#the exercise is not meant to be all perfect polished work and that’s FINE

[sesamestreep]

30 Day Writing Challenge - Day 3

Use the words: kitchen, date, music (from this list) ➸ this could be canon-verse (ish??) or it would honestly work for any AU of mine too. choose your own adventure!

“This doesn’t count as our big date night, for the record.”

Foggy actually pauses in the middle of pouring the wine and gestures around him in bewilderment. “What? Why not?”

“We’re in the office kitchen,” Matt says, leaning back in the uncomfortable plastic chair. When they’d moved into their new office—after a much longer time than either of them had counted on working out of the back of the Nelsons’ shop—money had still been tight enough that most of their furniture was secondhand and largely donated by well-meaning friends and family. They’ve been slowly replacing things to make the place seem less ramshackle but it takes time and they’ve obviously focused their early efforts on the spaces that their clients actually see. The pathetic little kitchen table with its two chairs is not a high priority for replacement, all things considered.

“What’s wrong with our kitchen?” Foggy asks. “Kitchens can be romantic.”

“Kitchens in general can, sure, but this one cannot.”

“And I’m asking why not?”

“For one thing, it’s not really a kitchen,” Matt says. “It’s a coffeemaker, a few cabinets, and a microwave.”

“And a sink,” Foggy replies, cheerfully. “Don’t forget the sink.”

“Oh, right. The sink does make it more romantic.”

“Thank you!”

“A date needs ambience,” Matt continues, undeterred. “Candles, or mood lighting, at the very least. Music or…something! We have none of that.”

“I can get that wind-up lantern we have in case of power outages, if you think that would help,” Foggy says. “And I think I have a kazoo in my office.”

“Why do you have a kazoo, of all things?”

“Marlena’s daughter gave it to me last time they were here. I think it counts as our payment for that case, by the way.”

Matt shakes his head, refusing to be amused. “We’re drinking bodega wine and eating…God, what are we even eating?”

“Your choice of—” Foggy is interrupted by the crinkling of plastic—“frozen breakfast burritos or…pizza bagels.”

“We’re grown men,” Matt says, scandalized, but somehow his smile escapes his attempt at containment. “This is pathetic.”

“I don’t know when you suddenly got too good for convenience store fare, but I’ve never made any such claims.”

“Your mother would kill me if she knew this is what I let pass for a romantic dinner.”

“Believe it or not, Matt, I don’t report back to my mother after every date,” Foggy replies, sounding like he’s very much resisting the urge to laugh. “Where on earth would you get the idea that I did?”

“I don’t know,” Matt sighs. “I’m being irrational, I understand.”

Foggy pats his hand where it’s resting on the table. “I’m disappointed too,” he says, gently.

Matt sighs again, even more dramatically. They’d had big plans to go out tonight, to finally take a night to themselves after cases had taken up most of their nights and weekends as well as their days. It wasn’t like they could afford to say no, not when people needed their help and when they needed to pay rent, so they’d been steadily working themselves down to nubs for the past few months. Tonight was meant to be a small reprieve, and Matt had learned enough to know he might not feel the need for it as much as Foggy claimed to but he did still need a break now and then, whether he could recognize it ahead of time or not.

Then, of course, a trial for one of their clients had gotten moved up, which meant they had to get all their prep done in a very small timeframe and their plans for a night off had dutifully been thrown over in favor of work once again. Hence the late dinner of whatever Foggy could find at the nearest bodega, because of course he was the one to remember, amidst the tidal wave of work, that they still needed to eat something, at least. Matt really doesn’t know how he managed to stay alive before Foggy—though, now that he thinks of it, “before Foggy” is such a distant time in the past for him at this point that he struggles to remember it at all. Which is its own kind of alarming.

“You’re not going to break up with me over this, right?” Matt asks, and again, it’s a real sign of growth that he can say it out loud at all, that he can even admit to needing the reassurance.

“God no,” Foggy says, rubbing Matt’s knuckles with his thumb. “First of all, this isn’t even a little bit your fault—”

“It was my idea to start the firm in the first place, though, so technically—”

“And secondly,” Foggy continues, ignoring him, “if I broke up with you, I’d never find someone else who would put up with this kind of thing on a regular basis. You’re the only person who understands. I got very lucky. Breaking up with you would be like hitting on a 17 in blackjack.”

“I don’t know anything about gambling, but I’m guessing that was very sweet.”

Foggy laughs. “It was, thank you for noticing. If we ever get a moment of peace in our lives, I’ll take you to Atlantic City and teach you everything you need to know about blackjack.”

“I have a set of Braille playing cards at home,” Matt says, feeling his face heat for no real reason. “I mean, just in the interest of setting more reasonable goals.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Getting as far away as New Jersey is pretty unrealistic, for us.”

“I appreciate that you want to take me away someplace nice, though.”

“Of course,” Foggy says. “Only the best for you.”

“Exotic vacations to New Jersey, fancy dinners from the freezer aisle, six dollar wine…” Matt muses. “Who says you can’t have it all?”

“You haven’t seen anything yet, baby,” Foggy quips. “If you think dinner for two in the office kitchenette is uninspiring, wait until you experience making love on the office couch!”

Matt wrinkles his nose, even as he feels himself blush. “Yeah, that’s going to take some convincing,” he says, though he doesn’t admit that it probably won’t amount to all that much. Foggy can talk him into almost anything, because a major component of being in love is being dangerously stupid for another person, he’s found.

“I think I’ll let the cheap wine do the talking for me on this one,” Foggy says, reaching across the table to top off Matt’s glass—or, well, paper cup. “Drink up!”

Matt does, and it’s a pleasant surprise when it turns out to be better and sweeter than he ever imagined. There’s probably a metaphor in there somewhere…

[sketch-pencilpoint]

The time is cometh

Little robots: the little city. In summary, the little robots find a giant underground city full of little robots like themselves. They decide to move in, most of them settling in a small town known as haybaile

S1 E1 - pilot/the little city part 1

Summary: 5 as he is about to pull the day-night lever, tiny discovers a large, mysterious hole behind the lever. He decides to investigate the next day, and finds something he never imagined was possible.

Narrator: Ah, look at the little robots in their little robot town. See as they enjoy themselves as the day comes to a close. Isn't it adorable how they have their own unique hobbies and things that they do.

Narrator: Look as tiny performs maintenance on the nut and bolt tree as messy rolls around in scrap. We can see sporty trying a new exercise of lifting weights as he runs on his treadmill. Stretchy's is in his junkyard sorting obsessively. Stripey is helping rusty tend to her garden. Noisy is singing her usual 'very noisy' song as spotty tries (and fails) to stop her. Scary is putting on some kind of performance. Sparky 1 is watching as sparky 2 prepares for a prank to mess up this show. How wonderful.

*tiny climbs onto his platform within the tree, now done with the o so important maintenance*

Tiny: There we go. The nut and bolt tree looks good after a good polish and a tightening of its bolts.

*he takes his little elevator down to the ground*

Tiny: Well then, I think it's about time to turn off the day. Now... ello?

*Tiny had noticed something... off. A giant hole behind the day-night lever. It was clearly made by a robot like tiny. After all, if it was messy, it would not only be very messed up around the edges, but bits of floor and dirt would be everywhere. But the question now is, who or what made this hole and why*

*Messy trotted up behind tiny as he looked into the strange hole. It was deep, but there was also a short ramp that reached the bottom. That proved that this was made by another little robot

Tiny: Who do you suppose made this, then Messy? Because it certainly wasn't you. Otherwise, it wouldn't have a clean ramp, ir lead into... a tunnel? Oh ....

* Tiny's mind began to wander, thinking about the possibilities of how this hole came to be and what it meant for the other little robots. After all, it could be dangerous. What if something that wanted to hurt them comes out of this tunnel.

Tiny: Messy, I'm going to pull the lever, and tomorrow, I'm going to investigate this hole. I want you to make sure no one else enters before I get back. OK?

*Messy barks*

Tiny: Perfect. Well, goodnight Messy. I'll see you tomorrow.

* Tiny pulls the lever, once again falling over in the process, but it turns to night none the less. Meanwhile...

* Messy decided to treck through stretchy's yard before going to bed, mostly to find something to cover the hole but also because he knew stretchy wouldn't be going to bed just yet to keep on working. A more recent habit of his

Messy: (sneaking up behind stretchy) RUF! RRRUFF!

Stretchy: AH! OH, Messy, can't you see I'm trying to work? Yes I know it's night but...

Messy: ororuf

Stretchy: uurh, fine, I'll go to bed just go away, would you? *sigh* a bot can't even stay up to work.

* As stretchy rolls up to his house, Messy notices a large metal sheet lying on top of one of stretchy's piles. He decides to take it, as he would use it to cover the hole. And sure enough it was the perfect size so that messy could lie on the sheet to keep it in place

(The next morning)

*Tiny wakes up and immediately takes his elevator down to the ground and flipped the day-night lever, making the sky bright once again. He walks behind the lever just to see messy sleeping behind it where the hole was.

Tiny: messy? Where's.. (messy stands up, barks, and removes the sheet showing the hole. Tiny relaxes at this)

Tiny: Oh I thought I has dremt that hole last night. Alright messy, here's the plan...

*Tiny opens up his head and pulls out a small flashlight

Tiny: I'm going down the hole to investigate. You stay up here to keep the others up here safe. We don't know what's down there and I don't want the others to get hurt because of my own negligence. Understood?

Messy: Rruf ruf (yes, sir)

Tiny: Alright messy, I'll be back as soon as I can, hang tight until then, ok?

Messy: Rrrruf

Tiny: alright, here I go. Wish me luck messy

*taking a large breath, tiny walks down the ramp into the tunnel. Messy waits until he can't see tiny anymore to pull the sheet back over the hole, or should we call this a tunnel.

*Meanwhile, at Sporty's house

*sporty flings himself out of his door, exited to start the day, doing multiple push ups before standing up

Sporty: Well, what to do today. I know, I'll ask rusty if she wants to help me improve my new exercise, treadmill weightlifting. At the very least she could give me a better name. Hup hup

*he runs to rusty's house, where stripey still is, sleeping outside in her garden. Sporty comes to a halt in front of stripey.

Sporty: stripey? What are you doing at rusty's house?

Stripey (groggily): Oh... oh dear. I fell asleep out here, didn't I? I knew i shouldn't have continued that story. Oh, hello sporty, what are you doing at Rusty's house?

Sporty: well, (he bangs on her door, rusty's vioce can be heard yelling 'coming' from inside) I wanted to know if she wanted to help me with a new exercise I was working on.

Stripey: Oh, that sounds fun. Can I help?

Sporty: Of course! The more the merrier, that's what tiny would say.

*rusty opens her door and looks up at sporty, blushing and letting of steam

Rusty: Oh.. hello sporty. What brings you here?

* As sporty explains his exercise, we cut to spotty's House as she rolls outside.

Spotty: Now, I think I'll go and pay stretchy a visit. He'll be so glad to see me, he's obsessed with me. I just know it. Besides, I have a brilliant new idea for a decoration for my house

* Despite her delusions, spotty rolls on over to stretchy's junkyard, passing by noisy as she happily stomps on her plink plonk stairs and the sparky twins sitting by their homes, looking rather upset by something

* Spotty arrives at stretchy's, unfolding behind him and waiting expectedly. As she twidles her thumbs, stretchy continues to work, complaining about the missing sheet and counting the piles he had made. At this point, scary shows up, dramatically walking in an upset limp

Scary: Oh woe. Oh grief. Oh tragedy and despair. Stretchy, I need your help!

*Before stretchy can even say anything, spotty interjects

Spotty: hang on, I was here first. Can't you see I'm wating for his assistance. And I think...

Scary: Are you blind? My cape! It's ruined thanks to those sparkies. I need it fixed. Pronto and stretchy is far more likely to have the materials I need

Spotty: Now listen here

* As the two bots angrily biker, stretchy groans. He needs to get on with his sorting, but these two are just making an unbearable racket. Luckily, he prepared for this the last time Spotty pulled a stunt like this. He reaches into his trolley and pulls out what he calls 'noise mufflers', which he made to completely block out most noise.

*Spotty and scary continue to argue over who stretchy should help first, when

Nois: SPOTTY!!

Spotty: arg!!! (She falls over, tucking into her ball form)

Noisy: OH. SORRY SPOTTY. IT'S JUST YOU WERE YELLING AND SCARY WAS YELLING AND I WANTED TO GET YOUR ATTENTION!

Spotty: Humph. Well, if you could not tell, I was in the middle of...

Noisy: YES, BUT YOUR BOTHERING STRECHY AND BESIDES, I HAVE SOMETHING I WANT TO SHOW YOU THAT I'LL THINK YOU'LL LIKE!!

Sparky #1: besides, me and Sparky #2 want to fix scary's cape as an apology for ruining it with our prank.

Scary: Well, I'll allow that, I suppose. But...

*Sparky #2 suddenly runs up to the group

Sparky #2: Guys, something is up with messy! He's sitting on some sheet of metal, and when I tried to get close, he started to bark aggressively.

Scary: something wrong with messy? Well, this can not wait. Onwards to our canine companions aid

Sparky #2: he's behind the day night lever, follow me

* As the two sparkies and scary run toward the lever, noisy drags spotty of to the wasteland. After a second or two, stretchy turns around and notices he's alone again.

Stretchy: Ah, peace at last

*he takes his mufflers out, as scary and the sparkies reach the day night lever, where messy lies behind it on a large sheet of metal

Sparky #2: See, he's just lying there

*scary aproches messy, who barks causing scary to back up

Scary: Ah, I see what you meant. Messy, co-operate with me for a minute and answer some questions, will you? Bark for yes, be quiet for no. Is there something under the hole (messy barks)

Sparky #1: Well, I can't see tiny in the nut and bolt tree, so messy, is tiny under that sheet? (Messy barks again) Why? Is he stuck? (Messy stays silent)

Sparky #2: hm... Messy, will tiny come back? (Messy barks) Ah, is there something else under there? Like a hole or.. (Messy cuts her off with a bark)

Scary: So tiny has gone into a hole in the ground with plans to return? He must be investigating it!

*Messy barks and stands up, moving the sheet to show the tunnel that led out of their little world.

Sparkies (in unison): a tunnel!

Scary: Oh dear boy, tiny. I hope you're safe within this tunnel. He's looking out for all of us contantly. Messy, I will wait with you to honour Tiny's joyful return

* Scary sits down as Messy returns the sheet to its original position. The sparkies look at each other, shrug, and sit down by the lever as well. They all wait for tiny's return from the tunnel

*Meanwhile, tiny finally emerges from the tunnel. And what does he see? Something he never would have imagined. A city. A giant city full of little robots like himself. The sky is full of clouds that move, and the buildings have lights and soft furniture. And then, over all the chatter and other noises that tiny wants to know the origins of, he hears a voice

???: I've done it, mayor. I've found the sorce of those transmissions. It was a town! With other robots! And ... wait... that's one of them there!!!

---------------------------------------------------

So, finally done with this. My goal is every Sunday but that's not concrete. As a bonus though, have a look at the first two characters I made for this series

[awanderingdeal]

You were the first

As I mentioned in this ask, I have polished up the fic I wrote live on discord. It's left at a bit of a cliff-hanger so I'll try not to leave it too long to write the second chapter, but I make no promises!

Anyway, have some Logan with his first boy crush.

CW: discovering sexuality and sexuality crisis

Rating: G

If you feel I need to add any content warnings or change the rating, please drop me a message!

