#i am terrible at fancy handwriting

[prophecyoflunarflame]

So me and my friend group were messing around and uh-

Looks like Radi has children now

[pacifymebby]

I love Bonnie gold with my entire heart and I was thinking about how he would write the sweetest love letters for his darling dove and how he'd make sure that she's the only one to ever see it but then I remembered that he can't even read then I get all sad because he would've written the most beautiful letter for his girl and probably rip out poems for her too if he saw one he really liked or made him think of her and probably just sit under the stars with like a lantern or something and read books together with her and gently bring her back to camp in such a nice and soft way as to not wake her up or he'd probably sit on some fancy ass couch and have his girl lay on him and just read for a while (she reads to him and they fall asleep there) while his dad is trying to adjust to living in a mansion instead of his caravan and just so happens to find them in the living room in front of the barely lit fireplace and he'd probably just throw some more wood in the fire to make sure that they'd stay warm through out the night out of habit and throw a blanket over them too and place a bookmark in the book that they were reading and place it on the coffee table and tell his maid to not worry about them(I have no doubt in my mind that the golds are so nice to their help, y'know kinda like what tommy and frances but like better) and goes to sleep himself or maybe when Bonnie is training in his personal gym she's on the side looking at him and just reading to him or writing down whatever he has on his mind for him and they work as a team for whenever they write their own poems or stories or just to get their thoughts out (y'know kinda like a therapeutic quality time with each other) and I just love the idea of what would have happened if the golds lived to see their mansion get built and to actually live in it and how that'd be like for them and how they'd feel about it and how they'd grow from there 😭

The gold's has been on my mind oh my god!!!!

They DESERVED to live!!! 😫🤧

okay this has been sitting in my inbox for awhile i am SO sorry!!!

I'm obsessed with this and your ask bought me to literal tears holy fuck :') the image of them falling asleep together on the sofa and Aberama finding them and putting a blanket over them and saving their place with a little bookmark oh my god. I died. This is the future those men deserved, this is what we deserved to get to see for them!!!!

Also to add, imagine teaching Bonnie to read, he's really shy about it or maybe a little proud and doesnt want to feel like your charity case so you make a deal, you'll teach him to read and he'll teach you to fight/ shoot etc. Him sitting with you and concentrating so hard when you're teaching him the letters. His fucking terrible handwriting and him getting so frustrated when he compares it to yours. You getting frustrated when you can't immediately master the skills he's teaching you. Both of you being so gentle and encouraging to one another "don't worry, it'll come to you with practice"

[cobragardens]

Another Post About Crowley's Terrible Handwriting

Actually his handwriting here isn't terrible, it's just, like Anathema's spelling, 300 years too late.

So first, I posit that we can be reasonably confident this is Crowley's handwriting because he is very likely the only celestial being besides Aziraphale who can spell devourer correctly.

Crowley has taken more care than usual with his penmanship today because this is a Fancy Presentation, and there are some delightful things to note about it:

--The beautiful serifs on each letter and variation in width of the strokes (the lowercase r's especially)

--Enthusiastic but intermittent capitalization of nouns

--The L that ends "Hail" is a small capital like the ones used in the Bible to spell LORD; the l in Worlds is lower-case

--The lozenge shape of the letter o

--Both s-es are oversized and dip below the writing line

--The kerning is terrible, the script wanders off the writing line at several points, and the location of the writing line is not imagined consistently

I am not an expert in the history of handwriting, but every single point of this suggests to me that Crowley learned to write in English in the late 16th or early 17th century, between say 1570 and 1620, and he learned to do it by copying printed material, not somebody else's handwriting. And it looks like late 16th-century writing. Or rather, like somebody learned to write by copying late 16th-century print and hasn't practiced enough for his style to change significantly in the last 400-500 years.

This means Crowley would have learned using a quill pen, poor devil, and if that's true no wonder he doesn't do it more often. (I wonder if this is why he now owns a pen that looks like it can break the sound barrier; if the Bentley is a permanent replacement for the loathsome, buttocks-abusing horse, maybe he keeps the expensive pen as self-reassurance that he'll never have to write with a quill again.) Quill pens would explain the lozenge-shaped o's: quills can only make a downstroke, so writers who used them shape o's as lozenges made of four downstrokes. Someone who learned writing with a quill would shape his o's like a calligrapher.

16th/early 17th century is the earliest I think Crowley would have learned to write in English because before that there was no block print; there was no print at all, only handwritten scripts of varying legibility, none of which look remotely like Crowley's handwriting does.

Here's what print looked like in Germany in 1471 (printing does not arrive in England for another 5 years after this):

The printing press showed up in England in 1476. Between 1500 and 1600, England got its shit sorted out wrt fonts and typesetting and started turning out what we would recognize today as readable material.

Here's what English printing looked like in 1623, c. 150 years after the German one above:

Not bad, right? I've received Xerox copies less legible than this in classes I paid for. I think it is likely based on his handwriting that Crowley learned to write from printed material a decade or two older than this. The adornments Crowley puts on his letters are serifs, not ligatures: these are not letters that were ever meant to join up in cursive, but letters that were copied from typeset.

From the 16th through the mid-19th century, variations in how a handwriter capitalized letters were very common, and two of these variations show up in Crowley's writing as well.

First, English inherited from German the capitalization of all its nouns. You can see it in Titus Andronicus, above (1623). Due to variations in education and taste, this quickly shifted to capitalization of whichever nouns the writer (or publisher, or printer) felt were important to capitalize, as you can see in Paradise Lost from 1688, below. Hail the Great Beast, devourer of Worlds.

Second, It was also very common during this time to capitalize terminal letters of words, either as a sign to the reader that previous letters had been omitted or because writers using quill pens wanted to be sure readers knew what letter they were looking at through the smudges and weird spacing and general wretchedness of the reading experience imposed by quill writing. I think this latter reason may be why Crowley writes "HaiL" when his other letter L, in "Worlds," is both lowercase and carefully printed with a pretty serif.

Handwriters in English between 1500 and 1800 also had a major hard-on for abusing the letter s, which was shaped like a lowercase f (to contemporary eyes) or a loose S, either of which drop below the writing line. Here's an example in print from 1688:

Use of the long S in print fell out of favor and disappeared abruptly in the UK after 1800.

Crowley's S-es could be a holdover from this: they both drop below the writing line, and they're both oversized.

What I think we can say for sure is that he's not very good at writing s-es, so they always turn out bigger than he intends. The S in "Beast" is noticeably different at the left curve than the S in "Worlds," which I would expect for someone who hasn't written thousands of s-es yet, and the S in "Worlds" looks very much like someone has faithfully rendered a shape they have seen rather than written a letter. Since he can write a letter r elegantly but can't do a curved s, it suggests to me that he hasn't had as much practice doing the curved s yet as he has the other letters, which fits with someone used to writing a long s 75% of the time.

Even the kerning speaks to me of someone who learned to write with a quill: leaving (comparatively) large spaces between letters gives the ink somewhere to drip and smudge without rendering the letter illegible.

There's one other reason I think Crowley probably learned to write in English in the 16th century: He's lazy, and he probably wouldn't have needed to know before then.

The movable-type press arrived in England in 1476. The Protestant Reformation kicked off in England c. 60 years later in 1534 when Henry VIII declared himself head of the English Church. Prior to the surge in literacy among the wealthy and merchant classes in the 16th century, thanks to this intersection of printing press and Protestants (who believe it's important that each person read the Bible for themselves), almost no one knew how to read, including most of the gentry and nobility, and still fewer knew how to write. If you had a message, you sent a guy or you showed up yourself. If you had something you wanted recorded, you summoned a scribe. If you needed to know something, you found somebody who knew and you asked them.

By the time of Queen Elizabeth's accession in 1558, 82 years after William Caxton began operating England's first movable-type printing press, a fully literate royal court were passing each other and their spies and their assassins gossipy notes like everybody was a 12yo in math class. Elizabeth wrote letters and poems. Among the gentry gentlewomen replaced monks as the medical caregivers for their communities (bc Henry shut down all the monasteries), and they wrote and shared and copied multi-generational "receipt books" and herbals of medical and cosmetic treatments. In the space of a single generation, literacy--the ability to write, not just to read--became a prerequisite for functioning in the upper echelons of society.

So if he didn't already know by then, Crowley would have needed to learn to write in English in the mid-16th century. And he would have had to learn it with a quill. (Wearing black probably came in handy for all the ink he spilled or dripped on himself.)

Last to consider is the W in "Worlds," which has no serifs and is not written with any particular attempt at straightness or symmetry. To me this suggests that Crowley learned to write w's from a modern reference, not his original reference. And this makes perfect sense: w was very much in use in the 16th century in English, but nobody agreed on how to write or print it, so there were crossed v's, two capital U's, and this weird gothic lowercase n with extra tentacles. W, Crowley would have learned, always needs to be checked up on before you commit.

Crowley's spelling here is modern, which is frankly a huge achievement for someone who was present for the formation and transformation of all 3 English languages. The contemporary Modern English we use today was a going concern for over 2 centuries before anyone wrote an English dictionary, and it was three centuries before dictionaries became authorities on how to spell correctly and people started giving a shit about that. (Before that as long as people could read the word and understand what you meant by it in context, you'd spelt it correctly.)

Taken together, the W and the modern spelling suggest that although Crowley almost never writes by hand, he reads regularly. This matches with two Words of God I've seen from Neil Gaiman (which I am too lazy to find and link) in which he mentions that Crowley likes to read but won't admit to doing so or to liking books.

Aziraphale should get him a book about ducks for Valentine's Day.

[devskindawritingblog]

Dating Shauna Shipman Christmas HC’s (1996)

(I don’t know how to feel about it. Shauna was kinda hard. Not sure if it’s truly in character but I tried 😊)

Shauna is very normal about Christmas I feel

Like she likes Christmas 

But nowhere near the same level as Jackie (I’ll get to her later)

As a kid, she had normal Christmases

Type of family that had big family gatherings for Christmas (I don't think we ever hear anything about her family at all)

(not really Christmas themed),but Shauna gives off such older sister vibes

So I think she at least has a little sister or sibling

That girl loves a good flannel 

So she for sure has a thicker flannel jacket that she wears when it gets colder outside

Shauna is like a “quiet” observer sometimes

She listens to you all year and writes down stuff you want in that cunty little journal

She totally buy you something that you talked about wanting, in like May

Getting her gel pens in many different colours 

She would be one of those girls with pretty handwriting and fancy notes 

Also getting her a new flannel, maybe in a different colour

She is for sure, very warm despite it being winter

Cuddling with her because she's so freaking warm

Like a human furnace

Her hands are always super warm

Baking sugar cookies with her

Unlike some of her teammates, she's pretty good at baking and following a recipe 

Shauna is definitely a doodler, so she would like decorating cookies

Might be a hot take, but I feel she's not a super fan of Christmas music 

Like she doesn't hate it, but she's not blasting it

But imagine putting on classic Christmas music and dancing in her room with her

Sure, she can’t dance for shit but you find it funny 

And after a while she starts loosening up and just enjoying herself

(I am indeed stealing this from the pilot; when Jackie said Shauna is a terrible dancer, it was cute, so I wrote it down) 

Going over to Jackie’s for a little Christmas party

Shauna seems like a very handmade gift type of girl

Like knitting a scarf or like a tote bag for someone 

Buying her matching pyjamas 

I feel she wouldn't know what to think about them, but I feel she would warm up to the idea because it’s kinda cute

“ matching pyjamas? Really?”

