#I need to get into a better habit of having a tagging organization system my blog is too much of a mess smh

[axonthegoat]

Finally here he is! Iʻve been procrastinating this particular ref for a while now lmao, But I present Lambert, Or rather Grim :) My cult of the lamb, Lamb

It has a very fun design and I'm really happy how it turned out! and its good to finally have its ref done because it feels like all I'm drawing right now are references (¬_¬")

I also finished a Toyhou.se for it! like always feel free to ask any questions about it, I love talking about my ocʻs :)

[blackypanther9]

How to turn a Killer into a Bunny – (FNaF Movie)William Afton x Male!Reader

WARNING!: Cursing !!!

Part 2 – Aunt Jane

They got home after Mike and M/n were shopping for a bit of food and drinks. Michael didn’t have much anymore and really had to watch the price tags. Max told him that food was still left over and warm and that Abby didn’t eat yet, which Mike decided to take care of.

After a while he came back out, utterly defeated.

“She still refused ?”, M/n asked.

“She keeps talking about her imaginary friends...”, Mike sighed out and sat down on the couch.

“I should probably leave.”, Max said.

“No, no. The three of us have to discuss something before you leave, Max, but first, let me try to convince Abby to eat...”, M/n said and left.

“Good luck.”, Mike called after him.

M/n entered Abby’s room soon enough and looked over her shoulder at the drawing, she was working on.

“I don’t want to eat right now.”, she informed M/n.

“Abby, please eat now. Your drawing isn’t going to run away from you, but your food will get cold and then it will taste bad.”, M/n told her softly.

“We can make new food.”

“Abby...we can’t.”

“What do you mean ?”, Abby asked.

“Oh dear, how do I explain this... Mikey lost his job and with that you don’t get any money right now. It means you are unable to get more food and drinks, like stuff to draw on. Mikey and I are looking for another job for him already, right now, but until then, PLEASE just eat when you are told to eat, yes ? You worry Mikey and me with your habit to starve until you are done drawing.”

Abby looked at her drawing, then at M/n and then at her bed. She seemed like she listened to someone talking. Then she looked at M/n again.

“My friend said that Mike is stupid. He said that if kids don’t eat properly, they will stop growing.”, Abby told M/n.

M/n looked at her and frowned.

“But that is true. If you don’t eat and sleep properly until a certain age, you stop growing sooner and stay small for the rest of your life.”

“How is that possible ? That sounds stupid.”, Abby asked.

“Well, I mean when you are older, you will learn about that in school, but food and sleep are very important to our bodies and our systems. Our immune System gets strengthened when we eat Vegetables and fruit and bread and when we get sick our immune System develops, to deal with it better next time. Our body grows thanks to sleep and the food, we consume. Healthy food. It has a lot of protein, Vitamins and minerals.”

“And how is that getting into our body ?”, she asked confused.

She got up and M/n walked with her to the living room.

“Hm, well, what we drink and eat comes out of us too. That is why we go to the bathroom and need to take daily dumps.”

“Eww...”, she said grossed out.

“It is all natural. Every living being does that. Our digesting System does the rest for us, I suppose. It pulls out all the important minerals, vitamins and protein it needs and then another part of our body works it over and it ends up in our blood, while the unnecessary stuff, gets washed out of us and into the toilet. So a lot of it does our stomach.”

“What if I don’t drink enough ?”, she asked.

“You will get thirsty and your thirst will be too much for your stomach to handle. Your throat will scream endlessly for water, while your stomach begs you to stop, that is why Mike tells you to drink enough and why he tells you that you didn’t drink enough at certain days. Our body is mostly made out of water and our organs need a lot of it too. And when you are sick and drink a lot, there is a high possibility that you get healthy quickly, with a lot of resting, of course.”

“Why even is our body tired, when we are sick ?”

M/n grabbed a plate and put the Macaroni and Cheese on it, not all of it, but enough for Abby to eat. Mike needed food too. While he piled the plate he explained.

“Because it focuses all its energy against the thing that harms us. A disease is always a small virus and our immune System is there to destroy it as fast as possible, with that it focuses all your energy on healing and getting better, that’s why you are always so tired after. The disease you have, that the body fights off, can only leave, when you wash your body out, in other words, drink a lot and sleep and go to the bathroom. Fresh air and a bit of movement is also very good when you are sick, with that you strengthen your body to be stronger next time you are sick.”

Then he gave her the plate and they sat down on the couch. Mike stared at M/n impressed. When M/n talks about something, even the most boring thing, he can make it sound very interesting.

“Huh...”, Abby replied.

“Our body is full of wonders. Kids your age still need nap times and a lot of sleep, to get stronger and to grow properly, that is why Mike and the other adults are so mean to you and tell you what to do. And no, in fast food is nothing healthy for your body. Some bit of salad is not enough. Too much meat is bad, too much sweets is bad, too much fried things is bad. You need everything balanced, for your body. I am not saying that eating any of it is harmful, but too much of it, will harm you. Too much sweets, you will suffer with stomach aches, too much eggs, same thing and you will fart a lot.”

“Eww !”, she giggled out.

M/n chuckled and looked at her with a small smile.

“Everything needs to be balanced, Abby, dear. Otherwise, everything comes crashing down on you one day and then you will regret a lot, but can’t do anything to change it anymore.”

She was quiet at that and looked at M/n.

“From where do you know all of this ?”, she asked.

M/n chuckled.

“My Mother was quite small. She was short, a head shorter than an average sized woman was, her hands were small, her fingers short and her feet the same. She forced me to eat healthily. Three to four times a day and a lot of fruits and vegetables and she forced me to sleep a lot. I hated her as a child for it, until she explained to me one day why she did it. She rebelled against her parents too, when she was my age and...that was the outcome for her. She was small, weak and she hated her feet and hands. She always called them Baby hands and baby feet, because they were so small. When she properly slept and ate, she had quick growing spurts, but as she rebelled...she stopped growing and she regretted it deeply, that’s why she forced me. That’s why Mike wants you to listen and do as you are told. So you won’t end up like that.”

Everyone stared and he had a wobbly smile on his face, silent tears running down his face.

“She couldn’t even change a light bulb that was over her head, because she was too short, always needed a ladder.”, he got out with a voice, thick with emotion.

The three stared at him.

“I was gone for only two days and I saw her dead on the stairs with that cursed ladder fallen over and the light bulb shattered on the floor.”, he sobbed out.

At that all six eyes were ripped wide open. That’s how his Mother died three years ago ! The ladder fell over with her on top, she fell and hit the stairs, breaking her neck in the process.

“Oh god...M/n...”, Mike got out and hugged him from the side.

Max took the other and stroked his hair, while he sobbed. Abby left her food alone and got on M/n’s lap, hugging him from the front tightly. He hugged her back, while he calmed down. No need to start wailing again like a three year old. For fucks sake he was 25 years old !

“I don’t want the same to happen to you, Abby. One day you will be all grown up and you will want to be independent from Mike and me. How are you supposed to, if you are too small to reach anything alone ? One day Mike might not even be there anymore, for you and what then ? Who will help you ?”, M/n asked, voice emotional, but not hiccupping.

“I understand, M/n. I will...listen more to Mike...”, Abby replied.

“But only about sleep and eating, right ?”, he sniffed out a joke.

She giggled and nodded.

“Only on that.”, she confirmed.

“Eh, at least something, Abbs.”, Mike replied with a smile in his voice.

Then they parted and Abby continued to eat.

“So what did we need to talk about ?”, Max asked.

“Mike has his eyes on a certain job. But he can only get the Nightshift. Do you think you can babysit at night ?”, M/n asked softly.

She looked at Mike at that.

“Really ?”, she asked surprised.

“Yes. I would take the job, but I wanted you to have time to either accept or decline babysitting.”, Michael replied.

“Let me think about it for a bit.”, Max replied softly.

“Okay.”, Mike replied.

With that Max took her stuff and left. M/n waited for a while and then scoffed.

“I still don’t trust her.”

“M/n-“

“Mike she is acting fishy.”, M/n interrupted him, before he could defend Max again.

He sighed and leaned back. M/n rubbed his eyes and then got up.

“Eat something Mike. I will drive home now and we will see each other tomorrow, okay ?”, M/n asked.

Michael nodded.

“Be careful on your way home, yeah ?”

“I will be.”

With that M/n left and drove home in his own car.

-The next day-

Abby was drawing outside of the building Mike and M/n were in. The Social Services department, a woman always talks with Abby and the woman then talks to both Mike and Jane about it all.

“Just look at my Nephew. It is barely 10:00 and he can barely keep his eyes open.”, Jane said.

M/n turned to her.

“He didn’t sleep well tonight, so what ? As if you always get out of bed full with energy, woman.”, he argued back and stuck his tongue out at her.

“You keep your nose out of this.”, she said back.

“You aren’t my Mother, so you have to suck it up. How long and how often do you wanna pull the same show now ? You aren’t gonna get what you want, like always. Why do you still bother ?”

“After what this man did to that poor family Father, I am thinking mostly of Abby now.”

“If the child would have been kidnapped, like Mike thought, by the way the man DRAGGED and TORE the kid away, and he wouldn’t have done anything, you would sit here now and say ‘THAT POOR CHILD, LOOK HOW IRRISPONSIBLE HE IS.’. So how about you shut up ? It was a misunderstanding and Mike already got scolded, it’s not like he killed someone. It looked like the kid was about to get kidnapped, Mike misunderstood the situation and jumped in to protect a defenseless kid. My god, such things happen some times. You make a big show out of this. We all know Mike is not abusive to Abby.”

Jane scoffed and then had a scowl on her face, directed at M/n.

“As if you would know.”, she snapped at him.

“I do know so in fact. I am there every day. I watch Mike the whole time. I KNOW what is happening in that house and I have a recording of how the kid got DRAGGED by his so called Father. I have all the evidence I need. Where is yours, that Mike is abusive and bad for Abby ? He takes any job he can get and works his ass off for her and himself. Yes, he is tired, but he has more problems than your primadonna girl ass. Keyword: BILLS. Wow ! Ever heard of BILLS ? Cool, now shut up and stop annoying us.”

She glared at him and then at the woman worker.

“Look at the disrespect he has towards his elders.”, she accused.

“MY elders ? Woman, you act like a 12 year old, each time we are here. You put up a drama show and then expect to get what you want. We KNOW that you fake it. Stop being so fake and be an actual aunt that LOVES and CHERISHES BOTH of her Sister’s children, the only Family, by the way, that you still HAVE, you single, old fossil !”

She stared at M/n with an agape mouth.

“Honestly that is all you do, make a scene from the smallest things and then try to make everyone believe that Mike is the bad guy, no matter what he does, no matter how hard he tries. You want me to respect my elders, then you should respect YOUR younger generation first. They are, quite literally, YOUR future. You already made Mike not like you and Abby isn’t fond of you either, so maybe accept defeat, take the last few remains of dignity that you still have left and leave them both alone.”

“You bratty little-“

“You are the brat here, woman. Both of them want NOTHING to do with you and you just CAN’T leave them both be. You want to rip siblings apart for a stupid paycheck ! How stupid do you think we are ?!”, M/n yelled at her now.

Jane put a hand on her chest.

“How can you say something like that ?”, she said offended.

“Woman, I know how you tick ! We all know that you are faking it ! God...just why the heck do you think NOBODY likes you ?!”

“I think we should all calm down now.”, the social services worker said softly.

M/n took a deep breath and looked at her, away from Jane.

“I’m terribly sorry that she gets on my nerves. This outburst won’t happen again.”, M/n said, calm again.

“It is quite alright, M/n. You just said, what you felt. That is healthy.”

“Just like a child drawing all the time and seeing magical creatures that don’t even exist ?!”, Jane yelled.

M/n’s glare hardened and he was close to snap again. He took a deep breath and then looked at that annoying Bitch again, wishing her a brutal death already in his head.

“Abby is a child and children have a wild imagination. She is an active child and it is completely normal for her. She will grow out of it.”

Jane scoffed and gave him a nasty smirk.

“Like you did ? You still talk to yourself.”, she snapped back.

M/n’s glare intensified.

“Only when I am frustrated and usually I talk to objects then. Like when I am angry and my pen falls from the desk, then I say: ‘Of course, fall down, not like I need you Bitch, I have other pens too.’ And grab then another one. It is entirely normal.”

She laughed without humor.

“As if !”

“It is called letting steam off. Now shut up and leave me alone.”, M/n replied with a smirk and turned to Mike, who was just hoping that this meeting will be over soon.

“This is ridiculous... Abby needs to get away from them, this has been going on for long enough. Doug.”

Her lawyer didn’t react.

“Doug !”, she called.

He snapped out of it and gave Mike a pile of papers, on the front stood “Family Court Matter”. M/n wanted to laugh and planned her death, even though, he knew that he can’t kill her. He was no murderer, nor did he have the skills to be one.

“This is the only right thing to do and deep in your heart you know it too, Mike. You are unfit to raise a child.”, Jane said.

“And what if I don’t sign them ?”, Mike asked.

“Then me and my lawyer will drag you to court and they will take care that you will see your Sister never again. Do you want that ?”

Mike looked at the paper. M/n leaned over to his ear.

“I will find a way to get her to lose, don’t worry about it, Mikey.”

He looked at his friend and just nodded softly, then Jane and Doug left and Mike, M/n and the social services worker went to the hall, watching Abby from a window, while they talked.

“She just wants the monthly paycheck, this is not about Abby.”, Mike said.

“Of course it is not. She could take care of the both of you, she is your aunt too, but she refuses. She is very fixed on Abby and taking her away, no matter what, doesn’t matter if Abby said a million times already that she hates her. Any normal thinking person would have left you and Abby alone after that. If it would be about Abby, she would respect her wishes, which, spoiler alert: she doesn’t.”, M/n replied annoyed.

The woman looked at them and they chatted for a while longer. That Mike was important to Abby, that drawings are very important to children and that she definitely loves him the most, which made M/n smile.

“See ? Your Sister loves you in her own special way.”, M/n chuckled out.

“Yeah. But my aunt is right...no one would let me keep my Sister.”, Mike stated saddened.

“Did you already find a new job ?”, the woman asked.

He looked at her and was hesitant.

“He had one offered, but the Babysitter needs to give a reply, so we can arrange everything, before he takes the job.”, M/n answered for him.

She looked at M/n and nodded with a smile.

“It always gives you extra points, if you have a job.”, she told them and then sent them off, wishing them a great day.

Then they grabbed Abby and drove home. As they parked at their home, Mike received a call from Max and he picked it up.

“Hey, have you decided yet ?”, Mike asked.

There was silence for a second, then a relieved sigh.

“Thank you so much, Max. Yes, yes. I promise, as soon as I can, I will repay you.”, Mike replied and then hung up.

“So I’m guessing she will watch Abby at nights.”, M/n concluded.

“Yes, she will.”

[bluenightcomedies]

uuuugh i keep procrastinating cuz i wanna make new refs n' arts n' all for us all but art slow so fuggit placeholder pinned abt the system better pinned with comm details, other accs, etc later :3 will reopen for commissions once arty verifies me! as a whole we're legally deaf and disabled! we can all draw but have diff styles/preferences :3 body is 30 (eugh i don't like admitting that) so am adult BUT we don't wanna be involved in nsfw art so pls respect that⭐ We can't get a formal diagnosis due to various real life issues, so we're not going to claim any particular diagnosis, but we can't exactly ignore the symptoms and stay masked forever. We're going to stay out of syscourse as much as possible, of course. 🌙 each alter has an assigned emoji so ppl can tell us apart easier if needed, use em as our tags too (when we remember) note- using they/them for any of us fine too!⭐

(doesn't include alters that rarely or never front) ⭐star emoji = Blue! she/her pls~ guess i'm the honorary host cuz i front most. uhhh... nothing rly too fancy i can say abt myself, i'm p affectionate and love y2k art and hanging out, i try to be as nice as i can >w< my art's usually sketchbooky, with thin lines and soft colors/shading!

💠this blue gem/flower emoji is Azure! she/her, she's kinda new to the system. looks n' acts a lot like me but uh... more childish i guess? very silly, very 'cringe culture is dead'. loves to rp, say silly things, n' cling to people. hyperfixates on Dot Hack (RIP) her art looks like mspaint x3 🌙 (Writing for myself since I'm available.) The name's Lune, hence moon emoji, and I use she/her pronouns as well. Formerly "Starry" but people kept confusing me with Blue due to her star symbolism. Used to be the designated mask, I'm glad I don't have to do that anymore... Sometimes I re-mask out of habit so if something sounds like me but wasn't marked as an alter, it probably is me. I have a flat tone and chronic paranoid anxiety so uh... Let me know if I come across as rude, I usually don't mean to. I enjoy doing research and organizing information, so I'm often the one to fact-check things or find guides and how-to's for the system. My art's very bold and colorful, and friends describe it as 'angular'. Clashes with my personality, huh? 🗝���key emoji = Sylverwynd! he uses he/him! he's super laid back and chill, i've never seen him upset or anything, but he's rly long-winded talks... kinda poet-y? he loves reading and talking abt lore and myths so he'll pop in if ur talking abt something he likes or if he has trivia 2 share! fave genres r horror n' fantasy he's still experimenting w/ style but likes drawing rly soft

❌cross emoji= Laceburner! it/its or they/them pronouns! tbh i'm not used to it/its pronouns but Lace wanted em; it's very uh... emotionally empty i guess? aroace, agender, can't socialize or empathize v well. it usually fronts when the rest of us are tired or in pain cuz it just ignores all that. likes 2000's scenemo aesthetics though which is surprising but ye idk how to describe its style, but it's trying to mimic emo art n' likes bright colored lines with dark bg/colors 🗡️the dagger is Kal! he/him pronouns, he gets angry and stressed abt things really easy but he gets too hostile abt it so he tries to not front too much; need to find him a way to de-stress n' chill out... when he's not mad at smth he's a good sympathetic listener imo, still swears and talks all rough tho hasn't drawn much yet but does rly harsh lines and fast/messy sketches when he does (and gets riled up by mistakes =w=;)

❤️heart is Weiss! genderfluid, goes by any pronouns, usually uses whatever they like at the time x3 has a hard time fronting but tries to. flirty, loves dumb jokes, overly confident... (we worry they'd get us in trouble sometimes cuz the shit they want to say) loves demon and monster-related stuff! still experimental style but uses bold colors and thick rough lines a lot, may get suggestive (forbidden from outright nsfw, don't ask >:c) btw ur always welcome to direct asks @ someone specific >w< we just might take a while to respond

[tau1tvec]

On tumblr mobile if I hit someone’s icon it takes me to their page and I gotta scroll down which would take forever to see everything they posted &desktop has the pages?so how do I get the side view thing you mentioned?I feel like there was a post awhile ago that shows this for looking at your own likes page but it makes it easier to see everything …might actually have to quit sims sadly I can never be happy with it ;( finding cc is hell when it’s not just in one place &like why can’t there be a mod in the game ?for people to upload there cc into the game so nobody gotta waste time searching and downloading the cc like then ya could select which cc you want to even use and see all the cc created…

Idk, I don’t rlly mind clicking through the pages, bc I’ve been doing it for forever, and a lotta ppl prefer it over endless scroll on themes, so it’s pretty common to see when looking at someone’s actual blog.

Though truly, it sounds like you’re more fed up with looking for cc, than you are with tumblr’s UI, to which I do not blame you. I can’t stand it either a lot of the time, which is why finding a go-to ccfinds blog is so crucial to keep your sanity. EA doesn’t rlly give a damn to implement anything of that sort, let alone extend an arm to modders and mod users, bc if anything they just get blamed either way if something goes wrong, and with how buggy their games are I can’t imagine how swamped their help line is as it is. Plus, modding The Sims has been like this for a while tbh, it wasn’t much better and back then in my TS2 days, when everyone had their cc on obscure ass forums and websites that hardly worked, but at least it didn’t have the add on of subscription costs, and timed exclusives.

So go find you a ccfinds blog, preferably one with a rlly good tags system so you can sort out only what you need when you need it. Then get into the habit of checking it daily or weekly so you don’t miss anything, and then end up having to spend hours looking for it, and sending wcif’s. These blogs work hard to do a lot of the find it work for you, so send them a message showing your appreciation from time to time. ✌️

Either way, between all the searching, downloading, installing, and organizing, modding this game is a process, and a fucking miserable one, and I absolutely get why ppl just choose to go without it.

[web-novel-polls]

Tips for New Tournament Makers

Don't feel pressured to follow these to a T. You can do whatever you want forever, but I've been making polls for over a year and having a clear system and outline has really helped me.

Stages of a Tournament

Have a tournament idea & figure out the qualifications for contestants

Submissions - collect submissions for who or what will compete in the tournament. Google Forms are KING for this since you can edit questions if you forget something. Tip: if you have a propaganda question, make it a Long Form response instead of Short Answer.

Forming & Announcing a Bracket - To make the brackets themselves, I recommend BracketHQ and Challonge.com for standard brackets and Canva's whiteboard for non-standard brackets. Challonge has more features and is better for larger brackets you want to share with others. Bracket HQ is easier to understand/start out and to screenshot & edit the image if there's a tie. Canva has the most flexibility since you can straight up design the bracket entirely.

Releasing Polls - the Schedule feature is your friend. Space out individual polls, even if you're releasing a batch; the queue WILL post them out-of-order any chance it gets. I've heard "no less than 5 minutes between polls" as a rule of thumb, but whatever time frame works for you is fine.

Announcing Results

(You may want to decide what type of and big of a bracket you want before submissions since Double Elimination and large brackets take much longer and are harder to organize than a Round Robin or small Single Elimination tournament)

Organization

Figure out the bracket beforehand & write down an outline for when polls will come out. If running more than one tournament, I highly recommend using a google sheet for organization.

