to these amazing places, like museums and interesting restaurants and to book fairs. I told her he was handsome and that he looked at me like I put the stars in the night sky, and he just doesn't exist, Penelope. And now I have to disappoint my mother again by turning up to my brother's wedding without a date.”

“Oh sweetheart,” was all she said for a minute, and the sympathetic look on her face made you want to run out of there immediately.

“I know, I know, I need to tell her the truth, but I don’t want to do it at the wedding and spoil her happiness. She loves weddings.”

“And this fake boyfriend is supposed to be your plus-one?” she asked.

“My invitation read ‘To our darling sister and her mystery man,’” you groaned, wondering how you could have been so childish in the first place. You’d acted like any child on a playground would, inventing lies to make yourself seem more important and cooler.

“I think I have the perfect solution for you, angel, but you might not like it,” Penelope grinned from her chair, leaning back and playing with the pen in her hands nefariously as if she’d been waiting for this chance her whole life. You didn’t trust that look, but you had no other option, so you took a deep breath and listened to her plan.

–X–

Three days later, and you were suddenly pacing the hallways with a coffee and a croissant, poised and ready to kidnap an FBI Agent the second he passed you.

At first, you’d laughed at the suggestion she’d made, outlandish as it was. But 72 hours of reflection, and a timely phone call from your mother, and suddenly you were on board and ready to lock on to your target. You stopped pacing when you heard the elevator ding, signaling the arrival of Spencer Reid. You were thankful that his schedule was so regular and timed down to the minute that you had just enough time to ambush him in the hallway before any other member of your team noticed.

“Spencer! Here I bought you coffee and a croissant from that cafe I mentioned a while back,” you panicked, unloading the gifts into his arms quickly, taking him off guard, before checking left and right before pushing him into the nearest empty room and shutting it behind you.

“Good morning to you, too, Y/N. Is there a reason we’re in a closet right now?” he asked, looking down at you with knitted eyebrows.

“Yes,” you gumped, afraid to say anymore.

“Are you going to tell me what the reason is?”

“I need you to be my boyfriend for a weekend,” you finally blurted out.

“You need me to… Just for a weekend?” He looked confused, and you felt your cheeks flame up, as you tried your best to explain the situation for him.

“My brother is getting married in LA this weekend, and I need a date. I told my mom last year that I was in a relationship with a really great guy who also works for the FBI.”

“Oh. So, you broke up with him and don’t want to tell your mom?”

“No, he never existed. Long story, I can explain on the plane, but I really need you to come with me! I’ll pay for everything, and I’ll even get you this coffee and any pastry of your choice every day for a month, please, please, please!” You begged him, so desperate that you were moments away from dropping to your knees and grabbing his leg, refusing to move until he acquiesced. You didn’t have to in the end.

“Oh, sure, I’ll go. When did you say it was?” Your jaw fell open in shock, and it took a few seconds to pull yourself back together as you reacted to his words.

“This weekend? The flight is tomorrow at 6 a.m.” You smiled sheepishly as his eyes bugged out of his head.

“This weekend? What were you going to do if I said no?” He laughed at you a little, taking a sip of the coffee you bought him.

“Honestly? Plan B was to cry, and plan C was to kill off my mystery man in a freak accident.”

“Wow, we just started fake dating and you’re already trying to bump me off.” His smile made you burn hotter than before, as you playfully hit his arm in response.

“Stop saying we’re dating. I pulled you in here to ask you privately because I didn’t want weird rumors circulating in the office,” you pouted.

“Then you better let me out of the closet, Y/N, before people think we’re doing something we shouldn’t be. At least three people saw you drag me in here, you know.”

With that, you rush to open the door and run out, shouting a reminder back at him.

“Just be ready, okay. I’ll see you at the airport at 6 a.m.”

–X–

The flight, despite being ridiculously long, was altogether quite pleasant, and you made it back to California in one piece, Spencer trailing behind you like a lost puppy for a while, letting you take up the role of “airport dad” as you guided him through the airport and to the hotel where the wedding was being held.

“So what’s our cover story?” He asked in the taxi on the way there, breaking the comfortable silence.

“What cover story?” you asked, looking up at him from your phone, still focused on just getting to the destination.

“Where did we meet, how long have we been dating, how much do they know about me?” He listed off the possible questions that his parents were absolutely going to interrogate him with soon. “I need to prepare so we don’t get caught out, right?”

“Oh, right. Based on what I told them, we met at work and we’ve been seeing each other casually for about a year now. I didn’t give them a name yet, which annoys my mom to no end, but I was always pretty private as a child so she didn’t find it all that suspicious. Other than that, they don’t know that much about my mystery boyfriend apart from the things we’ve done together.” He listened attentively as you spoke, taking each of your words in and committing them to memory.

“What was our first date?” He asked.

“Coffee shop. That place I got you the coffee from earlier, it’s called Flondon. I’m a regular there, so it made sense to use it in my story.”

“What else have we done together?”

“There was a book fair in New York a few months back that we, uh, spent the weekend at. You surprised me for my birthday with the tickets.”

“Wow, so I’m a really great boyfriend then.” He joked a little, and you let out another groan of annoyance at his teasing. You didn’t get the chance to finish your conversation though, as the taxi finally pulled up to the hotel.

You climbed out of the taxi after paying the driver, Spencer having already left to grab your bags, before walking into the foyer of the hotel.

“Y/N, just one last thing before we go in,” he stopped you at the door, grabbing you by the arm gently. “Are we… the, um. Hotels tend to get booked up pretty early for weddings, and I’m sure your family will be suspicious if we don’t share a room so…”

He didn’t have to finish voicing his thoughts before you were cursing, not having made the connection before.

“Shit, you’re right. My brother made the booking for me months ago. We just have to go in and get the room key but I totally forgot… It’s fine, right? We’ve roomed together on cases, haven’t we?” You asked, looking up at him.

“No, we haven’t. 67% of our motel bookings allow for single occupation rooms for Agents, I end up sharing a room with Morgan for 15% of overnight stays where double occupation is necessary, Hotch for another 17%, and the remaining 1% is made up of outliers where I had to share with Rossi or Prentiss, but we…we haven’t shared before.” He gestured between the two of you for a moment there, letting the facts sit with you.

“Spencer, it’s okay with me, is it okay with you? I understand if you’re not comfortable with it. We can just turn around now if you want.”

“No, no it’s totally fine. I just wanted to make sure you’re comfortable with it. Morgan says I snore, so I guess I’m not the best roommate in the world.” He smiled at you then, reassuringly, and moved his hand down your arm until it reached your hand.

You looked down at where his hand had entwined with yours and your heart gave a little jolt. Spencer didn’t like physical touch, and you knew that. You tried not to initiate any contact with him, despite being a touchy person, but there had been times after particularly tough cases and with close calls where you’d thrown yourself into the nearest person's arms, and he always happened to be near.

But those hugs had been thoughtless, natural reactions to stressful situations and this was intentional, and more importantly, he’d started it.

“Sorry, I just assumed we should get used to, uh, touching each other, I guess? We’re going to be doing it all weekend, you know, might as well start now.” He gave you an awkward closed-lip smile, and you giggled at his awkward explanatory tone. Squeezing his hand a bit, you grabbed your suitcase again in your free hand, and pushed open the door with your shoulder, pulling Spencer in behind you.

The lobby was filled with people arriving for the wedding, and you instantly spotted three cousins and two aunts from across the room, giving them a little smile as you made your way to the reception desk, Spencer right at your side.

“Hi, reservation for Y/N L/N, please.”

“Sister of the groom, right? Your mother asked me to give her a call when you arrived. Please wait one minute.” She handed you your key, and you felt yourself go pale, turning around to Spencer for reassurance.

“Oh god, she’s coming now, what do we do?”

“Y/N, calm down, it’s okay, we knew we were going to have to see your mom tonight at the reception anyways.”

“You’re right. Okay, right. Okay.” You breathed out, as Spencer wrapped his other arm around you, holding you in a closer embrace while keeping your hands locked together.

“One of my aunts is looking at us. She looks like she wants to say something. Oh god, she’s coming over, Spencer act natural,”

“Saying act naturally is actually counter-active-” but he didn’t have time to finish before you had turned to greet the older woman, disentangling yourself from Spencer’s arms as you hugged the woman warmly.

“It’s so good to see you, Y/N, you know how we all worry about you doing that job of yours. The other week we saw you on the news about that tragedy with the young girl…” she trailed off, giving you a worrying look before quickly shifting her gaze to her actual target, Spencer.

“I think I saw you too, young man. You must be Y/N’s boyfriend,” she smiled at him, waiting to hear a response so she could return to the other matrons with the gossip.

“Yeah, nice to meet you, I’m Spencer.” You could tell he was thankful that the woman hadn’t stuck her hand out to shake his, as he positioned himself mostly behind you, keeping his hands occupied by letting one settle on your hip and the other keeping a hold of your suitcase.

“Spencer? Spencer Reid?” You heard your mother before you saw her, turning around in your place to finally see her, as Spencer whipped his head around as well. “I’ve heard so much about you. It’s so wonderful to finally meet you.”

Your mother had none of the restraint of your aunt, and unfortunately, you’d inherited your clingy side from her, which is why she immediately swooped in to give Spencer a hug. To his credit, he greeted her warmly as well and didn’t avoid the touch, but he kept it short and polite nonetheless.

“Mom, how did you know…”

“You tell me about your coworkers all the time, I’m just surprised I didn’t work it out sooner. I always said that you talked about that Spencer with a fond tone, you should ask your father, he’ll tell you that I did.” You rolled your eyes at your mother’s words, doing your best to avoid Spencer’s gaze. He’d fallen back into place by your side as you greeted your mother.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, You know, Y/N has been keeping you as this big secret for the last year, and it’s so nice to see that you’re actually real. You’re here!” She sounded so excited for you that your heart almost broke under the weight of your guilt, knowing that you’d have to come clean at some point after the wedding. As it was, you were already going to have to try really hard to avoid the photographer and videographer throughout the night so you didn’t have to be constantly reminded of your idiocy whenever your mother got the photo albums out,

“Sorry, the two of you are probably exhausted after that flight, right? Go and get yourself unpacked. The rehearsal dinner is at 8 p.m. so we’ll catch up then, sweetheart.” She left in a whirlwind, having deposited you next to the elevators, and left you with no other option but to do exactly as she said, making your way to your space for the weekend.

–X–

The following few hours had been a little awkward, to say the least. You’d awkwardly pulled away from one another in the elevator up to the room, apologizing for invading each other's personal space. The room was a decent size, but still small enough that you’d be constantly tripping up over one another the entire weekend if you weren’t careful.

Reid carefully unpacked his tuxedo when you got into the room, and then quietly informed you that he’d need a shower. You’d unpacked your own things while he did, trying not to listen to the water flowing over his body in the next room. His earlier touch had ignited something in you, and your heart was beating at his every gesture now, something that you were sure it hadn’t done before.

What was it about weddings that made you so open to even the possibility of romance that even someone so off-limits could become the object of your affection?

So you tried not to listen, not to wonder why it was taking the man so long to just take a shower, not to let your mind wander to a place where it was perfectly acceptable to wonder what he looked like in that shower, and you unpacked and organized your things.

“Hey, Y/N, I’m really sorry but I forgot to bring my clothes with me,” he called awkwardly through the door a few minutes after you heard the water turn off, and you turned to the bathroom, not expecting the sight before you.

You’d assumed from the quiet volume of his voice that he was calling from within the bathroom itself, but instead, he stood awkwardly in front of you, a towel wrapped around his waist and torso, held together desperately in one hand.

“Oh shit, sorry, I’ll just turn around, I guess,” you stumbled over the words, dragging your eyes back up to his face as you did so, whipping yourself around to stare ahead of you.

“No, no, it’s my fault. I was so hasty I forgot my outfit for tonight. It’s okay.” You heard him fumble for his clothes and return to the bathroom quickly with another mumbled apology, finally allowing you to let out a deep, almost dreamy sigh, startling yourself. Mentally chastising yourself once again, you finished your organizing and let yourself fall onto the bed in the middle of the room sleepily while you waited for him to come out again.

You must have dozed off a little because you woke with a jolt when you felt a soft touch on your arm. There he was above you, a soft and concerned look on his face as he woke you up as kindly as he could.