Logan and Noelle are original characters from the sweater weather universe created by the wonderful @lumosinlove. All other characters in this fic are mine.

Logan tugged at his t-shirt, an expensive white thing that was more fitted than he was used to, scrutinizing his image in the mirror. He rose up onto the tips of his toes, giving a small sigh as he settled back down. He’d always been confident in his appearance, especially under the Nice sun, his hair a little lighter and his skin bronzing even more than usual, but he wished he was taller.

“Lo! Let’s go! I’m ready,” his sister called, appearing in the doorway to his bedroom a few seconds later. “Are you okay?”

Logan dismissed her concerns with a wave of his hand, figuring his ensemble of the white t-shirt and khaki shorts would have to do. “Does this look too prep school?” he asked, pulling on a pair of battered vans that he hoped would soften the outfit before joining Noelle in the hallway.

“Since when did you care about your appearance?” Noelle teased, pulling his cap over his eyes as he fell into step beside her.

I don’t,” Logan grumbled, adjusting the brim, shoving Noelle away from him. He twisted away from her retaliating shove with a chuckle, raising his hands in a truce at the top of the stairs before bounding down them. “Maman! Noelle and I are going out now!”

“Do you have sunscreen? And water?”

“Yes, Maman!” He and Noelle rolled their eyes at each other, waiting around only long enough to hear the affirmative reply from their mother telling them to be safe and back in time for dinner.

“So, what’s going on with you and this Hugo boy then?” Noelle asked as soon as the door shut behind them.

Logan glanced back towards the house anxiously, even though he knew nobody would have heard. He picked up his skateboard, dusting an imaginary piece of dirt from it before tucking it under his arm. “Nothing is going on, he asked me out and I said I wasn’t gay, simple,” Logan mumbled. “Why don’t you concentrate on your own love life?”

“Alright, there’s no need to get defensive,” Noelle clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. She strapped her board to her backpack, leaving her hands free to tap against her phone screen. “And my love life is very successful, thank you,” she added with a smirk that was begging for Logan to ask more.

“Oh yeah?” Logan latched onto the opportunity, glad to have the attention off of himself. “Is that who you’ve been texting all the time?” he chuckled, plucking Noelle’s phone from her hand. “What’s his name then?”

Noelle squealed, lunging for her phone, but Logan was too quick, looking at the message before she could grab it. “Oh,” Logan breathed, stumbling over his feet as he shoved the phone back at his sister. “Fuck, Noelle. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t -”

“Logan, it’s fine.” Noelle stopped, grabbing Logan by the shoulder so he halted as well. “Well, it’s not. You’re a little shit, but that’s what little brothers are for, right? Besides, you are so predictable. I was baiting you.”

Logan frowned, his features contorting into a picture of confusion. “What?”

“You’re such a dumbass,” Noelle laughed, shaking her head. “I wanted you to know.”

“You’re a dumbass,” Logan muttered. “So, Natacha, huh? That’s the blonde girl, right?”

Noelle looked at Logan pointedly, “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

“Uhh…Congratulations?” Logan shrugged.

Noelle sighed and started to walk again. “Yeah, she’s the blonde one.”

Logan jogged a few paces to catch up with her. He chewed at his lip, glancing over at his sister every few steps. She seemed so confident, like she knew exactly what she wanted. He tried to reassure himself that he was only 14, he wasn’t supposed to know what he wanted yet. That’s what all the websites said. Finally, he couldn’t bear the silence any longer, “Do maman et papa know?”

“Not yet,” Noelle hummed, “I’m not worried, I just -”

“Logan! Noelle!” their friend, Ibrahim, yelled as they entered the skate park. Logan looked towards Noelle, mouthing that they would finish the conversation later. “We were just talking about you.”

Noelle replied, but Logan didn’t hear what she said, his attention pulled by the tall boy standing just to the left of Ibrahim. He had light blonde hair that flopped over his eyes and he was shifting nervously between his feet. Hugo.

“Hello! Earth to Logan,” Noelle clapped her hands in front of his face. “I said we’re going to head over there and practice on the rails. Are you coming?”

Logan looked back to Hugo, wincing internally at the obviousness of the action. “No, I’m going to stay,” he pointed behind him to the small group of teens “here.”

Noelle looked at him, her lips making a funny manoeuvre that Logan had come to learn meant she was suppressing a laugh. “Okay.”

Then Noelle was gone, and Logan didn't know what to do with himself. These were the same friends he'd been hanging out with every summer for nearly a decade, but suddenly he seemed to have forgotten how to interact with them. Or rather, with him, with Hugo. He couldn’t pinpoint why he felt so awkward. Sure, the other boy had asked him out, but Logan was certain that wasn’t the problem. He didn't want to be that person, but he had other male friends who were attracted to guys and it had never been an issue before. Even when one of those friends had admitted to a crush on him, Logan had just told them politely he wasn't interested in them like that, and they'd moved on with their friendship. So why did his stomach feel like it was trying to turn itself inside out, right now? And why did he feel like he wouldn't be able to string an intelligible sentence together?

"Logan! What are you doing?" Ibrahim shouted, pulling Logan from his spiralling panic. He looked up to see the group had moved. "Hugo has finally got that combo he was working on down, and for some reason he can't wait to show you." Logan thought he heard something teasing in his friend's tone, but he squashed the thought. He looked over, meeting Hugo's shy smile and decided he could figure out whatever was going on in his head later. His friend wanted to show him a trick, and Logan wasn't a jerk, so he was going to go and watch.

Logan dug his fingers into the edge of his board, clutching it close to him as he approached his friends, the walk to the edge of the bowl they had gathered on seeming to take an age with all their eyes on him. "You've stopped falling on your ass then?" he grinned at Hugo, by way of greeting, proud that the words came out with the same smooth tone that he usually managed.

"Yeah," Hugo blushed. "I told you, practice makes perfect."

"I stand corrected," Logan huffed out a laugh. A red haired girl that Logan didn't know that well, mumbled something that he didn't quite catch, but carried a tone that he didn’t like. He spun around to ask her to repeat herself when she smiled and mounted her board, dropping over the edge of the bowl. Logan turned back to Hugo, but the boy was now looking towards the bowl, sending a glare after Lydia.

"Okay, let's not build this up too much,” Ibrahim threw his arm around Logan. “We’re going to be expecting some Tony Hawk skills at this point." Logan sent him a grateful smile, receiving a small squeeze in return.

"Lyds, we get it. You are fantastic! Now get out the bowl. I already shot - gunned," Hugo said, laughing as Lydia flipped him off after she had exited the bowl on the opposite side."

“Alright then, Hewie. The floor is yours. Let us see your mating dance," Lydia swept her arms in front of her in a grand gesture.

“Sorry about her,” Hugo cleared his throat, his face getting impossibly redder and scratching at the back of his neck. “I think she thinks she’s funny.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Logan hoped the smile he offered was comforting, even if it did feel somewhat tight. He could feel the stares of the others boring into his back as he inclined his head towards the bowl. "What are you waiting for? Show me what you can do.”

Hugo opened his mouth to respond, but seemed to decide better of it, shrugging his shoulders. A cocky smirk spread across his face before he gave a determined nod and dropped into the bowl. It was easy watching Hugo skate. Years of practise had led to a relaxed form, commanding the board with a simple confidence. Any shyness he'd been exhibiting a few moments ago had melted away. Logan wasn't the best skater, rarely picking his board up outside of the summers, so he was easily impressed by the way other people were able to keep their feet stuck to the deck like glue. However, there was something about the way Hugo's body moved, leaning into each turn and shifting his weight with such subtly, that felt different. Logan found himself holding his breath, knowing that the trick Hugo could never land was approaching. He didn't want to think about why the determined crease of Hugo's brow made the same odd feeling in his stomach from earlier reappear.

Hugo carved his way up the side of the bowl, until only one wheel ground against the coping. Logan leaned forward into the movement, expecting to hear the crash of the board against concrete, but it never came. Hugo glided seamlessly back down to the bottom of the bowl with a proud fist pump. A loud cheer escaped Logan's mouth before he even really registered it, the rest of his friends joining in to create a barrage of noise. Logan felt lighter than he had in weeks. Hugo showed off a few more tricks, before exiting the bowl. His skin had a pink flush to it, and his breath was coming in heavy pants, the heat of the afternoon sun making the exercise that bit more intense.

"Here, drink," Logan ordered, thrusting a bottle of water in Hugo’s direction. He took the bottle, but instead of drinking it like Logan expected, he unscrewed the lid, pouring the contents over his head, sweeping his bangs up off his face. Logan thought he had gotten away with the choked noise pulled from his throat, but Lydia chuckled from behind him. Logan turned on his heel, sending her a steely glare, "Is there a problem?"

Lydia raised an eyebrow, cocking her head as if inspecting something, "I'm just wondering how long it's going to take you to get your act together, Tremblay."

Logan tensed, glancing behind him quickly. He let out a long breath, relieved to see Hugo's attention had been monopolised by Ibrahim and another of their friends congratulating him. "I don't know what you're talking about," he scoffed. "We barely even know each other."

"You may not know me, but Hugo and I have been friends since we were babies, so unfortunately I am aware of the exact shade of green your eyes happen to be," Lydia retorted, shrugging off the plaid shirt she had on over her vest top. Her expression had softened when she looked at Logan again, "Look, maybe I've made a big mistake here and you're really not interested in him like that, but if that's the case you really need to stop leading him on."

"I'm not-" Logan started to protest, a part of him wondering exactly what Hugo had told Lydia about him. "-this is none of your business.” He chewed at his lip, pulling his cap from his head. It felt like the temperature had risen dramatically in the last thirty seconds, Logan very aware of the beads of sweat forming under his t-shirt. He shoved his cap back on, tugging at the curls at the nape of neck. "I'm going to find my sister," he said, grinding the words through his teeth and turning on his heel. Somewhere behind him, he heard Hugo call his name, but he pretended he hadn't heard, continuing his quick strides away. This was all too confusing and he just wanted to see Noelle.

Logan crossed the park, finding Noelle sitting on a set of stairs, her head resting on Natacha’s shoulder, the two of them watching some of their friends work the rails. She seemed content, so Logan hesitated a few feet away, guilt creeping in at the prospect of disturbing her. Eventually, his need for comfort won out. "Nolly?”

Logan rarely used the nickname in public these days, receiving a swift smack to the back of his head whenever he did. Noelle whipped her head up, her glare melding quickly into a look of concern.

"Nolly, huh? Adorable," Natacha teased, nudging Noelle gently.

"Don't even think about it," Noelle deadpanned, her eyes remained locked with Logan's. "Hey Lo, what's up?" She patted the concrete next to her, and Logan took a seat, resting his chin in his hands against his knees. He looked between Noelle and Natacha, chewing at his lip. Natacha had always seemed nice, but he wasn't sure he wanted to bare his soul to her quite yet.

"Do you want me to go? I can always go and show the boys how it’s done, it's not a problem." Natacha smiled softly and instantly, Logan decided he liked her. Besides, he wasn’t sure he had anything to say yet, so it was pointless sending her away.

"No, it’s okay," Logan sighed. "I just needed a break." Noelle looked at him pointedly, and Logan could tell she didn’t believe him. For now, she refrained from an interrogation. Logan had a funny feeling that it was postponed rather than cancelled.

It took a while for the conversation to fall back into a natural rhythm, however once the initial awkwardness faded it flowed well, Natacha dropping into the natural gaps of Noelle and Logan’s conversation like she’d always been there. It was easy over here, away from his friends, and Logan let his mind wander to thoughts of Hugo, trying to reconcile these new feelings with the information he currently had about himself.

Natacha laughed, loud and smooth, pulling Logan back into the conversation. "No, my ex, he -" Logan didn't hear the next few sentences, fixating on the pronoun until he couldn't hold in the question any more.

"Did you say he?"

Natacha furrowed her brow, whilst Noelle's expression turned smug and knowing. Logan had questions about that too, but it'd have to wait. Eventually, Natacha gave a slow nod. "Yes, he...Jacob, my ex-boyfriend."

Logan waved his hand between Noelle and Natacha, "- and now you have a girlfriend."

Something changed in Natacha's expression, but Logan couldn't place it. "Well," she chuckled, "we haven't called it anything yet, but I wouldn't object."

Logan blinked. "You can do that?"

Natacha shrugged, looking between Logan and Noelle with a careful curiosity.

"No." Logan cut her off before she could answer. "I know you can change your mind or whatever. Or not know. But can I just...I guess, I had that crush on Alicia back in grade 7, but now I think - yeah, Hugo makes me feel kind of the same way, so am I gay now or what?" He felt Noelle squeeze his knee as he reached to scratch at the back of his neck. She always told him he'd be awful at poker because he had too many tells.

Natacha looked between him and Noelle again. It was getting a bit annoying, but he figured he had just dumped a whole lot of thoughts on somebody he had only spoken to a handful of times. The silence was beginning to feel heavy when she eventually spoke, "I can't really tell you that. You could be gay, you could be bisexual, I'm fairly sure there's other things too. Just try not to freak out about it, yeah?"

Bisexual. Now that he thought about it, Logan remembered hearing that word before. He'd never really considered what it meant though, it hadn’t been necessary. The only person he'd ever had a crush on before was Alicia. Maybe bisexual fit, but he'd never liked another girl like that either so maybe Alicia was just a fluke and he was just gay. He lay back, shielding his eyes as he looked up at the sun and groaned. "Try not to freak out. How am I not supposed to freak out?! I want to kiss a boy."

"Oh, you want to kiss him do you? You're a baby, you're not allowed to kiss anybody." Noelle teased, poking at his side. Logan threw a furious look at her. Could she not see he was having a crisis here and she was laughing. "Sorry," Noelle apologised, her voice more sincere. "I know it's a lot to think about. It's just difficult not to tease my little brother about his crush."

Logan had to admit something was comforting in the idea that even when his world was in chaos, there was always the constant of his sister's teasing. He'd never tell her that though. "I think I'm just going to pretend this isn't happening," he sighed.

Noelle laughed again, more committed this time. "That would be very fitting," she hummed. "You could also, oh, I don't know...talk to him?"

Logan sat up quickly, "And what if he asks if I'm gay!? I literally told him 3 days ago I wasn't interested.” The long sigh that followed felt like it was pulled from him.

"Erm..." Natacha muttered awkwardly. "I'm gonna leave you two to talk. Good luck, Logan," she added, leaning around Noelle to pat at his arm. Ordinarily he would have found the gesture condescending, but it was oddly comforting.

There was a quiet as they watched her walk away. “I like her,” Logan declared.

"Well, she's my girlfriend so you can't have her," Noelle quipped. Logan rolled his eyes; his sister shared their father's sense of humour and frankly, it was awful. "Can I let you into a secret?" she asked, pulling Logan into her side. There wasn’t time to answer before Noelle continued. "It wasn't easy for me either. But I got there and you will too. Just be honest with Hugo, and if he's an ass about it at least you know he's trash now rather than later."

"Thanks, Nolly," Logan said quietly, leaning his head on his sister's shoulder. "I think I'll talk to him. Or maybe I'll just show him my hockey reel, that's impressive." Noelle flicked her fingers against his leg and Logan scowled, rubbing at the spot.

"Try not falling off that board for once, that'll impress him," Noelle teased, inclining her head towards Logan's abandoned board.

"Or maybe, I'll just fall off and then get him to teach me." Logan retorted with a smirk, looking in the direction of the bowl that he had left earlier. He figured he should probably head back over there soon, he’d left before he could even really congratulate Hugo.