My first sheet shows everything "upcoming" in the queue, and once it's been posted, I move it to another sheet. I usually like to mark reminders with (R) to make sure I don't have two polls posting at the same time, and the "posted" column helps make a habit of checking the sheet. To freeze rows/columns, select the letter or number marking it > right click > view more row actions > freeze up to... Checkboxes are under "Insert."

Use a tag or tagging system, if possible. It makes finding polls and whatnot so much easier, especially if you put tag links in your pinned post or somewhere easily accessible.

Ex: #webnovel quotes tournament -> web-novel-polls.tumblr.com/tagged/webnovel%20quotes%20tournament

I like using masterposts (linked to my pinned post) & updating them with the bracket/schedule at least a few days before the polls are scheduled to start. It helps to have everything in one place & easily accessible.

Have a google doc with all the submissions and/or bracket prepared. It's helpful to have a section you can just copy & paste into Tumblr.

I have an outline for the polls of each round that's customized for what I need. The tags can be just copy-pasted starting with the first tag.

For larger brackets, I sometimes need separate docs for the full character list, the bracket, and whatever else, but putting the amount of submissions recorded at the top means I can check the google form responses without having to open 2 million google docs. Since the amount of responses on the Google form matches the submissions in the google doc preview, I don't have to open it, which saves more time than you'd think.

Interaction

Not everyone is online all the time, so reblog polls, submissions, whatever you want people to interact with! For polls, I reblog 24 hours before the poll is scheduled to end. For submissions, I cycle through what's open by reblogging whenever I have a relatively empty day. Some people also reblog 12 hours after a poll has begun to reach people in other time zones.

@ tournament-announcer - they(?) reblog submissions before a tournament starts (or for ongoing themed polls like "do you know this character?"); there might also be other themed blogs that'll reblog polls/submissions if you @ them or send an ask

Tumblr allegedly only uses the first 5 tags on a post (which I do NOT believe), so I usually tag the characters/fandom first, and then my organizational tags and tags to block.

Self Care

Remember: this is for fun! (Most Important Reminder; everything comes from this)

You make the rules. If you forget a poll or make a mistake, you can just change the schedule or whatever you need.

You'll sometimes get people who aren't happy with seeding, time frames, the amount of propaganda, etc. They are not entitled to anything. If you don't want to do something, don't.

HAVE FUN! If it no longer brings you joy, yeet it.

[detta-pica]

Okay, fine. Since I've been summoned, I might as well share some tips of my own. Although these are just things I personally do. I have no idea how useful they might be for anyone else.

Tabs and outlines

I do in fact love Google Docs tabs a whole lot. I used to have separate documents instead, and that meant a lot more mess in my drive folders, plus opening everything took longer. These days, I typically have the following tabs:

Notes - this is the first tab I create, and it contains the basic concept, a barebones outline, character backstories, setting lore, etc.

WIP - this is where the actual fic goes. And as you can see, I make use of the document outline. Only I'm terrible at it.

Vibes - this is just a collection of inspiring visuals, mostly fanart. Often, I open my fic document, put on music, and go through the vibes tab to get into the right mood for that specific story.

ANs, tags, summary - this is where all the stuff I need to actually publish a fic goes. I like to give myself days to work out what tags to use, running the problem-solving process in the background as I go about other things. It's the best way to trick my brain into spitting out those ideas that I know are in there, but their specifics escape me while I think about them directly. (This applies to more than just tags.)

Outlining for discovery writers / pantsers / gardeners

I don't do proper outlines or scene-by-scene breakdowns like Hana, but I do plan stuff in advance, just in a more organic (read: chaotic) way. Typically I start with like three bullet points and a dream, and then everything else slowly comes to me as I write. Which means I need a system for writing down ideas that I'm not yet ready to put on the page in their final form.

Simple solution: notes for myself, in brackets. They kind of work like Hana's outline-at-the-end-of-the-WIP, because I get to these notes when I'm done with all the stuff that goes before them. Sometimes, I'm not sure where an idea should go, so I guesstimate and rearrange them later.

Also, a lot of my ideas come to me while I listen to music, shower, walk, or otherwise engage in something mindless while my brain passively processes what's going on in the story. What I end up with are tiny scraps of scenes, so I just put them in the doc in an order that feels right at the time, add some context cues in brackets, and go back to writing chronologically.

Other stiff I find useful: comments and page numbers

As a discovery writer, I occasionally come to the realisation that my WIP needs a major change, usually for continuity/consistency, because I've just come up with a much better idea than what I'd been working with thus far (or because I wasn't working with any clear idea, knowing something would eventually come to me). Going back to immediately implement said change would completely derail my momentum, so what I do instead is leave comments for myself in the places where I think changes will be necessary. This tricks my brain into marking the problem as solved, and I get to actually finish my WIPs instead of endlessly going back to rework what I've already written.

Inserting page numbers into the doc helps me a lot with navigation. It's just nice to be able to see at a glance how far in I am, especially when there's a lot of words between section breaks. Also it helps me track my progress and gives me that lovely feeling of accomplishment.

Changing things up

I say I'm a discovery writer, but my most recent finished fic (coming soon) required an outline. My kind of outline, with notes in brackets separated by H3 asterisks, but still. So I just want to point out that every story is different, and it's useful to be flexible about switching methods and habits. Also, stealing things from other writers is great. All my WIPs these days come with coloured pages, thanks to Hana.

hi folks so i'm a pretty fast writer/rough drafter, and on this sunday of sundays, while i am a little bit down about what i am writing, i figured i would share a little bit about how i write it (with pictures).

Outline View

use outline view on gdocs. if you take nothing else from this, use outline view on gdocs. you can trigger it using ctrl-alt-a, View->Expand Outline View, or just click the little squiggly icon in the top left (my preference).

what is outline view and why should you use it?

outline view is a list of all of the headings and subheadings in your document. this is helpful, because if you use headings strategically, it gives you a very nice, vertically-organized map of your entire document, and you can always see the structure without having to scroll through or reference a second doc. however, we do need to do a little groundwork to set this up: headings

headings are just formatted strings of text that gdocs recognizes as "oooh that looks important". you can completely customize what they look like, but you need to manually tell gdocs which lines are heading lines (and what heading level) so it will all go into outline view nicely. headings nest and can be collapsed, so use the first big headings for your big things, and then smaller chunks, like scenes, can drop down to the next heading size for nesting.

Document Settings

you'll figure out what works best for you, but generally:

good background color so your retinas aren't blasted with blue light (i also recommend f.lux or just use the settings most computers have these days)

center the document on your eye line. this is obvious but if you write with two monitors like I do, it is something you actually have to think about.

readability - font size, font style, zoom, color contrast, etc.

one tip i've picked up along the way is to change the font to subliminally influence your writing. it could be placebo, but it works on me. spectral is my standard, but i will change my colors and serif presence if I am trying to write something more atmospheric/fantasy vs something more comedy/modern.

i have also learned that writing in ugly ass fonts is a good way to draft dumb fanfic shit without psyching yourself out about it. rough drafts should be ugly and terrible and cringe - you're going to fix it in post. however, sometimes it is difficult when you are actively thinking about how ugly and terrible and cringe it is, and you get stuck trying to massage the rough draft before it's even time to edit. well, if you draft in neon green comic sans, it's going to look like shit no matter what words are on the page, so you can relax.

Writing the Words

now, how you actually go about writing the fanfic is all up to you - our brains all work differently, and rather than seeking an objective 'right' way to outline or draft, you just need to learn how your brain works and what kind of cues and tools it needs to get going.

outline your plot in chunks that are meaningful to you. i use bullets, and i try to make every bullet something I think i will need about 500 words to get across. this is just to say - there's generally a bullet for the exposition of a scene (where, who, when, maybe why), and then i chop the events of a scene down into manageable actions - (1) someone says something important and maybe someone feels some type of way about it, (2) that leads to action which is performed a certain way, (3) uh oh maybe there are consequences which are XYZ. etc.

my outlines are heavily based on choreography - what are they doing, where are they moving, what is the point (and sometimes, what are they thinking - mind choreography). this is not necessarily the best fit for everyone's writing style, but I do this because it lets me flip in between scenes very quickly and write the actions that I feel most compelled to at any point in time - the bullets act as easy, laid-out choices for what i want to rough draft whenever the mood strikes.

organizationally - two things that have been helpful to me:

use the headline view as a progress tracker.

here, one star indicates that my scene is in the rough draft phase (0 stars for outline, 2 stars for edited). this shows me where I'm at progress-wise on the sidebar.

2. write with your outline below you

i sort of just stumbled into this practice and it's kind of goated. often times, we keep our outlines at the top, or on a separate page, but that makes referring to it a huge pain in the ass tbh. if you keep the bullet point below you (as i've done above), then it will move with the text as you write, and you can always see your next immediate goal that you are writing towards.

ok hope this was helpful!

i've been peer pressuring my friend into writing fic recently, and part of that was anxiously screen sharing some messy under-the-hood stuff on discord. she said something along the lines of: "wow. i never would have thought of this (writing w/ outline below you) but it's crazy that this is not like writing 101" (she did a humanities degree, idfk what's in writing class i was too busy crying over matrices)

there is no singular correct way to write or outline, but this is a good way to start with organization to keep everything in sight as you write. you can start here, and then make modifications based on what feels best

the best way to write and draft is whatever works most intuitively with your own brain. <3

[tea-and-spoons]

Today’s Tips: Brain Fog

Brain fog is that experience a lot of us spoonies have where your thinking feels, well, foggy!  More specifically, it can include any or all of the following:

Trouble focusing

Memory problems- like general forgetfulness, not being able to recall information for school, or walking into the kitchen and not remembering why you’re there.  Basically anything memory related

This is also technically part of memory, but difficulties often show up with word finding in particular.  That’s when you know what you’re thinking of, but you can’t quite recall the word for it.

Thinking more slowly than usual and needing more time to process things

Being more distractible

Not being able to multitask

Not being as tuned in to your environment, and missing things that are going on around you (like someone walking in, or a sign on the door)

Getting confused more easily and/or more often

Trouble learning new things

Feeling overall spaced out or numb

Feeling like you can’t think clearly or your mind isn’t sharp

Mentally challenging tasks taking more energy than usual

Having a hard time with organization and time management  

And probably even more cognitive things that I didn’t think of!

Brain fog is often caused by pain, fatigue, stress, or something inherent about your condition.  It’s pretty common with chronic illness, but if you notice rapid changes for no apparent reason, don’t be afraid to get it checked out.  A lot of the things that can cause brain fog are easy to catch on a blood test, and can then be treated.  But for when brain fog is just part of the fun (sarcasm) that comes with your chronic illness, here are some ways to help cope:

-Try not to let the people who don’t understand get to you too much.  Your struggles are valid!

-If people are being understanding, it can help to be honest with them about where you’re at that day.  For example, if you can show up to class and just absorb some information, but don’t have the mental energy to answer questions, that’s okay!  If your teachers are decent, you should be able to let them know this, so you can avoid getting put on the spot, and participate in whatever way works best for you.  

-Find a system that works for you to keep track of everything (appointments, due dates, reminders, chores, etc) and stick with it!  When you can’t consistently rely on your brain to remember things, it’s really important to have external reminders to keep you on track.  I have a big giant paper calendar, but you can also use your phone, sticky notes, setting alarms, having buddy to help, or anything else that works for you.  I’m sure there’s some cool apps out there for this as well.  The reason I say stick with it is because if you can get your system established as a habit, that’s one less thing you have to consciously remember.

-Going along with my last point, it really helps to figure out what gets your attention.  That’s one of the things that can really make or break your reminder system.  For example, if you’re going to quickly get used to a sticky note and stop noticing it, maybe notifications on your phone will work better.  In high school, I had a whiteboard calendar on the back of the basement door.  That way, I could not leave for school without seeing it and remembering to check if I had what I needed for the day.  If there was something really important, I would tape a strip of paper around my wrist, because that would really bug me, and keep reminding me to do the thing.  These are just ideas, the key to this is whatever YOU are going to consistently notice.

-Tagging along with a friend’s routine and/or asking them to check in with you can help keep you on track.  When you can’t seem to get started or figure out what to do next, having someone you can follow can be really helpful.  I think this is related to the idea of “body doubling”, but I’m not an expert on that.  That’s another strategy you could try though!

-If there’s something important you need to remember to bring with you, put it in the way so you can’t move on without it.  Like, in the middle of the doorway.  For some people, this also works for things you need to remember to do.  Like if you’re lying in bed at night and think “Oh, I need to remember to water my plants tomorrow!”, toss something in the middle of the floor.  So then when you wake up and go, “why is my water bottle over there??” it might jog your memory.

-Prioritize!  Sometimes you don’t have the capacity to do it all, and that’s okay.  If you just have to pick one thing to get done today, then that’s what you do.  Putting your to-do list in order of priority can also help with deciding where to start and what to do next, because goodness knows decision making with brain fog is hard.

-Have a good-to option for when you just can’t make a decision.  This one was my wonderful therapist’s idea!  I have a really hard time deciding what to have for lunch, and that can wind up delaying lunch by an hour and creating a really frustrated Tea.  So my therapist said, when that happens, just go to cereal, because we know that will be available and good enough.  At least for me, it’s like having a magic escape from getting stuck trying to decide.  I feel like this could also work for deciding what to wear?  And probably lots of other things I didn’t even think of!

-When you can, plan challenging events for the time of day when you feel the best.  If you can predict when you’re going to be extra tired and foggy, you can try to schedule around that too.

-Seek out formal accommodations at school or work.  This can provide you with supports like having a note taker in class, extensions on assignments, having classes and meeting recorded so you can review later, extra time on exams, and access to tutoring.  This process can be tricky, but if these things sound helpful to you, it may be worth a try.  I have a couple posts about accommodations if you go look at the “Links To All Posts” tab.

-Study when you can, even if it’s for 5 minutes, even if it’s at a really weird time.  And absorb what you can from class, even if it’s only a little, that’s okay.  It’s absolutely okay (good, actually!) to take time off and just rest when you need it.  What I’m saying is, if you feel okay overall but think it’s not worth going to class because your brain isn’t feeling 100%, it still might be worth it.  You can still pick up a few new pieces of information while you’re half-listening, and start getting familiar with what you need to learn.  This all adds up to less studying you need to do later, and makes it easier to learn new material.  This strategy really saved me when I was a full time student AND taking lots of Benadryl.  I would try not to stress about taking notes or understanding, and just absorb what I could.  If this doesn’t work for you, that’s totally okay (actually, that goes for everything I say in this post!)

-If you take prescription medications, put them on auto-refill, so you don’t have to worry about running out.  

-You can also usually sign up for reminder emails/texts/phone calls from your pharmacy, and doctor’s offices, and therapists.

-It’s okay to get creative when you can’t find a word!  You can describe it, talk around it, or leave a blank if you’re writing (and then highlight it so you remember to come back later!)

-My overall theory is, if I know I’m forgetting something but can’t remember what, there will be another reminder later if it’s something really important.  It’s not the end of the world if you’re a little late or disorganized, and having a chronic illness is hard enough, so go easy on yourself, okay?

As always, feel free to add your own tips onto these posts!

[lovelyserpentines]

hey! so i have an unusual ask, i'm sorry. so i thought i had found of post somewhere of just a compilation of good portwell fics, but i can't seem to find it. do you mind giving some recommendations, or links to posts? i miss them so much 🥺

dude... i can't even begin to apologize enough, bc it has been like ?? almost two months?? since you asked this, and that's just unacceptable of me to not get back to you til now. i am so so sorry.

one of the first things i thought of tho when i initially saw this was that i am like 5000% sure you saw @invictusmaneo's fic recs post, but then el accidentally deleted their acc kgrngkrjg so that's likely why you're struggling to find it.

anyway, both el's and my incompetency aside, i'm still giving you the portwell fics i have bookmarked on ao3 bc i have to properly answer this ask even if i fuckn suck.

i'll organize these by authors, bc a few of these i have notifs on for and they consistently churn out fantastic portwell content.

chocolatesouffle

Maybe He Needs That Romance Maybe, probably, he deserves her. And she deserves him, too. (A/N: An EJ-centric piece this time, featuring a collection of moments, some of which are from S02E05 (“The Quinceañero) until S02E07 (“The Field Trip”).)

Inadvertent Confessions When Gina accidentally confesses her feelings towards a certain water polo slash theater guy, she tries to put it behind her. But EJ’s not just gonna let it go that easily, is he?

PrincessMuk

We Should Be Lovers Instead [EJ shows up at Gina's door at 3am... it's not much of a surprise what follows.]

“I can’t keep pretending anymore,” he says simply. “I… I can’t take the-the weird moments and the knowing glances and… and the tension.”

Gina blinks, not quite following. “EJ?”

“Gina, I… “ She leans in, ever so slightly, waiting for him to continue. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Perfectly Imperfect “Can I kiss you?” she let out a breath, not letting herself think too much for fear of losing her confidence. EJ’s face quickly changed, his confusion being replaced with very clear understanding, though he looked as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. She continued, not taking any chances here. “Will you be my first kiss?”

[Part character study, part fix-it to the SEVERE LACK of kissing from the season 2 finale.]

ElixirBB

loving you is habit-forming She startles, giving him a bright smile and snatches the granola from his hand, slipping it up her sleeve. “Alright, babe. Let’s do this.”

He lets out a laugh and follows her, like he always knows he will.

[In which, E.J. is hopelessly in love with Gina and Gina loves that he stayed.]

i got you, babe He doesn’t know how it started but the whole, hey, babe turned into, this is a level five on the uncomfortable scale, please help and risotto turned into, get me the fuck out here and fake a death if you have to, but definitely put me on speaker and sob, on the uncomfortable scale. Their system is still a work in progress.

[AKA: The four times Gina and E.J. faked being in a relationship and the one time they didn't have to.]

prtwell

we just keep on getting better "Uh, I actually"—he shifts the gift bag in his hand to reveal another—"got you something as well."

It’s a red bag, neatly stuffed with white tissue paper. Hanging on one of the ribbon handles outside of the bag, is a tag that reads her name in EJ’s usual clean handwriting. And it’s for her.

“I thought it’d be rude to show up without something for you. I mean, we were in a very serious fake relationship.”

you can hear it in the silence The abrupt sound of someone behind her clearing their throat quickly pulled her from the moment. She spun around to see Ashlyn, standing at the foot of the stairs, looking back at her with raised eyebrows.

Gina’s throat went dry immediately. How long had Ashlyn been standing there? And could she tell just how much Gina was feeling at that moment? Had she noticed what Gina herself was only beginning to?

scoutshonour

daylight In a fit of panic and self-preservation, she drops everything but the bowl of popcorn, which she flings towards The Intruder.

Gina’s feeling pretty good about it. But then The Intruder yelps. She doesn’t know when she became so familiar with that yelp. Just that she is. Because she already knows who this is from the sound. Before he swings around, before she fumbles for the light switch, and before he says warily,

“How is your aim that fucking good?”

(or: a late-night conversation between Gina and EJ in Ashlyn's house)

**this author also has written r*na fics, so if you go to their acc expecting only portwell... that's not what you're gonna find lmao.

InvictusManeo

You're Like Lightning in a Bottle “One more game?” she offered, grin smug after her win and eyes sparkling and he thought he fell in love right there.

“Oh you’re on. I’m definitely winning this time”

He lost

[Or EJ and Gina go axe-throwing and it’s surprisingly fun.]

**this is an unfinished multichap that i promise i'm bullying el about.

AintItFun21

Beneath The Streetlights And The Moon EJ turned to face her, propping himself up. The moonlight painted her with a light glow, and he realized that he was mistaken before because right now Gina was the most beautiful he’d ever seen her.

He just stared at her for a minute, not saying a word. Gina looked at him curiously about to ask if there was something on her face before he spoke.

“You’re amazing Gina.”

xxx my own fics bc i can't not self-promote oof xxx

see going through and getting all these links/etc. was why my procrastination hit so hard and i waited so long, but i'm still extremely sorry anon! i'm sure you've found amazing fics on your own/by other people who answer their asks in a more timely fashion, but here are my recs. xx

[agentwhiskeypussyindulgence]

Whiskey Kisses (Agent Whiskey x plus sized Reader)

Authors Note: Hello!!!! If this looks familiar it’s because it is! This was written in the middle of my covid sickness back in January and I have not touched it since lmao. I figure it might be better to edit it a bit, and post it all as one rather than two separate entities since the second part was only separate bc I hadn’t written it yet at the time I posted the first one. I’m hoping that I’ve gone through and removed any glaring descriptors that will exclude folks but the one thing that remains is that this is a plus sized reader (gotta leave a little bit of me in there lmao!) This was/still is my first attempt at smut so I'm hoping I've read enough to get somewhat of a grasp on it ✌ Plot is the same, wildly incredibly self indulgent, Whiskey is as charming as ever and hopefully the new post will get some fresh eyes on it! Hope everyone enjoys~~

Word count: ~7000

Warnings: NSFW 18+ fem plus sized reader (a bit of body insecurity that is Very Brief), Daddy Kink, Loss of Virginity (including insecurity about being a virgin), Praise Kink, no y/n used, excessive use of pet names bc Whiskey is a menace,If I’ve missed anything please don’t hesitate to let me know!

The place smelt like smoke. That was first scent that hit you as you moved through the crowdto the bar, claiming a seat on the side nearest to the exit. This was your first time out and about in your new city and you weren’t exactly sure what you were here for. At the least you would get a good night of entertainment from people watching from your position at the bar. Maybe you would make a friend. That’s how it worked for people your age right?

