#so! queuing this and getting those last chores done

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

rough day...

[michellemisfit]

Tag Game Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday… this week?

Sorry @celestialmickey 🥺

Beyond late, but I’m here because I was tagged by these lovely humans: @suzy-queued @squidyyy23 @lingy910y @creepkinginc @energievie @francesrose3 @suchagallabitch @xninetiestrendx @thepupperino @deedala @harrowhark-a-vagrant @gardenerian @sleepyfacetoughguy @mzshko

Name: Michelle. (Mys for short. Myš for fancy)

Sun Sign: >fishy

What day of the week we’re you born? Friday's child is loving and giving - - I was a scheduled C Section though, so not sure if that’s cheating? 🤔

First app you open in the morning? Depends on notifications and time of day. When I wake up at 3.30am I look at discord and tumble, but when my alarm actually goes at 7.30am it’s probably the calendar app, shortly followed by the Trying To Get Rid Of Notifications Round.

If I’ve posted something I’m hoping for nice feedback on I will save tumble for last, which sometimes works when there is nice things, and backfires horrible when there isn’t. Such is life.

Last song you listened to?

What type of phone do you have? iPhone… some number 🤷🏽‍♂️ it still has a HOME BUTTON. That’s all that counts.

Something you’d like to learn how to do: There are many things I’d like to *know* how to do, but not necessarily learn. However I would actually love to take sign language classes. Good old fashioned classroom learning style!!

Art Gallery or History Museum: Natural History Museum please and thank you.

Your Least Favourite Chore: It’s probably not my *least* favourite, as one doesn’t have to do it very often, but like… mopping? I just can’t get down with the concept of mopping! It’s very British and it’s not at all Swiss. I didn’t touch a mop until I was like… 24. That’s very late to learn and I’m really bad at it and it makes me feel inadequate :( Especially because I’m shit hot at sweeping. #FarmingSkills

I’m also bad at making the bed. @rutherinahobbit has to make my bed for me, because she’s good at it and she’s nice!!

Do you believe in fate? No. I believe we create our own chances in life.

If offered immortality, would you take it? God no. You know how we all talk about all the things we would do if only we had the time? And then remember the pandemic and how none of us did any of those things we’ve been putting off forever because we didn’t have the time? It’d be basically that, times infinity. Shudder.

How are you feeling right now? Better than yesterday. Hopefully better again tomorrow.

Finally, tell me something you’re looking forward to: Going to the states for the first time this year since pre pandemic times. Looking forward to that.

~~

Not tagging anyone as I’m a week late, but anyone who hasn’t done this, please do and make sure to tag me so I can see your answers <3

[jikookiekosmos]

Update

I’ve decided to step back from writing on this blog for a bit. 

This is a bit of a long post so I’ve added everything under the cut.

I realized I put way too much pressure on myself last year (no one’s fault but my own) by putting out so many different teasers/WIP ideas and not near enough follow through on them. Because of this, I’ve gone through and privated all teasers as well as removed all my WIPs in my masterlist. I put a few series on indefinite hiatus as well, with intent to get back to them at some point; I just don’t know how long it’ll take me to get there.

I feel like I won’t be happy with myself or my writing until I can accomplish something new so for the foreseeable future I won’t release anything - teaser or otherwise - unless I’m finished with it or substantially near finished (like 90% done). And lately, because I’ve started and stopped and started again with all these different ideas, it’s lead me to dislike what I’m writing and that’s not something I want or need to happen.

I write because I enjoy it; I love being able to create stories and share them with those who want to read them and can hopefully enjoy them, too. But when the writing seems more like a chore or the enjoyment isn’t there anymore, I think it’s necessary to take a step back and that’s what I’m going to do.

I’ll probably not be around as much in general as well, which is basically how it’s been a for a bit now anyway. I’ll still have things queued but that’s mostly the gist of it until I get myself back on track.

In addition to being overwhelmed about writing due to my own actions, my life is also in a form of turmoil right now in the sense that I am constantly mentally and physically exhausted - which leads to my emotional stability suffering as well - due to my current job situation.

It’s not good. It’s quite awful, actually; it’s severely understaffed where I’m at and I’ve had to learn several new responsibilities in a short amount of time with no one to assist me. Even though it’s going to calm down at some point, right now it’s too much and I can’t focus on much of anything else outside of it.

I’m very grateful I have my job, I’ve never been ungrateful for it. And I love what I do - but there comes a time where too much of anything is still too much and I’m past that point now and need to remedy that fast for my own sake. My mental health is crumbling, I’m exhausted far more hours than I’m not, and it’s leading to other general bad things as well. I have to fix this.

I know no one here is expecting anything of me. And I doubt anyone is checking to see what I’m up to or if I’m even writing outside of maybe a few people. But I wanted to put this out there for myself and to give some clarity about what’s currently happening.

If you read this far or even any at all - or if we’ve ever interacted and my stories have made you happy - appreciate you.

Take care.

- skye 💜

[ghost-party]

Congrats on your 200 followers my dear!! Can I please get a Roommates AU with Levi?? Thank you so much, you are wonderful and I heart you 🥰🥰🥰

Thank you, Lauren! 😊❤️ YOU’RE wonderful, and I love you so much! I really hope you enjoy this oneshot.

Warnings: swearing, banter, bad first date (not with Levi), alcohol, a little angst, small confessions

• • •

Levi + Roommates

“Wow. You’re actually wearing it.”

“What?” Levi looks at you, and then down at his apron — forest green, with a grumpy-looking black cat embroidered on the front. You gave it to him for Christmas last year, but you’ve never seen him use it.

“Yeah, well...” He returns to scrubbing the countertop. “I haven’t done the laundry yet.”

“It looks good on you.” And it does, paired with a black t-shirt that hugs his toned arms and gray sweatpants slung low on his hips.

You didn’t used to ogle your roommate. When you first moved in, he annoyed the shit out of you, criticizing your overall cleanliness and putting a chore chart on the fridge.

You were both exhausted grad students, trying to make ends meet and cling onto whatever sanity you could. In an effort to avoid committing murder, you tried to focus on Levi’s positive qualities. And at some point in the last year, his quirks had become more tolerable — even endearing.

He was an excellent cook. Whenever you went grocery shopping, he always supplied a clear and organized list of ingredients he needed. When you came down with bronchitis around midterms, he brewed tea, ran hot baths for you, and worked with your mutual friend, Petra, to gather your missed assignments. He endured move nights, even when you picked something he had no interest in watching. 

You also began to notice small things about him. How his hair fell across his face while he was reading. How his strong hands flexed while chopping vegetables or pointing at something in your textbook during study sessions. How his shirt clung to his body when he returned home after a workout. How his dark eyes revealed more than his face usually did — amusement, irritation, curiosity...

“Going out?”

His question brings you back to the here and now. You’re standing beside the door, coat in one hand. “Yeah. I have a date with a guy Petra’s been wanting to set me up with.”

Levi makes a derisive noise. “Oh yeah?”

You roll your eyes. “Go on. Say it.”

He peers at you over his shoulder, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “Let me guess. It’s her new coworker — that hipster asshole.”

“Don’t be rude.”

“So I’m right.” He turns to face you, looking agitated. “The guy who thinks he’s going to write the next Infinite Jest. I didn’t realize wearing pre-faded, fake vintage t-shirts was a personality trait.”

“Are you done?”

“What’s his name again? Zed?”

“Zeke.” You shoot Levi an exasperated look as you grab your keys. “What’s your problem? Seriously. You met him once, when we stopped by the café to see Petra. What, did he piss in your tea?”

Levi bristles, clenching the sponge in his fist, and you wait for his next snarky comment. But it doesn’t come. Instead, his expression flattens into apparent boredom. His gaze, however, is sharp and... something else. 

You open your mouth, so close to asking if he’s okay, but he cuts you off. “Have fun.”

“Gee, thanks,” you mutter. Even as you close the door behind you and walk to the elevator, you can’t stop thinking of how he looked when you turned away. Almost as if he were sad.

• • •

When you walk into the apartment a few hours later, Levi’s sitting on the couch, a book held loosely in one hand. He takes one look at you and says, “That bad, huh?”

You kick off your shoes and drop your coat and bag on the nearest chair. “If you even think about saying ‘I told you so,’ I’m not bringing you a drink.”

“That’s a weak threat.”

After pouring two glasses of wine, you join him on the couch, curling one leg beneath you. “To be fair, it wasn’t the worst date I’ve ever been on.”

Levi sets his book aside. “But...?”

“All he did was talk about himself — the whole time.” You groan, dropping your head back against the cushion. “He told me about his novel.” When Levi snorts, you point a warning finger at him. “Don’t you dare. Anyway, he’s ‘shopping it around,’ this epistolary examination of man’s existential shortcomings or whatever. And did you know he wants to get a PhD — in creative writing? In this economy?” 

Levi merely hums, taking a sip of wine. “I just... felt bored, you know?” you say, looking down at your own glass.

I wish I had been with you instead. The words are right there, so close to being spoken aloud. But you hesitate.

Unfortunately for you, your roommate is inhumanly perceptive. You feel him shift, turning toward you. “What?”

“Stop that. It’s creepy.”

“Huh?”