Noelle shook her head, laughing "God, you're such a Tremblay at times."

Logan heaved himself up, grabbing his board as he did. "Hey, you never did tell me what you decided on. You know...with your sexuality," his said, feeling his face heat up a little. Somewhere in the back of his brain, something told him he wasn't supposed to ask that, but the question had left his mouth before he'd really thought about it. "If you don't mind telling me."

Noelle looked up at him with a casual shrug, "I refuse to be defined by labels, I will date who I date and if people don't like it, well fuck them."

"Wow, okay," Logan raised an eyebrow. "That's a lot of anger in such a small person. Go skate it off."

"Alright, Mr 5 foot," Noelle scoffed, her expression softening before she continued. "I am

going to see if I can prise my board from Tasha's grip, but let me know if you want to go, yeah?"

"I just haven't hit my growth spurt yet," Logan reeled off his usual rebuttal to his sister's jibes about his height, but his mind was more focused on the latter words. "I'll be fine, promise," he smiled, even if he wasn't so convinced of the statement himself. He held Noelle's gaze for a beat longer, turning on his heel to head back to his friends

"Logan!" Hugo called loudly as he approached, the blond boy's eyes widening slightly when the loud sound left his mouth. "You're back," he added, at a more reasonable volume.

Logan smiled as he took a seat next to Hugo, "Yeah, sorry about that. Just had to sort some stuff.”

"No problem, just glad to have you back.”

Ibrahim faked a gag, and Logan shot him a glare. His friend mouthed something at him, but Logan couldn’t make out the words against the exaggerated movements of his lips. He turned his attention back to Hugo as he began to speak again. Ibrahim was probably only trying to chirp him anyway. "Hey, how's your Ollie going?"

Logan took a deep breath, trying not to think about his next words too much, "Yeah, I'm still practicing, actually. I was wondering if you could help me again? Somewhere," Logan looked around, "not here. I don't want to keep falling on my ass in front of everybody."

Logan swore he heard a low wolf whistle from one of the group, but when he glanced at them, everybody seemed to be engulfed in their own conversations. Ibrahim and Lydia's heads were close together, whispering conspiratorially in a way that was making Logan nervous.

"Yeah, I can help you," Hugo said, a goofy grin set on his face. "When do you want to do it?"

"Now?" Logan suggested, trying not to get distracted by the increasingly animated conversation beside him. Hugo must have noticed too, but he seemed unfazed.

"Oh? Now. Okay, Sure," Hugo nodded vigorously, brushing his hands through his hair. "We can do it now. I'm totally ready."

"Cool," Logan hummed, trying to appear nonchalant about the whole situation despite the uptick in his heart rate.

"Yeah, cool.”

Logan didn’t want to appear too eager so he waited for Hugo to stand first. Only it appeared Hugo had a similar idea bringing them to an impasse. Logan cringed internally, glad he currently had his back to Ibrahim because he could just imagine the mocking expression. He bolstered himself, letting his breath whistle through his teeth and laughed, hoping the noise sounded lighter than it did in his head. "Come on then," Logan said, rolling to his feet, offering his hand out. Hugo stared at it for so long, Logan was beginning to think perhaps he'd done something wrong. Then, Hugo slapped his own hand clumsily into it, pulling himself upright. Logan curled his fingers around the larger hand, holding onto it a second longer than necessary to help Hugo up. It was warm, slightly sweaty even, but Logan found himself wanting to test whether Hugo would keep their hands intertwined if he didn't let go. Still, a part of him was very aware of their current company, so Logan reluctantly pulled away.

As they walked away from the group, Logan braved a look behind him. Most of his friends quickly made to re-start their conversations, embarrassed to have been caught staring. However, the two he’d most suspected to lock eyes with had their heads down, fingers working furiously against their phone screens. Seconds later, Logan felt his phone vibrate. And then again, and again, and again.

Logan sighed, sending Hugo an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, let me just get this." He tugged his phone from his pocket, huffing when he saw the notification. Ibz created group 'Don't fuck this up Logan. He opened the chat, intending to mute it immediately, but curiosity got the better of him and he read through the messages quickly. Logan didn't have the third participant in his contacts so his phone just displayed the number, but if he wasn't already aware that it would be Lydia, the blunt tone of her messages would have given her away.

Ibz: His favourite colour is red!

Lydia: Why would that be helpful?

Lydia: Also, I think it might be green now ;)

Ibz: Lydia! That is not helpful! Logan, you can talk to him about hockey. He's been studying.

Lydia: That's true! He's kind of obsessed with dinosaurs too so try to work that into the conversation.

Logan worried at his lower lip, noticing that Hugo hadn't been inundated with messages. He could only surmise that Lydia and Ibz thought Logan was the only one of the pair that needed some extra help. He grumbled under his breath, typing out a reply with punishing taps against his screen.

Logan: Guys! Stop! I can handle this. Can you just stop meddling?

Lydia: If you say so. I am going to kick your ass if you hurt him though.

Ibz: Hey! That's harsh. Logan would never intentionally hurt Hugo.

Logan: Thanks Ibz! For the record, I'm muting this conversation now.

Logan smiled at how quickly Ibrahim had come to his defence, making a mental note to thank him in person later on. After following through with silencing his phone, he shoved the device back in his pocket, looking over at Hugo. He was sitting on his board, chin tucked against the palm on his hands, rocking slowly from side to side. He seemed content, but Logan still felt a little guilty about making him wait. "Sorry," Logan grimaced, "I'm all yours now. How about I show you what I'm doing, and you can correct me?"

[obtusemedia]

Ranking Lady Gaga's albums, from worst to best

Being a Lady Gaga fan can be an exercise in frustration.

Gaga is far more ambitious than most popstars — I doubt we’ll ever see Ariana Grande or Ed Sheeran make an album as left-field as Born This Way or ARTPOP. But she's also far less consistent, with numerous misbegotten projects.

Gaga's undeniably successful, with five #1 hits, an Oscar and multiple iconic music videos to her name. But her messy album rollouts and tradition of underperforming lead singles make her feel like an underdog compared to the more polished, precise careers of her contemporaries like Taylor Swift, Beyoncé or Bruno Mars.

Gaga is kind of a mess. But she's our mess. This album ranking will cover some records I can't stand — albums that make me constantly hit the fast-forward button, or albums I ignore altogether. But there isn't a single record on here that wasn't a bold move. Even the "back to basics" albums made strong aesthetic choices.

So let's dive into the career of the most fascinating Millennial popstar.

#8: Cheek To Cheek (2014)

This really shouldn't count. It's a Lady Gaga album in name only. But, technically it's a Gaga album, so here we are.

I've got nothing against Gaga having fun playing Rat Pack-era dress-up with Tony Bennett. She's a theatre kid at heart, and I'm sure every theatre kid would kill to make a Great American Songbook covers record like this. It sounds like she and Tony enjoyed themselves, so I'm happy for them!

...but I'm sorry. I can't be objective about Cheek To Cheek, it's the opposite of my taste. There's only so many bland lounge ballads I can take.

BEST SONGS: I have to pick one? "Anything Goes" is cute, I guess.

WORST SONG: "Sophisticated Lady"

#7: A Star Is Born (2018)

Let me first make this clear — A Star Is Born, the movie starring Bradley Cooper and Lady Gaga? It's a masterpiece. It's electrifying and tragic and I'm still upset it didn't sweep the Oscars that year. There's even a cute dog! You won't hear me say a bad word about it.

But A Star Is Born, the accompanying soundtrack? It's extremely hit-and-miss.

Yes, it includes arguably Gaga's best-ever song and one of the greatest movie hits ever written, "Shallow." And there's plenty of other great tunes in the tracklist too — "Always Remember Us This Way," "I'll Never Love Again," the "La Vie En Rose" cover.

Even the country-rock songs from Bradley Cooper (who, reminder, is not a professional singer) are mostly good! "Black Eyes" RIPS, and "Maybe It's Time" feels like a long-lost classic.

But sadly, there are so many mediocre filler tracks on this thing. The second half of A Star Is Born's hour-plus runtime (Gaga's longest!) is padded with generic songs like "Look What I've Found," "Heal Me" and "I Don't Know What Love Is." The only good one out of the bunch is the silly, intentionally-bad "Why Did You Do That?"

In the movie, these filler tracks serve a point – they're meant to show Gaga's character selling out. They work in the movie when you hear them for a few seconds and see Cooper make a drunkly disappointed scowl. But I don't want to listen to them, and sadly, they make up half the album.

In other words — A Star Is Born would've made an incredible six or seven-song EP. But as an 63-minute-long record? It's a slog.

BEST SONGS: "Shallow", "Always Remember Us This Way," "Maybe It's Time"

WORST SONG: "Heal Me"

#6: Joanne (2016)

After Born This Way and ARTPOP, I get why Gaga needed to make a more lowkey, back-to-basics album. I also understand that many of these songs have extremely personal lyrics for her.

But is a down-to-earth album what I really want from our most outré popstar? Not really.

Luckily, Joanne is better than that description suggests. Yes, there are some bland acoustic ballads and awkward hippie-era throwbacks (two styles that are really not in Gaga's wheelhouse), but there's also some Springsteen-style heartland rockers! And those go hard in the paint.

Joanne works best when Gaga works the record's dusty aesthetics into her brand of weirdo pop, like on the sizzling "John Wayne," the winking "A-YO" or the delightfully extra Florence Welch duet "Hey Girl."

The record also has "Perfect Illusion" — a glorious red herring of a lead single that sounds nothing like anything else on Joanne. It's a roided-up mixture of woozy Tame Impala production and hair metal histrionics, and it rules. It might be Gaga's best-ever lead single! (at the very least, it's her most underrated.)

And there is one slow tune that's unambiguously great: "Million Reasons," another solid Gaga lighters-in-the-air power ballad pastiche.

Despite what some Little Monsters may tell you, Joanne isn't a disaster. There's some great stuff in there, and even the worst songs are just forgettable. But it's still far from her best.

BEST SONGS: "Perfect Illusion," "Diamond Heart," "Million Reasons"

WORST SONG: "Come To Mama"

#5: Chromatica (2020)

When Chromatica was released near the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, it had been seven years since Gaga had released music in her classic gonzo-synthpop vein. I can easily picture the record serving as an "ugh fine, I'll give you what you want" response to the many Little Monsters annoyed with Gaga's half-decade of folksy ballads and Julie Andrews cosplay.

I'll say this about Chromatica — outside of The Fame Monster, it's her most consistent record. There's not a single track that's a glaring mistake. And the three singles — "Stupid Love," "911" and the triumphant Ariana Grande duet "Rain On Me" — easily stand among her best tracks.

But although "all bangers, no ballads" album sounds rad in theory, it doesn't really succeed in practice. Chromatica is solid, but it's also a very same-y record. It feels like Gaga had one really great idea for the album ('90s club music with super-depressing lyrics) and repeated it over and over and over again to diminishing results.

There are some songs that are able to separate themselves: the three singles, of course, as well as the goofy "Babylon" and "Sine From Above," the Elton John duet that's the closest Chromatica gets to a ballad. But by the end of the album, you feel more worn out than electrified.

Also — and this is probably unfair, but still — Chromatica came out just a couple months after another retro-dance blockbuster pop album: Dua Lipa's magnum opus, Future Nostalgia. That's not a flattering comparison.

BEST SONGS: "Rain On Me," "Stupid Love," "911"

WORST SONG: "1000 Doves"

#4: The Fame (2008)

Out of all of Gaga's records, The Fame is most like a time capsule. It REEKS of late '00s/early '10s pop — which isn't an entirely fair criticism, seeing as Gaga popularized that era's sleazy, synthy aesthetic. It's also not a bad thing! I don't mind a little nostalgia!

As you already know, The Fame's singles are masterworks. "Just Dance," "Poker Face," "Paparazzi" — these tracks have titanic legacies for good reason. And although it's probably the least-beloved of this album's hits, despite being a total banger, "LoveGame" should still be commended for having arguably the most Gaga lyric ever (you know, the "disco stick" line).

And even though those tracks are front-loaded on The Fame, there are some gems deeper in the tracklist. "Summerboy" is basically Gwen Stefani covering The Strokes (so obviously, it's great). "Eh, Eh" is adorable. "Starstruck" is the most 2008 song ever recorded, with aggressive Auto-Tune and Flo Rida showing up to make Starbucks jokes.

Sadly, The Fame still feels like Gaga before she became fully-formed at certain points. The back half has a number of songs that feel like generic club tracks forced by the label, and "Paper Gangsta" is one of the clunkiest songs in Gaga's catalogue.

But at the very least, the bad songs on The Fame at least serve as little nostalgia bombs for that era of pop. And the best songs are untouchable classics.

BEST SONGS: "Paparazzi," "Just Dance," "Summerboy"

WORST SONG: "Paper Gangsta"

#3: ARTPOP (2013)

For much of Gaga's career, she's been ahead of the curve. She tries something, and a year or a few years later, other popstars try something similar to diminishing results.

That doesn't just apply to the successful stuff, like Gaga's extravagant music videos inspiring many copycats from 2010-2013. It also applies to the mid-late '10s trend of legacy popstars making a controversial record with risky aesthetic or lyrical choices that backfired: reputation. Witness. Man of The Woods.

Gaga did this first, with ARTPOP — arguably the most abrasive, and bizzare major label album released by a major modern popstar. And she did it better, because unlike Swift, Perry and Timberlake, Gaga's weirdness was for real. And it was in service of some prime, hyper-aggressive bangers.

ARTPOP isn't Gaga's best work — some of her experiments on it are major misfires, from the obnoxious "Mary Jane Holland" to the bland Born This Way leftover (and Romani slur-utilizing) "Gypsy."

But when ARTPOP is on, it's ON. The opening stretch in particular, from "Aura" to "Venus" to "G.U.Y." to "Sexxx Dreams," is chaotic synthpop at its finest. Those songs took Gaga's classic sound to an apocalyptic, demented extreme, and they're fantastic.

"MANiCURE" is a great glam-rock banger, "Dope" is another classic Gaga piano ballad, the title track is some sikly-smooth dreampop; even the misguided, clunky trap anthem "Jewels N' Drugs" is bad in a hilarious, charming way!

Trust me: ARTPOP will go down in history not as a flop, but as a gutsy, underrated record from a legend. Less Witness, more In Utero.

BEST SONGS: "G.U.Y.," "Venus," "Sexxx Dreams"

WORST SONG: "Gypsy"

#2: The Fame Monster (2009)

Objectively speaking, this is probably the best Gaga album.

It's her one record with no fluff, no filler — only 34 minutes and 8 tracks, all of them stellar.

It's the record that took Gaga from "wow, this new woman is a fresh new face in pop!" to "this woman IS pop."

It's the record with her signature track, "Bad Romance," which was accompanied by arguably the greatest music video of the 21st Century. (It also has my absolute favorite Gaga track, the relentlessly catchy "Telephone.")

I don't think I need to explain what makes mega-smashes "Bad Romance" and "Telephone" and "Alejandro" great, nor the accompanying legendary deep cuts "Speechless" and "Dance In The Dark." They speak for themselves.

However — the sleek, calculated perfection of The Fame Monster, while incredible, isn't something I return to often. It's just not the side of Gaga that's my favorite. That honor would have to go to...

