#it's her thing to do while she watches tv. that or sudoku

[terrainofheartfelt]

prompt- jenny finding out about dair and her reaction + her being happy for them

Dair + Jenny

After she hangs up the phone, Jenny stares into space for what must be twenty straight minutes. 

Her fingers twitch, needing something to do, something to keep them busy. It’s been her prime coping mechanism since, well, probably since she developed the fine motor skills necessary. If she was too hyper or bouncing off the walls, her mother put a crayon in her hand, or a pencil, or a paintbrush, and then later, fabric, thread, needles. The act of making something gave her a way to focus, to take all that ambition that had been born in her blood and do something with it. 

She grabs her sketchpad, starts on a figure and the shape of a dress without really looking at it. When she does, she realizes she doesn’t want to design anything at all, and tears the page out, a new blank one gaping up at her. 

Jenny sighs, slumping back against the wall of her dormitory, drumming her fingertips on the paper. 

She’s not…mad, not really. The way Dan talked, all cautious and careful and slow, like she was a feral cat he was trying to persuade to come out of the alley, he probably expected her to be angry, but she wasn’t. Or if she was, it feels different than the kind of anger that ate her alive back in New York. 

Not wanting to design but needing to draw something, she falls back on an old standby learned from her mother. She picks up a pen, and starts scrawling across the page, filling all the empty space, just random letters, well, maybe not so random, D-A-N, B-L-A-I-R, W-A-L-D-O-R-F, E-V-I-L S-P-A-W-N. When a sufficient amount of the page is covered, she starts connecting the lines, weaving the letters together until they’re unintelligible, a collected framework of lines, an abstract approximation of the iron outline of stained glass windows of the Anglican church down the street. 

Once satisfied with the skeletal structure, Jenny grabs her box of colored pencils. She’s meticulous, one color at a time, taking care not to use two similar hues next to each other. 

Her mom always made her own coloring sheets like this. In the evenings, after dinner but before bedtime, when Dan would disappear behind a book and Dad behind his guitar, her mom would sit in the armchair by the record player and just…color, just like this, filling an entire page with a riot of different hues and shades that did look like stained glass, so bright it reminded Jenny of the blown glass vases her parents displayed in the kitchen that she wasn’t allowed to touch.

Sometime, around the time Jenny was starting to think of herself as an artist too, she insisted that Mom show her how she made them, and she did. Jenny remembers being almost disappointed that there was no great secret to it. Scribble, connect the ends, color in the blank spaces. 

“It’s no genius work,” Alison told her, “but it’s meditative. Relaxes the mind.” 

Jenny could definitely do with that, she thinks as she picks up another pencil. Bright red, like cherry lip gloss. 

She didn’t yell. She didn’t give her blessing—because why should she—but she didn’t yell, didn’t make any accusations. She bit her tongue, and powered through the conversation best she could, sprinting to the end of the phone call. And now here she is. 

She knows what she wants to say, but she also knows that she can’t say it to Dan. 

You can’t badmouth the boyfriend. Another nugget of wisdom from her mom, delivered unto her last year, when one of her friends from show choir in Hudson started dating a grade-A douchebag, and that’s judging from Jenny’s rubric, which has a steep curve. 

Jenny couldn’t stand being around him, and more than that, didn’t want her friend giving her own time to someone who didn’t deserve it, all of which she told her mother. She and Alison undertook a thorough Full Disclosure policy when she moved to Hudson. It worked pretty well, even when Jenny didn’t like the advice she heard. 

“Honey, there’s nothing you can say that will sway her,” Alison told her. “All you can do is just love her, so when the bottom drops out she’ll know that you are there for her.”

Jenny kept her mouth shut, and, a week before senior prom, the douchebag showed his true, douchey colors, and Jenny was there for her friend. 

But what sucked is that Jenny would have been there regardless, so why should someone she cares about have to go through the wreckage of heartbreak to fall back on something they already had? 

Dan has a more resilient heart than she does. It’s just fact, they went to that school and went through their own dark forests of fucked-up shit, and while she broke down, Dan’s still there. Dan still believes, in true love, in finding the one, no matter how many times he gets hurt for the sake of the one. He’s so much like their mom, but on this, he’s his father’s son through and through.

Maybe that’s the problem. Sometimes Jenny imagines stretching her arm out over the Atlantic Ocean, plucking up her brothers by the shirt collar and carrying them over to London, to safer ground. 

But when everything got bad, she felt like she couldn’t turn to anyone, but even then Dan had been ready to punch out any one that wronged her, so long as he gave her the chance to talk and she gave him the chance to listen. So, she doesn’t want to cut him off. Even though she doesn’t know how not to, given what he’s just told her. 

So, she colors, she puts it onto the paper like her mother taught her, puts the words she couldn’t say into the phone into each swatch of color. 

She’s going to wreck you. She is going to wreck you and leave you in pieces and there isn’t a damn thing I can do to stop it. 

Half the page colored, she puts on her headphones, blasts music from her laptop. She cycles through most of Paramore’s discography by the time the page is filled.

Jenny lets out a deep breath as she examines her handiwork. Stained glass on paper. And, despite herself, it worked, like mac and cheese, like chocolate chip waffles, like any comfort from her childhood. 

On impulse, she grabs her phone, snaps a picture of her DIY coloring sheet, and sends it to Dan. She doesn’t know what to say to him, but words had always been more his thing anyway. 

Two minutes later, Dan sends a photo back, one of his own attempt, still in progress, on one of his legal pads he uses for outlining. 

Love you, she sends. 

Love you too, he texts back. 

Jenny’s still worried, but she thinks, or maybe hopes, that everything will turn out okay. 

3 years later…

Jenny and Nate stumble through the door of their Airbnb. Well, Jenny stumbles, she’s been in these heels too long. Wherever they go, no matter how fucked up they are, Nate always carries himself with an infuriating amount of athletic grace. It’s that damn pub football league. 

“Oh, couch,” Jenny sighs, collapsing onto the piece of furniture in question. It’s very comfy. They truly scored with this one, booked on a whim by Jenny while they were still on the train this morning. 

Dan and Blair had their own suite at the Plaza Athénée; when Blair heard they were staying in the 5th, she’d rolled her eyes, but even she was too happy to spend any time berating Jenny and Nate’s choice of lodging on the “wrong” side of the Seine. 

“So,” Nate says lightly, toeing off his shoes and leaving them beside her discarded boots, “how are you feeling?” He bends to pick up the coat she’d dropped on the floor next, hanging it up along with his. He takes such good care of her. 

“Exhausted,” she answers, hanging her head over the back of the sofa, as Nate drops down next to her. “Can you believe we were in a different country this morning? And we took a train underwater?”

He laughs lightly, stretching out and putting his head in her lap. “That’s not what I meant. I meant: how are you doing? About today?”

She frowns down at him puzzledly, arching an eyebrow. “Don’t you have a conflict of interest asking that question?”

“My interest is you, babe,” he reaches up, tapping the back of his hand on her sternum. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I seem to recall already having this conversation with Eric after Dan proposed.”

“Yeah, well, I’m checking in again.”

Jenny sighs, tilting her head back to think. “I’m good. Really.” She clasps Nate’s outstretched hand in one of hers, and runs the other through his hair, soft between her fingers. “I’ve had enough time to get used to the idea. And while I don’t think I’m completely used to it…” she shrugs. “The more I see them together, the more it makes sense.”

Nate makes a small hum, his little nonverbal way of saying I’m listening, and Go on. 

“I don’t know,” she takes a breath, gathering her thoughts, trying to shape them into words, “Dan’s always been just…himself, but like, in soft lines, shaded in. But…now he’s more…sharper. Like the outline of him has finally been inked in, you know?”

Nate blinks up at her, crease forming between his eyebrows. “I think so?”

Jenny laughs, and he strokes his thumb over her knuckles. “I just mean, this is the most himself I’ve ever seen him be. And if you repeat this I’ll deny it, but I think a lot of it has to do with Blair. So…” she sighs, melodramatic, “for him, I’ll suffer through being legally related to her.”

Nate snorts, face breaking into that sunrise grin Jenny loves so much. He brings their joined hands down, settling them on his chest. She’s never historically been much of a hand holder, but Nate loves it, and she loves him. And, she loves that it’s her he’s reaching for. 

“I’m happy for him,” she declares. “And I’m happy he asked me to come. And I’m really happy that we won’t be anywhere near when he tells Dad.” 

Nate makes a noise of agreement. “Or Eleanor.” 

“Oh my god, yeah.”

They both laugh, out of not only amusement at the mental image of Rufus and Eleanor’s respective reactions, but also relief, that Jenny and Nate won’t be in the blast zone when the bomb drops. There are definite advantages to the ex-patriot life. 

“Is that something you want?” Nate asks softly. 

“Facing the wrath of an Eleanor scorned? Fuck no.” 

“No,” he says softly. “What Blair and Dan did.”

“Elope in Paris?”

“Well, yeah, I guess,” he qualifies with a tilt of his head. “But I was thinking…just – marriage in general.”

“Oh,” Jenny says bluntly. 

Nate nods, his normally open expression cautious. 

Jenny sits back, thinking it over.  When Nate asks a serious question, she knows it comes after a long time of thought, always seeking an honest answer, so she tries to give him the same level of consideration. 

She’s not a believer in forever like her brother is. She’s so like their dad in so many ways, but in this one, she is her mother’s child. 

“I don’t think I’m ready for that. Maybe later. Way, way later, but not now.”

Nate nods, understanding. “I don’t think I am either.”

She lets out a breath.  

“So…” he trails off, “glad we’re on the same page?” 

She laughs. “Yeah. Yeah we are.”

She may not believe in forever, but if she had to draw it, it would look a lot like Nate. 

“And, who knows, maybe we can revisit this conversation at a later time, like…when we’re forty.” 

Nate grins, and presses a kiss to the back of her hand. “Sounds good to me.”

One word prompts

[gardensnakie]

How does Polly feel about having two Basils now?

It was surprising at first, that's a given. Polly would stay the nights to make sure Basil was alright with this literal stranger in the house. She'd get jumpscared tons of times finding Stranger wander around the house at night (he eventually got tired of laying down for hours at a time and is used to being awake in the dark). Polly would still be nice to Stranger though. Despite the strange way he talks and his mysterious behavior, Polly eventually thinks of Stranger as another kid (teen, technically but you know)

Stranger is curious and clueless about certain things. While Basil usually kept to himself around Polly, Stranger is the opposite when first meeting her. Stranger is still reserved, but he observes instead. He is unfamilar with cooking so he likes to watch Polly do it. If Polly is watching TV, Stranger will come watch as well. Polly's cleaning? Stranger is right there and usually asks if he could help. He'll keep subtely following Polly around whenever he stays inside and there's nothing to do in the house throughout the day.

Eventually Stranger might ask questions and talk to Polly a little more. During those times, Stranger would learn more about Basil that he didnt quite remember, like Basil's grandma and parents. Even more about who Polly is, like "What is a caretaker?" "Where are Basil's parents?" "Why do you keep cleaning the same places?"

Things like that. Also, I thought I could have a scenorio where Polly teaches him basic table manners. Headcannon: Despite him being all polite and proper, Stranger eats like a wild animal (When has he ever had to eat? Let alone use utensils) . Oh and he could learn how to play some boardgames. Idk about you but Basil's house seems like a place that has random old boardgames in a cabinet somewhere. Puzzles too or maybe Sudoku.

Polly might notice how quiet Stranger can get sometimes. It worries her slightly, considering the time where Basil was the same way.

She gets used to seeing Stranger and Basil everyday, she notices the extra loudness it comes with it since the two eventually get comfortable enough to annoy each other. Its slightly amusing to watch it play out. Seeing Basil taunt Stranger for losing a card game multiple times in a row and Stranger later running around with one of Basil's belongings out of spite (he gets caught pretty quickly though).

Its a little different, but Polly doesnt mind caring for the two

[suddenlybambi]

as long as you stay here [3] ♥ kyle broflovski

pairing : kyle broflovski x reader

college AU - 18+

tags : strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff, angst, alcohol, afab reader, she/her pronouns, eventual smut

words : 2.6k

chapter 3

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a/n - this will likely be the last daily update for now - i have 3 more chapters written so far but i like to keep on top in case i end up falling ill so i don't leave y'all without a chapter for a whole week! - next update will likely be friday (or thursday if i have a lot of motivation!)

thank you to everyone who has supported this story so far 🥰

Y/N was relieved to be back in the apartment, where it was mostly quiet. Just the sounds of the street outside the window that never closed properly could be heard. 

She grabbed the remote, deciding the TV was the most obvious thing to use to entertain her new guest. While she and Kyle had bonded over their mutual disdain for the club, she didn’t know much else about him.

She flicked the power button a few times, groaning in realisation. “Andddd… The TV is broken again!” She put the remote down on the side and tried to unplug and replug the TV in, but it didn’t help. “Clyde has been here one day, and he’s already done something to it.”

“How old is that thing?” Kyle looked in slight awe at the TV. It was one of the first models of ‘flatscreen’ TVs, but it was still three times the width of any TV for sale in stores in the present day. 

“It was Bebe’s grandma’s. It got 10 whole channels, but we managed to rig a fire tv stick up to it,” Y/N explained, trying the remote one last time. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid that is all we have in the way of guest entertainment. That is unless you fancy taking a look at Bebe’s gossip magazine collection that has taken over the coffee table?” 

“I’ll pass, I think?” Kyle laughed awkwardly, looking down at the selection. “As tempting as it is to find out… Which Kardashian has the most expensive nose?”

“That leaves two options that I can think of. You can crash in the spare bed in what was Wendy’s room until they return from clubbing,” She gestured down the hall to the open door to the room that had once been Wendy’s room. It now only housed a double bed and an empty dresser. “Or you can join me in my room while I watch a nature documentary, and we can do sudokus together?”

“Definitely living up to the party animal part of the party-hating party animal title.” Kyle teased, but she could tell he wasn’t genuinely making fun of her. “I mean, a nature documentary? Sudokus? What a wild night.” 

“We could watch something else if that’s too hardcore for you? Maybe do a word search or spot the difference instead?” 

“I think I can just about handle it. I’ll let you know if it is too much for me.”

“I don’t have a couch in my room. You don’t feel awkward sitting on the bed, do you?”

“What is a bed but just a longer couch?”

