#I still haven’t ordered my thrift books books

[forabeatofadrum]

Hello everyone and what a happy Sunday it is! Thank you @confused-bi-queer​ for the tag (FUCK THE MAGE). I am doing extremely well.

I handed in my thesis this morning. Yup. I did it, folks. Thank you all for coming along on this ride, although we haven’t reached our final destination yet. My thesis advisor will have to grade it before 10th of July. I am cautiously optimistic. Cautious, because a part of me is still afraid my conclusion and discussion chapter will fuck me over, but that fear has shrunk a lot in the past week. Basically, I am expecting to pass my thesis, but hey, we won’t know until I get that final grade and then I will have finished my Master’s degree in Communication Science.

One Master hopefully down, one more to go, because yes I am totally normal and I signed up for another one, which means another thesis down the line, so if you enjoyed this thesis shit, stick around 👈(ﾟヮﾟ👈).

Once I am fully done, I will apply the final feedback and send it to people who are interested. This includes you all. Yes, I wasn’t joking about translating it and posting it as a unregistered work to AO3.

But man, I am free! Today, I have gone to a thrift shop, I have painted, I have read a book and some (uhhh of my own) fics and I have written stuff!!!

Shit’s going down in Ljubljana:

“Oh.”

Blaine frowns. Why does Quinn look as if she’s realised something big? She takes a step away from Blaine, but he reaches out to her.

“What?” Blaine asks, because he’s genuinely confused.

“You… and him…” Quinn says quietly.

And lastly, after Wednesday I have been thinking about the Asian fic and I think it is indeed the best to post all snippets as an individual story in a series, so that I can also re-order it in the series if needed. I just need a fucking title.

And now, the hot weather: @quizasvivamos @blurglesmurfklaine @coffeegleek @esperantoauthor @otherworldsivelivedin @caramelcoffeeaddict @sillyunicorn @bazzybelle @dragoneggos @raenestee @tectonicduck @nightimedreamersworld @urban-sith @thnxforknowingme @captain-aralias @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @takitalks @justgleekout @cerriddwenluna @tea-brigade @ivelovedhimthroughworse @moodandmist @whogaveyoupermission @bookish-bogwitch @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @ionlydrinkhotwater @1908jmd @special-bc-ur-part-of-it @larkral @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @cutestkilla @nausikaaa/@wellbelesbian @artsyunderstudy @martsonmars @facewithoutheart @shrekgogurt​ @boyinjeans @rockitmans @bitbybitwrites @blackberrysummerblog @whatevertheweather​

[razorsadness]

Doors open on the left at Belmont.

II. Lex and I elected to go on the ‘Discovering Queer Chicago’ outing because it would get us into Lakeview, and therefore close to Belmont. Lex wasn’t even queer, though most of her friends were, and both of us had already discovered queer Chicago, many times. We went on the little tour through Boystown, but when the group headed to a different part of the city, we stayed in Lakeview. We headed west on Belmont, occasionally stopped in thrift shops, but mostly just walked, and talked in that way you do when you’re young and getting to know someone. By the time we’d reached Clark Street we already knew the names of each other’s hometowns, top ten favorite bands, and last five exes. It was mid-September, the trash cans swarmed with yellowjackets, and though the light was autumn gold and the nights were growing chill, the days were still summer-hot. “I could use an iced coffee and some food,” Lex said, and I agreed. “We should go to the Kokomo Caffe,” I said. “It’s just up the street a bit.” “Oh shit, you know the Kokomo? My friend Schuyler told me about that place. She hangs out there a lot.” “Oh fuck, I know Schuyler! Well, sorta.” So we went to the Kokomo.

I noticed the barista right away—a gorgeous skinhead boy with the scally cap, the Fred Perry polo, the tight, cuffed jeans, the boots, the whole bit. I’d had a latent thing for trad/anti-racist skins for a while. I had several skinhead friends, and there was something about their look that I loved, that made me wonder if I wanted to date them or be them. I’d been cutting my own hair into a Chelsea fringe, in between other haircuts, for a few years. My interest in skinheads had reached a fever pitch a couple months before, when I read Don de Grazia’s novel, American Skin. Though the book took place in the late ‘80s, the characters felt like people I knew. And the places were places I knew— Northwestern University and the neighborhood of Lakeview both figured prominently in the book. And here I was, a Northwestern student, in a cafe on Belmont, making eyes at a skinhead. I tried to think up something to say to him, beyond ordering another iced coffee. And then Schuyler walked in. “Stupid skin!” she shouted to the barista. “Dirty punk!” he shouted back. They both smiled, and she went up to order a coffee. As he poured it, they chatted, and I eavesdropped. I heard him say something about which classes he was taking at Columbia College that semester, and then I knew what I’d say to him. When Lex waved Schuyler over so they could catch up, I saw my opportunity. I walked over to the counter. “Hey. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop,” I lied, “but I heard that you go to CCC. Have you read American Skin? The author teaches there.” “Yeah,” he said, “that’s a great book. I haven’t met him, though. He teaches fiction writing and I’m in the film department.” “Oh, hey, I’m in the film department at Northwestern.” “Cool,” he said. “I’m Seamus.” He stuck out his hand and I offered mine for him to shake, and the brief brush of his palm against mine sent emergency flares zinging through my body.

I didn’t know yet that the Kokomo would become the nexus of my life, in a way that would both save and ruin it. I didn’t know yet that Seamus would become one of the best friends, and greatest heartbreaks, of my life. But I knew I’d be coming back to the Kokomo, to see him, very soon.

—Jessie Lynn McMains, from “Belmont Vignettes” (Reckless Chants #27, 2023)

[kihaku-gato]

2023 was… a lot. We expected that I guess. My expectations bar feels like it keeps being lowered and I would not be surprised to 2024 grabbed a shovel to still dig under the newly lowered bar, but let’s hope it doesn’t.

Despite the ton of bad, I should not ignore the good;

Some friends I got to talk with more! And I got to see them develop their own new OCs while I simmered on some new ones of my own.

With a revisit I finished the story mode in Little Witch Nobeta not once but twice (second being Advanced Mode)! Not sure I could do Time Trials, but Story Mode alone satisfied much for me

I got the pruning blade onto every single apple tree in the home fruit orchard. Another year and hopefully all trees will be in routine pruning order!

Did my first successful fruit tree graft. I would love to do more if I can find some workable cases to do so.

Thanks to sis I got to get into thrifting. Not only have I enjoyed some badly needed mental stimulation from it, but also find various books that I’ve been after to finishing some of my specific Series Collections, and some other miscellanea and décor too!

I got to learn of artists and writers I was not familiar with before, I’ve loved seeing the creative angles I have either not seen enough of before or haven’t seen at all before till this point!

I finished reading 1 Manga series and 1 book series in my shelves which I had not fully read through before. They are staying on my shelves, they are in the ranks of Classics for me now.

Goals (or moreso- wishes with how goals go these days) for 2024;

More art; OC art, reference sheets, plant art, spec evo art, paleoart, I’m not picky, any or all of them. Doing fanart of other peeps’ stuff would be nice too

Try to make one polymer clay piece, doesn’t matter what it is, can be super simple

Try to compliment other peoples’ artwork more online? That’s a tall order but still something I wish to do more.

Get more decorum progression in my bedroom- something framed on the wall, some curtains, or another larger decorum piece added into the curio. Or even repair my older framed photos from college and put them up even.

Get gardening back in some order; get one of the gardens (the Neo Garden at least) back in order; weeding mainly but other things too

Ditto for houseplants; have more houseplants thrive not just survive. Get things repotted where needed. Maybe get some new stuff if the houseplants reach equilibrium.

Expand on pruning and maybe grafting; get more trees under the yearly prune (it’d be nice to get some of Uncle’s fruit trees done), do client pruning (and TRY to not undercharge again, find someone of similar career who can help judge on that or reference from?), maybe do grafting requests with scion material I may have access to

Read more, read through a unfamiliar/unread series from my bookshelves, maybe get more into reading fanfiction from AO3

Finish another game I’ve never completed. Hollow Knight is one to be one I want to get through- provided hands stop getting strained from the action

Less attainable (I had some of these last year which is why the bar is set to “IF it can happen”) wishes;

Getting my G1 driver’s licence……. Or just getting a new driver’s handbook to replace the lost one so I can at least read-study on paper for it

Visit friends??? Somehow??? Somewhen??? Please???

Buy some sort of merch from an artist I look up to. Or an art comm

Most attainable of the four- just wear some feminine stuff casually? Maybe get something from thrift to wear? Even just something really simple or gender ambiguous brooch or something??

Even if I fail at many, or worse, all of these goals in the coming 2024, I still pray and hope for good and better things for the New Year. Please some more good for 2024, please some good change. May more good people get the good things they need 2024.

[wistfulwisp]

So I wanted to start my list of good omens rants with my religious upbringing, as well as my thoughts on the book:

I was raised and confirmed Catholic for really no other reason then in order for my mom to marry my dad, my dad had to give up his first born to the Catholic Church, which I think is kind of hilarious to hear about and is also very interesting. I was lucky enough to experience religion in every level of extremity as a kid, because my dad is not a very religious person at all, but still believes in the teachings that go along with “don’t kill other people“ and being kind to your neighbour and all of that stuff. my mom’s side of the family was practising Catholics for the most part… they definitely didn’t like the idea of me watching a show that sympathized with a demon 😂 and would go to church once a week and still do and have a bit of a stronger belief in the religious systems. At one point I had a stepmom that was part of extremist Russian orthodox Group, which basically meant that their entire lives were surrounded by religion, and any step out of that was considered heinous and a lack of faith, and for a while, I had of the part of being a part of that extremist group. which, normally some might consider incredibly bizarre, but I am very grateful for my experiences with religion because it’s allowed me to see many different sides of things. I just wanted to give a little bit of a background since this show is so deeply steeped in religion and religious trauma and that something that will probably come up once in a while in my rambling, so that’s kinda setting the stage for that. I promise my official thoughts will be slightly less personal and more about the actual material.

In terms of the good omens book, I read it probably when I was too young to fully understand what was going on or exactly what was happening, which seems to be the case for a lot of the books I read. I’ll be real with ya homeboys, I didn’t really love the book when I first read it because I am not a huge fan of British humor, and that’s honestly the biggest thing that drew me away from the book was that at the time I found like the humour didn’t reach me. I made a joke with one of my friends that she should buy a copy of good omens and annotate it for me every time that there’s a joke so that I can get the humour🤠 I didn’t find it very funny. I did, however really like the premise, and I remember saying to myself that that “this would make a really good TV show movie I just didn’t really care for the book as much”. I’ll get into more of these thoughts when talking about s1. And let it be known that I do want to get my hands on a copy of good omens now that I’ve watched the show and I’m old enough to understand what the original intention of it was and give it another chance, I just haven’t been able to find a cheap version in thrift stores.

[olivevermore]

Benjamin walked through the airport, texting family and friends he’d arrived safely. He made his way past restaurants and souvenir shops. Souvenirs always reminded him of Ahni, the way she’d send him gifts from everywhere she went. She was always mindful of what she sent. He knew Ahni knew how poor he was, and though they had never said it explicitly, he knew she intentionally sent sweatshirts and t-shirts as clothes of his started to wear out. He remembered how she’d sent a thrifted copy of an expensive textbook. Ahni said she stumbled upon it and remember him mentioning how he needed it. He wondered how long she’d looked for it. 

He was about to see Ahni for the first time in months. Anxiety rose, doubts filling his mind. What if he couldn’t find her? What if he went to the wrong part of the airport? What if she’d forgotten to pick him up? He checked his phone.

  Just follow the signs to Arrivals. I’ll wait there for you. See you soon :) 

He saw a sign pointing to arrivals and headed in that direction. Were there multiple arrivals? This will be over soon , Ben thought, I’ll find Ahni and it’ll be fine. I don’t need to stress about it. He stepped onto the escalator, his hands shaking as he adjusted his grip on his suitcase, and began to recite Frank Herbert’s fear litany. I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. He stepped off the escalator, made a left, and began reciting the shehecheyanu berakhah. Baruch atah Adonai Elohenu, melekh ha’olam, shehecheyanu vekiymanu vehigi’anu lazman hazeh.

Ben could see Ahni waiting at the end of the hallway. She hadn’t seen him yet. He watched as she scanned the faces of the crowd. Finding him, she grinned and began to run. He met her halfway and hugged her tight. They separated and she took his suitcase. They linked their pinkies as she led the way to the parking garage.

“Ben, oh my gosh, I can’t believe you’re actually here, it’s been so long. Everything went okay? Like with the flight and everything?” Ben nodded, “You okay?” he nodded again.

“Just high anxiety. I’m fine,” he looked over and smiled at her, “Your flatmate just arrived, didn’t she? How do you feel about her?”

“Oh, Madison’s great, kinda reminds me of you. She’s really sweet and really cool, and smart, but like not just book smart or math smart, but like intelligent. You know what I mean? Anyway, you’ll love her, but I’m gonna tell you now, you can’t date her.”

Ben laughed. “What makes you think I would date her? I’ve never even met her, so what if we don’t get along at all?”

“Oh c’mon, Ben. I know you. You’ll love her. She’s the kind of girl you would take home and Charli would just adore her, and then you’d have to constantly be telling Charli to go away in order to spend any time with her alone. Or, better example, she’s the kind of girl where you guys date and then mutually decide to break up but your family loves her so much that she still gets invited to family events even though you broke up.”

They both were laughing by the time she finished. Ahni found her car and put his suitcase in the trunk.

“Do you want to be in the backseat?” she asked.

He tilted his head, “Would it bother you?”

She smiled. “Not at all. Get in.”

Ben climbed into the backseat and Ahni turned to face him, holding out a CD case. He pulled another out of his backpack and they swapped CDs. 

“CDs are so much better than playlists for some reason. They’re kinda more mixtape-esque. Like, lowkey, playlists will never be the same.”

Ahni laughed and turned back to him, holding an iced coffee. “I stopped on my way over. Decaf iced americano.”

Ben smiled. “How did you remember that? We haven’t gotten coffee together in like, a year.”

“C’mon Ben, if you were gonna get coffee for me, what would you get?”

“An iced coffee, milk, two pumps vanilla, two pumps caramel, decaf or full depending on the day.”

“How did you remember that, Ben?” she asked, smiling at him in the mirror.

“I remember because I alternate between the two, Ahni.” He picked up his phone and opening the notes app, typed bought me coffee. Remembered I get iced americanos. “Ahni, what happened with Avó banning couples at the family reunion?”