“Reading my mind, or whatever it is you do.”

“Tch...” When you look up, you see that he has one arm propped on the back of the couch, his head resting in his hand. “It’s not my fault you’re so obvious.”

“Is that so?” You’re feeling daring — like you’re finally on the precipice of something, so close to the feelings you’ve been avoiding for months now. “Then tell me, what am I thinking?”

Levi stares back at you, dark eyes seeming brighter in the dim evening light. “That you would have had a better time with someone else.”

You laugh softly. “Damn, you’re good...” Tugging the sleeves of your sweater over your hands, you ask, “Were you thinking that earlier, before I left? Is that why you were so upset?”

“I wasn’t upset.”

When you quirk an eyebrow, he glances away. “Maybe,” he mutters. You patiently wait, knowing how rare it is for him to talk openly about his feelings. You’ve always had the impression that he’s unused to closeness, or, at the very least, unfamiliar with how others tend to express emotions.

“I didn’t want you to go.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that?”

He huffs out a sigh. “Because I’m shit at this. And who am I to tell you what to do? If you want to date some pretentious fuck, why should I get in the way?”

There’s that look again — sadness, along with frustration. “Maybe I want you to get in the way,” you murmur, watching as his eyes widen. “I’m not good at this either.” The relief of being open and honest outweighs your nervousness. “I don’t know how to go from this —” you gesture between the two of you “— to something else.”

“Is that really what you want?”

You set your glass down and turn to him. “You’re blunt. And stubborn, and you always call me on my bullshit. But you’re also kind. Maybe the kindest person I know. You just have your own way of showing it. And I like all of those things. I like you.”

Levi is silent for a long moment, and you’re unsure what he’s thinking. But then he lifts his hand, reaching toward you and gently smoothing back your hair, tucking a piece behind your ear.

“You’re messy.” When you start to protest, he shushes you. “And you’re just as stubborn as me. At least sometimes. But you’re patient. Thoughtful. Not the worst person to live with.” His lips quirk up into the smallest of smiles. “I guess I like you, too.”

“You guess?” Your tone is teasing. “Can I get that in writing?” 

“Brat,” he grumbles, ruffling your hair before pulling away. He reaches for the remote, queuing up the show you’ve been watching together.

“Do I get to plan our first date?”

“No.” When you sigh, he says, “I already have something in mind.”

You notice that small smile again, barely noticeable in profile. And as the opening credits roll, you settle your hand close to his, in the open space between you. He covers it with his, squeezing gently.

[blissfulparker]

Dine and dash→pt.10 ceo!tom

Summary →tom comes into your diner every Tuesday and Thursday, it is no secret that he only goes for you. When will he ever be brave enough to say something, when will you ever be brave enough to let him in?

Warnings→fluff, angst, drinking

A/n→ Sorry this is so delayed, i haven't been in a place with good internet to post but now that i have some i get o post part 10 and i have 11 written and 12 too so i hope to get that edited and queued up. hope you guys enjoy!

“I wanna know how you did that.” You hand him the glass of wine as you join him on the couch.

Tom managed to get her in the bath, get her pajamas on, brush her teeth and hair without a single fuss or complaint. Every night something had to go wrong, she didn’t want to take a bath, or she didn’t want to brush her hair because it hurt, there was always something that went wrong.

But tom did it perfectly. She laughed and did everything right. She even picked up her room with a smile, every time you asked her to pick up her room she’d have a fit. All her stuffed animals on her dresser, all her toys in her bin, her bag ready for tomorrow. Tom finished it all up with two bedtime stories and now she was out like a light.

Now you had the Netflix home screen on and cuddled up on Toms side. You had a relaxing night at home for once in your life. She was asleep and you had no chores to do expect be with your boyfriend, but that wasn’t a chore.

“I don’t know what to tell you.” He says and wraps his arms around you. You take a sip and then rest your head on his shoulder.

“It’s like she loves you more than me.” You whine a bit feeling like you’re loosing as a mother and he moves to look at you.

His soft fingers touch your chin to lift it up and look at you. “She doesn’t love me more than you, why would you say that?” He asks and you sigh feeling helpless.

“I dunno, she just looks at you like you’re this sort of god. She listens to you and she follows you like a lost puppy. Maybe it’s just because you’re a man and sees you as a dad but—I don’t know.” You take another sip and fall back on his shoulder. “Seeing her da—Henry just made me feel weird. Like I did something wrong and he did the right thing. I mean I don’t regret Cara, she’s the light of my life. But I feel like I just shut everything out after I had her, I didn’t go to art school, I didn’t travel, I didnt go out on Friday’s and stay in touch with friends. I feel like I gave up on myself after I had her. And now you come in and you’re perfect, absolutely perfect, you’re nice to her, you like me for some reason, and you’re pretty, and you’re successful, so successful! I don’t understand why you like me.” You whine and he giggles a bit, not because of your speech, because you’re drunk and don’t understand yourself.

“How much did you drink tonight?” He asks and you shake your head.

“I dunno, a glass or two at dinner and then a glass when you were getting her to sleep? Wait, maybe two glasses when you were getting her to sleep.” You tell him and he takes your glass and set it on the coffee table.

“I don’t really know what to say to someone who had a child and was alone for such a long time. But I’m here now, and I love you and I love Cara, and you don’t have to deal with everything alone anymore. And Henry, he was a selfish ass and you know that.” He touches your hair and your eyes are damp with tears.

“You love me?” You choke out and he nods.

“Yeah, is it still too early to say that?” He spoke slightly scared that you wouldn’t say the word back and he just messed up a relationship with one of the best girls he’s met.

“N-No, it’s not too early. I love you too.” You giggle a little. A goofy smile appears on his face. Tom doesn’t really smile at work, strictly businesses. He says good morning with no smile and sits in his office all day usually annoyed with his work. But with you, he has the biggest smile.

“I got really lucky.” He let’s you fall back on his chest as he picks out a show for you two to watch.

“I’m dating the richest, sexiest man in London. I think I got really lucky.” You mumble into his shoulder. He smirks as he squeezes your side.

“You’re drunk.” He reminds you and you shake your head.

“No, you’re extremely hot, you’re the ceo Of one of London’s best companies, and I don’t even know what you guys do over there but you make it look good. Not to mention you have an extremely big—” he stops you before you finish your sentence.

“Okay, darlin’, okay.” He Let’s His thumb massage your thigh and you calm into his side.

“Don’t leave me.” You reach for your glass and he stops you before you can get it.

“I won’t, promise.” He pulls you back into him.

“Where are those cute little glasses of yours, you look like peter Parker.” You touch his curls and give them a soft tug. Tom didn’t mean to get turned on by that but he loved it when all the times you had sex you’d tug his hair.

“Okay, maybe we should get you off to bed.” He picks you up and You giggle at how fast he moves.

“Will You Be there when I wake up?” You ask and he laughs as he pushes open the door.

“Promise you I will.”

~

Your body felt gross, you had a headache after drinking a bit too much while tom was being responsible. You hated yourself for doing that, honestly. But everything hurt and you needed to drown it all out for just one night.

Tom was missing as well, but this time there were no crashing in the kitchen, no running around, he had left to take Cara to school and most likely go to work. There was a small sticky note with Advil and water.

Took Cara to school and there are Bagels on the counter, we can meet for lunch if you’d like? Let me know how you’re feeling♥︎

You smile at the note and pop the pulls in your mouth taking the water to follow them. You felt like taking a shower, cleaning your whole body from last night.

Although there was loud banging coming from the door. It hurt your head and the sun from the windows didn’t help.

“Tom just open the door, I know you have a key!” You shout ignoring it. The bangs got louder as you took the poppyseed bagel out of its bag and that’s when you turned to open the door.

“Tom, stop bang—” you pulled the red door open and there stood Henry, the man you hated dearly still and didn’t know how he got your address.

“Look I came to talk—” he started, he was wearing a New York sweatshirt and wrinkled jeans.

“How did you find my house?” Your hand turned white on the door handle and you felt like this was just a hallucination from the hangover.

“Your mum and my mum still go to the same book club. Apparently they’re friends and still keep in touch, she had your address.” He gives a lopsided smile. You knew your mum still talked to his, they’ve always been friends.

“So why are you here?” You spit and he rocked back and forth on his heels.

“I was a bit rough yesterday, we didn’t get to properly talk.” He tried and you want to laugh, so badly do you want to laugh. You don’t though, you try and shut the door. “Wait!” He stops it with his shoe. “Please.”

“What do you want me to do? I’m so confused! You’re gone for six years and you come back when my life is perfect and want to crawl back in on one pity sorry?” You throw your hands up and he looks around, you could care less if you made him cry.

“I just wanna meet her! Is that too much to ask?” He begs now with his hands up in the air.

“Yes! That is! She doesn’t deserve you! She doesn’t know who you are and she doesn’t deserve to know who you are.” You shout, the shouting alone hurts your head and you want to go back in bed and call tom to come cuddle.

“And what the guy your fucking deserves to be her dad?” He scoffs and you look at him in shock.

“Yeah and if you’re not any different,” you laugh this time and he leans against your door.

“Let’s see, I took you to prom—” he starts and you let your head fall on the door.