“Y/N, it’s 7 p.m. We need to get ready for the rehearsal.” He whispered as if he weren’t too bothered if you didn’t want to go down at all, content to let you sleep. But you forced yourself upright anyways, and nodded at his words, swiftly moving yourself towards the bathroom he had since departed.

“Thanks for waking me, Spence,” You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, gathering your towels and change of clothes before turning back to him. In the four hours you’d apparently been dead to the world, he’d managed to dry his hair, change his clothes, and, from the looks of the book on the bedside table, read through an entire book twice.

He noticed you looking and cleared his throat. “Sorry, you looked so tired I didn’t want to wake you, so I just sat here and read while you got some sleep.”

“It’s okay, Spence. I guess I was pretty tired. I’m gonna go…” you gestured towards the shower and stepped towards it with an awkward smile, not letting him answer before you had closed the door between you and taken a deep breath, setting thoughts of him aside for the night before you focused on getting yourself ready to face your lies.

An hour later, you were making your way back down to the lobby, having received a text from your brother that that was where everyone was gathering before making their way to the dining room. Spencer offered you his arm in the elevator on the way down.

“Here, grab my arm.” He said softly down to you, a sweet smile playing on his lips.

“Oh yeah that makes sense,” you said distractedly, looping your own through his and leaning into him.

“It’ll also stop you from picking your nails,” he joked.

“I don’t pick my nails!”

“You so do. You do it when you’re nervous and when you lie about something. Last month on that case in Chicago when that officer asked for your number, you told him you had a boyfriend and started picking your nails,” he laughed down at you, enjoying your pouting face a bit too much as he profiled you.

“You’re one to talk. The last time a woman asked you out, you started rambling about the linguistic history of the phrase “go out,” in the romantic sense. She stood there for five minutes before she gave up.”

“Wait, when did that happen? I don’t remember any woman trying to ask me out.”

“Then you’re even denser than I realized, Doctor Reid, because they do it constantly.” Your back and forth ended there, though, as the elevator doors finally opened into the lobby. You smoothed out your dress and tried your best to act natural as the two of you made your entrance.

“Y/N! Over here,” you heard your brother and saw him wave at you from the other side of the room, his fiancee next to him receiving guests.

“It’s been so long since I saw my kid sister. Get over here,” he smiled at you, beckoning you over, and you released your hold on Reid to give your brother a warm hug.

“Now who is this kid sister you’re talking about because last I checked you’re only 18 months older than me.”

“18 months, 18 years, all that matters is that I am, in fact, the older one,” he released you from the bear hug and glanced up to Reid, standing awkwardly watching the scene waiting for an invitation to the conversation. “Holy shit, you’re real.”

“Hey! Be nice. This is Spencer, he’s my… he’s my boyfriend, we work together.” You felt your cheeks flame as you introduced the two of them, your brother looking at Spencer through knitted eyebrows, taking on a faux protective stance.

“Spencer, hey. Mom mentioned you were here earlier, but I didn’t think you’d be so gangly… It’s my wedding, and I’ve been told I have to keep all threats to a minimum, but if I see you getting all handsy with my sister, just know that I have a blackbelt in jiu-jitsu.”

“No, you don’t. You have a yellow belt in karate at most, and you got that at age 10.” You laughed at the man.

“And whose fault is that?”

“Oh my god, it’s been almost 20 years, I already apologized!”

“Apologised for what?” Spencer finally managed to butt in, watching your sibling bickering as if it were a tennis match.

“This little rodent,” your brother said, scruffing up your hair as he spoke, “broke my wrist when she was 8 and I was 10.”

“It was self-defense! You were trying to use your karate moves on me and I panicked!”

“And now, you’re a hot-shot FBI Agent and you get to break bad guys wrists all the time.” He finished for you and you laughed, suddenly glad to be back around family.

“So, Spencer, you’re an FBI Agent, too? I thought my mom mentioned something about you being a Doctor earlier.”

“I am. A Doctor. And an FBI Agent, uh, they’re PhD’s not medical degrees, though. Three of them, Math, Chemistry and Engineering. I also have Bachelor's Degrees in Psychology, Philosophy, and Sociology.” He answered, and you looked up at him proudly, taking his hand as you noticed him growing slightly uncomfortable with the attention from your brother.

“Wow,” was all your brother said, until he finished the statement with “All those degrees and my sister was the best you could do, huh?” You punched him in the arm after that, and you felt Spencer physically relax a bit, twinning your fingers with his as you chastised your brother.

“Anyway, thanks for taking the time to come to our, hopefully, lovely wedding, the reception will be starting soon. The dining hall is just through there.” You hugged your brother again, and, with a breath of relief, led Spencer down the hall to the dining hall.

“That went well, I think?” you whispered to him, conspiratorially.

“Your family is nice,” he replied. “Does he always act like that, or is it the wedding spirit possessing him somehow?”

“If you’re referring to my brother, I think he’s probably partaken in a few flutes of champagne already this evening. But yes, he’s always like that. They all like to treat me like a baby when they see me.”

“I think it’s nice. They care about you a lot,” his words were warm, but his eyes were sad, and you remembered what you’d been told of Spencer’s own childhood and felt your heart ache for him. His mom loved him a lot, but Spencer had needed to grow up much too fast. You squeezed his hand, still clasped in yours and before you knew it you were pushing onto your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you, Spencer. For being here,” you said as his now flushed face met yours. You didn’t let him respond though, simply pushing forward into the dining hall, ready to live in the fantasy of your own making for the evening.

–X–

“Spencer, you were amazing!” You giggled, walking down the hall to your room, stumbling slightly in your excitement and haste.

“Those magic tricks? The little babies couldn’t get enough of you,” you spun around, wrapping your arms around the man’s neck and pulling him in close to you, letting him hold you against the door to your room. He laughed a little at your antics as he pulled out the key card.

“Y/N, are you drunk?” he asked, one hand firmly planted on your waist to steady you now.

“No! I’m just happy. And if that happiness was caused by an array of cocktails forced into my hands by distant aunts and cousins who all wanted to know about my absolute catch of a boyfriend, then that is simply secondary to the feeling itself. And furthermore-” He pushed the door behind you in on itself, and your words were cut off by your legs giving out beneath you.

You were so sure you were about to take a tumble to the floor that you shut your eyes tight and braced for an impact that didn’t come. Opening them again slowly, you saw Spencer closer than before, his face mere inches from your own as he held you in an improvised dip, having caught you just before you’d hit the ground.

“Sorry. I… Shit, maybe I am drunk,” you breathed out, not letting your eyes drift from his own, knowing that if you ever considered a glance down at his lips at that moment, you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from closing the measly distance separating you.

“You should use the bathroom first,” he told you, but without making any move of his own, stuck in that pose with you as if he was content to stay there for as long as he could hold you. “You should take your make-up off. We have a long day tomorrow, right?”

You were the first one to move, letting your feet find a more solid footing beneath you and twisting up from his grip. His hands didn’t leave your body as you became more upright though, still keeping you in that close embrace.

“Yeah, I should… I should go wash up.” You said, and he nodded, still looking at you with the same intensity as before.

“Spencer, that means you need to move,” you whispered quietly, and he jumped back as soon as the words were out of your mouth.

“Sorry. I’ll just… I’ll just be over there,” he held his hands up in surrender before moving further into the room, leaving you next to the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes later, you emerged from the bathroom and were ready to sleep once again. Thankfully, you of earlier that day had managed to store your pajamas in the bathroom ready for their use. Upon exiting the bathroom, you saw that Spencer was getting ready to sleep too, slacks and a shirt having been replaced by a pair of flannel pants and a very old and beaten-up CalTech sweater, looking perplexedly down at the bed.

“Spence, what’s wrong?”

“We didn’t speak any further about the sleeping arrangements…” he mumbled and you looked at the bed in front of you, still confused at his meaning. “Y/N, we have to share the bed.”

“Oh.” You knew you probably sounded dumb, but after the amount of alcohol thrust upon you that night, that was all you could muster at this point.

“I can sleep on the floor if that makes you feel more comfortable. It’s probably no worse than some of the motel beds we’ve stayed on before,” he offered, but you instantly shook your head.

“No, I dragged you out here, I’m not making you sleep on the floor as well,” you sighed and made your way to the side of the bed you’d slept on earlier, beginning to pull the covers down so you could get in.

“What are you doing?” Spencer asked, perplexed by your somehow contrasting words and actions.

“I’m getting ready for bed. It’s late.” You replied, not looking up at him again, for fear that he’d spot the blush on your face. “You should too,” you continued, patting the other side of the bed, gesturing for him to get in, too.

“Oh.” It was his turn to stand there shell-shocked in the moment, and you almost let out a giggle but held back thinking that would be too much for him to take in at that moment.

“Come on, Spence, I’m tired, I’m sure you’re tired. We’re just sharing a bed, it’s not like you have to marry me after this.” You climbed fully into the bed, making sure that your nightgown covered you decently before pulling the covers up around you. Spencer mumbled something that you didn’t catch, but he acquiesced and climbed in after you. You turned your head over on the pillow to face him, turning onto your side as you watched him turn his head to you as well.

“What?” he smiled, noticing your stare.

“Nothing. Good night, Spence,” you smiled, finally letting your eyes drop closed.

“Good night, Y/N.” He whispered, and the sound of his voice carried you off to sleep.

–X–

You weren’t sure if it was the light streaming in through the window or the rise and fall of a chest that wasn’t your own was the first thing to wake you in the morning, but nonetheless, you woke from the comfortable warmth of sleep and found yourself wrapped around your fake boyfriend.

To be fair to yourself, he was also wrapped around you. Your head had gravitated from your pillow to his chest, his left arm wrapped up and around your back. Your leg had also risen in the night, pulled up over his waist, held in place by his other arm, which was, almost embarrassingly, cradling your ass, pulling you in closer to his core. Unsure about how to go about disentangling yourself, you resigned yourself to just waking the man up.

“Spencer… Spencer,” you whispered, letting the hand that had fallen onto his chest tap him slightly. He stirred a little and then cracked an eye open, looking confused with the situation.

“Y/N, is it time for the wedding?” He asked through half-lidded eyes, evidently wanting nothing more than to fall back into whatever dreams he was having. You shifted uncomfortably in his arms then, suddenly growing stiff in the position you’d probably held for hours, and found your nightgown had risen dangerously high on your body, his hand on your near bare ass.

“No, no, it’s just…” You rolled your hips against his in discomfort, and the movement had his eyes breaking open as he finally took in your positions.

“Shit, I’m….Sorry, I don’t know what happened, I must’ve grabbed you when we were sleeping,” he said, reluctantly slipping his hands away from your body, trailing his hand around your leg, and letting it fall onto his stomach. The movement sent a shiver up your spine, as you finally had enough room to lift your torso up, not quite ready to relinquish the proximity of your entire body yet.

“It’s okay, I think it was probably me who started it in the first place. Those pillows weren’t that comfortable…” you tried to explain, the hand on his chest rubbing slow circles into his skin before you could realize what you were doing.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position then as well, clumsily. With your legs still wrapped around his waist, you had no choice but to move with him, suddenly finding yourself straddling him, the bedsheets suddenly pressed away from your body. If he looked down, he’d see a lot more than you planned for him to see, your panties on clear display as your nightgown twisted itself up into the sheets.

“Shit sorry,” he moaned out again, as you steadied yourself with hands on his shoulders.

“No, it’s okay, I didn’t move quick enough.” You quickly pulled your dress down again, and extracted yourself from the bed, lifting your leg up and off of him and finally pushing off the bed, leaving him sat there.

His hands fell into his lap and you started gathering things around the room, readying yourself for the busy day ahead.

“I have to be in the bridal suite at 11, so we have about… two hours to kill before then. Do you want to grab a shower first, or should I?”

“You first,” he mumbled quickly, before clearing his throat and trying again. “You should go first. You probably have more to do today, right?” You nodded at his words and made your way to the bathroom again. Out of the corner of your eye though, as you let the door close behind you, you watched his hands come up to cradle his flushed face, as he let his head fall back again into the pillow.