“Eh, nothing much, she said married couples were fine, but no dating couples, so most of the cousins revolted, and then eventually she gave in, so we can keep fake dating.”

“We’ve been fake dating for a long time, Ahni. Sooner or later we’re gonna have to get fake engaged or fake broken up.”

 She grinned. “One more reason to get married, huh?”

“Exactly.”

[my-article-cloud]

What we can learn from the darker days

December 21st is the Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year and considered to be a time of rebirth for the sun. This time of year, leading up to daylights savings, is hard for so many of us because of the shorter days, the cold, and the innate desire to hibernate vs. do. 

It is easy to feel gloomy and down on ourselves because we experience a decrease in productivity and motivation when the sun goes away so early in the day. 

Be gentle with yourself through this time. Cultivate self-compassion. It’s okay to feel this way. It is also okay to reframe the darkness. Hibernation serves just as much purpose as action. 

This is a season of rest. All that blossomed in the Spring, grew into fullness in the Summer, and was harvested in the Autumn now needs rest and stillness in order to regerminate and prepare for the cycle to begin again.

We asked our therapists at Whole Connection how they like to spend their time during this season and here is what they had to say: 

“Curl up with my fur-babies and watch Making It or Great British Bake Off - two shows that just make me feel good. And, to be honest, I love watching other people be creative and productive when all I want to do is stay in bed and drink hot coffee. Cooking warm and delicious meals for my family and friends, then playing my favorite card game, Nertz, while having a fire going. I’ve also been pouring through some novels by Toni Morrison, Octavia Butler, and Tomi Adeyemi. Putting Queen on at full volume and belting so loud with Freddy Mercury that I almost lose my voice - that’s what it takes for me to clean my house this time of year. I also follow “Nap Ministry” on Instagram and try to take opportunities to rest when I can. Reminding myself that resting is key to my health and well-being and that it is totally okay to have a season of hibernation.”

Picking up a favorite book to read and wrapping up in a fuzzy blanket with m

favorite cup of tea.  Playing Scrabble with a loved one. Covering my house in twinkly lights and candles and watching them flicker against the dark sky. Playing my piano and singing to myself and my cat. Cooking my favorite meal and inviting a good friend over to share it with me

Sitting in front of a fireplace with a book. Playing in the snow with my dog. Enjoying night hikes with friends. Lots of warm cooked meals, soups, stews, and chilis. 

Time in with myself to journal and feel my feels. Go to the gym and pretend like

it’s dark because it’s early in the morning and I’m a badass. Full permission to shamelessly cancel plans and go into introvert mode. Watching my favorite shows (I don’t rewatch Grey’s anatomy YOU rewatch Grey’s anatomy!) Doing a jigsaw puzzle. Learning a new crock pot recipe and prepping it in the morning so I come home to something delicious. Also lots of hot tasty beverages - golden milk lattes, cacao with maple syrup, herbal tea, etc. Bundle up and put on a head-light and headphones for a frosty walk around the neighborhood.

Snuggling with my sons, my dog, and my heating pad while watching independent films in Portuguese, which remind me that we are not alone in both our suffering and our boundless love. Doing extremely intentional brain busting physical therapy exercises and healing my body while listening to Odessa. Wearing summer clothes under my coat, and then peeling off the layers to lose myself in dancing salsa with sweaty salsa peeps. 

Appreciating something that I’ve always taken for granted. Immersing myself in a moment of self-compassion. Sending a sweet, random text to somebody I haven’t connected with in a while. Reserving time to do absolutely nothing. Donating clothes to make room for more thrift store gems. Striking up a conversation with a stranger at the grocery store (bonus points if it’s in the cheese section). Ignoring everyone at the grocery store. Printing out photos of my cats, framing them, and gifting them. Taking a joy ride with the music way up. Reading poetry with a loved one and discussing our thoughts. Moving all the furniture in the living room and dancing with myself. Reminding myself that this life is just a ride.

What are your most restful and rejuvenating activities? How can you relish the darker days? 

We hope this brings you permission to relish, rest, rejuvenate and relax! If you’d like added support during these literal (and maybe also figurative) dark times please reach out to Whole Connection where we can set you up with one of our therapists or provide referrals. Read more.. 

[roseunspindle]

Most Intimidating Books on my TBR

Book I am still in the middle of

Technically I’m taking a break from is, as I tried to read it right after Lord or Shadows and I really don’t read books by the same author one after the other well. (once I’ve read them before it’s okay for some reason.) But I wasn’t even at the half-way point and this book is long, so it got moved to later to finish. ^_^’ Partly it is because a lot actually happens.

Haven’t had the time...

None, I organized all my to read books into various “tbr” lists, so I guess really all of them XD Basically I generally always know which book I’ll read next as it’s on the list. Only exceptions I make are gifts generally, and when I need to re-read murderbot, the marriage bureau for rich people, or percy jackson

Haven’t gotten to it yet because it is a sequel (i’m going more, having trouble because it’s a sequel) 

You Haven’t Read it Because it is New

Any of my pre-orders and Owlcrate books, I always feel more guilty not reading them immediately.  ^_^’

Because you read another book by the author that you didn’t love

I am hesitant about reading this once I get to it in my list, got it via owlcrate and I dnf’d Truth Witch... ^_^’

also this one, I won it via goodreads and tried to read it then and didn’t jive, so I’m hoping it goes better this time. 

Haven’t been in the Mood

None so far this year, sometimes when I think I’m not liking a book because I don’t like it right now, I do go ahead and move them to the end of my current tbr or to the very bottom to try again later. 

Haven’t read it because it’s huge

I guess this can g back to Queen of Air and Darkness

Book you bought for the cover...but now have second thoughts on

I found all this set at a local thrift store and now I dunno

Most intimidating book of your shelf

Think these are self explanatory on why they might be a touch intimidating XD

[gnael]

you ever start to type something to post and realize it doesn’t matter

[wistfulrat]

a 4-part rec list of my fave drarry fics - the thrillers, dramas, soft bois, and wankbanks getting me through 2020′s shitstorm

[the soft boi list is here and truly i’m not surprised this rec is going to be the longest bc if there’s one thing a bitch is going to do, it’s yearn.

as always! if you love a fic, follow the authors, leave kudos & comments, send them nice msgs bc free art is still labor xoxo]

part 3: soft bois

mood: for when I need respite, a balm to the all-consuming shittiness of life

includes: fluff, comfort, low-stakes, slow-burn fics. a wistful look, a rainy morning, an unexpected grace, a stupidly disarming joke. i could live inside these fics. the smallness of human lives removed from the site of that which hurts & irreparably changes. the story-equivalent of a deep breath after a long day. pregnant silences & pensive mundanity & shy smiles. banter with bite but without the cruelty. the color lavender. weirdly whimsical. soft fics are not necessarily conflict-averse (no drarry fic rly can be, considering the context) but, they offer the reader a generous distance from the initial harm. they’re the quiet cleaning up after a storm. sometimes healing is an exacting surgical knife and other times it’s a slow scabbing. you read these fics to be reassured that the way forward is not always ruthless. and honestly?? they deserve a semblance of peace godDAMmit.

The Way Down by @letteredlettered - 65k - T “and I thought that if someone talked to you as though you were a human being you might—maybe you could act like one” --the way i think about this line daily. the characterization of draco in this fic is one my favorites bc he’s earnest and neurotic and tired of harry’s shit. which is to say, he cares so so much. and harry doesn’t know what to do with that bc he’s got a monster in his chest and lives as a recluse. but they both humanize each other in ways no one else can. “you’re just a person” has to be some kind of drarry ethics of belonging and it makes me CRY. -

Little Deaths and How to Avoid Them by @greaseonmymouth and dustmouth - 96k - T “Maybe it’s not about deserving it? Maybe you just get to have it anyway. . .I’m allowing myself to want something and to let myself have it and to fight for it.” --harry runs a daycare and also works at a library. draco spends a lot of time in said library. they bond over sci-fi books and therapy anecdotes and quiet philosophical conversations held over cafeteria soup. and harry’s struggling to understand his asexuality. draco’s learning how to live with anxiety and depression. they both want to be deserving of love. incredible fic with beautiful art by dustmouth. - 

Open for Repairs by @drarrytrash - 35k - T “A few leaves rustle in the gutter and the muggle world pays no mind to them, to two lost boys holding on for dear life.” --all of their fics feel exactly like this. like you’ve been allowed to look at something private, tender, unexpected. draco, known abba fan, is a repairman in the muggle world & harry can’t stop breaking thrifted things in order to see him? say less, i'm thERE. also “I think I have a crush on you” goddddd  - other faves by them: Counting Down By Ten - 2k - T: draco’s stepped outside of the party for a smoke. harry follows him bc of course he does. i could read this 100 times and not get tired of it. - Clouds That Veil the Midnight Moon - 36k - E: FUCKING HILARIOUS I CACKLED THROUGH THE WHOLE THING. draco’s wolfy problem and harry helping him and harry being flustered by how much he likes draco and draco’s hot heroic moment. shutup it’s perfect. “He almost asks if Draco ever gets tired of being a miserable complaining shit all the time, but he knows that he, personally, never ever gets tired of being a miserable complaining shit.” and “It’s the traumas,” Harry says gravely” --lines that live rent free in my head -

Harry Potter and the Future He Doesn't Really Want, Thanks by seefin - 70k - E “That was the only logical thing to do here, wasn’t it? It was the next step, it was the end of hurting each other and the beginning of the exact opposite.” --harry lives with luna and neville and also he dreams about the future sometimes? and he keeps running into draco. draco thinks this is sus as hell, until he doesn’t. feat. taxi rides, museums, cinemas, rooftop conversations beneath a lunar eclipse, mid-sex innocuous banter, draco and harry discussing nicki minaj. this fic charmed my ass off. seefin writes the most effortlessly hilarious dialogues. i smiled at my phone like an idiot at least 7 times. -  other faves by them: Wild - 93k - E: “he liked feeling needed, for the things that he was needed for back at the house in Ireland. For cooking and gardening and driving. Easy things.” --this shit makes me cry it’s so good. harry lives in Ireland with these three brilliant, hilarious, wandless witches and draco’s a potions student who's come to study under one of the housemates and the boys have so much shit to work through but their love becomes so tender and honest. draco yells at harry a lot and harry lets him and they both keep each other grounded in something real and fuCK.  - Divination for Dickheads - 7k - G: “I’m terrible at having crushes. I’ve never played anything cool a day in my life.” -- oh harry, we knOW. a bus ride, a fortune teller, an aquarium birthday party. god i love this fic. -

Modern Love by @tackytigerfic​ - 61k - E “But we’ve worked so hard at this, haven’t we? Yeah, I know it’s a horror to have to talk about it, but fuck it. We’re friends now, but it took so long to get here. Have you ever had to work so hard at something before?" --the steady blossoming of their friendship in this fic is so goddamn beautiful i want to yell. it’s draco and harry learning to trust each other and the whole thing unfolds so slowly, in this whimsical mix of london streets, wizarding politics, church halls feat. a Hot vicar, and a magical antique shop owner who’s married to literal poseidon?? goD the environment of this fic. immaculate. [also there’s a tender shower scene that makes me cry every single fucking time so if you read this fic pls dm me so we can be embarrassing about it together tbh] -

Nice Things by aideomai - 22k - M “He kept waiting for the weird shock of touch to not knock him clean out of his head, leave him quiet and warm and happy.” --8th year. harry forms an unlikely friendship with draco that begins with smoking weed on a windowsill. harry is touch-starved and draco touches him like he touches all his close friends - like it’s easy. the quiet affection in this fic, the way harry burrows himself into touch bc he’s been without it for his entire life. reading this is like being held. -

Running On Air by @tinyhistory​ - 74k - T “do you remember when we were eleven?” --alexa play coldplay’s the scientist it’s sad girl hours and we’re about to fucking yearn. you’ve seen this fic rec on every drarry list under the sun and i'm here to be redundant. the hype is so goddamn real. this story is a lyrical masterpiece held together by lines that act as refrains that will rattle around your brain until you die, probably. draco’s been missing for 3yrs. harry goes to find him. it’s their odyssey of homecoming. -

Title of Their Sex Tape by @cibeewastaken - 12k - T “But Draco, Draco was everything but boring. Draco made sitting in the rain watching an empty house fun.” --auror partners pining and draco being eccentric and harry being very earnestly gay about draco’s eccentricities!! god this fic is so genuinely fun skskd feat. undercover missions, murderous faeries, a book heist, a stunning navy dress, harry’s eyelashes. -

How We Throw Our Shadows Down by @thistle-verse - 14k - T “Draco is about to say something else— to thank Potter for what he’d done, however poorly— but Harry is smiling at him again, and it’s so soft and perfect that Draco holds in any inadequate words, lest he spoil it.” --draco collects tea cozies and of course harry has the one he wants. the sad and tender gays are at it again feat. conversations in the rain at a train station, melancholy Blaise, muggle photos, wizarding e-bay, the Dursleys.  -

Helix by Saras_Girl - 92k - E “Draco sighs in his sleep and Harry clings on to consciousness, needing to hold on, to give this tiny, insignificant moment the attention it deserves” --I think maybe you can describe every soft Saras_Girl story as giving tiny, insignificant moments the attention they deserve. like, this is an 8th year fic about snails and it’s full of whimsy, grief, compassion, and easy humor. an absolute must-read author in this genre if you want languorous, episodic fics full of distinct OCs and affectionate creatures. - other faves by them: Light up the Night Sky - 98k - M “Draco, sometimes you make my head feel like soup” --the one where harry is a fireworks artist and has a pet chameleon named ken. draco is on the wizarding arts council. they both pine like hell. - Headlights in the Snow - 71k - M “they stare at each other in silence, Harry’s heart beating so loud in his chest that he thinks the biddies must be able to hear it over the sound of their card game.” --the one where draco drives the knight bus and carts around the biddy club, a group of rambunctious old ladies who knit and drink tea and gossip. harry can’t help but fall in love with the everything about this. -

Follow the Water by @xanthippe74 - 38k - T “Harry’s heavy thoughts lift at the sight, like dark clouds blown away from the sun by the wind. The tent doesn’t feel so cramped and stifling now. It feels cozy. And safe. It’s the same feeling that Harry gets when he’s at the Burrow for Sunday roasts, when a group of people who care for each other deeply are crammed into too-small a space.” --harry wanders to the lovegood house on a sunday afternoon. he’s baffled to see that luna’s taken pansy, greg, and draco under her wing. what follows is a summer of forest walks, scavenger hunts, gardening, water fights, odd cakes, faerie rings, and picnics. so many picnics. i love the pace of this fic, the innocent return to childhood things, the way luna brings out the best in all her friends. reluctantly soft slytherins are just *chefs kiss*!! -