“You took me to prom doesn’t make up for leaving me with a baby!” You scream and right as you do your phone rings. You start to talk again but the ringing keeps going and causes you to sigh and grab it.

“Hello?” You pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Darlin’! Did I wake you?” Tom asks. He’s driving, you can hear that you’re on speaker phone.

“No, no,” You look over to the man still in your doorway waiting for you to come back. “Thank you, by the way. The bagels, taking Cara to school, it was the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in awhile.” You look over at Henry as you say those words.

“No problem, it was her idea. Anyways, I left my watch and wanted to know if you can bring it when we get lunch? If not then that’s okay I can just—” you cut him off before he starts his nervous rambles.

“I can bring it, of course. I’m kinda doing something right now but I love you and will see you soon.” You tell him and he says a quick I love you before you hand up and focus on the problem at your door.

“As I was saying—” He starts again and you shake your head.

“No, no, you can’t be here and you can’t see her. I’m done okay? I’m sorry you wasted your time with coming here but you can’t see her, she’s not yours. If you try and bring lawyers in that’s a bad idea because you know I’ll win.” You tell him and he looks like he’s about to cry but you didn’t care, you wanted him gone.

“You can’t be serious.” He chokes out a laugh and you furrow your brows.

“Funny, I think those were the exact words I said to you the day you left.” You presses your lips into a smile and shut your door.

You lean your head against the door and look over to a picture of Cara on her first day of school. She wore the required uniform and had her curls pulled back into a ponytail. She was yours, and now Toms, you two took care of her and no one else did.

You grab the phone and try to call tom again. The call went to voicemail, twice, you assume he’s busy and can’t use his phone while working. You need him right now though, certain times you need him the most.

You sit there, the sound of the coffee machine dripping fresh coffee, the morning news instead of Cara’s cartoons or shows. Any other day you’d love to be alone, have a nice relaxing morning and paint but right now you wanted tom and your girl, in bed making your laugh.

The sound of your phone rings once again. Toms name with hearts pop up and make you smile. You are quick to press the answer button wanting to hear his voice.

“Hey I saw you called again?” He asked, his voice deeper and it sounded as if he was around people.

“I thought maybe I can return that watch now?” You ask. You didn’t know where the thing was but you were will to look for it if that meant you saw him faster.

“Oh,” he looks around. “I’m in some meetings—” he hears your sigh and can tell something is bothering you so he doesn’t want to disappoint. “But I can have my receptionist let you up.” He tells you and you let your head fall on the counter.

“Thank you.” You whisper and let some tears fall.

“Love, what’s wrong?” His voice soft and full of concern.

“I’ll explain when I’m there.” You sniffle and he feels his heart ache.

“Okay, drive safely, I’ll be here.” He assures you and you sit up and sip your coffee.

“Okay.” You hang up. You order an Uber knowing that you are in no condition to drive. You find the watch he wanted on your nightstand sitting there pretty in gold. Sometimes you wondered why all the expensive stuff, he was rich but he never acted rich. As in he never acted like an asshole who threatened you.

You threw on an old sweater and some baggy jeans. It always shocks you how London can manage to be cold and rainy when some people would still consider it summer. Hard rain poured down not helping with your mood.

When your Uber arrived you didn’t say much except the address. He for a second started boasting about how his son worked for the company and how hard it was to get a job. Although it probably wasn’t, tom is pretty nice but you didn’t really know how he was business wise.

“Thank you.” You gave him a half smile as you get out of the car tipping him. You walk up to the building slightly intimidated, all the professional people walking in and out and you’re wearing a sweater and jeans.

“Hi, I’m here for tom holland.” You ask the woman and she gives you a look up and down.

“Name?” She asks and you say your name and she looks at you again.

“Go on up.” She spoke before going back to her computer.

The elevator ride is long, the longest you’ve ever been. There were sixteen floors and tom was at the very top. When you got to his floor it was a lot more peaceful than the one at the bottom.

“Excuse me?” Another woman asked noticing you trying to figure out which office is Toms. “You must be (y/n)? Mr. Holland’s door is down at the end.” She smiles and you nod before walking all the way down and knocking on the door.

“Tom?” You ask as it opens. Tom looks up from his desk. His look was sexy, something you didn’t see at the diner usually. A dark black suit and his hair slicked down into place with gel, he wore his glasses and a serious look that softened at you.

“Babygirl.” He moves his chair back and you come over to him. He motioned for you to sit on his lap which you gladly did. “What happened when I left?” He asked sensing something was wrong.

“Henry came over.” You laid your head on his chest. You felt bad since you were wet from the rain but he didn’t mind.

“What?” He asked as if he wanted to kill the man for talking to you again.

“I told him to leave, that he can’t see Cara again. I just started feeling everything I felt last night again and it hurt. It hurt a lot. I know I’m acting like a baby but I wanted to see you.” You sniffle staring st his computer taking in all the numbers.

“You know the first time I tried to flirt with you, you rolled your eyes.” He tells you. It was true, he looked up a cheesy pick up line and you rolled your eyes. He didn’t give up, he refused to give up on you.

“I know.” You touch the curls that weren’t soft but crunchy.

“I love you a lot. I think you are perfect. I knew that since day one, and I don’t want some asshole to make you rethink any of that.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“I don’t deserve you.” You look at him and he presses soft kisses along You jaw.

“I think it’s the other way around.” He pulls you down and presses sloppy kisses all around your face. He paused as he saw your emotions drop again.

“When Cara was a baby, I was so scared that everyone would hate me for being so young with a baby. She was impossible some days and I thought we’d never make it, me up all day and night. I thought no one would want to date someone with a kid as young as me but you are so incredibly sweet to us.” You tell him and he feels himself warm in the heart from your words and pulls you into his chest.

“You don’t have to be alone anymore.” He touches your damp hair. “You both don’t have to be alone anymore.” He reminds you and you sigh tracing patterns on his clothed thigh.

“So,” you get up and look at him again. “Want me to pick something up for lunch? I should leave now, no one knows how to drive in the rain.” You laugh a bit and tom holds you down.

“I can have someone bring us up something, can you stay like this all day?” He asks and you look at all his work in front of him.

“You have work, tommy.” You tell him and he shakes his head kissing the small of your neck.

“I’ll do it later, it’s also hard right now and I don’t wanna worry about it.” He says and you smile wrapping your arms around him just to stay like this a little longer.

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[imagineclaireandjamie]

Is there a Tagalong update on the horizon? I LOVE LOVE LOVE that story so much and can‘t wait for Jamie and Claire to reunite, for Fergus to be surrounded by Mother Claire AND Milord again, for Jamie to meet Bree, for the Murrays to see Jamie smiling again....I truly can‘t wait! 💕💕

Received this when the next update was already queued, haha. I hope you enjoy the various reunions contained herein. There’s only one more chapter and then the epilogue to go. ~ Mod Lenny

The Tagalong - Part Twenty-Two

Fergus disobeys Jamie’s order to return to Lallybroch and instead follows them all the way to Craigh na Dun, inadvertently following Claire through the stones.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen, Part Seventeen, Part Eighteen, Part Nineteen, Part Twenty, Part Twenty-One

***********************************************************

Fergus ran up the road to meet them as they approached Lallybroch, the three of them having been spotted by Young Jamie as he played in the yard.

“Mother Claire!” Fergus cried as he ran.

Brianna began screeching with delight, forcing Claire to put her down so she could wave her arms and toddle toward him. Fergus swept her up and let her wrap her chubby arms around his neck.

“Fergus,” Claire gasped, dropping to her knees when she reached him so she could look him over. “You’re alright? Oh, don’t you ever scare me like that again!” She clutched him to her, muffling Brianna’s excited cries of, “Gus! Found Gus!”

“Mother Claire, Milord is alive!” he exclaimed. “He did not die at Culloden. He is here!”

Claire pulled back, her hands shaking on Fergus’ shoulders as the color drained from her face.

“Mrs. Claire?” Roger touched her arm, uncertain but reassured by Fergus’ presence and excitement. “Are ye alright, Mrs. Claire? Who is it didna die?”

“Claire Fraser,” Jenny said, walking slowly up the road from the yard, an infant in her arms. “It’s about time ye made yer way back here,” she said with a warmth that both scolded and soothed.

Claire stood on trembling legs and took the few steps to Jenny, disbelief and fear etched on her face.

“The lad speaks true,” Jenny assured her. “It’s a tale best told inside wi’ a dram in yer hand to steady ye. Jamie and Fergus have told us about what happened to the pair of you as well—yer touchin’ the stones at the fairy hill. I’ve half a mind to skelp ye for no havin’ told us before ye and Jamie left. But as ye bade us plant those potatoes and as they’re a reason we’ve no starved these last two years, I’ll consider us even.”

“Jamie?” Claire whispered, trapped in a fog while everyone else around her seemed to move unimpeded. “He’s…”

“Ye’ll no see him till nightfall,” Jenny warned. “It’s no safe for him to be about but he’s itchin’ to see ye and to meet the bairn. He’s no alone, either,” she hinted.

Claire blinked and reached to take Brianna from Fergus, clinging to the bit of Jamie that had grounded her every day since their parting.

“Mama, found Gus. Home, pease?” Brianna said, patting Claire’s cheek in triumph.