–X–

The morning was so busy after that, you barely had any chance to talk to Spencer again. You spent the early afternoon in the bridal suite with the wedding party, welcoming your new sister to the family, then made your way to the aisle space set up outside, checking up on last-minute details and helping to flower girls into position. You weren’t walking down the aisle yourself, but you could see that the extra help was letting the very stressed-out Maid of Honour get some well-needed respite. And more importantly, it stopped your wandering thoughts from letting you fantasize about Spencer.

You’d woken up in bed next to people before, of course, but it had never felt so comfortable. In fact, other people you’d slept with said you were pretty distant in your sleep, choosing to move as far away from physical touch as you could get, but you knew with no doubt that you had been the one to move in first, to touch him first. That he’d pulled you even closer had your heart singing, and you wanted to be wrapped up in him all over again, suddenly desperate to seek him out. So you distracted yourself, not wanting to make any mistakes you would regret when you were no longer wrapped up in your own fantasy.

So you kept your distance as the ceremony started. Then the wedding march was playing, and you were holding back tears as his hand slipped into yours, your head falling onto his shoulder as you watched your brother marry the love of his life.

You kept your distance as you reached the reception hall, watching all the old ladies on both sides fawn over him, asking him questions, and watching from his side as he blushed at the attention. You swept the hair out of his eyes as the couple was announced, and you took your seat for the wedding meal and the speeches, his hand falling to your back to guide you to your chair, pulling it out for you like a true gentleman.

You kept your distance as your new sister tossed the bouquet, and despite your low effort and the ravenous looks of the bridesmaids, it fell neatly into your hands as if it belonged there. You ran excitedly over to him to show him and he lifted you into a hug, caught up in your own excitement.

You kept your distance until you realized you’d not kept your distance at all, physically unable to keep yourself away from the man who had somehow stolen your heart in the middle of the night.

“I know that look,” your brother said, somehow sneaking up on you later into the night as you watched Spencer perform even more of his magic tricks for the smaller guests.

“What look?” you asked, not for one second letting your eyes drift from Spencer.

“You’re in love with him,” he said, taking a swig of the drink in his hand.

“He’s my boyfriend,” you said reflexively, turning to the drinks table behind you and picking up one for yourself.

“No, he isn’t. Or at least he wasn’t before this weekend,” your brother said, as your eyes finally snapped up to him.

“Oh, don’t act all surprised, Miss FBI Profiler. You may be good, but I’ll always be your older brother, and contrary to popular opinion, I do in fact pay attention to things.” You sighed and leaned back against the table.

“How’d you figure it out?”

“You were picking your nails the entire way through the reception dinner when the aunties were asking you about your relationship. You did that when we were younger too, when you tried lying to Mom and Dad about how I broke my wrist. Doesn’t take two PhD’s to figure that out.”

“Three.”

“Three what?”

“Three PhDs. He has three of them.” You sighed dreamily and ran a stressed hand through your head.

“He’s just my coworker. I didn’t want to disappoint Mom by coming alone after telling her all those stories, but now…” You tried to explain yourself but words were escaping you in that moment.

“You should tell him, trust me. He definitely feels the same.”

“How are you so confident about that? How did you manage to end up with all of the confidence between the two of us, when I can barely work up the courage to tell my own mother I’m still single?”

“Y/N, look at me. You got the brains, I had to have something. And no man flies to the opposite side of the country on a few day's notice for a girl who is just a friend, okay? That’s more logic than confidence, and that’s supposed to be your strong suit.”

You considered his words for a second, turning back to look at Spencer. Evidently, he’d finished his magic show and was beginning to say goodbye to the children, but he felt your eyes on him somehow and met your gaze. He brought his hand up into a shy wave before a little girl grabbed his attention again, and he looked at her seriously, nodding along to each word she was saying.

“Fuck, what do I do, I’m not good with… any of this.” You turned back to your brother, but he’d left you there, stranded in your own thoughts as you let yourself hope, let your brain dream that one day this would be your wedding and the man by your side would be Spencer Reid.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the bride and groom request the presence of all the couples on the dancefloor for this next song.” You saw your brother again, next to his wife, whispering his explanations in his ear as she turned to look at you and winked as well. God, they were going to be a force to be reckoned with together now, you thought, as people started pushing past you to make their way to the dancefloor.

You recognized the song of course, and it was almost so on the nose you almost rolled your eyes. More Than Words by Extreme. Perfect.

“Y/N, may I have this dance?” He had somehow snuck up on you from behind as you watched your brother, and held his hand out to you. You put your drink down and took it, letting him lead you to the dance floor.

“I didn’t think you danced, Dr. Reid,” you teased him as he pulled you in, letting his hands rest on your waist, as yours came up around his neck, gently letting him sway you side to side in time with the music.

“I don’t really, but it seemed wrong not to,” he smiled. “I’m at a wedding, with the most beautiful girl on my arm, and the couple made it very clear that we should be dancing, so here I am.” You blushed at his words as he spoke. He removed his hands from your waist, instead grasping one of yours in his own as he pulled you closer.

You stared up at him with a soft smile for a few more seconds before letting your head fall back to his chest.

“I know I’ve said it a lot this weekend, but thank you, Spencer.” You said into his shirt, letting him hold you close as the song went on.

“You don’t have to thank me, Y/N.” He insisted, and you looked up at him again. “Actually… I didn’t exactly agree to this with the best of intentions.”

Your heart lept to your throat as you stared up at him, hoping that he would take your silence as a means to continue.

“I’ve been… I thought that maybe…” he struggled to get the words out, his face aflame with the effort.

“You promised me those coffees right?” He finally stuttered out, and you were left confused and a little disappointed.

“Yeah, Spence, it’s okay, I’ll get you those coffees for the month, just like we promised.” You couldn’t help the sad smile that played on your lips as you answered him, so sure that he was about to say something else.

“No, I mean… Y/N I don’t want the coffee. I want this. I want us to go home, and make everything that you made up come true. I want to take you on a date to that coffee shop. I want to be a boyfriend you can call and tell your mom about because it’s serious and it’s going to work out between us. I even… God, I even spent the morning looking up book fairs in New York City so I could make that come true as well,” he rambled the words out and you could feel the tears forming in your eyes.

“Spencer,” you said softly, trying to get him to focus on you, but he’d started speaking and he wasn’t going to be stopped so easily.

“And if any of that creeps you out, just say the word and I’ll never mention it again. Because I know I’m not good with this, and when I feel something, I tend to feel it overwhelmingly, and Derek tells me I can be really oblivious sometimes, which I don’t really get, but-”

“Spencer,” you put a bit more force into your words this time, punctuating them with a hand on his face.

“Spencer, kiss me.” And he does. He takes your head in both of his hands, and he draws you up to him perfectly, letting your hands fall to the lapels of his suit jacket as he steals your breath away one more time. The kiss is lingering, but short, and he hesitantly backs away, looking around to spot witnesses. But you don’t care and you pull him back down for another, and another, until you’re just two lovers on the dance floor that cannot get enough of each other, gasping for breath between chaste kisses as you let him hold you there, gently swaying.

“Spencer,” you whisper finally, forehead resting on his, as the song finally draws to a close.

“Yes?”

“Spencer, take me to bed.” You tell him, and he nods. He leads you over to the bride and groom where you offer each of them a hug and a happy future before making your excuses and running away with Spencer back into the hotel like two love-drunk teenagers, a mess of giggles and stolen kisses as you stumble up to your room for the second time that weekend.

But this time, you don’t hesitate, don’t pull away. He backs you into the door and you let him hold you there, his mouth on yours, your tongues entwined as he fumbles for his key card. You fall together into the room, laughing and smiling the entire way, not letting him escape your touch.

“May I?” He asks, playing with the zipper of your dress as you kiss his cheek, his jaw, his neck, anywhere you can reach, nodding and moaning your consent. The moment the zip is pulled down, he lets you go for a second, and the dress falls straight to the floor. You're practically bare in front of him, chest exposed, neck littered with the beginning of love bites that he’s about to absolutely build upon.

“You’re beautiful.” He says, softly, wrapping his arms around you again, lifting you up so your legs can wrap around him as he delivers one more soul-crushing kiss to your lips. Your brain is a mess of emotions, your only solid thought is that you will never let him go again. You both eagerly worked on unbuttoning his shirt together, a desperate mess of breaths as he finally laid you on the bed. His hand fell to your core, tracing a finger over your sensitive nub as you begged him for more, needing to feel all of him, to devour his very existence.

He pulled himself out of his remaining clothes, lips still attached to yours, climbing over you and holding you tenderly, his arms wrapping around your body as his legs came to settle between your own. Dropping his forehead to yours, he finally spoke again, his hand dropping between the two of you to line himself up.

“Is this… are you sure?” You heard the restraint in his voice, the desperation, the love, the overwhelming lust as he held himself back, needing to hear your consent.

“Spencer, I love you,” you whispered, and he finally pushed himself into you, joining the two of you together in a moment of bliss. You shared another sweet kiss, letting him swallow each and every one of your moans as he began thrusting into you, your hips rising to meet him in your delirious pleasure.

He whispered sweet nothings in your ears, brushing the hair off your face every now and again to tell you how beautiful you looked, and how well you were doing.

“You’re so perfect, Y/N, you’re doing so good for me,” he pressed kisses against your neck with each word, keeping his pace steady as you chased your inevitable high, already clenching around his thick cock.

“Spencer, I love you,” you let the words drop from your tongue like a prayer, repeating them over and over with each thrust as small tears welled up out of your eyes. He kissed them away from your cheeks, listening to each confession as your stomach tightened and your climax spilled over you. He grabbed your waist then, leaving one hand cupping and stroking your cheek as his own thrusts grew sloppy, finally spending himself fully inside you.

“I love you, too,” he whispered into you then, unwilling to let you go for even one second. You spent the rest of the night whispering the words back and forth to one another, waiting with bated breath for the fantasy to break, for the magic of the wedding to wear off.

It never did.

[zurazurax2]

You’re Invited!

Mac (Date Everything) x Reader Oneshot

Synopsis: You receive an interesting google calendar invite from Mac (post-realization)

(Author’s Note: Do any of y’all use google calendar or something like it? This whole fic is just inspired by the invite feature on google calendar, a little suggestive at the end but nothing actually happens)

Word Count: 2.1k

__________________________________

Your life has never been so lively, especially after receiving the Dateviators. You’ve made so many new relationships, rejuvenated your confidence, and grew a newfound appreciation for the world around you. However, your escapade eventually had to end as you realized all your household objects, with each going on to follow their individual passions. Only one object, technically human now, stayed: Mac. They were the only one you secretly wished would stay, but if after being realized expressed interest in leaving to explore the world in their new form, then you would not have stopped them either. Yet, Mac chose to stay with you and you could not have been happier. 

Mac got an entry-level job at the local Valdivian Bank doing cybersecurity, quickly though, they branched into data science and now has become the head analyst/consultant for cybersecurity, data science, and security architect for every Valdivian bank in the state. Having made quite the impression so far it is expected they will only rise higher in the company. You could not have been prouder (and surprised since it has only been 1 month since they got hired). They mostly work from home, any important meetings being able to be done over a virtual conference, only occasionally having to work onsite for things like checking out the bank’s supercomputers.

You on the other hand also got an entry-level job, but it was at a local community-run organization. Mostly your job consists of redirecting emails, scheduling/ rescheduling events, and organizing files; so a lot of time on the computer. It wasn’t too bad and the atmosphere around the office was friendly, plus you were able to see how your seemingly small job helped the community. You could say your time with the Dateviators really sparked a desire to help others.

You two loved that both of your jobs were mostly on computers, it allowed you two to constantly be able to communicate, regular check ins, sharing funny videos, flirty texts, and have even decided to share a google calendar. After being realized Mac and you started to explore and try out as many new things as possible restaurants, movies, museums, parks, etc. But as the first month of them being realized was coming to a close you both saw your full-time jobs were leaving less and less room for free time. You knowing of Mac’s appreciation for efficiency made you start a co-shared google calendar. At first it was a way for you guys to know what your hours for the week and when your breaks were but once Mac found out about the invite feature it was all over. 

Almost every day while at work you would get a notification that Mac had sent you an invitation to somewhere new. Scheduled for when you two had free time, you would click on the location to check the place out, always with a note attached:

“A new movie from that franchise you love came out, we should go watch it together!”

“We should see the current art exhibition at the museum!”