BEST SONGS: "Telephone," "Dance In The Dark," "Bad Romance"

WORST SONG: "So Happy I Could Die" (but it's still pretty solid)

#1: Born This Way (2011)

One of my favorite podcasts is Blank Check. The concept of the show is to analyze each movie by a famous director — in particular, those who had big success early on and then got a blank check to make whatever crazy passion project they wanted. Here's a great example: because Batman was a massive hit, Tim Burton got to make whatever Hot Topic-core movies he wanted to for decades, from Edward Scissorhands to a creepy Willy Wonka remake.

That long-winded tangent is just to say: Born This Way was Lady Gaga's blank check. By early 2011, she had conquered the pop universe, notching hit after hit after hit. Every other pop star was copying her quirky music videos. So the label let Gaga do whatever she wanted — and she didn't waste that opportunity.

Born This Way is wildly overproduced. It's both extremely trend-chasing (those synths were cutting edge at the time but charmingly dated now), but also deeply uncaring about what the teens want (I don't think Springsteen and Queen homages were big at the time). And I love every messy, overblown second of it.

From the hair-metal/synthpop hybrid opener "Marry The Night" to the majestic '80s power ballad "The Edge of Glory," Born This Way starts at an 11. And Gaga never takes her foot off the pedal for the album's entire hour-plus run time. Clanging electric guitars, thunderous synths and Clarence Clemons (!!!) sax solos collide into each other as Gaga champions every misfit and loser in the world. It's gloriously corny in the best way possible.

Born This Way is also the perfect middle ground of pop-savvy Gaga and gonzo Gaga. It doesn't go quite as hard as ARTPOP, but the hooks are stronger. And the oddball moments are tons of fun, from the sci-fi biker anthem "Highway Unicorn" to the goofy presidential-sex banger "Government Hooker" ("Put your hands on me/John F. Kennedy" might be the greatest line in pop history).

Born This Way will always be my favorite Gaga album. It's armed with nuclear-grade hooks, slamming beats, and soaring anthems. Although it's not as untouchably pristine as the Mt. Rushmore of '10s pop classics (for the record, that's 1989, EMOTION, Lemonade and, of course, Melodrama), Gaga isn't best served by meticulousness. She's proudly tacky and histrionic, and so that's what makes Born This Way an utter joy.

BEST SONGS: "The Edge of Glory," "You and I," "Marry The Night"

WORST SONG: "Bloody Mary"

[scenarioslovers]

Little Event | N

It had been a while since I wrote something so go easy on me. thank you for sending in your numbers I am working on them one by one

Prompt quote #19: “God, you are so fucking cute.”

 It took Hakyeon a whole week to set everything straight. He called all your friends and family to make sure that on that specific day you will not be home. He asked his friends to buy the decoration stuff and get him the best wine for that special day.

As Hakyeon was serving in the military he always felt so sorry for missing so many events. He missed your third anniversary; your birthday and he could not celebrate your success of getting promoted with you. He always felt sorry for you, but he was more grateful than sorry.

While everyone’s girlfriend was breaking up with them for not being able to stay by their sides. You were his greatest support. You always visited him, called him when it was possible. While everyone was getting their energy from girl groups, you were his biggest energy when he watched the video you sent him every day. He never felt lifted out of your life. He saw how hard you worked for you to get this promotion and his heart jumped with joy when you told him about it. However, his heart broke that he could not share with you this happiness in a person.

Lately, he got the information that you had been so stressed because of the new environment of your job. He could hear it in your voice when you called him. He could see it in your eyes, the dark circles that revolved around them that you were not getting so much sleep either.  

And that when he had decided that he needed to do something for you. His two weeks off military was coming soon. Since he wanted to surprise you; you knew about his breaks and always waited for him in front of the gates, he asked for a day early leave. He had to do double the work and exercises and training so that he could leave a day early.

 He did not complain and did the work patiently knowing that it would pay off when he sees you sooner.

When Hakyeon stepped out of the military base gate, he looked everywhere for the car that would pick him up. He asked his friend and groupmate Taekwoon to come in his car. However, he was late as always. Hakyeon could not help but roll his eyes when he saw Taekwoon’s car pulling off after fifteen minutes of waiting.

“I remember clearly saying one in the afternoon, not one fifteen.” Hakyeon spat as he threw his back on the back seat and hopped into the passenger seat. “Fifteen minutes late? Y/N will not wait for that long.”

He got your sister to act as if she had a bad day and needed you by her side. Now she was probably making up stories about why she was sad. Hopefully, you would buy it. He knew how smart you were, and he was so scared that someone would spill the tea. He swore that he would kill anyone who would ruin his plane.

“Nice to meet you too, my friend,” Taekwoon said softly as he shook his head before driving to your apartment.

“Did Hyuk brought my clothes? I asked him to bring me something new to wear.”

“He probably did it,” Taekwoon answered. “I guess.”

“You didn’t check with him?” Hakyeon voiced started to waver in panic.

“Yah! I was helping in decoration before coming here.” Taekwoon scoffed, rolling his eyes. “uh, right. I took a few pictures of the settings, hope you like them.” He handed his phone to Hakyeon as he side-eyed him watching his expression, which didn’t look so good. He looked so nervous. Wrinkles were clear around his eyes and the nerve was tight near his neck. “Hey, relax. She will like it. Everything will be fine.”

“I hope so.” He sighed, noticing how he was stressing so much. “I feel like I am purposing to her.”

Taekwoon could not hide his laughter. Because he knew that the next event after Hakyeon get discharged would be probably purposing for marriage. “Let’s not hurry things.”

~~

When she called that she was having a bad day, your heart dropped. She took my car keys and drove right away to her house. You rang the door and when she was late opening the door, you started to panic. you called her once and after the first ring, the door swung open.

you looked at her confused. She looked totally fine. She was wearing a bathing robe and had a towel wrapped around her hair. Half of her nails were polished and there was a sheet mask on her face. It looked more like she was chilling than she was falling apart.

Her voice was seriously sad on the phone that your whole body was shaking in fear that you will not be able to collect your broken sister. Your heartbeat pace slowed a little bit as you were out of your breath. “What is wrong with you? You look totally fine.”

“I am not.” She rolled her eyes. “I am trying to relax here. My day was seriously bad. Come and join me.”

“Oh my god, you scared the hell out of me. But you look totally fine.” You sighed as you stepped into her house.

“Chill, it never gets so bad for me.”

“Lucky you then.” You said sarcastically, annoyed a little bit that she almost gave you a panic attack and relieved that she was fine. “Hakyeon’s break will start tomorrow. I need to be home early to cook something delicious for him.”

“Hakyeon.” Your sister’s voice cracked a little calling his name.

“Yeah, my boyfriend. If you forgot about him.” You threw your body on the sofa as you pulled one of the face masks and put it on your face. “You don’t know how much I was worried. What happened?”

“Oh, it’s just school stuff.” Your sister was a college student. Since both of you lived in the countryside, moving to Seoul was a serious step in both of your lives. Everyone wondered why you did not live together. Both of you were more comfortable to live on your own.

“Okay, I am listening.” You waited for her to speak, but she looked like she did not have anything to say. She was looking nervously around her, and you feared for the worst. “You aren’t getting suspended, are you?”

“No, of course not. It has just this subject I am not doing well in it. I am expecting a D at the end of the semester.”

“Just that?” You rolled your eyes, as you fade up with your sister.

“Well, you know that if I got a D I will lose my scholarship. I don’t know what to do.” She sighed, but her eyes were looking somewhere else as if she was thinking. You decided to ignore it for a second. If she lost her scholarship, your parents would probably kill her.

“Did you speak to your professor?”

“Yes, no.”

“Yes or no?”

“I don’t know.”

“What’s on your mind? Speak to me.” You sat straight on the sofa as you took her hands in yours. “I am here for you.”

“I know.” She suddenly hugged you before pulling away as quickly as she hugged you. “I am glad you are here. Stay for a bit. I need your help doing my nails.”

“Are you really getting a D? or did you call me to do your nails?” You narrowed your eyes at her. She was defiantly acting strangely today.

“You got me.” She grinned and you almost slapped her head but decided otherwise.

Maybe it was the time of the year when she just wanted you around for no reason. She always did that when she was young. Running to your room and play around even though she had her own room, but she liked to be around you.

An hour passed and you decided to go back home, but your sister will not let you go. She was nervously texting and then threw her phone away before asking you to help with something else. Strangely she always found something for you to do.

“I have to say it. What is wrong with you today? You are acting so strange.”

“I just miss my older sister.”

“I will try to believe that.” You shook your head. “I really have to go home. I have a lot of things to do today.”

You noticed it again, her phone rang, and she checked it out before looking back at her nervously. “Who are you texting?”

“Just my friends from school. They are asking me to go and drink with them.”

“Then go and let me go too.” You scoffed. “Just go to your friend and let me prepare for my boyfriend”

Her phone rang again and this time she smiled. “You know what you are right. I am going to them now. You are free to go.”

“Finally. I will see you soon.” You grabbed your stuff and headed toward the door; she was right behind you. “Call me when you get home, don’t drink too much, and don’t bring boys home. Or at least use protection.”

“UNNI” Your sister snapped in frustration, her cheeks as red as a tomato.

“Call me.” You pointed a finger at her before walking out of her house.

~~

It was dark where he was hiding. He thanked everyone for the help, and they left right after he gave them the vouchers he promised. He was right to trust Hyuk to pick up his clothes. He picked ripped jeans and a green oil shirt. Also picking up the perfect perfume he was waiting nervously for you in the kitchen.

Your sister just texted him that you were on your way and that he owed her for suffering for two hours with her sister.

He texted her back that it could not have been that bad, knowing how kind-hearted you were.

Ten minutes later and the door opened. He took a deep breath; his heart was going to escape his chest. It was beating so much. When the light turned on, he heard your gasp and it was his clue for him to get out of his hidden place.

When your eyes fall on him, your mouth dropped. you gasped again, louder this time as tears filled your eyes. You looked around you then at him again. “What are you doing here? You are early”

He just smiled as he stepped closer and closer to you. “I wanted to cheer you up. A little surprise for you.”

“How? When did you get to do all of this?”

You pointed at the balloons and the banner with “I love you forever” written on it. There was a table by the window and two glass of wine and the wine bottle in the middle. He saw the astonishment in your eyes, the disbelieve. It meant only one thing. That his plan was a success.

When he was about to make a joke, you broke into tears as you sobbed like a baby in front of him. Panicking, Hakyeon held your face in his palm. Confusion filled his eyes as you will not meet his eyes.

“Hey, hey.” He said softly as he placed a soft kiss at the top of your head. “Did I do something wrong? Should I go back to the base?”

You held his hands before he could pull away. Finally, you looked at him. Nose red. Eyes red. Your cheeks were red too. Tears cascading softly on your cheeks. “Did you ask my sister for help?”

“Was it obvious?” He asked, nervously. Maybe his plan is a fail after all.

“Well, she was acting strange. I didn’t know why I was worried, now I know.” Sniffing, you looked at his eyes and he saw the starry night in them. They sparked, emitting fireworks into his heart. “I miss you so much. So, so much. I am really glad you are here.” You tip-toed and snaked your arms around his neck hugging him so tightly.

Her whole reaction caught him off guard that for a second, he was just frozen before hugging you back and carrying you in his arms.

When he put you back to the ground, you were still crying so much. He could not help it but hug you again and laugh at your cuteness. He was totally covering your head with his arms as his hand was patting your shoulder gently. “god, you are so fucking cute.”   

You slapped his chest playful as you pulled away from just a little so that you could see his face. “Shut up, you made me cry. I did not expect that all. I love you so much.” You pulled him down and pressed your lips against his.

“I love you too.”

[thisrosewillnotwilt]

Grinch and Chill

WHO: Marley & Aston WHAT: Roommates meet for the first time WHEN: Wednesday, December 3, evening @astonxjones

So she had a new roommate after all. Aston thought it was odd that there was about a day delay when everyone else seemed to do it automatically but, it wasn't really her business either. Coming back from practice she got to the dorms just in time to meet the delivery guy and carried the pizza in herself. "I got dessert brownies too..." She vaguely called out, and then to herself as she set the boxes down. "Why not."

Marley felt bad, because she knew she wasn't likely to be the greatest of roommates while she tried to deal with the issues that the re-marking had brought up.  But that was no reason to be rude, either, and Aston had been kind enough to offer some pizza so it would have been rude to turn down the offer to eat with her.  Smoothing her skirt down, she put on her best smile as she emerged from her bedroom.  "That sounds amazing, thank you."

Aston grinned, glad to see the roommate in question actually was there and she wasn't talking to herself. "I figure we can watch a movie while we eat?" Aston collapsed into the couch and reached for the remote, glad to put on anything mindless so it wasn't silent in the room. "My bad I already decorated for Christmas in here... if you have things you want to put up or Christmas ain't your thing I can definitely tone it down.."

Marley nodded, following Aston to the couch.  The movie was a good way to fill the silence, and it meant that she could feel a bit less pressure of speech while they relaxed.  "That sounds nice, thank you."  Taking a spot on the other end of the couch, she gave her head a quick shake.  "No, it's fine.  I love Christmas, so it's all okay.  It looks very nice."

"Thanks. I got a little pent up last holiday weekend and went a lil crazy." It hadn't even meant to be the thing she'd set out to do that day, but it looked nice so there were no regrets. Leading off of that Aston settled on a Christmas movie, the original How the Grinch Stole Christmas because it was one of the first to pop up. She reached for the disposable plates on the box and passed one over to her new roommate. "I just went with pepperoni and cheese, hope that's fine."

"If you can't go crazy over Christmas, what can you go crazy over?"  Marley accepted the plate and smiled anew as the familiar strains of the Grinch soundtrack began to play.  No matter how rough the last few days had been, there was something magical about Christmas that never went away.  "That's perfect," she nodded, "thank you.  I don't really have any dietary things, so I'm good with anything but anchovies.  Not because I'm allergic, but because they're disgusting."

Aston laughed and nodded in agreement as she loaded up her plate with a few slices. Anchovies were gross as hell. The Switch resigned to watching for a few moments, distracted by the opening credits and chewing. "Is it really strange so far?" She asked without much lead up, she never did shy away from bluntness. "Having a different role."

Marley grabbed one slice to start, deciding to test her appetite before going too crazy.  If she took more than she could eat that'd just be wasteful.  Letting herself be swept up a little by the movie and the rich taste of pizza, she looked over with a slightly startled expression at Aston's question.  Her immediate instinct was to do what she'd done with Maeve - refuse to talk about it.  But once again, her innate need to be nice won out.  "I'm...they got it wrong," she shook her head.  "I keep waiting for them to figure it out.  Because there's nothing Switch-like about me, you know?  At all."

There was almost an immediate need to apologize with the way that Marley looked at her but as soon as she'd replied the Switch could guess why. "You really think so?" Aston hesitated in asking, focusing more on her new roomie than the movie. It sounded doubtful that the school would make a mistake like that and it wasn't the first time Marley had said it to her. "It doesn't seem like they're gonna be making anymore changes."

Marley set her pizza down for a moment, trying to phrase her thoughts into a proper reply.  "No, they're probably not going to.  The counsellor told me the same thing.  It just doesn't feel right to me, you know?  It feels like being back in school and having your teacher hand you someone else's paper.  You know the answers aren't yours, but they keep trying to tell you they are."

Aston's eyebrows rose as she thought it over. She wouldn't have imagined it like that but now that Marley said it, that made sense. "I guess it's hard for me to understand because I've always been a Switch and I think Switches have a different feel on things, I've only just started learning to so..." Aston paused, audibly blowing out air "Yeah I don't know what I want of how to feel either." Following Marley she put her own food down and turned toward her more. "You're worried?"