Claire caught the small hand and kissed the delicate fingers. “This is home now,” Claire explained with tears in her eyes. “And this is your Auntie Jenny.” Claire carried Brianna to Jenny who laughed as Brianna peered and frowned at her, deciding what to make of the stranger before her.

“Baby,” Brianna said at last, pointing to the slumbering infant in Jenny’s arms.

“Aye, lass. This is Michael. He’s one of yer cousins. Ye’ve a few more who’d like to meet ye and play wi’ ye.”

“Roger come?” Brianna asked, leaning over to look around Claire’s arm.

“Yes, Bree. Roger’s going to stay with us now. Jenny, this is Roger Wakefield.”

“The lad ye told us of, Fergus?”

“Oui. I knew Mother Claire would find him,” Fergus replied, nudging Roger’s shoulder.

Roger looked more comfortable than he had since Claire first found him but there was also a tired resignation in the way he carried his shoulders.

“Well, ye seem to be about the age of my young Jamie. He’s tendin’ the horses just now. Fergus, can ye take Roger and the two of ye help wee Jamie wi’ his chores?” Jenny suggested.

“Horsie? Mama, I wanna see horsie,” Brianna said, squirming to get down.

“I’ve a wee cheetie in the house needs yer attentions, a nighean,” Jenny told Brianna, successfully distracting her.

Claire watched Fergus lead Roger away while she fell into step with Jenny.

“Jenny, if I’d known…”

“I ken well enough, Claire,” Jenny stopped her. “Ye came all this way for Fergus. I ken ye’d have done as much as that or more for Jamie did ye ken he’d lived. There’s naught to do now but share yer stories, shed yer tears, and move forward.”

***********************************************************

Brianna played on the kitchen floor with Maggie and Kitty while Claire helped Jenny bathe the twins. The three girls had taken to one another quickly, Maggie taking charge, Kitty enjoying no longer being the littlest and getting to help someone smaller, Brianna laughing at having playmates nearer her own age for a change.

“She’s the spit of Jamie,” Jenny remarked, amazement in her voice as she lay wee Janet down on a fresh clout.

“In temper as well as appearance,” Claire quipped nervously. She settled Michael into the lukewarm water, keeping tight hold as he flailed and splashed in surprise. It hadn’t been so long ago that Brianna fit in a washtub so small. Seeing the twins only a few months old drove home just how much Brianna had grown.

“Fergus said ye’d called her Brianna as it was what Jamie wanted?”

“The last thing I promised him was that I’d call the baby Brian for your father. She’s Brianna Ellen. Beauchamp, till now. Now I suppose she can be called Fraser.”

“Brianna Ellen Beauchamp Fraser should do nicely. Fergus says he goes by Beauchamp now too.” Swaddled and exhausted from the ordeal of being bathed, wee Janet was asleep before her mother lifted her to place her in a crate lined with blankets like a nest. Jenny pulled out another fresh clout and prepared for Michael’s exit from the bath. “And what of the other one? Roger?”

“His parents died in the war—the war where I first served as a nurse, where I learned most of what I know of healing,” Claire explained. “He was adopted by his mother’s uncle, Reverend Wakefield. Roger took his name but he was originally a Mackenzie.”

“Think he’ll wish to go by Mackenzie again? Like to find more friends ‘round here with that name than Wakefield,” Jenny noted.

“Best leave it to him, poor thing. I wish I could’ve taken him back before coming for Fergus, but I couldn’t risk it,” Claire lamented, handing a dripping Michael to Jenny.

“And will ye be able to return the lad now ye found Fergus? Can ye return him to his father and come back here to us… to stay?”

Claire wiped her wet hands on a rag, unable to look at Jenny. Instead, her attention was on Brianna, Maggie, and Kitty. Maggie had an empty bowl in her hands and a spoon and was mixing the air inside, pausing to give Kitty and Brianna tastes of whatever she was concocting. Kitty and Brianna dutifully made noises of approval and nodded encouragement.

“No,” Claire said quietly. “That last trip through to get here… it was too close. And I won’t send Roger through alone.”

“I’m no ashamed to say I’m glad of it for my part, though I’ll pray for the lad and his poor father,” Jenny admitted, settling Michael into the crate beside wee Janet.

“Even though it’s four more mouths to feed when resources are already tight?”

“There’s hands attached to those mouths and there’s somethin’ to be said for the comfort the lot of ye bring, as well. The change in Jamie just seein’ Fergus again and hearin’ of you and the wee lass… I’d gladly give ye some of the food from my plate as thanks for seein’ Jamie smilin’ again.”

“You don’t think he’s… You’re sure he’ll be glad I’m here?”

Jenny couldn’t help but laugh at Claire’s self-doubt, chasing some of it away.

“If it were possible for Jamie to command the heavens, he’d speed the sun along to bring the nightfall sooner that he might see ye now,” Jenny assured Claire.

***********************************************************

It was just Jenny, Claire, and Ian in the kitchen as darkness fell.

Brianna had fallen asleep in Claire’s lap, cheek pressed to Claire’s chest. Claire’s arms held her close, her chin resting on Brianna’s fiery curls and her gaze locked on the fire burning low in the hearth as she waited.

Jenny and Ian had ushered the other children through their suppers and up to bed, Fergus pulling Roger away and reassuring him that everything would be clearer in the morning.

Claire didn’t notice when Ian disappeared and Jenny started watching her more closely, eventually rising and slipping out of the kitchen for her own bed. She just continued to watch as the flames in the hearth shrank, marking the passing time.

“Sassenach?” Jamie’s voice came in a scratchy whisper and her head jerked up.

He was standing in the doorway, a worn, knitted cap clutched in his hands. He looked weary but alert, his posture stooped and stiff. His clothes appeared to be relatively clean, a little dusty and rumpled but recently mended. His hair was shorter than she remembered, the ends only just beginning to curl over his ears and at the nape of his neck. And his eyes shone as they locked on her.

“Jamie,” Claire gasped. She held Brianna tight against her chest as she started to her feet and dashed across the room into Jamie’s arms. “You’re alive,” she wept. “You’re really alive.”

“And ye’re here,” he whispered, holding her with trembling arms and crying into her hair. “Jenny said ye’d come and Fergus… But I couldna let myself hope they were right.”

Brianna began to squirm between them, the activity and tight quarters rousing her from sleep. Claire stepped back, Jamie’s grip on her loosening but he kept his hands on her arms, unwilling to lose contact with her altogether.

Brianna blinked up at Claire, her face still slack with exhaustion. “Mama?”

“Hi, sweetheart. It’s alright,” she soothed, watching as Brianna blinked slowly, her eyelids reluctantly rising. “Mama’s here… and so’s Daddy,” she added with a soft glance at Jamie.

Brianna’s eyes followed her mother’s until she met Jamie’s wide and wondering gaze.

“Da,” he said, quietly. “I’m yer Da.”

“Da?” Brianna mimicked before yawning and rubbing her face against Claire’s collarbone.

“Aye. Yer Da.” He lifted a shaking finger to brush Brianna’s hair back from her face where the ends tickled her cheek. She sighed and her eyes drifted closed once more, content.

Claire dipped her head to press a kiss to the top of her daughter’s head—an act of habit for Claire, an act that mesmerized Jamie.

“She’s beautiful, Claire,” he murmured.

“You can hold her,” Claire offered, shifting her hold of Brianna to keep from disturbing her as the warm seal between their bodies broke for the gentle transfer. She focused on Brianna, carefully ignoring Jamie’s terrified and yearning expression.

Brianna didn’t stir as her limp body settled against Jamie’s, her cheek resting against his chest in a way that meant he had to crane his neck to look down at her.

She looked so small in Jamie’s arms. Claire had to clear her throat at the lump that formed when she thought of how much smaller Brianna had once been and what she might have looked like then in his large, strong hands… that someone so big and broad could have played a role in creating someone so small and delicate.

Jamie looked up from their daughter at last and caught Claire watching him, tears shining in both their eyes.

“I love you,” she told him. A tear slid loose down her cheek at the relieved smile that played across his lips.

“I love ye too, Claire. I dinna ken as I could ever stop, did I want to—which I don’t. Somehow, I’ve more love for ye now than I did before, and no just for her sake,” he said, nodding at Brianna and watching as she sucked the inside of her cheek while she slept.

Claire hummed her agreement, stepping closer and rising on her toes, catching him by surprise with a kiss when he looked up again.

It was gentler than her last memories, the ones seared into her brain and her body—a kiss filled with the promise of time stretching out before them, uncertain in everything but its existence. Questions of what would come next fled from them, retreating into that slowly expanding future and leaving them alone with one another and the night.

“Let’s put her to bed,” Claire suggested. She felt Jamie nod, his forehead rocking against hers. “Do you think it’ll be safe for you to sleep upstairs tonight?”

“Aye,” he murmured, breath caressing her cheek. “Though… I dinna ken as I’ll be able to sleep at all tonight.” There was a teasing edge to his voice that sent a shiver of desire down Claire’s spine, but the edge softened as he added, “I’m afraid if I go to sleep, I’ll wake and find it’s been a dream.