It had been so long since you had to put yourself out into social situations that weren’t engineered to create bonds--this wasn’t school and it wasn’t work, the two places where you felt confident about your social skills. You feared you might be a little behind on friend making procedures. This was only your second week in town. You’ve moved from home because you knew you couldn’t stand one more day in your hometown. Moving back after college had been a great way to save up money, but you were tired of living with your parents and tired of the same small town views. It hurt leaving your folks and it hurt to leave your friends even more. But you knew that sooner rather than later they would be moving out into the world. That’s what was expected and you were terrified but immensely excited to be the first one in your group to make the leap.

Now you’ve found yourself here alone in a bar nursing some sugary drink that had been listed in chalk on the special board outside the bar. You didn’t mind being alone. In the past you’d learned to enjoy your own company —going thrifting on your own or heading to see a movie when everyone else was busy. That being said, you found being alone in a bar a much more harrowing experience. You didn’t usually spend much time alone in places where the drunken masses gathered. Parties, clubs, and bars weren’t usually your scene and let alone without your group of friends there as backup.

You were out to be social yet still hoped that your phone would serve as a good enough reason for no one to come up and ask for a dance. Sure, there were some attractive people in the bar tonight, but you were only on your first drink and didn’t have enough in your system to get yourself out on the dancefloor with someone you didn’t know. Not yet at least.

Your attention was pulled from your phone by a movement in your periphery, a silhouette passing behind you. It was a…cowboy?

That wasn’t who you were expecting to see. This wasn’t a country bar by any means and he stood out amongst the other patrons in their casual clothes. He kept a respectful distance leaving a seat between the one he chose and yours as if to not block you in. You stared, taking in his outfit, he seemed like the real deal. Cowboy boots with spurs, well-fitting denim jeans, and a Stetson seated on top of dark hair. Only thing out of place was his shirt. You weren’t a hundred percent sure what kind of shirts cowboys wore, but you weren’t betting on a nicely pressed dress shirt.

He looked young upon first glance, then you noticed the smile lines around the corner of his eyes and mouth. That and the way he carried himself, his essence, revealed that he probably had some years on you though that didn’t lessen the attraction any. He turned suddenly and you couldn’t look away; embarrassed as you were to be caught staring. Not when those gorgeous brown eyes met with yours. He raised a hand to the brim of his hat and honest to god tipped it in your direction with a smile and a quiet “Evenin” on his lips.

You cleared your throat and cradled your glass in your hands, fingers working to twist and turn it. “Evening…didn’t expect to see a cowboy in here tonight.” You take a small sip. “Doesn’t really seem like your scene” you finish, looking around at the crowd, all dressed differently but certainly no cowboys among them.

The stranger lets out a laugh and a smile lights up his face as the bartender works his way to your side of the bar. “Maybe not darlin but this cowboy is home anywhere he can find a beautiful lady and a whiskey, neat.” He says this last part to the bartender who you find standing in front of the two of you. He gives a nod at the cowboy and glances over at you and you notice your drink is almost empty. “Put this sweet thing’s next drink on my tab” he says with a wink in your direction and you can’t help but feel heat flood your face. This is the first time you’ve ever been bought a drink by a stranger at a bar.

You realize the bartender is waiting patiently on you and you panic. You had wanted to switch drinks after finishing this one off, tired of the sugar, worried over the hangover it might bring. “Oh! Uhm, whiskey neat also. Thank you.”

The stranger sitting close to you raises his eyebrows at your order, his eyes glancing between your own and the remnants of your sugary cocktail. You smile and give him a shrug “Buyers choice I suppose.”

He lets out a chuckle and holds his hand out across the empty seat between you. “Jack Daniels. Nice to meet you.” You give him your hand and your name and you watch as his eyes trail over you.

He smiles, as if he’s seen something he likes once his eyes have finished their exploration. You can’t blame him as you had just done the same thing. But you couldn’t help but be a little puzzled. You hadn’t really dressed with the goal of attracting attention to yourself tonight. You chose your favorite pair of light-wash jeans (you were told they hugged your curves nicely) and a band t-shirt with a light flannel on top. It was comfortable and you looked nice, but you hadn’t dressed to impress.

The drinks arrive and Jack raises his glass in the air and tips it in your direction. You hurriedly grip yours and do the same, smiling at the clink of meeting glasses.

The whiskey stings your lips, chapped from your habit of nervously biting at the soft skin in new situations. You don’t often drink whiskey and you attempt to school your face into something neutral, trying not to cough, as the smoky alcohol burns its way down your throat. A burn that you find yourself enjoying mere moments after it passes. You over at Jack who doesn’t avert his eyes when you catch him staring at you, an amused expression on his face. If he noticed your brief grimace that came with your first sip of the whiskey, he was a true gentleman and kept it to himself.

“Is Jack Daniels really your name?” Taking him in with an incredulous look. Who the hell is named after a whiskey brand? Or who uses it as a fake name and then orders it at the bar? Sighing with a smile, he nods. “It was a name before a brand, sugar. Plus, now all my friends can call me Whiskey. You can too if you’d prefer.” He finishes with a wink.

Setting his glass down he doesn’t give you time to react beyond your surprised stare. “So. What’s a beauty like you doing all alone, stuck here talking to an old man like me?” You let out a laugh and look at him incredulously. Confirmation that he was older but you wouldn’t have thought to call him an old man. He’s really laying on the charm thick though. You can’t say you’re mad at it.

“I’m new to town.” You reply. “Figured after a week of unpacking and organizing I deserved a night out on.” He gives a grin. “I don’t know about the other fellas in this joint, but I for one love an independent woman.” Grinning you take another sip from your glass, the burn still there but less aggressive. “Well we all have to learn to be independent one way or another right?”

Humming in agreement he meets your eyes with a smile and doesn’t look away. Cheeks continuing to burn away, you give a smile back. This much undivided attention on you is new territory. But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t reveling in it.

“So what do you do when you’re not out wooing the ladies at the bar? You a real cowboy?” You ask, giving him another once over. As a general piece of knowledge from living in a town with some farming areas you knew that genuine Stetsons and real leather boots didn’t come without a hefty price tag. And he certainly didn’t look cheap.

“I’m an agent for a secret independent intelligence agency.” He says this with no hesitation or humor in his voice. Simply a flat reply. You raise your brow at him and snort into your glass. “And now that you’ve told me you’ll have to kill me right?” Jack takes your joke in stride “I don’t think I would ever deny the world a beauty like yours by killing ya darlin”

He swirls his whiskey in his glass as you blush. “Really though I work on the board for Statesmen Distillery. We’re based in Kentucky.” You smile with a nod, taking another sip from your glass “Well that certainly explains- well just about everything about you. How’d you find yourself here then? Need a vacation?”

This line of questioning leads you and Jack chatting back and forth about nothing and everything. He asks about your family, the move, how you found yourself moving from your hometown all by your lonesome. He tells you about his job, the boring meetings, how he really enjoys spending time on his ranch, watching the sunset. (He pulls out his phone at one point, showing you a picture of a calf that you can’t help but coo at, directing baby noises at the phone in his hand. He seems endeared by this.)

You had always had a hard time talking to people you didn’t know, keeping to your same group of friends because of this reason. With Jack though you didn’t feel any lulls in the conversations, no awkward silences. You couldn’t remember the last time it had been so easy to have a conversation with someone.

As the two of you finish off your second round of whiskeys, a slow country song begins to play from the speakers. Most of the crowd looks confused at the shift in vibes from the DJ booth. The DJ in question points towards the corner where you and Jack have been sitting and winks; odd to pander to the one cowboy in the crowd. You’re not going to complain though, and it seems, neither is Jack. “Tennessee Whiskey. Just like my namesake.”

He hums in appreciation before he stands, holding a hand out to you. “Would you like to dance darlin?” You’ve never been much for slow dancing, but you knew you’d be kicking yourself with regret if you said no. You place your hand in his as he leads you out onto the dancefloor. The music swirls around the two of you and you feel your nerves spike, hoping your hands aren’t sweaty, that you don’t step on his feet and praying to whatever god is out there that you can keep the rhythm. But as he gently tugs you closer into his embrace you feel any apprehension disappearing you’re your mind.

You find yourself looking up at him, dark and beautiful brown eyes meeting yours. You take a risk and lean your head against his shoulder as you sway, taking in a deep inhale of his scent. It’s beautiful, not too strong. You can smell the whiskey on his breath and you wonder what cologne he uses. It’s something oaky and fresh and the combination is enough to intoxicate you even further.

“Sugar…” the pet name comes out as a whisper from above.“I’d be doing myself a disservice if I didn’t ask if I could kiss ya right now.” You pull back looking up into those eyes that you could get lost in. He’s leaned in close to you now, his breath dancing across your lips. You part them to respond and you knew you would be doing yourself a disservice if you didn’t say yes.

Wordlessly you nod and can’t help the sigh that escapes you as he tilts his head and his lips meet yours.

It’s not your first kiss, but you can count all the previous ones on a singular hand. He’s gentle, his hawkish nose that you’ve found yourself enamored with brushes softly against your cheek as your lips dance together. You hum in contentment, bringing your arms up and around his neck, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

He swipes his tongue across your bottom lip and it may sound juvenile but you hadn’t had much experience with tongue kissing. You part your lips anyways, following intuition, allowing his tongue access. The sensation is foreign but not unwelcome and you can’t help moaning, and his hold on your waist tightens as you’re pulled even closer against him. You spend a few moments in the middle of the dance floor in his embrace, tongues dancing together and thoroughly getting lost in him.

He pulls back for a moment and you’re thankful he made the decision because you hadn’t even noticed the fact that you still needed air. You cringe at the whimper you let out as your lips detach, you hate at how pathetic you sound, hate that you instinctually go to chase them. It doesn’t seem like Jack cares though, he’s gazing down at you, bringing up a hand to rest on the side of your face, a thumb coming to sweep across your bottom lip before swooping down for a second kiss. This one is much more brief. “How would you like to ride home on a real cowboy?” he murmurs against your lips.

You freeze up at his question knowing exactly what he’s asking. Your eyes going wide as you try to stammer out excuses that won’t reveal your true hesitation. This particular insecurity doesn’t come up a lot but you’re never sure how to breach the topic of your virginity whenever scenarios like this pop up.

Jack pulls back, a concerned look growing on his face at your muttering. “I’m sorry if I overstepped, doll. It wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable. We don’t have to do anything other than sit around here all night. I’d enjoy any time spent with you.” His eyes met yours and they were so kind and soft and you felt your heart melt a little at his crooked smile. You had just met him but you made up your mind to tell him the truth so he wouldn’t walk away from the night feeling terrible.

You always make up something else and run before you can embarrass yourself further. Your younger years are supposed to be your “prime” and you know in your mind that it’s completely normal for you to still be a virgin. That being said you have always felt like it was some kind of barrier blocking you from ever truly being comfortable with romantic entanglements.

You sigh as another song picks up. You’re both still holding onto each other and swaying to the beat and you open your mouth to give this man some peace. “Jack I… listen you’re incredibly attractive and I love a cowboy, I really do. And you didn’t make me uncomfortable! I just-” you chew on your lip again, thinking if there was a better way to say this before deciding on just getting it over with so you can stop wasting his time.

“I’ve never…been with anyone like that before and I as much as I wanna save a horse and ride a cowboy, I know a lot of people don’t want the virgin burden on them so I completely understand if you want to find someone else for the night so you’re not wasting your time.” It comes out rushed and in one breath, you’re avoiding his eyes not wanting to see the disappointment that might radiate from them. When you finally looked up, he was still staring at you with those gentle eyes, it was too much for you and you cast your eyes back down.

In an instant you found his hand gently holding your chin, lifting your gaze to meet him once more. “Hey. Look at me. You ain’t got anything to be embarrassed about darlin’. And you’re certainly not a waste of my time. Far from it. Ain’t nothing wrong with being inexperienced.” His eyes crinkle with a smile directed at you and you grin back feeling relief wash over you. This is honestly the best one of these conversations.

“Now listen,” he continues “if you just wanna dance and drink the night away, I’m thrilled to get to know you more.” You nod waiting for the ‘but’ you knew was coming. “But if this is something you want to try and I’m the fella you wanna try it with, well then-” He leans down, voice dropping and breath dancing along your ear “-daddy will take care of you.”

He studies you then, gauging your reaction at his phrasing. He knew it was a bold move but hoped that it would pay off. And lucky for both of you it does. Your eyes widen and you let out a short gasp as you bite at your bottom lip. The term he used sent a spark of arousal directly through you and in that moment you know that Jack is exactly who you need to come home with you tonight.

You give Jack a nod and he caresses your face with his large calloused hand. “I need to hear you say it, sugar.” And fuck it if that doesn’t get you feeling all warm inside. “Y-yeah” it comes out shaky not purely from nerves but also through the adrenaline you can feel coursing through your body. “Take me home Jack.” He practically beams at you, pressing a quick kiss to your lips and tugging you back over to the bar so he can pay the tab. You didn’t walk in here expecting to leave with someone tonight but you’re the furthest thing from disappointed as the two of you rush out the doors.

--

You both make your way through the bar's exit and you find yourself standing in front of a vintage Ford Bronco, Whiskey holding the passenger door open for you. You smile and slide into the seat. “Such a gentleman. But you know, this isn’t the car I was expecting a fancy distillery man to own. But it does feel quite fitting.” You muse as he takes his own seat and starts the engine, the radio on low crackling to life. “It’s my pride and joy” he hums, gently patting the dash. “Anything could happen to me as long as my baby here is safe.”

You laugh at the man’s love for his car until the chuckle is cut off by Jack’s hand coming to rest on your leg. His touch is gentle, and he drags his palm up from your knee to your upper thigh and back down again. He glances at you from his periphery “This alright darlin?” You nod as he resumes his movements, tracing inscrutable patterns with his fingers whenever his hand pauses in its path.

You feel the telltale heat of arousal begin to pool in your stomach. You’re not unused to that. The new and exhilarating part of the scenario tonight is that you have someone else to take care of it. Someone other than your hands and your well-used vibrator. You’re thankful that the drive back from the bar to your apartment is short. If it was any longer than the ten minutes it took you might actually explode.

Jack pulls up and you direct him to park in the spot next to your own car. One that looks far worse than you usually find it when compared to the well taken care of Bronco next to it. Jack, continuing to be the gentleman he’s been all night, opens your door for you once more, grabbing your hand as you sling your purse over your shoulder and make your way towards the front door. The elevator ride up to the 5th floor is rife with palpable tension and you almost melt at the gentle circles Jack makes with his thumb on the back of your hand as it sits entwined with his.

The moment the two of you cross the threshold of your doorway you expect everything to begin at once, all passion and clashing lips. You find yourself surprised when you’re not immediately pressed against the door and ravaged like in the movies, and you see Jack take in your living room.

Luckily everything had gotten sorted in your first week and the only thing to indicate a new occupant were the stack of boxes in the corner that you needed to take to the recycling bin behind the building.

His eyes trail along your bookshelf, scanning the titles bookended by little trinkets and tiny figurines you had gathered from gifts and mall vending machines. He admires the paintings on your wall, all excellent purchases from the local Goodwill you thought.

You shift from foot to foot not entirely knowing how to start things off. This is your first time and Jack is the one showing you the ropes so you hover next to your couch as he finishes his scan of the room, turning to you with a soft smile. “You’ve made this place feel homey already, sugar. I love it.” You beam back at him happy to explain your interior design choices but in a moment he’s taking two large strides in your direction. “Now, mind if we pick up where we left off in the bar?” He brushes his knuckles gently across your cheek as he waits for your response and in an instant you’re already reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck once more.

It’s cliché and you know it but when his lips connect with yours once more you feel fireworks. An explosion of arousal deep in the pit of your stomach as you grant his tongue entrance. The kiss isn’t rough but it is passionate. You had always had the inkling that you would find a tongue in your mouth invasive and gross and you are thrilled to learn that isn’t true. Or maybe it’s just because of the man you’re with. Jack seems like the type of guy who can make anything feel good and you can’t wait to see what he has to offer you.

Detaching his lips from yours you find yourself unintentionally pouting. He laughs at his before leaning down to latch his lips onto your neck and the pout disappears as a moan rips through your body as he begins to suck and bite up your neck. Jack is savoring every moment he spends kissing you, you can feel the restraint lurking behind every kiss. You can feel your legs turn into jelly and you’re grateful for the hands around your waist and the couch back behind you for all the support you certainly need right now.

As Jack soothes a bite with his tongue he moves his hands from your waist and places them under your ass instead. He tugs you forward, your balance unstable without the couch behind you. You feel his muscles get to work and suddenly you’re off the ground letting out a startled gasp. “Don’t worry, sugar. Daddy’s got ya.” Instinct kicks in and you’re wrapping your legs around his middle, groaning at the contact between your clothed core and his waist. You hadn’t realized how desperate you were for some friction until now and it hits you like a freight train. Dropping your head against Jack’s shoulder you hear his laugh from above you. “Hmm, someone’s impatient ain’t she?”

Lightheadedness consumes you, astonishment at his strength combined with his teasing giving you an incredible heady feeling. “Jack please…” you rub circles into the nape of his neck and you feel his breath huff into your hair as he groans in response to your begging.

Wasting no time he carries you to your bedroom and gently sets you down on the bed. He stands above you as you stare up with wide eyes. He kneels in front of you at the edge of your bed and reaches a hand up to begin to slip the flannel from your shoulders. The gentle touch of his hands sends a shiver up your spine, even through the layer of clothing.

Soon your shirt is off and he’s tracing lazy patterns on the swell of your breasts. He gently palms your boobs through the lacy fabric of your bra and drags a thumb across the raised material where your nipples are hardening underneath. You’re not sure how much longer you can handle the touches, gentle and tantalizing and just enough to leave you wanting more. You move your arms up and back to unclasp your bra, throwing off the side of the bed to be dealt with in the morning.

Jack’s eyes are trained on your breasts now, even more so than before. There’s a hunger there, a desire that you’re not used to seeing directed at you. He leans forward and cups one breast with his hand and secures his mouth over your peaked nipple. You groan in pleasure and press your chest further into him, despite there being not much more space to fill.

He drags his tongue across your nipple before sucking, repeating the process every few seconds. You’re pleasantly shocked at the little nibbles that are peppered across your chest once he’s had his fill of licking. You move your hand down to gently grip at the back of his head, pressing him closer. “Daddy please, keep doing that it’s so good!” He eases his mouth off, a pleased smile on his face. “Anything you want sweetness.” And promptly moves to the opposite breast, continuing his work.

Soon you’re left panting and hungry for his same talented touch in a much more sensitive place. You tell him as much through panting breaths and he wastes no time to start shimmying your pants and underwear off with your help. He stands for a moment, beginning to remove his own clothes, a pile of his country wear being left in the corner of your room. You admire his broad shoulders, the hair on his chest, slim waist with just a hint of a belly that you’d love to kiss. You follow his happy trail down eyeing the prominent bulge in his jeans begging to be freed.

As you lay on the bed spread before him, you’re overcome with the urge to curl up into a ball to cover yourself. You wouldn’t say that you’re unhappy with your body. You love your curves and your tummy. No you’re not insecure…not entirely.

Jack is a handsome man and you’re lying here wondering if this is what he wants to see. You curse yourself for letting your insecurities try and ruin your night with this handsome man who clearly wants what you want. You fold inwards on yourself only slightly, bringing your legs closed and positioning yourself more on your side than on your back.

Jack finally back at you from where he’s been stripping and glances over at you with a furrowed brow, noticing the change in position. “Sweetness what’s wrong? We don’t have to do this if you’re having second thoughts.” You shake your head so quickly that you almost make yourself lightheaded. “It’s not that. I just-” you pause trying to think of the right way to explain yourself without sounding incredibly pathetic.

But it seems like Jack can read your mind. Before you can even continue to draft your thoughts, his brow straightens and an incredibly soft look crosses his features. He stands from his spot and kneels in front of you on the bed. “Doll, you are one of the most gorgeous creatures I’ve ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes on. I just wanna make you feel good. Will you let Daddy take care of you?”

You can feel the heat bloom in your body and you nod as you release a shaky breath that you hadn’t realized you were holding. Jack smirks at your reaction, pleased that you’re less in your head.

He stands and holds you by your hip, urging you to rotate onto your back. Once you’ve done so, he grabs your ankles pulling them apart and down so your legs are dangling off the bed. He kneels on the ground in front of you once more and you see that his eyes are dark with lust. You feel dizzy, knowing that you’re the one having this effect on him. He lifts one leg over his shoulder, and then the other; finishing by sliding his hands under your ass and tugging you closer.

Any potential embarrassment is immediately banished from your mind as you feel his breath against your wetness. He wastes no time, flattening his tongue and licking a broad strip up from your slit to your clit. Your eyes widen at the sensation and you let out a loud gasp as he does it a second time. His tongue licks at your folds before his lips settle on your clit.

Immediately, as if they had a mind of their own, your hips try to buck into his mouth. Desperate for more pleasure, more of that tongue on you. You feel Jack grin against you and he wraps his arms around your waist to keep them still. “Woah now sugar, calm down.” He’s only removed his mouth a few inches, the hot breath teasing you with its closeness makes you want to writhe on the bed. Jack must feel the tension in your hips because he chuckles. “Don’t worry, Daddy’s gonna give you what you need.”

His mouth is on you again, alternating between swirling patterns on your clit and filling you with his tongue. The noises coming from his mouth as he works you closer to pleasure are filthy and you’re about to comment when he pulls back for a moment. You let out a ragged breath and sit up a bit, wondering why he stopped. He takes a thick finger and drags it up through the combined wetness of you and his spit. It teases near your opening and you groan as your want for more sparks once again.

He chuckles at your expression. It’s not a mocking one, you can tell with the way he’s looking at you, the softness in his eyes like he’s the lucky one for sharing this with you. He’s not away from you long. That same finger is entering you now and nothing has ever felt this good. You didn’t realize how different it would feel with fingers that weren’t your own. Yours always felt too methodical, his felt magical.