It was a pleasant surprise to her, not only that Aston was willing to listen to her complain but that she seemed to understand what was being said.  It made the whole conversation a lot easier.  "That makes sense, if it's what you've always been then you're starting to get used to the idea.  But I'm sure figuring what you want will come in time."  She nodded, swallowing around the lump in her throat.  "Very.  I don't really know how to deal with suddenly being something else.  And it changes so much.  Like, I'm only in my first year but - not to brag - I am a good submissive.  I understand that role.  Being a Switch is just...something totally new."

It was nice to hear the confidence. Obviously Aston didn't know Marley but it was evident in the change of tone when she spoke about it that she truly believed that. "You're already ahead of most of us then." She said, meaning it. Aston barely had a grasp on either role, and she was still trying to navigate exactly how she connected with it. "I mean, at least you're still in your first year right? Gives you time to figure the rest out?"

A blush rose in Marley's cheeks.  She only hoped she hadn't come off as conceited with what was in her mind a very true statement.  "I was lucky," she admitted.  "I knew really early what my mark would be.  So I've had more time to get used to it."  Until they'd changed it on her.  "Hopefully.  Just, the whole idea of being Dominant, ever, makes me uncomfortable."

At that Aston's interest was really piqued. It wasn't uncommon for people to exercise their role before formal training, heck Aston knew people that never went to training school at all, and of course she had dabbled herself but from the sounds of it not nearly as successfully. Not wanting to pry, but feeling somewhat invested at that point, Aston picked her pizza back up and asked anyway. "Why do you think that is?"

If she'd stopped to consider it, Marley might have been surprised that she'd been drawn into a conversation.  But Aston was proving easy to talk to, and was actually listening, and that seemed to make all the difference.  "I don't understand the mindset, I guess?" Marley picked her own pizza back up and snuck a bite.  "I've never felt the need to be in control of someone else.  Being in control of me is enough work, you know?"

Aston gave a laugh, "Amen to that."  and mock cheers her half eaten pizza slice in the air. Already the Switch approved, Marley seemed like she'd be low drama and was really very sweet. "You know, come to think of it I never really felt that way either until I started going to class." It wasn't aimed at trying to talk Marley into anything she wasn't trying to be apart of, it had simply dawned on her just then. "I had submit though." She added then shook her head and brushed it off. "I didn't not like it but, it didn't go very well either. I think we all just have a lot to learn."

Marley grinned, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and glad that Aston had agreed.  "So the classes helped, do you think?  Or was it like putting an idea in your head that wasn't yours?"  It wasn't an accusation, just an honest question of what she had to expect going forward.  "You're not wrong there.  That's why we're all here, to learn the things that we don't know."

Aston held her fist out between them for Marley to bump, glad they had already found a pretty easy groove. "Exactly." It sucked that some people were forced to change up marks. If it had happened to her she probably would have been freaking out too, especially when she had just started to find her way to both sides of Switchood. "Classes at least gave me things to think about, and examples of how to apply myself in different ways." Aston hummed along with Whoville under her breath and broke out the bonus brownies. "Here." She offered, glad to share. She'd miss Charlotte but it didn't seem like Marley would be all that bad either.

The fist bump made her giggle slightly, the first time that had happened since finding out about her mark.  "That makes sense," Marley nodded.  "Maybe they'll do something for me too."  Even if she did doubt that.  Before she even realized Aston was doing it Marley was humming along too, because the end of the film had always touched her deeply.  "Thank you very much," she smiled, taking one of the brownies for herself.  "These look really good."

"I bet they will." Aston assured after unceremoniously downing a brownie in a few bites. She brushed her hands off and settled down into the couch, tugging the poinsettia print blanket she had draped over the back down into her lap. Aston spread it out and shuffled a bit more toward the center of the couch to give Marley the option of sharing the blanket. She grabbed the remote and tapped a few buttons to sheepishly start the movie over. "I... wasn't really watching it."

Marley only hesitated for a moment before polishing off her brownie as well, quickly making sure her hands were clean before taking one end of the blanket and pulling it over her as she got closer to Aston.  Giggling again, she shook her head.  "That's all right, I don't mind watching it again."

Aston slunk down and stretched an arm up over the back of the couch comfortably. "Cool." She said simply and turned the volume up more for them before she tossed the remote away. The second time through she had hardly moved, and was so full and relaxed the switch just about fell sleep.

The stress of the last few days caught up with her quickly, on top of the pizza and brownie, and by the time that the movie was halfway through she was leaning over onto Aston without even realizing.  And by the time it was over she was dead asleep on the other girl's shoulder, the first real rest she'd had in a while.

[cake-writes]

In Your Atmosphere (Part Three)

Pairings: Steve x Reader & platonic Bucky x Reader (mostly)

Warnings: PTSD / Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Anxiety Disorder, Panic Attacks, Mental Health Issues, Survivor Guilt, Eventual Smut 18+

Summary: The first time you met Steve Rogers, he kissed the hell out of you. It wasn’t the first time he met you.

Part Two / Master List

—

As the sun disappeared under the horizon, the compound became busier, almost bustling with activity as more and more people returned from their missions. Not that you noticed. After your brutal training session with Steve, you'd left him behind to finish his training and took another long, hot shower and then a nap, having been thoroughly and completely wiped out by the exercise. At first, you’d changed back into your casual clothes with the intention of exploring more of the compound, but once you went to rest your eyes for a minute you were out like a light.

The sounds of a heated argument followed by the slamming of a door were what woke you from your slumber. You couldn’t hear a lick of what had been said, but you ventured out into the hallway to investigate, yawning loudly. Your muscles were already singing from overuse – not even the hot shower had helped – and you’d feel it even worse tomorrow for sure.

The long hallway was dimly-lit, giving you the impression that it was much later than it actually was; a quick check of your phone indicated that it was a little after eight o’clock at night.

During your tour earlier in the day, you'd learned that this entire side of the building was residential, including the three floors above and the two below yours. It was evident that other people lived on your floor, the third floor, but you hadn’t yet figured out who your neighbours were. Your bedroom was in the corner, furthest from the stairs, and as you made your way toward them, you assumed that you probably wouldn't be finding out tonight. The other doors were closed, and it was far too quiet for your liking.

Your stomach growled and you gave up on your investigation to make your way to the kitchen. Considering everyone who lived here were all basically roommates, there were bound to be arguments. You knew from experience that it was hard to live with other people sometimes, and the Avengers were people, too.

The kitchen was deserted, and the dishwasher was running. It looked like everyone may have already eaten dinner. How did that even work, anyway? Did they share meals at the kitchen table, or did they eat separately? Who bought the groceries? Were they for communal use? At the very least you hoped that the answer to the last question was ‘yes,’ because you were starving.

Not wanting to accidentally steal someone else’s food, you took a mandarin orange from the fruit bowl on the table, in hopes that it would stave off your hunger while you tried to figure out what else you could eat without imposing. You took a seat at the counter and peeled the fruit as you scrolled through your Insta feed, liking a couple of Wanda’s posts. She was really excited about an upcoming high-end makeup release based on the female Avengers, herself included. She even had her own eyeshadow palette which you made a mental note to buy.

Just as you started to research the other palettes, a female voice piped up from the other side of the kitchen island. “Hey, you’re up.”

You jumped, slamming your knee on the counter in the process.

“God damn it, Nat,” you hissed, rubbing your bruising knee. “I hate it when you do that shit.”

She just grinned at you and took a seat at the counter beside you, peering at your phone. “Oh yeah, those are coming out next week. You’d better buy mine.”

“You know I will,” you told her, popping a piece of fruit into your mouth. Not that you knew how to use it properly, the makeup, but you liked to try anyway.

Natasha took a piece of your orange for herself without asking, but that was only because you’d shared plenty of meals before, namely when the two of you went drinking. It didn’t bother you in the least. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine.” You knew what she was asking, about how you were coping with what had happened earlier. At her skeptical look, you rolled your eyes. “We did some burpees and talked it out.”

Natasha snorted.

You frowned at her. “What? Exercise calms me down. You know that.”

You purposely didn’t mention the fact that you and Steve had trained together for over an hour, or that the sexual tension between the two of you had been so thick you could’ve cut it with a knife. It was unfortunate that your face heated at the memory, because Natasha didn’t fail to notice if the sly look on her face was any indication. “Is that what it does, now?”

“Yes,” you said exasperatedly, shoving the rest of the orange into your mouth.

She laughed again. “Burpees. Christ. You’re perfect for each other.”

You finished chewing and swallowed the fruit. “Can you not?"

She shot you another teasing look, but as per your request she changed the subject. “Have you had dinner?”

“No, I was going to ask. Is everything shared, or…?”

“Yeah,” she affirmed. “Pretty much. If you buy something for yourself, though, just write your name on it before you put it in the fridge. Otherwise someone will get into it.”

As if on cue, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier, walked in for a post-workout snack – at least that’s what you assumed from the gym towel slung over his shoulders. There were two large refrigerators in the room, one by the entryway and one near you, behind the kitchen island. He went for the former, from which he pulled out a random blue container and cracked the lid to peer inside.

“Like I said,” Natasha said, eyeing him warily, “Someone.”

You tried and failed to stifle a laugh. From what you understood, Sergeant Barnes had been through hell and back, so you couldn't really blame him. He was probably still adjusting to not being a human science experiment. That was probably a little more important than remembering to check a container for names.

“I only take Nat’s food,” he commented dryly, not even bothering to look over at the two of you as he popped the container into the microwave. “She likes to eat healthy. So do I. Your body’s a temple ‘n all that.”

You raised an eyebrow and glanced over at her for confirmation. She just shrugged. Well, you couldn't really blame him for that, either.

After the microwave started up, he leaned on the counter and finally spared a glance at you. Then he greeted you casually, “Oh, hey, Tang. Been awhile.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

That was when his eyes widened for a split second, and you could almost see the gears turning in his head as he realized what he’d said - not that you had any idea what that was, exactly.

“Sorry,” he covered quickly, “You, uh, look like someone I used to know.” As if that was a good enough explanation, he came over and held out his right hand, the flesh one, for a handshake. “Call me Bucky.”

“Nice to meet you,” you said politely, shaking his hand as you offered him your name.

Then he brought your hand to his lips, and pressed a kiss to the back of it with a crooked smile.  “Good to meet you, too, gorgeous.”

Maybe it was because your brain was already fried from the day’s earlier events, but you just gaped at him. That made twice in one day you’d been hit on, and by two Avengers, no less. Bucky was plenty handsome, of course: he had that sort of ‘bad boy’ appeal, with a bit of scruff on his face and a head of unruly brown hair. It suited him, but you couldn’t help but wonder how often it got in the way during fights. You liked to have yours pulled back out of the way, or cut short, depending on the mission.

The microwave beeped, then, signalling that his food was ready, and he released your hand to go retrieve it.

“I think you broke her,” Nat remarked.

“Nat,” you huffed, “You need to stop.”

You definitely weren’t used to this kind of attention. While in the past you’d been on missions where your role was that of a seductress, you’d never actually had that sort of appeal in your regular life. Today was a freak occurrence.

Bucky just laughed and, with his container and a fork in hand, he made his exit. He called over his shoulder on his way out, “See you around, sweetheart.”

---

What was meant to be a quick meal turned into a spontaneous girls’ night, with wine and cheese and stupid, terrible spy movies. That had always been a favourite for you and Natasha, because they were so hilariously inaccurate and the two of you loved to rip them apart. This one in particular was worse than most, but then again, you’d already polished off a bottle of wine each and were well into a third.

It felt so, so good to catch up with her. You hadn’t had a chance to over the last few months, considering how busy she’d been with the Avengers and how hard you’d been working to dig into SHIELD’s corruption. Every now and then, you did a welfare check on her to ensure that she was still alive, and of course she was. You had no doubt that she checked up on you every now and again, too.

Your peals of laughter spilled out of the living room as Natasha did a particularly awful impression of the female lead, who seemed to have no common sense whatsoever.

Sadly, your fun was rudely interrupted.

“It’s three in the morning, ladies. I can hear you all the way…”

Steve’s reprimand trailed off as he caught sight of you, and it was like his irritation seemed to just melt away. You were sitting cross-legged on the sofa, looking pretty as a picture with a blanket thrown over your lap, face flushed from the alcohol. He’d been able to hear all the excitement from his room upstairs, but he didn’t really put two and two together until he saw you. It wasn’t that he didn’t recognize your voice; it just caught him off-guard. It had been a long, long time since he'd seen you smile, and even longer since he'd heard you laugh.

You glanced over at Natasha, brows raised. “Uh oh,” you managed to say in between giggles, “We’re in trouble, now.”

“Busted,” she agreed with a grin, before she let out a sigh. “I guess it is getting late, though. Got an early mission.”

As Natasha got to her feet, Steve eyed the coffee table and spotted three bottles of wine, two of which were empty and the third, nearly so. Beside them were two wine glasses, a small platter of cheese, crackers, and grapes, as well as a half-eaten block of chocolate. Judging by the haphazard way the chocolate bar had been opened, with the foil ripped and crumpled in such a strange way, he guessed that it was yours.

“Aw, but the movie isn’t over,” you protested, reaching over to break off a piece of chocolate.

He was right.

“Sorry,” she told you apologetically, taking one last cube of cheese for the road. “Night, guys.”  

With one final pout, you said, “Bye, Nat.”

Steve didn’t miss the sly look Natasha shot him as she left the room, and his jaw tensed. He wasn’t going to live down the day's earlier events for a while.

“There’s still plenty of cheese left,” you called out to him, not wanting it to go to waste. “And wine, if you like that sort of thing.”

“What are you watching?” he asked you, slowly coming to stand beside the sofa.

“It’s called Hitler’s Mistress.” At Steve’s unimpressed look, you added, “His girlfriend is an American spy, except she’s really bad at it. Like, in real life he probably would have figured it out in the first two minutes of meeting her, bad.”

“That sounds…” he paused, wrinkling his nose as he tried to think of a nice way to word it, “not that great.”

“Oh, it’s hilarious,” you told him matter-of-factly. “It was supposed to be a love story, but it’s terrible. Watch with me?”

Considering his history, he didn’t particularly want to watch a movie about Hitler, but you really seemed to be enjoying it and he was awake, now. So, taking your word for it, he settled into the nearby armchair. “Sure.”

You were a bit disappointed that he didn’t next to you on the sofa like Natasha had, but that was fine. It was probably better that you didn’t sit together, considering, well, everything.

What you didn't know was that Steve had purposely not sat there for exactly that reason. He wanted to respect your boundaries, for one, and for two, he honestly didn’t trust himself around you, not after the stunt he'd pulled. In the end, though, he was glad that he stayed. The movie was absolutely terrible, and he got a kick out of it just as much as you did. Hitler was portrayed in a negative light, which was great, and it was even better that his ‘girlfriend,’ the spy, was so bad at her job and he still couldn’t figure it out. While Steve appreciated that, what he liked more was spending time with you.

Unfortunately, you were sauced. You put on pretty good front so as not to appear drunk, but tonight it wasn’t intentional; it had just become second nature to you now due to your job. And, quite the opposite, not once did Steve touch the alcohol. You got the impression that he preferred beer or spirits.

As the full extent of your inebriation started to set in, you found yourself staring less at the movie and more at him. God, he was flawless and so, so sexy even when he wasn’t trying to be. He was literally just sitting there, but all you wanted to do was get up, go over, and mount him like a stallion. Every now and then, Steve leaned over to take a piece of cheese or a grape - a simple movement, really - and when he licked his fingers, it lit a fire within you that just wouldn’t quit.