Going Postal (A 125pg comic) by dustmouth - T what. a. beautiful. ass. comic. the wizarding fashion, the textures, the character design!! harry travels a lot for his job as a resourcer. draco works in the regulations dept. they pine like a bunch of lovesick idiots via field report notes. god i love dustmouth’s art. -

All the Earnest Young Men by @tepre​ - 29k - E “Draco is twenty-seven layers of personality wrapped up in drama and humour, and a wit so sharp it still stings when he doesn’t see it coming. But there is something below that, too. Something that makes Harry ache just looking at him.” --the way i would lay down my little life for tepre’s characterization of draco, whom invented the word earnest. he’s a magical art theory expert and portraits are disappearing all over London and harry’s the auror assigned to this case. and well. they’re both so very avoidant about how gay they are for each other and it’s like!! shutup and kiss!! which they do in fact, shutup and kiss.  -

Trenches by sara_holmes - 3k - M “Somewhere in the distant part of his mind that hasn't frozen solid, he thinks that maybe he and Draco are about to become more than auror partners, smoking buddies, wine-mates and co-inhabitants of a snow filled trench somewhere in western Scotland.” --the plot line here is literally “it’s cold and i need a fucking cigarette” but let me tell you how I never tire of the shared loaded-silences of two emotionally repressed gays. -

The Years Before Love by lomonaaeren - 13k - M “That’s one of the meanings of peace, he thinks, as Hermione hugs him...That he can do things slowly, softly, without worrying that they won’t be there tomorrow.” --andromeda taking harry under her wing and harry finding solace in teddy. narcissa and draco showing up and the tentative relationships that slowly develop in the quiet calm of andromeda’s house. found families and kisses in the snow and special xmas gifts ugh what’s not to love -

The Moon Looks Lovely Tonight by Omi_Ohmy - 35k - M “I want this to be a house where people are welcome, where they don’t have to be any one way or another” --in which harry collects lost things--owls, best friends, inept bakers, potions experimenters--and turns the mausoleum that is grimmauld place into a home. feat. your fave drarry tropes like shared-beds and reluctant waltzing partners. -

[part 1: thrillers | part 2: dramas | part 3: soft bois | part 4: wankbanks]

[bentforkent]

good morning

spencer reid x gender neutral reader

content warnings: none, this is straight fluff without plot

word count: 1060

summary: in which spencer is a sweet boy and you are so in love with him....in the ~morning~ 

(like i said. fluff without plot.) 

----- 

there’s no alarm clock beeping, but you’re wide awake. spencer, with his back turned to you, sleeps soundly, small snores indicative of his comfort. careful not to disturb him, you trace your nails gently across the broad expanse of his bare shoulders, pressing a soft kiss where his shoulder and neck converge.

rubbing your eyes, you turn to the table next to you, a weathered wooden thing that you’d picked up at a thrift store. it didn’t match the nightstand on the other side of the bed, not at all, but when you started spending more time at spencer’s apartment, it quickly became annoying to not have a space to set your phone. or your book. or your nighttime tea. when you hesitantly brought this up, spencer leaped at the chance to make you more comfortable in his space. you went to the secondhand store the next morning and fell in love with the most ornate vintage piece you could find. spencer insisted that it would be your nightstand and it didn’t matter if it matched the rest of the room’s furniture set, he wanted you to love it, so he happily forked over the 15 dollars needed to call the table your very own.

atop it rests your alarm clock--yes, your very own, set to go off at the time you have to get up for work...spencer was almost as excited about this as he was about the table--set with bright blue letters that read “3:47 am.”  you let out a deep sigh. it’s far too early to even consider getting up for work, but too late to fall back asleep and get any more substantial rest.

spencer rustles before turning to face you. his arms reach out in a simple stretch, but they don’t extend too far before they reach your pajama-clad figure next to him. spencer hums. if he wasn’t asleep, you’d think he sounds almost excited to feel you there. his spindly fingers grip at your oversized t-shirt, and after some struggle, he pulls you to his chest tightly.

“spence,” you murmur in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, he’s actually awake.

he’s not. his long lashes dust the top of his cheekbones, and his lips are parted as he breathes quiet puffs of air against your skin. every few breaths, he lets out a lazy snore, making you giggle.

your hand goes to rest on the back of his head, giving his scalp tiny scratches and twirling at his hair softly. you make a mental note to check his shampoo and conditioner and see if you need to buy him more. he always forgets to check until the day he runs out, leaving his curls dry for a few days.

“spencer,” you whisper again tenderly, quiet enough not to wake him. there’s no reason to talk, really, since he clearly can’t hear you, but you’re so enamored with the man clinging to you that it’s impossible to keep quiet.

“sweet boy,” you say, pressing your lips to his forehead and letting them linger there. “my sweetest boy.” spencer turns his face almost imperceptibly, pressing his cheek closer to your chest. you trail your finger down his nose lightly. after another minute of letting your hands wander across his soft skin, peppering feather-light touches wherever you can, you place one of your hands on his back protectively and use the other one to check your phone, settling into a routine of mindless scrolling and refreshing.

it’s about an hour later when spencer starts to stir. he wiggles his legs up against yours, hooking them together. your face settles into a grin, a conscious choice you make in order to start his morning on a high note. “good morning, my love,” you say, kissing the top of his head.

without opening his eyes, spencer sinks his teeth into your clavicle by way of replying.

“spencer!” you jolt at the bite, gently pushing him off of you with an exaggerated pout. “hey, you woke up today and chose violence.”

he peeks one eye open at you, a wide and cheeky smile painting his face. “i’m sorry,” he murmurs jovially, voice still groggy.

you stick your bottom lip out further.

spencer kisses your bottom lip repeatedly, cupping your face in his hands. “good morning,” he says. he then moves down to the spot where he lovingly bit on your collarbone, and presses his lips to that spot. “i don’t want to go to work today,” he says against your skin.

you pretend to think for a second. “i think today is ‘bring your pretty boyfriend to work day’ at my office, if you wanna come.”

spencer lets out a short laugh, looking up at you with a nod. “you should come to work with me. we have a jet.” he pauses. “and a keurig.”

“sounds fancy, but something about the serial killing just doesn’t sit right with me,” you joke.

spencer sits up, scooting back to lean against the headboard of the bed. “i wish you could come, though. i think today is a paperwork day, but there’s always a chance i get called away on a case.”

“i hate that,” you say lamely, resting your head on his shoulder. there’s a few moments of silence. spencer rubs your thigh with his thumb lovingly, taking the quiet time to wake up and adjust to the day. you press yourself into his side, sitting as close to him as possible. he slings his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his chest.

“78% of adults under 30 believe that it’s socially acceptable for an unmarried couple to move in together, ” spencer pipes up. he stares straight ahead as he drops the nonchalant fact.

“that’s random,” you say dubiously, peering up at him.  

“well,” he shrugs, shyly refusing to meet your gaze.

“spencer.”

“hm?”

“do you want me to move in with you?” you prod.

he nods quickly, letting out a relieved sigh. “yes. yes, if you want to.”

“of course i want to.” you nudge his shoulder with yours. “in case you haven’t figured it out, i’m obsessed with you.”

spencer gives you a soft kiss, pulling away into a boyish grin. “i love you,” he states bluntly, punctuating with another kiss.

“i love you back,” you say softly, then roll out of bed to start your day.

[hockeyforthefirsttime]

Home For Christmas- Mat Barzal

AN: This is no shame, I started this before Christmas with the intention of finishing it as well... bitch I didn’t, so here we are.

Word count: 4k

TW: bad parenting, mentions of cheating, kind of angst? idk 

Sitting alone by the kitchen table, you watch the snow fall heavy over the town. You’re supposed to be working on your masters thesis, but your mind is a thousand miles away, 2 185,4 miles to be exact. 

And even that far away, Mat is still everywhere to be seen in a town he’s never been in. He’s in the cafe with the really bad coffee and the really good cakes, he’s in the window reflection in the old thrift shop you used to go to when you were younger. And you can imagine him so easily outside on the front porch, playing in the snow. 

In all honesty that would be ideal, having him here. But he’s not, he didn’t have the opportunity to come. You understand that. You understand that he’s got his own traditions, family and friends to see. 

But when you left JFK to come to the cabin in Alta, you wished that he was by your side, you by his. Instead of the snoring man that sat on your right hand side the entire flight. At least you got the window seat. 

Your parents went out to have dinner or visit some friends, you don’t care enough to remember. 

All you could think of was how Mat had been babbling about how excited he was for Christmas, and going home. And how you deep inside dreaded coming here. It’s not that your parents don’t love you, they just love the idea of the past you. Mat cares for you a lot, you know that, you’ve settled for that. But you haven’t had the heart to tell him how your parents only care for perfect facades and flaunting their riches. That's also why you haven’t told them about Mat. 

The snow is still falling over the perfectly decorated front lawn. 

You’re still thinking of Mat and how he would look with rosy cheeks from the cold, when your parents move in through the front door whilst talking in low murmurs. 

“Y/N, darling? You’re still awake?” 

Your mother asks, not yelling though, never yelling. She waits until she can see you from the hallway. 

“Yes, still kind of working.”

You answer politely. 

“Oh, you’re still writing your thesis?” 

Quickly as she comes around the table, you switch from the spotify tab, to the uni home page.The lie comes smoothly and she doesn’t notice, she never does. 

“My little hard worker, you’re gonna be such a good psychiatrist one day.” 

And your heart sinks all the way down to your stomach. You’ve never told them that you switched majors three years ago. Or that you’re not writing a dissection of the human mind, but rather a song. As well as a thesis. 

“Hey, I’m gonna go to my room.” 

Your mom nods at you with what almost resembled a fond smile. Passing your father in the hallway you see him slip something into the pocket of his already hung coat. 

“Night sweetheart.” 

“Night dad” 

You smile half heartedly while balancing your books and laptop in your hands. 

No matter how nicely the property is decorated, no matter how hard you try, you’ll never be what your parents expect you to be. They are much like their cabin in your opinion, pretty and inviting on the outside, shallow on the inside. 

You don’t know how to handle this. Because while you grew up a lot around here, New York feels like your home now. With pictures on the walls and tiny memories littered around the place. The bedroom you’ve always had in the cabin hasn’t changed much since you last were here. Pictures of people you no longer talk to still hang on the vanity you never used. 

Crawling underneath the thick duvet, you pull your phone off the charger on your nightstand. There are a few messages on snap chat and instagram you’ve missed. Mostly friends from college, all in their respective homes with their old friends and family. 

You close both of the apps, and sigh when you see the wallpaper of your phone. It’s a picture of you and Mat. You’re dressed in a hoodie with his jersey over it and his arms slung around your middle from behind, the both of you smiling at Beau behind the camera. You remember that day. 

It was in the early days of your relationship and only the second or third game you had been too of his. The Islanders had played the Rangers and won, Mat scored twice and it was overall a good game. The WAG’s had all started to head for the locker room hallway, while you set your path for the exit, planning on meeting Mat back at his apartment. Lauren was the first to see you trying to sneak out. And had instantly called you out on it. She’s a miracle worker with people, and within seconds she had figured out how scared you were that Mat wouldn’t want you there. After all this was a team win, and you didn’t quite feel like you were a part of the team. Not yet at least. 

And despite your fears, Lauren convinced you that he would love to see you first thing as he exited. And he had been. His already beaming face had swept you up in his strong arms and spun you around. Mat truly was and still is at times more excitable than a puppy.

-----

You wake up abruptly from someone yelling. That someone you quickly recognize as your father's voice. And your heart drops, even though the words are muffled, you can imagine the scene. Your mother, sitting at the kitchen table, in the same spot as you sat last night, telling him to calm down and stop yelling. Your father pacing in front of her, screaming about something you can’t quite figure out what is yet. He is obviously ignoring her.

Picking your phone up from the mattress as you sit up, there doesn’t seem to be anything new. You enter the messages app and shoot Mat a message, telling him to call you in thirty minutes. 

With a sigh, you pull the warm, comfortable duvet off yourself and drag your body out of the bed. Everything in the room seems a little colder, and you know it’s probably because of the badly isolated windows. That’s probably why the cool floorboards tickle your feet when you step on them. Luckily there is a pair of thick socks on the floor next to the bed, so you pull them on and walk to the door. 

Carefully you let the door creep open silently. 

“- and why couldn’t you just leave it be?” 

You hear your father yelling. 

“Because you’re my husband and I love you, you’re not supposed to have a second phone, much less a second girlfriend.” 

Immediately your stomach sinks. Your dad has a mistress? Then it was probably the second phone he slipped into the coat pocket last night. God, christmas spirit, eh? You shut the fight out of your mind instantly, not wanting this to be your christmas. In this moment you hate all the bad hallmark movies you’ve watched with Mat. Not for having watched them, but for letting them give you hope of a normal christmas.

On autopilot, you start packing the bag you never finished unpacking. It takes fifteen minutes for you to finish. Your phone starts ringing as soon as you zip the back shut. With a deep sigh you answer the phone. 

“Hi Mat.” 

“Hey, babe. You okay?” 

You can hear laughter in the background and the smile in his voice. You hate yourself for the next words. 

“No, not really.” 

The admittance lies heavy in your chest, but some of the weight seems to lift off when you speak the feelings into existence. 

“I’m sorry, is there anything I can do?” 

It's like the world disappears for a minute, and just hearing his voice calms you down. 

“No, I don’t think so, I just don’t think I can handle this right now. ‘M just gonna head home to my apartment. I can’t take my parents right now.”

It’s a relief to get the words out of your mouth and into existence. You can imagine him right now, with the cute frown on his face and the cogs and wheels in his brain turning.

“Hold on, you’re not gonna spend christmas morning alone are you?” 

“Why not? It’s not really different from what I’m used to, and it’s already the 23rd today anyway.” 

“That gives you just enough time to fly here!” 

 Your heart soars at the thought of waking up with Mat in his childhood home, but reason strikes you seconds later. 

“Mathew, I’m not gonna intrude on your family like that.” 

The sigh he releases on the other end of the phone, is followed by a small chuckle. 

“You’re not intruding. I promise. Plus they all love you.” 