“Me too,” she confessed, slipping her hand into his and giving it a squeeze. “I might need you to pinch me to make sure it’s all real.”

The chuckle that rumbled through his chest was very real. Turning back to the door and with a tight hold on his wife and daughter, Jamie silently led Claire out of the kitchen and toward the stairs.

[cleverbroadwayurl]

The Lady of Shalott (Connor Murphy x SlightlyFem!Reader)

Word Count: 2692

A/N: Me??? Writing Connor Murphy like Chloe Price from Before the Storm??? Yes. Also! I implied a little bit of fem!reader, and I did ask if anyone was against that, and no one said no, so uhhh here it is! I tried to make it not so tough to read but it’s hard to do that when you’re talking about the Victorians who were kinda snooty. Also! This is a real poem! I have a love of it, and the paintings are absolutely stunning! Just do a quick Google search to find them! And uhh if you want to be tagged in all of my work, you need to let me know bc I don’t know about that right now. 

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of marital assault, mentions of assault, mentions of Victorian era laws (which are horribly sexist), some dickwad, bad ending, language IF I MISSED ANY PLEASE LET ME KNOW

Connor rubbed his eye with his hand before checking the analog clock once again. 7:28. Fuck first period. With a glance at the board, he was met with the empty white surface. A hint of dread rose within him. Ever since his British Literature teacher said that everyone from the Romantic Era had died by the time the Victorian Era came around, except of course, for Connor’s least favorite poet, he’d been preparing for the worst ever since.

He hadn’t done his homework from the night before. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t normally do it—he typically liked English. His dad on the other hand, he did not like. Connor scoffed at last night’s fading memory, the image of Zoe’s cookie dough ice cream wrapped into his arm, a spoon in the other, while Larry went batshit about “stealing your perfect sister’s ice cream” for the fifth time that month. It wasn’t like he was taking it. He just wanted something sweet at 2 AM instead of sleeping. It wasn’t like he could sleep anyways. He was out of weed anyways. Fuck sleep. Fuck Larry. Fuck Perfect Zoe’s ice cream.

“Alright let’s get started,” Mr. Rand called out, picking up his anthology and flipped through the pages. “The Lady of Shalott. What do we think?”

Wait a minute. Connor had read that poem. Well, not read. No, Connor had enjoyed that poem, which was a first, especially ever since the bastard Wordsworth came into his life. He was silently thanking whoever he could—fate maybe—that it wasn’t that pretentious dick who loved nature so much he thought that “God himself has created Heaven on Earth” or some dumb shit. No, this was a fairytale poem about a badass lady who looked out her window, saw an attractive man, and then was banished to death by a curse that was placed on her years ago. It was like a really dark fairytale. And Connor had a soft spot for the original Brother’s Grimm stories.

And, on the bright side, he wouldn’t have to lock himself in the bathroom for getting so fed up with Wordsworth’s outlook on life (well, that and his classmate’s discussion) and how everything would be perfect if we all just loved nature. Yeah, Connor tried that. It didn’t work even a little bit. If anything, it made things worse for him. Being alone with his thoughts was not a good phenomenon, to say the absolute very least. So a break from the nature-loving freak himself was like walking under a waterfall into a right of passage.

“I think it’s like a fairytale!”

It was going to be one of those discussions. Alright. Fine. Connor took a deep breath and hoped that the conversation would get a little bit more exciting before he would leave and chill in the silence of the bathroom while everything around him remained still. It was the one thing he could control; that he could keep calm. He decided he’d give it another 20 minutes before leaving.

He chose to zone out a little bit, his pencil doodling a little boat, scarves and rags coming out of it. He’d draw the actual Lady of Shalott later. It was now that Connor wished he’d gotten a coffee from literally anywhere to help him stay awake and fight off his usual headache of not sleeping. When he’d been open about his head hurting before, kids started to laugh at him; mock him for being “too hungover to even talk about poetry”. The truth was that he was never actually hung over—extremely hungry, yeah, but that was kind of a given. And that was another thing that the coffee he so desperately craved helped with. He knew it was too late to get it right now, though. His drawing was just only getting started, guidelines still very prominent.

His black nail polish hit the paper, and he stopped for a second, assessing the damage that had been done. He liked it. Yeah, it was a new wave of hurt, it could symbolize the violent calmness of the Lady’s death. Connor made a few more marks, giving the image a real feeling of rage and empathy. He liked it. It was more than pretty. It was telling of what he assumed deaths of this caliber were like.

“Let’s talk about some Victorian history, okay?” The teacher queued up his PowerPoint before walking back to the front of the class, adjusting his blazer just slightly. Why was this teacher so pretentious? He was always way too chipper for this time of day; it was like he’d just swallowed a spoonful of straight caffeine. Connor rolled his eyes before pulling out a pen for the accents of his drawing.

“Now, in the Victorian era, women were typically referred to Angels of the Household. They did practically everything in their power to make the home perfect and ‘just so’ for her husband.

“Another term came along with the Angel of the Household, however. That term was Fallen Angel; or a woman who did not do the chores she was expected to and would also often commit adultery. Now, adultery was a pretty common thing among men, especially since divorce was so unheard of and frankly only for the exceedingly rich. And if the woman committed adultery, the husband and the rest of society would shun her, causing her death or causing her to be exiled. The deaths were a lot more frequent and usually were water based. Women would jump off bridges or purposely drown themselves in some way or another. Given this new information, what can we say about the Lady of Shalott?”

“She got what was coming to her.”

Connor rolled his eyes. He had to restrain throwing his pen at that one kid. He didn’t know names, but knew that that kid was more annoying and ruder than Jared Kleinman. Connor watched as the kid smiled smugly as the teacher tried to continue the conversation with the class, leaving that comment out. While the comment was a joke to the kid, Connor knew that there was truth behind it. He refocused on his drawing.

“I think we should also talk about some laws women had to follow.”

For some reason, Connor thought of his sister. Maybe it was the events from the night before or something. It dawned upon him after a minute or so: Zoe would totally raise her hand like the dumb overachiever she is and state something completely true and wonderful about women today before giving harsh criticism to anyone else who still believed in it. He had to chuckle a little bit. While he was still definitely upset at his sister and often fought with her, sometimes fighting to purposely get a rise out of her, he kind of missed the bond they’d had before. It was weird. Connor dismissed the feeling.

“Women weren’t allowed to file any kind of lawsuit without her husband’s or father’s consent. That includes divorce. And, if they somehow got the money and consent, women couldn’t divorce based on adultery alone like men could.”

Connor turned back to his work once more before he could hear the discussion around that. He didn’t want to hear the discussion around that. If he did, he’d have to leave for the bathroom, and he still had 5 minutes to stick it out before making his final decision to skip or not. So, instead of listening to the cringeworthy conversation, he chose to add medallions to his boat and begin the figure of the Lady of Shalott.

“Good question, Ellie! Women were legally obligated to submit to their husbands. As in, martial assault was completely legal and encouraged. It wouldn’t be many years until that law was changed.”

“Wait! So like assault was legal?”

“No! Not at all, actually! Let me give an example of this.” Connor hoped he wouldn’t be picked. If Mr. Rand used him in an example where he was the bad person, the class would break out into laughter and his entire day would be ruined. He’d have to leave, he’d have to find a new way to cope with this bullshit because his fucking dealer wasn’t getting back to him. Everyone called him a freak now, he couldn’t imagine what it would be like if the teacher called him something like a predator to an entire sex.

“Let’s say Jenna and Erik were married, and Erik assaults Jenna. That’s legal in this time period. But now let’s say Connor and (Y/N) were married—(Y/N) being the feminine figure in this situation” FUCK “They live a very happy marriage, love each other very much, and neither have done anything wrong. But let’s say one day someone forces (Y/N) into a situation they don’t want to be in. That would be illegal because (Y/N) and their assaulter aren’t married. Does that make sense?”

Connor suddenly met your gaze, each of you embarrassed as the other. You quietly eyed your pencil quickly after, a blush ever prominent on your features. You looked up after a solid thirty seconds, refocusing on taking notes on the class’s discussion. Someone else spoke up about you as your eyes met your notebook again, not shifting up this time.

“So if (Y/N) wanted to file a lawsuit, they’d need Connor’s consent?”

This was just getting worse and worse by the minute. Connor counted. He’d been here past the 20 minute mark a while ago. He had 10 minutes left before he could escape. Connor wasn’t going to the bathroom, though. No, he was going home. This was too much for him and his lack of sleep.

“Yes, that’s correct! And I’m sure Connor would gladly give it, as two people in this time period generally love and care for their spouse, even if this time period’s art don’t depict that.”

Connor didn’t need to see your face to know you were beet red. He kept staring at you until he made eye contact again. He shot you a look of sadness. Connor knew what was coming. The kids around you would start calling you a freak, would start making fun of you for this teacher’s dumb move. He had never talked to you, but knew from various things he’d heard around the school that you just kind of kept to yourself and were generally a nice person. You didn��t deserve to be harassed for something that was out of your control. You didn’t—fuck was Connor turning into Zoe?

“Would Connor even do it? Because how does he know that (Y/N) isn’t lying about their acts of adultery?”