It didn’t take long for you to polish off the rest of the wine. There wasn’t much of it left, anyway, and you didn’t want it to go down the drain. At least, that’s what you told yourself. The real reason was because your nerves were shot.

That was a mistake.

The credits started to roll sooner than you would have liked. It was about four o’clock, now, per the clock on your phone. Even though you knew how late it was, there was just something about him that made you want to stay with him, spend time with him… maybe even sleep with him. No, that was definitely just the alcohol. With a heavy sigh, you unsteadily got to your feet and stretched, doing your best to ignore the growing heat between your legs, the lingering soreness in your muscles, and the fact that you’d had far too much to drink.

“You alright?”

When you turned your head to look at Steve, you swayed a little. “Peachy keen.”

You weren’t. You’d drank quite a bit, and he knew it, judging by the amused expression on his face as he pulled himself up out of the armchair. God, with even that simple action you could see his muscles flex and strain under his shirt. He wasn’t even doing it on purpose, which made it about ten times worse.

“Here." He held out his hand to you. “I’ll help you up to your room.”

How chivalrous. You wanted to swoon.

“But the mess—?”

Steve shook his head. “I’ll take care of it, doll. Come on.”

Your face heated at the casual address, and even more so when you took his hand, your skin tingling at the warmth of his touch. Still, you felt guilty letting him clean up after you, but you were in no state to try and collect the leftover plates and glasses without dropping them. Your words slurred just a little as you apologized, “I'm sorry for the trouble. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen Nat, and…”

“Don’t worry about it,” he reassured you as he eased you down the hallway. “Everyone needs to let loose once in a while.”

“Do you?” you asked him.

He pondered that question for a moment, before he answered, “Not as much as I should.”

“Well, that’s no good,” you said with a frown. “Have a drink with me next time.”

Next time. The phrase warmed his heart, but he got the feeling that it was just the alcohol talking. “Next time?”

You didn’t notice what you said until he mentioned it, and then you found yourself flustered, drunkenly babbling, “I shouldn’t have assumed– I mean, I’m a mess so I totally understand if you don’t want to—”

Steve said your name and stopped walking, giving your hand a gentle tug to stop you, too. "Hey," he said as you spun around to face him, swaying slightly. “I’m kidding. That sounds great.”

The halls, unlike the living room, were still dimly lit, and with the television switched off, it was quiet - almost unnervingly so. The only thing you could hear was the sound of your racing heartbeat in your ears as you looked up into his kind blue eyes, feeling absolutely minuscule in front of him. He was so tall, a fact you’d never fully realized until now. You loved it.

Despite your inebriated state, you didn’t miss the way Steve’s eyes flickered down to your lips. 

You needed to say something, anything, to break this tension, otherwise you’d do something you would absolutely regret in the morning. You’d always prided yourself in your professionalism: you weren’t the type to sleep with a coworker, and you didn’t plan to start today despite how incredibly tempting the prospect was. 

That thought sobered you up a little.

“Do you—” you began, throat dry, “Do you have a mission in the morning, too?”

Your sudden question brought him back to reality. “Oh, yeah. With Romanoff.”

You grimaced and gently released his hand, not wanting to take up any more of his time. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you up so late.”

“I think I’m old enough to make my own decisions,” he teased, “being 96 and all.”

Right. Of course. You knew his backstory, but having him come right out and tell you something like that came as a bit of a shock. Here you were, in your mid-twenties, being attracted to someone who'd been born nearly a full century prior. How stupid of you to assume that you'd be able to relate to him, someone who had grown up during the Great Depression. There was literally nothing in common between the two of you, no foundation upon which to even build a friendship, let alone a relationship. You felt like a moron.  

Well, you certainly swooned, but it wasn’t because of his chivalry.

“Whoa, hey.” Steve caught you easily as you fell, with one arm around your lower back. “Do you want to sit down?”

Your fingers embedded themselves loosely in his shirt as a flush of shame crawled up your neck. God, you were an idiot. Even now, you loved how strong his chest felt under your fingertips, the way he held you so securely, his warmth—

Your eyes fluttered shut, then, and your head lulled back as your consciousness began to fade. You could vaguely feel him pull you closer, and when he said your nickname again, you thought that his voice sounded so far away. It barely registered when he hooked his other arm under your knees to lift you up; instead, for a brief moment, it felt like you were floating.

That was the last thing you remembered.

---

Tags: @jennmurawski13, @patzammit

Part Four

[queen-scribbles]

What’s In A Name

For @pillarspromptsweekly fill #77: Spell. Much as I love the idea of Aloth or Fassina someday scribing a spell, Adi got far too excited, so I had to give it to her.

Some questions worked best when eased into conversation. Some needed to be carefully phrased if you didn’t wish to offend. And some, like the one sitting on Adela’s tongue, were fun to just blurt out.

“Wanna help me name a spell?”

It definitely got her friends’ attention. Edér and Xoti looked up from the weapons they were polishing, and Aloth half-closed his book, all of them looking at her with blatant curiosity--though whether regarding her question or the state of her sanity, Adela wasn’t completely sure.

“Is this just as a thought exercise, or is there a purpose?” Aloth asked, marking his page before closing the book all the way and sitting forward.

“Oh, there’s a purpose,” Adela grinned. She flipped open her grimoire to the last of the inscribed pages, showing off the careful lines of glyphs. Edér and Xoti looked lost, but Aloth leaned forward even further, eyes narrowing as he scanned the page. He glanced from the grimoire to the grinning orlan who held it.

“Did you....?” he began, words trailing off. She nodded, rocking up on the balls of her feet in sheer glee, and he almost dropped his book. “You scribed a new spell?!”

“Uh-huh,” she confirmed, grinning yet wider when his face lit with a delighted smile. She’d known he, at least would understand what this meant.

“Adela, that’s incredible!” he said warmly, pushing out of his chair to approach her. “May I?”

“Sure.” Adela handed him her grimoire so he could look at the spell--her spell--more closely.

“I dunno much about this wizard stuff you two do,” Edér said, shooting Adela a smile, “but you just did somethin’ pretty amazin’ from the sound of it, so congratulations, Adi.”

“Yeah, sounds like you got a right to be proud of yourself,” Xoti chipped in.

“Thanks,” Adela said, still beaming like the sun, her fingers twirling the tail of her braid. She looked back over at Aloth, who was running his fingers over the inscribed symbols, brow furrowed in concentration. “You figure out what it does?”

“Yes and no. I can tell from this”--he traced a glyph--”it has something to do with memory, but I must confess ignorance as to what.” He handed back the grimoire. “Perhaps you would care to enlighten us?”

“Knowin’ what it does’ll help with namin’ it,” Xoti pointed out.

“It causes the... affected individual to relive a memory of their choosing with perfect clarity,” Adela explained, almost caressing the page before she closed her grimoire. “Has to be your memory, something from your own life, but as long as you were present, anything goes beyond that.”

“Wow, Adi, that’s real neat.” Edér looked impressed. “What gave ya the idea for that?”

“Well, I mean, there were a few different reasons.” She coughed sheepishly. “It helps with memories in general, so it could be used for anything from reliving a particularly good day with friends and/or family to, um, remembering whereyouleftyourteabeforeitgetscold.”

Aloth quirked an eyebrow. “Adela. Are you telling me you scribed a new spell because you were tired of forgetting where you left your tea?”

“Hey, Tayn scribed the Chaotic Orb spell for the fun of it,” Adela protested. “And it has plenty of practical uses beyond finding misplaced items.”

“I know, and I’m certain it will be a great help to many kith,” he said, tucking his hair behind one ear and giving her a half-smile. “It’s just... a very you thing to do something so extraordinary for so personal and--some would claim--mundane a reason.”

“There were other reasons in there, too,” Adela reminded him. “But I’m not showing it to the Circle, let alone wizards in general, until it has a name. Bringing me back to my original purpose in seeking out help. I’m terrible with names, any of you want to give me some suggestions?”

The three of them all assumed thoughtful expressions as they pondered the query. Xoti was the first to pipe up with a suggestion. “How ‘bout Clarity of Recall?”

“Hey, I like that,” Edér drawled, which made Xoti smile. “Since I can’t really think of anything, I’m gonna second that idea.”

“Quitter,” Adela teased, huffing hair out of her eyes.

“Nah, just... not good at namin’ things. B’sides pets,” he clarified with a grin.

“Oh, fine, I’ll let you weasel out.” She winked at him before turning to Aloth.  “How ‘bout you? Any ideas?”

He was still biting his lip in thought, and took a few seconds to respond. “How does Inerrant Reminiscence sound?”

“Oooh, fancy. I like that. I like both of them.” She bit the inside of her cheek in thought. Adela’s Inerrant Reminiscence. Adela’s Clarity of Recall. She ran the names through her head a few times. “Oh, ‘nother question: since Adela’s not as unique a name as, say, Concelhaut or Kalakoth, should I use Tecali instead?”

“I believe the given name is typical,” Aloth replied. “But it’s your spell, Adela. You do as you like with it.”

“B’sides, how big’s your family?” Xoti asked. “Ain’t there a lot of Tecalis, too?”

“Well, yes,” Adela conceded. “But the vast majority of them are in Ixamitl. Papa’s family are all very much homebodies. I’ve met Adelas from other countries. It’s not the most ubiquitous name under the sun, but it’s hardly unique.”

“Like Aloth said, your spell, your call,” Xoti shrugged.

Adela gave it a few moments’ thought, mentally running through all the options.  “How does Adela’s Inerrant Recall sound?”

“Perfect,” Aloth said with a smile. “That’s a fine compromise of your options, it flows well, sounds important but not pretentious... It’s a good choice.”

“Yeah, I like it,” Edér nodded, followed quickly by Xoti’s “Me, too.”

“Well, that settles it, then,” Adela grinned, practically bouncing with excitement.  “Adela’s Inerrant Recall. I have a spell.” She almost couldn’t believe it.

Aloth rested a hand on her shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. “That is quite an accomplishment, Adela. Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” she chirped, leaning slightly into the touch. She winked and playfully poked him in the ribs. “Now you just gotta scribe one an’ maybe we can be inducted or whatever as archmagi at the same time-”

Aloth shot her a questioning look at the sharp gasp. “What?”

“How do you think becoming an archmage works? Is there a ceremony? Would all the current archmagi be there if there is?” Her voice dropped to an awed, hopeful whisper. “Would I get to meet Kalakoth?”

“Adela. Breathe.” His voice was rife with amusement. “First, she’s still kith, even if she did scribe some of your favorite spells. Second, don’t we have a slightly more pressing issue to deal with before we worry about getting you recognized for your accomplishment?”

“Right, right, Eothas, I know.” Adela bit at a hangnail. “But Kalakoth.. Sunless Grasp is the first spell I ever learned. Granted, I learned it to prank Texatl, but still.”

“Maybe don’t tell her that part if you do get to meet her,” Aloth chuckled.

“What, you don’t think she has siblings or would understand pranking your big brother?” Adela asked with faux innocence.

“She’s a darn fool if she don’t, archmage or no,” Xoti giggled. “Hey, Adi, can I see how your spell works? I’ve got a buncha memories I’d love to revisit.”

“Well, you’ll hafta pick just one,” Adela replied with a smile. “But sure. Lemme go get my sceptre, to help channel it better.” She skipped almost the whole way down to her cabin and back up, bubbling over with enthusiasm for what the future held.

[souldiertotheend]

If You’d Only Knew (Steve/Tony, Identity Porn)

Rating: T Word Count: 7k Warnings: Referenced Abuse (but no actual abuse) Summary: After seeing Tony riddled with bruises and Iron Man being evasive, Steve assumes the worst. Read it here on ao3!

After spending about four hours alternating between keeping his eyelids firmly shut and staring at his ceiling in despair, Steve concluded that sleep just wasn’t happening that night. This was a ritual that happened often enough, much to his displeasure. His mind refused to quiet. He could go to the gym, punching the reinforced bags until his knuckles felt raw. Or he could go to the kitchen, make some tea or heat up milk to soothe his nerves.

Actually, warm milk sounded good.

He left for the communal floor in nothing but pajama pants, absentmindedly scratching his abdomen. He paused when he reached the threshold, a surprised grin forming on his lips.

Mister Stark had his back to him while he scavenging the fridge. For once he wore no suit, only jeans and a stained tank top. His hair was in the usual artful flop that Stark made look effortless.

It was rare to see the Avengers’ benefactor in his natural state. Most of the time he was sharply dressed and carefully composed, with a polished smile he would reserve for paparazzi or charity galas. Even when it was only Mister Stark and the Avengers, he kept a careful distance from them, even while catering to their every whim. Steve tried not to take it personally, since he knew Stark had become a bit of a recluse ever since Iron Man appeared.

“Mister Stark!”

Stark startled, bumping his head on one of the shelves. Steve held back his chuckle, feeling guilty for his amusement.

“Captain, I thought I told you to call me ‘Tony.’”

Steve’s grin quickly faded once Stark turned around.

He paled. “Mister Stark, your eye!”

The skin surrounding Stark’s right eye was purpled and mottled, his eyelid puffy. A gash rested on his cheekbone, sluggishly oozing a trickle of dried blood. The wound looked fresh too, and barely attended to.

Stark’s own grin wilted as he reached up to touch his eye socket. To Steve’s alarm, he looked rather sheepish and embarrassed about his injury.

“Ah, I forgot about that.” Stark shrugged nervously. “Sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing to me? Have you gone to a doctor? Let’s go wake up Bruce.”

“No, no.” Stark waved his hand dismissively. “Really, don’t worry about it. I’ve had worse.”

“Worse?” Steve’s tone turned incredulous. How much worse can a billionaire philanthropist could have it?

“Captain Rogers, really, don’t worry about me. I didn’t mean to bother you tonight, especially since you had such a difficult mission earlier.” He smiled tentatively at him. “I shouldn’t keep you. Have a good night, Captain.”

Stark headed for the exit without another word, keeping his head down and eyes away from Steve. Steve wanted to reach out to him, but since Stark was hunched into himself, he thought the gesture wouldn't be welcomed.

It must have been an accident in the workshop, Steve finally decided. Mister Stark was always holed up in there, working on a project for Stark Industries or on new equipment for the team.

Steve set about on warming his milk, trying to shake off this uneasy feeling.

Wednesdays were for training and team building exercises. Steve tried to be strict about it, making it mandatory for every active Avenger unless something unavoidable came up. Usually he'd corral all his teammates into the gym every week but this time there was a curious absence.

Steve managed to dodge Natasha’s fist but couldn't quite leap away from the kick aimed at his abdomen. He landed on the mat with an “oof” and stayed there, grinning up at the sweaty spy. She rolled her eyes and reached her arm out to help him to his feet.

“Take five?” Steve asked and she nodded, moving to a bench to grab her water bottle.

Steve walked around the room, watching Clint and Sam fight in their own sparring match. Bruce sat cross legged on Thor’s back while Thor did a series of push ups, meditating and looking perfectly serene despite the fighting around him. It would usually be this time that Thor would spar with Iron Man, but Shellhead was nowhere to be seen.

He moved to stand next to Natasha, who was languidly stretching her torso. “You heard anything from Iron Man? He should be here by now.”

“I wouldn't know any more than you, Cap.”

Steve scoffed. “Now that's a lie.”