“I had never had ____ food, we should check it out!”

“_____ Park is known to have such beautiful scenery, its nearby and accessible if you’d like to go?”

So today, while you were focusing on your tasks the DING that came from the corner of your screen barely made you bat an eye. You took a few moments to wrap up what you were currently doing and opened gmail to find a brand new invitation from Mac, though immediately this one was noticeably different. First, it was simply titled “Interfacing” instead of the name of the establishment they had in mind. Second, it was set for later today after work, at 5:30, you found the suddenness peculiar since you usually returned home around 5:20ish…. also this event was set to last for 2 hours? Third, the location was set to you guys’ home. The gears in your brain started moving as you tried to understand what Mac had invited you to. Fourth, the note was long and written in binary this time, the realization hitting you as soon as you translated it.

“01000010 01101111 01101111 01110100 00100000 01101101 01100101 00100000 01110101 01110000 00100000 01100001 01101110 01100100 00100000 01110011 01111001 01101101 01101101 01100101 01110100 01110010 01101001 01100011 01100001 01101100 01101100 01111001 00100000 01101001 01101110 01110100 01100101 01110010 01100110 01100001 01100011 01100101 00100000 01110111 01101001 01110100 01101000 00100000 01101101 01100101 00100000 01100010 01100001 01100010 01111001”

Your eyes instantly widened as you read the translation quickly looking around to see if anyone was watching, once you confirmed no one was you stared blankly at the invitation. You were speechless. Mac had never done something like this before, with their new human body any intimacy was initiated when you two were physically together. You wondered to yourself why today they wanted to schedule it, it felt… oddly impersonal, you didn’t know whether or not to accept the invitation. It was currently 4:11PM so you decided to leave it unanswered and would ask them personally when you returned home.

…

Opening your front door you weren’t sure what you were expecting. The strange invitation and tone of the note made it sound like something special was waiting for you but there was nothing out of the ordinary as you entered your home. Usually Mac was somewhere near the front door, ready to greet your arrival with a hug and kiss, though as you left your car keys on the front drawer the distant clicks of typing coming from upstairs made it apparent they were in the bedroom. They must still be working, too focused to notice it was the regular time of your arrival. Deciding to not bother or distract them if they were finishing up, you set your work items in your shared office and walked to the kitchen. Opening the fridge to check what ingredients there were to make dinner except you noticed Mac had already ordered takeout… without asking you? The food was from a restaurant you two visited last week. It was a mix of food you two enjoyed from there but also new options from the restaurant’s menu; again, odd they wouldn’t have asked for your input. The abnormality of it made you remember the invite you received from them and with that decided to finally make your way upstairs. 

At the top of the stairs you see to your right, the door to the workout room is opened and peeking in you see Roni doing numbers on the variety of mouse toys and activities Mac had installed in the room for them. We should get Roni a friend or two, you comment to yourself, mice are social creatures, it must get lonely for Roni when we are both busy working. You added the idea to a mental to-do list as you made your way to the bedroom. The door was slightly creaked open, likely so that if Roni wanted to they could come back to lay on Mac’s shoulder like they usually do. 

You peaked through the crack before pushing the door open. Mac is sitting on the left side of the bed, back on the headboard with the assigned Valdivian Bank work laptop on their lap, one hand on their chin, eyes closed and lip slightly pouting, they were deep in thought.

“Please tell me you’re finishing up and not that you’re still working even though it’s past your scheduled hours,” you say with concern as you enter, walking over to them. Mac is used to being overworked, as a computer you used them for more than 11 hours daily and after being realized developed the habit to always be working if they have any free time. It is technically your fault for always being glued to your computer screen, still you’ve been doing your best to stop them every time it happens. 

Mac slightly jumped, “Oh baby you’re back!”, definitely not having noticed the hour or heard you come inside the house. “I needed a distraction and lost track of time, I’m sorry I couldn’t greet you at the door per usual”, they close their laptop and moved it aside, you came over to their side of the bed to give them a quick kiss.

“A distraction from what?” You ask, moving away to go change out of your work attire, but Mac catches your hand, looking up at you they squeeze it softly, a silent request for you to come closer. You do, a slight feeling of worry building up inside of you, “is something wrong Mac?” 

“No, everything is alright although… can you sit with me for a moment, my love?” There was something about Mac’s tone of voice, it had its usual calm and matter-of-fact cadence but it had an underlying sense of neediness. 

“Of course.” With that they motioned for you to sit sideways on their lap instead of beside them like you thought they meant, though you were technically sitting on the bed with your thighs over theirs instead of sitting directly on their lap. Once adjusted, Mac cups your face and pulls you into a longer, more passionate kiss; right hand caressing your cheek then lands on your shoulder.

Once you pull apart, they speak, breathless, “You asked what I needed a distraction from?”, their left hand moves around the small of your back, resting on the side of you left thigh, “well the answer is a little embarrassing” they pause for a moment, “but its from you”.

“From me? I was at work, how could I distract you when I’m not here?” you asked puzzled.

Mac answers you with their own question, “did you get my google invite?”.

Your face turned red as you remembered the note attached to the invite. “I did, now that I remember I wanted to ask what’s with the invite? I know you love efficiency but it feels odd knowing you want to schedule our ‘interfacing’.”

“Oh, my love, it’s not about efficiency! I’m sorry I didn’t mean to make it feel impersonal, it’s just that…” Mac looked down, seeming to be putting together their thoughts. “Do you want me to be completely honest?”

“I want you to always be honest with me, Mac.” You cup their face to reassure them, mimicking the way they often do it to themselves to calm down.

Mac’s hold on your thigh softens as they begin to lightly rub circles in it. “The truth is I’m still getting used to all these new human sensations, I love that we can finally interface like this but it can so overwhelming sometimes. Especially when it comes to intercourse. I never experienced anything other than your sweet double clicking and now I find it so hard to control myself at times.” They admitted, their face completely red from their admission. “Now, in this body, I can no longer calm myself down with fans or a liquid cooling system, whether you’re here or not I ache for you constantly.” Mac takes a moment to look you up and down before continuing, “In spite of that, I don’t want you to feel as overwhelmed as I do with these new and constant sensual desires, that’s why I sent you the invitation on our calendar. I wanted to give you a choice and not feel pressured, so there, that’s how you distract me”. They stare at you intensely, waiting for your response.

It takes you a few seconds to fully process what they said, eventually you speak, “and you say you need me this way often?”.

“Without fail”, Mac declares immediately.

You stop making eye contact and move your eyes down, with your hand you slowly trail down from Mac’s face to their chest, down their stomach, and eventually your hands make it between their thighs and you give them a light rub. Mac lets out a moan at the sensation, making you rub a bit harder this time, and they rest their head on your shoulder as they groan from the feeling. 

You whisper into their ear as you start full on rubbing them through their pants, “Mac, you should have been honest from the beginning. I want to help you through this new experience and I don’t mind if it means helping you in this way too, even if you feel it happens excessively I promise you I still want to be there for you because I love you Mac.”

“R-really?”, they respond in between pants, with their arms they hold you tighter to try and steady themselves.

“Of course, now lay back and tell me what you need”, you move your legs to straddle them as they readjust themselves.

“O-okay, yes, thank you, I love you too Y/N”, Mac follows your instructions and begins to lay on their back, feeling reassured, eager and filled with anticipation for what’s about to happen. They can’t believe how lucky they are to get to call you theirs and live this life with you.

__________________________________

Ugh, I wish I could add images in the middle of my fanfic cuz I had no idea how to describe how they are sitting 

This is pretty self indulgent, I love comfort and loving being mixed with a bit of smut (honestly you can barely call this smut), but I hope you guys enjoy!

Mac college AU part 3 out next y’all✌️

[gakukitty]

mini sakadays bf hcs ‪‪❤︎‬⸝⸝

𓂃  ࣪   ˖ sfw ver. — nsfw ver. (coming soon)— masterlist.

boyfriend! nagumo who takes you in the most random dates ever. from the theatre, to the museum, to a nearby duckpond— he never ever bores you !!

boyfriend! gozu who looooocesss teasing you. he leans down from behind, warm breath brushing lightly against the back of your neck as he whispers a soft, “i found yoouuuu.” the man just laughs at the startled expression on your face.

boyfriend! shin who makes it his mission to make you the happiest person in the world. hugs, kisses, flowers, gifts, personal space, food— anything you want, he’ll give it to you.

boyfriend! heisuke who likes bringing you to rooftops!! he helps you climb up the ladder, his hand arm against yours as he pulls you up. and once the two of you are able to the see the view, the man has to hold himself back from bursting into tears. he’s just so happy— the view looks so nice from here— you look so nice. tries to drop a cheesy compliment but he lets out a little sniffle in the middle of it :’)

boyfriend! uzuki who’s sooo freaking patient with you. this man loves listening to you talk about whatever’s interesting you at the moment— he’s never, ever too busy to speak with you !!

boyfriend! tenkyu who’s got a bad habit of forgetting to dress up after showers. he steps out of the bathroom, practically naked— only partially covered, thanks to the towel wrapped dangerously low on his waist. but the man doesn’t care, in fact; he doesn’t even notice. not when he’s already walking over to your side and throwing himself onto your body as you rest on your bed. gentle droplets from his wet hair drips onto your skin, a smile curved onto his lips as he wraps his arms around you.

boyfriend! shishiba who really enjoys going on walks with you. no matter the season or time, he likes to take your hand and gently tug you along as soon as you’re out of the door. it’s dark out? get a little closer to the street lamp, sweetheart. it’s snowing? well, his warm scarf is suddenly wrapped around you. it’s summer? let’s stop by a nearby convenience store and get you a sweet popsicle.

boyfriend! gaku who’s your biggest supporter. no matter what you do, he’s right there behind you and giving you a motivational thumbs up. you could be in the most stupidest argument ever with someone, and your boyfriend would loyally take your side. he might mention it later, telling you that it probably wasn’t the best idea,, but in the end, he’d still cheer you on. because he’s always there to beat up anyone who’s getting too close.

boyfriend! natsuki who likes to watch you sleep. it all started one night, when you were sitting beside him as he worked on a weapon— until your head slumped against a nearby shelf. you had fallen asleep. ever since then, he’s become a little more aware. sets up a more comfortable place for you to sit, sometimes even lets you toy with some scrap metal before you finally get sleepy. this doesnt apply to just his workspace, either— some nights, your boyfriend likes to lay beside you, his eyes taking in your peaceful, sleep-ridden expression. he sighs dreamily a few times that night.

© gakukitty please don’t copy my work , repost it and claim as your own , translate , or use it to train ai ♡

[it-is-i-zim]

"My child is fine."

Your child cried because an unnamed NPC in a video game sarcastically called them "Meg's favorite little scoundrel." because they've never been anyone's favorite, let alone the favorite a fictional woman who's known her for less than a month.

"My child is fine"

Your child feels warm and fuzzy when a fictional robot detective tells them "You did good" after a firefight.

[ortegahaze]

love at first fight

pairing: Cairo Sweet x gn!reader

synopsis: you meet Cairo in a dive bar, and sparks fly at first sight. Over time, the two of you share an intense connection, but her fear of getting too close leads to a fight that pushes you both to the edge. When she storms out, you chase after her, realizing just how deeply you need her.

warnings: brief mentions of alcohol, fluff, angst, fear of abandonment, family issues. i think that’s it.

a/n: i watched miller’s girl, and my spotify shuffled into LANY’s love at first fight, so that’s what you’ll get! bear with me on my first attempt at writing something!

word count: 5,1k

—

You push open the creaky door to a crowded dive bar on the Lower East Side, the warm, sticky air washing over you as you step inside. It’s one of those dim, unassuming places where the music is just a bit too loud, and the lights are almost nonexistent—perfect for people looking to get lost, even if only for a night.

Navigating through bodies and laughter, you head to the bar, scanning the room for the friends who insisted you needed a night out. You finally spot them, greet everyone, and order a drink, feeling the thump of the bass in your chest as you settle into the rhythm of the place.

After a few rounds, as conversations start to blur, you feel the need for some fresh air—and maybe a trip to the bathroom. You follow a dimly lit hallway and join a small line in front of the restroom. That’s when you see her.