“You’re sweeter than honey. Did ya know that?” you’re glad you managed to open your eyes as you look down at him popping that same finger into his mouth, sucking it clean. You know you must look ridiculous, your eyes blown wide with lust and jaw hanging slack and open in shock.

You feel yourself clench tightly as Jack moves to slide a second finger in. His free hand reaches up to hold your hip, his thumb moving in calming circles along the skin there. “You gotta relax sugar.” He moves his head back to your clit, speaking directly into you. “I want ya to feel good. Just relax.”

You do your best to follow his instructions, taking a breath and focusing on his hand on your hip and his mouth on your most sensitive area. Feeling your muscles relax, Jack grins into you. “That’s a good girl.” And the praise makes you shudder. He moves a second finger through your folds gathering the pooling slick and slides them into your entrance. You can feel his fingers thrusting inside you, taking breaks to scissor outwards stretching you out in the most delicious way. The fingers curl, finding a spot you’ve never managed to find in your years of exploring your own body.

You throw your head back against the covers as you let out a wanton moan, eyes clenched shut in pleasure as he continues to stroke that sweet spot. You’re so lost that you don’t take notice of a third finger slipping in as he picks up the pace. You’re panting now, breath coming out rapid and hot as your chest heaves with the labor of trying to keep some semblance of calm as the man between your legs wrecks you. Between his fingers thrusting into you and his lips sucking at your clit you can feel your orgasm rushing up on you like a speeding train. You reach a hand down, hoping Jack doesn’t mind as you grab onto his hair letting out a breathless “Jack I’m gonna-” you can feel him nod slightly, groaning at the pressure of your fingers gripping onto his hair and the vibrations finally do you in.

You feel yourself clenching again, this time due to the amount of pleasure running through your body and your legs close gently around Jack who works you through your orgasam, only letting his fingers slide from you once you go limp against the sheets. He gives you another broad lick for good measure and you whimper from the overstimulation, not being able to form words yet.

He rises from his kneeling position and crawls onto the bed, one knee between yours, the other bracketing your leg. You stare up at him with glossy eyes, tracing over his slick mustache and chin. Reaching up, you circle your arms around his neck and bring him down for a kiss, slow and passionate and you moan into his mouth as you taste yourself, sweet and tangy, on his tongue. “You ready for more sugar? We can stop here if you need you.”

You know it’s the bare minimum, really, but you can’t help but be moved by the constant check-ins from Jack. It means a lot to you that he’s looking out for you every step of the way.

Not much for words for fear of getting to emotional, you reach over to your bedside table and pull the drawer open, fishing out a bottle of lube and a condom. You hand both to Jack and correctly reads this as an answer to his question. Looking down, he raises a brow in amusement. “A pink condom huh? That’s new.” Biting down on your tongue to hold back a laugh, you shrug under him. “They were free at the last pride I went to. Gotta stick with the thematic rainbow colors right?” He laughs with you ripping the foil open and rolling the condom onto his cock and you’re glad the two of you can laugh in the moment.

“Now sweetness, I’m gonna need you to relax again, alright? Daddy prepared you with his fingers but as you can see sugar, his cock is much bigger.”

Your eyes trail down his body and he was right. His cock was much bigger than his fingers and much bigger than the dildo you had made yourself comfortable with. But Jack has been patient and gentle all night and you’d be lying to yourself if the thought of him inside of you didn’t set a fire coursing through you.

His words sent heat right through you down to your core, you might have been overeager but his tone had you spreading your legs for him with a wink, a bold feeling suddenly overcoming you since your first orgasm. “I’ll relax daddy. I’ll be good.” His smile is blinding as he grabs one of your pillows and helps you settle it under you, lifting your legs to bracket his own hips.

He notches his cock at your entrance and your breath catches in your throat. He was right, it’s much different than his fingers. More filling, more intense, but just as pleasurable. The pain and pleasure intertwine and set your nerves alight. He inches in slowly, giving your body time to adjust to his size, the entire time he’s praising you, pressing kisses to your face, neck, and chest. “That’s a good girl. Taking me so well. That’s it sugar, keep breathing. You look gorgeous under me like this.”

His praise pulls you into his orbit further. Sooner than you expected you feel his hips make contact with your ass and you realize with a moan that he’s fully in you now. He remains still and bent over you, kissing you deeply, your fingers tangled in his hair. The stillness is agonizing, you need him to move and move now.

“Daddy!” you whimper, and you’d be embarrassed at the tone of your voice if you hadn’t felt him twitch inside of you. “Please move! Please, I'm ready for you to move.” He groans into your neck and obliges. He moves back, pulling out at a torturously slow pace and you feel his cock drag along your walls letting out a breathy moan. He pushes back in slowly too, continuing with this pace until you’re pulling at his hair again, whimpering and begging him to go faster.

“Alright darlin, you let me know if we need to stop now.” You eyes are trained on him as you nod, internally mesmerized at how much care he’s been taking tonight. You can’t say one way or another but you think it’d be hard to find someone to come into a bar hookup with this much gentleness.

“You’d be wonderful to tease darlin. You know that? I could listen to those noises all night, keeping you on edge. You think you’re begging now?” You clench at his words knowing that you were at his mercy, that at this point you’d let him do whatever he wanted as long as he kept cooing praise in your ear. “But tonight is about you, no teasin. Your wish is my command sugar.” He picks up pace and you can’t believe what you had been missing.

Your legs lock around his back bringing him in closer and you find yourself holding on, arms linked around his neck as he takes you on a ride.

What started off as a careful pace on Jack’s end, wound up pushing you to your limits. You didn’t think it would feel this good your first time. Maybe that’s what had kept you away for so long. But any fears had no place here as Jack rocked into you picking up speed with each thrust.

With one hand on your hip holding you steady, Jack leans down to start sucking a mark on your neck, pulling back to admire his handiwork in the form of a red mark that he knows will last a few days. In response your hands in his hair tighten their grip as you both let out simultaneous moans.

“Such a good girl for me.” Jack’s grunting into your neck at this point, his breath coming out hot and heavy, fanning across your skin. “Making me feel so good.” His thrusts are getting erratic now, losing rhythm. His hand dances across your skin, skimming across your chest before finding its way between your legs, thumb working small and quick circles on your bundle of nerves.

“You got another one in ya don’tcha sugar? I wanna see your face when daddy makes you cum.” You’re past words at this point only able to nod your head and moan in response.

With a few more powerful thrusts in tandem with the pressure on your clit you’re coming around Jack’s cock, head thrown back against the pillows with eyes rolling back in pleasure chanting his name.

Jack groans at the tightness around him and the expression on your face. He fucks you through your orgasm, removing his hand from your clit as he grips tightly onto your hips.

When Jack finishes, its with a shaky breath and a drawn out moan right next to your ear. And though you were on the verge of overstimulation so close to your last orgasm, the sound sent another pang of arousal through your body. You were definitely gonna store that away for later.

The two of you remain entangled for a bit. He’s softening inside of you as he gently peppers kisses to your forehead, nose and cheeks. You’re thoroughly exhausted, reveling in the attention and when he dips down you find yourself nuzzling into the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder. You worry for a moment that it’s too intimate for a bar hookup but immediately chase that thought off with a deep inhale, taking in the smell of sweat and sex and remnants of his cologne. It’s intoxicating.

Eventually he must tire of holding his body up so as to not crush you and he slides out of you slowly. You have to admit that you miss the fullness and only pout slightly as he stands from the bed, making his way into the bathroom.

When he returns the condom is gone and he has a damp washcloth in his hand. He kneels on the bed and begins gently wiping away the sweat on your brow, trailing the warm rag down your chest and between your legs. You can’t help but hum in contentment, not having expected this level of care after a one night stand. He balls up the rag and tosses it with expert aim back into the bathroom and you couldn’t care less where it lands. All you want is him back in your bed and pressed against you.

Words aren’t needed. Jack seems to read your mind and smiles down at you before crawling into bed behind you. You inch your body closer to his until you find his arms wrapping around your middle, tugging you close and eliminating the gap.

“Thanks for that Jack….that was-” you pause trying to find your words. “-that was fucking phenomenal.” You feel a huff of laughter against the back of your neck before feeling him shift positions allowing him to press another kiss to your temple. “I aim to please darlin.”

You close your eyes briefly before a pang of anxiety worms its way into your mind. “Will you still be here in the morning?” The question is quiet, whispered. Half of you wanting an answer and the other half hoping he didn’t hear as to not reveal yourself to be as vulnerable as you feel.

“Course I will sugar. I reckon–if you’re amiable–that there’s a few more things I can show ya.”

You’re giddy at the thought and can’t help but giggle. “I’d love that.”

You’re not sure where this thing between you two will go, but even if you only have him for one night, you know that it’s an experience you’re never going to forget.

[lokisasylum]

Saw this tag last night and thought it was pretty cool, but was passing out from exhaustion from the vaccine so I couldn’t do it.

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). see if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag some of your favorite authors!

1. No Ordinary Love [BTS, yoonmin - Still in the works, but I wanted to add it because I really like the Prologue]

When I entered the club that night… I wasn't expecting anything to happen beyond a casual conversation and perhaps sharing a few drinks.

I knew very well how delicate the situation stood between us after a disastrous breakup years ago, followed by a bittersweet reunion that ended anything but friendly.

No, I wasn't there to beg nor did I want him to take me back. Jiminie had his life and I had mine.

All I wanted was someone to talk to… and he was there for me.

Can you blame me for that?

2. Forever, You Said. [BTS, jikook, vampire au]

All my life I wanted nothing more than to get away and live my life the way I want. So why… does it suddenly not feel enough? Why do I feel like I'm missing something? - Jungkook 

3. Lunatic High [BTS, fantasy au]

The sound of his own harsh breathing echoed loudly in his ears, only matched by the sound of his erratic heartbeat as he ran half blindly through the field. 

4. Heal My Heart [BTS, jikook; historical au]

"Did you come here to yell at me too?"

Jimin rolled his eyes, but couldn't stop the smile that was already forming on his lips at the sight of the young knight sulking in the corner of the room like a child.

"Of course not. I’m your physician not your squad leader or Seokjin-hyung for that matter." The elder reassured him while placing the bowl of water, rags, ointment and bandages on the nearest table. "So obviously I’m here to treat your wounds… just like I always do." He added in a smaller voice, more to himself than to Jeongguk.

5. A Promised Scenery [BTS, vmin; canon]

It was 4:00 AM, but they hadn't gone inside when they said they would half an hour ago.

Or rather they had meant to.

But the minute that their hands were clasped so tight, like they never wanted to let go, and their eyes met in a whirlwind of emotions, shy smiles and embarrassed laughter. That moment was the first time where the world stopped spinning for them.

6. You're my Tear/You're my Fear [BTS, jikook; songfic]

A broken home.

A sad song.

The curtain rises, but its the same old story from before. Different scenarios, but always the same ending.

7. Yoongi's Confession [BTS, yoonmin; canon]

Our entire relationship, our love, our life can only be compared to a violent car crash on an empty road at night under the pouring rain. 

 Lots of dark moments, heartaches, blood, sweat and tears. 

 It’s how it started... and ended.

8. Love Cravings [BTS, vminkook; a/b/o]

Jungkook groaned as his phone rang for the 20th time that night when he had finally gotten into his car.

All he wanted was to get back home, to his warm bed and SLEEP like he deserved. Was that too much to ask?

9. Dirty Habits [BTS, jikook; labeled as “late valentines smut” LOL]

Jungkook stumbled through the front door of his apartment, nearly tripping on the ‘Welcome Home’ mat that never quite made you feel as welcome as it was intended to. 

10. So Trust Me [BTS, vminkook]

--Words of love, encouragement, good health, best wishes, and strength continued to flow in waves every minute into his cell phone. Lifting his spirit and filling his heart with joy little by little though not as fast or as overwhelming as it normally should.

It’s been a hard year, not just for him, but for everyone.

Even with all the happiness and beautiful memories being created around him, there was still sadness lingering in his heart. But he wouldn’t let it show, not yet, not here.

11. The Reason [BTS, vminkook]

“Jimin-ssi, keep your defense up!!” Jungkook barked out without breaking his stance as he watched the other male stumble backwards on to the snowy ground with a loud thud.

Taehyung watched from the side, leaning against the wall next to the glass sliding doors to their apartment. Worry etched on to his features behind the large scarf half covering his face to protect him from the cold weather. It’s not the first time he’s come to watch his two lovers spar, but as to why the two insist on doing it at such an early hour in the morning where it’s the coldest its beyond him.

12. Peppermint Kisses [BTS, vminkook]

Something was up in the dorm and Jungkook didn’t like it one bit.

And that something was related to two particular members of Bangtan.

The 95z.

13. UNSTEADY (Prequel to All or Nothing) [BTS, jikook; canon]

I watched him lie through his teeth again today during practice. But it wasn’t just today, there had been many other times where I had watched Jimin do the same; skipping meals, sleepless nights, and when nothing else worked he’d wear himself out with excessive practice hours in the studio by himself.

But I’m not blind, I know it’s on me… yet he still insists on taking the fall by himself for what happened that day.

14. The Sleepover [BTS, vminkook]

Taehyung was the first to stir awake that morning with a long groan. His lashes fluttered weakly against his cheek as he tried to fight off both sleep and nausea from his system.

The hangover making its presence known with a vengeance.

15. All or Nothing [BTS, jikook; canon]

The door to his and Hoseok’s shared room slammed so hard that he could have sworn the thing would come off its hinges any moment.

How dare he?

How fucking dare he?

16. Beautiful Tragedy [BTS, jikook; soulmate au]

When I was four my mother used to tell me stories about Soulmates and how they were always bound to find each other no matter what. Because they were destined to be.

Born and made for each other.

No distance was too far, no language became a barrier, no obstacle too high or low to overcome. No hardship was too much to bare. Because soulmates were two halves of the same soul who's primary purpose was to find their way back to one another and therefore spoke their own language in their hearts.

17. Private Show [BTS, jikook; canon]

“You’re late.” A voice scolded from somewhere in the still dark room.

His hand immediately left the doorknob to reach for the light switch, revealing a figure leaning on the farthest wall, against the mirrors. His pink hair hidden by a cap worn low which also hid his face, a jean jacket over a black buttoned up shirt, dark ripped jeans and boots.

It was Jimin.

18. Sin For You [BTS, vmin; AU]

He was singing our song again at our favorite karaoke bar.

Our secret song… the one nobody knows about. That keeps us connected even at times when we had been involved with someone else.

19. It's all in your mind [BTS, canon with some subtle jikook]

It felt strange to be back home after being away for so long while filming the second season of Bon Voyage, and with a new comeback sometime in September, the schedules were sure to be tight for the rest of the year. So everyone at the dorm tried to make the most of it by getting organized and rest.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I mean... it said favorite opening LINES, in PLURAL.

WHAT HAVE WE LEARNED TODAY, KIDS?

That I need to work on my entries better =_=

Repeated patterns I may have noticed? Hmm... that I usually start the opening scenes with someone walking into a room (usually angry and throwing shit LOL), or describing sounds/smells/feelings.

And that in most cases its JK walking into said rooms and literally walking into some unknown chaos 😌😅 (said chaos being Jimin).

Tag... I don’t know if any of my favorite authors are here on tumblr, much less if I’m following any of them because lately I’ve been checking out authors who announce their work via twitter.

But if any of my moots are authors, go for it.

[yeocult]

ATEEZ as students studying

HONGJOONG:

king of self-care! but studies for 15 minutes then take a 2 hour break and calls it self-care (omg he thinks he’s me or smth)

has power naps every single day at least 30 mins because he’s Stressed

always thinking of ways to drop out during the middle of lectures

that one kid that talks to nobody & sits at the back of the class with his hood on to hide his airpods

doesn’t do it anymore bc one time it disconnected and “there’s some whores in this house” blasted out loud & now he’s paranoid

shows up to group studies but lets the group carry him,,, but he puts out One Really good idea to get his name on the paper

only cares about topics he’s interested in, other than that he’s just astral projecting

“yo can you send me your answers so i can compare mine?” but he copies it and says “we got the same answers” (all men do is lie</3)

calculates his marks; “ok so i need at least a 80 on this...oh wait no, a 95...damn okay...”

the type to arrives late with ice coffee

SEONGHWA:

wakes up at 5 am to study instead of staying up

scented candles and lofi music for the ~studying mood~

a linguistic learner

learns best by teaching others so he’ll do group studies often to help other people

teaches people without making them feel dumb

uses grammarly for his emails with 3 paragraphs asking 1 question with a proper greeting and a ‘sincerely, park seonghwa’

professor: ok - sent from iphone

you’ll never see him during exams week, he’s Gone

a loyal user of the outline method

his desk must be cleared at all times! a clean workspace makes it easier to focus

brings extra pencil just in case anyone needs them bc he’s the sweetest person ever (he’s fully aware that he’ll never get them back but it’s okay bc sharing is caring)

does his readings on time (you’ll never catch him slacking)

actually has his shit together for the most part 1/2

YUNHO:

writes “i love you” or “sorry” at the end of his tests (that he bombed)

the type to ask you to print “just one thing real quick” and it’s 15 page and at 2 am

uses emojis like :D & \(^o^)/ when sending emails to his professors

has a bad habit of copying word for word on the slide and he doesn’t actually understand/learn anything

goes to the library bc he thinks that’ll help him be in the ~studying vibe~

it doesn’t. ends up texting or watching youtube gameplay

has never heard of the colour-coding system in his entire life and ends up with a page filled with neon highlight

snacks breaks are the only thing keeping him Normal

leaves himself an encouraging note at the end of the reading page so when he’s finished he feels good !!

friends with all of the professors and uses all office hours

strongest points are his guessing skills in multiple-choice questions (process of elimination ftw!)

he tries his best, doesn’t care about marks that much because he knows it doesn’t determine him (and he’s right!)

YEOSANG:

probably runs a studyblr/gram

has the cutest note ever, his handwriting is so pretty!!

he thinks that buying an ipad pro & apple pencil will make him smarter

likes it bc he can doodle on it then erase them easily :”)

has to wear blue ray glasses because of how he looks at a screen so much

mildliners, muji 0.38 gel pen, 6 ring binder, minimal planner, washi tapes, you name it! he visits muji and daiso every other week

buys wayyy too many planners and notebooks which he never ends up using

only uses pastel mildliners because they’re easy on the eyes. cringes every time he sees yunho’s highlighters v_v

his flaw is that he spends 10 mins writing his header with brush tip pens

mutes the group project gc but gets his part done like the good classmate he is

sweats every time he gets an assignment back, takes a whole ten minute to mentally prepare himself

a visual learner; makes mind maps, flow charts, etc

actually has a working printer that he uses pretty often to prints lessons before class just to be Extra prepare

tells everyone he slept well but his bullet journal habit tracker for sleep says otherwise (plz rest!!)

exclusively uses college ruled paper like the sane person he is

SAN:

uses wide-ruled paper (unfortunately not everyone is perfect</3)

starts off very positive, motivated, and organized

then everything goes downhill by the second week

will definitely set byeol on top of his keyboard, take a picture, and send it to his professor as an ‘excuse’ as why he needs an extension (it works)

can’t sit still for any longer than 30 mins, his legs are always bouncing or fidgeting with pen

flashcard king! spends a lot of time on them but it’s worth it

a utensil chewer (always willing to share his pencil but when ppl saw the bite marks they’re like No Thanks >_>)

can’t study well with groups or himself bc he’ll be distracted,,, so he needs one person that can ground him bc when they’re in the zone, he will too be on his x game mode

sends his assignment at 11:58 pm hoping his professor will take the Hint (plz don’t be afraid to ask for help u_u)

prefers listening to ghibli studio soundtracks but then he either gets emotional or sleepy

sometimes forget to mute his mic and we just hear him groaning in frustration

“haha sorry i just stubbed my toe...”

then mutes his mic and goes back to his mental breakdown

MINGI:

the only person that studies every single day just to get his brain used to the information and running

probably listens to anime op or edm music for that Energy Boost

everyone either hates or love him because...

1. loves him bc he always comes clutched with study guides (and willing to share if he likes you enough)

2. he’s good at everything even if he’s not paying attention/doing it last minute

just naturally good at retaining information and applying them

asks Big Brain question that even the professors are shook

sometimes he gets super into the topic and wants to know Everything

“i’ve never failed an exam in my life” and he’s right! big brain mingi

fetal flaw is that he forgets easily (hence why the last minute) and has to write on his palm as a reminder

clicks his pens All the time so he switched to pens with caps just to keep others from jumping him

takes naps 10 mins before classes

actually has his shit together for the post part 2/2

“if no one got me, i know khan academy and quizlet got me. can i get an amen”

WOOYOUNG:

y’all know that one mf that doesn’t have a pencil?

yea he’s been using the same one someone lend to him before a test and never returned it

it’s been two months and it’s still working well and they’re never going to get it back

a minimalist,,,, but in a bad way</3 bc he carries his stolen pencil and paper that he spilled his energy drink over and that’s about it

just throw loose papers in his bag and forgets about their existence

doesn’t do binders or notebooks, just crumbled up paper

sometimes carries a textbook just to show everyone that he’s got his life together

really noisy for No reason, always wants to know other’s marks

a kinesthetic learner

hides his screen with he gets the kahoot questions wrong (you’ll never catch him slippin)

plays coolmathgames.com during class

doesn’t really know what to study/prioritize so he overwhelms himself with every single topic ever

thinks he’s god by pulling an all-nighter to look at the 60+ slides last minute

Swears he’ll change and do better next semester,,,</3

goes to the cafe, takes pictures of his notes & laptop, post it on his story, then leaves

JONGHO:

thrives off of red bull and ice americanos

gets notes and study guides from his upperclassmen because everyone loves jongho

an audio learner so he’ll probably work out or go on a jog while listening to lessons/audiobook

never pulls all-nighters bc it messes up his sleep schedule and says he’ll do it in the morning but he never does

doesn’t even own a highlighter, he’ll circle or underline stuff with a red or black pen

has never touched a textbook in his life

only the study guides and slides, his textbook is collecting dust rn

his notes are literally Only for him because his handwriting only makes sense to him

has questionable handwriting,,, it’s like decoding

multitasks a lot but it ends up taking a lot longer than he wanted to (bc it’s a myth)

very spontaneous; he’ll grind for 5 hours straight but sometimes he won’t even touch a pencil

works best when he talks about the work in groups and share information with each other, like having a convo about the topic

unmutes his mic Once after the lesson to say “bye”

does his work right after the lessons but then takes a short break & doesn’t even Look back for the rest of the night

-

a/n: tag yourself ! i’m a bit of hohong (i projected myself on all of them in some way lmaooo)

[anjuschiffer]

Amira Wayne - Chapter 2

Day 2 of Bio!Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020! Woo! And, follow @biodad-bruce-month for more content!