------

You order an uber straight after calling Mathew. When you open the door to your bedroom, the yelling still hasn’t stopped. The log walls have always been pretty soundproof, but you swear, right now there is an echo in the house. Silently you close the door behind you. Your dad is still ranting on about how none of this is his fault, and how some things women simply don’t understand. 

You sigh and take off your shoes to make your steps even quieter than usual.It’s not that your father isn’t kind, it’s just that he seems to have been too kind to another woman. And it puts a great deal of fear into your heart. It makes you scared that Mat might do the same. 

You shake the thought (almost) out of your head, Mat is not your father, and you are not your mother. Still, you can’t help but feel like your mother deserves better. Leaning against the door frame, you pull up your phone and start scouring the web. 

The uber app alerts you of your rides arrival, and you go into your travel backpack and pull out a piece of paper and a pen. Quickly you write down the number and name of both a divorce lawyer and a couples therapist. Your coat is already on and your bag doesn't have wheels, so it’s a silent endeavour to the other bedroom in use on this floor. Your parent’s room. 

It looks like it always has. Everything is neatly put behind closed doors and the bed is perfectly made. No knick knacks on the bedside table, not even a book or an alarm clock. You sigh, put the note on your mothers side of the bed and leave.

You’re glad the kitchen doesn ‘t have a clear view of the hallway, your parents are too immersed in their fight, to notice the fact that their child is slipping through their fingers. They don’t notice you walking away from them.

------

The airport is not so surprisingly filled only with stragglers and people who are most likely working this christmas. The pine trees are decorated and everywhere, but you don’t feel as sick to your stomach as you usually do. Quickly you find your gate. It’s got a great view and you watch the snow fall under the lights of the airport and sip the holiday drink you uncharacteristically got from the coffee shop beside the gate. You have already checked in the luggage, so yet again you pull out a pen, but also a worn and torn leather bound notebook that’s been with you since the start of your degree. 

The songs usually come from poems but somehow this one is different. You start the melody quickly, writing down notes and sometimes little words that you feel make sense with the melody. Your hands start to itch for the ivory and ebony keys of a piano, but just as the feeling arrives the flight attendant calls up your flight and you have to pack up. 

 The plane is only half full, so you get a row to yourself. Resting your feet across the two free seats is a little uncomfortable, you’ll admit as much, but the feeling of having the piano at least on your computer is settling some of the itch. 

-----

Mat comes alone to pick you up from the airport. He’s standing in the parking lot leaning against his car. The second he hears you approaching he looks up from his phone, pockets it and meets you halfway. Immediately he hugs you tight.

“Hi babe, I missed you.” 

He says with a low voice into the scarf wrapped around your neck. You just hug him tighter. The tension that took a hold of your body during the layover, is releasing from your body. Mat’s entire being is like a weighted blanket covering you. 

When he lets you go, you miss his warmth, but it’s short lived. He picks up the bag you dropped to the snow covered ground and puts in the trunk before opening the passenger door for you. Upon entering the car, you are engulfed in everything Mat and warmth. 

“You gonna tell me what’s going on with your family?”

You sigh at the question, knowing it was going to come sooner or later. To be honest you’re glad he asked now, and not back home, back with his family. It’s just, how do you explain the entire messy situation to Mat, without getting pity points? You don’t want to feel like some charity case or, even worse, like some spoilt child who can’t handle the situation.

Instead of dwelling over it for too long, you decide to jump into it as he starts the car and enters the freeway. 

“My dad is cheating on my mom, and she found out last night. I think they were up the entire night just arguing. I just left a note on mom’s bed with the number of both a divorce lawyer as well as a couples therapist.”

You rant off, state it matter of factly. Trying to shut off your emotions. 

“Are you okay Y/N?” 

Mat asks. Simple as that. He asks you if you’re okay, and you can’t quite handle it. The tears are pressing on behind your eyes. And you look out the window, trying to hold them back. But when he puts a hand on your thigh, you let the first tear fall. 

“No.” 

And it really is as simple as that. You’re not okay. And you hate it. Just in that second your phone starts ringing in your back pocket.

“Sorry.”  

You say as Mat looks at you. He just gives you a soft smile. You check the caller id, and see it’s your mom. Quickly you clear your throat and wipe your tears away. 

“Hello mom.” 

You answer, trying to sound neutral. 

“Y/N, where are you? Did you go to one of your friends here? I can’t find any of your things.” 

She sounds confused to be honest. 

“Yeah no, I left, I’m on my way to my boyfriend’s house.” 

You hear her suck in a breath. Probably trying to calm down. You do the same, hoping for a calm conversation. 

“You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend? Where are you?” 

You sigh, know it’s gonna be a long conversation. 

“No, I know, I didn’t tell you on purpose. He lives in New York usually, but he’s from Canada.” 

Ideally, you know, this would be a conversation to have with Mat, about why you haven’t told them about him, before you had it with your mother. 

“You’re in Canada?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, what does he do then?” 

“Mom..” 

You start to avoid the question, but she interrupts you. 

“No, I want to know what he does that makes you think it’s okay for you to run away from your family right before christmas.”

In that second, just a split second, you get a little fight in you. 

“First of all, it wasn’t his call, he invited me, when I called him. Originally I was just gonna go back to New York. Alone. Second of all, I am not interested in spending christmas around you and dad when you can’t figure out your lives. Third of all, he makes me feel safe and appreciated and I can’t imagine being anywhere else right now.” 

You can feel the tears streaming down your face, but you don’t care. 

“Fine, if you are going to be like that then.” 

“I am gonna be like this mom.” 

“Fine.” 

She says, and then she hangs up the phone. And to be honest you’re kind of glad she did. 

“That sounded rough.” 

You nod and close your eyes. You don’t want things to be this way. You truly don’t, but it the way it is. 

“You didn’t tell them about me?” 

Mat asks. Possibly sounding hurt. 

“No, I was scared that they were gonna be who I know them to be, especially upon finding out that you play hockey for a living.”

He sinks a bit back in the driver’s seat.

“You think they wouldn’t like me?” 

He definitely sounds hurt. 

“I think they would like your image, your paycheck and what you could do for them publicly.”  

You answer earnestly. Before continuing. 

“They want a solid paycheck and all the nice things in life. The things that prove that they’ve got a lot of money, and that about sums it up.” 

“Oh, well that’s not good.” 

Letting out a sad chuckle, you nod your head. You can tell you’re closing up on his house because he seems to be driving slower now.

“I hope you know I’m not into you for the paychecks.” 

“No I know-”  

He turns and smiles at you. 

“You’re in this, for the amazing sex, eh?”

“Oh, for sure.”  

You smile and take his hand.

---

Waking up is always kind of heavier in the winter, but with Mat’s arms wrapped around you in the morning, it’s just something else. You fell asleep in one of his hoodies and flannel pj pants. You’ll admit it, it is a bit too warm, but hell it’s so worth it. 

You can feel him behind you, bare chest rising slow and steady. Soft snores escape him every now and then, but his arm around your waist stays there. Mindlessly, you start tracing shapes and letters on the back of his hand. You feel his hand start twitching, and all of a sudden he squeezes you tight and pulls you on top of himself. 

“I love you too.” 

He smiles up at you with his bleary eyes. Your cheeks heat up. You didn’t think he’d actually notice the letters you had been spelling out on his hand. So you hide your face on his shoulder and stay there. Just placing small, light kisses there. 

“Can you say it? Like out loud?” 

He asks you, quietly. 

“That I love you?” 

Immediately you feel him smile into your hair. 

“I love you Mat Barzal.” 

And you swear, you can feel his heart skip a beat in his chest.  

“Merry Christmas, by the way.” 

You say, feeling content. This is by far the best Christmas morning you’ve had, and you haven’t even gotten out of bed. 

“Oh shit, it’s Christmas morning!”

And before you know it, the light is on, and he’s out of bed and pulling on a shirt and a pair of sweats. He turns and looks at you expectantly. 

“Well, aren’t you coming?” 

He asks, moving in your direction. Mat all but drags you out of the bed and barely let’s you go to the bathroom to brush your teeth, before meeting his family downstairs. And it’s a glorious sight that meets your eyes. The christmas tree is decorated with little lights and different colour baubles?, as well as glitter. It looks homemade, and not like the perfectly decorated trees that have made their mark on your childhood. 

The sight of it causes you to stop dead in your tracks. God, how you love the normalcy of this. The morning is filled with laughter, jokes and copious amounts of hot chocolate. It’s not until the end of the gift unwrapping, that Mat slips away from you, claiming that he has to go to the toilet. 

He returns a few minutes later, carrying a big box wrapped in paper. It doesn’t take you long to notice that all eyes are on you. 

“Maty, I told you no gifts.”

You sigh, but you can’t help the smile that creeps onto your lips as you see how giddy he is. 

“I know I know, and originally I was going to stick to it, but I saw this in the store and I know you said you’d manage without it, but I just couldn’t help myself.” 

And as you listen to him rant his heart out to you, realization dawns on you. 

“You didn’t seriously..” 

Your sentence trails off as you watch him carefully place the box down on the dinner table. 

“Please, just open it?” 

And he knows you could never resist his pleading, just as well as you do. Nodding, you head to the table and start unwrapping the way too expensive gift. Soon the logo of the electric keyboard begins to unravel to you, and tears are seriously prickling behind your eyes.You pull the sleeves of the hoodie over your hands and wipe the tears away.

“Mathew, this is seriously the best christmas gift I have ever gotten.”

You mumble. He comes over and wraps you up in his arms again, and you can feel him smiling, how his entire being is happy, and maybe a little proud of himself. His mom and dad gush over how cute the two of you are, whilst Liana rolls her eyes with a fond smile. 

“Well, why don’t you play us something sweetie?” 

Mats mother asks you carefully once you unwrap yourself from Mat. 

“Yeah, I can do that.” 

And just like that the living room is cleared enough for you to set up the keyboard along with a chair from the kitchen. You even go back upstairs and find the chords you have written down for the song you wrote in the airport.

Testingly, you play a few chords. That is the moment you notice how quiet they’ve all gotten, so you decide to speak up, just to shake the nerves a little. 

“Okay, so this is kind of a rushed song, I wrote it on my way here, but I do hope you like it.” 

And then you start playing the first notes. You do love how the keys seem to find their way to you right away, like you’ve been playing this keyboard for a long time already. And then the words spill from your mouth. And you just sing. 

Careful what you say

This time of year

Tends to weaken me

And have a little decency

And let me cry in peace

But there's a place where I

Erase the challenges I've been through

Where he knows every corner

Every street-name

All by heart

And so it is a part of my

Courageous plan to leave

With a broken heart

Tucked away under my sleeve

I wanna find home for Christmas

Let me find home this year

I wanna find home for Christmas

Let me find home this year

I'll pack my bags

And leave before the sun rises tomorrow

'Cause we act more like strangers for each day

That I am here

But I have someone close to me

Who never will desert me

Who remind me frequently

What I I can truly be 

And so it is a part of my

Courageous plan to leave

With a broken heart

Tucked away under my sleeve

I wanna find home this Christmas

Let me find home this year

I wanna find home this Christmas

Let me find home this year

I don't know what my future holds

But I know who will love me

I can’t tell you where I'm from

But this one loved me to life

And so it is a part of my

Courageous plan to leave

With a broken heart

Tucked away under my sleeve

I wanna find home this Christmas

Let me find home this year

I wanna find home this Christmas

Let me find home this year

Playing the finishing keys, you look up from the keys, and see both Liana and Nadia smiling through a few tears. Mike is holding his wife close as he smiles at you. But Mat, he looks at you like you hung the stars in the night sky. 

Quickly you get up from the chair and wrap your arms around his neck. Closing your eyes, just letting yourself be completely enveloped in him. 

For a second though, he pulls slightly away, just enough so he can look you in the eyes. 

“I love you so much, and you’ll always have a home with me.”

Your heart swells ten times bigger than what your chest is made to encompass. 

“I know. I love you too.”

[maryenette-writes]

How to Fall in Love and Out of Love [Tim Drake x Reader]

A/N: I personally don’t think this was very good. It went in a direction I didn’t intend and if I make a part two, then it would be in the direction I intended (without making an ‘alternate story’). Not sure if it’s any good tbh

Pairing: Tim Drake x Reader

Warning: None

Word Count: 3705

You weren’t the epitome of a model human being.

You knew that.

You tried to be grateful for the things you had. A roof over your head, food on your table, parents who loved you, even though they may not be very supportive of you as of right now, and a job… even if it wasn’t a decent one. It was enough to get by and that’s what you needed right now. As such, you were a bit rough around the edges. You weren’t graceful or stunning by any standards, at least you believed you weren’t. You didn’t have time to put much effort into your appearance, if you could afford it. Still, you were grateful for what you had.

Tim changed all that for you.

Your meeting was picturesque; he always bought coffee from the cafe you worked at, right across the Wayne Enterprises headquarters. Most workers would opt to buy from the cafe inside the building, but Tim claimed he liked the way you made his order—you knew specifically what he liked and always made it that way. He appreciated it, and in turn, he made you feel appreciated.

For you, someone who left home the moment you graduated high school to pursue your dreams of being a singer, someone who had spent the last few years navigating the city terrain alone with little to no help, his appreciation was welcomed with open arms. Admittedly, you had a bit of a crush on him, but considering the difference between the two of you, you thought it would not work.

But one rainy day, he came in, drenched from head to toe, with the silliest smile on his face. He apologised for getting the floor wet and asked for the usual. You were puzzled for why would he run through the rain to get a cup of coffee? Surely he could survive one afternoon without it? You asked him about it when you served him, and he admitted that he also wanted to escape from the leery eyes of the shareholders for a moment. He then told you about his troubles, how he had recently been promoted and everyone was doubting his abilities. They whispered devilish lies about him—how he was incompetent, how he only got his position due to his connections, how his parents never wanted him. The gullible shareholders voiced their opposition on his promotion, and this sent him on a spiral of work that kept growing. 

“I just need one afternoon where I don’t have to deal with all that,” he sighed, “sorry if I’m overstaying my welcome.” 

He kept apologising. Why would he keep apologising?

You shook your head. “Don’t be. There are no customers here, I doubt anyone would come in with this rain. Stay for as long as you like.” You said it casually, but inside your heart was racing.

“Thank you,” he said, a shy smile appearing on his lips.