“ well, you don't have to wear them if you don't want”

“ no, i’m wearing them” She says as she snatches them back 

Making a gingerbread house with her, and shes so perfectionist about it 

She is very passionate about making that gingerbread house look nice

Doesn't let you eat any of the candy or the icing 

I like the movie thing I got going on

I feel Shauna likes to watch horror movies 

So she would combine the two and comprise with like Black Christmas

Making hot chocolate with marshmallows

Candy cane enjoyer 

[lawlietscaramels]

Hey writers HERE'S HOW TO WRITE A CHARACTER WITH GLASSES.

We have varying levels of sight!! I can see fine without glasses but it strains my eyes reading small text. My mum, on the other hand, can't see anything but "blurry colours", and my dad needs them for watching movies.

Some people are legally blind but can see when wearing glasses, they might have really thick lenses. Some people wear contacts, especially when going out into fancy settings. Some people hate wearing glasses and for some reason don't wear contacts and for their entire life just go around not being able to see probably.

If you need glasses and don't wear them enough, you get headaches! If you get a new script and they can't read the doctor's handwriting and you get glasses with the wrong script, you will feel dizzy, sick, headachey and have terrible sight and depth perception.

Rain makes spots on glasses. If you wipe it off, it smudges in streaks. If you don't, it dries in circles. I don't have cleaning cloth on my person so I usually pocket my glasses when it rains.

Nose pieces pinch and hurt but without them my glasses slide down; it depends on the bridge of one's nose, but if you're sweaty they'll slip down more. I twitch my nose to push them up hands free. Anything from masks to hot drinks to breathing upwards can fog up glasses.

Sometimes you see green reflections if you have a certain coating, I don't remember what it is. You can also get multifocals, which have different glass for top and bottom/close and far sight, and blue light filter coating.

If you have long eyelashes your glasses will smudge. If you touch the lenses they'll be smudged. Makeup gets on them (according to my mum). If you don't do anything they will still smudge. Hair can get stuck in the hinges.

People's faces change completely with/ without glasses or with different frames. It will take a while to get used to, then if they change back it's weird all over again.

It's super annoying when people ask you "how many fingers am I holding up".

Bad eyesight is increasing in recent years and it can also be genetic. So if your writing is in this century, it's more likely people will have glasses — though that depends on the area too.

If someone puts someone else's glasses back on their face, the arms will not sit right.

That's it for now! lmk if you want a second part or my points of how to write for other things I have/experience :)

[ageless-aislynn]

Dear ones, I don't want to jinx myself, count my chickens before they hatch or whatever saying might strike your fancy at the moment but... After a week plus a few days of over 30 blue screens of death (8 of them in one hour), my computer has made it a day without one.

I had to finally wipe everything and start over and I finally, after sooooo many hours of research, I can't EVEN, am pretty sure I've discovered the source of the problem that linked my old computer, my dad's computer and this computer to all having nearly identical bsod issues: some absolute DOORKNOB of a person was putting the exact same third-party firewall back on all of them. Who was that doorknob?

🤷‍♀️

In my, I mean, in HER defense, that firewall has served very well for the almost 20 years I've used it. It says it's compatible with Windows 10 and 11 and all of my troubleshooting was blaming the various video/network/etc drivers. However, I discovered that ZoneAlarm took an update at almost exactly the time my other computer started having trouble 3 months ago. But ZA updates "silently" so I didn't know that until I went looking just now for the date of the last build, realized it corresponded almost exactly, and then I went

That said, I'm a little worried that it took me THIS LONG to realize that that was the single program all 3 had in common. I was just so used to using and relying on it that it didn't occur to me that it could be at the heart of all of the problems.

So, as I said before, it all boils down to

Right now, I've got almost nothing on the computer besides the browser and a new set of security programs. It's been an interesting way to see what my priorities are because I want to install one thing, wait a couple of days to verify everything's working fine, then install then next, wait again and so on, putting things back on slowly and deliberately.

BUT I WANT STEAM BACK ON NOWNOWNOW SO I CAN PLAY MY GAMES ZOMGGGGGG.

Apparently, I get actual buckets of serotonin and overall feel-good vibes from playing games because I'm absolutely frothing at the mouth at not being able to play anything at all.

Next will be Word so I can stop trying to read my utterly, drastically terrible handwriting from where I've been working on "15 Minutes" ch7 by hand (I might possibly be writing in Sangheili, I can't even tell anymore 🤷‍♀️😉).

Then eventually, Vegas. I'm worried about that one in particular because my research did uncover a potential Vegas Pro 15 - Win 11 conflict. Some people couldn't get it to work, others have no problem. I've seriously got my fingers crossed that it'll be okay so I can get back to GIF-making and vid editing, in whatever order. 🤞😣🤞

I've spent SO much time seeing blue screens that I find myself staring at the place on the monitor where the error info flashes, my notebook at the ready to scribble down the pertinent messages, just expecting another to pop at any second.

The last couple of times it popped, I was trying to read the debugging info from the LAST crash. And then it would crash again.

However, I can now report that, if you're ever using WinDbg to read your .dmp files and it tells you "symbols are WRONG" (and yes, it all-capped it just like that), I can actually tell you how to fix the dang symbols. It's a weird flex to take but hey, I'm taking it. It wasn't easy to find the answer to that one! 😠😕😉

If all continues on without any further crashes, then I'll hopefully be back catching up on things ASAP. If it resumes crashing while I have nothing more on the computer than a browser and the security programs the pc came with, then I'm just going to

Let's hope for the best, m'kay? Good thoughts, prayers, hopes, well wishes or whatever you've got are appreciated at this point. Love you, friends. I've really missed you all. 🤗💖

[walkawaytall]

So, I haven't dabbled in any form of visual arts in awhile, and I'm feeling the need to scratch that itch in some way, which has led to me revisiting various projects from over the years and, look, I'm not winning any awards any time soon, but also, I feel that some of what I've made is pretty okay. Prepare to be whelmed.

This was my youngest brother's graduation card -- I think this was entirely in crayon minus the mortarboard sticker

Some cookies I made to celebrate "Cat Day", which was when I roadtripped to Austin with a friend so she could pick up the kittens she was adopting:

These are from my watercoloring phase (I swear, I painted things that weren't badgers, but this is what I have photos of right now):

My digital art phase (the spooky trees were a result of freehand work/me just playing around with various brushes in Procreate; the other two involved me attempting to follow Bob Ross instructions in Procreate. I still don't actually know the ins and outs of digital painting, and since I have all the necessary tools and it will require no additional space or purchases, this may be what I get back into for now):

My old office used to do a door decorating contest during the holidays, and I didn't win, but I strongly feel this deserved props at least (snowmen and snowy hills are felt, background is kraft paper, snowflakes are a mixture of regular printer paper and wax paper that I cut with my own hands) (technically, I cut all of this with my own hands) :

Sometimes, I fancy myself a photographer, but not terribly often:

And I swear I've made better use of acrylic paint than this, but it's the only photo I currently have of something I've painted (I know the pattern gets janky at some point, and I am extremely sorry about that. If it helps, I'm pretty sure completing this without redoing the entire thing probably counted as exposure therapy for my OCD):

Not pictured: that time I attempted using charcoal with little-to-no research, a variety of bullet journal spreads, the pom-pom wall hanging from my living room, the many, many magazine collages, and thousands of doodles similar in quality to this:

And, yeah, my handwriting is atrocious. Always has been, always will be, probably. Unless I decide that my next foray into visual arts will involve lettering of some kind. Then, maybe it'll be fair-to-middling.

[jaundicehinch]

Until the Last Drop

Part 3

Severus' lessons have ended and gone, surprisingly smoothly through the first week. That is, aside from the one time Neville Longbottom's shrinking solution went terribly wrong. Though Hermione Granger saved him and his toad before he could kill it.. The Potions Master was quite disappointed he couldn't finish off Neville's toad for brewing such a horrendous, god-awful potion. To say it even 𝘪𝘴 a potion was an utter insult to potioneers. Snape didn't feel marvelous about having to teach the son of his former bully, but he had to do it nonetheless.

He was just as insufferable, arrogant, ignorant and selfish as his father. He spent most of his days grading terrible excuses of assignments. Though it would always make his bottom lip curl when he came across assignments with the name 𝘠/𝘕 𝘓/𝘕 in the right upper corner. Her assignments were always tip-top quality, with an eloquent handwriting and the most intricate, trivial of details being put to use, always using elegant and advanced words that over half of the students in her year wouldn't have a clue what they mean.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

Y/N was strolling around the castle, her black, long robes and cloak swooping behind her like flowing clouds of smoke. Her eyes were unforgiving, sharp and observing. It wouldn't be rare for Neville Longbottom's knees to buckle, and teeth to clatter at the mere sight of her. Could you blame the boy? Her aura of authority, intelligence and power were quite intimidating. And deceiving.

Y/N stopped walking abruptly and tilted her chin to normal height, closing her eyes and smiling creepily as she spotted Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley talking. "She's mental, I'm telling you!", Ron exclaimed with wide eyes, and Harry nodded in agreement, or that's what it was supposed to be. Ron clumsily tripped over Harry's foot and fell over, groaning.

Harry laughed and bent over to help Ron, when Y/N approached them. "Would any help do you good, boys?", she inquired silkily.

Ronald stood up with a grunt and fixed his red hair, he bared his teeth. " What're you playing at?", he asked in disbelief, unsure of Y/Ns actions. The girl towered over Ronald and just laughed lightly. Creepy, really. "I beg your pardon? I am merely trying to be polite, yes." "Then what's with the fancy words?", Harry stepped in and raised a brow.

Y/N sighed while rolling her eyes and spun around on her heel, muttering under her breath and shaking her head as she strode opposite their direction. "Dunces.."

Ron was about to lunge at her when Harry restrained him by the arms.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

From that day on, Ron had developed a great distaste for the Slytherin first-year. The trio was in the courtyard, on a bench and talking. Ron and Harry were rambling about Slytherins, and Hermione decided to join in. As silly as she knew it was, it was quite exciting to join in in the latter. "She's mad! Like all Slytherins, of course. You seen how she talks? And how she smiles, like a madman? Bloody girl's a menace!", Ron complained and huffed. "You know, 𝘪 heard she never gets along with anyone, not even Draco. Many people say that because her mother is an auror, she's gone insane or something." Hermione chirped, accentuating the i.

A stranger in a leather coat and a pointy hat, who had a 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘵 paper in their hands and glued to their face, shuffled and spoke up. "And i heard she's absolutely crazy, and that her mum once went to Azkaban." the anonymous person chimed. Hermione leaned over to see their face but failed, and raised a bushy eyebrow. "How do you know?"

"Because I'm her.", the stranger pulled the newspaper away from their face and revealed an iconic scowl, and knit eyebrows. Y/N.She stood up and strode away in a swift motion, while Hermione and Ron's jaws were on the floor. "How.. She, what?!" Ron screeched and Harry shrugged with his shoulders.

❀•°•═════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ═════•°•❀

After another such.. Strange incident, Ron decided to never initate a conversation about Y/N, anywhere aside from the Gryffindor common room and dorms. He'd learned the hard way, yes...