Note: The AO3 Link to this fic will be on the first chapter only.

- 

Chapter 2: Father-Daughter Bonding

P.Tag: @theatreandcomicfreak @damianette-is-life @toodaloo-kangaroo @elijahcrevan

Tag: @vixen-uchiha @we-want-mini-mini @ramos123

-

MASTERLIST | Prev

-

Bruce looked at Amira, stumped by her wailing.

At first he thought it was because she already missed Talia, but it’s been a solid three hours since then and she never cried between that time until now. It wasn’t until he had placed her on his bed that she started to become fussy, her small hands waving all over the place.

Perhaps she adored being held?

“Master Bruce - good heavens! What is that- is that a child you have there Master Bruce?” Alfred asked as he stepped into Bruce’s bedroom with a tray of tea, appalled by the odor in the room.

“Meet Amira...my daughter.” Bruce introduced, watching as Alfred set down the tray, slowly approaching the wailing girl.

“Pardon me Master Bruce, but when was the last time you changed the young miss?”

“Changed?” Bruce asked, glancing at Alfred and then at Amira. “As in, clothes?”

“I meant her diaper.” Alfred clarified, picking up Amira and bouncing her in his arms, Bruce not liking how easily Amira stopped crying. “I will bathe the young miss while you start heading to the nearest baby store. Here’s a list of things I need you to buy.”

Alfred quickly took out his notepad and scribbled away, tearing off two sheets worth of writing and handing it to Bruce. “Hurry now. We don’t have all evening.”

And so Bruce was pushed out of his room, sent on a mission to buy... baby things…

-

“Do you need help si- Mister Wayne! Oh! I-um...how can I help you?” The store worker asked him, averting her gaze.

What was the richest person in Gotham doing in a department store like the one she worked in?!

Bruce looked at her name tag. Elizabeth. He’ll make sure to pay her for his troubles.

“Hi, I’m looking for all of these items, but I’ve searched throughout this store and can’t seem to find them.” Bruce said, handing Elizabeth the list Alfred had given him. He watched as the young girl’s eyes widened before looking at Bruce and back at the list.

“You can find all of these on our third floor, in the baby department.” Elizabeth provided, stifling a laugh when Bruce looked at her confused. 

There was a third floor? “Would you like it for someone to-”

“Please.” Bruce practically begged, Elizabeth nodding. Bruce watched as she ran to a fellow coworker, gestured at him before running back to him. Bruce noticed the way the other coworker paled when she saw him.

“Well Mister Wayne, my name is Elizabeth and I’ll be glad to be of service.”

“Thank you so much.”

-

Bruce spent the next three hours being led by Elizabeth around the baby section, only then noticing that he really wasn’t up to the task. 

When Elizabeth talked about Amira’s age, Bruce didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how old she was, what she was able to do or even eat. Vaccines? Apparently, babies needed that too. 

“I also suggest talking to your daughter frequently.” Elizabeth states, picking up another adorable outfit for Amira. You can never go wrong with dresses. “Talking to her would help enhance her speech, especially if she’s not babbling. Babbling should be common for her if she’s around six months old.”

“How do you know so much?” Bruce decided to ask, looking at the cart that was almost filled to the brim with supplies and clothes. There were bottles, sippy cups, plastic bowls, bibs, a few interactive toys, a white crib and a stroller. Oh...and diapers...lots of them.

“Well, I want to become a pediatrician, so I often find myself reading about child development and such during my time off.” Elizabeth told him with a soft smile. “And then there’s the fact that I practically raised my two younger siblings since they were newborns. I often helped my mother take care of them, absorbing all the new knowledge like a sponge. 

While it sounds like she dumped a bit of the responsibility on me, I know my mother meant well. A slice of what it meant to be a mother, to be responsible for another life.”

Bruce hummed at her answer, picking up a white pajama on the rack, wondering if Amira would even like it. Does she even know what a bee was? Did she even know what was going on? Did he even know what was going on? What his life was for him now?

“I wonder if I’m up to the task.” Bruce muttered to himself, but Elizabeth heard it loud and clear.

“No one is born knowing what they’re expected to do and be ready for.” Elizabeth said, picking up another outfit. “Sometimes, we just have to go with the flow and see where we land.”

Bruce repeated those words mentally, picking up another pajama, a yellow this time, it had a sheep on it.

Go with the flow, huh?

-

After spending hours in the baby area, Bruce was ready to go home, mentally relaying the notes Elizabeth had given him. 

He started laying out the plans he had in mind for Amira’s nursery, deciding on using the room next to his. While the only way to enter it was through the main door, he could always make another door that connected the nursery and his room for easier access.

After unloading everything from the car to inside the manor, Bruce decided to bring some fresh clothing to the last place he saw Alfred and Amira, panic setting into him when he heard wailing coming from the room.

Bruce pushed the door open, seeing Alfred with Amira in his arms, the girl reaching for something that wasn’t there.”

“Welcome back Master Bruce.” Alfred wearily said, the two noticing that Amira quickly looked over to Bruce, her small hands no longer searching for him. Her wails became hiccups as she continued to stare at Bruce. “Look, Amira. It’s your father. I told you he would be back.”

As soon as Alfred said those words, Amira began to cry again, Bruce quickly taking her from Alfred and began to walk her around the room. He then remembered that Elizabeth had told him.

He should talk to her.

“Amira. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” Bruce listened as her wails grew softer. “I went to buy some things, but now I’m back.”

Bruce listened as Amira softly stopped crying, now tiny hiccups escaping her. “There, there.”

“I’ve seen you’re starting to step up to the task, Master Bruce.”

“Someone has to look after her. Who better than us, her family?” Bruce asked, then realizing that Amira had yet to be clothed. 

Bruce wandered to the bags, quickly taking out the mountain of clothing. 

He quickly sets Amira down on the bed so that he can organize the clothing. In doing so, he missed how Amira sat up. He only noticed it when she had crawled to sit in front of him. 

She can sit. And crawl. 

“If she can sit by herself and is starting to crawl, she may already be six months old.”

Bruce watched as Amira took a liking to the two clothing articles in front of her. Or rather, the two pajamas. More specially the white and yellow pajamas that Bruce had picked out - the sheep and the bee respectfully.

He watched in wonder as Amira stared at them, looking between the two for a while before patting the yellow onesie with the sheep on it. 

“Sheep it is then.” Bruce said, unbuttoning the pajama. How did he forget the onesie that goes underneath?

He quickly clothed Amira, clasping the last button to find Amira looking at him with her wide green eyes. 

“You are a natural.” Alfred decided to speak up, watching as Bruce picked up Amira with confidence. 

“Or perhaps I’m willing to learn.” Bruce stated, watching as Amira yawned, watching her start to doze off. “One day at a time.”

-

The two men luckily found out that Amira was seven months old, thanks to the birth certificate and other documents Talia had left in the baby carrier. It made certain legal procedures go more smoothly, while for others, it took some time.

As days went by, Bruce and Alfred started to notice that Amira was smarter than what she let on. 

She knew to not place anything in her mouth that wasn’t food, something that both Bruce and Alfred appreciated. Bruce quickly found out that she liked to observe items, Amira often gazing at a toy for minutes, listening to a rattle make the faintest sound as she passed it from one chubby hand to the other.

She would recognize the places she was in, lay down when she was in the crib and remain seated while she was on the couch or in a chair. Alfred found out that she adored watching him cook, her eyes following every movement he made as he prepared dinner as she sat in her highchair. 

Alfred also found out that she was very fond of strawberries and apples, Alfred melting when Amira would grace him with the largest smile possible when she would realize that Alfred had made her favorite purees. 

She would smile and frown but would never make a sound that wasn’t a cry. Even when Bruce noticed that she wanted to let out a cry, she never whimpered or sniffled. It was as if she was suppressing those emotions. Luckily, after paying Dr.Leslie Thompkins a visit, Bruce learned that it was just a habit she must have learned while she was with Talia. Thompkins assured Bruce that by talking with Amira more, it would help her unlearn that habit. Surely enough, the doc was right.

Amira soon grunted, babbled and rambled more frequently and at random points in the day. Babbling not only helped her get Bruce’s attention, but also made him smile more. Amira soon learned that ‘Dada’ made him smile even more, especially when he would not be home for longer periods of time. As much as she adored Alfred, no one beats Dada.

Now having a system of communication, Bruce would often coax Amira to come towards him, Amira standing just three steps away from him.

He would watch as she would proudly stand by herself before taking a single wobbly step towards him. Another two steps followed slowly after, Amira bursting into a giggling fit when she reached Bruce. 

Those tiny steps soon turned into hops, strides and jumps, Bruce not believing how quickly time had passed. 

He watched her grow before his eyes, feeling a smile grow on his face as he kept listening to Amira read to him. 

“-ate through one nice green leaf, and after that he felt much better.” Amira said, turning the page. “Now he wasn’t hungry anymore and- is there something wrong Dad?” Amira asked, Bruce wondering what she meant. “You’re crying.”

“Am I know?” Bruce asked, raising his hand to his eyes, wiping away what was a tear. Seems like he was. “It’s nothing. Probably some dust got into my eye.”

“Are you sure you shouldn’t be patrolling tonight?” Amira asked, showing Bruce himself in the form of a Batman plushie.

It’s been two years since Bruce became Batman, all thanks to a single incident that almost cost him his life. He almost left Amira in the same situation as him when he was ten...

He needed to make Gotham a safer place for his daughter, what better way than striking fear into criminals?

Some people of the general public are glad to have him, despite it being a mere eight percent. Everyone else fears him, except Gotham’s villains...and his own daughter. It didn’t take long for her to find out he was Batman. Then again, it’s not like Bruce was trying to keep it a secret from her.

As for the Batman plushie, it was a gift from Alfred to Amira, something about having Bruce always with her.

Bruce smiled at the plushie, getting up from the bed and tucking Amira in.

“As much as Gotham needs Batman, you also need me to tuck you into bed.”

“Dad, I’m seven. I can do it myself.” 

“Does that mean you don’t want me to tuck you in anymore?” He watched as Amira pursed her lips before sinking into the comforter some more.

“I still like being tucked into bed.” Amira muttered, gaining a chuckle from Bruce. “Are we still going to the circus tomorrow?” Amira asked, springing up, watching her father’s face for some type of confirmation.

“Amira,” Bruce said with a frown, tucking one of her hair strands behind her ear. “Remember what we talked about?”

Amira hung her head, looking at Batman in her hands. It was times like this that Amira wished they never lived in Gotham, that her father wasn’t a billionaire...

“If it’s a place where the public knows you or a place that I can easily be spotted, I can’t go.” Amira recited, letting a frown replace her smile. She threw herself back onto her bed, throwing her comforter over her head.

Bruce let out a heavy huff.

“Goodnight.” He whispered, deciding to let her be. As soon as he stepped out of her room, Bruce faced Alfred.

“Is Miss Amira asleep already?” Alfred asked, motioning to the tray with a cup of milk. “She usually drinks a glass before going to sleep.”

“She’s awake, but I wonder if she would even talk.” When he saw Alfred lift a brow, Bruce decided to continue. “I told her she couldn’t join me to go watch the Haly’s Circus tomorrow. The press already knows I’m going, I can’t let them know about Amira just yet.”

“With all due respect Master Bruce,” Alfred began, opening the door to walk in. “The longer you keep hiding her from the public, the harder it will be to keep it that way. You can’t keep sheltering her away from a world she deserves to see. To be in.”

Bruce was left with those words in his mind, wondering what he should do.

Ever since he was assaulted, he vowed to protect Amira, even if it meant that she could not step foot outside the manor.

When she turned three, Bruce made sure to homeschool her, teaching her the basics of English, which included reading and writing. One she was five, he taught her the basics in math and science. As a side subject, Bruce was starting to teach her French, hoping to teach her mandarin when she grows older. 

But now that Alfred was stating that Bruce should allow Amira to go out, Bruce wondered if he had been approaching this situation wrong this entire time.

But what if villains found out about her being his daughter? Of being a Way-

Bruce stood there in his thoughts for a while before an idea wouldn’t leave his head. Why didn’t he think about this sooner?

-

Amira let out a gasp as she entered the circus tent, gaping at how large it was, taken aback at how many people there were inside the tent.

There was even a second level inside the tent!

“Is it usually this crowded?” Amira asked the man next to her. Or rather, Tom Dupain - her ‘father.’

“I heard it’s like this because of Mr.Wayne visiting the circus today, but it usually is this crowded during Sunday shows.” Tom provided, watching as Amira continued to look around, a smile escaping him. 

He always wondered what it felt like to have a child, wondering if he was even up to the task.

When Bruce Wayne had reached out to him to look after his daughter, Tom Dupain accepted the honor. After all, it was thanks to Bruce that his tiny bakery in Gotham was taking off, Tom’s dream of being a well known bakery taking form. All it took was one gala and Tom’s pastries for his dream to take off, Tom knowing he owed Bruce a huge favor.

He had met the young Wayne at that very gala, the girl having snuck into the kitchen to get a taste of one of his pastries. Amira Wayne - Tom only knew her as Amira and the granddaughter of Mr.Alfred Pennyworth. Tom didn’t think Amira was Bruce’s daughter as there was no news about the young Wayne.

While Tom had only known her for a few moments before Alfred shooed her away, Tom had grown a soft spot for the child.

“Mr.Dupain-”

“Tom is fine.”

“Mr.Tom,” Amira corrected herself. “Thank you for letting me be here today.” Amira said, holding Tom’s hand with both of hers. 

Just as Tom was about to respond, the ringmaster chose that moment to begin the show.

Amira watched as the ringmaster welcomed the people and shouted out her father, seeing him across the tent, smiling when they saw each other. 

The ringmaster then introduced the Flying Graysons, Amira’s eyes widening at how high up the family was. She wondered if her own father would allow her to be that high up.

With the cheering of the crowd, Amira watched with wonder as the Grayson’s started their performance, starting with a somersault. She watched as the man caught his wife with ease, the woman sending a salut before going onto the platform. Amira watched with absolutely glee as she watched the son do two somersaults in the air before returning back to the platform. 

Amira listened as the ringmaster announced the Graysons' famous trick. Amira stood at the edge of her seat, feeling her heart thump loudly against her chest. She watched as the woman spun once, twice...thrice! But as soon as she was caught by her husband, the string of the bar snapped, Amira feeling her heart come to a stop. 

She watched as the two fell and just as they were two were mere feet away from touching the ground, her eyes were covered. 

Amira would never forget the screams she heard as she was ushered out of the tent. She heard Tom whisper to her that everything was going to be okay in rushed French. 

That everything was fine. 

That was the first and last time she was allowed to step out of the manor for a very long time.

NEXT

[brunoswifey]

You Really Got Me – part 2: First Impressions (Kakashi Hatake x Reader)

(note: part 1)

“Will you finally tell us what she is, Kakashi sensei?”

Sakura’s question came before they even reached the elevator which meant she lasted a good two minutes before demanding answers. Letting out a long sigh, Kakashi rubbed the back of his neck. He sure hoped she would soon grow out of this slightly annoying habit of hers. Especially since Naruto was the same, but there was no chance he would change in the near future.

But he really did promise them to explain what exactly happened so he couldn’t back out now. Surprisingly, Sakura had hit the nail right on the head with her question. If he wanted to explain who you were, he had to begin with what you were. When it came to how well you knew each other, though, he would have to be careful not to give away too many personal details. No one needs nosy kids in their life.

As he pushed the button to close the door of the elevator, Kakashi let out a thoughtful hum. “Well, Y/N is a phantom. Do you know about them?” While Sakura and Naruto both shook their heads, Sasuke remained silent as usual. But this time it could be because he had already heard about her kind, as one could expect from a kid who grew up in the Uchiha Clan. “They are considered a type of tricksters, although they’re a lot more powerful as adults than your average trickster. Because of their unique abilities and backgrounds, phantoms are members of an organization that operates worldwide. It’s a lot like ANBU, except they’re independent of governments and only answer to one person.”

“So she’s an Alpha?” Sasuke asked, sounding slightly surprised for some reason. When he received a quick nod in response, he folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the metal wall. “I thought they were more… serious.”

Kakashi shrugged and didn’t even try to hold back a short chuckle. “They’re not robots, they have different personalities. Y/N is… a wild one,” he added with a grin under the mask.

“Wait, what is an Alpha?” Naruto wondered out loud as his eyes scanned the faces of people around him, waiting to see who was ready to provide an answer.

“Are they the phantoms or the members of the organization?”

“Both, actually,” Kakashi replied as he glanced over at the girl. “Phantoms that aren’t good enough or simply refuse to be members of the organization are executed, this is why the two are the one and the same at the end of the day. Alpha is a nickname some gave them because you can say they are on top of the food chain. They usually work alone but every now and then they ask for the help of… specialists, humans or other supernatural creatures who have abilities or knowledge they need for the job. Those people, especially those who become regular aides, are called Betas,” he explained, this time looking at Naruto as he spoke.

The four of them left the building and Kakashi began to think about what else he should tell them about you. Your abilities? No, it would be better if you gave them a demonstration. How you met? Definitely not, his reaction to Sasuke’s question regarding your personality gave away more than enough already. To avoid further questions from the kids, he eventually decided to pull out his book and read on the rest of the trip to the restaurant.

For his luck Sakura and Naruto discussed this between themselves, occasionally trying to get some information out of Sasuke now that he wasn’t paying much attention to them. As long as they left him alone, Kakashi was okay with that. Especially because he wanted to think about the upcoming dinner with you. He wished it was just the two of you, though. After what he had done, he really wanted to make it up to you somehow. Well, maybe you could meet later to make this happen, once these three went to sleep.

Oh, how he loved and hated at the same time what you did to him. You were like a drug he just couldn’t get out of his system. But, to be honest, he had truly missed this high he was experiencing now thanks to you. He may have forgotten to call you but it didn’t mean he hadn’t thought about you once. In fact, every time he read one of the Make Out books, he couldn’t help but think about the two of you. Strangely enough, this was by far the most stable relationship he had ever had. Okay, not like he had so many other relationships in the past to compare it to but… It was still different. And special.

“You took your time, guys.”

When Kakashi looked up, his eyes fell on you as you watched them with a wide grin on your face. Tilting his head to the side for a moment, he put away his book and glanced at his watch. “You said fifteen minutes. It’s only been ten.”

“Duh, I thought you were ninjas, not a group of elderly people who went on a nice evening stroll,” you told him with a roll of your eyes.

He really wanted to laugh because he missed your stupid sense of humor, but it would’ve probably ended with him kissing you. And he wouldn’t have stopped at a quick kiss on the lips. Oh, no. If it was just the two of you, you would have skipped dinner altogether. But his mind was wandering too far again. He had to stop, damn it. “Very funny,” was all he said in the end.

“Is that blood?” Sasuke suddenly spoke up, pointing at your shirt.

“What?” You looked down and noticed the bloodstain on your chest. While you quickly zipped your red jacket to cover it up, you flashed a reassuring smile at the kids. “Don’t worry, it’s not mine.”

All three of them. All three of the kids opened their mouths at the exact same time, probably to ask for details, but Kakashi was fast enough to stop them with a pointed look. You had said it yourself back on the rooftop: there was something you quickly had to take care of. Knowing you, it was most probably an assassination and he didn’t want to talk about things like this tonight. Was it too much to ask for? Was a normal, delightful evening too much to ask for? Just one damn night.

After clearing his throat, Kakashi spoke up. “So we were about to get something to eat, right? Naruto, I’m sure you’re starving as always.”

But Naruto hesitated and scratched the back of his head as he flashed a sheepish grin at him. “Actually, as weird as it might sound, I have so many questions that I can’t even think about food right now.”

“Shoot.”

Were you seriously planning to answer his questions? “Y/N, come on,” he tried with a sigh.

“Don’t come on me. If he has questions, let him ask them.”

“We can do that inside.”

He had no luck because you clearly weren’t about to go inside anytime soon. Shaking his head, Kakashi pulled out his book and leaned against the wall of the restaurant. At least he had time to read a little more while the four of you talked. He already had a bad feeling about this conversation but for now, he decided to only listen and keep his opinion to himself. There was no need to interrupt you, he could do that if something went wrong. Which, knowing you, was highly likely.

“What kind of missions do you go on?

“Kakashi told you a few things about me, didn’t he? Well, covert missions, assassinations, manhunts… Usually, we go after supernatural creatures, but there are times when we assist in different cases too, like hostage situations. Since it’s really hard to kill us, we often help out when the situation is too dangerous for humans.”

“Cool. So what can you do?”