That afternoon, you and him talked for hours. He told you about his work while you told him about yours. Both of you exchanged stories and histories, passions and worries. It was the first time you felt truly connected with someone, and perhaps that was why you fell so hard. He was polite and courteous, a welcome change from the hard personalities you dealt in the big city. He seemed not to mind your occasional sharp tongue and slip-ups, and listened to you when you poured your heart out about your dreams and your concerns about everything--your financial situation, your failures to find a gig, your loneliness, and your parents. He listened and not once did he judge you. It made you fuzzy. 

But alas, all good things must come to an end.

When the torrential downpour stopped, Tim apologised profusely for cutting your conversation short and left, taking a moment to turn back to look at you before leaving. Sighing, you took the money from his table. When you counted the money, you were shocked that he tipped you so well. You made a mental note to thank him the next time. Then as you cleaned the table, you noticed something hastily scribbled on a piece of napkin. You picked it up and couldn’t help but laugh.

Scratch thanking him next time. Now you could just text him.

Falling in love with Tim was effortless. Becoming a couple wasn’t that much harder. From the moment you two truly spoke, that one rainy day, the two of you just clicked. 

It was kind of a mutual confession. You two said it at the same time during a video call. To say your heart was racing at that moment was an understatement.

The next time you two met, it wasn’t at a cafe but on your first date. Tim was dressed up as handsomely as always. His no doubt expensive suit made you feel inferior with your thrifted clothes, but he didn’t seem to care.

“You look stunning,” he complimented you with a hint of redness on his cheeks. He avoided eye contact with you.

“Thanks! You-you too!” 

Tim led you to his car, opened the door for you and closed it when you got into his car—he was a true gentleman. His car was spotless, and although you did not know the specific model, it was an expensive brand. It must’ve cost thousands.

“Where are we going?” you asked. Tim had insisted he plan the first date, and while you hated not knowing—due to financial reasons—you caved into his insistence. 

“That’s a surprise,” he answered, glancing at you. You huffed.

“Tell me at least, am I overdressed or underdressed, because seeing how you are looking, I feel like I am severely underdressed.”

Tim laughed at your statement. “You look perfect [F/N]. Don’t worry.” Your cheeks felt warm when you heard that.

It felt strange being with him after the confession. You had clicked so well and talked and texted for hours, but now that both of your feelings have unfolded, you were so flustered. You hoped it wouldn’t be like this all night, or else you wouldn’t be able to bear it.

Tim seemed to have sensed your unease, so he spoke right after that thought. “How are your auditions going? Did you get any callbacks?”

“No,” you sighed, “but that’s okay. There are plenty of other gigs in the future. Someone is bound to book me!” You tried to be as optimistic as possible, not wanting to possibly bring down his mood. 

“I’m sure you’ll get it soon,” he reassured.

“How do you know? You haven’t even heard my stuff,” you scoffed. You didn’t mean to sound rude. You cursed yourself quietly for that.

But Tim didn’t seem to mind. He never minded. “I know because it’s you.” 

And there he goes again, making your heart flutter.

“Thanks Tim,” you said quietly. You truly appreciated his kindhearted nature.

“No worries,” he said, “and look, we’re here!” Tim turned into the underground parking and found a parking spot close to the elevator. When he turned off the engine, he quickly got out and rushed to your door, opening it for you like the gentleman he was. You could only mutter a shy ‘thank you’.

When you got to the restaurant Tim led you to, you couldn’t help but gasp, both in amazement and horror.

“Tim!” you whispered loudly, “isn’t this too… too… expensive?” You said the last word quietly, a bit embarrassed. 

Tim waved a hand. “It’s fine,” he reassured, “I have enough to pay for the both of us.”

“B-but…” you started to protest, but then a waiter approached the two of you, and when he led you in, you knew it was too late to bail. The waiter handed you the menu, and you almost had a heart attack when you saw the prices. By the gods, some of them were more expensive than your entire outfit, and you definitely knew you didn’t have enough to pay this. You tried your hardest not to let your face show your panic, but it was useless. 

Tim reached out and held your hand, giving it a small squeeze. “[F/N], it’ll be fine, trust me.” Sadly, you didn’t reciprocate his feelings. However, you didn’t want to bring down the mood, and on a first date no less, so you told yourself not to let it get to you. Ignoring that, the rest of the night went wonderfully. The two of you eased into conversation and all was well. When it was time to end the night though, the worry you submerged suddenly showed itself again, and it was more apparent than ever. The waiter came with the bill and you swallowed. You definitely did not bring enough for this. Tim took it, of course, and he immediately provided the money without batting an eye. You counted several hundred at least.

You felt so horrible.

But Tim seemed so happy, so you decided not to raise your voice once more. You allowed him to escort you to his car, take you home, and even walk you to the entrance of your apartment building. However, you didn’t dare allow him to walk you to your door.

“Thank you for tonight,” you said quietly.

“No problem! I’m glad I could finally treat you,” he responded happily. Your heart warmed, but there was a cold streak that you couldn’t get rid of.

“Drive home safely.”

“Thanks.”

You turned towards the door, ready to scan your keycard to enter, when Tim stopped you. When you turned back towards him, you were surprised with soft lips on yours. It was short and shy.

“Goodnight [F/N],” he murmured, smiling shyly before heading off to his car.

You touched your lips gently, trying to process what happened. When you did though, your felt yourself smiling too.

That smile wouldn’t leave you until the next morning.

If only your relationship had been as wonderful as the first night, but you should’ve noticed right away. 

“Tim, you shouldn’t have.” You wanted it to sound endearing, but the statement came out more exasperated than you intended.

“I really want to treat you [F/N],” he said, placing down the last shopping bag. 

“This is the… what? Seventh? Eighth time?” You sighed. 

“I haven’t gotten the chance to see you much, let me do this for you.” Tim said. 

You held your ground though.

“Treating me is buying me… I don’t know, an ice-cream, or flowers, or something. Buying tons of designer clothes probably worth more than everything I own combined is not treating me, it’s more like buying me.” You gasped and covered your mouth after this. You didn’t mean to say that.

Tim grew still and quiet. It was silent for a whole minute, and it was suffocating. He refused to look at you. 

“I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that—“

“You did,” he interrupted, “that’s why you said it.”

You sighed. “I didn’t mean it like that though…”

“Then how did you mean it?”

You took a seat on your sofa, which squeaked upon bearing your weight. “I just don’t want you to buy me things or think you need to buy me things to make me happy. It just… came out wrongly.” 

“But what’s wrong with treating you?” Tim asked sadly.

“Nothing it’s—“ you sighed, “you always treat me though. On our dates, you pay for our meals. Whenever we go out, you always buy me presents, and treat me with expensive gifts. I don’t know what to do with all them… if you want to treat me, all you need is to spend time with me. That’s all I want and ask for.”

It wasn’t the first time you two argued about this—well, argue as in you telling Tim to stop and him saying he would but not actually stopping. You adored Tim with all your heart, but you felt horrible every time he bought you something new. You understood if it was the first few weeks of the relationship, but after three months, you thought he would learn of your tendency to avoid… well… expensive things.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his eyes downcast and his mouth turned downwards. Oh how you hated that look. It just made your heart twist.

“No… no don’t be,” you said, “I’m sorry too, for being harsh.”

You held out your hand, and he took it without hesitation. The two of you pulled each other close, meeting in the middle. It was like a metaphor of what you hoped the relationship would be—you and him meeting on the border of your two different worlds, two different personalities, two different people. But Tim leaned a little too hard and pushed you back, and you pushed back to keep your balance.

“I hate arguing with you,” you said.

“Me too.”

You glanced at all the bags he brought up to your apartment, mentally sighing at your ever growing closet collection. Still, you knew you shouldn’t be too hard on your lover who is only wanting to convey his love for you. You two just had different ways of loving, that was all. Yours was… time spent together, while his was… presents.

The problem was, as more presents piled on, you grew restless and feel the need to give back. You hated that feeling. Perhaps it was a result of living in this city, where nothing was free and everything had a price. You couldn’t help but feel like Tim’s gifts had prices as well, prices you couldn’t repay. It was why you wanted him to stop, but he couldn’t seem to understand that.

But you were optimistic. Tim was always caring and considerate. Perhaps he felt he owed you too, for love. That was why he kept giving you things and treating you. You were optimistic in that maybe, in the future, you and him would come to a mutual understanding and he would stop gifting you presents. 

The perfect balance in the middle.

You stared at the food in front of you, the last of its warmth leaving it as the minute ticks by. The sounds of the city, barely contained by your thin walls, were all that accompanied you as you sat in your apartment, alone. 

Tim had promised that he would come.

He promised this time.

With a heavy sigh and a grumbling stomach, you grabbed the meal you made and popped it into the microwave. Your eyes burned but you refused to allow yourself to cry. 

It wasn’t the first time.

You knew it wouldn’t be the last.

It has been a little over a year since you and Tim started this relationship, and things hadn’t gotten better for you. There would be moments, of course. Moments where he held your body after a restless night, where the two of you enjoyed the silence in each other’s company, where the two of you spent the whole night up watching movies, where he would take you on midnight adventures to the outskirts of the city. But… despite all that, there were more nights of loneliness, more unanswered calls, more rain checks as he prioritised everything above you, and an apology in the form of a gift would always follow. You hated it but he made it a habit. 

How did it get to this?

Was it you?

Was it him?

And could it be salvaged?

The beep of the microwave interrupted your thoughts. You grabbed your reheated food, brought it back to the table, sat down and began to eat. As you were halfway through HIS meal, a notification from your phone appeared.

I’m so sorry [F/N], I can’t make it tonight :( Something urgent came up with the family that I have to take care of.

You sighed. Always something urgent—with work or family or something. It’s always an excuse. You decided not to respond to him. You were tired. 

But then again, Tim is an important figure. Not only was he a public figure, he also has a lot of responsibilities within one of the largest companies in the world. Not to mention his family is quite high profile, and close, so he had familial obligations to attend to no doubt.

You played with the remainder of your food. 

He hadn’t even introduced you to his family.

You wondered if anyone knew. Tim tried his best to keep you away from the public eye and business. You understood that he was worried about the impact of it on you. 

But you were an aspiring artist. You should be prepared for this. Sure, you only had a few big gigs here and there, with the largest being the opening to a charity event, but you were slowly making a name for yourself. You knew that your career choice could expose you to the media and the public, and you were prepared for it. So why? Why did he keep you a secret?

Could it be… he was ashamed of you?

You shook your head. No… no that couldn’t possibly be it. It was Tim you’re talking about. Your sweet Tim, who always reminded you of his love and devotion to you. Tim, who no doubt brought out the best of you. Tim, who saw only the good in you.

He couldn’t be ashamed of you.

Your phone rang. You already knew who it was.

“Hello?” 

“[F/N], hey,” Tim’s voice sounded familiar through the phone, “I wasn’t sure if you got my message but something urgent came up—“

“No I got it,” you interrupted.

“Oh… are—are you angry?” He asked hesitantly.

You took a while to answer. “No… no I’m not… just disappointed, that’s all.”

“I’m so sorry. I know you were looking forward to this.”

“It’s okay,” you said, the lie slipping effortlessly out of your lips, “maybe next time, yeah?”

“Yeah.” He sounded relieved. “I got to go now… I love you [F/N].” Unlike other times, it didn’t make your heart swell.

“Love you too.”

Why was it getting harder to say it?

You prepared for it.

You prepared for the moment.

You prepared for the questions, the tears, the way he cried as he asked why, and those beautiful eyes of his, once so full of joy, now full of confusion and sadness.

You prepared for it, but fuck did it still hurt.

It really was inevitable, your parting.

You loved Tim with all your heart, but you couldn’t love him in the way that you used to anymore. You began to expect the disappointment, his absences, his apologies. You grew used to it. It was as if you were single again. And when he was there, you didn’t feel the same butterflies in your stomach.

You stopped denying it. You stopped being optimistic and finding excuses and started to face the reality.

“I’m truly sorry Tim,” you said, refusing to meet his eyes, “but my decision is final. I want to end our relationship.”

As Tim left your apartment, the relationship flashed before your eyes. You recalled the first time he walked through the door of the cafe, his nervous smile and his charming demeanour. You recalled that one rainy day where the two of you talked for hours, late nights texting him, your first date, his first gifts, cuddling him all night and day and your adventures through the city. Each place in your apartment held a memory of him. 

But somewhere along the way, he became more absent and the memories grew dark. It became waiting for him, being left on dates, him not showing up, his secrets and his tendency to prioritise everything else but you.

You understood that he had a life. You did too. But perhaps that was why it was never bound to work.

He was in a different place in his life. He was busy with his family and his work, and he couldn’t make room for you. And to be honest, you didn’t want him to. You didn’t want him to sacrifice his family or work for you. You didn’t want him to sacrifice anything. To ask that of him would be so selfish of you, and as selfish as you were, even you knew that was wrong. 

As for you, a person who valued time over everything else, his inability to make time for you was difficult. He gifted you of course, but gifts meant little to you after a while, especially as they were so frequent. They lost their meaning. It was like the word “sorry”. He always gifted you something as an apology, and while he made the effort to do that, you just wanted time with him. As someone who was always busy, he couldn’t do the one thing you wanted. 

It damaged what you two had, and that damage became irreversible.

Part of you suspected that this went on for so long because you loved the way he made you feel. He made you feel loved of course, but you also loved the person you were when you were with him. You loved the person he saw you as. As someone who had been met with nothing but failure since coming to Gotham City, he was the first person who made you feel like anything but a failure and you clung onto that for a little too long, chasing that high.

So in that sense, you’re also accountable for the damage of the relationship.

You still loved him, of course. You always will. But he needed to focus on his life and you should focus on yours. You hoped that one day, he would be in a place where he had room and time for a lover, and he wouldn’t need to sacrifice anything. You hoped that he found someone that spoke his love language, that understood his form of love and made him feel the same way that he made you feel.

You hoped for the best for him.

But as for you… you had to close the door between you two. 

So, with one last glance at his disappearing figure through your apartment window, you closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and turned around, pushing Tim out of your mind for good.

[unholyhelbig]

Title: Centerfold [Pt.2]

Ship: Beca Mitchell/ Chloe Beale

(Read Part one here)

Beca Mitchell’s phone was a box of constant communication. She had her emails redirected so that she could feel every single time she needed to address something at the office, even if she was there and the soft pinging culminated in the very screen she stared at. She had a multitude of contacts and would video chat with the team in Italy, and sometimes L.A.

So, what she knew deep down, was that it was impossible for her not to look at her phone all day. Physically she had to check the notifications to keep her world running. Emily intercepted most of them, keeping her deep stare on her own screen before glancing up at her boss every couple of minutes. They were both on edge and Beca didn’t much appreciate the tension that sparked between them.