“Wow! I didn’t realise I was in the presence of such a magnificent philosopher!” Y/N laughed, leading the way to her room. She was glad that Kyle was open to joking around with her, as it made the fact that they would be spending the following hours together a little less awkward. 

She opened the door to her bedroom, glad she had cleaned up a little the day before since it had been a bit of a mess. There were still textbooks everywhere and about five mugs on the side that she swore she would take to the kitchen to clean, but that was about it. Her bed was even made for once. “Whales or birds?” 

“Birds,” Kyle decided after a second of consideration.

“That is absolutely the correct choice!” Y/N grinned. She jumped onto her bed, lunging over it to grab the remote control. She scooted over to the side so Kyle could sit next to her, which he did, leaving a respectful amount of space in between them. She pulled the multiple sudoku books from her bedside table drawer and laid them out on the bed, grabbing a couple of the pens she had on the side.

“You don’t actually have to do any sudokus if you don’t want to,” She clarified, picking up the one she had last been working on and flipping to the next empty one. “My phone charger is next to you if you need it.”

“Thanks, I’m on 5%,” He leaned over the side of the bed to retrieve the charger and plug his phone in. “Honestly, I’d rather do a sudoku than anything else,” He admitted, picking up one of the books and flipping to the next free page. Y/N turned on the documentary about birds that she had planned to watch, and they sat in peaceful quiet. She knew she had made the right choice leaving with Kyle, and she didn’t for a single second regret suggesting that he came back to hers while the others enjoyed the rest of the night.

The buzzing of her phone in her bra startled Y/N awake. She had to blink her eyes a few times to register her surroundings. Feeling a weight on her shoulder, she turned her head to see that Kyle had fallen asleep as well, resting his head on her.

She didn’t want to wake him, so she tried to move carefully and gently to pull her phone out and check why it buzzed. She was met with a text from Bebe.

bebe 💋 : weere on way howme now b 10 mins 

bebe 💋 : wend and stan r going to stay at oirs in old room

bebe 💋 : so skyle will have to satay or get cab home allone 

Y/N could barely make out the words Bebe was typing but just about managed to translate that Wendy and Stan would be staying in Wendy’s old room, so Kyle would either have to stay over or get a cab home by himself.

She turned her head again to look at the sleeping boy on her shoulder. Would he want to go home? Where would he sleep if he stayed? She would probably let him stay like that on her shoulder all night had the impending interruption from the others coming home not been looming in the distance; he looked so peaceful. 

She checked the time, it was 1am, but she was starving.

y/n 💕 : are we getting food?

bebe 💋 : we caan order in whene home xzxzxxx

Satisfied with that answer, she set her phone down on the bed.

“Kyle?” Y/N carefully nudged her shoulder to try and wake him up in the most gentle way she could so as not to startle him. It worked as he slowly lifted his head and yawned.

“Sorry for falling asleep,” He mumbled, yawning a second time. He had the slightest red tinge on his face as he realised he had been resting against her.

“No worries, I did too,” She confessed, now yawning herself. “Bebe just texted, and there has been a change of plans. Wendy and Stan are staying in Wendy’s old room tonight, so you can either stay here or get a cab home by yourself?” She didn’t particularly like the idea of him getting a cab home alone at that time of night, particularly if he would be returning to an empty apartment.

“Where would I sleep?” He asked. She could tell he didn’t really want to go back to his apartment alone.

“The couch hurts like hell, but that’s an option, or you can just sleep in here,” She shrugged, sitting up properly as she realised the dress had ridden up in her sleep, and she was a small movement away from accidentally flashing him. She tried to casually pull it down as much as possible. “I don’t mind. We’ve already proved we can both sleep here, and you don’t seem like a creep.” 

“Thanks, neither do you… I’ll stay here,” He nodded sleepily, sitting himself up with her. “Do you know if Clyde has any clothes I can change into? These jeans are uncomfortable to sleep in. My legs feel dead.”

“I don’t know how much of his stuff Clyde has moved in yet, or where it would be,” Y/N swung her legs over the bed and stood up, stretching a little. “I probably have something; hold on.” 

“Your dress is- uh-“ Kyle stuttered a little and diverted his attention to the ceiling to avoid looking at Y/N’s exposed behind.

“Shit, I am so sorry,” She sighed, trying to pull the dress down to cover her again. “This is Bebe’s dress. I’m not used to it.”

“No worries,” He looked at her again once it was safe, watching as she crossed the room and rifled through her dresser, pulling a couple of pairs of sweatpants and a few t-shirts out.

“Take your pick,” She threw them onto the end of the bed. “My mom wanted to throw my older brother’s clothes out when he went travelling, but I just repopulated my wardrobe with them.” Kyle grabbed some at random, as did Y/N. She usually wore the hand-me-downs to sleep. “Bathroom is down the hall, and it’s the first door to the left.”

Kyle made his way to the bathroom slowly and sleepily. He got changed into the borrowed clothes that were just slightly too big on his slim frame but very comfortable. They were perfect to sleep in. Once changed, he found his way back to Y/N’s room, where she was pulling her shirt on.

“Sorry!” He diverted his eyes again, realising he’d waltzed in unannounced while she was changing.

“I accidentally flashed my whole ass at you a minute ago because of that scrap of fabric Bebe calls a dress, don’t worry about it,” Y/N laughed, grabbing a wipe to rid herself of the makeup Bebe had put on her. It had smudged a little in her sleep, the eyeliner and mascara pooling under her eyes, making her look more tired than she already felt. “They’re going to order some food in when they get here. You hungry?”

“Starving,” Kyle nodded, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Any idea where from?”

“We always pretend to look at the options for five minutes before deciding on that burger place Kenny works for,” She explained, tying her hair back to keep it out of her face. “The fries are so greasy but so good. We’re lucky we get a friends and family discount with the amount we spend in there.”

“Kenny stops by with food from there on game nights. It’s the best,” He agreed with a small smile.

The sound of a key struggling to unlock the front door rang through the apartment before the 4 friends stumbled in.

“Whooo! Let’s keep this party going!” Clyde cheered loudly, still clutching what appeared to be a bottle of beer, spilling a bit on himself either without noticing or without caring.

“Shh!” Y/N left her room to greet them, followed closely by Kyle. “We have enough noise complaints from the neighbours as it is!”

“And who’s fault is that?” Bebe asked, looking at Y/N smugly. She didn’t seem as drunk in person as she was over text, but Bebe was great at putting on a poker face.

“My one-woman opera in the shower has had many five-star reviews,” Y/N joked. “It’s not my fault our neighbours have no taste.”

“I thought you were being murdered and almost broke the door down,” Stan seemed slightly more sober than the rest of the group but still out of it. He must not have drunk as much after they had left.

“You wouldn’t know true art if it hit you in the face!” She retorted. 

“Yes, I-” Wendy cut Stan off before he could finish what he was saying.

“Don’t!” She held him back. “You’re just asking her to slap you in the face… Again.”

“That was one time!” Y/N protested. “And he baited me into it.”

“You’re staying?” Bebe pointed at Kyle, changing the subject. He nodded in confirmation. She looked him up and down, recognising the clothes to be Y/N’s. A sly smile crossed her lips. “What have you two been up to?” The implications were clear in her voice, but Y/N decided to brush them off without even openly acknowledging them.

“We watched a nature documentary, did sudokus, and then fell asleep until you texted,” Y/N shrugged, knowing that telling the truth would be the best option. Even drunk, Bebe could spot a lie from a mile away. “Did you know that there is a bird in Papua, New Guinea that’s poisonous?”

“The Pitohui,” Kyle added. Y/N smiled at him, happy he had actually paid attention and absorbed some knowledge.

Clyde and Stan whispered something to one another, dissolving in fits of giggles at whatever it was. Y/N knew better than to engage and just ignored them. “Okay, everyone, get your food orders written down somewhere while I grab water and aspirin for you all.” 

“Thanks, Mom!” Stan said sarcastically.

“Fine, then you can suffer,” She rolled her eyes and disappeared to the bathroom to grab the aspirin. She returned to the shared kitchen living space to see that Kyle had already started to get water for everyone. “I have rehydration things somewhere around here.” She mumbled, looking through the cupboards until she found what she was looking for.

“Are you guys seeing this?” Stan pointed at the pair as they prepared the rehydration drinks and aspirin. “This is why I said they needed to meet up. They’re both totally lame.”

“Staniel, we can hear you,” Y/N sighed, grabbing a glass in either hand and passing one to Stan and one to Wendy while Kyle did the same for Bebe and Clyde. “Drink this, take these, thank us later when you only feel slightly shit in the morning instead of completely shit.”

“Have you ordered the food yet?” Clyde groaned, slouching on the sofa. “I’m so hungry.”

“You haven’t given me your orders yet,” Y/N pointed out, but Bebe waved her phone around.

“I started a group chat, and they are in there,” She announced, collapsing on top of Clyde on the couch. “It’s called best friends because that’s what we are.” Y/N sighed and made her way to her room to grab her phone, as she had left it on the bed after Bebe texted her on their way home. Kyle trailed after her, having left his own phone on charge in there.

Y/N checked her messages to see a new group chat had indeed been made and was already flooded with poorly spelt food requests. She assumed the one number she didn’t have saved was Kyle’s, so she quickly saved it under ‘kyle 📗’.

“Here, just add what you want,” She passed her phone over to Kyle after she had input everyone else’s requests. He flicked through and added what he wanted, passing it back to her with a smile.

“Mind if I stay in here while we wait for the food?” He asked, looking over at the door to make sure it was closed. “When Clyde is drunk, he’s a little….”

“Loud? Annoying? More so than usual?” Y/N suggested the descriptions. Kyle nodded a little hesitantly. “Stay in here all you like, dude. I’m staying here as well if that’s okay with you?”

“It’s your room,” He laughed a little. “You don’t have to ask if it's okay with me.”

“Yeah, well, you’re the guest,” She shrugged in response, sitting down on her bed. Kyle followed suit, sitting down next to her. He was so careful in his movements, as if he was worried he was doing something wrong. If Y/N had to be honest, it was a little cute. “I’d bet $10 on Clyde passing out before the food even gets here.”

“I’ll add another $10 for Stan passing out too.”

a/n - let me know if you would like to be on the taglist for this fic

current taglist - @n0tangeliccc @solana-central @charqing-qing @eiizabeth-torres @hand-writxen @audiliah

[daisychainsandbowties]

would lilith be much of a book reader? What kind of books would she read?

right so i think that Lilith has the adhd reader thing where YES she loves to read, NO she doesn’t read. actually she’s always reading twelve books at the same time; no she never finishes any of them.

like any really really intelligent person Lilith is hungry for knowledge, and like any child raised under the press of a thumb she’s willing to get that knowledge wherever she can. her brain is working against her a little but it’s also a beautiful creature because it wants knowledge, but all of it all the time all at once. 

i think she’s on wikipedia and in the NASA archives and on Project Gutenberg constantly. she will literally sit there on her phone for hours doing the fanfiction thing where she tricks her brain into thinking it’s not technically reading because there are no books involved.

she tab-hops like a madwoman but it’s a case of balancing her intense need for information with her brain’s unwillingness to tackle that information in a structured way. inside of ten minutes she’ll read a bit about the Riemann hypothesis, a couple paragraphs of a socratic dialogue, an archived forum page about siphoning gas with your mouth and what petroleum tastes like (keeps waking up with a weird sulfur taste in her mouth. keeps hoping to find some explanation other than ‘it tastes like devil in here’) but if you ask her what she reads she’ll scowl and say ‘nothing.’

but i mean this is the girl who used to sit with Beatrice for hours and just listen to her talk about Galileo and Langer's lines and how to debone a fish. who used to sit by the fire with her dad and listen to random bits of historical apocrypha and who requested Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History of Time as her bedtime story when she was three years old.

she definitely sits on her phone watching 6 hour videos about Dark Souls lore and she reads all the books in Skyrim because they’re like 300 words long and somehow staring at the TV and reading off there is easier than reading a physical book made of paper or reading on the kindle (even when Cam downloads dyslexia-friendly reading aids).

her brain likes to bounce off the walls but it wants to know things. so badly. i think audiobooks are good for her but she plays them at 2x speed so her brain has to kind of do cartwheels to keep up and it gives her the same feeling as listening to heavy metal while she goes and picks up heavy objects and puts them back down again in the gym.

i wrote about this a little before but the sound and texture and the saying of words is very appealing to Lilith. she loves the music of language so i think the only way she can read actual novels for any length of time is to read them aloud (as opposed to subvocating) because choosing where to put emphasis and just feeling the words in her body is enough to keep her suitably entertained (plus lilith post-canon is not a huge fan of silence. she spent a lot of time wandering around in the weird high-pressure hellscape of The Other Side looking for Mary and then Ava. so she treats Bea’s noise-cancelling headphones like they’re going to eat her and she enjoys white noise playlists and having music just playing in the background).

Lilith adores the puzzles that language can make. she actually loved poetry as a kid because it felt to her like she could memorise the poem and work it over in the horrible ‘no talking’ hours that her mother imposed. at night when she couldn’t sleep after her dad died she’d repeat the poems over and over and over again and slowly wring more meaning out of them with each repetition.

she likes when stories are puzzles and, incidentally, one of her favourite things to do is listen to an audiobook on 2x speed while doing sudoku or crosswords.

and Lilith will read anything. she’s not super into fantasy or sci-fi because she has fucking wings and scales and it’s a bit like ‘i’m in this picture and i don’t like it’ but she enjoys classics. has a weird soft spot for Moby Dick and she really likes post-apocalyptic books like The Road by Cormac McCarthy and Parable of the Sower and i think she quite enjoys The Hunger Games and the Wool series. she definitely loves The Broken Earth Trilogy because it somehow gets a free pass with her ‘i’m in this picture and i don’t like it’ hang-up. it does make her cry though (the hand scene really gets to her because sometimes her mother would hold her hand like that, like she wanted to smash it and see if it came back together without the dysgraphia).

but she also rlly likes plays because performance and by god Lilith is a drama queen. she would totally have been a theatre kid if she’d been allowed & she loves performing little monologues and she likes how people sound when they’re angry but in the context of a play because the anger is always under the control of the narrative, and you can stop being angry whenever you want. 

she loves collecting information so when Cam introduces her to Stardew Valley she sits up in bed all night reading wiki after wiki and making little spreadsheets on her excel app for which gifts to give and when and how many of each crop to plant and which trees to grow and where and how many chickens and how much hay and all the different fish and how to organise the layout of the farm. so by the next day Cam wakes up and Lilith has basically a bachelor’s degree in Stardew Valley

and Cam is like ‘oh my god Lily i got you this game so you would relax!’ and Lilith frowning in genuine confusion like ‘i am relaxing??’

she does sometimes just teleport into Bea and Ava’s house & look quite forlorn until Beatrice sits down with her at the island in the kitchen and the pair of them peel oranges.