Though Y/N didn't seem too phased. She kept calm, and didn't hesitate from talking to the trio whenever she pleased, offering them help or advice, mostly. She wouldn't have much to talk about with a pair of dunces and a know-it-all, did she? Although she wasn't immature, gossip wasn't a reason to stop initiating conversation with someone. She found it childish, whoever found such a reason to be valid.

Professor Binns was giving yet another god-forsaken, discombobulatingly boring lesson on the History of Magic, not even Y/N seemed to want to pay attention much. But, she bothered taking notes of what Professor Binns said in his monotone, depressingly slow, coma-inducing voice.

Y/N sighed desperately as she rolled her wrists and bent her fingers, putting them through unnecessary torture by copying down a long text of nothing useful Professor Binns had said about the history of Hogwarts. She would chew and bite on her cheeks solely out of boredom. Neville was the only eager one to hear to the professor, smiling and writing down every single word the ghost said. Honestly, even Peeves the poltergeist seemed like a better teacher. Ron had fallen fast asleep, and Harry's eyelids were drooping.

Hermione was trying to wake them up with desperacy, nudging their ribcage with their elbows. "Come on you two, wake up!", She whispered with knit eyebrows and sighed. Y/N couldn't help but smirk at this. Deciding to take matters into her own hands, she flicked the two boys' foreheads sharply, and they woke up with a groan. "Wakey wakey, you two. We're in class if you didn't forget." Y/N whispered with sassiness and Ronald rubbed his forehead and his eyes.

"Not our fault Binns is so awfully boring.. Makes me drowsy.", he protested and Y/N hummed. " Can't disagree with you on that one, Weasley. You have good reason.."

Hermione smiled weakly and Y/N gave her a wink of reassurance, which was unusual for her. 'She's not so awful', the two of them thought.

[pngboomer]

Things that help with focus/productivity, while I'm thinking about it.

This is by no means a comprehensive list but as someone who struggles with keeping up with workflow (especially going back to college), and balancing taking real breaks and how my brain works/keeps up with tasks, I've tried a lot of different apps, methods, and other such stuff -- especially stuff targeted toward ADHD brains and such.

So here is a non-exhaustive list of things I've tried and my rough opinions on them. A Disclaimer: I prefer handwriting things and tend to lose or forget things if they are on a screen. So please take any application/browser use with that grain of salt.

Notion

Calendar, wiki-maker, to-do list tracker, automation and innovation that excites. I get very overwhelmed in Notion, there's so much you can do there, but I get the interest in how it works and such. I use it to track my reading list (a snippet shown below) and a few other things that I don't really want to put somewhere else (because the tables on Notion auto-format, which is nice), so it's like a good 4/10 for me.

Obsidian

The markdown file creator and organization vault system. It's daunting to get into, a bit confusing at first, but there's a ton of videos on how to get started and how to get organized and it's so nice to have everything link together in a way that follows a legitimate train of thought. You will have to force it to be your second brain, but I like it so much better than other note-taking apps. 9/10 (it is so terrifying to get into). Bonus, though, look at my baby:

Google Calendar

yanno, one of the OGs. I want to use Microsoft calendar but that application has crashed every device I have tried to open it on. Google Calendar is good for organizing events, doing all the stuff calendar's do, and setting up recurring events and editing them with little hassle. I don't work in a team or need anyone to look at my calendar's except me, so I can't speak to that functionality, but I know it's used by a lot of people for that reason. 7/10 just because I only recently learned how to customize colors.

Microsoft Calendar

just to be fair. It would be an amazing application: integrated to-do list that is in-app, a very clean weekly look, sticky notes, all of it is hooked directly into the window you're looking at your emails at, it can auto-set reminders on a separate tab for you. Except, again, it has crashed every single piece of technology I own, including my university desktops. Just from opening it. 2/10 for wasted potential. If it works for you, I am so happy for you, but I cannot get it to work for me and that's what I'm focused on here.

Bullet Journaling

Another classic. Ryder Carrol was on something else. Quick, efficient, a great way to use up the notebooks you bought that you swore you'd use and then didn't touch for months because it "wasn't the right thing to use it for". You don't need the special dot-grid book, you don't need fancy fucking layouts. You just need a pen, some kind of notebook, and a list of things you need to get done. I love being extra about it, but there's no reason to. It's a good planner, I like having a physical copy of my life to look at and organize my thoughts with, and it's fun to do. 9/10 for easy onboarding and versatile creativity.

Various "Calendar/tracker/etc" Apps

I've gone through the gauntlet on these. Productivity apps that "plant a tree" so long as you don't use your phone so you can get stuff done, group calendar programs and browser applications, minimalist to-do lists on your phone, maximalist to-do lists on your phone, Habitica, etc. Fully ymmv on any of those, I do recommend checking out the to-do lists if you need them, but unless you have a team to manage, you don't need a calendar that isn't Google/iCal/Microsoft realistically.

Sticky Notes

Bad. Terrible idea. I hate doing it, I never remember them, and it feels wasteful. If it works for you, I'm so happy for you (genuine), but I hate it. 1/10.

White Board

Like a physical one. Full opposite of Sticky Notes, I'm not gonna lie. It's delightful, I love having it, it's not wasteful in the same way, and there's a satisfaction to erasing shit off that board. If you can afford a big one, get a big one. I have a desk one and I love it it's so nice to have. 10/10 no notes.

There's not a lot else I can think of at the moment, but thank you for reading if you've gotten this far. I do have YouTube recommendations if you would like to learn to use (say) Obsidian or Notion. I also have videos on formatting Google Calendar.

[lightning-kachow]

Saturday, November 4 -- Crack!ship AU: Write a crack!ship au. This should be a one shot of any characters in the roleplay, yours or someone else’s! Definition of a crackship: seriously this shit can’t happen but in an alternate universe. Add 10 applicable aO3 tags (enemies to lovers, modern au, etc.) This is a one-shot. 

Unfinished Business

Swynlake RP Universe

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Lightning McQueen (Cars), Jessie (Toy Story), Thea (Original Character), Lisa (Original Character), Alternate Universe/Canon Divergent, ghost!Thea, ghost x mortal romance, letter writing, angst, blackout poetry, seance, Lightning McQueen Sheds A Tear, non HEA, except kind of HEA, implied falling in love with your ex lover's sister, crackship, sorry Laura

I haunt this inn not because it is a gathering place for the dead, but because it is a gathering place for the living. And that first part is not unimportant— I’m quite grateful, actually, for how kind and welcoming the staff has always been to us ghosts. It’s why I came here in the first place. But it’s not why I’ve stayed.

It’s become a terrible habit, I know, the way I fall in love with the living from time to time. They can’t even see me. But can you blame me? They shine so brightly, some of them especially so, and I am like a moth drawn to a flame. A creature of shadow who simply can’t resist a glimpse of the light.

That’s what they call him. Lightning. Lightning McQueen.

~~~

Lightning was beginning to adjust to the… ghostliness of the Inn. It still kind of freaked him out, but he barely noticed anymore, the way the curtains fluttered when there was no breeze in the room or the doors creaked open to rooms he was just about to enter. He’d noticed the latter a lot lately— it was kind of nice, actually. Someone looking out for him. Fancy that.

“Thanks, babe,” he’d taken to saying when a door would open just for him, which he knew was kind of weird, but he missed saying “thanks, babe” to babes. 

The front desk agent, an older woman whose name tag read “Lisa,” raised an eyebrow at him. “She has a name, you know,” she pointed out.

“Wait, really?” Lightning hadn’t meant it all that seriously, but now he was curious. “Well, what’s her name?”

“Thea. One of our ghosts. I’m surprised she did that for you, it’s been a while since she was that friendly with someone. She must really like you.”

Lightning just nodded, a strange expression on his face. “Thanks, Thea,” he said to the presence in the room.

“She likes letters, by the way,” Lisa added. “If you ever think about writing one.”

~~~

No, Lightning had not thought about writing a letter. Or letters, period. He wasn’t a writer. And anyone he needed to keep in touch with was simply a text, a phone call, a DM away (not that there were many of those left). He could fire off messages without thinking about them. 

Now, sitting here with his pen and his Hauntley Inn stationery, Lightning remembered why he didn’t write letters. They were so slow. And his handwriting was pretty sloppy. He felt like a kid again, struggling to say what he really meant on a lined piece of paper to be judged…

And yet, once he started writing, he couldn’t seem to stop.

He poured his heart out. About how lonely he felt, how everyone loved him and yet he didn’t feel like anyone really cared. How he’d failed so many people, so maybe he didn’t even deserve that— and yet, he craved it anyway. How he had no idea what was next for him, if there even was a “next.”

He left it out on his nightstand, feeling a bit embarrassed and half-tempted to throw the whole thing in the bin. But he thought of what Lisa had said— how Thea was rarely “friendly” with the guests. Being a ghost must be lonely too, right?

Lightning was just about to leave the room when he got the sense of something moving in the air behind him. He whipped around to see… a leak? From the ceiling? Right above his nightstand? Well, that was strange…

Several water droplets had landed on the letter. On the word “lonely.” And the word “worried.” And then, at the very end, a whole sentence: I find myself thinking about you a lot.

Lightning smiled to himself, feeling like a kid once again, but this time in a different way. He felt giddy. Maybe he didn’t have to tell the front desk about the leak quite yet.

~~~

As the weeks stretched on, the letters seemed to pour out of Lightning, like a valve had been opened and all those feelings he’d never known how to put into words had finally found their reader. The ceiling continued to leak, highlighting points that Thea seemed to agree with. Once, Lightning tried cutting letters out from magazines to see if she could spell them out herself, and she rearranged them into: I QUITE LIKE YOU. 

Lightning blushed. He hadn’t felt this way in a long, long time.

He began a mission to learn a much about Thea as he could, asking the staff and soon the other guests. Some of the stories were funny. Some were sad. In many of them, Lightning couldn’t help but see himself. It was strange, how much in common he had with a woman whom he couldn’t even see. But when he brought her up to a certain vampire in dark shades, the woman had a very different reaction.

“Who told you that name?” she demanded. Lightning’s eyes widened.

“Uh- Lisa. At the front desk?” Lightning said uncertainly. “I’m sorry, is it, uh, a bad topic?”

“No, it’s just…” Jessie sighed. “That’s my sister. Thea. I just… I feel terribly for her. She’s so lonely. And she’s tried to move on, but she just can’t seem to. I don’t know what’s keeping her here.”

Lightning’s eyebrows furrowed. “Oh. I’m sorry,” he said, because even though he didn’t have siblings, he knew it was a terrible thing to lose one. “Ghosts… they usually have unfinished business, don’t they?”

Jessie nodded. “Usually. But we can’t seem to figure out what hers is.”

That was complicated. On one hand, Lightning had only just met Thea— as much as you could “meet” a ghost, anyway. He didn’t want her to disappear! But he could see how much this hurt Jessie, the fact that her sister was suffering. And though he’d only known the ghost for a short while, he didn’t want her to suffer, either.

“We’ll figure it out,” Lightning promised. 

“I’ll help.”

Both of them whirled around to see Lisa from the front desk standing in the doorway. Just as they started to ask how, Lisa put a hand up to stop them.

“I’m a medium. We’ll hold a seance,” she explained. 

~~~

Lightning, Jessie, and Lisa gathered around the table, a few candles burning in the middle. Jessie had brought Thea’s favorite book— A Room With A View— and a song she liked softly played in the background. Lightning closed his eyes. “Thea, I really just wanna talk to you,” he said softly. “So does Jessie.”