Now Connor couldn’t hold it in as he watched  your face meet the light and contort into utter horror. You scooted your chair away from this kid, eyes fixated on your desk as you did so. Even from his seat across the room, he could sense your discomfort and your attempts at distracting yourself from the thoughts that oh-so-obviously clouded your mind. He could see how you held your breath. The tighter that your inhale became, the tighter that Connor’s fist and jaw clenched.

“Because unlike you, I actually believe in the people who come forward about a very personal and traumatizing experience, asswipe.”

“Language, Mr. Murphy.”

Connor’s face turned red and slumped into his seat. Although, he had been victorious. You were staring now, pencil not moving as he could see your heavy breaths take over. He relaxed a little bit at that, but not enough to stop crumpling the drawing he’d created at the beginning of class. His eyes shifted from you to that one kid, fight blazing in his heart.

“Connor is right, though,” Mr. Rand continued, “He would believe them because why would you lie about that kind of thing, especially when that’s your spouse? You wouldn’t. Studies have shown that even in today’s society, you can’t even pay people a million dollars to lie about being assaulted. So, why lie? No one does, Mr. Bernstein. You’re just trying to justify your own actions.”

But the kid—Bernstein apparently—smirked at Connor, happy he’d gotten a rise out of him. Bernstein didn’t even listen to the speech that Mr. Rand gave so eloquently and wonderfully, but to be fair, Connor didn’t either. No, instead each of them were staring at each other, one in victory and the other in pure plotting. He knew that he couldn’t get revenge on this dick now, but soon. Yeah, Connor would beat the shit out of him soon.

“Hey, Connor, right?”

Connor didn’t even notice that you’d stepped up to his desk, he had been so involved in making that one kid fucking pay for his actions. His eyes were now meeting your nervous ones, and Connor tried his hardest to seem less intimidating. It probably didn’t help that he’d chosen to wear all black and was staring at Bernstein like he was going to kill him. And a part of him knew that he couldn’t help being intimidating—rumors spread around this school almost better than cholera had in the Victorian age. To you, and everyone else, he was scary and unstable, ready to strike at any moment. He wished it wasn’t like that, especially with someone who was as needlessly as nice as you. And now, he had proof that the rumors were true.

You were making an effort to at least be nice to the poor kid who sometimes can’t keep his feelings in check. Yeah, he has outbursts, he just wished they weren’t as often as they were. And you knew that—or at least, he assumed you knew that. And yet, you were still talking to him, like he were a real person and like everybody else in the entire school didn’t treat him like some zoo animal that they didn’t even pay to see.

“I just wanted to say thank you for like…defending me back there. That kid deserved it.” You smiled nervously, shifting your feet as you stood in front of his desk.

“Yeah. No problem.” He stated, trying to be as not scary as he could be, “Human beings need to be treated with respect, you know? Plus, that one kid calls me a—”

“Hey freak!”

Connor’s hands balled up and his breathing became staggered. He quickly packed up his stuff before walking off, giving you a small nod as he continued on with his day. It was almost like for a moment he’d forgotten he was in this shit school with people who commit fuckery at all hours of the day. He stepped into the bathroom; choosing to at least try to go to second period. But he’d have to be late. Yeah, he needed to calm down from that encounter and he just…he couldn’t take anyone with that shitty sense of humor at the moment.

^^^

Connor rubbed his eye with his hand as he walked into the classroom. 7:28. Fuck first period. With a glance at the board, he was met with the empty white surface. A hint of dread rose within him. Ever since his British Literature teacher said that everyone from the Romantic Era had died by the time the Victorian Era came around, except of course, for Connor’s least favorite poet, he’d been preparing for the worst ever since.

He hadn’t done his homework from the night before. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t normally do it—he typically liked English. But he’d lost the motivation to the night before for some reason. Maybe it was because he could hear Zoe playing guitar and humming along through the wall until about midnight. And by then, he decided he wasn’t going to do it.

Connor looked up and started for his usual spot, but it was oddly surprised to find you in the seat next to his, pulling out your notebook and offering a soft smile to him. He offered one back before sitting in his spot, careful not to accidently bump you or something. He settled, class started, and for some reason, Connor felt like first period British Literature might just be okay.

[rocknrollsalad-moved]

Prompt: Duality

I don’t want to talk down my writing but I think I bit off an idea bigger than i could chew here. I had this grand plan about going back and forth between Bruce and Tony slowly making it obvious they were together. Like a camera focusing on a fine detail and pulling back to the bigger picture. Not sure I accomplished that but I do like what I DID accomplish. 

“ I opened doors for little old ladies, I helped the blind to see… “ 

Plain white ear buds blast the music not just into Tony’s ears but deep into his bones. Music wasn’t meant to be quiet. It’s fast, it’s loud. Break the speakers, crank it up until the sound distorts and the neighbors complain. Come on feel the noise. 

It’s rebellion and excess. Glam and glitz. Loud and in your face. It’s everything Tony has created for himself. Something he’d latched on to young and never left. Coming from a time when rock produced gods. 

Now the skies did. Rained down actual gods and Tony’s life couldn’t be further from throwing a tv into a hotel pool or maybe, just once, draining that can of Aqua-Net into his hair to better look the part. Rhodey still brings it up after a few too many drinks. 

For all the flaming guitar solos and high-pitched war cries, this is a reminder of a simpler time. When life was easier. Not great but easier. College was a laugh, parents were alive (not that he wanted anything to do with that whole scene), his heart was safe, and alcohol tolerance was high. 

Tony partied as hard as the legends that came with the men whose voices kept any space from feeling empty. Except his stories were real. Not that it was his claim to fame anymore but life wasn’t that simple, either. 

Rather than be the reason the bar off Main Street put a barrier in front of the jumbotron they had for whatever sporting event was happening, Tony was the name of a company. Not his but it still bore his name. He was the scapegoat for his own band of rebels and rule breakers. 

Some things never change, though. Blast the loud music, build speakers that don’t distort, make walls that don’t shake. Soundproof your lab, buy the rights to your favorite albums so the good times can go with you. 

Shoot to Thrill, shake them all night long, and you might as well jump. Make sure you can’t hear anyone when they come in search of signatures on the always important documents or when they want to talk to you about eating something. Turn a ‘deaf’ ear on those wanting to know the state of every aspect of your life. 

Drown out the thoughts of where you failed, when you could have been better and who you’ve wronged. Rock your way past the scrolling list of lives lost. If you can’t hear the thoughts of disappointment, rejection, or any of your numerous mistakes, then they aren’t there. 

So, as he sat around ‘relaxing’ for the night with some light paperwork Tony blasted the music into those cheap earbuds until they couldn’t handle it. Stark Industries was effectively buying a smaller company in order to fund them. They were going to do great things but it meant mountains of paperwork. Since it was his pet project and because after all this time he was still trying to get back in her good graces, Tony took the job from Pepper’s workload. 

Which brought up all those feelings, the very feelings he was trying to drown in classic rock. It wasn’t easy, it took some searching, but with the perfect album queued to play all night long Tony could tackle the boring aspects of his job. 

~~~

Noise canceling, over the ear, solid black headphones took up half of Bruce’s head. They were a luxury to him, something he wasn’t used to not something he couldn’t live without. Of course, he had also gone out and bought the most expensive pair he could. 

The City was loud, it was constant screaming, constant sirens (though he knew some were rescue vehicles they still tripped an alert in his mind), gunshots, loud crashes, and car wrecks. It was a nonstop cacophony that made it hard to relax. 

The jungle, deep in some forest, or better yet, the arctic, things were quiet and serene. Your days were filled with leaves rustling, water dripping, and bird calls. Everything felt muted. As much as Bruce could claim peace, that was it. 

A small, self-built shack with none of life’s luxuries and owls to play you off to sleep. It sounds like a cliche, like one of those kids movies where the animals are alive, but that’s only if you paint it a certain way. The exact way Bruce liked to paint it because why remember the rest?

The constant and crippling paranoia, the setting of traps, not eating because you’ve convinced yourself that your hunger is a trap. It wasn’t as picturesque as Bruce liked to remember. Never once did the birds come and help with chores. 

Your mind does that, though. It saves you and Bruce’s mind is an absolute expert at this. He’s lived his life replacing all the bad with that one kernel of good. In another life, Bruce would have made a great fantasy writer but he never seen it like that. In fact, he didn’t see it as anything because he wasn’t aware he was doing it. 

Filling his mind with safeguards thanks to a life of constant trauma. If you were to think of it as a building, every floor was a vault with locks that would put anything known to man to shame. Behind them all rest the memories Bruce wasn’t equipped to deal with. 

Things like time spent in Russia thinking the trees were incoming soldiers. Having locked those memories away in a vault, refusing to deal with them. It left Bruce without the memory of how peaceful it was to watch the snow fall, how all the animals went silent and it was you and the nothingness. That was the dream; hearing nothingness. 

On the other hand, New York was sensory overload. It never stopped and Bruce longed for the quiet peace of the Amazon after a storm. As with everything, he got used to it but noise canceling headphones were essential. 

He didn’t even bother with music half the time. Just put them on and let them block (almost) everything out. Usually, he’s playing white noise. Something to listen to because silence isn’t good for a mind like his. Others get a little too loud when there’s no distraction. 

Tonight was one of the good nights. Bruce didn’t need to distract his mind or shut off certain parts of it. He was sitting around being lazy. Another new luxury afforded to him with this city life. The headphones were to prevent others from approaching and to allow for some calming quiet time. 

A stack of research journals sat beside him, as much as he could carry. Saying there was so much to catch up on made it sound like Bruce had been gone for decades but he’d not been chipped out of ice here. Somewhere between absent-minded ‘I’ll read that when I’m done here’ and never making it back to the paper and ultra focus on his work, Bruce was never caught up on news. 

This had nothing to do with the Other Guy. it was just Bruce. However, it led to nights like this. A pack of crackers, some fruit juice, a warm blanket, and the discoveries of his peers to read about. Though his heart was a little faster these days, its beats per minute were as low as they could be. This was calm. 

The soft fabric of the blanket made the papers slip easier but it collected crumbs well since that was a complaint people had. Few, though, complained about a content Bruce. 