Beatrice talks about whatever she’s reading about that week, and eventually Ava comes in and explains all the different strategies for winning at Super Smash Bros and her opinions on the objective best tracks in Mario Kart while Beatrice cooks burgers on the grill outside in her baseball cap like somebody’s hot lesbian dad.

& then Lilith checks her phone & pecks Beatrice on the cheek and teleports home in time for Cam to get back from the airport. she tries to make out like she spent the whole weekend very sad and very by herself but Cam is like ‘gimmie your hands’ and then ‘yeah, Lil. i can smell the orange peel.’ 

so i think Lilith is a big reader but it’s not for the sake of stories especially or narratives or for characters or anything it’s for stimulation and knowledge and the words themselves. she’s that meme about the boyfriend who sits eating a sausage with the wikipedia page titled ‘sausage’ open on her computer. she ricochets between subjects and has the most incredible visual recall you’ve ever seen.

probably has a photographic memory but will forget what you asked her to go look for halfway up the stairs. Ava sees her sitting on her phone for literal hours while they’re all at the beach and asks Cam what the hell Lilith is doing because she’s not on social media & Cam is like ‘oh yeah she’s addicted to stack exchange and wikipedia’ and Ava takes a moment, licks melted ice-cream off her knuckle and says ‘wow that’s kind of hot’ and Cam waggles her eyebrows and goes ‘yeah, i know.’ 

[triple-7-heaven]

Kill Switch II

part 1 a/n: things take a turn on the journey that is motolip and reader insert. surprise appearance, surprise smut, surprise sad; this arc contains.. things that i will not spoil in the tags! pairing: reader x kim lip; words: 3.2k ; categories: loona, kim lip, smut, angst, reader insert, longing, motorcycle romance(lol)(?)

Sunday morning was spent at your favorite café, catching up with your best old lady friend. She was entranced, giving you her undivided attention, even ignoring her sudoku game.

"You stayed out that late with her?" she asked incredulously. You'd just finished up the part about driving her halfway home.

"Yeah, guess we clicked," you said happily.

"You'd better let me know what happens; I've run out of dramas to watch on TV," she said before heading back to the kitchen, leaving you with your latte and racing thoughts.

Should I text her? Is it too soon? Would that be annoying? Does she even want to see me again?

A perfectly timed vibration of your phone snapped you out of it.

[08:44]

jungeuniiie: wyd right now chickenstripper97: at that café i mentioned, wbu?

jungeuniiie: on the way to that café you mentioned ^_^

So she did want to see you again. Thank God... You'd sunk so much time into thinking about her, it'd be a shame for it not to work. The time spent wasn't wasted, either; as it turned out, she was pretty much exactly how you fantasized she'd be. Pretty shy, but willing to talk forever about things she liked, intelligent, talented, and funny. Soon enough, Jungeun walked through the door and headed towards you shyly. She wore a brown leather jacket and her long, blonde hair was down, falling beautifully to her chest.

Don't look too long, don't look too long, don't-

"Do I look good or something?" she asked with her eyebrows upturned.

"O-oh, yeah, you do. Y-your hair's pretty long," you said, and she playfully hit your arm. Her hand rested there for a few seconds too long for it not to mean something. The café owner approached and made a face at you; you shook your head. Hopefully she wouldn't embarrass you.

"Finally found you, huh?" she said. Your face heated up right away.

"Thankfully," Jungeun said. She asked for some coffee and a meal, and you talked about what you'd do next time while you waited.

"Why wait until next time? We're here now, we ought to do something," she said. "It's Sunday, so... Something lazy."

"Wanna watch a movie?" you asked.

"Sure, we can head to your place after this!" she replied.

My place..? I didn't mean at my place..? But I guess if she's okay with it that's fine, but I really meant at the theater, but-

“Hello?” she waved a hand in front of your face.

“Sorry, spaced out,” you said. When she'd finished, the old woman came back and you paid her for Jungeun's meal, who kicked you under the table and pouted. You stood and smiled goodbye to the woman, then opened the door for Jungeun to head out.

"Here, follow me back to mine, okay?" you said. She nodded. The both of you sped down the street, and after each turn you made sure she was still with you; soon enough you made it to your garage. You parked inside and headed up to your apartment, Jungeun close behind. Your heart was racing, you felt sweat forming on your forehead. You weren't sure what this was supposed to mean, but... You tried not to read into it too much. Jungeun eagerly entered your apartment as soon as you opened the door. She looked around the same way she'd looked around your garage, with curiosity, with enjoyment. She wandered over to the window, floor to ceiling and spotless with a view over the city. Her hand hovered over your shelf, scanning albums, books, movies, and settled on one movie in particular. It was a favorite of yours, you knew every line, but you weren't against watching it just one more time.

"You're welcome to sit while I get everything going, want any snacks or drinks?" you asked while you moved about the room. Jungeun carefully sat on your couch.

"Oh, sure, thank you," she said, so you grabbed her a glass and a blanket as well. You flicked off the lights and got the film started. Like at the Bugak Skyway, you were watching her, and she was watching the movie. Thankfully she didn't catch you staring. She didn't move much closer to you throughout the film, and you were too nervous to move any closer to her. The credits rolled.

"I'd never seen it, but I'd always wanted to," Jungeun said. "Weird that you had it on your shelf."

"Coincidence?" you mused. She nudged your leg with hers and giggled.

"Ought to head home. I had a good time, thank you for having me over," she said. You felt sad, but took her down the elevator and opened your garage for her so she could head out.

A hug goodbye maybe? A kiss..?

Jungeun patted your shoulder before pushing off and heading out. Well... It's something. Small thoughts swirled into a hurricane inside your heart on the way back up. What did you think would happen? What did you want to happen? You sat on the couch and played video games for hours before falling asleep with the TV still on.

~

The week passed with little to say for it. Work, riding, and radio silence. Friday night came around, and you got off work early. Wouldn't be a bad time to walk around downtown and try to get lucky, right? 

Neon signs in windows lit the way as couples and groups stumbled down the sidewalk. The buzz of conversation and music playing from each doorway mixed and weaved into a melody of night life that you'd sorely missed after being busy with your chase for the last month. Your eyes fell on plenty of pretty girls, but... The one you wanted wasn't there. Your last message had been sitting on delivered for days. Once again... Give up, or change your strategy? You ducked into a bar and approached the bartender. You didn't drink, but tonight you would; maybe it would be easier. You threw back the drink quickly and left cash on the counter, reemerging into the street. Now feeling warm from your stomach, you continued your stroll with your hands in your pockets. Every face on the street told you a different story. That guy just got dumped, but he's with his friends, so he's trying to act fine. That girl's about to get married, tonight is her last dance with night life. What story did your face tell? If anyone noticed you, the story they'd read on your face was one of someone full of hope but empty of expectation; someone who was one more inconvenience away from being done with it all, whose patience ran out a long time ago, who just wanted to feel seen and heard, but went without either.

A sharp pang through your chest when you saw that long, blonde hair. And indescribable pain when you saw a red-faced Jungeun, laughing, hands on his chest as she was pulled into a club by another man. Your breaths quickened. Your inner voice tried, but failed to form any sort of sentence, any explanation or comfort to yourself. You picked up the pace and returned to where you'd parked your bike. One helmet and jacket later, you turned the key and got going. As you went down the street you cast a glance at the club she'd gone into with that guy. Someone on the sidewalk yelled to you for a rev bomb, and you gave a solemn turn of the wrist. Finally, you could think. Wind rushing past and rumbling below.

It started with denial.

She's just drunk. He's just a friend. It's a one-time thing. They aren't together...

It proceeded with anger.

Did you really think someone like her would be with someone like you? Did you really expect her to be single, looking like that? You're so stupid...

It continued into bargaining.

He's so much taller than you. He's probably rich. His arms and shoulders are much bigger than yours. I bet he has a huge bike and a sports car. She's probably in love with him. If you were just better...

As you rounded a corner, depression.

I'm so useless. Everything I do is a waste of time. Why do I even try anymore? Why should I? Things aren't supposed to work out for me...

But acceptance didn't come. It kept flashing in your mind, the image of her, face tinted by alcohol, shining with sweat under the neon lights, smile so bright and wide, hands all over him. His hands were around her waist... God dammit. What did you really expect? For a moment you sat in your garage, staring down at the kill switch that you didn't have to swat small hands away from tonight. You were on autopilot as you closed the garage door and took the elevator up.

Many hours and many video games later, your phone buzzed. Couldn't be...

[01:34]

jungeuniiie: sorry, busy week... was out with my friends tonight, i feel bad for answering so late! :-/

Her friends... You tried to be the tough guy who didn't answer right away, but that just isn't you.

chickenstripper97: oh no problem haha

jungeuniiie: maybe we could hang out tomorrow night?

You couldn't do it. Too soon.

chickenstripper97: ohh actually having a rough time lately, probably gonna stay in

jungeuniiie: oh okay, no problem. hope you feel better :-(

You shut your phone off and kept playing your favorite game for way too long, distracting yourself. You tossed and turned, dreams and nightmares, sweat and discomfort, all through the night.

~

Corner store coffee tasted great when you didn't have the willpower to cook breakfast for yourself. You trudged back out to the sidewalk and stood looking at the cars that passed while you sipped on the coffee and tugged your jacket tighter around your body. You killed most of the day at the track after your coffee, and hours of hard leans and near misses got you in the mood for some barhopping, hoping it would take your mind off things. The same street from the previous night, but a different feeling. You scanned the people walking around and selected a bar to start with. You grabbed a drink, then trudged to a couch in the corner so you could survey the room. More stories on faces, more thoughts to get lost in, more... Your vision was blocked by an hourglass figure and perfectly sculpted thighs peeking out from a very short dress.

"Deep in thought?" the woman asked. You slowly lifted your head, eyes passing over the form-fitting plaid dress, cropped leather jacket, dyed blonde hair, and gaudy chokers to finally meet the eyes of the stranger.

"Guess so," you answered. She sat close to you and crossed one leg over the other, then turned to you, drink in one hand, your shoulder running underneath the other. You got chills, but she didn't notice.

"What's wrong, handsome? Get dumped? Fired?" she asked away.

"Getting ahead of yourself, what about my name?" you said smoothly. She laughed and sipped her drink.

"With a face like that, who needs one?" she said. You raised your eyebrow, and she relented, asking sheepishly and nodding at your answer. "I'm Heejin. Never seen you before... Now, back to it. What's got you looking like that?"

"Girl problems, I guess," you said. You fidgeted with the watered-down beverage in your hands, and she got braver with hers. The hand on your shoulder gave a squeeze, and she set her drink down to place the other on your leg.

"Want me to fix them?" she asked. Her eyes dragged over your whole body, back to your eyes. Without giving you time to answer, she kissed you fiercely. Briefly pulling back, she asked: "Do you want me to stop?"

"No," you said, and slid your hand over her waist to her back. She smiled into the second kiss and gripped you tighter. Her lips were cold from the drink she'd been sipping, tinged with a light fruity flavor. Her tongue brought the taste of alcohol into your mouth, and you sucked on it hungrily. She hummed quietly as she moved her hand from your chest to take hold of your wrist and guide your hand to her leg, which she was in the process of bringing over your lap to straddle you. Heejin was fully on top of you now, making out with you on the couch in a dimly lit bar, music shaking you to the bone, smell of alcohol seeping into your psyche. Before your hands crept from her legs all the way up to her chest, you stopped yourself.

"Come on," you spoke into her ear. She smiled and got up, holding your hand while you strode to the bar and tossed way too much cash on the counter. The bartender shouted a thank you over the loud music and you stepped out onto the sidewalk with Heejin in tow. You gripped her hand and made your way to your bike; her eyes widened. She watched you pull an extra helmet out of the seat compartment, then stood still for you to slide it over her head. You hopped on and she followed, arms tight around your waist. She held you tighter as you began moving. Soon you were home, stumbling inside, making out in the elevator, fighting to get the key in the door, and finally falling into your bed. Heejin quickly shed her leather jacket and you shed your shirt, your lips latched onto her neck, then her nape, then her collarbones, then even lower. She turned around for you to unzip her dress, then slipped it off to reveal her bare chest; no bra tonight, apparently. She shoved your head lower so you could kiss and suck on her chest, which you did happily. Airy moans made their way to your ears as your tongue swirled around her nipple and you moved to the other, all the while massaging her petite breasts with your hands. Your bulge wasn't a secret at this point, and she squeezed and rubbed you eagerly while you showered her chest with kisses.

A sudden knock on the door. Heejin looked up at you, and you made a confused expression. You placed your hands on her hips to give them slow rubs up and down.

"It's deadbolted, I'm not worried about it," you said. She nodded and brought you back down to kiss you again. The knock on the door nagged at you a bit until your mind was wiped blank by the sensation of soft lips around your cock. You were so lost in thought you didn't notice Heejin taking your pants off. On her knees, she bobbed up and down, and your hands went to her long hair. You took fistfuls, gently, of course, and moved your hips slowly. She took you all the way and gagged, and you lifted her to her feet. You kissed her neck again while you slipped your fingers into the waistband of her panties and pulled them from her thick thighs. She smirked and stepped out of them, so you took the invitation. You lay her down and kissed her muscled thighs while gently stimulating her clit to get her going, and she rolled her hips and moaned approvingly. You gave a slow swipe of your tongue up the length of her dripping pussy. She tasted fantastic; sweet, sweaty, ready. Your fingers slid into her first, curling at just the right point to feel that rough patch inside of her.

"Do you want me to fuck you, Heejin?" you asked and stood straight up to look down at her tight, muscular body. She bit her lip and nodded eagerly, so you leaned down to kiss her sternum, then teased her warmth with your tip. You thrusted into her quickly, the sensation was irresistible. The slick that soon coated your shaft made it easy to fuck her deeply; you moved in and out of her rapidly, the tip of your cock reaching deep inside of the small girl, poking at her womb over and over again. She moaned uncontrollably with each thrust. You laced your fingers with hers so she could squeeze your hands tightly. "You're so fucking hot," you mumbled in a raspy voice.