There was a silence. “I can sense her,” Lisa said. As if to confirm, the curtains rustled. “She’s here. She’s touched that we’re all here. And she’s sorry she’s been so distant, Jessie.”

Jessie was silent, but Lightning could see her eyes shining in the candlelight. He avoided his gaze, as though to give her privacy.

“Can you ask her… what she thinks it would take for her to move on? For her to take care of her unfinished business?” Lightning asked.

Lisa nodded and repeated the question. Lightning ran his hand through his hair anxiously. What if it was the same answer as always, and Thea was trapped forever?

“She says, actually… she thinks she’s ready. She wasn’t sure, but seeing you both here, she realizes she’s found what she’s looking for.”

“Really?” Jessie interjected. “What’s that?”

“She finally feels like she’s understood. She thought that no one would ever understand what it’s like to be a ghost, but talking to Lightning changed that. And… well, she’ll get mad at me for this, sorry, Thea, but she did fall in love with him a little bit. That’s not really the point, of course, but I thought you should know.”

Now Lightning was starting to tear up, too. “I fell in love with her, too. A little bit. But now she’s leaving?”

Lisa nodded. “I’m sorry.”

Lightning shook his head. “No, it’s what’s best for her. I just… I just wish it didn’t have to feel like this.”

“That’s the thing about love, isn’t it?” Jessie said softly. “Sometimes, you know you’ve felt it because losing it hurts so terribly.”

She met Lightning’s eyes across the table and took his hand. Together, they said goodbye to Thea.

And as they left the room, they realized they were still holding hands. 

Perhaps ghosts weren’t the only ones with unfinished business.

[creat0r-cat]

Yancy x reader - Behind the Pen

(Y/n) had come to expect letters arriving in her cell every other day. It was a constant thing now. Her family wrote to her occasionally, but the majority of notes she received were from someone she didn't recognize. 

And how could she recognize a letter from someone who never signed it? 

As cliche as it sounded, her apparent admirer was constantly complimenting her through his penmanship. The only reason she knew he was a male was because he had said before in a past letter, "A man like me doesn't deserve an angel like you." 

That comment had made her blush so much that the other female prisoners worried she was running a fever. 

(Y/n) held a new note in her hand, admiring just how simple it was. A small piece of paper with the front held together by a red heart sticker, like you would find on a first grader's valentine. Inside was some messy yet intelligible handwriting that looked like an attempt at fancy calligraphy.

"(Y/n), 

A dove like you should be away and free from us ravens and crows. But of course, this jailbird fell in love with you and can only dream of making you his own. After what I've done with my life, how could I deserve to even be close to you, much less your lover? Nevertheless, like Romeo, I will continue to love you, my Juliet, even if it kills me." 

(Y/n) blushed and walked out of her cell and made it to the yard where a majority of people were gathered. Like usual, they were either playing basketball, lifting weights, or taking a small nap in the sunlight. It was a gorgeous day outside and sleep sounded very appealing, but (Y/n) had something to do first.

"Hey guys!" She greeted her fellow female prisoners, the letter clutched in her hand. Tiny, one of the tougher girls, smiled at her mischievously. "Ohhh~ you got another letter? What does it say this time?" 

Some of the other girls crowded around her to hear the reply as it was read out. They were all romantics in some kind of way and a secret admirer story unfolding right in front of them was certainly exciting. 

"Well, he told me that I didn't belong in a place like this, and he even called me his Juliet." Some of the ladies let out an "awww" and Tiny wrapped her arm around (Y/n)'s shoulders. "Man, he really seems to have a thing for you, huh? Who do you think it is?" 

"I don't know. I keep hoping I can pick up signs or some kind of hint when I interact with the boys, but I'm not picking up on anything. I guess I'm just really boggled that I even have a.." 

She trailed off as she looked toward a group of 8 boys playing basketball over in the prison court. There, being patted on the back after an amazing 2-point shot, was Yancy. (Y/n) blushed, seeing how his slightly damp shirt clung to his toned body, his skin slightly shining from sweat as he panted and smiled at his teammates. 

Time just seemed to move in slow motion when she looked at him. He was beyond attractive. He was so handsome, he could kill ladies with just a look. Heh, maybe that's another reason why he was in prison. 

"(Y/nnn)? Hello?" Tiny waved a hand in front of her face, seeing that her friend had zoned out. "Huh? Oh sorry. Were you asking me something?" Some of the other girls gave each other knowing looks and (Y/n) looked at them in confusion. "Am I missing something?" 

"You have it rough for him, huh?" Asked Tiny and (Y/n)'s face erupted into a bright red blush. "Huh? Why would you say that? He's my friend, granted that he's a very attractive friend, but still!" 

"Girl, admit it. You have a big ol' crush on Yancy." (Y/n) knew she was caught and she looked down in embarrassment. "I.. gosh I know I do but I feel kinda bad about it because I have no idea who's writing me these notes. I kinda hope it's him, but if it's not I'm gonna feel terrible if I don't like this guy back and reject him."

"Reject who?" 

(Y/n) stiffened, recognizing the voice that came up behind her. "Oh, hey Yancy," said Tiny with a smirk, "we were just talking about (Y/n)'s secret admirer." (Y/n) turned around to see the scruffy faced man she had grown to love. He smiled while his tattooed hand rubbed the back of his neck. 

"A secret admirer eh? You don't usually see dat in prison. Yous gots any idea who it could be?" (Y/n) shook her head. "I don't recognize the handwriting and I haven't really got any other clues, so no not really. Do you know anything?"

Yancy shrugged. "We males don't really talk about all dat romance and lovey dovey stuff, but I'll keep an eye out for ya." 

"T-thanks." Was all (Y/n) could say while shyly looking up at his grinning face. He really was so kind. A criminal with a heart of gold. Yancy nodded at the girls behind (Y/n) and turned to leave, joining the other boys back on the court. 

Turning back, (Y/n) saw the girls smirking and looking at her expectantly. “What? Is there something on my face?” Tiny shook her head and laughed softly. “No, it’s just that some of us already know who your admirer is.” (Y/n) was shocked. “What?? Who is it?? Tell me!” Giggling, the girls began to move away, shaking their heads. “Sorry, we can’t say anything. Good luck figuring it out though.” 

“Tiny! Guys! Come on, I thought we were friends!” Laughed the (h/c) female as she chased after them. 

From across the yard, Yancy watched their interaction and he bit his lip nervously. He knew that Tiny and the other girls wouldn’t tell (Y/n) about his secret crush on her, but still, he swore that they loved to tease him with their knowing looks. “Oi, Yancy pay attention!” Said Sparkles McGee, tossing him the basketball. “Sorry. Was just thinking ‘bout stuff, y’know.” 

Bam Bam smirked at him. “Oh, thinking about (Y/n) again are we?” Yancy looked over at him quickly, “What? No! ‘Course not. What makes youse say dat? I think of other things.” 

“Riiiiight, because staring at her and losing touch with reality means you’re thinking about other things.” Laughed McGee and Yancy pouted a little. “Shut up, it isn’t like dat.” 

“We all know about those love notes you’ve been sending her. I’m surprised she doesn’t know it’s you sending them yet.” 

“Well, she doesn’t need t’know either.” Snapped the handsome prisoner, glaring at his friends and tossing the basketball to the net only to miss. “I doubt she feels the same anyway.” 

“Are you kidding?” said Bam Bam, looking at Yancy with evident shock and confusion. “Have you seen the way she looks at you? I swear you’re just as oblivious as she is!” This was news to the man in question and he looked over to where his crush sat with her friends. She relaxed under a tree, her (h/c) hair slightly messy from the light breeze that flowed through the yard. She laughed, her melodious voice sounding like a symphony to Yancy. 

(Y/n) suddenly looked over at him when Tiny pointed him out. She smiled at him, waving, and as he blushed, he waved back. His heart beat so fast and he resisted the urge to run away to his cell. He had a reputation to uphold as the Prison Tough Guy. Turning away, he saw the guys smirking at him and he shook his head, the basketball being passed to him again. “Shut up youse guys.”

-time skip-

As (Y/n) sat in her cell a few nights later, unable to sleep. She was thinking about her admirer. Who could it possibly be? Gosh, she hoped it was Yancy. No, she shouldn’t get her hopes up. Any girl would die to have him as their lover, even if he was a murderer, but Yancy sees all the prisoners as family, so he probably only sees her as a sisterly figure. Her secret admirer was probably someone else. 

That same night, Yancy slaved over pieces of paper in his cell. He struggled to come up with the right words to write down, having to start over every time he made a mistake. “You’re my own personal angel.. Ugh no. ‘ve used somethin’ like dat already. Uhh.. You’re so beautiful… naw. Gosh I’ve used up everythin’.” His eyelids were drooping, exhaustion washing over his body. Yancy wanted to give (Y/n) another letter, but he was too tired to write. “Oh well. Maybe I’ll finish it tomorrow..” He thought as he drifted off to sleep surrounded by his crumpled papers.

-timeskip-

“Have you guys seen Yancy?” Asked (Y/n) the next morning. He hadn’t shown up for breakfast which was very unlike him. Both girls and boys alike shook their heads, but then one voice piped up. “I passed by his cell on the way to breakfast,” said Sparkles McGee, “He was fast asleep. I think he was writing a new song or something last night and zonked out in the middle of it.” 

“Why don’t you go wake him up, (Y/n).” Suggested Tiny and (Y/n) nodded. “Sure. I’ll be back.” She stood up and made her way down the hall to Yancy’s cell. Sure enough, when she entered, the soft sound of Yancy’s light snoring. 

(Y/n)’s heart melted at the adorable sight before her. Yancy was curled up in his bed, cuddling both his pillow and his prison bed blanket. Around him were a bunch of crumpled up pieces of paper. (Y/n) frowned, wondering what exactly he had been writing so late at night. Sure she could just assume that they were just tossed lyrics to a new song, like McGee said, but curiosity was a powerful force and she couldn’t help but look. 

She opened the nearest piece of wrinkled paper and her eyes widened. It was a note for her, but most of the writing was scribbled out. (Y/n) could only make out a few words and sentences here and there as she continued looking through the discarded notes. Lots of the phrases were familiar. The handwriting was sloppy but legible, writing out similar sentences to previous letters she had received. (Y/n) could barely contain her tears of joy as she looked at the sleeping man before her. 

Yancy was her secret admirer all along.

Placing the gathered papers to the side, (Y/n) crept over to his side and she smiled, reaching over and gently caressing the right side of his face. Yancy leaned into her touch in his sleep, letting out a small purr of pleasure. The poor man was touch starved after all his years in prison and now he finally had the chance to receive the comfort and love that he was craving. 

Slowly, Yancy’s eyes began to open and he looked up into (Y/n)’s shining eyes. “(Y-Y/n)? What’re you…” his voice trailed off as her hand trailed up his chiseled jaw into his black hair. He began to fully wake up and he realized what was happening as well as the state of his cell, or more accurately the state which his cell was supposed to be in. 

He sat bolt upright, accidentally hitting his head on the top bunk and almost squashing (Y/n)’s hand, and looked around to find that all the papers that were previously strewn around on the floor were nowhere to be found. “Looking for these?” Came (Y/n)’s teasing voice as she held up a stack of small wrinkled papers. 