~~~

“ I got no friends ‘cuz they read the papers. They can’t be seen with me… “ Bed was the last place you should take your work. There was stacks of research that spoke about keeping stressful activities out of a place meant for relaxing. Which was laughable because Tony could sleep anywhere and had done plenty of strenuous activities in the bedroom..as well as anywhere.  

In fact, that bedroom was nothing more than another room. It was the room he wanted to be in right now. Some place easy, maybe he needed a little happy and something relaxing. The comfort of the mattress that gave just enough under his weight. The low lights and lack of distractions. It wasn’t so bad. 

Signing your name to fifty different lines on the same sheet was bad. Perhaps it was time to adopt a mononym. His level of fame was high enough, might as well. (Even better, it’d be an excuse to ditch the Stark name once and for all). 

Until that time, Tony was stuck signing his entire name to these papers that detailed out his latest venture. Tapping his foot to the beat, unaware of the action. The hand in his moved over enough for a clear smack to his thigh and brought a smile to Tony’s face.

Giving no acknowledgment to the request, instead stopping the movement as he carried on about his work. Tony thought about why he was really here. He could claim ambiance all he wanted. He could, and would, talk for days about the extreme comfort of the mattress he had imported and how it was like sleeping on a cloud but that wasn’t why he was here. 

There was one reason paperwork was being done in bed when Tony could name at least fifteen things without thought that would be more fun. Starting with Netflix marathons. It was who he was in bed with. Not the location, the who. The same ‘who’ who wasn’t in Tony’s office.

He’d dragged files of paper that weighed as much as what Tony assumed a small child did up here because he wanted to be near someone. Because he’d been away for too long. Emotional attachment was the worst. 

Like everything else, Tony didn’t want to think about that. The realization had put him a little further at ease but thinking too much on the point brought up too many emotions. Which would then ruin the relaxation. Making a poor decision counted if it was on his own behalf because of relaxation, right? 

Accept it. More than that, enjoy it! 

Tony listened to his own advice. He was the smartest person he knew, after all. Let the music do its job, block all this nonsense out and enjoy something. It’d been a long time since Tony had enjoyed anything. Even if it was whilst doing some of the most boring work known to man. 

Putting the pen down and replacing it with a phone, Tony text Rhodey about the idea of a single name so they could brainstorm ideas. It was nothing more than an excuse to talk to his best friend. Something Tony thought was slick and covert. He was the only one who thought so. 

Taking the time to check on a few other things as he waited for the vibration in his hand to alert him to a new message, thinking about everything around him. Knowing the message he’d receive would be one of annoyance and likely contain the words ‘ridiculous idea’. Tony would expect nothing less.  

The weight of someone else in his bed pulled his attention, nothing more than shifting to get comfortable. Blocking out the noise in his ears, the guitar solo pumping through his veins. Tony grinned and checked his phone again. Typing a message he couldn’t remember ever sending to Rhodey. 

I think I’m actually happy. Or as close as a guy like me gets. 

It’d been awhile since anyone had taken up that side of the bed and Tony would be lying if he said he didn’t miss it. The way the bed almost seemed to even out from the other body. Making everything feel less empty. Less alone. 

Tony squeezes his hand, he gets the same in return. Rhodey tells him that making comparisons between himself a Jesus is suicide the likes of which he may never recover causing Tony to have to bite back a laugh. He does use the word ridiculous, at least five times. The other message goes ignored. Tony appreciates that. 

Replying with a message to say he thinks he can pull it off, Tony changes apps on his phone and stops the music. Where his thoughts are now, he doesn’t mind listening to them. 

Enjoy this. 

~~~

Bruce wasn’t the kind of guy to share his space. The closest he’d come was sharing a lab with people, which he hated most of the time. People dropped things, they messed with your work, they talked and often nonstop. Never were they helpful to getting work done. 

There had been Betty, Bruce would have shared space with her forever. He was often jealous of the quaint house she shared with Leonard. Her relationship status and Bruce being....himself got in the way. Then the incident put distance between them in more ways than one. 

Cohabitating wasn’t something Bruce was looking for, it was something that happened. For a man who liked the rational and explainable, accidents and happenstance seemed to be controlling everything in his life lately. 

Learning to roll with it would have been the best plan. Not one Bruce was going to adopt anytime soon. Now more than ever he lacked control of what he did, it wasn’t time to start leaving things up to chance. 

Yet here he sat. Not just in a lab with someone but in a bedroom. An intimate place, not a room you let anyone into but the bedroom. Sitting on the same bed as someone who’s company he actually enjoys. This wasn’t something he deserved. 

As the bed moved, giving a reminder of someone else beside him, Bruce was no longer stuck on how comfortable the mattress was. They could have pulled a mattress out of the dumpster and Bruce would have felt like his was sleeping in a palace but this bed was brand new. It enveloped you. Softness surrounded your body but it didn’t lack support, so no aches and pains when you woke up.  

Forever ruined on all other sleep surfaces, Bruce enjoyed this one while it was his to enjoy. The same bed was on the level of Stark Tower they'd allowed, no encouraged, to claim as his own. This one was better, though. Better because someone else was here. 

Lounging around in his pajamas, hair sticking out in a few directions as he hadn’t bothered to brush it after his shower, curled up with reading material and snacks Bruce felt something he hadn’t in a long time. He didn’t want to assign the word to it but he knew. 

He knew it was happiness. 

~~~

Plucking the ear buds out one at a time, Tony looks over the man next to him. He can’t help the soppy smile. It’s not like him, he thinks, to look so love sick but anyone who knew Tony would say his face so often gave him away. If you cared enough to pay attention. 

This look goes unnoticed and Tony pulls his hand free. Stacking the papers not-so-neatly in their folders. Piling the folders on each other before dropping the stack off the side of the bed. Rendering all the organizing pointless. 

Taking the cord from his phone, balling them up and tossing the earbuds on the night stand but not wanting to give up the phone, Tony shuffles on the bed. It’s enough to earn him a look of question from the other but nothing more. 

Soon Tony’s laying down but not to sleep. He doesn’t want to give this up. Instead, he worms his way against the body beside him until his head is resting above the stomach. Phone held tight in the hand that’s tossed over, Tony makes himself comfortable. 

Bruce doesn’t stir, he doesn’t even lift his eyes from the page. In too many ways he and Tony are too alike. Bruce is afraid if he calls attention to this, Tony will pull back. Tony is afraid to ask for this for fear of rejection. Instead, they both sit there in silence, happier than they’ll express but terrified it’ll be gone in a flash. 

It takes some more work for Tony to get comfortable. Bruce waits it out, reading his science journal and listening to his white noise. After a few minutes of little to no movement, Bruce starts to rub his fingers back and forth in the short hairs on Tony’s head. Now Tony’s eyes are closing, it’s involuntary. 

He stops checking the phone as often and curls a leg up to tangle in with Bruce’s. Everything is quiet, Bruce’s heartbeat sounds slow though still faster than his own. They lay like that until Tony falls asleep. He hadn’t planned on it but being there with Bruce, the calm scratching of his hair, and the lack of expectations have him drifting anyways. 

The last thing he remembers is Rhodes calling him a few more names and knowing he doesn’t have it in him to verbally spar they way they do. His phone rests on the bed and it’s the erratic heartbeat in Bruce’s chest and pages turning faster than they should be that lulls him to sleep. A far cry from glam metal drowning out thoughts.