"Fuck, ah... So... Big..!" she whimpered with each stroke. She let go of your hand and started rubbing her clit, causing her to tighten even more.

"Shit, Heejin, I'm-" she locked her legs around you and you felt her body shudder intensely when she came. Of course, the tightening and influx of wetness made you cum, too, but you were too drunk on pleasure to think much about it. Oversensitivity yanked you from your delirious state and your eyes snapped open. Heejin was still panting, cum dripped out of her and onto the sheets. A quick kiss on her cheek, then you pulled out and moved to the bathroom. You got a towel to clean up a bit.

"Mm... Could you get me some water?" Heejin asked quietly. You heard her rustling around in her purse. One trip to the kitchen later, you came back to give her the glass, and she tossed back a small pill before finishing off the water and smiling to you when you gave her the towel.

"You're welcome to stay, you know," you said.

"Just a hookup though, right?" she asked.

"Just a hookup," you laughed. As soon as you came down from the euphoria of the sex, everything came flooding back. Jungeun and that man... Ugh. You wondered what she was up to, probably with him. You wished the girl in your bed right now was her, and cursed yourself for your bad habit of trying to get over girls by using other girls. The key word was trying: you weren't over it. It'd take a while, considering how much time you already wasted hoping she could be yours...

Wait, the knock on the door earlier. A neighbor? Curiosity got the best of you, and you threw on some boxers and walked over to the front door. The peephole didn't reveal anything, so you opened it up and looked up and down the hallway. Then, you spotted a small basket on the floor. It seemed to contain some snacks, but you were more interested in something else: the note stuck to the top.

sorry I didn't catch you while you were home :-( i feel so bad for not answering you all week. i hope you're doing okay, and that this can cheer you up a little. we should go out soon!

text me,

jungeun♡

With Heejin in your arms and Jungeun in your mind, you couldn't stop thinking as you lay with your eyes open, staring at the wall in your pitch black bedroom. Did a one night stand with a hot stranger really prevent you from meeting Jungeun at the door..? Why did she go to this length for you? Why is there a heart by her name? What does 'go out' mean? You'd ask for Heejin's perspective in the morning; she was a woman, after all, so she might be able to offer some wisdom on the subject. For now, though, you held her close to you, and fell asleep listening to her quiet breaths. 

[tchaikovskym]

List of mildly weird enough things I do in my free time I do not feel like I can answer with when asked "what do you do in your free time?":

making playlists

having a tumblr blog

drawing/painting

going through my phone's gallery and deleting pictures from it, so that i am left with only about 1-2 pictures per event (otherwise its hard to scroll your gallery if it is 50 pictures of the day you went to a museum imho)

doing yoga/pilates/workout at home by watching videos on youtube/instructions on web

going through my old whatsapp chats and deleting all the messages one by one, screenshotting the things i would like to remember + changing the background of the chat to a picture from my gallery in chronological order, regardless of the chat or the contents of the picture

in general having a routine for my free time (like sports-do whatever you want-cleaning-art repeat), but with varying degrees of rules of compliance

playing metazooa

reading fan-fiction

writing fan-fiction

going to google maps street view and just letting myself wander around wherever

writing my own original fictional work

reacting to my sister's (and one groupchat's whith her and my younger cousins) with emojis in order as they are until she notices (currently at the nose emoji)

making uquizzes

writing reviews of tv-shows

browsing through the library of babel in hopes to find something coherent (this is the newest addition to the list)

playing solitaire, sudoku and a match-3 game

keeping a journal

keeping a 'poems' file in case when i feel too much emotions and want to write bad poems

making stuff without any instruction with whatever materials i can get (like when i made a wobbly fan from a cardboard box, my old homework papers, and a deformed paperclip)

thinking and jumping with joy with what i assumed was an original idea, while a quick google search says that no, it was not actually an original idea (this happens too often)

This has led me to have no answer when asked "what are your hobbies? you do have hobbies, right?"

[inlocusmads]

2,5,6,8,25,27,96 for Trystan and Nora :)

oc relationship asks masterlist

2. Who is the one who fusses the most? Does their S/O mind very much?

Trystan lmfao.

Nora's like "I have dealt with so much shit, nothing fazes me anymore." Honestly she doesn't mind Trystan's miniscule rants about the porosity of a bagel or the concentration of lemony scent in a box of detergent. In fact, he's just so articulate and clever with his fusses that Nora welcomes it. Honestly, she just likes hearing him talk and his voice, anyway.

5. What is something they like to do together?

They've kind of started exploring each other's interests. Trystan enjoys watching survivalist reality TV with her because he gives his own ESPN commentary which makes Nora laugh. They watch films sometimes, talking about its themes late into the night. Nora got into crosswording after Trystan roped her into it. They also enjoy, like fixing things and filing things, cooking - just random mundane day-to-day activities.

What started as a "I'm doing it for the company of a partner" turned into like, massively obsessive interests. Nora learned she liked Sudoku better than crosswords and found a new interest in aircraft spotting. Trystan discovered he is actually good at soccer (even though he insists on calling it 'football') and picked up a few tricks (which unfortunately came at the expense of breaking a few windows) and got into card games - which spiralled into an interest in card tricks and sleight of hand.

It's like, they'll get into something, they'll introduce each other to it, they'll get into whatever the other's into and just, do their own thing until something happens and one thing leads to another and the cycle repeats over again.

6. Who would ask the "would you love me if I were a worm?"

I think neither of them would actually know. It'd randomly pop up in a conversation, they'd get all meta about it and there's that.

It's Nora. Definitely her. She does it to mess with Trys out of sheer boredom. Then they talk about something completely different before Trystan derails it with a flirtatious comment and Nora's like "dude. it's about the momentum." and cannot get it out of her head for the entirety of that day.

8. Who is the big spoon? Little spoon?

Answered here. TL;DR: Both of them.

25. Do they have any pet names for one another?

Oh yes of course. Except they are more of a spur of a moment thing and just forgotten later on. Trystan sticks to calling her 'detective'. It's sometimes used endearingly, sometimes used in a 'tch-tch' way.

Nora cannot stick to one name. She goes with 'Trys' for a while, then switching to 'yeah yeah, stranger on the road, what about it' to purposefully mispronouncing his name because she's a bastard like that. (Inclusive but not limited to - 'Try-STAN', 'Tryst-ahn', 'Triz', 'Trix', 'Tim' and whatever she wants to smush between two vowels or two consonants.)

27. Who tends to drive on long journeys? Who navigates?

Nora drives usually. Mostly because Trystan's the type of person to go 'yolo mfers' and hit the accelerator until it reaches 140 kmph.

Besides, Trystan's better at navigation anyway. He's a lot more calm, while Nora on the map would be like, "NO NO RIGHT, WRONG RIGHT WRONG RIGHT, DUDE HIT THE BRAKES, DUDE - YOU'RE GOING LIKE, FIFTY STEPS IN THE WRONG DIRECTION!" when Trystan wouldn't have even started the car.

96. Who reads the newspaper? Who wants to see the cartoons?

Trystan reads the newspaper. Nora flips it to the page with the comics on it. She'd also have a pencil to do some Sudoku and share some fun fact in the trivia section.

It's cause, Trystan's just endlessly fascinated with just the most obscure, oddly specific reports that are written in local newspapers. And his knowledge comes in handy too, when they're working cases and he draws connections from what he's read in the papers. The sudoku and trivia section help Nora remember random bits of information that sort of trains her memory, so she doesn't have to depend overly on her pocket notebook and write every detail she ever comes across.

Thank you so much for asking! They were so fun!

[hibernationsuit]

2, 13, 16, 34 and 40 for my beloveds toby and klara :3

ehehehehehee thank u <3 putting part of these under the cut so it won't look long on people's dash ehsjfkdnfn

2. What was their first date like? If they haven’t been on a date yet, how would it go?

technically there's two of them!!! bc i'm also counting the ones they had as friends too >:3

First date as friends: going to a cafe together after noticing that they're both sttending the same debate club. They didn't know much about each other at this point other than names and like, being in the same friend group, so they just went to hang out and get to know each other <3

After three chocolate lattes, two large strawberry iced teas, one carrot cake and one chocolate croissant, they noticed that it's actually dark outside and Maybe they should go, you know, home. But they were having so much fun so they decided to go to Klara's apartment instead to watch a new episode of one tv show (one of the only one Tobias actually likes sjdbfkfkfk).

First date as a couple: surprisingly, same cafe. BUT during the evening bc said cafe starts serving very tasty (non-alcoholic) cocktails and beverages AND some delicious dinner that really makethe place feel fancier. They're both not into public display of affection which is why this was also spent as a good time to talk about stuff, this time more serious things though :3c They went to Toby's place after that :^)

13. What would they say each other’s best quality is?

Klara abt Toby: optimistic views, never concentrating on all the bad things that could happen and instead seeing the "good" possibilities and always supporting people when they're having awful moments in their life

Toby abt Klara: self confidence and independency, which allows her to do everything she wants without being afraid to be judged, yet at the same time always respecting others

16. What would they consider quality time?

all time spent together is quality time as long as they're both enjoying it!!! Be it just laying on a couch together while one is watching tv and the other is solving sudokus or going to another city as an adventure, they see these both as quality time <3

34. Who is more stubborn?

They're both equally stubborn in different situations but I'd say Klara's stubborness may be more visible because she stubborn in many different things that are maybe more often encountered in every day life. Tobias gets stubborn on more serious, rare things that often have something to do with "greater good" (example: "what do you mean i should wait and see instead of exposing the company. it's not like they're gonna kill me or anything" *gets shot by his boss for trying to do that a few hours later*) which is why it's not that visible in their relationship dfjkfkfkfkf

40. What do they do when they miss one another? Is one more needy than the other/s?

They're both absolutely ridiculous considering how they just can't stay away from each other for too long lmaoo If they need to like, stay at work for longer time (they both are also workaholics sadly and sometimes their jobs require them to be away from home for several days if not more) they always make sure to call each other or send messages to each other <3

During less busy times they also tend to go on a lunch together :3

oc relationships ask game

[rajanilefreak]

phone usage and bad parenting rant

So I guess my mom wants to start a war of pettiness with me again over my phone and how much time I spend on it.

And in most cases with other people I am likelier to give the parent in the situation all the validity. I do spend a LOT of time in my phone reading fanfiction or watching youtube videos. BUT my mom is a whole different beast in this category.

So here we have this grown ass woman that managed to give me an allergy to any sort of news channel or program of any sort because that was the only fucking thing she put on during meals since I was a literal child and because she didn't bother to cultivate an interest on the news in me. I literally spent meal time bored out of my mind because it's not like she's going to bother explaining the most complicated topics or even just regular conversation because she is too focused on what's going on in the news to interact with her own child. Adding to that the fact that my family was always very delayed when it came to getting new technology make for a me that is very fascinated with android because they are like a phone and a computer put together.

This, of course, results in a young adult that has the tendency of zoning out during meals, which seem to be the only time mother dearest has for actual family bonding aside from some weekends (only some because me be busy too), latching onto my phone for my reading which, of course, she doesn't like.

But thing is... she had a lot of opportunities to foster some interaction with me. it's not like it's the first time she complained about my phone habits and I stated right back to her that it didn't matter because she wouldn't be talking to be anyway and then spent a few days not touching the phone during meals just to prove a point (which she either failed to notice, or only bothered correcting course for like one or two meals before going back to ignoring me and only occasionally releasing some commentary that didn't even really need my reply at all). And not just during meals either. I've went as far a sitting right there next to her on the couch for the perfect opening for her to talk to me. heck, I've even went as far as actually starting the conversations to see if she finally woke up and smelled the roses. But always, ALWAYS, she just kept on watching the tv show or movie she was watching or doing her sudoku puzzles or what else she might have on hand and all conversation I started would just fizzle out with only me making an effort.

Adding to that, the few times she does want to talk it always has to be about things she cares about. She definitely doesn't care to make an effort in understanding my interests (she's definitely one of those people that sees their teens watching anime and asks if they aren't getting too old to watch cartoons but then refuses to take the time and see what they like about them, let alone any other interest they might get).

She is also stupidly competitive when it comes to the kitchen. There was a time I was considering investing in getting myself a café. So, of course, i wanted to practice a bit my baking. And I'm fairly good as a baker, not extraordinary, but fairly good for as little experience I have. the problem with testing my potential future products is that we'd have to eat them because we don't have a lot of friends (for multiple reasons), let alone anyone close enough to deliver the goodies to while still fresh, so we'd have to eat most of them ourselves, especially since money was tight.

And despite knowing that I needed to practice baking if I wanted to open a caffé (which was originally an idea she pitched at me herself), she decided it was the perfect time for her to start baking sweets too. So, not only did I have less time in the kitchen because she was there, I also had to be more mindful of what was purchased because, as I said, money was tight.

Not only that, but also my mom absolutely loves to fat shame her daugthers. And I mean, she was already fat shaming us before we actually became overweight over stuff we ate. And with her also baking stuff that we would have to eat (which she always pushed the lion share to me because she's "old and has to be mindful of her health and doesn't want to get fat"), of course I ended up gaining weight. So I had to stop baking or I would become the size of a house on top of dealing with her bullshit.

And it's not like we could both work together on baking the same thing because she only cared about baking what she wanted and even if I magically convinced to bake the things I wanted to practice she is very much the type to be as unhelpfull as possible. very 'it's her way or not at all' type of person. just imagine those backseat drivers and you get the point. And it's not just in baking. It's in everything.

So, not even in the things we do have in common can we actually communicate in a healthy manner.

With all of this said would you rather be on your phone doing something you like and that relaxes you or would you rather either being ignored the whole time (literally replacing you with a wall would have the same effect for the few dialog options she has), shamed for being overweight but then having the excess food shoved your way anyway because this lady's health is more important than yours and she absolutely insists we can't waste food, or have her rant at you over some perceived failing you had?

Honestly, i much prefer the fanfics or watching a youtuber rant. As least the first is relaxing and the second far more entertaining.

So yeah, i agree that my phone usage is excessive at time and I got some very habits out of it, but when the only other option is... THAT! Well. I think I'm actually healthier that I would have been otherwise.