She’s leaning against the wall, eyes fixed on her phone, with a slightly furrowed brow that only adds to her effortless cool. You notice her right away—her dark hair falling just below her shoulders, curtain bangs framing her striking, intense features. You watch as she raises her head, eyes flickering with curiosity before they lock onto yours.

For a moment, everything else fades, and it’s just the two of you, held in place by a magnetic pull neither of you quite understands. She studies you, her lips curving into a faint, intrigued smile. Her gaze is steady, deliberate, like she��s sizing you up, and you can’t help but feel a surge of excitement under her scrutiny.

“You waiting on the bathroom too?” you ask, nodding toward the closed door, trying to initiate some sort of conversation.

She tucks her phone into her pocket, crossing her arms as she leans in a little closer, deciding to gift you with her full attention. “I thought about cutting the line,” she replies, her voice low, with a hint of mischief. “But I’m trying to behave tonight.”

You chuckle, noting the playful gleam in her dark brown eyes. “Is that something you have to work on?” She tilts her head, considering you with a smile that makes your pulse quicken. “Depends on who’s asking. What’s your name?”

“Y/N.” You tell her, feeling strangely nervous, but the nerves melt away as she repeats it softly, as if testing it out. “Nice to meet you. I’m Cairo.”

“Cairo,” you say, letting the name roll off your tongue. “That’s a unique name. I like it.”

She shrugs, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “It’s grown on me. So, what brings you here?”

You laugh at her directness. “Oh, you know, just another Thursday night. Friends dragged me out of the house and into trouble.”

Her smile widens, and she leans in a little closer. “I like that. I don’t usually come to places like this, but I figured I’d give it a shot.”

The bathroom line moves, but you both stay put, caught up in your conversation. There’s a palpable energy between you, sparking with each shared glance and laugh. She’s bold, with a way of looking at you that makes you feel like you’re the only person in the room, even though the bar is packed.

Cairo glances around, then turns her attention back to you, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Alright, so tell me something interesting about yourself,” she says, her gaze unwavering.

You think for a moment, trying to come up with something that might catch her attention. “I once accidentally ended up in a closed museum after hours,” you say, grinning. “Security found me taking selfies with the dinosaur exhibit.”

She lets out a laugh, her eyes lighting up. “Okay, that’s a good one. Remind me not to follow you into restricted areas.”

“Noted,” you reply, feeling warmth spread through your chest at the sound of her laughter.

The dark-haired girl steps closer, and you feel the energy between you growing, a spark that neither of you seems interested in ignoring. Talking about everything and nothing, words flow easily, punctuated by shared glances that linger just a little too long. Cairo asks you questions that dig deeper than typical small talk, and you get the sense that she’s genuinely interested in what you have to say.

Someone clears their throat impatiently behind you, reminding you of the line you’ve barely moved through, but Cairo only glances over her shoulder before looking back at you with a shrug. “Guess we’re holding things up,” she says, though she doesn’t make any move to step aside.

“Seems like it,” you say, matching her casual tone. “Not sure I’m ready to leave, though.”

“Good,” she replies, a playful gleam in her eyes. “Then let’s get out of here.”

You follow her out of the hallway and back into the main part of the bar, where the music is even louder and the lights even dimmer. She slips her hand into yours, leading you to the small dance floor near the center of the room.

The moment feels surreal, like something out of a dream, but you let yourself get lost in it, letting the music pulse around you as you move together, the crowd pressing in on all sides. You’re not sure how long you stay like that, moving in sync, bodies close and breaths mingling.

Cairo’s hands find their way to your shoulders, pulling you closer, and when she leans in, her lips brush against yours in a kiss that sends a jolt of electricity through you. It’s intense, overwhelming, and you feel yourself melting into her touch, the world around you fading until it’s just the two of you, wrapped up in each other.

After a while, you both break apart, breathless and grinning. She leads you to a quieter corner, where you spend the rest of the night talking, laughing, and stealing kisses. The hours slip by, and before you know it, the bar is starting to close up, your friends nowhere in sight.

As the night winds down, you walk with her outside to wait for her roommate, the cool air a welcome change from the heat of the bar. She turns to you, that familiar spark in her eyes, and you can’t help but smile, already wondering when you’ll see her again.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she says, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall. “Give me your phone.”

You chuckle, pulling out your phone and handing it to her unlocked. “Better late than never.”

She takes it, typing her number in with a quick, practiced ease, then hands it back to you. “Don’t disappear on me,” she says, a playful smirk on her lips. “I’m not done yet.”

Watching her close the distance with a quick peck on your lips, her arms resting on your neck, nails grazing the back of it. “Send me a text, and maybe we’ll continue this somewhere quieter.” She detaches herself from you, glancing back once with a smile that makes your heart race as she heads to her roommate’s car.

You look down at your phone, where her number is saved under the name “Cai.” You’re smiling as you head home, already looking forward to whatever comes next.

—

The days turn into weeks, and before you know it, you and Cairo have fallen into a rhythm that feels almost effortless. You find yourself thinking about her constantly—her quick wit, her sharp observations, and the way she makes even the most mundane moments feel alive with possibility.

It doesn’t take long for Cairo to start spending more time at your place. Her books are scattered around the apartment, and some of her clothes now occupy a corner of your dresser. One morning, you notice her toothbrush beside yours on the sink—a small, almost trivial thing, but it feels monumental, a sign that the two of you are sharing something real. Most mornings, you make coffee together, often in a rush as you both scramble to make it to class on time. You’re studying music education at NYU, and Cairo, as you quickly discover, is majoring in English Literature at Columbia.

You’re fascinated by her mind, by the way she sees the world and how she captures those feelings with words. Sometimes, she reads her writings to you, her voice soft and steady, and you find yourself captivated, hanging on every word. There’s a vulnerability in her poems, a rawness that she doesn’t always show in everyday moments, and it makes you feel like you’re glimpsing pieces of her that few others get to see.

One evening, you’re lying on your bed, a book in her hands as she rests her head on your chest, the two of you wrapped up in a comfortable silence. She’s engrossed in a collection of poems by Sylvia Plath, and you watch her as she reads, the way her brow furrows slightly whenever she comes across a line that resonates with her. After a moment, she catches you staring and raises an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

“Caught you staring,” she teases, nudging you gently with her elbow.

You chuckle, reaching over to brush a strand of hair away from her face. “Can you blame me? You’re kind of fascinating.”

She smirks, setting the book down and propping herself up on her elbow. “You’re just saying that because you don’t understand most of these.”

“Oh, is that so?” you reply, raising an eyebrow. “For the record, I appreciate literature. I just happen to be more of a music person.”

She grins, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Alright, Music Person, what’s the last good book you actually read?”

You hesitate, trying to come up with an answer, but she doesn’t wait. Instead, she grabs a notebook from her bag, flipping it open to a page covered in her neat, slanted handwriting.

“Here, let me educate you,” she says, settling back down beside you as she begins to read some of her notes. Her voice is soft, but there’s a power in her words, an energy that draws you in. She speaks with a passion that makes you feel as if you’re experiencing the books through her eyes, sharing in the emotions that each story brings to life.

When she finishes, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “You’re incredible,” you say, barely above a whisper. “I could listen to you read all day.”

A faint blush rises to her cheeks, and she ducks her head, smiling. “Yeah, well, it’s just words,” she mumbles, closing the notebook and tucking it back into her bag. But you can see the pleased expression in her eyes, and it makes you want to know her even more.

On another night, the two of you find yourselves walking along the riverfront, the cool night air wrapping around you as you talk about your lives, your dreams, the things that keep you up at night. You tell her about your goal of becoming a music teacher, how you’ve always felt that music could be a way to connect with others, to make a difference. She listens intently, her gaze never leaving yours, and you feel a warmth spreading through your chest, grateful to have someone who truly cares about your passions.

“Why music education?” she asks, genuine curiosity in her voice. “You could do anything with your talent. Why teaching?”

You smile, looking out at the shimmering river as you gather your thoughts. “Because I want to give others what music gave me—a place to feel understood, to feel like they belong. I guess I just want to share that feeling with someone else.”

She nods, her expression thoughtful. “I get that. Writing’s like that for me. I can put all these thoughts and feelings down on paper and make sense of them, even when everything else feels like a mess. It’s like finding pieces of myself in the words, you know?”

“Yeah...” Feeling a rush of affection for her. She’s so open, so unguarded in moments like this, and you feel grateful to witness it. For all her confidence and sharp edges, Cairo has a tenderness about her that draws you in, a depth that makes you want to know everything about her.

There are still times, though, when you can sense her pulling back, as if she’s afraid of letting herself get too close. You see it in the way she’ll suddenly grow quiet when you talk about your childhood, her gaze turning distant. You realize that for all her brilliance, Cairo is used to keeping people at arm’s length, holding them just far enough away to keep herself safe.

Her self-sabotaging habits linger, small tells that make it clear that trust doesn’t come easily for her.

One evening, as you lie together on your bed, she turns to you, a serious expression on her face. “So, what happens when we graduate? What if this… I mean, we’re both on different paths. What if you end up teaching in another city, and I’m still here?”

You take her hand, gently tracing circles on the back of it. “We’ll figure it out when we get there. But right now, I’m here with you. I’m not going anywhere unless you want me to.”

She nods, but you can see the uncertainty in her eyes, a flicker of doubt she can’t quite hide. You understand; she’s had people come and go, and part of her probably believes that you will eventually, too. But you’re determined to prove her wrong, to show her that not everyone leaves. For the first time, you feel like you’ve found someone worth holding onto, and you’re not about to let her slip away.

In those moments when she lets you in, you see the side of her that’s kind, vulnerable, and deeply passionate. It’s a side that not everyone gets to see, and it only makes you fall for her harder.

The weeks pass, filled with nights spent talking, laughing, and sharing dreams and insecurities, building a connection that feels stronger with each passing day. Cairo challenges you, inspires you, and makes you feel alive in ways you hadn’t known before. And despite the little cracks, the insecurities, and the fears, you both hold onto something rare, something worth fighting for.

As you lie together, her head resting on your shoulder, you realize this is what you’ve been searching for—a connection that goes beyond words, a feeling that’s as exhilarating as it is terrifying. You’re falling for her, and deep down, you know you’re in it for the long haul, ready to face whatever comes next, as long as she’s by your side.

—

It’s been a couple of months since you and Cairo started officially dating, and things are going well. You’ve fallen into a comfortable rhythm together, and you find yourself feeling more at ease around her than you ever have with anyone else. Then, one night, you get a text from your parents—they’re in town for a couple of days and want to meet up for dinner.

Excited, you bring it up with Cairo, hoping she’ll join you. “So… my parents are in town. And they want to meet you,” you say, flashing her a warm smile as you lean over the counter where she’s flipping through one of her books.

Her reaction is almost immediate. She tenses, her fingers pausing on the page, and her gaze grows distant. “Oh,” she says, not meeting your eyes. “They want to meet me?”

“Yeah,” you reply, noting her sudden change in demeanor. “I mean, it’s just dinner. I figured it’d be nice for you to meet them. They’re great—they’d love you.”

She frowns slightly, closing her book with a sigh. “I don’t know. Meeting parents is… kind of a big deal. It just… feels a little too… serious.”

You reach over, gently taking her hand. “Hey, it’s just dinner. We don’t have to stay long, and you don’t have to do or say anything special. I just want you to meet the people who mean a lot to me.”

She hesitates, looking torn, and you can sense her reluctance. You know—or at least assume—that she has a complicated relationship with her own family, since she never shares anything about them, but you hope that she’ll agree, if only to understand a little more about your life. Finally, she lets out a breath and gives a small nod. “Alright. I’ll go.”

The dinner starts off smoothly enough. Your parents are warm and welcoming, clearly eager to get to know the special girl who’s making you happy. They ask her questions about her studies at Columbia, about her dream to become an author, and at first, she responds politely, if a bit reserved. But as the conversation shifts to family, you notice Cairo’s demeanor start to change.

“So, Cairo,” your mom says, smiling kindly. “Do you see your family often? Are they from around here?”

Cairo’s shoulders tense, and she forces a smile. “Not really,” she replies, a slight edge to her tone. “They’re pretty much always traveling. I grew up mostly on my own.”

Your parents exchange a quick glance, and your dad offers a sympathetic smile. “That must’ve been hard. You’re very independent, then.”