[kadobeclothing]

The Best Valentine’s Day Date Ideas

Valentine’s Day should be easy. After all, the potentially disastrous bit – finding a partner to get all googly-eyed with – is done. Yet, the reality can be as far from cute and cuddly as a season of Narcos. There’s the panic gift buying – as if every man on earth suddenly remembers it’s his mother’s birthday. The overpriced roses that resemble a shrivelled scrotum the instant you leave the shop. Plus the restaurant dinners where the conversation is drier than a well-done steak.However, there is a new Plan V. A cooler, slicker way to handle the day – starting with these 14 date ideas that are memorable and have just the right level of mush. You’ve got it from here.1. Take A Cable CarValentine’s Day can feel like every town and city is crammed full of couples. Like, seriously, is no one binge-watching Netflix tonight? To escape to your own little pod of outdoor privacy, think vertical. Cable cars and Ferris wheels were made for this very occasion – they bring awesome views, the novelty factor, the fear of dangling perilously in the air. Okay, don’t dwell on that last one. Do pre-book wherever possible, however. Queuing is never an aphrodisiac.2. Book A Chocolate MasterclassChocolate for Valentine’s Day, ground-breaking, right? Well, actually, it is if you think outside the chocolate box and turn the sweet stuff into an experience. For one, a masterclass with a chocolatier is basically a whole evening spent eating dessert together. You’ll smell chocolate, taste it and turn it into miniature truffley works of art. It’s a touchy-feely activity that brings out your creative and your sensual sides. The result? Prepare to adopt the charm of Ferrero Rocher’s ambassador with the sultry appeal of the Milk Tray man. Roll neck optional.3. Go Star-GazingThe night sky isn’t just romantic, it also doesn’t get booked up three weeks in advance and is big enough that you won’t bump into anyone else with the same idea. To ace stargazing, you need a spot away from artificial light (but not so remote that your date thinks you’re luring them into the wilderness), cosy layers, the Sky View Lite app to identify what’s above you, plus something stiff (liquor based, please). Of course, every great plan has a nemesis, and in this case it’s clouds. An observatory or planetarium is a strong back-up. Even if visibility is poor, 3D projections bring the planets to you.4. Escape To A Boutique HotelNo relationship was ever made worse by a king-size bed, Egyptian cotton sheets, a mini bar stocked with rum and someone else cleaning the toilet. Spending Valentine’s away in a swanky hotel elevates planning for the day from a chore into a treat. There’s also a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign that you can use without feeling guilty. Meaning all the usual mid-passion mood-killers – parents unexpectedly popping over, the postman needing a signature – are eliminated. Oh yes.5. Have A Cook-OffSo you forgot to reserve the pop-up restaurant that your partner’s been dropping hints about since last October. No problem. Blame its booking system and inject some DIY fun instead. Propose a challenge: you both have to prepare the best or most inventive meal you can, using only what’s currently in the house. Depending on your level of reliance on takeaway apps, that dish could be a variation on pasta and sauce, or something to make Ottolenghi green with envy. Winner of the cook-off gets a week off washing-up duty.6. Recreate Your First DateObviously it helps if your first date was a cracker. And, very important, that you remember the first date with the right person. A candlelit river cruise with some phone-streamed jazz might be date dynamite, but not if it actually happened between you and an ex. Caveats over with, a trip down memory lane always gets the heartstrings going. Throw on the same Oxford shirt, recreate the food you ate, choose the same bottle of wine, joke about the mishaps or funny moments and how you never could have imagined it would have worked out so well. You big softie.7. Build Something TogetherFor a fun evening where time will evaporate, get your geek on and build something together. Lego and jigsaw puzzles are, frankly, wasted on the young. By our age, we should celebrate finally being allowed to buy the big Lego set (Star Wars Millennium Falcon, we’re looking at you). Plus, we won’t throw a tantrum if we can’t find the bottom right-hand corner of the jigsaw. Or so the theory goes. Fact is, games are silly and satisfying in equal measure, and, weirdly, it’s seriously hot watching your partner construct. Who knew?8. Pick A Random Cuisine To TryAn interesting way to solve the dinner dilemma – i.e. how to eat out without being a clone of every couple in a 10-mile radius – is to pick the cuisine of a lesser known country or just one you’ve never tried and find a street-food truck or takeout. Maybe it’s Vietnamese or Bangladeshi or Lebanese. The food itself provides a more interesting talking point than ‘Will that couple over there please stop eating each other’ – and you might just stumble upon a new favourite to return to.9. Give Pottery-Making A SpinIf it was good enough for Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze in Ghost… (okay, Swayze’s character wasn’t exactly alive at the time – but details, schmetails). For Valentine’s Day, a ceramics or pottery-making class is all kinds of sensual. Think about it: hands interlocking over wet clay while you sculpt next to each other at the wheel. Even if the end result is more mangled than majestic, you’ll have a romantic date and a souvenir to remember it by.10. Belt Out KaraokeValentine’s Day singing isn’t just for drunk groups of singles on the train – it’s great for drunk couples, too. Though upgrade the train to a karaoke booth. Depending on which side of the X Factor stage you would be most likely to grace – the voice of an angel ‘Yes’ group or the voice that makes dogs howl – a bit of tequila beforehand may or may not be needed. Though, it’s really the attitude that counts. Grab your date, a classic playlist and belt out some cheesy duets. Sonny and Cher, eat your heart out.11. Try An Adventure SportNot that thing you saw on PornHub that looked like you needed to be triple-jointed, this is good, clean, PG-friendly fun. In fact, your local sports centre is a good place to start. Have you ever been to a climbing wall together? What about trampolining? Or a zip-wire or tree-top assault course? Think outside your comfort zone (literally – there may well be muscle ache the next day) and choose an adrenaline-fuelled activity that’s good for your heart, both physically and romantically.12. Wow With A Helicopter RideIt’s hard to talk about helicopters without dropping in a ‘give them the ride of their life’ cliché. But, when in Rome and all that. A helicopter ride is a blow-the-budget, blow-their-socks-off date memorable for you, for your partner, and great for bragging rights on Instagram. Dating by chopper always trumps dating by Uber – even one of the fancy ones with Fiji Water. Where to go? Take a short flight around your city, over a river or near a famous landmark. It’s not just about the views, the bumpy bits are perfect moments for some impromptu hand-squeezing.13. Relax In A SpaHowever tough men like to act, moaning about always having a stiff neck and never doing anything about it, almost all agree – pampering rocks. Take those white spa robes. That’s a level of comfort and fluffiness that seems to defy the laws of science. A spa is a great Valentine’s Day activity because you’re both indulged, both relaxed, and both in a setting where there’s no pressure to competitively look at other couples and judge who is having the better time. In a spa, everyone is too blissed out and horizontal to care. Couple’s packages range from hours of knot-nuking massage to dips in hydrotherapy pools and scent-infused saunas.14. Play The Flip-A-Coin GameStill don’t want the pressure of producing a Valentine’s Day dud? Well, why not leave the evening to chance. Head into a town or city centre and flip a coin to make your decisions. Should we turn left or right here? There’s a bar on one side, a café on the other – which wins? Should we go to a museum or the park? Ice cream or cake? Like one of those ‘choose your adventure’ books you loved as a child, the coin handles your fate for you. One thing: just don’t forget your wallet. Source link

source https://www.kadobeclothing.store/the-best-valentines-day-date-ideas/

[thewhitecoatssay]

CONFESSION TIME

I still have not done my placements for this season. I am too discouraged by NONE of the Blizzard MMR and Personal Adjustment changes making their way into the game, and it has completely turned me off from queuing for Hero League.

Instead, I’ve been enjoying playing Quick Match, queuing up as the “random hero”, and collecting those sweet, sweet Winter Veil loot boxes. I still have a few things I’d really like to get (Lunara winter skin, Valla Winter skin) but mostly I’ve been having a ton of fun just playing the game! I’ve also done some Unranked Draft when I’m not sure who to play in QM, and feel like letting a draft environment steer me in the direction of a particular hero.

I do wish for a few things to happen with the game though, or else I feel my interest in it will begin to waver. Here is that wish list:

A purchasing system that is more straightforward - I understand the idea behind an in-game currency and not making items available to purchase directly, but it’s so confusing trying to figure out how many gems I should buy. It seems like I always have an odd number of gems left over, and there is no refund system in place for those gems. Also, why can’t I purchase stim packs straight-up, or purchase the exact number of gems needed for stim packs?

Random character selection always gives bonus XP - or if not always, then more often. OR perhaps a system like World of Warcraft, where, when needed, specific roles gain an XP/gold bonus for being played. For example, if not enough people are playing specialists in the Quick Match queue, offer a gold/XP incentive for people to queue up as a specialist.

A clan or guild system, or a way to organize preferred players - I understand many people already use Discord or other third-party apps and sites to find people to play with, but something in game would be great. There is a bit of a psychological commitment to adding someone to your friends list, and lately I have found that my battle.net friends list is littered with people that I played one game with, or that were a nice teammate in Hero League. I don’t even remember who some of the people on my friends list even are as a result. There is no good way to differentiate, and there is also no good way to find groups other than checking the “Looking for group” box and hoping that a rando invites you.

A true API or logs system - This is probably a lot to ask of Blizzard for a game that is free to play, but I would love to have API information. Think HoTSlogs only ALL game information is cataloged, not just games that are uploaded. I for one can’t stand the chore of having to rely on third-party sites for “sort of accurate” data.

In addition, I have found (anecdotes incoming) that since the 2018 gameplay changes, most of my games have been incredibly snowbally. It is a rarity that a game lasts longer than 15 minutes, and early game means everything. On Braxis holdout, I have maybe seen one game go longer than 13 minutes, and the first zerg objective always seems to reach a keep. Getting the first objective means everything. It is really frustrating, especially because I thought the changes were meant to promote a “more meaningful laning phase”. I won’t rant too much, but I will be surprised if we don’t hear some sort of developer update after the holiday addressing the fact that cheesing a map is even easier now, late game heroes are useless in the current meta, and that if you capture forts in the first 5-10 minutes, the game is basically yours..