“Alpha’s are supposed to be powerful, right?” Kakashi looked up from his book and turned to Sasuke. Back when he had told the team about you, Sasuke didn’t seem very convinced about you being an Alpha. Sadly, he already knew where the kid was going with this, and he also knew perfectly well how you would react. But maybe he was wrong. “I can’t take you seriously enough to believe you’re one.”

“Excuse me?!”

Yes, this is exactly how he had expected you to react. “Oh, no, here we go,” he whispered under his breath as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

You took a threatening step toward Sasuke who didn’t even flinch at first. “You wanna see powerful?”

But when your eyes turned black, all three took a few cautious steps back to build some distance. “Y/N, please, just let it go,” Kakashi told you as he put a hand on your shoulder.

“No, no, no, if he wants to see what I can do, fine, I’ll show him. And I know just the place,” you explained hurriedly. At least your eyes were back to normal which meant you managed to calm down a bit already. That was good. He didn’t need more drama out on the street. You pulled out your phone and quickly dialed someone’s number. “Hey, Kisuke, I’d like to ask for a favor. Can I use your underground training facility tonight? I need to teach some stupid brat a lesson… No, I don’t want to kick his ass, but he pretty much called me weak so I nearly threw hands with a thirteen years old kid… Cool, thanks, we’ll be there soon.” Once you ended the call, you turned to the kids and said, “Alright, we’ll order food and eat there. Let’s go, my car’s just around the corner.”

Note: Wow, I wasn’t expecting so many of you to like the pilot. But here’s part 2, I hope you’re not disappointed 😳

tag: @spn-obession​

[bubonickitten]

Fic summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Chapter summary: Jon and Basira make their way to Ny-Ålesund; Daisy and Martin have a long-overdue conversation.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Full chapter text & content warnings below the cut.

Content warnings for Chapter 26: panic/anxiety symptoms; brief descriptions of Flesh-domain-typical imagery; discussion of police violence, intimidation tactics, & abuse of authority (re: Daisy’s past actions); mentions of canonical character deaths & murder; reference to a canonical instance of a character being outed (re: Jon’s coworkers gossiping about him being ace); allusions to childhood emotional neglect; a bit of internalized ableism re: ADHD symptoms; discussions of strict religious indoctrination; a physical altercation, including being restrained with a hold; swears. SPOILERS through Season 5.

Chapter 26: Remains To Be Seen

The journey to Tromsø is… uneventful, comparatively speaking.

Almost worryingly so, Jon observes at one point.

You’re fretting because something hasn’t gone horribly wrong? Basira asks.

Aren’t you?

The tension in Basira’s shoulders is answer enough. They’re both on tenterhooks, all too aware of the dreadful species of things that lurk in the margins of the world, any number of which could be waiting in the wings for them.

That’s not to say there are no complications at all. There’s a learning curve to navigating the world blindfolded, but the two of them settle into something of a routine: Basira guiding Jon with a hand on his arm, talking him around obstacles, across gaps, and up and down stairs. An improvised system of nudges and taps develops organically over the course of their travels, starting when Basira realizes that Jon has trouble parsing her words over the noise of a crowd. It becomes their go-to mode of communication with surprising ease.

It’s an exercise in trust oddly refreshing in its mundanity.

Jon finds the blindfold comforting, in its own way: surreal, but somehow not as surreal as the evidence of normalcy all around him. Consistent, straightforward geography is disorientating enough after so long traversing a world knitted together by nightmare logic and allegory. Even more bewildering are the people. Throngs of them go about their day-to-day routines, each preoccupied with their own affairs, taking for granted their relative anonymity against the vast backdrop of the bustling world around them, secure in the privacy of their own thoughts – and blissfully unaware of the alternative.

This is how it should be, he admonishes himself in a weary refrain. People deserve ownership over their own minds, their stories, their secrets. The Archivist in him vehemently disagrees, of course. It’s exhausting, how relentlessly Jon has to challenge that instinctual voyeurism.

Prone to sensory overload, he’s always hated crowds: the noise, the flurry of movement, the press of bodies, the constant threat of unwanted touches, the lack of freedom to move at his own pace. Becoming the Archivist made the experience infinitely worse. The combination of the blindfold and Daisy’s noise-cancelling headphones does little to stem the tide of intrusive knowledge: random scraps of disconcerting trivia, a steady stream of morbid statistics, insights into the deep-seated anxieties of passersby – and, on a few occasions, the whisper of a story to be chronicled. At least the blindfold prevents him from inadvertently locking eyes with anyone.

They try to avoid traveling during peak commuting hours, but not every crowd can be evaded. The first time he wanders into the path of a potential statement giver, Jon nearly causes a pile-up in a congested station, stopping so abruptly in his tracks that the person in the queue behind him crashes headlong into him. Basira manages to catch him before he’s knocked off his feet, keeping a firm grasp on his arm when the panicked urge to flee overtakes him and nearly sends him careening blindly in the opposite direction. When a nearby stranger snipes at him for the nuisance, Jon is surprised at how immediately Basira leaps to his defense.

Back off, she says, the hint of a threat in her tone, before steering Jon out of the crowd and off to the side, where he can lean against the wall and catch his breath. She stands firm between him and the masses, diverting traffic and warding off anyone else who might seek a confrontation, giving him the sorely-needed time to compose himself. He’s certain that she’ll be cross with him after, but… she isn’t.

Tense, certainly. Concerned even. But criticism is bafflingly, mercifully absent.

There are a few more incidents after that, but none quite so dramatic. The instant he senses the Archivist in him stirring, he chokes out a warning to Basira, who turns out to be preternaturally adept at finding (or creating) spaces for him to recoup. With both of them on guard and communicating freely, they manage to avoid being in close quarters with anyone who might have a story to tell.

Tromsø offers a temporary reprieve from all of that. There are people, of course – it’s the busiest fishing port in Norway, the Eye interposes for the fourth time this hour. Jon takes an aggravated swipe at the empty air beside him, once again momentarily forgetting that there’s no pesky swarm of Watchers tagging along for this particular journey. Not visibly, at least.

Still, the open-air piers of a busy fishing port are a far cry from a densely-packed train. There’s a cargo ship scheduled to leave for Ny-Ålesund within the next hour, and Basira is further down the docks meeting with its captain to (hopefully) arrange for passage. Apparently Jon has earned some trust over the course of their travels, because she didn’t object when he requested to stay back and take a breather.

Although the docks of Tromsø bear little resemblance to the beaches of Bournemouth, the calls of seabirds are familiar enough to be meditative. Nostalgic, albeit in an uneasy, bittersweet way. His childhood was riddled enough with nightmares and alienation that thoughts of the place where he grew up are always laced with remembered horror and punctuated by a nebulous sense of grief for what could have been. If he never caught the Spider’s eye; if he never opened the book; if he wasn’t quite so demanding and easily bored and difficult to manage; if his eccentric reading habits were just a bit less finicky, even…

Left to his own devices, Jon could drown himself in what ifs.

A frigid gust of wind whips his hair about. When he reaches up to smooth it down, he finds it coarse from the brine-saturated breeze. Rubbing his fingertips together and grimacing at the faint gritty residue, Jon pulls Georgie’s scarf up over his nose to fend against the nip in the air and he turns his sight to the sky. It’s a stark, pallid grey, the kind of overcast that manages to be blinding-bright despite the sun’s concealment. The sight stings his eyes, but still he does not blink.

It should be exhilarating to look up and see nothing staring back. Instead, the sight fills him with… well, it’s difficult for him to define succinctly. Some peculiar species of dread, mingled with a disquieting, ill-defined sense of longing. Perhaps he’s simply becoming adrift in time again: remembering how it felt to look up at a Watching sky and hopelessly wish for a return to the world as it was, to clouds and stars and void. But he can’t shake the suspicion that it’s at least partly a monstrous yearning for the ruined future from which he came.

He doesn’t know what that says about him. Nothing good, probably.

You miss it, a gloating, sinister little voice concurs from one of the murky, thorny corners of Jon’s mind. You don’t belong here. You Know where you–

Jon’s phone dings several times, yanking him away from that ill-fated train of thought. Grateful for the interruption, he digs it out of his pocket, instantly brightening when Naomi’s name greets him and eagerly opening their text thread.

Jon is too busy smiling to himself to notice Basira’s approach.

“What’s – oh, sorry,” she says when he starts. “Keep expecting you to just sort of… Know I’m here.”

“The Eye doesn’t seem inclined to help me out on that front, unfortunately,” Jon says with an embarrassed chuckle. “If anything, my being jumpy probably feeds it.”

Basira glances down at his phone, then back up at him. “Everything alright?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Naomi.” Jon’s grin returns. “All her texts from the last couple days just came through at once. She wants to know whether Krampus is real.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“Haven’t replied just yet.”

“Oh.” Basira opens her mouth to say more, then promptly closes it.

A delighted smirk twitches into being at the corner of Jon’s mouth. “Now you want to know as well, don’t you?”

Basira rolls her eyes, but doesn’t deny it. “Later. We have a boat to catch.”

When Jon reaches into his pocket to retrieve his blindfold, Basira shakes her head.

“Best not,” she says. “The captain agreed to take us, but she was leery about the whole thing. I don’t want to give her a reason to reconsider. The less suspicious we seem, the better.”

“Still getting odd stares, then?”

“Getting used to people looking at me like I’m transporting a hostage,” she replies with a tired, beleaguered smile. It fades into a frown as she looks him up and down, taking stock of his shaking hands and the way he leans heavily on his cane. “Alright?”

“A bit sore,” Jon admits, glancing down at his leg. “Probably just been putting weight on it for too long a stretch.”

“We should be able to sit soon. Until then, try not to fall.”

“Or freeze,” Jon says distractedly, glancing warily upwards again.

“Daisy says the cold always gets to her,” Basira says, quietly enough that Jon suspects it wasn’t meant for him. “Seriously, though – you alright? You keep staring at the sky like it’s going to crack open.”

“I’m fine.” Jon shuts his eyes and takes a slow, deep breath. “Just… apprehensive.”

“Sense anything?” Despite her carefully bland tone, the crux of the question is clear.

“Nothing concrete.” No statement givers, he does not say – but Basira nods, understanding his meaning. “I’ll let you know if that changes.”

“Come on, then.” She starts off down the dock – at a brisk pace at first, but slowing when she looks back to ensure that Jon is following and observes his stiffer, more deliberate gait.

He grimaces apologetically. Up until Jane Prentiss and her worms, he was inclined towards speed walking as much as Basira is. Always in a hurry to get nowhere at all, Georgie used to say, simultaneously lamenting and teasing. Not everyone is a power walker, Jon, Martin would gripe from time to time during the apocalypse.

Maybe some of us want to slow down and take in the scenery, he grumbled on one occasion, as they traipsed through a predictably grisly Flesh domain.

The forest of pulsating meat sculptures, you mean? Jon replied primly.

Oh, you’re telling me you don’t feel the overwhelming urge to stop and take notes on the ecology of flesh spiders?

Not as much as I want to get to a place where the ground isn’t a spongy skin trampoline.

Flesh domains always had a tendency to bring out the worst (best?) of their morbid humor, Jon notes upon reflection.

In any case, Jon has always had a tendency to hurry, too impatient to reach his destination to appreciate the journey. Internally, that impulse is still there. On good days, he can almost satisfy that restlessness. Today is not a good day.

Basira stops and waits. It’s a practice that has become second nature to her ever since Daisy emerged from the Buried: learning all the unspoken signals and warning signs of a bad pain day, from barely-suppressed winces and cold sweat to waspishness and stifled, winded breaths; gauging all the fickle fluctuations in mobility in real time through careful, constant observation; and discreetly adjusting her own walking pace to accommodate without question or complaint.

“You know, I haven’t spent much time on boats,” Basira says, apropos of nothing – probably to break the silence as she waits for Jon to catch up. “I’m hoping motion sickness during long car rides isn’t correlated with seasickness. Does the Eye have any statistics handy? Seems like it would qualify as terrible knowledge.”

“Let’s just say you should keep the Dramamine at the ready,” Jon says wryly as he reaches her position.

“Wonderful,” Basira sighs, and she resumes walking, this time matching Jon’s stride.

Martin will be the first to admit that, between the two of them, Jon doesn’t have a monopoly on obsessiveness.

Case in point: Jon and Basira have been gone for five days now, and – in between bouts of worrying over their safety and mounting apprehension about Peter’s inexplicable, persistent hiatus – Martin is still replaying everything he said and did in the moments leading up to Jon’s departure.

Or, more precisely, what he didn’t say.

Nearly two months have passed since Jon returned from the Buried. It’s been nice, it really has, spending time with him. He’s changed – How could he not have? – but he’s still Jon. Even more wounded and jaded than he was before – How much abuse can one person take? – but it hasn’t made him cruel or cold. Harder in some respects, to be sure – namely on himself.

Which is saying something, Martin thinks with a pang. In all the time that Martin has known him, Jon has never been kind to himself. It’s always been a struggle to convince him to take care of himself in the most basic of ways, let alone spare a thought for comfort.

But in other respects, Jon has grown softer. More open, more communicative – more trusting, somehow, despite this world and the next piling on reason after reason for him to detach and withdraw. Martin thinks about that every time the Lonely starts to whisper in his ear. The fog is still there, firmly planted in his mind, choking out his thoughts from time to time like an invasive weed. It won’t be easily uprooted. Seeing Jon alive and trying, reaching out, grasping at warmth, clinging to humanity with all his trademark stubbornness… it makes Martin want to try, too. It makes him want to hope, to look forward and see – to fight for – a future where things are better.

So, yes, Jon has changed. They both have.

I’m not the person you remember, Martin said the first time they spoke after Jon came back. I’m not the person you fell in love with.

Jon had locked eyes with him then, and Martin found that he could not look away.

Martin has spent the majority of his life walking a tightrope, striking an uneasy balance between competing instincts. The part of him that excels in flying under the radar takes comfort in being inconspicuous. There are people out there who see kindness as naivety and trust as a weakness to be exploited. The best way to avoid their notice is to avoid being seen at all, and Martin learned early on that to be unremarkable has its own advantages. All too often, to go unnoticed is to survive.

It isn’t enough to just survive, though, is it? Barely hidden underneath all the abysmal self-esteem and the carefully constructed mask of agreeability, there is a spark of indignation and outrage and want. To be seen is fundamentally terrifying; to demand acknowledgment is to welcome exposure. But Martin has always had a rebellious streak, carving out a space for itself amongst all the loneliness and fear and self-deprecation.

Look at me, it seethes. See me.

And when Jon did look at him – Saw him – an unmistakably pleased little voice jostled its way to the forefront to triumphantly declare, Finally.

Martin, I fell in love with this version of you, Jon said. With every version of you.

It was difficult to believe. Martin didn’t want to believe it. He was afraid to believe it. But he did, and he does, and he feels the same way, and he has for so, so long, and that defiant chip on his shoulder never truly let him forget it, even when isolation had him by the throat–

So why can’t you say it?

Since that day, it hasn’t come up again. Jon is affectionate, far more than Martin would have expected. Sure, Jon has always seemed more natural at expressing his feelings through actions rather than words, but Martin never imagined he would be so… well, cuddly. Jon always struck Martin as averse to touch, keeping people at arm’s length both figuratively and literally. He still is, sometimes. But more often than not, Martin gets the impression that Jon would cling like a limpet if given explicit permission. Martin doesn’t know whether that’s a new development, or whether it’s just that he now numbers among Jon’s rare exceptions.

Maybe I should ask Georgie, Martin thinks, only partly in jest.

There’s still a lingering hesitancy there, though. Yes, when Martin invites contact, Jon jumps at the opportunity to be close. Initiating, though… Jon doesn’t quite walk on eggshells per se, but he moves with a gentleness perhaps too gentle at times. Excessively tentative – but not subtle.

Martin long ago perfected the art of stealing furtive glances at Jon. It’s not difficult. Jon is prone to tunnel vision, predisposed to lose himself in his work or a book or his own mind until the rest of the world outside his narrow focus dissolves around him. If he ever noticed Martin’s eyes on him, Jon never called attention to it.

Jon’s staring doesn’t have the same finesse. His gaze is heavy. Concentrated, unwavering, penetrating – and Jon is painfully self-conscious about that. Prompt to stammer apologies whenever he’s caught watching, quick to avert his eyes. According to him, most people find the Archivist’s attention unnerving. Martin supposes it can be at times, but he’s long since become acclimated to it. Endeared to it, even. It’s grounding, despite how ruthlessly being Seen clashes with the Lonely aspects of Martin’s existence.

Maybe that disharmony is precisely why it’s grounding.

So Jon’s eyes flit to Martin whenever he thinks Martin isn’t looking, and cautious glimpses stretch into riveted, unconscious watching, and Martin graciously pretends not to notice. This has been the status quo for weeks now: faltering not-quite-touches and longing, not-so-surreptitious gazes, interspersed with understated handholding and a few sporadic sessions of what Martin can only call cuddling. All of it has been underscored by three simple words dangling in the scant expanse of empty space between them, waiting for acknowledgment.

Jon is waiting – waiting for Martin – and Jon… Jon has never been good at waiting, has he? Not like Martin. Jon’s directionless fidgeting and bitten-short declarations and absentminded stares betray his buzzing impatience despite his best efforts, but still he’s waiting, with as much valiant restraint as he can muster.

I love you. It’s a truth so obvious that speaking it aloud would hardly qualify as a confession. I love you, Martin thinks, and he feels it down to his bones, woven into the very atoms of him.

It’s difficult to pinpoint when it began. Early on, Martin only wanted to appear qualified to his new supervisor, then to impress him, then to prove him wrong – and then, eventually, to genuinely take care of him. Jon was in need of care, and resistant to receiving it, and that was familiar, wasn’t it? Maybe some desperate, stubborn part of Martin just wanted to be useful for once. To be seen. To succeed with Jon where he had failed with his mother.

Then Prentiss happened. Martin had been certain that Jon would dismiss Martin’s story, reprimand him for his prolonged absence, and snap at him to get back to work. And then… he didn’t.

Your safety is my responsibility, Jon said curtly, showing Martin to his new, hopefully temporary lodgings. I failed you, Jon’s contrite grimace read. I won’t fail you again. Then he immediately strode off to meet with Elias, leaving Martin loitering idly in Document Storage, speechless and bemused.

Maybe that’s where it started: Jon barging unannounced and uninvited into Elias’ office with brazen, unapologetic demands for safe haven and fire extinguishers and heightened security. He even went so far as to persistently badger Elias for customizations to the building’s sprinkler system. That tenacity may have been partly driven by guilt and obligation, but Martin swore he caught glimpses of something more from time to time. Something deeper and more personal, sympathetic and kind.

It started, as so many significant shifts do, with the small things.

Martin retired to Document Storage one night that first week to find extra blankets folded neatly at the end of his cot. I thought you might be cold, Jon admitted upon questioning. It can get chilly in here at night. The pressing question of exactly how many times Jon must have slept here overnight in order to know that was promptly crowded out by a vivid mental image of Jon wrestling a heavy quilt onto the Tube during the morning commuter rush. The thought brought a smile to Martin’s face. He said as much, and Jon immediately fabricated a clumsy excuse to exit the conversation.

On another occasion, Martin opened the break room cabinet to find his favorite tea restocked. He’d been putting off shopping, too anxious to leave the relative safety of the Institute’s walls. I noticed you were running low, Jon mumbled. And I was already at the store anyway, he added almost defensively, eyes narrowing in a stern glare to discourage comment – as if drawing attention to Jon’s random acts of kindness would destroy his curmudgeonly reputation.

Those circumspect displays of consideration were touching in their awkwardness. Jon was gruff and reticent, to be sure, but he cared, in his own unpracticed, idiosyncratic way. And one day, when Martin looked at him, he thought, I’d like to kiss him, and then: Oh no. Oh, fuck.

Jon never seemed to pick up on Martin’s feelings back then. But he knows now – not Knows, just knows – and, impossible as still seems, he returns those feelings. Jon said the words in no uncertain terms, left them in Martin’s care – and now he’s waiting for Martin to make the next move.

So why haven’t you? What are you waiting for?

“Want some tea?”

Martin jumps at the sound of Daisy’s voice.

“Sorry,” she snorts. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I –” Martin clears his throat, recovering. “Tea. Right. Uh, I can get it–”

“Let me. I need to stretch my legs anyway. And I wouldn’t want to interrupt your pining.”

“Wh-what?” Martin sputters.

“You haven’t turned the page in at least twenty minutes,” Daisy informs him, nodding at the statement resting on the table in front of him. “Liable to burn yourself on the kettle while you’re spacing out, fantasizing about snogging Jon or whatever.”

“Wh– I – you – I’m – why would–”

“Don’t know why you’re being so coy about it.” Her blasé shrug is offset by the devious grin on her face. “Not like it’s a secret you’re on kissing terms.”

“We… we haven’t,” Martin blurts out, heat rising in his cheeks. Immediately, he kicks himself. Given what he knows of Daisy, there’s no avoiding an interrogation now.

“You – wait, really?” Daisy raises her eyebrows. “Why not?”

“It just hasn’t – I – it’s really none of your–” Martin huffs, flustered. “I don’t even know if he does that.”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“B-because, he…”

Because Martin has a tendency to fade into the background, and people will say a lot of things when they assume no one else is in earshot.

Do you know if he and Jon ever…

No clue, and not interested! Although… according to Georgie, Jon doesn’t.

Like, at all?

Yeah.

Martin cringes at the memory. He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. He still wishes he hadn’t overheard. Jon was always so tight-lipped about his personal life back then. It felt like a violation of his privacy, knowing something that he would in all likelihood have preferred to keep to himself and share only at his own discretion. Martin tried to put it out of his head, to avoid thinking too hard on the specifics of what Jon “doesn’t” – and, conversely, what he maybe, possibly does – but, well…

Martin shakes his head to clear his thoughts before they can meander any further into the realm of imagination. In any case, he certainly isn’t about to repeat that piece of gossip to Daisy now.