Yancy paled noticeably and his hands began to shake. “(Y-Y/n), p-please, I can explain!” He stood up from his bed, fear written all over his face. “Yancy-” 

“No, please listen. I know I’ve been lyin’ to ya about not knowing who was writin’ youse those letters, but I was afraid that youse wouldn’t like me back ‘n I just wanted youse to kinda fall in love with me indirectly before I asked youse to be mine, y’know?”

“Yancy, I-”

“I understand if youse don’t like me back, but-”

“YANCY!!!” He stopped speaking and looked at (Y/n) as she looked at him with an amused smile. “You don’t need to explain yourself. Heck, you had me mostly convinced it was someone else writing these letters.”

“I.. I did?”

“Yes!” Laughed (Y/n), “You did! Honestly, I would’ve felt awful if I had to reject my admirer because they weren’t the person I fell in love with. The letters were flattering, but it would’ve been so much easier just to tell me that you liked me after spending time getting to know me.” Yancy blushed and looked away before she used her hand to gently bring his gaze back to her. 

“And I like you too, Yancy, in a romantic way. I have for a really long time.” 

Yancy blushed so hard and he rubbed his neck shyly. She smiled, taking his free hand and squeezing it. “Alright, well let’s go to breakfast. The others are going to get suspicious if I never come back after going to get you.” 

“Heh, I guess so, since they already knew about my little crush on youse.” 

Even though they both knew they should leave, neither of them really wanted to. It was a nice change of pace to just have time for the two of them. (Y/n) looked up at Yancy and leaned up, kissing him gently. 

The kiss only lasted a second, but it brought one of the best feelings either of them had ever felt. “I… you..” stumbled Yancy, struggling to say coherent words as he touched his lips in awe. He looked back at (Y/n) with a hopeful expression. 

“C-could we do that again?” 

(Y/n) laughed and nodded, “Of course.” This time, Yancy was the one to take the lead, leaning down and gently holding the sides of her face in his large hands. His lips met hers in a passionate hunger which took (Y/n) off guard. It was a sloppy kiss, clearly inexperienced but euphoric to experience for the both of them. 

“Y-Yancy, we’re gonna get caught. I was sent to find you and bring you to breakfast. Everyone’s gonna get suspicious if I never come back.” Yancy kissed (Y/n) again with a small possessive growl. “I don’t care if we get caught. I gotta start showin’ the others around here dat your mine, sweetheart. You’re so dang beautiful. Wouldn't be surprised if one of them started a fight with me over youse.” 

Something about him calling her ‘sweetheart’ and getting really protective really got her knees weak and face red. “E-even so. What would the warden say?” That last part is what finally got Yancy to stop. “Fine, I’ll stop..” His arms wrapped around (Y/n)’s frame in a warm hug which was happily reciprocated. 

“I love youse, (Y/n).”

“I love you too, Yancy.”

Back in the cafeteria, some of the others were starting to wonder when (Y/n) was going to come back, hopefully with their leader in tow. “Do you think something happened?” Asked Hank, looking over at McGee who was smirking. “Something romantic, maybe.”

Tiny groaned and shook her head in amusement. “I swear the two of them are so dang oblivious they better get together soon because I don’t think I can take the tension and stupidity anymore.” There was a hefty laugh that filled the room but it was soon replaced with cheers as Yancy and (Y/n) walked in from the hallway, holding hands and blushing madly. 

From his office, the warden laughed softly, looking at the new couple in one of the security monitors. “It’s about dang time.” he murmured, taking a long sip of his lukewarm coffee.

[atalienart]

Hi, probably a silly question, but I am a fellow artist and I am decent at drawing, but my handwriting is inexplicably horrendous. Like why can I draw and be especially good at inking and having a steady hand but I cannot write without it looking so messy?

I guess the question is, how is your handwriting? I am always curious to see if people that draw so beautifully have also a neat handwriting, I would expect the things to be correlated but it doesn’t seem to be my case

It looks like this.

This is how it usually looks like when I just write quickly, but sometimes it gets more stright, sometimes it gets smaller or bigger, it changes depending on my mood. When I hurry my m and n can look like u. So I can't tell I have one, set handwriting. But I don't think it has anything to do with how you draw. These are two different skills. Sometimes I watch people write in their bullet journals with those fancy letters and I would never repeat that, it's sorcery to me, and though I think my hand is pretty steady with lines I hate doing lineart. I clean up my sketches and ink only when I have to. But also, it's different with digital and traditional art and writing, my digital writing is terrible btw. And even if I have more control over traditional lines I feel like my traditional drawings are worse. Idk, it's all pretty weird.

[rax-writes]

Love Letters

Fandom:  Stranger Things Pairing:  Steve Harrington x Reader Warnings:  None Notes:  Once again, I thank @mxgyver​ for the inspiration. It appears that we’re both suckers for mutual pining. ♥

As you waved goodbye to your two best friends and left Scoops Ahoy, Robin watched Steve intently. She took note of the goofy, love-struck smile on his face, and the way he blatantly stared at your ass as you walked away, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Steve asked, redirecting his attention from you to his coworker – but only after you were completely out of his line of sight, not wanting to miss a second of his opportunity to admire you.

“You’ve got it bad, Harrington,” Robin observed, still chuckling.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve said, shrugging with feigned nonchalance as he leaned against the counter.

“Sure you don’t,” Robin responded sarcastically, rolling her eyes. “You need to just ask her out already.”

“Why? Do you think she’d say yes?” Steve asked quickly – a bit too quickly – which caused Robin to start laughing again. “Hey, I’m serious! You’ve been friends with her for way longer than I have. If anybody would know whether or not she likes me, it’d be you. So, come on, spill the beans.”

Steve wasn’t wrong. You and Robin had been best friends since middle school, but you had only recently befriended Steve, after you’d both gotten wrapped up in the Demodogs / Upside Down situation last fall. And yes, she definitely knew how you felt about him – specifically the ginormous crush you’d developed on “King Steve.”

Before now, Robin never would have pictured the two of you together. You used to be more of the nerdy type, preferring to keep to yourself and your few friends, whereas Steve was one of the most popular kids in high school. But now that she knew Steve outside of school, and from seeing how the two of you interact with one another – she thought you were the perfect pair.

“Well, obviously, I would be a terrible best friend if I were to, as you say, ‘spill the beans,’” Robin began, using air quotes to reference his previous comment.

“So there are beans to spill,” he noted, sounding excited.

Ignoring him, Robin continued, “However, I will say this: You remember that teddy bear you gave her earlier this year? That tiny, little red one?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, smiling warmly at the memory. “She wouldn’t admit it, but she was kind of sad because nobody sent her one of those dumb, anonymous carnations on Valentine’s Day at school, and everybody else had gotten at least one. So I ditched last period to run to the store and get her something, and that bear was pretty much all they had left. It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but she seemed to like it. She’s probably thrown it away by now, though.”

“She sleeps with it every single night.” Robin watched as Steve’s eyebrows raised slightly in surprise. “And the carnation you got? With the little note that said “I think you’re perfect”? That was from her.”

“What?!” he exclaimed, his jaw dropping. “There’s no way! I thought – I hoped it was her, so I compared her handwriting to the note, but it didn’t match!”

“That’s because she had me write it for her, so you wouldn’t know it was her.”

“Why didn’t she want me to know?” Steve asked, sadness tinting his voice. “I’d have asked her out on the spot.”

“I asked her the same thing, but she was adamant that you didn’t see her that way at all. She was worried that things between you would get weird if you knew the note was from her, but she still wanted to get it off her chest in some way, even if it was in secret.”

“Wow,” he murmured, staring at the ground in shock. “She’s the smartest girl I know, but she’s somehow so clueless…. I’ve been in love with her for months.”

“Well, I’ve said too much already, but I’ll reiterate: you need to ask her out already,” Robin stated, and Steve just nodded, lost in thought as he continued to stare blankly at the tile floor. After a couple seconds, he abruptly looked up at her, and she could practically see the lightbulb going off in his head.

“I know just the thing.”

Steve called you right when his shift ended at 4:00 PM, and asked you to come pick him up, claiming that his car wasn’t running and he needed a ride home. When you got there, he was waiting for you outside the mall, having changed out of his work uniform into a sweater and jeans (and touched up his hair, of course). He jogged over to your car just as you parked, and waved for you to roll down your window.

“Hey, before we go, would you mind coming in with me? There’s something I want to show you.”

If it had been anyone else, you might have said no, that you're tired and you'd rather just go home. But this was Steve, and he was looking at you with those big, brown puppy-dog eyes. So, you smiled and nodded at him, then got out of your car to follow him. He took a second to double-check the mall map just inside the front doors, then grabbed your hand, saying, “Come on, it’s this way.” You were really glad that he was busy navigating to wherever the hell it was he was taking you, because that meant he didn’t notice how red your face got.

The fact that Steve fucking Harrington was holding your hand dazed you to the point that you weren’t paying attention in the slightest as he led you through the mall. Eventually, he stopped in front of a store, which was evidently your destination. You looked up to see a sign saying ‘Build-A-Bear’ atop the doorway. Steve just grinned at you, excitement written all over his face, as you raised an eyebrow at him.

“Uh… are we at the right place?”

“Yep!” he answered simply, before pulling you inside. You tried to hide your frown as he let go of your hand, before he placed his hands on your shoulders and spun you to face the wall of... what appeared to be empty stuffed animal carcases. “Alright, pick one.”

It finally clicked then: he took you here to have you make one as a gift. You turned to him with a bright smile, “Really?”

“Yes, really,” he answered, mirroring your smile. “Whichever one you want.”

You spent a good ten minutes figuring out which you liked best, before deciding on a soft, dark brown bear. You told Steve that you just thought this one was the cutest, but really, it was the fact that its color reminded you of Steve’s eyes, and its fluffy fur reminded you of Steve’s hair. (And yes, you’re well aware that that’s super cheesy.) The employee smiled kindly at the two of you as you brought the bear over to her for stuffing. She gave you the same spiel that she’d have given a child – such as instructing you to place a kiss on the tiny felt heart before she put it in the bear’s chest, so “she’ll always know how much you love her!” Steve watched you with adoration as you followed along with all the steps, before the lady asked if you’d like to record something on their little gadget and place it in the bear’s paw, so that whenever you squeezed that spot, it would play.

“Yes, yes we do,” Steve interjected, and you glanced at him. He ignored your confusion, asking the woman, “Is it okay if I borrow it for a minute? I want to record something, but I don’t want my friend here to hear it just yet.”

The lady handed him the device, and he shot you a grin before holding up a finger to signal that he’d be back in one moment, then jogged outside the store. After about a minute, Steve jogged back in and returned it to the lady. You continued to look at him with a raised brow, but he ignored you, standing silently next to you as he watched the employee. She was careful to not press on the device, which would ruin Steve’s little surprise, as she placed it in the bear’s paw, then added your desired amount of stuffing to the bear with their fancy machine, sewed it up, and handed it back to you. She guided the two of you over to the register, where Steve paid for your bear, then walked with you out of the store, heading back to the parking lot.

“So when exactly am I allowed to listen to this super secret message?” you inquired, glancing up at Steve, who just smiled slightly. Wordlessly, he took your free hand, just as he had on the way to Build-A-Bear, and you held the bear tightly to your chest with your other arm. The same blush from before crawled its way up your neck and onto your face.

“You can in just a minute, when we get outside.”