“Guess I had no other choice,” Cairo replies, and the words hang heavily in the air. She quickly takes a sip of her water, avoiding further eye contact.

Sensing the tension, you try to shift the conversation, hoping to steer things back into safer territory. But the rest of the dinner feels strained, and you can tell Cairo’s growing increasingly uncomfortable. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you wrap things up, saying your goodbyes to your parents and walking Cairo back to your apartment.

Heading back to your apartment, you can feel the tension building, a heavy silence settling between you that only seems to grow with each passing block. She has been silent since you left the restaurant, and as you step inside, she slips off her coat and heads straight to the window, arms crossed, her body tense as she stares out at the city, the light from the street lamps casting shadows across her face.

You close the door, taking a deep breath as you try to gather your thoughts.

“Cai,” you say softly, “babe, what’s going on? You’ve barely said a word since dinner.”

She doesn’t turn around. Instead, she lets out a bitter laugh, her shoulders stiffening. “Your parents were just… so perfect,” she says, her voice tight. “The way they talked about family, about you. It’s like this little fairytale that I can’t be a part of.”

Her words catch you off guard, and you step closer, trying to understand. “They weren’t trying to make you feel that way. They were just… they were just being themselves. They were trying to get to know you.”

Cairo spins around, her eyes blazing, the moonlight filtering through the window and casting shadows across her face. “But don’t you get it?” she snaps. “I didn’t have that. I didn’t grow up with parents who actually cared. Mine were never around, always off in some other part of the world, leaving me to figure things out on my own. I had empty rooms and empty promises. That’s my reality.”

You reach out, hoping to bridge the distance between you, but she steps back, her fists clenched at her sides. “Cairo, I know you’ve been through a lot. But I’m here now. I want to share my life with you—everything. I want you to feel like you’re not alone anymore.”

She shakes her head, her gaze fierce and defiant. “That’s just it, though. You’re so desperate to bring me into this perfect world of yours. But that’s not who I am, and it’s not who I’ll ever be. I’m not some puzzle piece you can just fit into your life. I don’t want to be fixed.”

“I don’t want to fix you!” you say, your voice rising in frustration. “I just want to be with you, to understand you. I want to know the real you, Cairo, all of you. But you keep pushing me away, like you’re afraid of letting me in.”

She scoffs, a flash of anger in her eyes, and you can see her jaw clench, her expression hardening as she glares at you. “Afraid? You don’t know the first thing about fear. You’ve never had to look at everyone around you and wonder how long they’re going to stick around. People leave, okay? They always do. And I’d rather end it now than wait around for you to realize I’m not worth it.”

Her words sting, and you feel a surge of desperation, a need to reach her, to break through the wall she’s built around herself. “Why are you so determined to sabotage this? To ruin something that could be good?”

She laughs, a sharp, bitter sound, her eyes filled with a mix of pain and anger. “Because that’s what I know. This is how I survive, alright? By keeping people at a distance. It’s better to feel nothing than to risk everything and end up with nothing.”

Your chest tightens, and you feel the anger bubbling up inside you, the frustration spilling over as you step closer, looking her in the eyes. “You think I’m going to leave, don’t you? You think I’m just like everyone else, ready to walk away the second things get hard. But that’s not who I am, Cairo. I’m here because I want to be, because I care about you. But you’re making it impossible when you keep shutting me out.”

The brunette clenches her jaw, her eyes blazing with an intensity that takes your breath away, and for a moment, the only sound between you is the faint hum of the city beyond the window.

The moonlight catches in her gaze, and you see the fire there, a fierce, untamed energy that both draws you in and scares you. She’s like a storm, unpredictable and powerful, and you’re caught in its path. She turns away, her shoulders heaving as she takes a shaky breath.

“This… this isn’t going to work,” she says, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I’m not what you need, and I can’t be what you want me to be.”

You reach out, desperation filling your voice as you try to stop her. “Cairo, don’t say that. I don’t need you to be anything other than yourself. I just need you here, with me.”

Practically interrupting you, she gives her back to you and heads for the door. She turns, looking at you one last time, and for a brief moment, you see a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes. But then she shakes her head, her expression hardening once more. “I can’t do this,” she says, her voice trembling as she opens the door and storms out into the night, without even getting her coat.

The door closes behind her, leaving you standing there, alone, the silence pressing in around you like a weight. You feel the hollow ache in your chest, the pain of words left unsaid, and you sink down onto the couch, replaying the fight in your mind. You remember the way the moonlight caught in her eyes, the fire in her gaze as she looked at you, and you feel a surge of regret, a desperate need to chase after her, to tell her that you’re not giving up that easily.

You grab your coat—and hers and head out. Sprinting down the stairs, feeling each step rattle beneath you as you grip the railing, your breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. You’d hit the elevator button a dozen times, but it never came, leaving you with no choice but to take the stairs, every floor dragging you further into a spiral of regret and desperation.

As you descend, something inside you crystallizes—a single, undeniable truth that settles deep in your chest. Cairo has put up walls, pushed you away, tried to convince herself and you that she isn’t meant for this—but you know better. You know her and you’re not ready to let her go. Not now, not ever.

And it hits you all at once. You don’t care if the train to her dormitory isn’t running. You’ll keep running until you catch her.

It’s been two months and twenty-five days since that night at the bar, since you’d both shared a knowing smile that set off sparks. You’ve shared so many moments together since then—small, precious details that mean more than you could have imagined. And it’s in this moment, barreling down the last flight of stairs, that you realize you’ve never fought for anyone like this before. You’ve never felt so sure about anyone before.

You hit the last step and burst through the door, the cold air hitting you like a shock as you scan the street, your heart pounding. You spot her down the block, her arms wrapped tightly around her, shoulders hunched as if she’s trying to disappear into the shadows. You take off running, your voice breaking through the silence of the night as you approached.

“Cairo!”

She stops, and for a moment, you’re both suspended there, the world around you quiet and still. She doesn’t turn, but you can tell from the way she holds herself, the slight tremor in her shoulders, that she’s struggling. You catch up to her, breathless, reaching out to gently touch her arm, handing her the coat. She pulls away, just slightly, but getting the piece of clothing and wearing it, still standing close enough to let you know that she’s listening.

“Please,” you say, voice barely more than a whisper. “Don’t go. Not like this.”

She doesn’t respond right away, and you can see her clenching her jaw, the moonlight casting shadows across her face, illuminating the fierce, guarded expression in her eyes. “Why did you follow me?” she asks, her tone filled with a mix of anger and something else—something raw and wounded.

You take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. “Because I can’t just let you walk away. I can’t pretend that this fight didn’t happen, and I can’t pretend that I don’t care. Cairo, I’ve never fought with anyone like this before. And maybe that’s because I’ve never wanted anyone like this before.”

Her eyes flicker, and you can see the conflict warring within her, the tension in her shoulders as she struggles to hold herself together. “You don’t understand,” she says, her voice trembling. “I’m not… I’m not good at this. I don’t know how to be the person you want me to be.”

“I’m not asking you to be anyone but yourself,” you reply, stepping closer. “I don’t need perfection. I need you—the real you. The one who’s scared and fierce and so damn beautiful that I can’t think straight when I’m around you.”

She looks down, her fingers twisting together as she takes a shaky breath. “I’ve never let anyone this close,” she whispers. “I don’t know how to let someone stay.”

“You never really know someone until you see the other side of them,” you say softly, the realization settling deep inside you. “I didn’t know you were the one until tonight, until we almost lost this. But now I know, and I’m not letting you go.”

Her gaze finally lifts, meeting yours, and you see the tears shining in her eyes, the vulnerability she’s so carefully hidden beneath the anger and sarcasm. Slowly, she reaches out, her fingers brushing against yours as if she’s afraid that you might disappear.

“I’m afraid,” she admits, her voice breaking. “Afraid that if I let you in, you’ll see all the things I’ve tried to bury, and you’ll decide I’m not worth the effort.”

You take her hand, holding it tightly, grounding her in the moment. “Cairo, I’ve already seen them. And I’m still here, aren’t I? I’m not going anywhere.” She lets out a shaky breath, a tear slipping down her cheek as she looks up at you, her expression softening, the fire in her eyes replaced by something warmer, something hopeful.

“I don’t know if I can promise that I won’t push you away again,” she says, her voice barely more than a whisper. “But I… I want to try. I want this. I want you.”

A surge of relief washes over you, and without thinking, you pull her into your arms, holding her close as she wraps her arms around your waist, clinging to you as if you’re the only thing keeping her grounded. You can feel her heart racing against yours, the warmth of her breath against your neck, and for the first time, you feel a sense of peace, a quiet certainty that you’re both exactly where you’re meant to be.

As you pull back, you look into her eyes, a smile tugging at your lips as you finally let the words spill out. “I love you, Cairo Sweet. I don’t need things to be perfect. I just need you, with all your flaws and fire. Because you’re the only one I want, and I’m ready to fight for this, as long as it takes.”

She stares at you, her eyes wide, and then she lets out a breath, a small, almost incredulous smile breaking through her tears. “I love you too,” she whispers, her voice filled with a quiet, unguarded honesty that makes your heart swell. “Even if I’m still a little scared… I love you.”

You pull her close again, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, and for a moment, the world around you fades away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped up in each other. You can feel the weight of the past slipping away, replaced by a warmth that fills every corner of your heart, a quiet promise of all the things yet to come.

Finally, you step back, still holding her hand as you start walking together, side by side. It’s been two months and twenty-five days, but you knew without a doubt that her toothbrush was there to stay, and so was she. You both share a quiet smile, knowing that while the road ahead won’t be easy, but it’s one you’re ready to face together.

[cherrieshalo]

Romanticism

k.bakugo x fem!reader | fluff | art museum date | 1.2k words

You don’t know how you were able to convince your boyfriend to go to the art museum with you. He wasn’t one for dates where he had to stand and stare at something (you discovered this during a trip to the aquarium, where Katsuki’s usual scowl felt much more intense as he pointed at every ugly fish he could find and claimed they looked like Kirishima) but he did enjoy the closeness of being attached to you; whether it was holding your hand or an arm around your waist, he was glad to be spending at least some kind of time with you. 

Katsuki had dressed up for the date, too. Mostly under your advision. He only usually dressed up if he knew the date location would be fancier, but you insisted on the nice outfits ‘for once’ as you put it. Something about looking nice for pictures, or whatever. He couldn’t really hear you over the steaming noise when you were ironing his slacks. 

You tugged him by the hand across the glossy flooring, a large smile on your face as you looked at and yapped about different artworks. Katsuki, on the other hand, had no clue what you were ranting about. He understood close to none of it. Baroque? Renaissance? They both looked the same to him. Even when you explained they were not and why, he stared at you with his brows knit together. 

They both had religious…what's the word you used….? Iconography? Yes, religious iconography! He knew they both had religious themes but if you were two put two pieces next to each other and ask him to classify them, he’d glare at you to take his place. He wouldn’t want to disappoint you, after all.

The two of you stood in a large room, staring up at a painting of a horse. Katuski didn’t understand what drew you to this painting in particular. It’s just a horse, nothing special! He saw several other ones just in that room that seemed much more interesting to him. 

“Ah, romanticism. One of my favourite styles. Look how detailed the mane is,” your gaze was soft as it was focused on the painting, your hand tightly holding onto his. Your interlocked fingers caused your nails, the ones he ever so diligently paid for, to gently dig into the back of his hand. 

“Romanticism? What the fuck is romantic about this shit? It’s a fucking horse!” Katsuki huffed loudly, his agitated voice echoing in the room. 

“Romanticism and romance aren't the same, Kats…” you gently patted his arm to calm him.

“Oh? Do enlighten me, then. What is so different about them, hm?” 

You rolled your eyes, turning to face him. 

“Romanticism deals with romanticizing the natural world,” you explained calmly. “Nature was a source of beauty and inspiration. Pieces, whether paintings, writings, or music, could lead to a better understanding of our natural world.” 

God you looked so proud of yourself, Katuski couldn’t even be mad. “Ah, I see…” 

“Mhm! Think of like…Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. That’s a good example I think you’d know.” 

“I didn’t read that shit.” Katsuki said it with such a straight face it was nearly comical. You blinked slowly, turning back to the painting.