“I – I just don’t want to assume,” he says instead.

Daisy tilts her head, considering. “Well, have you asked him?”

“W-well, no.”

“Why not? Sure, some people aren’t into kissing, I guess, but I doubt he’d mind you asking. Even if the answer is ‘no,’ I guarantee he wants to be close in other ways.” At Martin’s lack of response, Daisy heaves an exaggerated sigh. “He reaches for you every time you’re not looking, you know. Always fidgeting with his hands, like he wants to touch but he doesn’t know how to ask. He’s as bad as you are, pining face and all.”

“I do not have a ‘pining face,’” Martin says. “If you must know, I was worrying just now.”

“You definitely have a pining face, and it’s different from your worried face. When you’re worried, you get all scowly and you chew your lip bloody. You’re focused, intense. When you’re pining, you get this faraway look to you, like you’re not taking anything in. And you touch your fingers to your lips a lot – yeah, like that.”

Martin yanks his fingers away from his mouth as if scalded, glowering indignantly at an increasingly smug Daisy. “What are you, a mentalist?”

“I’ve gotten used to reading people – picking up on openings, weak spots, stress signals, you know. Don’t know whether that’s a Hunt thing or a me thing. Both, maybe.” She shakes her head. “Anyway, you went from worried to pining about ten minutes ago now. And Jon, he’s even easier to read than you are. He’s so far gone for you, I can tease him mercilessly about it and never get a rise out of him. Even when I can get him to bat an eye, he never does that… that flustered denial thing he usually does when you hit a nerve. He just goes all… soft and wistful. Retreats into his own head, gets that smitten little smile – you know the one?”

“Yes.” Martin is blushing furiously now, he’s certain. Daisy flashes him another knowing, unabashedly victorious smirk.

“Point is, our lives are messed up, water is wet, and Jon Sims loves cats and Martin Blackwood, but he’s terrified of crossing some invisible line, so instead he’s just openly pining and it isn’t even fun to tease him about it because he’s too lovestruck to be properly embarrassed about it.” Daisy pauses for a breath. “So, if you want to kiss Jon, you should ask him, because I doubt he’s going to make the first move anytime soon, and it’s getting ridiculous watching the two of you tiptoe around the elephant in the room. So what are you waiting for?”

“How is any of this your business, anyway?” Martin snaps.

“Well, seeing as Jon’s my friend–”

That strikes a nerve, and Martin is reacting before he can properly evaluate the feeling.

“Okay, yeah, about that,” he says sharply. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Well, all you wanted to do before was hunt him down and hurt him.” Instantaneously, Daisy’s playful demeanor evaporates. “Even after Elias blackmailed you into working for him, you still looked at Jon like he wasn’t human. Not even a monster, either, just – just something you wanted to tear apart, just because you wanted to see him afraid. And now all of a sudden you’re friends? I mean, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that Jon’s willing to overlook a murder attempt. He… he has so little respect for himself, his standards are so…” Martin captures his lower lip between his teeth and bites down until it aches. “He’s so used to being treated badly, the bar is six feet below ground.”

“Yeah,” Daisy whispers.

“But – but what I can’t figure out is what your angle is. You wanted to hurt him, you did hurt him – he still has a scar from where you held a knife to his throat. You would’ve killed him if Basira didn’t stop you.”

“I–”

“He was so afraid of disappearing without a trace, did you know that?” Martin interjects, his face growing hotter as over a year’s worth of pent-up fury boils to the surface.

Martin has read enough statements to know that even one of the encounters representative of the Institute’s collection is one traumatic experience too many. Even so, it’s only a small fraction of the horror stories that have plagued humanity throughout history – that continue to unfold in the present day. How many people suffer something horrible and don’t live long enough to tell the story? The Archive, chock-full of terror though it may be, is an ongoing study in survivorship bias.

“When Prentiss attacked the Institute,” Martin fumes, “Jon was more afraid of that – of leaving nothing behind – than he was of dying. You were going to bury him where no one would ever find him, and no one would ever know what happened to him, and now… now you say you want to be his friend, like nothing ever happened? And I’m supposed to just trust you?”

For a long minute, the only sound is Martin’s rapid, heavy breathing. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting. Combativeness, maybe. For Daisy to get her hackles up, to defend herself against Martin’s implications, to take offense to his accusatory tone. Instead, her entire posture wilts and her shoulders curl inward. It’s as if an invisible weight is pressing against her on all sides, crushing her into something small and taut.

“I guess we’re doing this now, then,” she mumbles.

“Guess we are,” Martin says stiffly, one foot tapping frenetically against the floor as his agitation continues creeping ever upward.

Daisy nods and releases a heavy exhale. “This isn’t just about Jon, is it?”

“I…” Martin trails off as he considers the question. “No. I guess it’s not.”

“Well.” Daisy rubs at her upper arms, eyes fixed on the floor. “Go on.”

“When you questioned all of us – when you interrogated me, you didn’t – you didn’t actually want to find out the truth. You just wanted to get to Jon, because you assumed he was guilty, and…” Martin huffs. “No, it wasn’t even about guilt, was it? You didn’t care about solving Leitner’s murder, you didn’t care about finding Sasha – she could’ve still been alive for all we knew at the time, but you didn’t care whether she was in danger, whether she could be saved. And – and even if we did have proof that she was dead, we deserved to know what happened to her. She deserved better than to be a mystery.”

“You’re right.” Daisy’s soft agreement does nothing to temper Martin’s burgeoning wrath.

“She was my friend, you know that? She was my friend, and you just – dismissed her, like she wasn’t worth remembering, like her life was some – some trivial detail. I didn’t know whether to be afraid for her or – or – or to mourn for her, and all you had to offer was, ‘Jon probably killed her, tell me where he is or else.’ You were a detective, you were supposed to help, but all you cared about was getting to Jon, and you – you – you threatened me because you thought I could tell you where to find him. That you could use me to hurt him.” Martin breathes a bitter chuckle. “I guess Jon was right not to trust the police to figure out what happened to Gertrude.”

Daisy doesn’t deny it.

“So… yeah.” Martin shrugs as his rant tapers off. “That’s where I am, I guess. I know you’ve changed – haven’t we all – but… every time I see you near Jon, there’s a part of me that panics. Maybe I’m not being fair, but I – I can’t forget. I don’t know how to feel.”

Daisy is quiet for a long minute, fingers digging into her arms now, a pained expression lingering on her face.

“I’ve done… a lot of things I’m not proud of,” she says slowly. “Hurt a lot of people. Most more than they deserved. Many who didn’t deserve it at all. Can’t even make apologies to most of them, let alone make amends. I don’t even know if I could make amends. Some things are unforgivable.”

It doesn’t undo what I did, Jon’s voice plays in Martin’s mind. I can’t erase it.

“You should know,” Daisy says, “complete lack of self-respect aside, Jon doesn’t… he doesn’t overlook what I did.”

“What?”

“He knows what I am. What I’ve done. He doesn’t pretend I’m something I’m not, he doesn’t lie to me about what I could become, he doesn’t offer me forgiveness that I don’t deserve, but he still… he still doesn’t expect the worst from me, either. He expects me to make the right choice, even though I gave him every reason not to trust me.”

“He’s still too forgiving,” Martin mutters.

“That’s another thing. I… I don’t think he does. Forgive me, that is.”

“Have you asked him?”

“No.”

“Because you’re afraid to know the answer?” Maybe that’s uncharitable, but Martin never claimed to be an easily forgiving soul. Most people wouldn’t assume it at first glance, but he’s always had a tendency to nurse a grudge.

Daisy hunches even further, her shoulders drawing in tighter.

“Because if he did forgive me, he would tell me,” she says, her throat bobbing as she struggles to swallow. “But he doesn’t. I know he doesn’t, and he shouldn’t, and I’m not going to put him in a position where he has to justify himself, or sugarcoat it, or comfort me for what I did to him.”

Martin doesn’t know what to say to that.

“And the same goes for you.” Daisy steals a quick glimpse at Martin before lowering her head again. “I won’t ask you to forgive me. Ever. But I am sorry – for how I treated you, for what I did to Jon. I’ll never stop being sorry. That doesn’t make it better, I know. But I want to do better. I’m trying to be better. Too little too late, maybe, but I won’t go back to how I was before. I can’t take it all back, but I can at least make sure I don’t hurt anyone else.”

“You sound like Jon.”

“First and second place for guiltiest conscience, us,” Daisy says with a tired chuckle. “And I don’t know which of us is in first.” She sighs. “Look, I know you have no reason to trust me, but I do see Jon as a friend. Not just because I’m sorry, or because he saved me, or because I owe him, but because he… well, he sees me as I am, and he sees me for who I want to be, and he doesn’t see those as mutually exclusive, but he also doesn’t deny the contradiction.”

“Wish he could apply the same logic to himself.”

“Yeah. He’s an absolute mess of double standards. Best we can do is call him on it at every opportunity. Maybe eventually he’ll get it through his head.”

“Yeah,” Martin scoffs. “Maybe.”

“Anyway,” she says, “I care about him, and he cares about you, so…”

“So you thought you’d appoint yourself his wingman?”

“Maybe a little.” Daisy gives him a hesitant, sheepish grin. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Martin sighs. The resentment is still there, but he does feel a bit lighter after getting it all out in the open. Besides, he's so emotionally drained from his outburst, he can’t quite work up the energy for mild annoyance right this moment.

“Well, in that case – if you want to kiss him, you should ask. That’s all I’m saying,” Daisy says hurriedly, holding up her palms in a placating gesture when Martin gives her a tired glare. “I’ll drop it now. I meant it when I said I wanted tea.”

Daisy winces as she rises to her feet.

“And I meant it when I said I can get it,” Martin says.

“I’ve got it.”

“Then at least let me come along and–”

“Uh, no.” Daisy gives him a quelling look. “Jon warned me about how you are with tea.”

“What?”

“Says you’re a micromanager.”

“He what?” Martin demands.

“Okay, he didn’t say it like that. Actually, I think the word he used was persnickety.”

“Oh, as if he has room to talk,” Martin mutters. “He’s just miffed that I caught him microwaving tea once and I refuse to let him live it down.”

“What’s wrong with microwaving tea?” Martin recoils, affronted – and then Daisy snorts. “Settle down. I’m just messing with you.” She starts to leave, pausing only briefly to glance over her shoulder. “I won’t be long. Yell if Peter decides to finally show his face.”

“Will do,” Martin groans, reluctantly returning to the statement in front of him. Yet another alleged Extinction sighting, courtesy of Peter, for Martin to dutifully pretend to research.

Stringing Peter along is the best way Martin knows to keep in check. In that sense, it’s an important job – one only Martin can do. Nonetheless, it’s reminiscent of how it felt to be left behind when the others went to stop the Unknowing. Distracting Elias was important, sure, and dangerous in its own way, but it wasn’t exactly on the same level as storming the Circus to stop the apocalypse. Comparatively, Martin felt useless.

Now, with Basira and Jon off on their mission, Martin is beset by a similar sense of futility. There’s certainly enough work to keep him busy, given that Peter delegates most of his job responsibilities to Martin. (Martin is fairly certain that, fraudulent CV or not, he’s more qualified to run the Institute at this point than Peter is.) Performing routine administrative duties can be a boring and demoralizing enough endeavor in the context of a mundane underpaid office job; doing so in service to an unfathomable cosmic evil is, to put it mildly, soul-destroying. Perhaps in a literal sense, as far as Martin knows.

That’s not to mention the customary gloom that comes with reading account after dreadful account of senseless, indiscriminate suffering.

Martin wishes there was something practical he could do, is his point. Patient though he may be, indefinite waiting is less tolerable when what he’s waiting for is the other shoe to drop, so to speak. He has no desire to interact with Peter in any capacity, but the longer he remains scarce, the more Martin’s trepidation soars.

There’s no way Peter has conceded his bet with Jonah, but there’s no telling whether he’s simply biding his time and observing how events unfold, actively plotting his next moves, or already enacting an revised scheme from the shadows. Regardless, he’s a clear and present danger for as long as he’s around. He may not be hasty, but he’s still a wildcard. Jon told Martin about the last time: how Peter released the NotThem to rampage through the Institute, solely for the sake of causing a distraction. As long as he has The Seven Lamps of Architecture in his possession, he–

Oh.

Martin smiles to himself. Maybe there is something more he can do.

The warehouse is, unsurprisingly, dark. Even with the door propped open, the daylight filtering through illuminates a radius of only a few yards before it’s swallowed by unnatural gloom. As Jon and Basira move further into the cavernous space, the beams of their torches barely penetrate the velvety murk.

“Any idea where she is?” Basira whispers from Jon’s left.

“Waiting in ambush, I assume. I can’t See much of anything.”

“See or See?”

“Either. Both.”

“And you’re certain that applies to Elias as well? He won’t be able to See us here?”

“Positive,” Jon says. “The Dark has–”

An enraged bellow sounds out from behind them. Basira’s torch clatters to the concrete floor, its light promptly extinguished as the casing cracks and the batteries come loose. In a flash, Basira is on the ground, locked in a furious scuffle with–

“Manuela Dominguez!” Jon says. Manuela looks up reflexively, surprised to hear her name. It’s all the opening Basira needs to gain the upper hand, grappling Manuela into a prone position on the floor and pinning her in place with a wristlock. Manuela cries out in pain, but her wild thrashing continues unabated.

“Jon,” Basira grunts, increasingly winded as Manuela attempts to break the hold. “A little help?”

“Manuela, listen, we – we’re just here to talk–”

Manuela briefly pauses in her struggling to spit at Jon’s feet. Funny, how some details remain the same. A second later, she’s resisting again, now attempting to twist around and bite at whatever exposed skin she can find.

“Stop.”

The command crackles up Jon’s throat and sparks off the tip of his tongue like a static shock, hundreds of iterations of the word coinciding. The air itself seems to quake with the force of it, and Jon is left shivering in its wake.

So, it seems, is Manuela: her voice shudders out of her when she speaks.

“Who are you?” she hisses. “What do you want?”

“To make a deal,” Jon says, the words slightly slurred.

“Why would I deal with you?” In the flickering glow of his torchlight, Jon can see the baleful glint in Manuela’s eyes. “You’re of the Eye, aren’t you? What could you even possibly want? You’ve already taken everything – you lot and your Archivist. Where is she, anyway?” Manuela makes a show of scanning the room as best she can, pinioned as she is. “Too much of a coward to witness the wreckage she’s wrought?”

“Gertrude is dead,” Basira says.

“Stopping us took everything she had, then.” Manuela smirks. “Serves her right.”

“You wish,” Basira scoffs. “She was murdered. Completely unrelated.”

“That’s –” Manuela’s smug expression vanishes. “Who–?”

“Elias,” Jon says. “She was too much of a thorn in his side. Too much of a force to be reckoned with.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I told you,” Jon says. “We want to make a deal. A temporary alliance.”

“An alliance?” Manuela repeats. What starts as a weak, dismissive laugh dissolves into a wheeze.

“We have a mutual enemy.” Manuela’s eyes narrow in something more like curiosity now. “I take it I’ve piqued your interest. Will you hear us out?”

Manuela deliberates for a protracted moment, torn between rebellion and intrigue. “Let me up.”

“What, so you can throw more punches?” Basira says.

“It’s fine, Basira,” Jon says. Manuela is still seething with defiance. The more powerless she feels, the less open she’ll be to negotiation. Better to make a few concessions and let her feel some control over the situation.

Judging from her furrowed brow, Basira is running through the same calculations. She hesitates a moment longer before sighing, releasing her hold, and standing. Manuela staggers to her feet and backs away several steps, brushing herself off and panting shallowly as she catches her breath.

“Did you come here alone?” she asks, massaging her abused wrist as her suspicious gaze flits back and forth between Basira and Jon. “Just the two of you?”

“Yes,” Jon answers. Basira shakes her head with an impatient tsk – which Jon interprets as something like stop volunteering free information to every Avatar you parley with, Jon. “Like I said, we’re just here to talk. And to offer you the opportunity for revenge.”

“What revenge? Gertrude is dead,” Manuela spits out. “Who else is there? Her replacement?”

“I’m her replacement.”

With that, Manuela lunges in Jon’s direction. Basira swiftly moves to intercept her, but Manuela stops in her tracks before Basira can grab her. A tension-filled standoff ensues, the two of them eyeing each other warily. After nearly a full minute, Basira seems satisfied enough that the situation has been defused to take her eyes off Manuela and treat Jon to an exasperated glare.

“Do you have to antagonize every single person who wants to kill you?” she scolds.

Jon ignores her grievance in favor of addressing Manuela directly: “You wouldn’t have any luck killing me.”

Basira dips her head down and plants the heel of her hand on her forehead, grumbling under her breath. It’s mostly unintelligible, but Jon thinks he can make out the words fuck’s sake somewhere in there.

“I could try,” Manuela snarls. Her hands ball into tighter fists, trembling with rage at her sides, but she continues to stand her ground.

“You could,” Jon says mildly. “And you would fail.”

“You’ll just compel me, you mean.”

“I could.” He would rather avoid it if possible, but Manuela doesn’t need to know that. He can only hope she can’t tell just how much he’s only pretending at nerve. “Or, you can listen to what we have to say. Gertrude is dead, and lashing out at me isn’t going to satisfy your thirst for revenge. We can offer up a more satisfying target.”

“Unless you have a way for me to unmake the Power your Archivist served.” When Jon doesn’t deny it, Manuela lets out another harsh, scornful laugh. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“Well – arguably, Gertrude didn’t serve the Eye. She followed her own path.” Manuela breathes a derisive huff. “Like her or not, she did. Formidable as she was, none of that was due to the Beholding’s favor. That was all her. She never embraced the power it promised – not like most Archivists do. Striking a blow against the Eye wouldn’t be an insult to Gertrude’s memory. If anything, it would do her proud.”

“Killing it with the sales pitch,” Basira carps.

“But the head of the Institute does serve the Eye,” Jon presses on, “and he’s the one responsible for appointing Gertrude the Archivist in the first place. Hurt the Eye, and you hurt him.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Manuela says, bristling. “Your patron may pale in comparison to my god, but I’m not arrogant enough to believe that I would stand a chance of vanquishing it.”

“We can’t vanquish it, no. But we could destroy the Institute that serves it. Same as happened to the Dark’s faithful.”

“An eye for an eye,” Basira adds.

“Well, you’ve wasted your time coming all this way.” Manuela’s disparaging chuckle gets caught in her throat. “I’m the only one here. An abandoned disciple, guarding a lost cause. There’s nothing left of our former power.”

“The Dark Sun,” Basira says.

Manuela tenses. Then her shoulders slump, weighed down by dawning, solemn resignation.

“Of course,” she says bitterly. “It isn’t enough to decimate our numbers. You need to steal the only remnant of our crusade.”

“We’re giving you the opportunity to reclaim its purpose,” Jon says. “Or would you rather it rot away here, diminishing until it collapses in on itself?”

Manuela is silent for a long minute, a shrewd look in her eye. “Why would you want to betray your god?”

“The Beholding isn’t my god,” Jon says. “I’m not a willing convert. I was drafted into someone else’s crusade without my consent – and you know what that’s like, don’t you?”

Manuela just scowls.

“I Know your story.” Jon’s voice turns sibilant with power as the Archive rears its head. “Indoctrinated into a faith that never spoke to you –”

“– brought up to believe in the light of God, his radiant, illuminating presence –”

“Shut up,” Manuela says in a low growl.

“– deep down they were vicious, spiteful people who used their faith to hurt others, and I fondly imagined them discovering themselves in an afterlife other than the one they had assumed was their destination – I broke with them as soon as I could –”

“Jon,” Basira interrupts. The firm squeeze of her hand on his shoulder is enough to snap him out of his shallow trance. She jerks her head at Manuela, who looks about ready to charge him again. “Maybe not the time?”

“S-sorry,” he gasps. He shakes his head to clear the residual static clouding his thoughts before looking back to Manuela with genuine contrition. “Didn’t mean to do that, I swear. I only meant to say that I – I read the statement you gave to Gertrude. I know that your parents were zealots. They envisioned a perfect world that seemed to you like hell on earth, and you did everything you could to rebel against their arrogance. To spite the god they worshiped. We have some common ground there, you and I.”

Granted, Jon didn’t grow up in a religious household. His grandmother was content to let him explore – and he did.

Even as a child, he had an inclination for research. A topic would catch his attention and he would voraciously seek out as much information as he could. His grandmother didn’t take much interest in the content of those fixations, but she did encourage them as a general principle. Not with overt praise, necessarily, but by facilitating his endeavors: procuring reading material on the obsession of the month, escorting him to the library every so often and allowing him to max out his card. He suspects now that she was simply grateful for some way to occupy his attention. If his nose was in a book, he was keeping out of trouble.

He never told her how wrong she turned out to be.

In any case, one of his many early “phases,” as she liked to call them, was comparative religion. Part of it was simple curiosity. Part of it was a genuine desire to find something to believe: some conception of the afterlife that would resonate with him, some straightforward framework for understanding the world, some sort of certainty to assuage his fear of the unknown. His grandmother never seemed to care whether he found what he was looking for. She never really asked.

It was for the best. He never liked admitting defeat. Not back then.

They returned all the books to the library on the day they were due, and Jon brought home a new haul, this one centered around the field of oceanography. The seas were brimming with mystery, but at least there was a very real possibility of turning those unknowns into knowns. New discoveries were being made every day, newer and newer technology being developed to push the boundaries of that knowledge. There were sure answers, and they could be grasped, so long as humanity could invent the right tools for the job.