You nodded, then cleared your throat and started speaking about the first thing that came to mind, to try and distract yourself so that the blush would fade. Unfortunately for you, what you ended up rambling about only caused you more embarrassment, and the blush worsened.

“I forgot to say it earlier, but thank you so much for getting this for me. It was an awesome surprise. This is probably kind of dumb, but I, uh… I’ve still got that one you gave me on Valentine’s Day. It’s getting kind of worn out, so –” you cut yourself off, realizing that you almost admitted to sleeping with the damn thing, which would probably sound super weird to him. “Well, I mean, it’s just sitting up on a shelf or whatever, so it’s not getting worn out, just… dusty. Yeah, it’s getting dusty. Um, anyway, this is a nice upgrade from that one, and I appreciate it.”

Steve chuckled as he nodded, then responded sincerely, “It’s no problem. I’m glad you like it – and I’m glad you kept the one from Valentine’s Day.”

He held the door open for you as you exited the mall, and headed back over to your car. The anticipation began to bubble up inside you, as you started to seriously wonder what in the world he would have said on the recording. Steve remained silent as you maneuvered through the parking lot, and both times you glanced at him, he looked almost… nervous? Must have been worrying about what’s wrong with his vehicle or something, you thought. Before you could ask, you’d arrived at your car, so you quickly leaned against the hood and faced him.

“Can I listen to it now?”

Steve took a deep breath, then gave you a worry-laced smile and said, “Yeah, go for it.”

You practically squealed with excitement as you held the bear in front of you and squeezed his paw, then you heard Steve’s voice through the tiny speaker.

“A little birdie told me that you’re the one who sent me that carnation on Valentine’s Day senior year. And I just wanted to say… I think you’re perfect, too. And I love you. Will you be my girlfriend?”

You felt your heart stop and your breath catch in your throat. You stared at the bear for a few moments, before you determined that yes, the recording had actually said that. It wasn’t a figment of your imagination. Steve Harrington just said that he loves you and asked you to be his girlfriend. Holy shit. Holy shit.

“So, um…” Steve began, snapping you out of your stupor. He cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets. “If you don’t feel the same way, that’s totally fine. I mean, Valentine’s Day was months ago, so I get it if your feelings have changed or whatever. I just… I don’t know, I wanted to give it a shot, but you don’t –”

Without even thinking, you lunged at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss. You poured as much warmth and passion and love into the kiss as you could, and relished in the feeling of his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you tightly against his chest. It felt like the kiss lasted for an eternity, but it still wasn’t long enough before you pulled away slightly to catch your breath, and respond how you should have responded a few minutes ago, if you hadn’t been stunned to silence.

“Nothing has changed, Steve. I definitely still think you’re perfect. I love you too, and I want nothing more than to be your girlfriend.”

“Oh, thank God,” he muttered, then let out a loud exhale. “You got so quiet after you played the recording, I was scared shitless.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, chuckling at how visibly terrified he was. He just smiled at you.

“It’s okay. The most amazing, beautiful, intelligent, kind-hearted woman I’ve ever met is my girlfriend now, so I’d say I’m doing alright,” Steve quipped, then kissed you again, slower and sweeter this time. He abruptly pulled back a bit, “Oh yeah, by the way, my car is fine.”

“So this was all just a clever ruse to get me here, to Build-A-Bear?” you asked, grinning. Then a realization dawned on you. “Wait, Robin told you about the note?!”

Steve burst into laughter, then nodded. “Don’t be mad at her, though! She only told me about it to convince me to ask you out. Just like you with the carnation, I’ve been terrified to tell you how I feel, because I was scared to make things weird – or worse, lose you as a friend.”

“Hate to break it to ya, but you’re stuck with me, Stevie,” you stated, giving him another quick kiss. Steve smiled down at you, his eyes full of adoration.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[astriefer]

If you want to, how about prompt 36 with thomastair?? 🤍

Prompt 36 - "Don't move. it'll be okay."

Thank you for this ask!! This is so terribly late but I hope it's enough for you. This is really bad because I had inspiration and then it died and then assignments and family and I'm running late. But... just in time for holiday! So have this piece please 🙏 Didn't check it too much so sorry for type errors and such thank you

TW throwing up and illness.

When the Merry Thieves had gotten the message Thomas wouldn't join them that day, they were suspicious.

"It's not Thomas's handwriting," Matthew said thoughtfully to James and Christopher.

Christopher fixed his spectacles on his nose and took a glance at the parchment. "But who wrote it if not Thomas?"

As always, the group of Thieves (lacking Thomas) was hanging around the Herondale manor. Cordelia and Lucie had gone to train together, and Effie was busy preparing titbits and coffee for them. They waited for Thomas to approach in all his giant glory, half-predicted him to come with Christopher, but he did not arrive. After half an hour, and just as Matthew complained, "Had Thomas gotten himself kidnapped in the course of the night?" a runner came at the front door. The message he carried was what they had been looking at for the past few minutes.

James shrugged. "Alastair, I assume," his golden eyes scanned the carefully written words. "They do live together."

"It claims him to be feeling unwell," Matthew said. "Do you think it's because he finally realized what a nuisance Alastair is?"

James gave him a look. "Matthew."

"It's in good spirits!" Matthew defended, raising his hands. When James still looked at him pointedly, he lowered his hands and murmured. "To some extent."

James sighed. As long as he didn't say it in front of Thomas, Cordelia, or Alastair himself, he concluded it wasn't the worst thing. They were civil with each other's presence, which was progress. He couldn't be mad at Matthew anyhow. He placed the paper down, regarded his friend with a shrug.

"What ho," Christopher said. "Your definitions for good spirits may cross the traditional ones."   

"Well, it's not my fault the ordinary interpretations are substantially dull," Matthew retorted.

Christopher hummed and stopped paying attention, seemingly engrossed in a new idea of an invention that must have captured his mind. Matthew gave him a fond smile and then cut his gaze back to James. "So, are we going?"

"Where?" James asked as Matthew stood up. His parabatai straightened his double-breasted waistcoat, which had decorations of an exotic animal on it.

He must have looked dumbfounded because Matthew added kindly, "Oh, Jamie bach," Matthew clicked his tongue at him. "Can you truly believe Thomas is sick?"

"That's what written here," he tapped on the papyrus. Matthew clicked his tongue again. His eyes were shining dangerously. "I know that look. What ill thing your mind hallucinated this time?"

"Everything I think of is a masterpiece, mind you. And clearly," Matthew said, leaning forward in his seat, "He scribbled some poor excuse to spend time with Alastair. But he said he would come. And if he won't come to us, we will come to him. So we shall step up to their flat and demand our Thomas."

"It doesn't sound like Thomas to fake such a thing." James's eye deterred away to the clock on the wall. He had the idea if it was something else, not a possibility of Thomas favoring Alastair's company over theirs, it would die silently. 

"It sounds a bit petty," Christopher noted. His hands tapped on the floor, fingers twisting as if he desired to be in Henry's lab and write down his findings.  

"It's not," Matthew promised. "We needn't have a reason to see Thomas. Besides, don't you want to tell him about your latest experiment?"

Christopher's eyes lit up at that. He shoved his spectacles up his nose, nodding. "Yes, it would be good. I made some progress he should be filled in about."

"Great!" Matthew commented. "Let's go."

"Poor Kit," James teased as he got up. "You use science to tempt him?" 