[supercorp-exile]

Didn't write anything new for Supercorptober today, but this is my fave thing I've ever written and I feel it fits the theme, so here goes.

Summary: National City enjoys a quiet night, and Kara and Lena are lonely

Read on AO3

13. quiet

National City was still. Way too still for Kara’s taste. It was gray and stilted and suspended in time. No crime. No movement. No people going about their lives. It felt too much like her own life. Even the wind was static, silent and allay as it so rarely was here, blowing soft and lazy to conceal its presence. The sky was clear, but there were no stars to be seen. Numb. Void.

Kara felt bleak. It seemed the whole world had stopped and tilted on its axis. She hadn't felt like herself for a long time now. Everything seemed wrong. And now, it seems, the world outside was reflecting her inner mood, all the turmoil she had felt not too long ago gone and replaced by quiet resignation.

She cradled her mug closer to her chest, blowing a little on the hot cocoa still unfinished in her hands. Sitting on her windowsill felt, watching the world outside in its dead stupor, she felt disturbed. Unsettled. Like something was missing. She looks at the frame again, resting by her feet. She was happy then. If only she'd been braver.

A sigh escaped her lips, and she closed her eyes, resting her head on the window. Her face was sore from crying so much earlier. Kara took a deep breath and released, concentrating on the sound around her. The faint wind moving the leaves on the trees almost imperceptibly; the sound on the TV on in the next apartment, showing a rerun of The Bachelorette; a mother singing her baby to sleep; a lone car passing by a few streets over; the sound of water running while someone did the dishes; a teenager in bed, humming along to a song blasting on his ears; a husband and wife having a discussion about something silly.

Proof that life still went on around her, even though she couldn't see it. It was soothing. A smile crept up on her face, unannounced. Kara hadn't smiled much lately. She tried. It felt off of her not to. But was crooked and pale and it never quite reached her eyes. She breathed again, slower, and focused, searching for her city’s pulse.

She found Lena’s instead. A strong heartbeat, like a drum playing sweet music to her ears. She tried to imagine what she would be doing. Sitting at her kitchen counter, a leg up pressed against her chest, one hand holding a fancy glass of wine and the other going fast through paper, doing the sudoku puzzles she loved so much. Kara felt her eyes well up again and her chest tightened.

She was tired of crying. Tired of missing Lena, of trying to mend the bridge she’s broken between them and only managing to widen the gap, of feeling like a coward, and feeling angry at Lena for not telling her she knew and then angry at herself for judging Lena like that. Tired of longing.

Releasing the sob she couldn't hold anymore, Kara let herself cry once again. She searched the city for a sound, a scream, a sign of trouble, anything to keep her mind off Lena for another 10 minutes. But there was nothing. Today, National City was still. And Kara felt it in her bones.

Chapter 2

[anisrightarm]

Y/n Baker pt 3

Pt 1 pt 2

TW:Breif mentions of self harm! If this is triggering I will put a TW before and after so you can skip it!

———————————————————-

(The next day)

Y/n woke up at 10 the next morning, stretching and checking her phone seeing her label is on her ass about the album she rolled her eyes and got out of bed to get dressed whilst unanimously making the decision to ignore everyone but Megan.

Once she was dressed she went down to the kitchen to make some breakfast for herself , it’s been awhile since she’s eaten and taken her pills and taken care of herself without the help of Megan, as she reached the kitchen she was shocked when she saw Colson sitting at the island with his head in his hands, she was about to ask him about it when she remembers the decision she made earlier that morning.

Y/n walked over to the fridge to get some eggs to make breakfast, she set everything she needed on the island when Colson looked up expecting Y/n to ask what’s wrong but she never did, he knew he fucked up, I mean hell she’s his little sister he’s supposed to be there for her like she’s always there for him but he was being selfish, he remembers all of those times that she cleaned him up after getting jumped or after a bad high, he never thanks her he feels like a dick but he knows it’s too late to apologize, he has to wait for Y/n to forgive him which could take a while it always does.

As Y/n was cooking breakfast she felt arms pull her into a hug and a cheerful voice “Morning Y/n/n!” Y/n chuckles “Morning Meg, want breakfast?” Y/n asked the mop of black hair with a laugh.

“What are you making chef?” Megan asked now hungry, Y/ns cooking is always the best no matter what she cooked.

“I was making an omelet for myself but I’ll make you one too if you want!” Y/n respond as she flipped the egg.

“YES!” Megan Shouted excited, she looked at Colson and rolled her eyes still mad at him for ignoring y/n hence why she slept in Y/ns room and had a girls night, y/n chuckles at Megan’s excitement for a simple omelet “ok”

———————————————————————

A little while later both girls finished their omelets they started talking about the album, Y/n enjoyed talking to Megan about anything and everything, Megan listened to her better than anyone ever has, at this point she’s closer to Megan then she is to Colson, which is weird considering he’s y/ns brother.

Megan kept y/n busy; She did sudokus with her, helped write some lyrics, watch Criminal Minds and fan girl over Hotch together all while Colson moped around thinking about how’s he going to approach Y/n with out her slapping him, not that he didn’t deserve it, Colson knew he was either sleeping on the couch or Megan was sleeping in y/ns room he hopped Megan would forgive him but judging by the looks Megan gave him when ever he approached y/n it was a no, he couldn’t blame her since he’s always been protective of y/n everyone is it’s a common thing that if someone went after y/n all of the boys would be on their asses.

Y/n sat up from the couch where her and Megan were stationed watching TV, y/n yawned and Megan chuckles “tired y/n/n?” Megan askes already getting up to go nap with y/n seeing how vulnerable y/n was and she didn’t want y/n to do anything stupid TW when y/n was younger she had a bad track record of cutting, to this day you can still see scars sprinkled around her body,peaking out of bracelets and tattoos, Megan didn’t want y/n to go back down that path so she was sticking with her TW OVER.

“Yea , I didn’t sleep well last night.” Y/n rubbed her neck awkwardly as she headed to her room that she uses when she’s over at Colsons, she’s staying over since Colson’s going to future on her album so they both decided that y/n could chill over there.

Y/n flopped down on her bed and pulled the covers over her and turned her fan on, Y/n turns to Megan “Are you sleeping in here?” She questions her tiredly, Megan shakes her head yes and climbs into bed and they both feel asleep.

I’m so sorry that I ended this chapter like this! I’m blanked out of ideas!

[eileen-crys]

What are some current! Johnica head cannons you have?

Ow omg thanks for asking me this 🥺💕💕💕 Ok let's see...

- They have a big garden and both arranged it with a nice bench and trees so it looks a bit like a park and they can enjoy a little walk outside without prying eyes or paparazzi around. In summer John puts little lanterns all around, and in winter he changes them with fairy lights, while Veronica takes care of the flowers.

- John loves sweaters and sweater vests even more than he already did. Veronica has learned how to knit and do embroidery just to make him pretty and unique sweaters 😊💕

- Meanwhile, he's a master of sudoku and you can't change my mind. He also likes crosswords, but sudoku are his favourite.

- John snores a lot at night and sometimes they fight because he doesn't want to wear that nose thingie to stop it and Veronica doesn't want to wear earplugs 😅

- With age, John became a little more religious and sometimes on sunday they go to church together, trying to blend in. Not that often tho because John finds it boring, it depends on his mood.

- After all that happened, Veronica treats him softly, also helping him with therapy. She's always very very patient. In exchange he got quite cuddly with her, specially when they're watching tv on the sofa or going outside. There are many things he regrets from his crazy life, but choosing her is surely not among them 💕

[phykios]

honesty and promise me, co-written with @darkmagyk [read on ao3]

“I’m in love,” Piper tells her when she shows up for another fitting. “Have you seen the new Beyonce video?”

“I heard the song.” Annabeth says, “isn’t that enough?”

“God, your whole play-acting thing is too far if you’re pretending to not like Beyonce.”

“I never said that.” Annabeth holds up her hands, “I like the song. But I did not see the video.”

“Well, when you see it, you’ll be in love too, but I will fight you.”

Piper could be scrappy in a fight. But Annabeth had been a champion fencer in high school.

“Kidding!” Piper says at her look. “There’s plenty of them to go around.” She didn’t even start to drape fabric over Annabeth, pushing her onto a muslin covered couch, and then pulling the video on the TV. She didn’t have one of those voice control devices. Because she was friends with Leo, and he was pretty firm on them being evil. “But I do call dibs on the main guy. The CALVES. The thighs. He’s unreal.”

“That good?” Piper went all ways, though as of late she gravitated towards women more often than not, so this was some high praise indeed. 

“Unreal, I am telling you. Like, the hand of God came down and sculpted him personally out of marble.”

Already in her recent watch history, the thumbnail of the video greets them, the song title splashed across the TV screen, weaving between  a very, very familiar set of legs. 

Like, intimately familiar. 

In something of detached horror, she watches the camera pan up, lovingly lingering on every inch of bare skin, following the muscles of his calves (which were unreal) to his knees then his thighs (which Annabeth had spent almost too much time between now), up his torso and his chest (which she knew made for an excellent pillow) to Percy’s face, set in a firm, hard stare. 

And that fucking blue lipstick again. 

She can’t even focus on Beyonce herself, too distracted by the way her hand traces the length of Percy’s outstretched thigh held in perfect arabesque as she gracefully drapes herself over him, crooning softly into his ear.

Annabeth should do that next time. That’s her spot, after all. 

Tearing her eyes away from the screen even as Piper watches, enraptured, she slips out her phone, sending a quick, furious text. 

annabeth: BEYONCE???????

A minute, then he responds. 

percy: oh lol i didn’t realize that came out today 😁

percy: what’d you think?

annabeth: i think im going to kill you later

“Just look at him,” Piper says, pausing on Percy’s form, his arms outstretched, fingers placed delicately around a bar. “I mean--look at him!”

“Yeah,” she chuckles, maybe a little uneasy. “He’s alright I guess.”

Incredulous, Piper swivels her head. “Alright? Alright? Do you need your eyes checked?”

She just shrugs. 

Why is she being so weird about this? It’s just Piper. She’s trained to find symmetry and beauty in bodies. They’ve happily shared crushes and fixations plenty of times before, so why is Annabeth being so weird about Percy? It’s not like they’re… you know… dating or anything. Just hooking up a bit. 

Piper squints at her, then shrugs herself. “Fine. I don’t have time to get an answer out of you anyway. Come on.”

“Speaking of time,” Annabeth says, following Piper back into the kitchen studio, “I have to head out by 6:30.”

“Oh yeah?” Piper’s head is buried in her belt box, searching for the perfect accent. “What for?”

“I’ve got a show to catch.”

“Kind of early,” she says, pulling out something thin and silver. “Don’t you usually meet Thalia at the ass crack of midnight?”

“Well I kind of want to eat first.”

“Okay.” She cinches the belt around her waist, tight. “Then you’re going to have to help me with this skirt.”

***

Hands aching from hours of macrame, Annabeth walks up to the box office window at the Koch Theater at 7:46, having a handful of second thoughts. 

Old, uppity white couples keep shooting her some particularly intense passive aggressive glares, some of them even venturing into actually aggressive territory, which usually wouldn’t even register on her very short list of things to care about, except that she is feeling woefully out of place. The lady in front of her has ten pounds of diamonds hanging off of each old, wrinkly ear, and the best Annabeth could do was fish out her least-ripped pair of jeans, pairing it with one of her nicer black shirts, the sleeves long enough to cover most of her tattoos. The macrame kept her longer than she had meant, so she didn’t have time to change before dinner, but fuck it, right?

She did also take out most of her face jewelry on the way. But she left the nose stud, obviously. And the tongue piercing. And the industrial, because Percy really likes those, so she doesn’t feel that bad about it. And he hadn’t even told her about this until after she had already given herself the half-undercut, so it’s not like she could do anything about that either.

“Can I help you?” At least this box office worker isn’t giving her the stink-eye. 

“I’m here to pick up a ticket? Should be under ‘Jackson.’” He’d offered to leave it under her name, but this was safer. She doesn’t think her mom is a big ballet person, but she isn’t about to risk it, either.

She slides the ticket towards Annabeth beneath the glass plane. “Enjoy the show,” she says, with a quirk of her mouth that is surprisingly sincere for someone in customer service. 

She’s pretty sure she’d enjoy the show more if she weren’t panicking thinking about getting dirt on their fancy carpets. Her boots are clean, of course, and she doesn’t really care, but she doesn’t want to, like, embarrass Percy or whatever. She’d asked him if she should dress up, but he’d assured her otherwise. “No one’s going to care, I promise,” he’d told her the night before, her lounging in his bed while he did some pushups. “And if anyone says something, let me know and we can kick their ass after the show together.”

“Great. Guess I don’t have to break out the Chanel, then.”

He’d paused, frowned, then huffed a laugh, shaking his head. Like the idea of Annabeth wearing Chanel was hilarious. Like what she’s wearing tonight really is the best that she can do.

Self-consciousness isn’t really a feeling that Annabeth has anymore. She’s spent so many years chafing against expectations, shucking them off when she inevitably failed to meet them, desperate for a place, a crowd where she could just be. In her scene, she doesn’t have anything to prove to anyone, and when Percy is out with her, he doesn’t need any convincing. He likes her. He likes her a lot, she thinks. He likes her enough to let himself be dragged out to every shitty dive bar and shittier rock show in New York City, laughing and cheering and holding her close the whole time. He likes her enough to cart her to his apartment at 4 AM, inevitably waking Nico up from his undead slumber, and leave her with nothing but a glass of water and a kiss on the forehead. And she likes him, too--a lot. Annabeth likes Percy enough to ditch her band t-shirts for a night and track mud on the carpet of the Koch Theater and willingly sit through a performance of fucking Swan goddamn Lake of all things, and it’s only a little scary how much she is willing to do for him after only a few months of fucking him. Because this really isn’t her scene, not anymore. 

The weight of everyone’s stares bears down on her, threatening to crush her beneath them, a feeling she was so sure she’d left behind. 

At least Percy had been thoughtful enough to get her a ticket out of the way in the back of one of the balcony sections. It’s a bit of a hike, but the audience members aren’t dressed quite as nicely as the ones downstairs, and she feels like she can breathe a little easier.