She shrugged. “You know how he is. Always evasive. I wouldn't worry about it though. Tony's probably keeping him busy.” The emphasis on “busy” and the arch of her brows was suggestive enough that Steve blushed. He tried not to think about their relationship; not that two men being together offended him in any way, but that it wasn't any of his business what the two got up to when they were alone.

“He's usually punctual, is all I'm saying.”

Just as he was about to ask JARVIS for where Iron Man was, the wide double doors opened to allow a metal suit of armor to walk into the gym. Clint and Sam broke off to watch him arrive, and Sam gave Steve a meaningful look, smirking slightly. Sam never failed to tease Steve over his “hero worship” of Iron Man. Steve would defend himself, saying it's hard not to have a high opinion of the guy who was his first true friend in this strange future.

“Stark keeping you?” Sam asked when Iron Man reached them.

Iron Man shrugged in an exaggerated manner, spreading out his arms and visibly shifting his shoulders up and down. “He can be kind of needy. Finally able to get rid of him,” he joked.

Clint laughed and even Natasha looked rather amused. Steve tried not to frown at Iron Man’s words. He couldn't imagine why Iron Man would disparage his wonderful partner in front of other people like that.

“Man of Iron!” Thor called cheerfully, having finished with his set of push-ups. “I have been waiting for us to battle again!”

“So have I and I'm definitely winning this time.”

Before Iron Man could join Thor, Steve reached out to hold him back, resting a hand on his metal shoulder. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Sure.” Iron Man tilted his head to the side. “What's going on?”

Steve felt hesitant in bringing up Mister Stark’s injury; he knew it was really none of his business. He couldn't stop thinking about it since last night and worried if Stark was all right. He was so generous and, along with Iron Man, did his best to make Steve feel welcome in this century.

“I just wanted to ask you if Mister Stark is all right? I saw him last night and he had a pretty nasty black eye.”

Iron Man's usual jovial voice went oddly flat. "Oh, that. Don't worry, Cap, he's fine." "He was bleeding," Steve pointed out. "It was his own fault, really," Iron Man said, still sounding distant. "He's pretty clumsy in the lab. Always getting bruised." He clapped his metal hand on Steve's shoulder. "Never mind Stark. Time to focus on the team." Steve nodded. He knew Mister Stark was probably fine.

“You're a lucky man, though,” Steve offered, feeling off-kilter. He tried not to blush under Iron Man’s unwavering stare.

“Lucky?” he echoed.

“For dating Mister Stark, I mean. He's a brilliant man and very handsome.” He really should learn to keep his mouth shut. It was bad enough that Sam and Natasha got on his case about his very obvious crush on Mister Stark, and he didn't need Iron Man to join in on their efforts.

Instead of taking the bait though, Iron Man didn't respond for a long moment. Finally, he offered a weak, “I guess?”

“Man of Iron!” Thor’s booming voice interrupted them. “If you don't join me now, I will take that as you forfeiting our match!”

“I’ll talk to you later, Cap,” Iron Man said quickly before heading towards the mats.

Steve nodded slowly, feeling dumbfounded. He pushed the worry to the back of his head while he rejoined the team. It was probably nothing.

The next time Steve saw Mister Stark was over a week later, when he was on his way to the roof to get Sam, who was currently flying laps with Thor. Sam was insistent on taking him to a variety of different restaurants, every time claiming that he had not lived until he tried a certain culture’s food. Steve treasured these times; he hadn't really realized how often he'd lock himself away until Sam forced him to come out into the daylight.

He was passing by the living room where he heard low voices arguing, but what made him pause was that one of those voices was Stark’s . The billionaire had been avoiding him more than usual, as he hadn't seen him at all since running into him in the kitchen that night. Usually he'd catch a glimpse of Stark as he was entering or leaving the tower, in between meetings, or when he came to show the team their new upgrades.

He paused at a nearby wall, knowing the two haven't noticed him, and felt somewhat guilty for his ears picking up their conversation with perfect clarity.

“Rhodey bear, you need to stop worrying, everything is fine--”

“No! Everything is not fine. Why do you have to be so stubborn? Look, I'll even help, okay? If my being here makes it better--”

“I have everything under control.”

“You don't, Tones.” A sigh. “You have to tell the team. You need to stop keeping this a secret from them. All you're doing is hurting yourself.”

“The team’s fine. They have their perfect Iron Man--” and the hero’s name was said with such disgust and revulsion that it shocked Steve “--I can't ruin that for them, Rhodey.”

Steve felt like his head was spinning. That can't mean what he thought it meant, can it? There was no way. Iron Man was his friend, one of his best besides Sam. He must be misunderstanding this somehow.

“It's just -- You deserve better, Tony. You do, you really do. I hate seeing you suffer.” There was a sharp intake of breath. “I wish I could do something about Iron Man.”

“You won't,” Mister Stark said firmly. “Besides, he's the best thing that's happened to me.”

“I hate that you believe that.”

Silently, Steve moved back towards the elevator lobby, missing the rest of the conversation. But he heard enough.

It couldn't be true. Iron Man was such a brave fellow. He flew that nuke into the wormhole with zero hesitation; he had put himself in harm’s way time and time again. He heroically saved Mister Stark from Obadiah Stane, who manipulated his charge since a young age. Steve couldn't help but think of their relationship as a classic rescue romance, and he had even felt envious of Iron Man, wishing he could save Mister Stark and win his affections. But to learn that what he thought was a loving, supportive relationship was an absolute lie?

He felt angry and sickened. He wanted to find Iron Man right now and ram him up against a wall and demand answers, he--he--

He had to be jumping to conclusions. There must be a rational explanation for all of this. Iron Man was a hero. He wouldn't.

Steve managed to calm down, refusing to let anger cloud his judgement. He was going to find out exactly what was going on and go from there.

The sound of heavy boots neared him and he looked up to see Colonel Rhodes making his way towards the elevator, dressed in full Air Force garb. Steve straightened and prepared to salute the higher-ranking officer before Rhodes waved him off. “Captain Rogers, a pleasure to see you.”

“Please, call me Steve.”

“Then you can call me Jim,” he smiled. His eyes were creased with worry, but he masked it with his friendliness.

“You're leaving already?”

“Unfortunately. Technically I'm not even supposed to be here, but I decided to sneak away to check up on Tony.”

“Shame. Hopefully you can stay longer next time? Spend some time with team?”

“No doubt about it. Take care, Steve.” Jim patted his arm and once he stepped into the elevator, Steve waved goodbye to him.

Steve stared thoughtfully at the closed elevator doors when his phone beeped. It was a new text message, from Sam, saying that he was going to have to take a raincheck.

Well, it was the perfect opportunity to find out what was happening, straight from the source.

Back in the living room, he can see Mister Stark sitting in the loveseat, staring out one of the ceiling to floor windows. Steve cleared his throat and Tony turned to face him, surprise clearly on his face.

Steve sheepishly held up his phone. “My best friend just canceled on me, so I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner with me?”

“Sam?” Stark relaxed, a wry grin lighting up his features. “I could see him through these windows, chasing Thor. I think they both took off into the distance. Does he… do that often?”

“Only occasionally.” Steve shrugged. Sam was usually reliable, unless when it came to the god of thunder, who was considerably less so outside of a fight. “So…?”

Stark smiled sadly. “I don't know if you've noticed, but I don't leave this tower.”

“Then we can have it delivered. Lots of places do that now, don't they?”

Stark tilted his head. “That… actually sounds nice. Sure.” And he smiled. It wasn't one of those smiles patented for the media, but a softer one, even sad, and Steve felt honored for seeing this side of Mister Stark that so few saw.

They ended up agreeing on Greek, and Steve found himself sitting on the love seat next to Stark, eating a chicken gyro, the TV tuned to a random channel. He wasn't paying it much attention, instead listening to Stark describe what he'd been working on in his workshop.

“At first I was gonna make her a knockout powder disguised as face powder, but I'm really picky about its formulation, so I decided to make an electric baton for now,” Stark explained, talking through a mouth full of souvlaki. It was rather endearing to see him so completely relaxed in a cat T-shirt and jeans. “That's fine, right? I know she likes going right up to people and beating the shit out of them.”

“I'm sure Nat will love it, Mister Stark.”

His nose wrinkled. “Ugh, stop that, how many times do I have to tell you it's Tony?”

Steve ducked his head down, feeling his face flush. This always happened when it was only him and Stark, without Avenging being the main topic of conversation. He sternly reminded himself that Stark was only being friendly, nothing more, besides he had enough to stress about without Steve adding to his burden.

“Thank you for the hard work you do for the team,” Steve said, looking back up when he felt the heat in his cheeks subside. “Even though you don't fight with us, you are invaluable to us.”

Tony’s smile faltered for a moment. “Yeah, I know the support of Iron Man is the main benefit of our arrangement.” His voice went a little flat.

Christ, Steve couldn't say anything without inadvertently reminding Tony of his partner. “No, I-I meant you , Tony.” Tony peeked up at the mention of his name. “I see all the time and energy you put in upgrading our gear, making us better weapons, while still running your company and creating new Iron Man suits. You like to act as if it's no big deal, but it is. Hell, you even put us in your own home.”

“You're making me blush, Cap.” And there was that soft smile of his, that no one but a select few get to see. “And I'm not nearly as impressive as you make me sound. I've got Pepper to help run the company for me.”

“Not impressi -- Tony, you built JARVIS, you designed this tower, you even made this mini computer I carry in my pocket, the best smartphone I ever used--”

“--the only smartphone you ever used--”

“--I stand by my words,” Steve said firmly. “Who the hell ever gave you the idea that you're not impressive?”

Tony shrugged. “So… you like JARVIS?” He asked shyly.

“I love JARVIS.” Steve felt sheepish for the declaration, but he pressed on. “I ended up relying on him way more than the introduction packets SHIELD gave me when I woke up.”

“That's not surprising,” Tony muttered under his breath. Louder, he said, “I’m glad he could help. I know everything must have been a shock.”

“I managed.” Steve smiled at the memory of himself sitting alone at the mess hall in the helicarrier, when a charming Mister Stark strolled in to tell him to pack his bags, that they were breaking him out. Steve had only managed to stammer out a “yes,” halfway to saluting him before remembering that he was a civilian, not an officer. “But seriously, thank you for   everything .”

“Glad to be of use.” Tony turned back to look at the TV, where a woman was professing her love to a douchey 20-year-old kid with a bad haircut. “Uh, do you watch this show often?”

“Sometimes. It's Clint’s show, and he hogs the control and makes everyone else watch it. Why?”

“Has anyone introduced you to the Great British Bake Off?”

Steve spent the rest of the evening there, laughing at Tony’s jokes and trying to make him laugh at his. Tony was open and relaxed, and Steve managed to push aside his anxieties for the night.

“On your left,” Sam shouted. He flew low and kicked at a robot that was sneaking up on Steve’s blind spot.

Steve let out an exhilarated laugh. “Still sore about that?”

“You're an ass,” came Sam’s intelligent, well thought out response, as he took off to the sky again. Steve turned to bash his shield against another creeping robot, still grinning.

Maybe it said something about Steve that he was taking so much enjoyment out of destroying these doombots. There was always a thrill in the fight, along with a release of tension, and lately he had been more angry than usual. He almost felt bad for being grateful that Doctor Doom decided to attack Central Park.

He finished the last of the robots by him, severing its metal head with the edge of his shield. It broke up into pieces and fell by his feet; he kicked it mindlessly. “Natasha, have more doombots showed up?” he said into his mic.

“No, it seems like it's thinning out,” she replied. She grunted, followed by the unmistakable sound of metal crunching and sparking. “I think they were sent just to cause a general panic. Doesn't look like they had a specific target in mind.”

“They have been behaving erratically,” Iron Man added. Steve’s jaw clenched before he consciously relaxed it. “I could take one, bring it to Stark so he could double check, you know, make him useful for once,” he joked.

“Fine,” Steve bit out, cutting Clint off from making a no doubt smart-ass comment. “Let’s wrap this up and get to debriefing.” All that tension that he thought he expelled came back, as if he hadn't just spent two hours smashing doombots.

Back in the tower, they filed dutifully into the conference room. Steve lingered at the back of the room for a moment, watching the team laughing and joking. Iron Man dropped the broken doombots into a heap at a corner of the room, returning to Bruce’s side to make a snide joke about “the big guy.” Sam leaned in to tap at Iron Man’s head playfully, calling him “Shellhead,” the nickname Steve came up for their beloved mysterious Avenger.

“They have their perfect Iron Man. I can't ruin that for them.”

“All right, calm down,” Steve blurted out, moving to the head of the table. “Let’s get through this quickly so we can all finally rest for the day.”

He noticed his teammates were sharing apprehensive and questioning looks, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

They went around the room, explaining in detail what happened and what they did, and suggestions for improvements in the future. Steve bit his tongue every time Iron Man spoke, and when it came to Iron Man’s turn, Steve stared at the wall behind his head so he wouldn't have to stare at his glowing eye holes.

“So I swooped in to save Clint’s ass and then -- Steve, are you listening?” Iron Man asked, his tone bewildered.

Steve moved his eyes back to Iron Man, watching him tilt his head, a motion Steve once thought endearing. “Yes. Go on.”

“Uh, right, as I was saying…”

The debriefing finally ended, but right as Steve was about to leave the room in pursuit of a long, relaxing shower, Iron Man tapped him on the shoulder. “Cap, can I talk to you for a moment?”

“Sure,” Steve muttered. They waited in the room until the rest of the Avengers dispersed, and Steve turned towards Iron Man. “Is something wrong?”

“Is something --” Iron Man exclaimed. “Steve, what's the matter with you? You've been so distant lately and then today… Are you feeling okay? You want to talk about it? You don't have to go through it alone.”

Steve nearly saw red. How dare he? Steve opened up to him, about how hard it was adjusting to this new life, how much he missed the Bucky he used to know, how he sometimes wished he died with his generation. And to have Iron Man throw it back at him, implying that the tension between them was all on Steve, as if Iron Man was the innocent party here.

“Oh, don't even,” Steve nearly shouted. “I know the rest of the team loves you, but don't forget, ‘Shellhead,’ that I see you. You can't fool everyone.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” The hurt was evident in Iron Man’s voice, but Steve refused to let it sway him. He felt so stupid for believing him in the first place.

“Why don't you just go to Tony and take care of him for a change?”

Steve turned and stalked out of the conference room, and for once Iron Man didn't have a smart comeback.

A couple hours was enough for Steve to realize how badly he handled his encounter with Iron Man. He had promised himself that he wasn't going to jump to conclusions, that he would wait for more definitive evidence, but as always his emotions got the best of him once again. Steve laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling, knowing he wasn't going to be able to sleep like this. What if he got this completely wrong (he hoped he got it wrong) and all he did today was hurt one of his best friends. Iron Man really did sound like he had no idea what Steve was talking about.

He rolled over to stare at his alarm clock. It was still early, only nine, and he wondered if maybe he should go looking for Iron Man to apologize. He had no idea how he would explain away his behavior.

In the end, he stood up, deciding he will check on Tony. They have been spending more time together, some of it even in Tony’s workshop, where Tony showed him all his current projects and his latest update for the suit. He hadn't seen Tony in a few days and missed having him around.

He was surprised by how easily he and Tony got along. One of the reasons Steve had never before accepted Tony’s offers of friendship was that he didn't really think he and a billionaire genius had much in common. For all his charm, he never seemed approachable to Steve, like Steve would only waste his precious time.