"I have no clue what you are talking about," Matthew graced him with a brilliant smile."I merely harness the power of science for my good deeds."

~~~~

As it turned out, unwell was an underestimate.

"What are you doing here?" Alastair asked when he opened the door of the flat. James was a bit stunned to see how disheveled and bedraggled he looked, a stark contrast to his usual display. His clothes were rumpled and crumpled and he looked awfully gassed.

The three soon cut free of their astonishment, and Christopher talked first. "Hullo, Alastair. We have come to see Thomas."

Alastair blinked but otherwise remained still. "I delivered you a message. He isn't feeling well."

"We had an essential piece of enlightenment to share with him," Matthew supplied. Alastair gave him an indifferent look.

"He isn't feeling well," Alastair repeated. James started to think it was a bad idea to come - Alastair clearly wasn't fancy to usher them inside. From inside the flat, a smell of soup traveled in the air.

Matthew's green eyes faced Alastair's unabashedly. "Why, let us see him, then. There's nothing our engaging presence can't aid. Tom will be feeling much better if he sees us."

"He needs to rest, not play games with his friends-"

A broad-shouldered figure came behind him, towering over him. " 'm fine."

Matthew wasn't the only one with a twisted interpretation of rudimentary words, apparently. James was fairly sure 'fine' shouldn't mean being so pale or to have big bruises-like black shadows under your eyes; nor did he think someone feeling fine should be looking so lightheaded and sick. Thomas's moss of light brown hair was mussed and tousled. He looked, frankly, even worse than Alastair - sweaty and tapped up.

"Thomas?" James asked.

The tall man shifted his gaze to James rather slowly. Instantaneously he realized Thomas was leaning his hand against the wall for support, and not for the sake of doing it. He was unsteady. "Greetings. I was going to get ready and come by your house, James."

"You should be in bed," Alastair protested.

Thoams's stance was defensive. "I am plenty fine, thank you, I don't need any rest in bed."

A muted sigh escaped Alastair's lips. He glanced at the three of them. "May you put some reason into him? You could at least do that after turning up here."

"I am standing right here," Thomas pointed out. He sounded almost too drained-out to resist. Alastair seemed unimpressed.

Christopher hesitated. "You do look a bit green around the gills, Tom."

"You look liverish, and not in a neat way," Matthew added.

"You have no need to dot on me," Thomas insisted. Annoyance took over his features. "I have rested enough. I shall-"

He cut off abruptly, gagging. He turned over back into the apartment, a hand over his stomach, and ran inside.  With a last skeptical glance thrown toward them, Alastair charged after Thomas.

James stood in front of the front door, bewildered, till Matthew passed him and flung the door open for them to enter.

Christopher followed with no protest. "What?" Matthew asked when James shot him a dark look. "They left the door open, thus I regard it as an invitation to permit ourselves inside."

With that philosophy in mind, they passed the corridor into the parlor. Accompany to the horrible sound of vomiting - James guessed it was Thomas's part - they could catch a low, soothing murmur of calming words. Alastair.

"You were wrong," Christopher said as he turned to Matthew. His voice was not self-righteous whatsoever, just matter-of-factly and troubled. "He is feeling ill."

Matthew seemed abashed, just slightly. "I wouldn't have been aghast if told he wanted to spend time with his lover."

They settled themselves nervously on the Aegean-blue sofa.  As a few minutes passed -  slow, confused, and worried - the sound of retching had finally petered out. They heard the noise of the water goes down the toilet.

"You think we should check whether they are fine?" Christopher asked.

"He honked up all he ate for breakfast. He must need to collect himself, and we should let him - unless you think he can somehow drown himself in the seek of the toilet." Matthew pondered over the last part amusingly.

Christopher seemed satisfied with the answer, and he cut his gaze back to the corridor through Thomas and Alastair had disappeared.

When he finally came back into the parlor, he limply made his way to the sofa, bearly holding himself straight. He hung his head low, sweat pooled on his neck and forehead and glimmered on his cheeks. His face reminded James of a red balloon, shiny and oddly red.

"Are you all right?" James inquired when he finally sat. Thomas made no sudden movements as he decisively faced them. It was clear as day Thomas, by all means, was not all right.

"Yes," he said. Matthew, James, and Christopher exchanged concerned looks between them. Alastair had not returned yet. "I must have eaten something spoiled."

"Are you sure?" Matthew pressed. "You still look dreadful."

"Surely I couldn't guess it," Thomas quipped.

"We can entertain you, though," Matthew pondered, giving him a smirk. "You stay in bed, and we will keep you a worthy company."

Thomas moved in his place, uncomfortable. Christopher, on the other way, smiled at Thomas. "Mam and Aunt Charlotte said I could use the lab tomorrow morning if there will be someone with me. The enclave has an important meeting early that day, and even Henry attends."

Thomas seemed grateful for the change of topic. Mattew said, "We might go and eavesdrop in case something interesting will come up."

"I will be there first thing tomorrow," Thomas avowed, although none of them asked him to. Thomas succumbs to a brutal coughing fit, and It was at that moment Alastair approached from the corridor.

"You need to rest," Alastair chided.

Thomas commnented hastily. "You are over-worried. I am fine."

"You're behaving frivolously," he proclaimed. "You ought to relax and rest, not to run around with your friend as if you are not sick."

"I'm just tired."

Alastair gave him an incredulous stare. "Really, you," he scolded wearily. "Utter madness, what that mouth of you blurts out." The dark-haired man turned over to the kitchen. Then he turned again. Alastair's dark gaze moved to the rest of the Merry Thieves. "You could at least bring a soup or medicine," he countered.

Matthew lifted his arms mockingly as if to surrender. "I am sorry, O great lord, that I didn't know how sick Thomas was. From your message, he could also have a slight headache."

Alastair scoffed and went into the kitchen. Mattew shot a look at Christopher and James, who nodded. he returned his eyes on Thomas.

"Hark, I, for once, agree with Carstairs. An advent I thought I would ever do. But I do think you should stay in bed."

"Shan't." Thomas regarded the idea of being treated by others with disdain. he rubbed his eyes, mumbling under his breath. "I am fine," he insisted. "I can hang out with you."

Alastair came back into the room, placing himself next to the sofa Thomas was resting on. He put down a large bowl. Haze of steams rose from the Broth. "Eat this. Then you go to bed."

Thomas's glare snitched up at him. He rubbed his eyes wearily.  "I am fine," he repeated. "I am already feeling better."

The look Alastair gave him made it clear he wasn't buying it. "Bed." Alastair crossed his hands on the chance and his gaze determined. "I am not supposed to teach you how to take care of yourself. So eat the soup and go to bed.

Thomas's grumpy mood seemed to worsen. He would've thrown hands if he hadn't felt so indisposed. "I can take care of myself."

"So don't be so stubborn and do as I say."

"It doesn't sound like taking care of oneself," Thomas grumbled. He coughed again into his forearm."And you're not my mother." 

"A very fine observation. No, I'm your partner," he gave Thomas a meaningful look. "So either you eat the soup or expect to get it shoved down your throat."

"That you very better not do."

Christopher looked at Thomas with concern. "You do not look good, Tom. You should rest."

Thomas sighed inconspicuously. It was tenuous confidence he held against them. "You too, kit?"

"As he should," Alastair sneered. He was losing patience. "Stop playing around, and drink your bloody soup."

Thomas grunted, his back straightening. He seemed dizzy and ready to tell Alastair off once again, before he gaped loudly. He must have felt queasy for he scrambled to his feet, fighting his nausea to make it to the bathroom. He almost knocked into a wall.

James glanced at Alastair, who had been mumbling grumpily under his breath, for a moment just watching his swaying partner with distaste. His dark hair flew as he followed him, for the second time since James and the other Marry Thieves arrived, to the bathroom. They followed their ailing friend and the scaling man dashing after him, then looked at each other. 

Christopher looked baffled, "Why would Tom resist so much to rest in bed?"

Matthew shrugged, furrowing his brows. "I can't fathom a reason for him to be that way," He cringed as the sounds of retching reverberated from the other room."He's supposed to be the reasonable one between us lot."

"Poor Tom," James said. "Maybe because he is so terribly ill he can't get hold of reality."

In the meantime, James investigated the furnishing of the drawing-room, which was unadorned. He drifted over to a colossal bookcase at the corner of the room, full of books in English, Persian, and Spanish (and some other languages he could not tell). He traced the spines of the books and glanced at his friends. Matthew was animatedly talking with Christopher, who tried to listen, even though it was clear to James that it was only half-hearted. He mused over browsing briefly at a shabby, worn copy of Hamlet when the noises from the other room finally stopped.

After a few minutes with no noises at all coming from the corridor, James stood up. "I will check on them," he told his friend, "Maybe Thomas passed out, or he is in distress."

Matthew and Christopher were up on their feet in the bare minimum of time. "We shall come as well."

"We won't fit there, all of us," James mentioned. Thomas would've felt better if they all would come and help take care of him, he was sure, but facts were facts. "Just let me see if he needs anything from us."

The other thrives reluctantly sat back on the sofa. In quiet, stealthy steps, he headed into the candle-lit corridor. He moved past some doors - their bedrooms, he assumed, or a library, perhaps. He stopped when he reached an open door, meaning to knock first to announce his presence, but it flew his mind when he poked his hand into the bathroom. He absentmindedly noted the porcelain clawfoot tub, the decorated primrose tiles, and the wallpaper - intricate floral trace and lines in moderate colors, which he pondered over who of the two men chose. There was also a high-level cistern toilet, Thomas leaning on its ream seat. A washbasin stood nearby, and Alastair was taking a flannel and dipping it in water before he handed it to Thomas. The unpleasant smell of vomit still stung the air.

Thomas's laid with his half-lidded eyes cracked a bit more open, still regaining his breath, and took the flannel. He managed to wash his face as Alastair took care to clean any mess created. Then he knelt in front of Thomas. Thomas pulled Alastair close weakly, buried his face in Alastair's chest. James could hear he was breathing deep and long, trying to control his upset stomach. He moved very little, very carefully, trying to shield his eyes from the light that shone in the room.

"Tom," Alastair said, surprisingly gently, unlike before. Suddenly James felt he was invading their privacy. "Hold on and cease for once in your life. You need to rest."

Thomas did not move nor talked, and James had the idea he fought back another gagging.

"Hamsar-am," Alastair tried again after Thomas seemed to curb the urge to regurgitate. "Why won't you rest?"

His friend talked tentatively and out of breath, his voice dry and hoarse and quivering. "I don't want everyone to chip around me like I'm some sickly fledgling. If my parents knew, they might even make a silent brother come. Being like this - reminds me of times I was sickly and small and weak. But I am a shadow hunter. I am an adult. I am sick of people thinking I'm incapable of taking care of myself."

James studied Alastair's face. To his grand surprise, he saw his face softens. Tenderly, he pressed their forehead together. "I am more than confidant you can take care of yourself, Thomas. I just try to assist and make you more comfortable, but we go nowhere if you fight me on every single decision. Drinking soup and resting in bed is something all people do. It helps you to get better."

Thomas's eyes were unfocused. "Sorry."

James wasn't certain to what of it all Thomas was sorry for, but Alastair seemed to accept it. He sighed breathly, backing away from Thomas. "It's fine. Just let yourself rest, shall you? I still have a desire to -" he cut off when his eyes captured James, who leaned on the doorframe. "James."

James bolted straight and made sure his countenance revealed nothing as if he did not hear the conversation between the couple. "We will take out leave, see as you go and rest, Tom. We will come to check on you tomorrow."

Someone came behind him, and he found Christopher and Matthew looking into the bathroom. "We will tell Aunt Sophie and Uncle Gideon you are sick," Matthew intervened. "They can bring you some food and take care of you. Lucie will be glad to tell of the last mischiefs of The Beautiful Cordelia. Speaking of which, Lucie will tell her parents, and they will rush to make Brother Zachariah come to visit them-"

"We can also keep quiet," James offered. Thomas's words echoed in his head. He looked at Alastair. "I suppose Alastair can be enough of caretaker. But do tell us if you need anything. Alright, Tom?"

Alastair gave him an odd look, almost appreciation - but not precisely - on Thomas's behalf. The latter had only nodded his thanks and seemed relieved by James's offer.

"Recover quickly," Christopher said, his spectacles reflecting the light. Behind of them was a pair of caring eyes."There is just so much we Thieves can do without our heart."

~~~~

The Merry Thieves bid their goodbye and Alastair went to accompany them out, while Thomas made his way to their bedroom.

They had two bedrooms, one for each of them, despite they spent the nights together. He chose to go to Alastair's room, where his smell was strong and comforting. His steps were fatigue, his mind racing and hammering. The sunlight felt like a blow to his face, making his stomach perilously twist and turn. He wasn't sure he had left any contents to honk up. He was iffy and aching, couldn't find the power to shut the curtains close. Alastair's bed - wide enough for the both of them - was too compelling to resist. He grunted loudly, resting his head on the soft pillows. He felt cold. So cold.

What fought the place of the ill-feeling that settled in every bone of his body was his great dismay from being ill in the first place. Every time he got cold, his parents would worry themselves out as if he still was the sickly child from his childhood days. His friends will all dot on him, Alastair would lay him out for days, everyone will tell him he must rest to heal. And he despised it. He despised it with all his might. Like a rope tightening around his neck, like an invisible cage surrounding him. A cage made of love and care was still a cage, in his mind. Thomas did not like to be incarcerated. This creeping feeling of losing your independence frightened him, reminded him of times he was bedridden, out of necessity for his frequent ill-health.

Thomas didn't notice his eyes were shut until he tilted his head toward a noise - Alastair coming into the room. Thomas heard the door creak quietly, heralding Alastair's presence, and again as he closed it quietly. He felt rather than saw the quilt placed over him, hugging his body, giving a little warmth to the cool world he was in. Not warm enough, however.

"You're lucky you're my favorite," The well-known voice of Alastair mumbled.

They've butted heads around this the whole morning. Thomas refused to stick to bid despite Alastair's stubborn protests. Now, he felt his body turn to halves and his head throbbed as if the Angels gathered and made a party there. He hated Alastair to see him this weak, yet he hated it more to see the pain in his eyes because of his refusals. Thomas stirred in his place, every movement of his head making a new wave of headache hit him. "Stay." He reached his hand and tugged weakly at the fabric of the sleeveshirt of, not truly commending as asking.

"I will. Wait a moment." Thomas's grip went loose and with that, the half-Persian man disappeared again. He shifted, despite his throbbing head, so he could leave some place for Alastair to lay next to him. He moved slowly and painfully, fighting on every inch he could force himself to move. He hearkened Alastair marching back into their bedroom.

 He tried to leave some space for Alastair. "Don't move," Alastair's tender voice cut through the void. "It'll be okay." Then a wet cloth softly landing against his forehead. 

Cold.

He shivered. He tried to whisper "cold" but he felt no energy left in his body to protest. His eyes were heavy, his tongue even more so. "This is chiefly for your own good," Alastair comforted apologetically. "You are burning." He climbed to bed from the other side of the bed, slipping under the beddings and placing himself close to Thomas. It slipped from Thomas's mind beds had two sides.

Thomas's jumble of thoughts wandered freely anywhere and nowhere - he couldn't put enough effort into imagining, it just made the constant thumping in his head worse. A warm hand was tentatively wrapped around his chest. Alastair put effort into hugging him lightly as possible, offering the warmth Thomas was seeking. He tucked himself a bit closer to Thomas, pressed a soft kiss to his head, then sunk into the bed. The heat Alastair radiated was drugging, and the arm which rested on his chest felt more comforting than any other thing the world could offer. He tried to breathe but the feeling of bile rising in his throat made him stop.