She held her breathe each time a new ping sounded off until eventually that lull of anxiety was hushed to a dull ache in the pit of her chest. She went through her morning meets and a new presentation to her team about how their coding for a new watch wasn’t up to parr- they had a few days to fix it before it dropped, and the CEO made sure she knew that.

When the notification from Chloe did finally come through, Beca almost didn’t’ notice. She registered the pink of the logo that slowly shifted to a deep purple. But the name? Oh, the name she hadn’t clocked for a few seconds after that. And even then, Chloe Beale? Her Chloe, actually responded.

Beca lilted the computer screen and frantically looked up at Emily, who was already at her door. She didn’t bother to knock. Instead, she situated the office and closed the blinds and very coolly, but not so coolly, pressed her back against the wood and breathed.

“Dude,” Beca said.

“I know,” Emily said “Did you read it?”

She hadn’t read it. She hadn’t even thought to read it because her mind got stuck behind the massive roadblock that was Chloe Beale and her stupid pun username. She opened the application and hesitated over the message icon. She was supposed to be playing it hard to get like she didn’t’ care if she even got a response. But she did care and apparently so did her assistant because she was right behind her, blindly gawking like her halo fell into her eyes and blinded her from right and wrong.

“If I click this she’ll see that I read it and then there’s no going back.”

“You don’t want to go back, do you?”

“You told me to keep her guessing,”

“Truthfully, I didn’t think you’d even get a response.” Emily shrugged sheepishly “Figured you would forget about it in a few days and… open it.”

Beca frowned but hovered the mouse over the message. She wanted to close her eyes but felt like she was watching a car accident, complete with the red and blue flashing lights and the metallic crunch of metal. Either way, she couldn't avert her stare. She didn’t want to.

Chloe: Hey stranger. I must admit that I was never expecting to hear from you again, big shot manager. I’ve kept my tabs on you… New York is my home, so if you’re serious about coffee, so am I.

Her breath caught in her throat. Chloe Fucking Beale had said yes. Her childhood love had agreed to coffee that neither of them could probably stomach. Chloe Fucking Beale who was a playboy model with more than a million Instagram followers, and Chloe Fucking Beale who she was pretty sure she still loved.

There had been other people, men, and women that she had thought she fell for. She folded into soft touches and stronger commands. She was happy for months at a time and on one rare occasion a full year with a man who ran his own tours of the city. But none of those relationships had ever been like the one she had with Chloe.

Beca pulled in a long breath that filled her lungs with stale coffee and copy paper. She tilted her lid and looked to Emily because she was the expert. And Beca was frozen. That same cold excitement filled her and it also rocked her ever-loving shit. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t think.

Emily looked at the darkened screen, then at her boss, then back at the screen before lunging forward and typing back a reply. Perfect. Are you free this Saturday?

It turns out that Chloe was free that Saturday and if she wasn’t, she didn’t’ say a word and quietly cleared her schedule. The day was quickly approaching and Beca really wanted to know why the New York Branch put her in charge of everything when she could barely figure out what to wear to a simple cup of coffee.

This felt more like a simple cup of coffee.

Emily eventually got tired of the barrage of pictures she was getting and took a cab to Beca’s apartment an hour before the actual date. They settled on black jeans and a blue button-down that Emily pulled closer to her chest for extra measure because according to her “You look good in anything and Chloe won’t be able to make eye contact with you.”

Then she was on a subway that smelled like stale snow and hot morning breath. They picked a small shop downtown that not many people knew about. It was a feat in the city to find a place that wasn’t packed like a sardine can and Beca trusted Chloe’s judgment tenfold.

Beca got there first, and her palms were sweating despite the cool atmosphere that swept through the little shop each time the door opened. It was a meta cross between a thrifted bookstore and a café. People sat and ate and read and the scent of what Beca imagined old magic to be, mingled well with coffee grinds and fresh pastries.

She ordered a simple black americano and settled by the front window, the glass fogged from a warm contrast with the cold of the busy street and curved lettering faced the patrons. There was a simple logo and one barista behind the counter. She chose a random book and pretended to read, but only skimmed the same paragraph over and over again.

Her main focus was on the door and the bell that chimed each time it was opened. One of those times, after a businessman and a hipster kid hugging his laptop close to his chest, it was Chloe. Soft and vibrant compared to the rest of the dim academic setting.

Her hair was pulled behind her ears and a pair of golden framed glasses rested on her nose. She had aged like wine and the wind that blew in behind her carried the sweet scent of southern peaches through the front door. She wore a white sweater with a plaid peacoat and high wasted jeans, and Beca knew she was staring.

Everyone was, they couldn’t’ help it. She overtook the room with a warm and sparked presence. If anyone recognized her they didn’t’ say a thing, out of saving their own face or because the girl in the centerfold of the latest playboy was wildly different than the one standing in front of her. This… this was her Chloe.

She didn’t’ know if she could hug Chloe, if touching was okay, but as she stood to greet her, she was pulled into the warmth of the woman. She was wrapped in overwhelming touch and emotion and she buried her nose into Chloe’s hair as they held onto each other, not quite willing to let go of the familiarity before realizing that it was inappropriate not to.

“Wow,” Chloe ran her hands down Beca’s arms, stopping at her elbows “You haven’t aged a day, have you?”

“It’s the lighting in here, I think it’s one step up from basement overhead.”

Chloe laughed and it was a magical sound. The only thing more intoxicating was her smile, which never seemed to leave her lips as she ordered her own drink, something loaded with sugar and caramel, and leaned forward across the table to get a better look at her date.

Beca sipped her coffee and quirked an eyebrow “What?”

“I haven’t seen you in ten years, I think it’s perfectly acceptable for me to study you.”

“There’ll be plenty of time for that,” She tested “What have you been up to all these years?”

Chloe leaned back in her seat and cupped her mug. It was a russet red and steam rose from the pale liquid that soaked inside. There was a sickeningly sweet odor to it and part of Beca regretted ordering nothing but a black coffee. It seemed like a disservice to the atmosphere of the shop.

“Oh, a bunch of stuff here and there. I used to be based out of LA, I did a lot of acting there. Little stuff like soap operas and a couple of commercials. It wasn’t for me, though so I moved here to pursue modeling and it’s been going well. Really well.”

Beca didn’t’ want to mention the playboy magazine or the curve of Chloe’s legs and the way her skin shown under the bright summer sun. She never returned it to Jason because he never asked for it back. It was an unspoken solidarity between the two.

“That’s amazing,” Beca smiled, feeling excitement in her chest “Anything I would recognize?”

Chloe hummed into her drink “Mm, maybe a few things. It depends on how you feel about Playboy. I never thought you were much of a reader.”

Beca looked down dejectedly at the old spined book to her right. It was true, she hadn’t read the Catcher in the Rye and she barely got through the introduction paragraph because of the nerves and the heartbeat that beat so strongly against the inside of her wrist right now.

“I’m not usually. But I do enjoy looking at the pictures.” Beca flicked her stare back towards the woman across from her “Though, that’s not the reason I reached out to you.”

“Truth is, I’ve always wanted to message you, but you looked like you were doing so well. Like you were so happy. I didn’t want to throw you off or seem like I was chasing something that we used to have.” She said, “So I waited.”

It was Beca’s turn to laugh, “I felt the same exact way. We’re both pretty stupid, then huh? Waiting like this for something we knew… for something we knew we wanted.”

Chloe smiled wider and clinked her mug against Beca’s yellow one, not spilling any of the mostly full drink. “To being stupid. And getting to know each other all over again.”

And that’s exactly what they did. They sat and talked until they were the only two in the coffee shop and Beca even dared to kiss Chloe when they got to the subway platform.  She tasted like caramel and sunshine if such a thing was even possible.

But it was because she had found Chloe. Centerfold Chloe. High school Chloe, and most importantly, her Chloe.

[my-article-cloud]

What we can learn from the darker days

December 21st is the Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year and considered to be a time of rebirth for the sun. This time of year, leading up to daylights savings, is hard for so many of us because of the shorter days, the cold, and the innate desire to hibernate vs. do. 

It is easy to feel gloomy and down on ourselves because we experience a decrease in productivity and motivation when the sun goes away so early in the day. 

Be gentle with yourself through this time. Cultivate self-compassion. It’s okay to feel this way. It is also okay to reframe the darkness. Hibernation serves just as much purpose as action. 

This is a season of rest. All that blossomed in the Spring, grew into fullness in the Summer, and was harvested in the Autumn now needs rest and stillness in order to regerminate and prepare for the cycle to begin again.

We asked our therapists at Whole Connection how they like to spend their time during this season and here is what they had to say: 

“Curl up with my fur-babies and watch Making It or Great British Bake Off - two shows that just make me feel good. And, to be honest, I love watching other people be creative and productive when all I want to do is stay in bed and drink hot coffee. Cooking warm and delicious meals for my family and friends, then playing my favorite card game, Nertz, while having a fire going. I’ve also been pouring through some novels by Toni Morrison, Octavia Butler, and Tomi Adeyemi. Putting Queen on at full volume and belting so loud with Freddy Mercury that I almost lose my voice - that’s what it takes for me to clean my house this time of year. I also follow “Nap Ministry” on Instagram and try to take opportunities to rest when I can. Reminding myself that resting is key to my health and well-being and that it is totally okay to have a season of hibernation.”

Picking up a favorite book to read and wrapping up in a fuzzy blanket with m

favorite cup of tea.  Playing Scrabble with a loved one. Covering my house in twinkly lights and candles and watching them flicker against the dark sky. Playing my piano and singing to myself and my cat. Cooking my favorite meal and inviting a good friend over to share it with me

Sitting in front of a fireplace with a book. Playing in the snow with my dog. Enjoying night hikes with friends. Lots of warm cooked meals, soups, stews, and chilis. 

Time in with myself to journal and feel my feels. Go to the gym and pretend like

it’s dark because it’s early in the morning and I’m a badass. Full permission to shamelessly cancel plans and go into introvert mode. Watching my favorite shows (I don’t rewatch Grey’s anatomy YOU rewatch Grey’s anatomy!) Doing a jigsaw puzzle. Learning a new crock pot recipe and prepping it in the morning so I come home to something delicious. Also lots of hot tasty beverages - golden milk lattes, cacao with maple syrup, herbal tea, etc. Bundle up and put on a head-light and headphones for a frosty walk around the neighborhood.

Snuggling with my sons, my dog, and my heating pad while watching independent films in Portuguese, which remind me that we are not alone in both our suffering and our boundless love. Doing extremely intentional brain busting physical therapy exercises and healing my body while listening to Odessa. Wearing summer clothes under my coat, and then peeling off the layers to lose myself in dancing salsa with sweaty salsa peeps. 

Appreciating something that I’ve always taken for granted. Immersing myself in a moment of self-compassion. Sending a sweet, random text to somebody I haven’t connected with in a while. Reserving time to do absolutely nothing. Donating clothes to make room for more thrift store gems. Striking up a conversation with a stranger at the grocery store (bonus points if it’s in the cheese section). Ignoring everyone at the grocery store. Printing out photos of my cats, framing them, and gifting them. Taking a joy ride with the music way up. Reading poetry with a loved one and discussing our thoughts. Moving all the furniture in the living room and dancing with myself. Reminding myself that this life is just a ride.

What are your most restful and rejuvenating activities? How can you relish the darker days? 

We hope this brings you permission to relish, rest, rejuvenate and relax! If you’d like added support during these literal (and maybe also figurative) dark times please reach out to Whole Connection where we can set you up with one of our therapists or provide referrals. Read more.. 

[thegreenwolf]

Betting on the Ponies (originally posted at my blog at https://thegreenwolf.com/betting-on-the-ponies/)

(Above:  Breyer Classic Arabian Stallion made over into a winged unicorn with real wings from a barnyard mix rooster I raised for meat.)

If you’ve been paying attention to my social media or my shop links at all, you may have noticed that I haven’t really been posting much in the way of new hide and bone art for the past year or so. It’s not that I’ve stopped; I still make some fun things for my Patrons on Patreon every month, and I make some bone, tooth and claw jewelry on Etsy to order. But ever since events dried up, I haven’t been regularly making new batches of costume pieces or other Vulture Culture art. My usual M.O. was to make all sorts of new things for an upcoming event, and then once the weekend was done and I was home, post whatever hadn’t sold on Etsy. And since there haven’t been events…well…I’ve just found myself doing other things.

Some of that is because I’ve had to scramble to make up for the lost income; events were a pretty big chunk of my “pay”, and losing them meant having to tighten the belt. I also lost several other income streams thanks to the pandemic making it unsafe to be around groups of people, which didn’t help. So I had to rely on what was left, along with adopting a few new sources of bits and bobs of cash here and there.

And, honestly, I’ve needed a bit of a break. I’ve been making hide and bone art for over two decades now, and while I love it, any artist eventually wants to explore different media for a while. Sure, I’ve stretched my Vulture wings in new directions, going from costume pieces and ritual tools to assemblages and the Tarot of Bones. But ever since the Tarot came out, I’ve been feeling….not really burned out, but a little creatively wrung out, at least. I’ve really appreciated my Patrons and Etsy customers who have helped me keep a hand in that particular medium, while also allowing me to head off in other directions, too.

Which is to say that if you have been paying attention to the aforementioned social media and shops, you may have also noticed that I’ve been increasing the number of customized Breyer model horses and other animals I’ve made over the past couple of years. This might seem like a heck of a departure from skulls, bones, and other dead things. But in a way it’s really me getting back to long-neglected roots.

(One of my favorite customs I’ve done on one of my favorite molds, the Breyer semi-rearing mustang. )

See, I was a horse girl when I was a kid. Or, rather, I was a wannabe horse girl. I never got to lease or own a horse, and even now in my early 40s I’m still about the greenest rider you’ll find. (Seriously, I need one of those kid-proof horses that’s seen it all, done it all, and is probably more trail-smart than I am.) But I was obsessed with horses from a young age. It started with my very first My Little Pony that I got Christmas morning, 1983 (Applejack, if you must know), and then exploded further with a book on how to draw horses and my first Breyer model (Black Beauty 1991 on the Morganglanz mold) in my preteens. Horse actually took over for Gray Wolf for a few years as my primary animal spirit during my teens, so we have a very long history indeed.

And since I couldn’t have a real horse, I ended up collecting model horses, mostly Breyers with a few old Hartlands for variety. I had over 100 at the peak of my collecting, but I had to sell them all in my early twenties when I was between jobs. In hindsight it was probably for the best because having less stuff made it easier to get through the period of my life where I was moving about once a year, but I do miss that collection.