“Oh…” 

“Yeah, oh.” 

“...you should read it some time. I have three copies at home that you can choose from-” 

“Three?” the blond scoffed. Who the hell keeps three copies of the same novel? 

“Yeah. Three,” you shifted on your feet slightly. “One is an annotated copy for ‘creator’s of all kinds,’ one is a regular copy that I’ve annotated, and the last one had a pretty cover.” 

“Nerd.

“Your nerd,” you stuck your tongue out at him. 

“Yeah, unfortunately…” Katsuki grumbled, pulling you along. The sooner you covered the different exhibits, the faster he could leave and go stuff his face at the local cafe. He really was craving a pain au chocolat right now, but it had to wait. 

Katsuki hated to admit it, but he was actually having fun. Maybe it was because he was with you, or your constant yapping, but it genuinely wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. He sneaked in a few cute photos of you, too. That was surely a bonus, especially since he knew you’d be happy if he posted them to his Instagram story without being told to. He did love showing off his girl, after all. 

His favourite exhibit had to be the Ancient Greek exhibit. Maybe it was the way you were flapping your hands excitedly over the black-figure pottery (he really liked how they depicted many of the Gods and Goddesses on them) or how you would giggle at the male nudes you said were called kouros with him. 

Katsuki found the Egyptian exhibit to be a favourite as well, his gaze fully focused on the different sarcophagi on display. He tilted his head slightly in curiosity. Some of the heads were sculpted, while others were more realistic painted portraits on what he thought looked like wood paneling. 

“Huh, I wonder why they changed it…” he mumbled under her breath. 

“Roman invasion.”

“What?” he turned to you, face scrunching up. 

“Yeah, Romans. Egyptians changed their burial practices after the Romans invaded. Things became simpler and closer to Hellenistic influence. And the painted faces were done similarly to Roman art, like many of the religious pieces,” you explained to him, using your finger on the glass to point out the differences. “Greco-Roman influence.” 

Katsuki turned to you, eyes squinted as his grip on your hand tightened. “How the hell do you know all of this, pretty? We’ve been running around all day and your mouth never stopped spitting information out at me.”

“Very disappointed you don’t know by now, Kats…” you pouted, raking her nails of your free hand up and down his arm. 

“The hell you mean?” 

“I took art history classes my first year of university, dummy. Two, actually. It’s how I met Kyoka, remember? And if it wasn’t for that…” you trailed off in hope that it would finally click for him. 

“Oh, right.” Katuski swept under his nose with the back of his hand. “We wouldn’t have met. Or have you yapping in my ear all day.” 

“You’re acting like you hate it. Admit it, you enjoyed our date.” 

“Yeah, I did.” A small huff, paired with an even smaller smile. “I think I enjoyed it because of your yapping.” 

“You’re so sweet, Katuski…” you kissed his cheek with a grin on your face. He actually enjoyed the date? That was super totally awesome! Sometimes you were scared he would get bored or annoyed, so you must have done a good job with your limited planning done. 

“Whatever. Can we go to the gift shop and see if they have replicas of those organ jar things? The ones with the fuck-ass looking heads on them.” 

“Canopic jars…?” you guessed, earning a nod from him. “Of course, let’s go see.” 

Oh, you totally needed to drag him to museums more often. 

You wouldn’t have to wait long though for the next opportunity. Just 2 weeks later, he stormed into the bathroom as you finished brushing your teeth, nearly choking on spit as he magically appeared behind you in the mirror like a ghost. 

“There’s a cool art museum an hour away by train. Get dressed, we’re leaving in 20 minutes,” Katsuki spoke coolly before making his way out of the bathroom. Perhaps the day’s plans could wait, for fate had scheduled yet another free-yapping session your boyfriend wouldn’t be able to back out of now.

© property of cherrieshalo 2025 - please do not steal or copy my work to post elsewhere

[distracted-milkshake]

Like ‘Em Weird - Steven Grant x reader

Warnings: bri’ish reader, non explicit sex, snogging tf out of Steven, general embarrassment, slight jerk Marc

Words: 4k

Rating: M

Summary: A fast moving relationship halts abruptly when the cute guy you met at a cafe wakes up a completely different person.

or

How you helped Steven figure out his body has multiple tenets, and that he doesn’t mind sharing it it’s you

I haven’t actually finished Moon Knight, so any inconsistencies or straight up false stuff is on me. Other guy isn’t here because I haven’t met him yet

Whipping up 1-5k oneshots while I can't get even ten in on my wip is such a me thing it's not even laughable anymore

Also! I have read a lot about DID and talked with friends who have it, and the portrayal of the reader does not represent kind or correct treatment of people with such issues at all, just wanted to be clear that I as the author know that and this isn’t any sort of handbook

AO3 link

“You gonna talk to me or just keep staring?” 

Steven blinks, immediately feeling his hands and cheeks go hot. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was staring–!” He quiets as you stand and drag your metal chair the few feet across the cafe patio to his table, plopping into it. 

“Hi.” He murmurs, eyes dropping to his lap as he wrings his hands. 

”Hey,” You reach your hand over the table, flashing a smile, introducing yourself. 

“Steven Grant.” He shakes it, adjusting in his seat.

“No worries, by the way. I never know how to start a conversation either.” 

“I am so sorry, really, I hadn’t noticed. I uh, I don’t do that, I swear, I was just sort of spaced out.” He sucks in a breath and lets it out slowly, running a hand through his hair to get it off his face. “I don’t usually see a lot of pretty girls around, not ones that I find pretty– well, I mean there’re plenty of pretty girls, just not as– you just…” he swallows, wishing he could sink far enough into his chair to disappear from the face of the Earth. 

“God I wish I could start over.” He says. 

“This conversation, or since you started staring?” 

“My life at this point.”

“Take as long as you need.” You grin. 

“My name’s Steven, I work in a gift shop.” 

“At the museum?” 

“Yeah,” he nods, sitting up straighter. 

“I knew it, I’ve seen you before! I love that place.” 

“Ah! Me too! It’s ahm, probably about my favorite place in the world.” 

He goes off about something having to do with history, half of which you don’t quite follow, but you listen anyway. 

He tells you about several different exhibits from the museum he works at, stuff that isn’t on the little plaques, going on tangents here and there about the origins of popular misconceptions. 

“…and that’s just off the top of my head; numerous examples of it.” He takes a sip of his coffee, suddenly seeming to realize something. 

“Shit. Im sorry, I’ve been talking entirely too much. You want to tell me about you?” 

“No, it’s cool, I get it.” You laugh. “You read a lot.” 

“Oh loads, anything that interests me, I love books.” 

“Music's my thing.” You say. 

“Oh, do you play?” 

“Nah, I collect. CDs mostly, vinyl sometimes.” You finish your drink, setting your cup aside. 

“I’d love to get into it, but I should be going. Do you wanna get dinner sometime?” You ask. 

“Yeah,” he nods and you pull out your phone, handing it to him to put his number in.

“I’m vegan, but anywhere you like is fine though. Saturday work?” He says. 

“Saturday’s brilliant.” You click your phone closed when he turns it back to you, tucking it back in your pocket. 

“Brilliant.” 

“I’ll call you with the place. See ya then.” 

“See ya.” 

Saturday rolls around, and you get off the bus to a lovely little Indian place with a bounce in your step. 

You had double checked they had plenty of vegan options, spending the last few days trying and failing not to text Steven every half hour. 

“Sorry! I got put on inventory again.” Steven huffs as he bounds up to you, making you feel a little silly as he’s all dressed up. 

“You’re right on time actually. I just came early.” 

“Oh, thank goodness.” He says, exhaling heavily and straightening his back. 

He holds up a bouquet. “Um, these are for you.” 

“Oh my God.” You smile, taking them from him, turning them over. 

“I hate flowers, but that has got to be about the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.” 

“Sorry, I’ll uh, I’ll remember that.” 

“Nothing to be sorry about, I appreciate it. Shall we?” You gesture to the restaurant door. 

“Oh– Of course,” Steven sidesteps to hold open the door for you, and you both head in. 

Seated with your food on the way, you look your date up and down expectantly, to which he sets his drink down and explains. 

“I am keeping my mouth sealed unless spoken to. Even if it means I’m staring.” He jokes at the end with a smirk. 

“Sure you’re going to be able to stick to that?” You tease, taking a long sip from your mango lassi. 

“Sure am. Talk to me.” 

So you do. 

You tell him all about where your from, your favorite band, the kinds of movies and shows you like, and he chimes in with his own, careful not to dominate the conversation with his preferred topics, which as much as you love the sound of his voice, you’re grateful for. 

“You know there’s something special about you maybe.” He says when you’re about finished with your meal. “I feel like I just click with you. Is that weird?” 

“No, it’s not weird.” You shake your head, meeting his eyes. “That’s not weird at all.” 

You walk with him down the street, hands in your pockets from the slight chill, but keeping close enough your arms are almost touching. 

It’s quiet, and it’s a comfortable quiet, but you can’t help but feel nagged at by a lack of something. 

You come to an intersection, and Steven turns to you. 

“Well, thank you, for going out with me.” You take him in, framed in the streetlight, messy hair and nice clothes, pretty eyes catching the light. 

“I hope you have a great rest of your night–” 

You push him against the brick wall of the building closest and catch his lips in a kiss, startling him as his hands hover over your shoulders, then your arms, before finding your back and waist, pulling you close. 

He kisses back confidently at first, then out of sync, then trying to pull away, saying something muffled. 

“Good?” You break the kiss to ask, wetting your lips. 

“Yeah. S’prised me’s all.” He says, breathing heavy. “I just wanted to say I think you’re gorgeous.” 

You pull him back into it with almost feverish urgency, pushing your tongue past his lips and to the roof of his mouth where you find his and press and move against it roughly, hand finding the back of his head to tilt just enough to have the perfect angle to explore. 

You recede to let him breathe and Steven catches a dribble of spit with the back of his hand, looking mortified as he having no where else wipes in on his coat. 

You bite your tongue to keep from laughing, wiping his bottom lip with your thumb. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Sorry that’s gross, I dunno if I’ve ever been kissed like that, I’ve no idea how,” he wipes his lips again. “It’s not like movies. Very, very wet.” 

“You talk a lot for someone who stares.” 

“In the restaurant. Out here I’ve dropped it now. You know I don’t know if I want to be remembered as that guy in your head.” 

“Something else, then?” 

“I’m cool with gift shop guy.” He says as you give him lighter pecks on the mouth. 

“Much better than spaced out Steven.” You giggle, tracing his cheekbone around back to his ear and down his beck, letting your thumb slip under his collar as you press your forehead against his. 

“Yeah well, I find it hard to get a good night’s sleep.” 

“I’d like to get a good one with you.” 

“Hmnn?” His eyes flit to your lips and then back up to yours, bewildered. 

“Oh, oh you mean!” He pulls back and gives an enthusiastic nod, a wide smile on his face.

“Hells yeah.” 

“I like your apartment,” Steven says under his breath between dizzying kisses in your entryway, watching you alternate between his throat and kissing him with utter fascination, unsure how to keep up or what to do with just how expertly you’re making him fall apart. 

“You haven’t seen it yet.” 

You pull him by the wrist through your living space, past the couch to your bedroom, where you shut the door and shuck off his jacket. 

“Do you have a condom?” He asks before you can devour any attempts he has at talking again with your mouth. 

“Yeah, one sec.” You dig around in your nightstand drawer, pulling one out and turning back to give Steven a gentle shove onto the bed, climbing atop him and undoing his buttons with your free hand. 

“I can’t believe this is really happening,” Steven says when you finish with his top and strip off your own, tearing the condom open and sitting back on your haunches. “This is unbelievable.” 

You grab him by the chin, making his heart skip a beat. “Let’s aim for unforgettable.” You say. 

Steven lays on his back, hands on his chest, having finally caught his breath. 

“That was lovely.” He says. 

“Lovely?” You repeat, stretching your spine, side eying him. 

He turns on his elbow you look at you. “Lovely. Amazing. Mind blowing. All of the above.” 

“Been awhile?” You chuckle, tracing his collarbone to his shoulder before hooking your arm over it. 

“You have no idea.” As lost in your eyes he is, he pulls away to check the time, sitting up. 