Still, Jon found himself envying people of faith from time to time. Sometimes he wished he had someone to point him in some sort of direction, like many other children seemed to have. But hearing of Manuela’s upbringing… well, if Jon was forced to choose between extremes, he has to admit that he prefers the complete lack of guidance he received as opposed to strict proselytization. His grandmother may not have shown interest in his opinions, but at least she gave him the freedom to come to his own conclusions. She may not have had reassurances to offer, but at least she didn’t foist upon him a worldview that made no place for him in it.

“It’s not the same thing as childhood indoctrination,” he tells Manuela, “but… becoming the Archivist – it was like being drafted into the service of a god that I never would have chosen for myself. Had Elias told me the terms, I never would have signed the contract.”

“I take it he didn’t tell you beforehand that he murdered your predecessor?”

“That I had to find out the hard way, unfortunately.”

“So you’re saying you’re not so much a traitor to your faith as you are a disgruntled employee.”

“Elias is my boss. Is that a trick question?” Jon is surprised to hear Manuela give an amused snort. “But yes. I’d like to… tender my resignation, so to speak.”

Manuela scrutinizes him intently, as if trying to solve a riddle. “You would give up your power?”

“I don’t want it,” Jon says truthfully.

If he’s perfectly honest with himself, there was a time that at least some aspects of that power were alluring. There was something intoxicating and liberating about being able to ask a question and not only receive a guaranteed answer, but be certain he wasn’t being presented with an outright lie – especially after spending so many months beholden to unchecked paranoia, distrust, and frantic, futile investigation.

But there was never anything benign or inconsequential about invading a victim’s privacy or compelling someone to surrender a secret, no matter how he tried to justify it to himself. Even if there was, even if it wasn’t both reprehensible in principle and harmful in practice, it still wouldn’t be worth the irrevocable costs.

“I want out,” he says, “and if getting out isn’t an option, then I at least want Elias to know what it is to be offered up to a god inimical to every atom of his existence. I thought you might be able to assist with that.”

“How?”

“The Institute is a seat of power for the Beholding,” Basira says. “If we introduce it to your Dark Sun…”

“A mote in the Eye,” Manuela says, intrigued. Her attention swivels back to Jon. “Do you Know what would happen?”

“No,” he says. “But I imagine it will hurt.”

“And then what? What happens after? You let me pack up my relic and walk away?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“I don’t believe you,” Manuela says.

“You don’t pose an existential threat,” Jon says with a shrug. “I have no doubt that the Dark will attempt another Ritual someday, but it won’t happen in our lifetimes. We have no qualms letting you walk away after our alliance is finished.”

“And the Dark Sun?” Manuela presses.

“I don’t know what condition it will be in after exposure to the Eye,” Jon admits. “But you’re free to do as you wish with it after. We won’t stop you.”

So she can hurt more people, Jon’s battered conscience chimes in.

“And if I say no?”

“Then I walk in there right now, Behold it, and destroy it entirely.” It comes out sounding more menacing than Jon had initially intended, but maybe that’s not a bad thing, given the way Manuela freezes up.

“You wouldn’t survive.” Manuela sounds far from certain.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But your Sun certainly wouldn’t.” Jon pauses for a moment to let that sink in. “Do you want to see its potential wasted here and now, or do you want to make all that sacrifice worth something?”

“If you’re so certain you have the upper hand, what’s stopping you from just taking it, then?”

“I’m not its engineer or its keeper. I wouldn’t even Know how to safely transport it. Too many unknown variables.”

“So you need me.”

“Yes. Beneath the Institute, there’s a… a sanctum of the Eye. A place of power, like Ny-Ålesund is for your patron. If you can bring the Dark Sun there, I… well, I’m hoping it will sever the Eye’s connection to that place. Destroy the Institute.”

“How would that work?”

“I’m… not certain,” Jon confesses. “Call it a… a hunch.”

“There’s precedent,” Basira says. “We found a statement that hinted at worshipers of the Dark destroying a temple to the Eye in 4th century Alexandria.”

Manuela’s eyes light up with interest. “How?”

“We don’t know,” Jon says.

“Oh, right. Foolish of me to ask,” Manuela says pertly. “Why would I expect you to know things? It’s only the entire point of you.”

“I never claimed to be good at my job,” Jon retorts. “Look, maybe I don’t Know exactly what will happen, but a focus of the Dark should hurt the Eye in some capacity, I think.”

“You think,” Manuela mutters under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear the derision in her tone.

“Whatever happens, it’ll be more satisfying than anything you’ve got going on here,” Basira points out.

Manuela barks out a contemptuous laugh. “You don’t even have the shadow of a plan!”

“We… haven’t ironed out the details, no.” Jon rubs the back of his neck, chagrinned. “We figured that if you did agree to an alliance, you would want to be part of the actual planning process.”

“And if you don’t cooperate, it’s a moot point,” Basira says.

“Also, I was… I suppose I was hoping you could offer insight,” Jon says. “The Dark is something of a blind spot for me, shockingly.” Manuela shoots him a withering look. “So even if I had any clue how to wield the Dark Sun, I wouldn’t be able to channel its full potential. Not like you could.”

“That much is obvious,” Manuela sneers, teeth gleaming in the torchlight as her lips stretch in a taut, wolfish grin. “You Beholding types always assume that knowledge is synonymous with control. Putting yourselves on the level of Powers greater than any mortal, assuming insight into things you could not possibly understand… you fly too close to the sun and then have the gall to indulge in outrage when you burn.”

We didn’t come here for a sermon, Jon almost says, but he bites his tongue.

“But I accept that I am a supplicant, not a god,” Manuela says, reverence seeping into her tone to supplant the reproach. “It’s pure hubris to assume that you could wield the Black Sun like a tool. It’s a communion, and only those with true and dutiful faith could ever hope to win its favor. Approach it with anything less than respect and devotion, and it will devour you.”

“If you’re done pontificating?” Basira says. She doesn’t give Manuela an opening to respond. “We’re well aware that we stand no chance of wielding–” Manuela looks up sharply, and Basira hastily corrects herself. “Fine – communing with the Dark Sun ourselves. That’s why we’re looking for an alliance rather than just taking it.”

“Do you think you could–” Jon pauses as he searches for a way to phrase his question that won’t unleash another tirade. “Would you be able to arrange for the Dark Sun to be brought into the Eye’s stronghold? Expose them to one another, let them… I don’t know – have it out with each other?”

“I’m capable of bringing it to London, if that’s what you’re asking,” Manuela says primly. “But it would be at a disadvantage on the Beholding’s home turf. If – if – I were willing to test this hypothesis, I would only do so on the condition that I could level the playing field as much as possible. Wait for ideal circumstances, as it were.”

“Which would be…?” Basira asks.

“The winter solstice. The Dark Sun will be the strongest on the night of the winter solstice.”

“That’s months from now,” Basira protests. “Can’t you just –”

“Ideally, I would insist on a total solar eclipse,” Manuela snaps, “but it will be quite some time before London witnesses another. Not until 2090.”

“Looking ahead, are you?” Basira asks.

“It is likely the soonest opportunity for another attempt at a Ritual.” Manuela pretends at nonchalance with a shrug, but she can’t quite conceal her profound disappointment as her voice grows measurably more subdued. “It gives me ample time to study our failure. To discover what went wrong.”

“To refine your Ritual, you mean.”

“There will always be faithful to take up the mantle,” Manuela says, her chin lifting marginally in defiance as she stares Basira down.

“But you won’t be around to see it.” Basira meets Manuela’s eyes with equal nerve. Jon remains silent, looking from one to the other as they face off against one another.

“No,” Manuela replies evenly. “I’ll have to settle for passing on my findings to those who come after. Leave behind a legacy to guide their steps.”

“In the meantime, the Dark Sun will stagnate,” Jon chimes in. It’s a bluff, of course: he has no idea whether or not it’s true. Judging from the unsettled look on Manuela’s face, neither does she. Jon latches onto that uncertainty, carefully twisting the knife just a little further: “Or, you could let it serve a purpose.”

“Its purpose was to usher in a world of true and holy Darkness,” Manuela says acidly. “You’re proposing I give it scraps.”

“Like it or not, you can’t give it the apocalypse it was promised,” Jon says.

Manuela’s fingers flex and clench back into fists. Jon suspects she would love nothing more than to wring his neck. She’s a truth seeker at heart, though. Ambitious, rebellious – idealistic even, albeit in a twisted sort of way, harboring an aspiration that most would rightfully find horrific. Adept at detecting and exploiting the more malleable aspects of material reality where possible, infusing the scientific method with just enough magical thinking to bend natural laws.

However, there are some truths that even she cannot deny, and she isn’t the type to ignore a certainty when it’s right in front of her face. And so, despite the unconcealed vitriol in her eyes and the contrariness sitting at the tip of her tongue, she does not deny his assertion.

“But it can still pay tribute to your god,” Jon coaxes, striving to stop short of needling. It’s a razor’s edge he’s always struggled to walk, but Manuela is still right there with him, toeing the line. “It’s better than nothing at all.”

Manuela directs a venomous glower towards the floor as she vacillates between summary dismissal and the temptation of vengeance. Basira side-eyes Jon as the standstill stretches from seconds into minutes, but all Jon can offer her is an awkward shrug. The ball is in Manuela’s court, and it seems she has no qualms leaving them in indefinite suspense as she painstakingly examines all the variables and weighs her options. The best they can do is wait and hope that tangible revenge will prove more enticing than spiteful noncooperation.

Eventually, she lets out a sharp exhale, raises her head, and breaks her silence.

“The winter solstice,” she repeats, her voice teeming with tension and lingering aversion. “Barring an eclipse, I would have to settle for the winter solstice. The longest, darkest night of the year… it’s second best, but it should suffice. Shame about the light pollution, of course,” she adds, wrinkling her nose with disdain, “but the power is in the symbolism.”

“Jon?” Basira prompts.

“Dream logic,” he says, massaging his forehead wearily. “It tracks.”

“Fine,” Basira sighs. She looks back to Manuela. “So does this mean you’ll do it?”

“I’m tired of haunting this place like a ghost.” There’s a sharp, predatory look in Manuela’s eyes now. “The Dark has lost its crusaders. The Watcher should have a taste of loss.”

Just then, a loud, metallic thunk interrupts the negotiations, reverberating through the space and drawing everyone’s attention to warehouse entrance. The light that had been percolating through from outside had been preternaturally dimmed before, but now it’s been snuffed out entirely.

Jon glances anxiously at Basira. “The wind, maybe?”

“There was no wind.” Basira is already drawing her gun. Like a switch has been flipped at the prospect of danger, her voice goes steely with manufactured composure. “Not strong enough to blow the door shut. I propped it open very securely.”

“We’re near the water, though,” Jon murmurs. “Strong gusts sometimes blow in off the sea–”

Jon’s mouth snaps shut at Basira’s quelling look. Manuela’s posture is defensive again, eyes darting suspiciously between Jon and Basira in the muted torchlight.

“I thought you said you came here alone,” she says accusingly.

“We – we did,” Jon says. “We–”

“Oh, Archivist,” a new voice sings out, oozing with an exultant malice. “Long time no see!”

It’s been ages since Jon last heard that cadence, but it’s horrifyingly, heart-stoppingly familiar even after all this time. It pierces Jon like a knife in the dark. He takes a frantic step back, nearly tripping over his own feet as his panic skyrockets and a tidal wave of adrenaline crashes over him.

“We just want to talk,” croons a different voice, rougher and more ragged-sounding. It’s difficult to gauge the newcomers’ positions through the impermeable gloom, but judging from the sounds of their voices, they’re drawing ever nearer. “Won’t you come out?”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Jon breathes an incredulous laugh, distraught enough to border on a whimper. “Now?”

“Who are they?” Basira asks urgently. Jon is still frozen in place, eyes straining against the darkness. Any answer he could make is bogged down with terror, snagging in his throat and forestalling coherence. “Jon!”

Jon swallows hard and finally looks at Basira, his eyes wide with dread.

“Hunters.”

End Notes:

naomi: hey jon. jon. consider: surveillance state kink jon: shut the hell your mouth

____

Both instances of Archive-speak are from MAG 135. A few pieces of dialogue from the beginning of the conversation with Manuela are taken/reworked from MAG 143. The Melanie and Basira gossip is from MAG 106.

Once again, had way too much fun with the text convo btwn Naomi and Jon. Cannot resist those chatfic shenanigans vibes.

In other news, Daisy WILL point at Jon and loudly exclaim, “Is anyone gonna volunteer as wingman for this lovesick disaster or do I have to do everything myself?” and not even wait for an answer. (Jon made the mistake of confirming that he doesn’t mind her lovingly dunking on him about this sort of thing and now she’s a menace. Listen, playful ribbing is basically her platonic love language.)  

Sorry for the cliffhanger!! But hey, I think we all knew that there’s no way things would go entirely smoothly for Jon and Basira. And now I finally get to add some new character tags.

I’m very behind on replying to comments. (Tbh, spent most of the last month grappling with this chapter. I was stuck on a scene that REALLY didn’t want to cooperate.) I’m gonna try to catch up this weekend, though. <3 As always, thank you for reading!

[calpops]

breathless | c.h.

In which living with Calum presents difficulties of adjustment that leave you both a little bit breathless.

@outerspaceisbetterthannothing: Okay, but what if at some point after moving in together they start suffocating? not in a bad way, just it's one thing to just date, but spending all the time with a person can be tough. esp after long time living alone. and it takes a lot of effort to learn to live with somebody again. so at some point, having a rough day at work/studio they just have that irritation come out?

Word Count: 1k

***

Calum can sense a shift in the mood between you two made by three small moments. There’s a snap of tension that fills the air and keeps him on edge. Little things that don’t usually bother you both seem to be piling into each other and adding weight that has a force Calum doesn’t like. He can see the change in your eyes, written on your face, in the tight frown that draws across your lips and the sigh that escapes you as you run into another one of Calum’s habits. A remote to the back as you tried to lay down on the couch after a long day. You sit back up and toss the remote to the coffee table; head going to your hands as you rub at your temples. Usually you just laugh and remind him to put the remote anywhere but the couch. That is moment one.

In another moment he’s stumbling over your shoes and cursing out as he catches himself on the corner of the bed. Irritation builds and a want to kick the shoes out of his way comes with it. But he deflates and grumbles as he moves them aside. Usually he would make a joke with a sweetheart attached.

The last moment comes in a swift surprise. It’s a clatter of pots and pans that fall to the floor and on your toes. A painful and shocked gasp leaves your lips and Calum’s rushing to your side. He sees the accusation in your eyes and he knows it’s deserved. He’d left the cabinet in peril; the organization system you were so used to from living alone turning into havoc the night before when Calum did dishes and put them away so haphazardly opening the door sent them crashing. He hadn’t meant to, wasn’t really thinking about it, went through the motions he usually went through when he himself lived alone. It never bothered him to have chaos in the kitchen and he knew better than to open the doors without being cautious. But you were both still adjusting and trying to find middle ground for your differences. Usually it was easy. Sometimes it came to a crashing head that left you both suffocating.

“Are you alright?” Calum asks, voice wearing thin as you huff and shove kitchenware back into the cabinet.

“I’m fine,” you answer and lapse into silence as you go to work reorganizing everything. It stays silent with a thin veil of tension until Calum reaches out to help and you snap, breaking the moment with a harsh tone. “I’ve got it, okay?”

He backs off immediately, knowing you need a moment to breathe and cool down. The past few days had been simmering and seemingly that moment made it reach its boiling point. Calum stands and walks off, Duke trails him. He feels bad leaving you in the mess but it’s clear his presence was making things worse. He could use a moment to himself as well. He winds up in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed with Duke by his side. He can hear you in the kitchen, the clatter of pots and pans ringing through his ears. He doesn’t know when it will be best to approach. He waits until the noise dies down. And then waits some more. When he’s almost on his feet to go to you; knowing he can’t stand the silence—it’s just as suffocating as the boiling point—the door opens and you peek in.

You’re hesitant at first, just as he is. A moment of pause captures you both. In that moment Calum notes your shiny eyes and the way your hands tug at your shirt and the slight downturn of your lips. It’s all signs of something more than just the incident in the kitchen. Finally, finally, you go to him, slow steps and unsure movements as you approach. He welcomes you with open arms as you settle on his lap and bury your face against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble against him and Calum knows the words are sincere.

“So am I,” he responds.

He’s sorry that he left the cabinets in such a state. He’s sorry that the adjustment period of living together has become so overwhelming for the both of you. He’s sorry he hasn’t spoken up sooner to help work out the tension. He’s sorry about a lot of things and he’s sure you are too. But neither of you need say all of that. Just one apology says and does enough to help bring you back together and ease the ache that’s been building.

“It’s just been a lot,” you say and Calum nods in understanding though he knows you can’t see it. “It’s so different. I just haven’t gotten used to not being alone yet.”

Calum runs a hand down your back and shifts, you look up at him, getting the memo of his body language. He wants to talk to you; eye to eye.

“I know, sweetheart. I haven’t quite got it down yet either. Maybe sometimes…” Calum starts and feels the words sitting heavy in the back of his throat. “We just need to give each other a little time to be alone.”

You give a tiny nod in response, eyes uncertain and eyebrows furrowing. “Maybe.”

Calum sighs and purses his lip. A question enters his mind and he can’t help but ask. “I can sleep in the guest room tonight. If you want some space?”

You’re quick to shake your head and calm the fear that’s rising in Calum. He knows alone time is vital. That living your lives together doesn’t mean you have to live your lives so completely intertwined day in and day out. But nighttime is special. It’s the common factor of bringing you together; even after a day of being around each other constantly. It’s what keeps you truly connected.

“No, I don’t want to be alone like that,” you explain and Calum is glad to hear it. “But maybe tomorrow we should both go be with our friends. I don’t think we’ve seen much of anyone else since moving in.”

Calum agrees. And promises to try to remember to keep the kitchen a little more organized. And you promise to try to remember to put your shoes away. And you both promise to remember to talk to each other before it ever ends up feeling like you’re breathless and running out of air again. Usually you are each other’s breath of fresh air. You both want it to stay that way.

***

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[luminous-studiess]

Any advice on how to start a studyblr?

sorry for the late reply!!! i’ve only gotten around to fixing stuff now. i hope this is still useful.   i find that these studyblrs have really wonderful guides, and were things i in fact looked at when i started my own studyblr: @studyquill​: https://studyquill.tumblr.com/post/157697042218/part-1-start-a-studyblr-0-make-the-blog @eintsein: https://www.eintsein.com/post/152763310590/a-beginners-guide-to-starting-a-studyblr @emmastudies: https://emmastudies.com/post/158774823455/starting-a-studyblr in terms of personal advice + small things i’ve learned for being on studyblr and for opening and maintaining a studyblr: GENERAL GUIDELINES/SOME LIFE AND STUDY ADVICE 1. running a studyblr is and always will be secondary to actually studying. it is a tool, and it does place you within an intelligent and hard-working community. however, a studyblr will not in itself give you good grades or motivate you to study all the time. (trust me. i know this from 1L law life). create good study habits and time management first, and use studyblr as a supplementary tool to refine systems you already have in place. which brings me to my second point: 2. it really helps to see what other studyblrs have in terms of study resources and tips first. i think that’s one of the most valuable things you can take away from studyblr! when i was really lost and inexperienced, i looked at how other people worked through their personal and school problems, and i found my own way of doing things.  it’s okay to be a lurker at first and reblog reference (make a tag for it) because when you feel lost, you have your own pool of self-curated advice. you’re looking at other content and materials not to necessarily copy what people are doing and posting, but to integrate what they’ve learned into how you prefer to study and organize. 3, but do not compare yourself to others. i know it gets overwhelming to compare yourself to the seemingly perfect and beautiful things people have on here. when i was starting out, i was really sad that i didn’t know how to make beautiful bullet journals, and study in really fancy places, and have buckets of mildliners, and effortlessly get good grades. we only look at others to learn from them, but their experiences and lives are not, and never will be, ours. your life is your own, and you will become much more happy and productive when you accept what you have and what you can do as it is.  ACTUALLY RUNNING A STUDYBLR: SEVERAL TIPS  1. consider why you actually want one, and plan how you want to use it to achieve your goals. i started mine during thesis semester, and wanted to use the studyblr to stay accountable! 2. buying fancy things will not make you productive. you buy nice school things not to post for the aesthetic hashtag studygram shot, but because it genuinely makes your life easier and makes studying more comfortable.  3. follow people whom you admire and follow people with the same interests/course. it helps when you see that people are doing the same things you’re doing, and going through the same version of academic hell that you are. (jk). but seriously, the beauty of studyblr is in the community of people who love learning. reach out to them, and they’ll reach out to you. (and that becomes followers and mutuals!) 4. be nice. care about other people. care about social issues and current events. what you’re studying only matters if you’re a decent person, and knowledge does not exist within an isolated, academic bubble. 5. tagging. tag. know your studyblr tags. take note of ones that match your posts, and use them so that your posts can reach a lot of people. 6. TAKE PHOTOS IN NATURAL LIGHTING. IT ALWAYS LOOKS BETTER. find your own photography style, and the best way to represent how your study sessions actually go. be yourself and don’t feel like you have to “live an aesthetic”.  7. share the things you’re studying. share the things you’ve learned in relation to studying and productivity. others need those lessons too, and your wisdom and experience is something that will help somebody else. the priority here is learning, and inspiring other students to do the same. if you’ve learned something, pass it on.  8. always, ALWAYS focus on getting your schoolwork done and on fixing what you need to do versus spending time planning and making fancy notes and forming new systems and habits. organization and posting on studyblr are productive. but in the end, we’re all here to finish our homework and get our degrees. if that means staying off studyblr in the meantime, do that first. make a queue if you have to.  i hope that helps! i know this is a bit messy, but this is generally what i think i’ve come to realize over the 2~ years of running my studyblr. do message me if you have more specific questions, and i’ll try my best to help. -- sam <3