Back then I did my part to add to the artistic end of the model horse hobby, mostly with badly blended acrylic paint jobs and terrifying mohair manes and tails. But it made me happy, and that was the most important thing. Even though I only knew a couple other collectors in my little rural area, and my only real connection to the hobby was through the quarterly Just About Horses magazine Breyer put out, my collecting really made me happy in the same way that my first fur scraps and bones would catch my interest a few years later.

2020….well, it sucked. We all know that. Pandemic, political stress, financial roller coasters and more made it a really tough year for anyone who wasn’t wealthy enough to hide away and weather it all. And many of us found ourselves with more time at home, in need of distractions and solace. It ended up being a time where many people rediscovered their love of childhood hobbies. I’m one of those people. I’ve been slowly edging my way back in for the past few years, starting with repainting a few old Breyer models found at thrift stores, and then gaining momentum as I found that not only was I much better at customizing these models than I used to be, but I was having fun without the pressure to make a living off of it. (Yes, I love my hide and bone art, but when an art form is your bread and butter, it changes your relationship to it. But that’s a post for another time…)

So 2020 saw me really ramp up my customization efforts. I had to stop for a few months in summer and fall when I moved to a spifftacular new living space on the farm I’ve been working on the past few years (with, by the way, THE best studio space EVER!) but as the days shortened I found myself making more dedicated time to repainting and otherwise customizing models. I even started keeping a few of the models I’d bought to customize that were in better condition to create a small, but slowly growing original finish collection, and that really helped me feel like I was back in the (not actually a) saddle.*

That’s why a well-established artist of organic, pagan-influenced arts made from fur and leather and bone and feather suddenly started painting all these secondhand plastic ponies. It’s giving me that deep injection of childhood nostalgia balanced with adult skill and perspective, and it’s offered me a much-needed break from the exhausting schedule I’ve been living the past decade or so. Because suddenly, even with the time spent rearranging my income opportunities to make sure I could stay afloat, I found myself with a little time that hadn’t been scheduled to death, and when I thought about what I wanted to do with that time, I gravitated toward one of the few creative outlets in my life that was purely for fun.**

(Yes, this IS fan art of “The Last Unicorn”! I used a Breyer Stablemate rearing Arabian for the unicorn, and a Breyer Spanish fighting bull for the Red Bull. A LOT of fun to make this particular project.)

In a way having all my events canceled was one of the best things that happened to me, because it made me slow the fuck down. I no longer had several weekends a year where I had to spend weeks beforehand making art and otherwise preparing to be away from all my farm responsibilities for 4-7 days at a time, with all the packing and moving and setup and vending and teaching and teardown and going home and unpacking and exhaustion that goes with each event. I realized just how much each one was taking out of me, especially as I’ve gotten older. And I also recognized how much pressure I had been putting on myself to ALWAYS MAKE MORE STUFF FOR ETSY EVERY WEEK OR ELSE.

So the model horses are really sort of a symbol of the childhood joy I’ve managed to recapture, wresting time and energy back from my workaholic tendencies. I’ve even been thinking about what my professional life is going to look like once the pandemic eases up enough to allow events again, and whether I’ll put the same amount of time toward vending and and teaching at conventions and festivals as I used to. (There are a few favorites that I’m not going to miss for anything, so don’t worry about me dropping out entirely.) But for the first time in a very long time, I’m relearning to prioritize myself, and figuring out that maybe I don’t have to go hell-bent for leather every week, every year, in order to keep the bills paid and the critters fed.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s okay for this dead-critter-artist, pagan-nonfic-author, teacher-vendor-farmer, to indulge herself with something fun, and bet on the ponies to help her get through the tough times.

(P.S. Amid everything going on, I am back to working steadily on my next book, which I mentioned in this blog post almost a year ago. As a recap, its working title is Coyote’s Journey: Deeper Work With the Major Arcana, and it’s a deep dive into that section of the tarot using pathworkings with the animals I assigned to the major arcana of the Tarot of Bones. It’s not just a Tarot of Bones book, though; it’s a good way to get a new, nature-based angle on the majors in general, as well as hopefully gain a better understanding of yourself. My goal is to have it out later this year, self-pub of course, and at the rate I’m going it may end up being my longest book! Stay tuned, and if you want to get excerpts of the work-in-progress, become my Patron for as little as $1/month!)

*At the height of my “horse girl” phase, I had a really beat-up pony saddle I’d bought for ten bucks at a yard sale, and got a cheap saddle stand for it and put it in my room. And yes, I occasionally sat on it and pretended I was riding an actual horse. Hey, it made me happy at the time, and it was the closest I was ever going to get apart from a trail ride every few years.

**Yes, I do sell my customs. But I don’t make them on a schedule, I take commissions VERY sparingly, and I’m getting to stretch some new creative muscles, especially in the realms of sculpting and painting, so this is primarily for my enjoyment. The sales are just a side benefit.

(My ode to the forests of the Pacific Northwest, a Breyer deer repainted to resemble the Columbian black-tailed deer that frequent the farm I live on, along with hand-sculpted Amanita muscaria mushrooms, real and fake moss, and real lichens from fallen branches.)

[red-hood-vigilante]

more hbo spn rambles, thoughts, drabbles etc. long long post.

part 1 here

there’s some things i’ve omitted here bc others have already posted about those things, certain headcanons and characterizations and stuff. those posts are in my likes somewhere (and i’ll reblog them someday), and there’s some posts i’ve read but not liked, which i now can only vaguely remember, which is why some ideas/thoughts are similar

ALSO most of these follow the model i talked about in part one: how s1-5 will stay more or less how they are but s6-10 is changed (some things are cut out entirely, some things are tweaked and some characters + arcs are more fleshed out. more focus on sam’s trauma and post-cage adaptation to the real world as well as dean letting his rage and control issues consume him and how he’d recover and redeem himself)

as i typed these paragraphs, i realized i really have 10 seasons mapped out and ready to go. hbo hire me!!

alright go:

sam and dean get wearier as the show progresses (second half), and eventually they stop putting so much care and thought in the people they save. like...hm how do i say this, like as long as a victim/victims are saved, they don’t care about how that happens or how those people suffer potential consequences, like if the victims lose a limb or have their homes burned down because of the monster, then sam and dean don’t really care. they saved your life, now they’ll leave you with your life in potential shambles and not care because all that matters is that they saved your life, not how it is afterwards. they still care about saving that one person, but eventually it pales a little in comparison to a war between heaven and hell, being the vessels etc. ---> saving people becomes less about making sure they’re actually alright and healing from horrific events and more about just making sure they have a pulse before they move on

when angels lose their wings they are either burned off in the actual fall or ripped off of them in their vessels, which leaves pretty nasty scars on the vessel

ed and harry are so young and bright eyed about the whole hunting thing; sam and dean as kids, idolizing it, finding it exciting and intriguing when they shouldn’t. sam and dean try to get them out of the business before they too are too traumatized and desensitized to do anything but hunt. neither sam or dean will say it but they are jealous of ed and harry and their freedom to leave, and hate them for choosing this voluntarily instead of being dragged into it by tragedy

hbo spn is a slow burn. there’s a lot more shots of sam and dean in silence just sitting together after a hunt, exhausted and too tired to move yet. they’re covered in blood and guts on the side of the road after killing or covered with dirt in a graveyard after burning bones, sitting next to the fire, just watching it. the times they park the car and watch the stars? we get to see it. 

dean wears rings and the amulet all the time in the beginning, for the first five seasons. the rings vary; first they’re some of john’s old ones and stuff he finds in thrift stores. then later on he begins wearing rings from people they’ve saved/haven’t saved as a keepsakes etc. when he begins his descent to the holy murderer in s6-10 he wears less and less rings. they don’t matter anymore -> symbolically shedding who he was and what mattered to him

the only accessories sam has is a rosary/cross around his neck. he has jess’ engagement ring in his pocket/wallet. after the cage he vaguely remembers why the ring was there and who jessica was (more on this further down)

the four horsemen are manifestations of different aspects of human nature at its most grotesque and strongest, can’t be killed as long as humans live. war is conflict, famine is desire, pestilence is physical and mental illnesses.

(the seven sins are like the horsemen, tulpas of human nature instead of demons)

death isn’t a concentration of an existing aspect of humans as much as it is the end of life, the antithesis of life. death the oldest of the horsemen and has existed since the beginning of any life, organism, cell and atom. the opposite of life and light, the other half of god (as i’m typing this i’m confused as to why  amara was the opposite of god instead of death). death isn’t evil or good, remains 100% objective. doesn’t care for sam or dean at all, but has a begrudging respect for their stubbornness and entertainment they provide due to their flat out refusal to do as they’re told by celestial bodies when anyone else would crumble

by including death i feel like it very naturally begs questions of who decides when someone dies, when someone lives, why would death follow these guides instead of reaping whomever whenever, what happens if a life isn’t reaped at the right time etc. the reader in me adore the idea of death having a library with books and records of everyone who has ever lived and died and how they died - but then, who writes these books and why? do they decide, and if in that case, how? these questions are above my paygrade but you know what i mean? like there has to be some sort of system right, god created everything, death executes to maintain order, some third party deity writes the laws and the books. the three branches of government. ok but it’s hbo so again, i think we shouldn’t dive this deep into things, like as much as these topics intrigue me i don’t want to stray too much from the dirt road trip aesthetic

shapeshifters are extremely rare because they don’t require any kind of human blood or organs/sacrifice to live

i want more exploration of how magic is like science, like it just needs the right ingredients and right conditions. sam thinks of magic as an obscure branch of science; it just requires research and knowledge and clear intentions because science can be controlled and do a lot of good when used responsibly. dean doesn’t like it. he doesn’t trust the unpredictable elements and he’s seen enough to know it never goes well. magic is a force that can’t be controlled by anyone.

sam and dean have full on fist fights regularly. to practice and keeping each other sharp, but also because they’re siblings. they’re feral, insane and unhinged with each other and they get on each other’s nerves A LOT. it’s petty and childish and sometimes it can get a lil ugly but it becomes their way of family therapy. after a fight the next scene cuts to sam and dean with ruffled clothes, nosebleeds and swollen lips at a diner eating silently after beating each other up. either they sit in silence because they’re tired or both are harping on the other’s openings and weaknesses

sometimes they’ll fight a little dirty but they do so in different ways; dean will pull the old ‘look!’ and point to something and then tackle sam when he turns to look while sam will just cry out in fake pain which makes dean stop dead in his tracks before sam headbutts him or kicks him in the groin

we, the audience get used to these fights, they’re sometimes funny and for comic relief, sometimes for narrative purposes (like tricking a monster they’re fighting each other when they’re really not) BUT. then comes the times when sam and dean are actually fighting without holding back and we see how much they are capable of hurting each other or how heartbreaking and difficult it can be to watch when of them are incapable of fighting back/doesn’t defend himself -> swan song when dean doesn’t fight back against possessed sam, or when dean beats soulless sam unconscious

sam and dean also just verbally bully each other constantly but they do have their odd ways of expressing affection and care. they get the other person their fave snack whenever they go grocery shopping without being asked to and are the only other one they truly trust to have their back in hunts. have a cup of coffee ready before the other asks for one. brothers and each other’s best friend. nightmare duo but in a sweet way. the cooperation of ‘the usual suspects’ when they’re in different interrogation rooms but still has the cover story down to a t. code words and code names and cover stories, they know it all

when sam and dean fight together against a common enemy they’re a damn nightmare - because they know each others weaknesses and habits, they cover each other perfectly and in complete silence. they’ve been at it together since they were kids and read each other’s nonverbal cues like a picture book

to build off of what i said in part 1; the winchesters are pretty hated in the hunter’s community. even the people sam and dean frequently work with (bobby, ellen, jo, ash, rufus, bela, kevin, charlie, castiel etc) roasts them all the time and don’t hesitate with calling them out on their self-pitying crap when it get’s too much (spn was just objectively better when characters weren’t afraid of dragging sam and dean through the mud for being selfish and stupid) and this WILL persist in hbo spn. the only reason people continue working with sam and dean is because they know deep down a lot of the things that happens aren’t sam and dean’s fault - but they still blame them for it. doesn’t make it easier how sam or dean sometimes start crap on purpose to save the other

the winchesters are terrifying and people for sure tell stories about them, but not like ‘they’re heroes’, more like ‘they’re insane and dangerous. stay the fuck away from them’. some stories are true, like how they’ve worked with demons, but some are just game of telephone. (dean has apparently a ghost he is frequently possessed by while sam is actually a mutant vampire). hunters hate and are scared of the winchesters. sam and dean are never invited to hunter stuff (burials, memorials etc) but crash them nonetheless even though the hunters do NOT want them there.

you know what drives me insane when i think about it? how some characters in spn already are their hbo spn counterparts; john. mary. adam. maybe kevin?

other things that already are their hbo spn counterparts: dean throwing away the amulet right in front of sam. eyes burning when angels are seen. how ghosts are just tragedies, stuck in a loop they can’t leave. how a lot of the monsters they meet are just victims or their circumstances or the first victim of a curse. the impala being sam and dean’s home. dean not knowing how to comfort sam when he’s upset other than trying to do things for sam that usually brings dean comfort (driving the impala, listening to rock music etc). the roadhouse. heaven being an eternal version of the memories that made you the happiest even though it’s not real. sam wanting independence and freedom but never fully having it. dean fearing being alone more than anything else and that’s where he always ends up. sam has an eating disorder after the demon blood and dean has an alcohol problem he refuses to see as a problem. dean saying “i’d do it again” without an ounce of regret and pouring himself a drink when sam tells him it was fucked up to lie to him about gadreel

the demon/angel hybrid: THIS could be sooo interesting to explore. an angel and demon hybrid are you kidding me?? not to toot my own horn too much but i’m so clever. i should write this story myself. SO. does this creature have parents who fucked in their vessels or was this an experiment by god (yes i love the ‘mad scientist’ idea, that really should’ve been played up way more) or did a pre-existing creature (human or otherwise) drink demon blood and angel grace at the same time so that it created itself? so much potential for some really intriguing storytelling and character exploration - not only the creature itself and what they would be like, but also for the people around; sam, dean, castiel, jack etc. how would they react to this thing that is the very definition of defying heaven and hell and all the natural laws? does it exist before the show starts or will we see its birth?

the powers of the demon/angel hybrid would be tricky; a mix of holy and defiant, grotesque and beautiful. unconsciously forces people to tell the truth when talking to them. poisons whatever they touch. eyes of a demon, wings of an angel. can smite but skin will burn when touching iron. can do deals but will require a sacrifice in return, not a soul, usually a body part taken then and there (the hybrid eats it. it favours eyeballs and the liver - angels like raw meat). lights always flicker. makes things explode when angry (esp people and cars). can manipulate feelings, thoughts and memories. can travel to both heaven and hell, not welcome in either places. + standard stuff like telekinesis, teleportation, mind reading, super strength etc. 

sam and dean’s wardrobe are pretty much the same; whatever’s cheap and not covered in blood. however, they do have stylistic differences. sam thinks graphic tees are funny, dean uses whatever’s black combined with john’s leather jacket. their wardrobe melds as they stop thinking of themselves as individuals and more of “me and my brother,”. their clothes are tattered and torn to shreds all the time. hand me downs, hand me ups. when they stray off their “path” and do things that are the crux of a storyline/character arc, this would reflect in their clothes. when sam is with ruby and becomes more and more “evil” he wears more and more red, a colour he has stated in the past he doesn’t really like. when dean is dead, sam starts to wear his rings and john’s and dean’s leather jacket. when dean decides he’s going to say yes to michael he dresses in white, when sam is dead dean takes off every piece of jewelry except the amulet. he holds it clenched in his fists when he’s whispering what comes close to a prayer

logically the amulet should have a backstory but you know what? i love that it’s hinted to be just a piece of cheap jewelry sam found in a thrift store he decided to give to dean. but narratively it should be explained so... idk. what could be logical solution as to why it would react to GOD himself? maybe god wore it once cuz he thought it was neat but he sold it for three dollars because he wanted coffee and then sam found it a week later

i would prefer it if god didn’t show up at all (absent father number one) but if he DID he’s not all powerful just a true neutral (like death, 100% objective) who created a thing that just took a life of its own, much like a parent and a child - the parent helps the child but can’t control it. the times he did intervene or tried to do something it didn’t really have any real long lasting effect so he gave up on trying a while ago. 