“I um, I should get back to my apartment,” he moves to get off the bed, and you sit up after him, catching his wrist. “Hey wait. Don’t be ridiculous, stay.”

“No, I uh…” Steven stops himself, not wanting to mess this up. If he told you he had some weird sleep condition, that he literally bolted himself to his bed to sleep every night for fear of missing hours or waking up places he didn’t recognize, he was certain that was the kind of thing that would scare you off. 

That look you're giving him, that half lidded, cocksure smile, still topless and not even trying to cover it, it’s convincing enough on its own. 

“That’d be just fine. Yeah. Yeah okay.” He relaxes back into the bed and you lean up and kiss him. 

“Great.” You murmur, pulling him in and tugging the covers back over you. 

Maybe just one night would be fine. 

Marc wakes up in an unfamiliar room, with an unfamiliar woman in bed next to him.

You stir, burrowing your face into the pillows before you feel the bed spring back, blinking your eyes open and pulling yourself up just enough to see him retrieving his clothes from the floor. 

“Hey, no rush, it’s Sunday, come ‘ere.” 

“I’m sorry, you seem nice and all, but I was not supposed to wake up here.” 

“What happened to your accent?” You laugh humorlessly, brow knitting. 

“Accent? Jesus, I don’t have time for this, I’ve got to be in Madripoor in like two hours, that idiot was supposed to be back at his apartment.” 

He gathers up the rest his things as he mutters to himself. “Yeah yeah I know, I can get to the justice after I get back to his apartment and sort things out there. I swear if this is what gets him… yes. Of course I’m grateful. I will handle it.” 

“Hey, wait!” You pull a t-shirt and pajama pants on, following him into your living room, but by then he’s already got his shoes on. 

He opens and struts right out your front door without another word, slamming it behind him. 

Monday afternoon you take your lunch break to head down to he museum, stomping right up and into the corner gift shop, where sure enough, Steven sits twiddling a pen while he reads. 

He sets aside both when you walk in, smile falling when he sees your face. 

You plant your palms and lean directly over the counter, huffing. 

“Hey, you know I really can’t believe I fell for your shy soft boy act, you pull that on everyone? Or was I just ‘special’ enough to catch your attention?” 

“What? I– what are you talking about– hey!” He jumps up from his seat as you push back from the counter, folding your arms. 

“I mean what on Earth is wrong with you!” You stare him down as he rounds his station to speak with you. 

“Hey, whatever I said, I’m sorry? I don’t– I didn’t mean it– will you please tell me what you are talking about?” 

“You jerk. Can you go one minute without lying? Rhetorical, because you obviously can, if it’s convenient to getting in my pants. God! I can’t believe I slept with you.” 

“You slept with me?!” He exclaims, hunching over as a couple passerbys give him looks, making you roll your eyes. “Holy shit, I thought I dreamt that.” He says mostly to himself, tugging at the hair behind his ear. 

You look at him, jittery, wrinkled clothes, chewing at his thumbnail. 

“Are you high?” You ask, tilting your head to get a better look at his face, trying to make out if it’s a bruise or just bags under his eyes. 

He quickly shakes his head. “No, no-no-no, I-I don’t do pills or anything. I mean, maybe I should, to be honest– but I’ve never done drugs of any kind.” 

You throw up your hands. “Why would I believe you after yesterday!” 

“Yesterday? Why– What happened yesterday.” 

“Unbelievable. You know, you aren’t worth this. Don’t text me anymore.” You turn to the door, but his whirls around you in a panic, blocking you. 

“Wait! Wait, please. Look I don’t know what happened the other night, but I assure you that's not me, I’m not like that, I would never say stuff like that, I’d never use you, I like you! I really like you, and I don’t want to never see you again.” 

You study his expression, torn between how completely devoid of any sort of dishonesty it looks, paired with how desperate his tone is, and just who you remember walking out of your apartment. 

“You’re acting completely different now.” You shake your head, hanging it and letting out a long sigh before looking back up at him, which you immediately regret because he has the saddest puppy eyes you’ve ever seen. “I have to get to work. If you think you can explain to me just what the hell is going on with you, meet me at the park at six thirty, I’ll… I’ll hear you out.” 

“Thank you,” he folds his hands, needing to shout after you as you make to leave. “I won’t let you down, I promise!”

You give a dismissive wave as you head out museum's front doors. 

“…and that’s all I know, I swear.” You’re seated on a bench in the park. By now the sun has set, and the lights are the only illumination with a cloudy night sky. 

“I believe you.” You sigh, letting the leg you’d been sitting on down from the bench to stretch. “How often does this happen?” 

“Most nights. Been trying not to sleep because of it.” 

You shake your head. “Why the hell haven’t you gone to a doctor?” 

“Because I can sort it, it’s fine. You go to a doctor if you're sick, I’m not sick.” He fiddles with his hands, realizing your looking at them he smoothes them down his pants and keeps them on his knees. 

“Sleepwalking isn’t sick. It-it’s just like, stress, or something.” Even saying it aloud he didn’t believe it, but what was the alternative? That he was legitimately mad? 

“Steven, look at me. You need to get help for this. That's mental. It’s not normal. Tell me you’ll get help.” 

“I’ll look into it.” He scratches at his neck.

You frown. “And mean it. You need help.” 

“I mean it, I will get help.” He nods when you put a hand over his, pulling him into a side hug. 

“Thank God.” You murmur. 

Two months later, you and Steven are kind of dating. 

Though your relationship had taken a big step back, you still texted and called him frequently. You didn’t feel like you could bring yourself to getting any closer, not when you still didn’t know who you had woken up in bed with. 

Today he’s over for tea, on your couch with his hands folded, helping himself to the biscuits you put out. 

You come back from putting the water on, stuffing a couple cookies in your mouth before he can eat them all. 

“Oh! I erm, I got you a copy of that new CD from that band you like.” Steven digs around in his bag, pulling out a still wrapped album, handing it to you. 

“Holy cow.” You scoff as you take it. 

It was the newest release from your favorite band, and had been sold out everywhere for more than two weeks. 

“I can’t believe you remembered. I’m putting this on right now.” You pop on the stereo, slow rock jams filling the apartment as the water boils and you bring the pot to the table, filling Steven’s cup. 

“So how are you doing?” You ask. 

“Oh, mostly good. I still haven’t figured him, Marc, out much, but I am sleeping better.” 

“You figure out just what ‘he’ is yet.” 

“No, still no diagnosis. I’m having trouble finding a therapist I like. I also, you know, not keen on institutionalization.” 

“Right. Well I mean so long as he doesn’t decide to go on some break.” You grimace, wondering what the hell he could’ve had been up to in Madripoor of all places, if he’d even been serious. 

“Beg your pardon?” 

“Never mind.” You give your hand a wave. “I still can’t believe I’m how you found out.” 

“Hey now hang on, I knew, I just didn’t know why.” He stands up to be at your height, annoyed. 

“Or how, or what.” You give him a look. 

“Yeah. But I did know.” He shrugs. “Even though he was trying to keep it from me.” 

“Well yeah, probably because you’re the nice one. Marc is a prick.” 

“The hell did she just say about me!?” Marc growls, catching his eye in his reflection in your tea kettle. 

Steven blinks. “He didn’t like that.” 

You draw your brow, frowning. “He can hear me?” 

“Apparently? I don’t get most of it myself, I didn’t think he could hear me till like last week.” 

You push off the back of the couch. “Tell him to come out here and talk to me right now.” 

“Uh, right, sure, yeah. Marc, you heard her.” He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. 

When he opens them again, you slap him across the face. 

He cups his cheek, turning to look at you. “Still Steven!” 

“Shit– I’m sorry!” You cover your mouth. 

“You were going to smack him? But that’s me!” 

“I thought– I didn’t think it through, really. Is he not there?” 

“I can’t really make him come out, he just kind of does it if I let him.” 

“I’m sorry I hit you.” You say. 

“No,” he shakes his head. “He totally deserves it. Prick is right on the money.” 

“Even so, I shouldn’t have done that.” 

“Already better.” He smiles. “Though a kiss wouldn’t hurt…” 

You raise a brow and smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

You hang out a while longer before heads home, leaving you to think. 

“I want to date her too.” 

“What?” Steven looks up at his mirror from across the room. “You won’t tell me where you’ve been pissing years of my life away, what you’ve been doing, but now you want to meddle with the one good thing that’s happened to me, after you nearly screwed it all up? That’s rich.” 

“I didn’t want much of anything to do with her until I saw the way she slapped you, I mean, that was unexpected.”

“She’s for sure, isn’t she? All the more reason you will not be seeing her unless she asks.” 

“Let me talk to her or I’ll break up with her.” 

“We’re not together…ish. I don’t know, it’s not the simplest.” 

“I’ll ghost her. Delete her contacts. You know I will.” 

“Alright! Okay, fine. Jesus.” 

He picks up his phone. “Don’t you negotiate in anything but threats?” He starts to dial your number, then stops. 

“Hang on… you’re jealous, aren’t you?” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“You're jealous I’ve a girlfriend and you don’t. And she doesn’t talk nicely about you.” 

“I’d stop talking now.” 

“Holy shit, that’s hilarious. You act like you think my life is boring, but you envy it.” 

Marc glares at him, jaw working. 

“I’ll tell you what, I will set you up, but you have to tell me what you’ve been doing, and where you've been taking me.” 

“Khonshu’s not gonna like that.” 

“Again with bloody Khonshu. You’re flipping bending over backwards for that fool. Figure it out, cause that’s that.” 

“Fine.” 

“Perfect. Done deal.” 

He hits dial. “Hey so uh, Marc wants to meet you. Properly. I’ve told him he needs to apologize.” Marc rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything. “Right. Yeah. Can you meet me?” 

“This… Marc the Merc, the pissy one?” You say, looking him over. You’d met Steven not far from the museum, and held his hand while he relaxed and let Marc take over. 

“Yes, it’s me again. Hi.” You meet his eyes, feeling oddly bothered by just how the same they look. It’s Steven, but it’s not. 

It’s painfully not him, and yet you can’t put into words how. 

“Hey,” you say, not sure what else you’re supposed to. 

“Let’s get this part out of the way: I’m sorry I walked out on you. It’s Steven’s fault we were there at all, and I had shit to attend to, but I was less than curt about it.” 

“Accepted, if that’s the best I’m going to get.” You nod, and he gestures for you to walk with him, so you do. 

“I haven’t been keeping tabs. What’s he been telling you about me?” He says. 

“Not a lot. I mean, he barely knows you, and neither do I.” 

“There’s not a lot to tell. He’s not supposed to be tangled with my life, but, since he is, I figure we might as well share.” 

You stop, and he does too. 

“What?” He says. “I’m willing to be more open if you are.” 

“What are you talking about? Are you saying you want to get with me?” 

“Would you like to?” 

He looks you right in the eyes, catching you off guard. Before you can answer he cups your face and kisses you, arm around your lower back, nearly lifting you off the ground. 

You pull away, eyes wide, breath ragged, trying to get your brain to catch up with your body, realizing you're right in the street where everyone can see you. 

“Too much?” He asks. 

“No,” you shake your head. “Just– just surprised me.” It’s quiet for a moment. 

“His apartment’s not far,” he finally says. “If you wanna see just how much of a prick I am.” 

You stare up at your boyfriend’s apartment ceiling, wondering what the hell you’ve gotten yourself into. 

You turn when you hear footsteps coming back to the bed. 

“Hi,” he gives you a little wave, holding out a cup of tea. 

You sit up on your elbows, slowly taking it. “Steven?” You say tentatively. 

“Yep, it’s me.” You stand up, throwing back half the cup and setting it aside, swallowing. “Everything go okay?” He asks.

You nearly knock him over in a hug, burying your face into his shoulder. 

“Better than okay,” you say, smiling against his bare skin. 

“Really? Oh, Gods, that's a relief.” He wraps his arm around you, pressing his nose to the top of your head. 

“Marc was different than I thought.” 

“Now we’re even, he said he’d cooperate with me some more, so I think it all works out?” 

“I love you. Both of you.” 

“Really? It’s not too weird?” 

“Hey,” you press a kiss to the bridge of his nose. “I like ‘em weird.” 

Even though you had next to no idea what was to come, between you, Steven, and Marc, you were confident you would figure it out.