Alastair must have noticed because he backed away from him. "I put a bucket down your side, in case you have any food to get rid of," he acknowledged.  His presence was calming and needed. Thomas wanted to apologize for being so stubborn, to tell him he appreciated him and what he did for him. When he tried, he could not force himself to speak up, his vocal cords exhausted, and he wanted nothing but to let his mind slip into nothingness. He could not. Thomas felt drowsy, the strings of sleep dragging him into a feverish slumber.

Alastair removed his arm and his weight abruptly shifted, and the cloth had been taken away from Thomas's forehead. He startled, fighting to open his eyes, and then it was back, cold and piercing, and Alastair returned his hand to hug him. He felt a soft graze against his cheek - Alastair's lips - that ignited fire where it touched, just like his arm, making it a little less freezing. They kept resting in an awful silence for a few more minutes. Thomas had no problem with silence - he even liked it. Yet, knowing Alastair was watching him, concerned, putting everything aside to take care of him, was unbearable for him. He was supposed to see his mother and sibling today. He was excited to see them. Thomas desperately wanted the stillness to evanesce.  

"Would you like me to read to you?"

Thomas couldn't quite realize how Alastair knew, but he hummed lowly in agreement. The weight beside him lifted, missed instantly before it came back with a small thump.

Alastair began to read. He desired to look at this chiseled face. When he tried to open his eyes, he found he couldn't. A blazing headache stroke him the moment he cracked them the tiniest bit. "Sorry for ruining today," Thomas sputtered. He didn't think he could force any other words to come up his throat.

"I'm here with you, my day can't be ruined. Even if you have a fever and acts like a stubborn fool." Alastair continued to read, Thomas felt himself being carried away to Lady Sleep, a cruel mistress, sometimes, and also a gentle one, if you approach her the right way. He felt himself falling into her arms, the voice of Alastair guiding him to a safe place in the realm of dreams.

[tobiosmilktea]

amor vincit omnia — akaashi keiji

     ↪︎ O2. I CHOOSE YOU

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a/n: i absolutely hated rewriting this chapter after it glitched out the first time 😔

since the beginning of your first year of university, you and the rest of your lovely friends had been eating in the library, specifically the large round table secluded and at the very corner for every meal without fail, and nobody really cared to stop you guys for two reasons. For one, no one really goes into that corner of the library that only collected dust, and two, you guys were there so often that you all befriended all the librarians to the point they stopped coming by to tell you guys to leave and eat in the canteen instead.

you were placed between daichi and kiyoko, counting the seconds by as they worked diligently in silence, munching on their lunch in the process. daichi tapped on the keys on his laptop rather quickly, the impact of each click being unnecessarily loud while kiyoko was cross-referencing documents and highlighting lines of never ending texts in a nice muted green color. tsukishima, on the other hand, was too preoccupied reading his book. eyes completely glued to the novel resting in his hands as he readjusted his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. sugawara was out and about somewhere in the sea of towering bookshelves to find a book to read, mentioning something along the lines of—and you quote, ‘something to quench his thirst for entertainment.’ 

it was honestly just his fancy way of saying that he was bored out of his goddamn mind. perhaps you were the same, eyes wandering your surroundings for something, just something to capture your attention for a few moments. it wasn’t at all difficult, actually, considering how pretty your university was.

higashi university had always been your dream college. not just by its blatant aestheticism, but the academia as well. with tanaka and nishinoya being your main friend group during your high school days, it feels rather refreshing being surrounded by other incredibly smart individuals than constant brain rot.

(no offense to tanaka and nishinoya, you loved them to pieces)

and as your mind began to wander, so did your gaze. from admiring the library’s interior to looking out the window, your lips slightly curved down into a frown.

it was only noon and the clouds were already darkening the sun’s piercing rays that usually shone through the large domed windows of the library. it was going to rain soon and for a couple hours as well.

it’s quite peculiar to think about now after you received that damned chain letter. earlier this morning, while shoving on your wool sweater and trousers, that even the weather app on your phone didn’t show any signs of inclement weather until an hour after you texted your group chat in an awkward panic.

you didn’t really pine yourself to be so superstitious. if anything, you were the complete opposite, and yet, here you were worrying over the sound of rumbling thunder in the distance.

tsukishima lifted his gaze from the words printed on his novel as he pushed his glasses higher up on the bridge of his nose. he flickered a look at you, a smirk appearing on his visage the moment he noticed the way you stared at a single drop of rain on the window, flowing down rather slowly.

that stupid letter of yours was still in your hand as well. he watched you fiddle with the corners, careful not to mess with the mahogany red wax stamp that sealed the envelope.

“have you thought about which poor, unfortunate soul you’re going to give it to?” he asked, smirk still annoyingly evident. this was the third time he asked you this question in a span of three hours.

you flicked your eyes towards him coolly before it fell onto the letter in your hands. "ask that question again and i’ll be sure to send it your way, tsukishima.”

“i’d like to see you try, honestly.” he muses, “your best bet is probably slipping it into one of your professor’s inboxes. maybe professor oshiro, by chance?”

“please,” you snort, “she only gave me one failing grade that i eventually made up in the end.”

“just give it to a random stranger,” daichi cuts in, eyes still glued to his laptop as he typed his fingers away. dark circles dusting his eyes like a dark shadow. law school was certainly doing its works on the likes of poor, poor sawamura daichi.

he shrugs, evidentially fatigued when he meets your eye.

“that way your grades won’t have to potentially deal with the consequences if your professor finds out.”

you nod, humming in response. that would be terrible.

sugawara then emerges from the maze of bookshelves, holding up a book towards you with a smile on his face. “found one,” he beams, tossing it atop the messy table.

you reach for the book as sugawara pulls out his chair whilst he mutters something to his daichi about his whereabouts.

“wuthering heights?” you say the title aloud and capture kiyoko’s attention along with it.

“yeah. have you guys read it?” the silver-haired boy asks. he takes your opinions quite seriously knowing how much of an avid reader you and kiyoko were. whenever he needed book recommendations or opinions, he would always go to you two.

you nod, “i quite liked it.”

“some parts tend to be slow, though.” adds in kiyoko, taking the novel from your hands and flipping through the pages briefly before slipping back over towards sugawara. “it should keep you occupied for a few days.”

you chuckle slightly, giving her a look. “you forget how slow suga is at reading. the few days it takes us to finish a book is a good month for him.”

offense coated sugawara’s expression as he lets out a scoff in retaliation. “don’t you have a chain letter to give to someone?”

“she’s stalling,” tsukishima teases.

“am not!”

“then want to go give it to a random stranger then?”

your brows draw together, “right now?”

tsukishima nods as he stuffs his belongings back into his bag. “i’ll come with you for shits and giggles.”

a sigh escapes you, rolling your eyes as you take a look at the letter one last time and wanting to laugh at yourself for doing all this. a full chain letter from front to back, with the first quarter of it is you viciously apologizing that you had to do this in neat cursive handwriting, all written in fifteen minutes.

you gave in.

“fine,” you huff as you grab your own bag as well.

“good luck,” kiyoko muses up at you as you squeeze past her.

tsukishima waits for you until you’re by his side, strides shorter than usual just to match your pace as you two navigate through the labyrinthine arrays of bookshelves. the letter was in your hand, all small and discrete for a quick and easy delivery to an unsuspecting victim. your palm perspired slightly as you kept your eyes open, scanning for an easy person as you were aware of the possible repercussions.

you could easily get in trouble for doing something this childish, but you were in too deep already.

“hurry up and find someone, we’re almost at the entrance already.” tsukishima hisses in a harsh whisper.

“i’m working on it!” you hiss back.

“working on what?” a familiar voice asks then, capturing both you and tsukishima’s attention, whipping your heads towards the owner.

kuroo combed his freehand through his hair while he had two textbooks tucked under his other arm. he gave you a smile.

you never really got close with kuroo despite meeting him at nationals a few years back. despite only talking a few times due to him being good friends with tsukishima, you knew he was nice, incredibly smart in the sciences, and yet oddly awkward for someone as good looking as he.

not him, you thought to yourself, too nice.

“a little project,” the blond immediately answers just like that. “our majors tend to overlap sometimes, so we decided to partner up.”

“nice, i’m here with my friends to study as well.” kuroo states, causing your eyes to scan behind them for any evidence of their rambunctious selves.

like kuroo, you weren’t close with any of them either. if anything, they were just mere acquaintances on the precipice of becoming strangers. regardless, they all seemed quite nice too from your lack of interaction with them.

tsukishima says something in response then, igniting a short little catch-up conversation with an old high school friend as you lay distracted. your eyes flicked down to a study table in front of you, one of the chairs just a foot shy from you had a satchel hanging off of its side. the brown leather flap was wide open with its owner nowhere in sight as you gave your surroundings a once over.

carefully, you made your way over the table, pretending as if you were taking something out of your bag as kuroo was being distracted by the blond. neither of them were looking at you fortunately. as you placed your bag back over your shoulder, you slipped the letter right into the open satchel right at the same time–the envelope falling and disappearing into the depths of the bag.

“i’ve got to get to my next lecture,” you say to the two men, giving tsukishima a sly wink that it was a job well done. “i’ll see you guys around.”

checkmate.

fun facts! —

after kiyoko graduated and moved to tokyo, (y/n) and kiyoko kept in touch by sending each other cute handwritten letters

no one really is aware of that area in the back of the library since no one goes in that section often (this is uhh,, an important detail for later 😳)

taglist: (comment or send an ask to be added!)

@channiechanchan @elianetsantana @suhkusa @agaashesmilktea @dwcljh @duhsies @thevillagehiddenintheinternet @kitsunetea @morpheus-rex @noeminemi @ntimacy @kurokenchan @kittyddandnyla @amboisez @komouri @stargirlara @itsmeaudrieee @immxnty @spicyshinsou @bombardia @yammerss @crescenttooru @tadashi-simp @sunanyaa @saikishairclip @marvel-ing-at-it-all @seijqhigh @normalisthenewnorm @allielozoya @peteunderoos @inflxxtions @peg-legz4 @kawafika @apollochjld @bap-kingdom @yongboxerrr @kenssister @galacticyoongs

[cyb3r-kat]

2, 6, and 7 for the writer ask 😘

Thank you lily ❤️ @lilyoffandoms

2. If you had to give up your keyboard and write your stories exclusively by hand, could you do it? If you already write everything by hand, a) are you a wizard and b) pen or pencil?

Gonna be real, I don't think I could. I have terrible handwriting and my hand cramps up far too easily, probably couldn't survive back then of writing all by hand with a fucking quill or fancy pen

6. What is your darkest fear about writing?- oh boy uhhh tbh I think it's always getting characterization right. It's a bigger fear with fan fiction cause that's preexisting characters written by someone else. I'm sure I get it wrong (see Ethan from oph) but the only way I get over it is being my own hype man

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?- honestly,,, I think it's a tie between doing self indulgent aus or any writing of any kind that's just for me and people who may also like whatever wild, batshit indulgences I came up with and then taking (and this relates more to fan fic writing) the source material that writers fucked up and making it better, best summed in my favorite parks and rec scene:

(I am looking mostly at you open heart and nightbound writers)