@spneveryseason talked about this, how the storyline of sam being possessed by gadreel would be horrifying if we saw everything from sam’s perspective instead of dean’s (her fic is wonderful). in the ‘dean slowly descends into a righteous murderer to become holy’ idea i have this tracks so damn well because again, if dean believes something is right, it is right, no questions about it. everyone around him is like “that’s really fucked up and you should make amends” but dean doesn’t see any reasons for why - sam is alive isn’t he? and seeing it from sam’s pov would really underline how horrifying, dehumanizing and belittling that experience was

john and mary are adam and eve. sam and dean are cain and abel are michael and lucifer. time is a flat circle. history never stops repeating itself. 

sam is the villain of s4. he is manipulated and key information is withheld from him but in the end... would it made a difference? it crossed his mind, that he could be tricked because ruby is a demon after all, but maybe he likes the power, the feeling of freedom, that he wasn’t just the baby, the one who always needs permission to do things. if he has to drain possessed people to get that power... so be it. and it’s for a good purpose, until it isn’t. he’s hungry for more, to be feared and respected. he’s enticed by lucifer’s sweet words, the potential of all that power and the idea of ruling two out of three realms. dean manages to pull him back from the brink because sam decides he doesn’t want to be what john thought he was and fail dean and himself like that.

dean is the villain in s9. he is controlling, the mark of cain without the mark. what he says goes - it’s not a democracy, it’s a dictatorship. he doesn’t see how much pain, doubt and fear he causes the people around him. if some victims or civilians die on his watch that doesn’t matter - just some collateral damage. sam can’t make dean listen to him because dean is the older one, the one who’s always called the shots. dean is the angelic one, heaven’s chosen warrior, he is untouchable and unkillable. he’s is an excellent killer, filling the void with blood and rage which is better than the crippling fear of loneliness carved into his bones. 'i butcher for love, to protect,’ he tells himself. ‘why shouldn’t i exterminate, regardless of the cost? i’ve followed the rules, i’ve always sacrificed. now i call the shots. it’s my right.’

sam’s hell trauma is never magically removed. he’s stuck with the memories and the nightmares and the occasional hallucinations. castiel can’t do anything but offers to wipe his memory completely, but sam says no, he is still doing penance. 

after dean comes back from hell he starts calling himself old man and jokes a lot about he’s 40 years older now (after he’s more comfortable about speaking about hell) 

when sam comes back he feels ancient (he’s over 900 years old at least but he lost count), weary, tired and so so so out of place in this world. he’s forgotten how to put gas in a car, how to drive, how to use a credit card, all the song lyrics he and dean used to yell together, the faces of people he knew before he fell, the softness of a bed, the schools he went to, most of the hunts he and dean, how john died, who mary is, the initials carved into the impala, the taste of food that isn’t raw meat. it’s so much he’s forgotten that he has to relearn. he prefers figuring things out with castiel instead of dean because castiel doesn’t silently resent him for everything he’s forgotten

sam doesn’t laugh anymore. despite dean’s many and castiel’s few awkward attempts, it’s more like quick smile and a quiet “hmm”. on some days he recoils when he sees blood and guts, on other days he’s so apathetic it’s unnerving

sam sympathizes with the brought back mary and castiel more than ever. dean tries to get sam to remember things he’s forgotten from his childhood but sam can’t connect with it anymore. he stopped being that sam a long time ago. dean doesn’t know what else to do than try to force this connection to be revitalized and he fails. sam isn’t that person anymore and this wedge in their relationship becomes a central factor in dean’s s6-10 desperation and isolation. sam is here and safe but it’s not really sam, not the sam dean grew up with

while sam has forgotten how to make coffee, he now knows everything about angels, effective torture tricks, a bunch of lore + biblical history, how to navigate hell, the most powerful and influential demons, rare and powerful spells as well as perfect enochian (he will speak enochian without realizing and it feels more natural than english). lucifer and michael were surprisingly talkative (raging about the unfairness) when taking their anger and hatred out on sam and adam and each other. sam had access to all of lucifer’s memories and knowledge for the time he was the one in control. walking library and encyclopedia of biblical lore.

he still has some muscle memory from hunting and sparring, but sam is ghostly thin and very rusty. even though he’s an expert on lore, he’s not fit to go on hunts anymore and he knows it. 

sam remembers adam and swears he’ll try to get him out, but he can’t. just thinking about the cage makes him vomit. he can’t talk about it, much less go near it. after a while sam thinks it might be better to let adam stay down there than let him come back up and feel this crushing emptiness and loss of direction

sam’s trials take place in s9 instead of 8; coinciding with dean’s villain arc. for sam the trials are a chance to redeem himself again, this time for good by closing hellgates forever. they’re scrubbing him clean of the demon blood and his sins and they give him a sense of purpose again now that he can’t join hunts anymore. it doesn’t matter if he dies because of it. it would be nice with a permanent and peaceful death that did something good. dean is taken aback by sam’s devotion to repent for something that happened years ago and for something sam has already paid for a thousand times over. dean realizes how messed up he himself has become and how he’s helped put sam here, on the cusp of self sacrifice again because of sickening guilt and self hatred. dean begs sam to not complete the trials at the cost of his own life and swears he’ll better himself, be a friend and a brother, not a jailer, dictator or a murderer. ‘if you won’t give yourself or life another chance, please give me one.’ ---> s10 pacifist dean learning to let go of the control, the violent tendencies and the rage

oh wait what if gadreel still possessed sam after the trials to heal him but sam is the one who invites the angel in? he’ll keep his promise to dean about staying alive, as well as heal from the inside and have breaks from the world when he doesn’t want to be present, like he and gadreel will alternate being the one in control. he keeps it a secret from dean and helps gadreel imitate him so dean won’t notice. it’s not so bad, being possessed by this angel - sam can say no anytime and gadreel is a nice guy. since they alternate on who’s present they can access each other’s memories, which is terrifying and embarrassing at first, but since gadreel and sam have been tricked and used by lucifer and been punished for it for far too long, they understand each other. now another creature knows their trauma and terrors without the need for verbal explanation. also having an angel residing in his body makes sam feel like he can hunt properly again because gadreel can heal him and take over in situations sam’s overpowered. this could show how messed up sam has come to view himself and his body. 

dean is conflicted when he finds out; sam lied but gadreel does help sam heal, sam’s traumatized and his self-worth is fucked up and dean has contributed to that. dean convinces sam to push gadreel out, that sam is still valuable, loved and a good person who shouldn’t be in a place where he views his body and mind like a property to be occupied. sam’s faith begins to come back bit by bit, not in god, but in himself, his brother, in the good things in life. they build their little family; sam, dean, castiel, the hybrids, whomever of their allies that are alive at this point.

castiel can heal sam and dean’s wounds but they are never completely gone; they leave scars and phantom pains. the brothers have SO many scars over the years. dean flaunts them to impress people because he likes the questions and the fearful admiration, the attention and the nods of approval. sam hides them.

when dean is in a bad mood or needs to get his mind off of things, sam just drops something like ‘i don’t get the deal with led zeppelin. one of the most overrated bands of all time’ and dean will go OFF every single time about the entire led zeppelin history, their discography and how they’ve shaped rock music. this will go on for hours and sam will zone out after 1 minute. but dean rants nonsensically the entire drive and it does get him to think about something else for a little bit. they stop at a motel and dean is STILL ranting while brushing his teeth. stops when going to sleep but without fail picks up where he left off the morning after and is so into it he doesn’t notice sam not paying attention at all. we could see this once in s1 when they’re searching for john, another in s3 when dean is anxious about his deal coming to an end and then again in a later season, when sam doesn’t remember to ask/doesn’t have the patience or mental capability, so they’ll sit there in tense silence, showing how much they’ve changed.

---> i can see this SO clearly in my head, how they’ll get in the car and we, the audience, will recognize the camera angle, the same lines and dean’s grumpy mood, and we’ll anticipate what comes next. but sam isn’t that kid anymore and he’s not peeking at dean to gauge what his mood is and how much of a shit eating grin he should wear when being an annoying little brother to cheer dean up. now he’s looking out the window, leaned back, they’re not looking at each other. this shot is a minute or two long, uninterrupted. dean turns on music but neither are singing along or doing anything to lighten the mood. 

s1-5: sam gets hooked on demon blood, dean has an alcohol problem. when sam goes through withdrawals, dean decides to quit drinking and joins him because he wants to be supportive, and he realizes that when he drinks two beers for breakfast there’s a problem

s6-10: sam takes painkillers, anti depressants and anti psyhosis meds to numb himself from the phantom pains and reduce post-cage effects. dean started drinking again after sam jumped and still does, but started smoking in addition because he still drives a lot and doesn’t want to die in something as pathetic as a car crash. 

there a scene in an episode in the first half of s8, when sam has decided to stay with dean instead of amelia, and dean has rejected benny in favor of sam, and then the brothers sit in a couch watching tv while drinking beer and neither of them look particularly happy about it - that’s how their relationship is a lot of the time. they know they’re fucked up and neither of them will ever be truly happy when the other’s around, but they owe each other so much and they don’t have to explain themselves to each other the way they do to others. they know each other so well, each other’s traumas and the things they’ve done, it feels fake and exhausting to try to be something other than the veteran hunters they are. misery loves company; they are miserable together but would be far more miserable apart and living a normal life. they do love each other, but neither of them are particularly happy as the show progresses. family is hell and so is the lack of it. 

OK OK i mentioned it in part one, how i had my own very specific idea about how jack should come to be and here it is. long winded but (might just write a damn fic): 

after lucifer was cast back into the cage, he is stronger than he has been in a long time (being in his true vessel helped him stretched muscles he forgot he had. and fresh air.) sam is pulled out of the cage and it leaves a rift in the magic and chains - the binding is weaker and lucifer must act fast to get out before it heals. the cage is still strong enough to hold two archangels, so lucifer has to become weaker somehow to slip out through the cracks. he can’t get out of the cage, but souls can come in. demons bring themselves and human souls as tools for lucifer to use. there’s not much he can do here - consuming them, eating them, touching them, dissecting them doesn’t give him what he wants

eventually lucifer realizes he must do like azazel and create something new of two halves, like when he created demons. he begins melding his archangel grace with a human soul. he tries with demons, but his archangel grace automatically purifies them and leaves them too weak. he must try with a human soul who is good. he finds the soul of kelly kline, who sold her soul to save a loved one. with her, the merging, works. 

he has another self, a twin, a son, who’s half human and half archangel. half lucifer. the old lucifer will die but that’s ok, his desires, presence and self will live on in his new creation. the new lucifer barely makes it out of the cage, only able to due to its human side. on earth it creates a body for itself and takes shape, no longer a form of pure power and energy akin to the sun itself but now a person, reminiscent of kelly kline on earth and lucifer in heaven. they name themselves jack. jack searches for familiarity and finds it in sam, their old self’s perfect tool and another hybrid. jack finds a mentor in castiel, a younger brother and fellow angel with human elements. they do not find anything in dean, the key to his former self’s doom.

jack’s powers: their powers are like and unlike the angels because he is half archangel. jack has wings but sometimes they don’t work, or they’ll end up somewhere else entirely. their body is their own, not a vessel, so jack can’t possess people. doesn’t talk but people “know” what they’re saying or want because jack emits their emotions and thoughts to people they’re talking to like a radio tower. jack can also have this empathic connection and communication with animals. his mood affects the weather. immortal. reads minds. can remove a soul from a body and send it to heaven/hell by touching it, with practice they don’t need to touch a body. 

other stuff about jack: the human/archangel nature means jack only need sleep and food once a week or so. eats only nougat and raw meat. because jack is a kid they nap a lot. levitates when sleeping. never blinks, stares intensely at everything. their eye colour changes based on their mood. eyes glow in the dark. normal humans who look at jack for too long experience memory loss, fainting spells or migraines and eye contact for more than 10 seconds give vivid hallucinations of their worst nightmares. always barefoot, often floats like 10 cm off the ground because they find it more enjoyable than walking. wears the wildest clothes they can find, nothing matches and nothing is weather appropriate

i have a very specific image of jack in my mind; they look like delirium from the sandman comics with the hair that looks like it’s underwater and the fishes floating around their head, here and here are examples. in live action this would look not good or maybe even ridiculous for sure but in animation... endless potential for angels and monsters to have super interesting designs sigh

castiel’s arc should end with him going from blind soldier, to the unwilling ruler of heaven, finding a place on earth with sam and dean, becoming closer with humanity and eventually a father of three (the hybrids).