She pulls out her phone, checking her text messages on instinct. There’s a selfie from Percy in his stage makeup (and she’s not going to lie… he looks fucking pretty), with his standard accompanying three blue heart emojis. She can’t help it, her heart skips a beat and she can’t help but smile, even as she rolls her eyes. She’s just about to send him something appropriately sarcastic when another text notification slides in. It’s from her father. 

Hi Annabeth… I was talking to a friend in Boston who said he's looking for a new 

prospective in his architecture firm. Passed your information along. 

Love you, dear

She swipes it away. Deletes the whole text conversation, for good measure. 

Forget about him. This night is about Percy.

A few minutes later, so engrossed in Percy’s program bio (it’s about all she can focus on right now), she doesn’t even notice everyone around her leaning forward in breathless anticipation, until the warm, honey-like sound of the oboe draws her head up. 

Roughly two minutes in, she’s really wishing she had attempted the synopsis. The extent of her knowledge of Swan Lake is a few half-remembered orchestra rehearsals in her teens and reading the Wikipedia article on that Natalie Portman movie a few months ago, and she definitely doesn’t recall there being anything about any Men-in-Tights looking motherfuckers prancing around. They’re sort of bobbing, back and forth, elegantly stepping from one side of the stage to another. Even from back here, she can see the delicate, precise placement of their hands, fingers curved just so, moving through space as though they aren’t bound by the laws of physics.

The fingers, she remembers. She could never get the hang of the fingers. Her old ballet teacher had given up on them after a week, and that had been the beginning of the end for that particular extracurricular. 

Now her fingers tap on her jeans, impatient, far faster than the easy going music on stage. She’s just about to give in to the millennial instinct and pull out her phone, maybe play a round of sudoku, when the dancers motion as one to the back corner, and Percy comes stepping out. His hair is perfectly slicked back, gelled down, any hint of curl beaten into submission, and his smile is small, but white, gleaming against the tanned brown of his skin. She can’t help but smile back, like he could somehow see her. Finally, she thinks, relaxing a little more into her seat. Something to watch.

On his off days, her off days, any day when she would spent the night at his (always at his, never at hers) and wake up wrapped in his comforter and the smell of seawater, she would take the blanket with her and steal into his living room, curl up on his couch with her feet tucked under her legs, and watch him dance. She’s seen him drill these sequences over, and over, and over again, counting furious sequences of sixes and eights beneath his breath in duet with the thuds of his feet on his floor. Most times he would notice her and shoot her a grin, granting her permission to observe the artist at work. Sometimes, though, he would be so caught up in his body, the shifting of his feet and the music in his head, that it was like he couldn’t see her at all. Seemingly alone, he would dance, uninhibited, and she would be struck by a feeling that she usually reserves for specific monuments. Watching Percy dance in his apartment, in his brown tights and black tank top, lost in his own world, is like looking at pictures of the Gateway Arch, or the Hoover Dam, or the Parthenon.

She searches for that feeling now, leaning forward in her seat, eyes hungrily raving his form, but she just doesn’t see it. It’s… honestly, it’s a little boring. She won’t lie. He had warned her it would be something of a slow start, but this isn’t exactly an ADHD friendly medium, and she is losing her patience, just a bit. He’s so reserved, like he’s holding something close to his chest, impersonal as he takes the hands of the female dancers and lets them twirl around him. 

Personally, Annabeth thinks that he looks kind of lost. Maybe he’s just nervous--it’s a big role and he’s a young guy. But he had seemed fine when he’d kissed her goodbye just after lunch. 

The court jester is killing it though. Feeling just the slightest bit guilty, she lets her eyes drift over to him, deciding to watch him for a while instead.

On some level, she does appreciate the skill on display here. Percy can raise his back leg in a perfect ninety degree angle that would make her architecture professors sweat. The girls drift back and forth across the stage on the tips of their toes, weightless and ethereal. It’s mesmerizing, and she lets herself be mesmerized.

Time must slip away from her, because she blinks and all of a sudden the stage has gone from sunny yellow to cool blue, the crowds of dancers having vanished. He is alone on stage. Percy kneels in a deep lunge that makes her thighs ache just looking at him (and for… other reasons), his arms and his attention pointed to the wings, with a… Annabeth squints. When the hell did he get a crossbow?

But everything is swept to the sides when the White Swan tiptoes her way on stage, impossibly graceful, and all of a sudden, Annabeth gets it. 

It feels a little cliche to say, but the way that woman moves on the floor really does remind her of those old, vintage jewelry boxes, suspended in animation, moved by some otherworldly force. It’s amazing. It’s a little terrifying. Sublime is the word that comes to mind as Annabeth watches her. Her arms move with fluidity, perfect curves, her fingers trailing behind her like wings. 

And Percy is just as mesmerized as Annabeth is. As the audience is. 

A few things hit her, in rapid succession. First, that Percy is, actually, a really good actor. His reticence before--he’d been playing a character. He’d been playing aloof and reserved and unmoored, because Percy--Siegfried--whatever--has been waiting his whole life for something to fulfill him, until this singular moment, the moment he laid eyes on this beautiful creature. Second, that she doesn’t need words to understand what’s going on. It’s all there, in every look and gesture and step, as the two characters circle each other, slowly but irrevocably falling in love. And third, that she recognizes the look on his face. It’s the look that Percy gives her when she has been talking for too long and he can’t get a word in edgewise, or when she screams along to the god awful underground bands, three beers in and missing every single fuck she’d ever had, or when she wakes up after him to Percy’s arms around her waist, her hair in his mouth and her head resting against his collarbone. She recognizes it, because that’s the look that Siegfried has for Odette. Because that’s the look that Percy has for Annabeth. Because he loves her.

And fourth, that that doesn’t make her as happy as she wishes it would. 

There’s a cold pit in her stomach for the rest of the show, a turning screw that twists in deeper, minute by minute, with every turn of the dancers. She wastes the next hour trying to puzzle this out, not even pretending to watch the drama unfolding on stage, because it makes no goddamn sense. (Her situation, not the ballet--she managed to skim the synopsis during intermission, her foot tapping incessantly against the blessedly empty seat in front of her.) Things are great between them. It’s been a heady, intoxicating four months, full of bubbles and butterflies, sweet, soft mornings, and some really, really phenomenal sex. This should make her happy. This should put her over the fucking moon, and she cannot, for the life of her, figure out why it doesn’t.

The prima ballerina comes back out as the Black Swan, just as poised and precise as her counterpart, but she’s a great actress as well, because there is something undeniably different about her. Her arms move like rubber, like joints are just an afterthought, wrapping themselves around Percy’s neck and shoulders. She misdirects his attention, drawing his eyes to her wrists, her clavicle, the curve of a leg or the point of her toe. Seducing him. Tricking him. 

Like Annabeth. 

Because try as she might to run from it, Annabeth isn’t who she says she is. She wants so desperately to be this fuck-the-rules, fight-the-power, punk rock princess that she took every part of her that didn’t fit that image and tried to rip it out of her, bloody and struggling. Her trust fund, her two (two!) Harvard degrees, her enriched childhood and her bright and shining future; she took it all out back and shot it, and prayed that would be the end of it. She’s a phony, just like that goddamn Black Swan. Percy is in love with a phony. 

Her sweet, wonderful, devastatingly kind and handsome Percy--she tricked him and made him fall in love with a mishmash of archetypes and aesthetics, distracting him with nose piercings and ripped t-shirts and ugly, deafening noise. 

She’s not surprised that she’s crying when the curtain falls. She’d never known that Siegfried and Odette both died at the end. 

When the cast reunites for curtain call, Percy is given a standing ovation, and Annabeth enthusiastically joins in, wiping the tears from her eyes, smearing her makeup. 

She doesn’t wait for him at the stage door, but sits on the steps of the theater, plucking at her sleeves, aching for a drink and wishing she had had the presence of mind to wear something a little nicer. Percy finds her there almost an hour after the show ended. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

In the dark of night, illuminated only by streetlamps, she can’t read his face--but she can read exhaustion, in every part of his body. “I was waiting for you by the stage door.”

Something in her stomach goes cold. “I… wasn’t sure if I was allowed,” she offers, weakly. 

He smiles, a light in the dark. “Of course you’re allowed,” he says, offering her a hand. “Shall we?”

She knows what will happen next. She’ll take his hand, and they’ll walk to the subway together, fingers intertwined. They’ll get on the 1 train headed north, and Percy will let her rest her head against him, tilting his head back against the window, eyes closed, almost asleep. The doorman will nod at them as they walk up to Nico’s apartment, barely batting an eye at his sweats and her ripped jeans, the two of them sticking out like a sore thumb in a sea of impeccably dressed rich New Yorkers. Nico will wave at them distractedly from his office, gulping down his sixth coffee of the night, and they’ll tiptoe into his room, falling asleep in each other’s arms with little more than a good night kiss. 

Which, of course, is exactly what does end up happening.

Almost. 

Annabeth crawls on top of him in his bed, kissing him soft and senseless. She doesn’t know where he’s getting this energy from, but she is not complaining as he slips up inside of her, the two of them rocking each other gently to orgasm, their foreheads pressed together. Shuddering as he comes, he captures her mouth in another kiss, pouring every ounce of love he has in him into her.

A waste, honestly. 

But as far as goodbye sex, it’s pretty damn great. 

She needs to end this, before either of them get hurt. It’s the least of what he deserves, after all. To put yourself out there, to offer yourself up like that, that might be the bravest thing Annabeth’s ever heard of, and surely, Annabeth can find the courage to do what needs to be done.

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

Something Held | Feeding Habits Update #8

Hi all!

Not me not realizing it’s been 3 months since I posted a Feeding Habits update hahahahahaha. Today let’s chat chapter nine, SOMETHING HELD. This also marks the last chapter in Harrison’s POV so prepare to say goodbye to this icon!  TW: body horror, mental illness, trauma

Just a reminder: This is my original work and plagiarism of any form will not be tolerated.

Scene outline, excerpts & a little reflection on making difficult decisions that my not particularly benefit the book but benefit you as the writer under the cut because this update is GIGANTIC.

General taglist (please ask to be added or removed):

@if-one-of-us-falls, @qatarcookie, @chloeswords, @alicewestwater, @laughtracksonata, @shylawrites, @ev–writes, @jaydewritesfiction, @jennawritesstories @eowynandfaramir, @august-iswriting​, @aetherwrites​

Scene Breakdown

Scene A:

It has been two weeks since Lonan found Harrison at his shared apartment with Suzanna and things are getting strange. Lonan and Suz are getting closer, Harrison is getting more distant and slowly losing it. One morning, Harrison wakes hearing Lonan and Suz’s laughter, and crawls to the kitchen to investigate. When he reaches them, Suz is evening out Lonan’s hacked haircut and they’re both sobbing.

Scene B:

Shortly after this bizarre encounter, Suzanna steps out of the apartment for a breather because her son is sort of terrifying her! So Lonan and Harrison double-team to clean up Lonan’s hair shavings. Harrison begins eating the hair while Lonan stares and they have a conversation about the state of their friendship.

Scene Ba:

This scene is gross and confusing! More hair is ingested. My god.

Scene Bb:

After the above ordeal, both boys rinse off because they’ve been rolling?? around?? in??? hair?? but also?? things don’t stop being a little gross

Scene C:

An air of calm finally settles over the apartment. Lonan brews earl grey tea for him and Harrison to share and Harrison asks if he abandoned Lonan in the final chapter of Moth Work. Lonan doesn’t really answer this question so Harrison continues on his confused, but finally lucid (one-sided) conversation, admitting he understands he burdens his mother, who still has not returned. They circle back to the question of abandonment and Lonan answers Harrison the way he wants to be answered (yes), and this is a moment of freeing, where he feels some sort of responsibility in this irresponsible new life he’s led in NYC. They sort of agree to be friends again.

Scene D:

The boys head into the city to find Suzanna, heading to a bakery near the Hudson River. Lonan drives in his used car, a strange experience since Harrison has not seen him drive in years. Taking the opportunity, he searches through the car and finds a map in the glove compartment. The map is erratically scribbled over and it takes him to moment to realize this is Lonan’s map and the first indication that Lonan, who he has assumed is this stable, perfect person, is not as unscathed as he seems.

The boys pass the waterfront and Lonan nearly crashes the car into an oncoming truck. Harrison regains control of the vehicle tucking them into a side street. Shaken, Lonan apologizes for the mess he’s created both physically from his nosebleed and between Harrison and his mother, which gets Harrison a little antsy because he doesn’t like the suggestion that he’s going to leave. Lonan clarifies, stating he won’t if that’s what Harrison wants.

Scene E:

Later, everyone is back at home and Harrison wakes up to a Lonan-less bed. He gets up to investigate the strange dripping coming from the bathroom and opens the door to find Lonan precariously teetering over a sink filled with water. Harrison, concerned, moves him away and tries to ask why Lonan is presumably going underwater, but doesn’t push. They both stand on opposite sides of the bathroom until the sun rises.

My process:

Honestly, writing this chapter was a huge up and down. The first half of it came much easier to me, but the rest was a literal hellfire to get through. I think I was incredibly fatigued with writing in Harrison’s POV as I’d been writing it since June (I finished this chapter in either December or January). This book has been a pain in the ass to write despite me liking what it is, and I really think it being the only place I’ve physically “gone” since the pandemic makes it even harder to write. I felt claustrophobic in Harrison’s POV since I’ve been writing it for half a year, and in a lil ~breakdown~ my beautiful sister reminded me of something she’d previously told me, “it's not about what works, it's about what you want”.

Let’s chat about this for a sec! I think I was watching a Harmony Nice video on her “hard-to-swallow” self-care, and she basically outline (I’m paraphrasing here) that it’s critical we care for ourselves in ways that might not necessarily be easy to do. Honestly, leaving Harrison’s POV is one of those hard-to-swallow self-care things I literally had to do because my mental health was not happy with me! Y’all know my boys are very close to me, and I’m not picking favourites but Lonan is 2500 times easier for me to write with at the moment. I think Harrison’s situation and how he deals with it is much too similar to mine but in a way that is difficult to place (Lonan and I are unfortunately similar but in a way that is easier for me to understand about myself!). From the beginning of writing his POV I’ve been in Struggleville, but kept pushing through hoping the next chapter would be “the one”. Not to burst my own bubble but there is no such thing in the state of mind I was in! I was pushing myself to find something that doesn’t exist because my brain was really not equipped to do what I needed it to do. I really, really did not want to quit on Harrison’s POV, but I had to, not because I don’t like him (he’s my baby) but because I needed a moment to myself. I felt way too seen in ways I don’t really know how to address in myself, so writing him was horribly frustrating at all times (my fault, not his).

My characters really do live in my head rent-free lol. They live in there! They take up space! They take up energy! They take up concentration, and resources I need for myself! Empathy is so integral to my process, that I give a little part of myself in everything I write. This is a blessing because I really get to dig my heels into the mind of another person, but a curse because I’m not a machine (and sometimes I forget that). It is a lot of emotional energy and labour to give everything you have to fictional people. I don’t think an artist needs to be tortured to create good art (this is not it!) but I never truly practiced this well? In my attempt to be empathetic, I was torturing myself a little bit, not going to lie!

So to combat this, I decided I needed a change. Hence, this chapter is imperfect and probably needs some stuff added to it, and while I’ve only written little of Lonan’s second POV, I’m feeling a lot better! It’s nice to get “outside” in a different place lmao this is so sad (pandemic writing things).

Excerpts:

I wrote the beginning of this in a livestream I hosted on my YouTube channel! There’s also a shoutout here to my dragon tree Lisa <3 miss u boo

Two weeks go by. Lonan sleeps on the couch. Harrison wakes up at dawn—no earlier, no later. Suzanna buys a plant: a Madagascar dragon tree she names Lisa. June grows into the collar. Lonan plays sudoku in the newspaper. Harrison learns to bake focaccia, gluten-free, whole wheat. Suzanna learns to palm read, tells Lonan he’s experienced great betrayal (they stop the reading immediately; Lonan goes back to the newspapers). Harrison begins burning incense at sunrise—frankincense. The dragon tree nearly dies (Lonan saves it). It rains every weekday that contains the letter T. Lonan shifts stacks of soggy newspapers onto the breakfast table, answers crosswords with the help of Suzanna (four across, nine letters, Something held). Harrison burns a baguette. Suzanna buys a hanging basket of pothos. The power goes out for two days and the icebox floods the kitchen tile (Lonan mops it with old newspapers, the ink running like jellyfish). June barks for the first time. Harrison eats a bundle of dried bay leaves. Suzanna waters the plants with rainwater, icewater, wrung into a coffee tin. Harrison leaves the stove on while sautéing shallots (he eats them whole). Lonan wakes up feverish and fills out four newspaper crosswords, then falls asleep on the coffee table. Suzanna moulds panna cotta in coffee mugs and shares the batch with Lonan when they won’t tip out. Lonan teaches her how to propagate the pothos and soon they have twenty empty cans of cuttings poking from the windowsills. They rearrange the furniture, the couch facing the kitchen instead of the TV, the dining table right outside the bathroom, then put it all back the next day. They birdwatch from the tiny window with binoculars and a magnifying glass. They sort coupons. Whittle soaps. Watch Norwegian films without the subtitles. Discuss cliff diving. Make matching anklets (blue beads, elastic string, the plastic clacking how Harrison knows they’re coming). All of this they do as Harrison lies on his bed for two weeks, counting the corners of his ceiling and trying to determine a way to multiply them telepathically.

This is the very next paragraph!

At first he assumes they’re laughing. The sun nearly rising between other high rises, blotting his room with dawn. This is not a surprise. They are probably making pancakes out of buckwheat and discussing the hilarity of whole grains. They are probably laughing at store-bought cherry preserves. Too sour. Their cheeks puckered. But then the laughs get louder, and the sun rises higher and it’s not laughing at all, but gasping.

Here’s Harrison crawling!! is this straight out of the exorcist probably!

Harrison’s instinct is to crawl. As if his smallness against the ground will stop anyone from hearing him, even before he unlocks his door. On hands and knees he shuffles from his bed to his doorframe, edges the door open with his shoulder. On hands and knees he hikes through the hallway, the gasping getting louder, shuffling until he sees them. Lonan sitting on one of the kitchen stools, a grocery bag wound around his throat. Suzanna clacking scissors in two hands so their blades ping in the sun. Her fingers loped around his hair, knuckle-deep, the blades snipping, the gasps growing, them both sobbing, the hair falling, the sun stalking, their bodies rocking. Harrison takes it in from his crawl. Experiences it all on his knees.

So this excerpt seems really you know, normal:

They clean up the hair. Harrison with the dustpan, Lonan with the broom. Harrison still kneels. Lonan still cries. The only thing that has changed since crawling into the kitchen is that Suzanna is taking a walk around the apartment complex. She needs air. Room. If she cries long enough, a cigarette. So Lonan sweeps. Harrison collects. This repeats.

The kitchen smells of nutmeg. Freshly grated from a whole club over espresso, Harrison imagines. He smells this as he tracks Lonan with the dustpan, hovering its open belly for clippings of hair. And Lonan is so compliant, brushes cuttings of himself onto the plastic surface so Harrison can trash it. As Harrison looks on from his knees, Lonan diffuses in sunlight, the window illuminating only his edges. A body so familiar Harrison knows exactly where it flares with light or absorbs it. A body with skin like mulberry silk. A body he could recreate in charcoal with his eyes closed. His archangel translucent and luminescing.

Skip this excerpt if you don’t want to read about Harrison eating hair!! i’m sorry!

Harrison picks a bundle of fallen hair from the dustpan. It’s airy from being recently shampooed, smells faintly of pear, maybe even ginger. This hair, touched by a woman, or a few women, and cut by one, or a few, in different contexts. Eliza’s hands deveining the roots, and then Suzanna’s, trying to fix them. So Harrison eats it. That bundle like a toothpicked cube of cheese. He puts it in his mouth and swallows.

Lonan watches like he’s unconcerned. He watches this feral animal—Harrison must be something feral, starved of something and ravaged by that hunger. Chewing mouthfuls of hair like that will quell of him of what is missing, if there even is anything missing, something unidentifiable in this bland circuit of New York City, this time-loop of sonhood, this fresh start a dousing of flatness. As Harrison eats, he understands he consumes that something like it’s holy communion, reuniting with that something by absorbing it. And still, that hunger moves him, from finishing the dustpan of hair, and closer to Lonan.

“Do you think I’m a bad friend?” Harrison asks, wringing the corner of his lips clean from loose hairs. From this perspective, Harrison on his knees collecting hair, Lonan’s eyes look bluer. Maybe their saturation has nothing to do with the angle, but Harrison feels this is true; his eyes are so crystalline, they are temptingly edible. Like two plump blueberries. Or a matching set of clear glass marbles. Harrison swallows. He repeats, “Do you think I’m a bad friend?”

Lonan swallows, adjusts his grip on the broom. “We’d have to be friends for me to answer that.”

“Aren’t we?”

And here’s the rest of this scene!

“You’re my mother’s friend,” Harrison says. “She trusts you.” He crawls closer to Lonan. “You’ve got secrets. Rituals. Tell me her favourite finger-food and who she wants to marry.”

“I don’t know your mother that well.”

Harrison wraps a handle around Lonan’s ankle. A muscle there jumps like a dolphin breaching the water. He’s memorized this plane of skin, could rebuild it from single grains of sand while blindfolded. He furls his hands across its surface, unfurls.

“You garden with her,” Harrison says. “You share a plate for dessert.”

“She’s kind to me.”

“You cook her breakfast.” Harrison tugs on Lonan’s ankle, knowing it won’t raze him, knowing he’ll come down anyway. “You know the exact temperature she drinks her coffee down to the last digit.”

“I’m trying to be hospitable.”

“You’re trying to be a son.”

Lonan kneels. Crouching so they’re huddled over each other, so it’s nearly impossible to distinguish one body from the other, which one sinks, which one rises.

“My mother’s only got one son to live with,” Harrison says, his voice thin from a clogged throat. He reaches for Lonan’s scalp, scrapes a line down the centre, now an even plane of cropped hair. “And it isn’t me.”

“You’re unstable,” Lonan says, burrowing his face either into a cabinet or Harrison’s shoulder—neither can tell. “You won’t let yourself have friends.”

Farther, toward the tile they go, a pile of hair scattering. “My mother wants me to forgive you by replacing me with you.”

“She’s grieving,” Lonan says.

Harrison loses his hands. He doesn’t know where they disappear to, if he touches skin or tile. “I haven’t died,” he says. Skin or tile. Skin or tile.

Here’s an excerpt from scene C ft. this memoir bit from the time I was shocked that this university I visited had real FANCY teabags:

Lonan brews tea. Earl grey, from a tin. Harrison doesn’t know why he expects it to come from a bag. An individual paper sachet, or if he’s lucky, one of those fancy ones woven from nylon. But it’s from a tin. Two teaspoons into the bottom of a single mug they pass back and forth, wordless at the kitchen table. Strung in the bathroom, Harrison’s t-shirt hang-dries, nearly figure-like, an unfilled phantom. He tugs a throw around his shoulders and stares at his hands. Each crest of cuticle. Each bulb of knuckle. Each maze of fingerprints.

He is material. This is fact. Not just outlines. He’s got skin that goes pinkish when pinched, a pulse that juts from his wrist, two eyes that burn at the scent of lavender, ten fingers. But as he holds his hands up, studying them in the faint moonlight, it is difficult to believe his tangibility. In the city, he has lived as a haze. Fogging over grocery stores, eateries, nondescript. Fresh start has always implied an air of zest, a zing that should have fueled him to plant roots in this restart. But Harrison is rotten, aphid infected, overwatered, underwatered, then not watered at all. He flexes his fingers. He pops the joints. He tries to press his pinkie to the back of his hand. But none of this brings him back to himself. His hands continue feeling like someone else’s. His body invisibly marred in some way he can’t reverse, disconnected in retaliation.

Harrison reflecting on his relationship with his mother:

Suzanna has never left him alone this long, and to her detriment. He imagines her now, living the life she always should’ve lived, the life she lived before he crosscut his way to her most important thing. She’s probably at a salon, having her hair twirled with a round brush, making dinner reservations at some place always too expensive for two (extra points if it has a French name, more if she has to wait a half hour before getting a table). When she talks to her stylist, she doesn’t mention a son, but plans to travel up the west coast, all the way into Canada if she’s feeling adventurous. She’ll buy crime novels she’ll never read at duty-free, reapply a lipstick that cost her a paycheck in the reflection of a hand-dryer. After the salon, she’ll meet a woman at a wine bar, converse about children, and still not mention a son. Suzanna’s singleness will be a celebration.

The boys finally trucing it out <3

When Harrison finally opens his eyes, Lonan is staring at him. His eyes two reels of the Pacific. They cycle in blue. So much of him has changed, and yet he is still the same. Beyond the haircut, Lonan isn’t that much different. He can’t be much different. But as Harrison searches, splaying his palm on the wet table, he knows this is untrue. Lonan is hollower than he was last summer. A little more haunted. They have this in common, then.

“Can we be friends?” Harrison asks. With his pinkie, he finds himself writing against the damp table just as he did Lonan’s scalp not too long ago. Lonan’s gaze follows each loop of each letter, Harrison’s steady left hand.

Lonan is consumed studying what Harrison has written, where each letter connects in near-cursive scrawl. After a moment, he nods, once, twice, and then reverts to staring at the table’s new inscription. On its surface are two words: something held.

The boys in the car like old times <3

Lonan drives. This is strange because Harrison has not seen Lonan drive a car in over a year. Usually, Harrison takes the wheel, but tonight he guides them through the city, in search of Suzanna. His car is clean. This isn’t unexpected. A cherry-coloured hatchback that rattles whenever he makes a left turn. It smells vaguely of cotton air-freshener and the undercurrent of cigarettes.

“You still smoke?” Harrison pokes at the plastic nob for the radio, and it crackles to life. Synth and electric guitar pulse in 4/4 time.

“I bought it used.”

They’ve agreed to get to know one another while they search for Suzanna. Another restart, some attempt at an honest hour. As Lonan changes lanes, Harrison pokes open the car’s glove compartment. A tin of nicotine gum falls on the mat. A hot pink feather pokes from underneath the driver’s manual. Harrison hauls out both, runs the feather along the gum tin, then the back of his hand, and then Lonan’s cheek. When that rouses nothing, he unlocks the tin and removes a slit of gum. Right as he’s about to pop it in his mouth, Lonan says, “I wouldn’t eat that.”

“Why?” Harrison asks. “Did you lace it?”

“Like I said, I bought the car used.”

Harrison puts the gum back, and then the feather. He sticks his hand farther into the glove compartment, feels around until he drags out a map of the state, bilgy and half torn. He unfolds it, careful to avoid the rips, and flattens it against the dashboard. Almost immediately, it wilts against the cold, faded from time in the sun. It’s been marked up. Half with pencil, half with a red ballpoint pen. After a few minutes, Harrison understands the previous owner’s route. Or at least he does at first. Following the red pen arrows, they started at Long Island, then reached Manhattan. Then a much longer arrow takes him from Manhattan to Geneva, and then Buffalo. And then the red pen circles, once, twice, three times, four times, and what is in the centre doesn’t even have a city name. What it does say is HELP, in all-caps, each letter then melting into an illegible scrawl. Harrison sees bits of words: Luke, woe, hands, clay, guard, stray, each wobbly and disappearing into the other, becoming cities of their own, destroying others. He tries to understand the route, but the farther he pours over the map, recircling each line with his finger, the more lost he gets in the ink.

“Is this your map?” Harrison asks. There is no proof that it is. Even the handwriting is all wrong. Ragged. Confused. Desperate. Not like Lonan’s careful, hesitant print.

“Like I said, I bought the car used.”

“But is it your map?” Harrison asks again. Gently, he creases the paper and then slots it back into the glove compartment. Outside, they pass three convenience stores in a row, a flock of couples emerging from a bowling alley, tipsy and cradling leftover deep dish pizzas and mozzarella sticks. They pass two more convenience stores before Lonan finally answers.

“I was confused,” he says.

“This is more than confused,” Harrison says. “It’s disturbed.”

“I’m not disturbed.”

“But something is wrong with you.”

Lonan slows at a crosswalk. A group of teenaged girls whisk by in glitter and lip gloss.

“Yes,” he says.

This is Harrison trying to stop Lonan’s nosebleed after their bizarre swerve which I think is kind of <3 tendy <3

Harrison reaches for him. One hand on the back of his neck, and the other reared toward the red stream. His touch is tactful, so faint his fingerprints wouldn’t even be left behind, but still, the dabbing with his jacket’s hem is enough to redirect the blood’s flow from Lonan’s upper lip to the cuff of leather. The radio is still on, garbled like an unmassing of crepe paper lanterns.

This is the final excerpt for this update that takes us to the very end of the chapter! Harrison has just found Lonan supposedly head-first in the sink and though he asks at first why he is doing that, takes an alternate approach as the chapter closes:

Harrison gets up, his knees popping like gnawed bubble gum. He decides he will handle Lonan at a distance, if he chooses to handle him at all. Like a timid pet owner trying to tame their suddenly-rabid yorkie. Like a friend not trying to tip the full glass. To let its contents film at its surface, but never spill.

Somewhere in the apartment, Suzanna probably listens to them. If Harrison didn’t know her better, he’d imagine her pressed neatly against the door, waiting to hear the shuffle of their bodies or the tang of an argument. Instead, he imagines her at the kitchen table, gripping a glass of water for so long, half of it evaporates.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Harrison says, stepping back until his spine hits the counter’s lip. He curls his fingers under the granite. Looks toward the window, now a faint periwinkle. Lonan heaves. His fingers caging his face, an animal restrained. They stand there until the sun rises.

So that’s it for this gigantic update! I have like four short stories to update you on so I hope to be back soon!

—Rachel

[fangirlshrewt97]

The Old Guard Fanfic - 5,472,730,538 Possibilities

Author(s): Fangirlshrewt97

Fandom: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)

Pairing: Joe/Nicky, Nicky & Nile

Characters: Nile Freeman, Nicolo di Genova, Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Andromache of Scythia 

Rating: General 

Warnings: None 

Additional Tags:  Team as Family, Family Bonding, Brother-Sister Relationships, Fluff, Basically Nile is missing home, And Nicky is a cinnamon roll who finds a way to lessen the ache, and they find a new thing to bond over that does not involve blood, Sudoku

Summary: 

He reached for his pocket and pulled out a pen, tossing it to Nile. “Why not do it now?” “It doesn’t- It’s not the same.” Nile argued, biting her lip. “But you want to do it no? So do it.” Nicky said, gesturing to the paper. Was it really so easy? She put the pen to the paper but stopped. “Yeah no, it feels weird to do it alone.” Nicky hummed, sitting back up in his chair, leaning on his elbows in the table. “I’ll do it with you then.”

Basically, Nile comes across something that makes her think of home, Nicky sees this, and tries his best to help her not feel as lonely. And is also a little bit of a shit about it.

Link to A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25553461

                                                     ///

They were in Malaysia, having finished an easy takedown of a small ring of human traffickers. They were due to fly out that night, so Nicky and Nile had been charged with buying the necessary supplies while Joe handled clean up at the scene, and Andy ensured the children would find good homes.

They had stopped at a bakery inside of a mall, Nicky insisting that they had some choice sweets that Andy loved. So Nile had been waiting outside the store while Nicky went to make his purchases when the small bookstore window display across the bakery caught her eye. Biting her lip, she peered to see Nicky was still busy perusing the wares, so she hefted her bags and made her way into the bookstore.

It was a small shop, barely large enough for four people at a time. There was a small kid looking at some comics and a bored cashier scrolling through his phone. Setting her bags down, Nile reached to grab what had caught her eye.

“What is that?” Nicky asked suddenly, startling Nile into dropping the book.

“Shit. Sorry.” Nile mumbled in the direction of the annoyed looking cashier. When she turned, she saw Nicky holding the book.

“101 Sudoku puzzles?” Nicky asked, brows furrowed.

Nile was thankful her skin color meant he couldn’t notice the embarrassed flush overtaking her.

“It is stupid!” Nile said as she snatched the book and put it back on the display, wincing as she realized it would have been more believable if she hadn’t acted like she had something to hide. Nicky had a raised eyebrow, clearly not buying her lie.

Nile sighed. “Seriously, Nicky. It is nothing, can we go? Are you done looking at the bread?”

Nicky gave her a once over, but thankfully let it go, holding up a bag that honestly smelled incredible. Feeling her stomach clench in hunger, she nodded.

“Cool. Let’s go!” Nile said, leading them out of the bookshop into the sweltering Malaysian sun. She definitely did not run. She just… walked fast.

She forgot the incident soon after, Copley sent them on another mission hours after they reached their next safe house, sending them all the way to Brazil, where they had to take down a drug ring and free a brothel filled with women who were being forced to pay back their debts with their bodies.

She was reminded of the incident when something was placed next to her head where it was currently resting on a table’s edge at their São Paulo safe house. It was a small apartment, two bedroom and bathrooms, but it fit their needs. Andy was currently on the phone with Copley, and Joe had gone into the kitchen to make dinner.

When she looked up, she saw a newspaper, and Nicky’s hand covering part of the page. At her questioning look, he just smiled and moved his hand.

Sitting back slowly, she looked at the Sudoku in the newspaper. She raised her own eyebrows at Nicky. The man just smiled wider and sat down. “This is what you were looking at in the bookshop. In Malaysia. A book about these.”

“Um… yeah.” Nile said, surprised the man had remembered. But then again, Nicky seemed to remember everything when it came to stuff that caused his family to have any kind of reaction.

“What about it?” Nicky asked.

“What?”

“Your eyes, they became a little sad when you saw it. What about them makes you sad?” Nicky prodded gently. And Nile couldn’t bring herself to be annoyed at this man who was trying to hard.

She sighed. “It’s nothing.”

“If it was nothing, it wouldn’t make you sigh.”

And that was the thing wasn’t it. “It’s just. Jamal, my brother? We used to play with these.”

Nicky’s brows furrowed in confusion. For a 1000-year old man, he was remarkably expressive at times. “Play these?”

Nile hummed. She picked up the paper, and ran her fingers lightly on the puzzle. “After school, we would take the paper, copy out the puzzle into a notebook and then we would start the clock, seeing who could solve it faster.”

Nile felt a smile start to form on her own face at the thought. She had missed doing these, missed doing them with her brother. Her smile faded when she realized she’d never get to do their Sudoku races together again. Nile placed the paper back down.

When she looked up, Nicky was looking at her intensely. “What?”

Giving a big exhale, he leaned back in his own chair. He reached for his pocket and pulled out a pen, tossing it to Nile. “Why not do it now?”

“It doesn’t- It’s not the same.” Nile argued, biting her lip.

“But you want to do it no? So do it.” Nicky said, gesturing to the paper.

Was it really so easy? She put the pen to the paper but stopped. “Yeah no, it feels weird to do it alone.”

Nicky hummed, sitting back up in his chair, leaning on his elbows in the table. “I’ll do it with you then.”

Nile blinked, but twisted her mouth into a wry grin. “Sure. Ok, here is how you do it. You see how this divided into 9 boxes? The objective of the game is to fill all the boxes in such a way that each box, row, and column has 1 through 9 written on them, with no repeating in them. Like here for example,” she showed one box, “see these four 3’s? That means a 3 can only come here, because it is the only box where it won’t overlap. Got it?”

Nicky hummed concomitantly, his eyes amused. “Yes.”

“Alright, let’s do it then.” Nile said. She shifted her chair so she was next to Nicky, and the pair of them leaned over the puzzle to do it together, Nicky pointing out a few numbers as Nile finished it.

“That was fun.” Nicky said when they completed it. “We should do this again.”

And to Nile’s surprise, she found herself in agreement. She felt a pang of sadness at not doing it with Nicky, but it was still fun. “Yes we should.”

They got another job the next day and were whizzing off again, this time to South Africa. Their safe house in Cape Town was a beach front apartment, bought by Andy back in the 80’s. It was an old building, quiet and creaking, but served its purpose.

Andy was on cooking duty this time, and Nile was given first turn with the shower, when Joe and Nicky returned from their shopping trip for new clothes. Nile did not think she had ever bought this many clothes so quickly in her life, but honestly, she had also not had a habit of constantly getting shot and covering them in blood and bullet holes.

By the time Nile came out, Joe was sitting in front of the TV, flipping channels, probably trying to find a soccer match. Andy had a plate of food and was sitting beside him, more focused on her dinner than the match. When Nicky spotted Nile, he made a happy noise and gestured for her to join him at the dining table.

“I saw these on our way back, and thought that if you did not mind, we could continue that tradition you told me about?” he asked, eyes betraying his excitement, even as his voice remained steady.

“Tradition?” Nile asked.

Nicky nodded and reached for a small brown bag she hadn’t noticed. He pulled out two identical books and a packet of pens, and slid one of each to Nile. Nile bit her lip at the time. 400 Sudoku Puzzles.

“Nicky…” Nile whispered, even as she clutched the book in a white-knuckled grip.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to Nile.” Nicky assured her when he saw her tear up, worry coloring his expression.

And oh, Nile could not stand to see that concern when all this man had tried to do was give her a piece of home back to her.

“No. Thank you. I had fun last time.” she said, giving him a watery smile. He responded in kind. “Are you sure about races though?”

His eyes took on a wicked glint. “Absolutely. It is tradition no?”

Nile chuckled. “Yes.”

“Joe!” Nicky called out, and Joe turned to see him, getting up to come to them when Nicky beckoned. He pressed a quick kiss to Nicky’s hair when he was within reach. “I need you to time us.”

“Time you?”

“Nicky and I are going to complete Sudoku’s and we are going to see who can finish faster.”

For some reason that made Joe bark a laugh. “You and Nicky?”

Nile frowned. “Yes? Why, you have a problem?”

“No, no, dearest Nile, I would be honored to keep time.” he said as he continued to wear a wide grin, pulling up his phone.

Nile squinted at him before turning to Nicky. “Should we just do the first puzzle?”

“Seems logical.” Nicky said as he flipped to the appropriate page.

Both of them uncapped their pens and got ready before glancing at Joe. Andy had turned around in the sofa, watching the two of them instead of the TV.

“Are you ready?” Joe asked, and their nods, “1, 2, 3, GO!”

Nile focused on the puzzle, going by each square methodically, crossing off the possibilities mentally in her head. It was an easy puzzle, so she did not have to write down all the potential numbers. And yet, she was startled when Nicky slammed his book down with a “Done!” when she was only halfway through hers

“Wait what?” Nile asked, reaching to grab the older man’s book while Joe leaned back in his chair, laughing.

“1 minute 15 seconds Nicky! Good job!”

Nile gaped as she looked at the puzzled solved perfectly. She placed the book down and glared at the Italian man, who now at least had the wherewithal to look sheepish. “Explain.”

It wasn’t quite a growl but close enough.

Nicky blushed, and Joe answered for him. “Nile, uhkt sageera, Nicky and I have lived for a thousand years now. Not to mention that Nicky has been doing the New York Times crossword puzzle since it was first published, in what? 1940? 1945? He tended to do the other puzzles too. I believe the first Sudoku puzzle was in the UK? I remember him being excited about it.”

Nile stared at him, jaw open while Andy started to cackle in the background. She spun in her seat, half furious, half indignant. “You cheater!”

Nicky put up both hands in surrender. “I didn’t exactly cheat Nile!”

“I thought you had never done Sudokus before! I thought you were humoring me!”

“Well-”

“Oh my god, I explained how to solve a Sudoku to you in São Paulo, why didn’t you say anything?”

“You seemed very passionate…”

“Nicky…” she growled only to sit back heavily in her chair, definitely not pouting, no matter how fond Joe looked at her.

Nicky’s own sheepish look was slowly transforming into a playful grin and she rolled her eyes in exasperation before laughing. “Alright, fine, this was on me.”

“I had a lot of fun Nile. I would enjoy doing this again.”

Nile groaned, tilting her head back and covering her face, exaggerating the dramatics because it drew more laughs from her family, and she was coming to treasure these laughs as much as those of her mother and brother.

She sat back when the laughter died down, taking the Sudoku book in hand. “I would like that too Nicky. Guess there is another aspect of the tradition we are going to be repeating too now though.”

When Nicky looked at her confused, her wry look transformed into a fond grin. “I am fated to always lose at Sudoku races to my big brother apparently.”

“Nile…” Nicky breathed her voice as though it was something delicate. Precious. And then he got up and came around the table to pull her into a hug she returned with all her strength. “Non riesco a immaginare un onore più grande dell'essere tuo fratello, sorellina.”

Even if she didn’t understand the words, she understood the meaning, and a small part of the hole created by her family was filled in.

“I love you too, Nicky.”

And she did, this man who was willing to die for her, to kill to protect her.

Even if it meant an eternity losing Sudoku races to him.

[sereina-archive]

Important Headcanons To Consider

Can they use chopsticks?  She can! Serena has spent enough time in Kanto, Johto, and especially Hoenn to pick up on the knowledge, along with eating at various places in Kalos (like Sushi High Roller) that offer chopsticks.

What would they impulse buy at the grocery store Market place? Basically unhealthy snacky type items. Chips, chocolate, sour gummy worms... it’s a big reason why she tries to avoid shopping while hungry, because she’s more inclined to buy things like that rather than actual meals that provide her with some sustenance/nutrition.

What’s their coffee order? Either straight black with nothing added, or double espresso shot. There’s no in between.

What order do they wash things in the shower? Hair first of course and then everything else. Generally after shampooing her hair, she’ll condition it and then wash her body while the conditioner sets in. She’ll wash her face at the very end. Serena has a very meticulous hair and skin care routine that would be too long to detail here.

What sort of apps would they have on their smartphone? A surprising amount of games, which are mostly logic-puzzle based. Like picross, sudoku, chess, and those apps with several thinking games wrapped up into one. Also the standard social media apps like twitter and instagram, of which she’s very active (especially the latter).

How do they act around children? Serena really adores kids! She treats them with respect and doesn’t want them to feel like she’s coddling them, but she also wants to keep children safe and prevent them from going through the same things she went through at a young age. If she didn’t like kids, she wouldn’t want to be a mom, nor would she volunteer so often at Santalune’s Trainer School.

What would they watch on tv when they’re bored and nothing they really like is on? Probably a movie of some kind. Her go-to programs on TV are nature/pokemon documentaries, but on the chance none are airing she’ll scroll through until she finds a movie she doesn’t recognize. Generally, though, Serena doesn’t watch much TV (she’ll watch maybe 3-6 hours in a week) so it’s not a common problem.