At the workshop, he saw that the glass wasn't blacked out, which is what usually happened when Tony wanted privacy. Steve took it as a sign that he was available to talk and headed for the door, from where he could see Tony bent over the table, probably working.

Steve opened the door, calling out Tony’s name, and Tony whirled around at the sound of his voice, his hands dropping from his midsection.

But Steve already saw. Right when he entered the workshop, he saw Tony had lifted his shirt, his fingers skimming over his own blackened flesh.

Steve froze.

Tony laughed nervously, his eyes darting but refusing to look him in the eye. “Oh, hey, Cap, didn't see you there. What are you doing up? Couldn't sleep again?”

He looked exhausted with heavy shadows under his eyes and his hair greasy and unwashed. His shoulders were hunched and Steve could tell just by his posture that he was favoring his left side. His usual brilliant smile was dimmed.

It was a miracle that Steve managed to remain calm, instead of becoming enraged and immediately hunting for Iron Man. He asked, “Tony, where did you get those bruises?”

Tony was already dismissing the question, waving his hand as if to ward it away, but still not looking at Steve. “I like to box with my head of security, Happy Hogan. We were both pretty enthusiastic about it, and hell, who wouldn't want an excuse to hit their boss? He must have been especially annoyed at me today, which isn't a surprise.” Tony tried to shrug casually but failed.

“Tony, those kinds of bruises aren't what you'd get from friendly boxing.”

“I don't know what to tell you, Steve, because that's where they’re from. Like I said, Happy and I have our own version of boxing, and safety is for cowards.” Tony smirked. He seemed more confident, his bravado returning.

But Steve knew the look on Tony’s face when he came in. Terror, panic, the look of someone who knew they had to something secret no matter what, because that secret would be so devastating if others knew. Tony was shaking then, so openly vulnerable.

Christ.

“You can tell me anything, if you need to,” Steve said gently, despite the swirl of emotions inside.

“Well, I don't,” Tony said bluntly. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do.” He turned back towards a bench, grabbing a screwdriver, and Steve left the workshop, knowing a dismissal when he saw one. As soon as he stepped out, the windows darkened, the mechanical sounds of the door whirling as it locked down.

Staring at the darkened windows, an awful feeling washed over Steve: it was his fault. He shouldn't have confronted Iron Man about it, he should've kept his mouth shut and his temper in check. Iron Man must have realized that Steve figured it out, and he had blamed Tony for it. Those bruises looked so painful.

Steve felt like he was losing his mind. He was way out of his element, he realized that now. He could only think of one person who had more experience in interpersonal stuff who could definitely tell him whether he was right or wrong. How he hoped he was wrong. Outside of Sam's quarters, he knocked insistently on his front door. It was unlikely Sam was asleep at this time.

The door swung backwards while Steve was still knocking, only for Sam to appear behind it, looking annoyed. “Why are you knocking like some five-year-old?”

“I need an adult.”

He snorted. “And why do you think I'm that?”

“You're better with people.”

“Thought you went to Nat for girl talk,” Sam said.

“No, it’s -- Can I come in, please?” He added quietly.

Sam’s playful expression disappeared, replaced with one of worry. He opened his door wide to let Steve come into his living room. Steve sat down heavily on the couch, staring at his hands, wondering where he was going to begin.

“What happened?” Sam asked, direct when needed.

“Have you noticed that Tony has been acting... strange lately?”

“Uh, well I don't really see the guy as often as you or Bruce.” Sam gave him a scrutinizing look.

“Whenever Iron Man’s brought up, Tony…” He couldn't verbalize it, the way Tony stiffens or laughs awkwardly when Steve referenced their relationship. How neither of them acted like two people who were passionately in love. “He-he has bruises,” Steve said helplessly and Sam’s frown deepened.

“Are you saying what I think you're saying? How did this all started?”

Steve explained how several times he found Tony with fresh, dark bruises and how evasive he was in answering how he had gotten them. He explained how he overheard Tony and Jim’s conversation, and how weird Iron Man acted every time his partner was brought up. He finished with his worry that he made the situation worse, and Sam sighed and shook his head.

“Honestly, I have a hard time believing Iron Man would do something like that,” Sam admitted.

“So do I. I kept ignoring it for weeks, thinking I was overreacting, but I can't just ignore this anymore. If Iron Man really is abusing Tony, I can't sit by and let my friend get hurt.”

“Steve, before you go running off to beat up Iron Man, I really think you should tell Tony about your concern. Offer your help, see how he reacts. This might just be a huge misunderstanding. But if it isn't, then we'll deal with it as a team and help him.” Sam hesitated and then added, “Maybe talk to him when you're calmer.”

“I'm calm,” Steve protested.

“You're digging gouges into my sofa.”

Steve quickly let go of the arm of the sofa. “I think I'll wait ‘til tomorrow.”

The minute Steve left his workshop Tony knew he fucked up. He knew he fucked up the minute he heard Steve’s voice and suddenly he realized he had forgotten to put the shop into lockdown. He wanted to run after Steve and apologize for snapping at him, for lying to him, for continuing on this whole stupid charade.

Captain America and Iron Man were best friends, a bond forged from the dangers of their occupation and their decision to face those dangers together. Steve Rogers’ and Tony Stark’s relationship, on the other hand, was still blooming and fragile, like a plant that you had to measure out its needs carefully and not drown it in attention and anxiety. Just when Steve and Tony were becoming friends, Tony had to ruin it. Now Steve didn't like him in either his identities.

He had no idea what Iron Man did, but he knew it was also his fault. Saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, or forgetting something important were Tony’s frequent failings.

“Dammit,” Tony muttered to himself, and winced as pain flared up on his side. He was so frantic to conceal his secret that he forgot that he could be hurting his best friend. He needed to make this up to Steve, somehow.

Maybe he should just listen to Rhodey and tell the team that he was Iron Man. He came up with the lie so the baggage that was Tony Stark would not ruin the heroic Iron Man. He thought the team, especially Steve, would want nothing to do with him beyond funding. But somehow, Steve didn't let the public opinion of Tony Stark infest their relationship; he was even admiring, praising Tony for his creations and his generosity. If he told the team Iron Man was actually Tony Stark, maybe they would be fine with it?

It seemed too good to be true. Maybe it was. But it was getting painful lying to Steve even now, switching between identities, pretending to be dating himself when what he really wanted was to take Steve out the old-fashioned way.

“One thing at a time,” Tony muttered.

He stumbled over to his workbench and sat down heavily to the stool, lighting up a holographic projection with his fingers. He knew he wasn't going to sleep tonight, too preoccupied to be able to calm his thoughts and rest. In the meantime, he might as well start on the next Iron Man suit.

He didn't resurface again until the next day at noon when JARVIS started blaring alarms at every direction. He lifted his head and blinked at the ceiling, a habit he had picked up from the other Avengers. “I'm busy, J.”

“I see that, sir, but Captain Rogers is waiting to speak to you.”

Tony swiveled on the stool to the direction of the door, where he saw Steve standing, holding a brown paper bag and coffee.

A peace offering. Tony gritted his teeth. Of course Steve would be the first to apologize, even though he had every right to be frustrated with Tony’s secrecy. Tony waved a hand in the door’s direction and it swung open to let the captain in.

“Hey, Tony,” Steve said, giving him a sheepish smile. “Thought you could use a break.”

Tony made grabby hands at the coffee. When Steve passed it over, Tony drank a fourth of it, scalding his tongue but giving no care to the pain. “Thanks,” Tony said with a satisfied sigh.

Steve shuffled in his spot and Tony tensed. Of course it wasn't ‘everything back to normal,’ of course Steve wanted to talk about it. “I need to ask you something.” Steve lifted his head with a determined expression. Tony braced himself.

Tony was hoping for more time to prepare emotionally for telling Steve the truth, but it looked like he wouldn't get that option. He just hoped Steve would forgive him.

“Are you…” Steve started to flush, but he continued, “...are you happy in your relationship with Iron Man?”

What? “What?” Tony asked, dumbfounded.

“Are you happy with Iron Man?”

This was not what he was expecting. “Uh, well, yes?” Tony winced. That shouldn't sound skeptical. “I mean, we’ve been together for two years now. And, um, we have good times… together.”

“Do you love him?”

Tony stared at Steve, whose sheepishness was now lost and he looked more sure of himself. “Steve, why are you asking me this?”

“I'm worried, Tony. I've seen those bruises.”

“Yeah, I mean, I am pretty clumsy,” Tony said, echoing the typical excuse. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You don't have to lie for him,” Steve told him gently. “I overheard you and Jim talking. I'm sorry,” he added quickly at Tony’s confused look. “I know it's rude, but I ended hearing you two anyway. And I heard Jim wanting you to tell the Avengers that,” Steve paused, as if trying to prepare himself, for what Tony had no idea. “That Iron Man has been abusing you.”

Oh. Tony blinked. Oh no.

He stared up at Steve, magnificent, beautiful, clueless Steve, who was standing there righteously. Steve's hands were flexing, as if he wanted to find Iron Man right now and give him a piece of his mind, and Tony didn't know if he wanted to laugh, or run away. Shit, he should have known that sooner or later someone would have misinterpreted his self-loathing for domestic abuse.

Tony pushed down the giddiness, pushed down the disbelief that somehow his secret was still a secret, and said, “Steve, I think you've misinterpreted what Rhodey said. Iron Man isn't abusing me.” He couldn't help but let his disbelief color his words.

“I know you don't see it that way,” Steve murmured. “I did some research. I read that abused people often refuse to recognize what is happening to them. But Tony, you have nothing to be ashamed of. I'm here if you need my help.”

Tony was sure that if he was actually being abused, Steve would have been endlessly supportive. He shook his head. “I'm not abused. I'm sure of it. Iron Man has never laid a hand on me.”

Steve was still looking skeptical and Tony knew he wasn't going to drop it easily. He sighed. He might as well reveal the truth then.

“Hold on,” Tony muttered. He reached for the suitcase armor that lay on the floor next to the workbench and triggered the mechanism, bringing it to his chest. The armor enwrapped him in under a minute and he watched Steve, confused but still righteous.

The helmet closed over his head and the eye holes glowed with power from the arc reactor. His voice modified by the armor, he proclaimed, “I am Iron Man.”

He watched as Steve’s face shuttered into a blank slate. After a heavy moment, Steve turned and left the workshop without a single word, leaving Tony behind.

Sam did say he was being hasty, Steve thought bitterly. Once again he was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, wishing his brain would shut off. It had been a few days since he had confronted Tony about the “abuse,” days that Steve had spent reexamining every interaction he had with Tony and Iron Man. He remembered how he first learned about their romance from Natasha and he remembered every time one of the pair had mentioned the other. Everything made sense now.

And he felt stupid. He felt so stupid. He was so sure of what was going on. He thought he would just march into the workshop and tell Tony that he knew, that he would help. Steve had a whole fantasy about it, where he’d protect Tony from his cruel lover and then, maybe, after he had healed from the experience, Tony would admit his new romantic feelings for Steve.

Steve turned to his side violently. Tony must have been laughing at him. It must have been a hilarious joke, befriending him in both identities. Steve misconstruing the “romance” must have been the cherry on top of a great prank.

Fuck it, he knew he wasn't sleeping.

When he reached the kitchen, he fought the urge to turn and run back into his room when he saw Tony, but it was too late. He'd already seen him.

Steve slunk in the room warily, but Tony ignored him, too focused on his bourbon and his phone. Steve turned to the refrigerator to pull out his milk, deciding he would also ignore the other man.

Halfway through heating the drink, Tony said, “I'm sorry.”

Steve inhaled, keeping his gaze focused on the microwave. “Don't be, I'm sure it was hilarious.”

“I wasn't trying to make fun of you.”

The microwave beeped at him but Steve ignored it in favor of turning to face Tony. He had put down his phone and was staring back at Steve. He didn't look like he was laughing.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Steve demanded. “Why did you let me think you were in a relationship with yourself?”

“It was easier.” Tony shrugged. “It's hard to keep Iron Man’s identity a secret, when we’re rarely seen in a room together and he’s always with the Avengers when he's supposed to be my bodyguard. The tabloids came up with the idea of this rescue romance between us, and it helped. People usually don't think a couple is actually the same person.”

“But why pretend you're not Iron Man? Why not just tell the team the truth, at least?”

Tony glanced down, thumbing the glass in his hand. “I didn't think any of you would want me on the team. Textbook narcissism, remember?”

“Don't be ridiculous.” The forceful tone of Steve’s voice made Tony look back up, wide-eyed. “You've always been a hero, even without the suit. You were a hero when you decided to stop making weapons and start making technology to improve people’s lives. You were a hero when you created the Maria Stark Foundation. The suit isn't what makes Iron Man, you are.”

There was a full beat of silence before Steve realized what he said and started blushing. He turned back towards the microwave, using the excuse to prepare his milk to keep his red face hidden.

Once he was sure his face had returned to its normal color, he turned back with his drink to see that Tony was regarding him thoughtfully. Steve added as a final thought, “You're too hard on yourself.”

Tony frowned but didn't try to argue with it.

“I'm still mad at you.”

Tony began to smile. “In my defense, I had no idea you took it as Iron Man abusing me.”

“You had all these bruises and kept trying to hide them! What did you expect me to think?”

Tony laughed. “Sorry.”

“You can make it up to me.”

Tony raised his eyebrow expectantly.

“How do you feel about Thai food?”

[bat-besties]

On Impossibility - 6

Chapter 1   Chapter 2    Chapter 3    Chapter 4   Chapter 5  Chapter 7  Chapter 8 Chapter 9

A popular!Logan and loser!Roman high school AU based on @2pointomg’s idea with eventual Prinxiety. 

impossible 

ɪmˈpɒsɪb(ə)l

adjective

·       not able to occur, exist, or be done.

Eg. It is impossible to fund both the sports and drama programmes with the school’s limited budget.

·       very difficult to deal with.

Eg. The situation which Logan Sanders, Student Body President, is in after he convinced the school board to cut the unsuccessful drama programmes is impossible.

·       (of a person) very unreasonable.

Eg. Roman Prince.

To Roman, nothing is impossible. Not following his older brother Patton to acting college, not being a loser taking on the school’s popular Student Body President and definitely not writing and performing an epic school play with no money and six cast and crew members.

Edited by @alpacasarethegreenestanimal, who has an amazing fanfiction on AO3! If you like superheroes, sarcasm and Virgil angst then you’ll love this

@toolazytothinkofcreativename

@entitydark

@romanasanders

@barclays-sides

@cashmeredragon

@jughead-is-canonically-aroace

@immacrazyfangirl

@narniasfinestavengingsociopath

@featuredfander

@what-a-catch-joe

@mightaswellenthuseaboutbooks

@candiukas​

@whatamessofwords 

@zoalis

So close. They were so close.

‘Then this I say, oh noble knight, if you let go of your anger then you could be great. Give up the light – it is so comfortable here in the dark. Vines to hold you close, the canopy to shade you, thorns to protect you. Does the light not burn you?’

Kyle had a blanket cape round his shoulders and was jutting his chin confrontationally towards Roman. His pose was perfect, he knew his lines inside out, and his emphasis was just as Roman had imagined it when writing the speech late at night in his bedroom.

Roman suddenly broke out of character, running his hand through his hair. ‘That was great – really, really. Could we run it again? There’s just – you’ve just got to really feel it.’ Roman hated to be that guy – Kyle had been great, and their priority was to get a feel for the new set and adjust their blocking for the stage. But he had to be perfect. Roman would make him perfect no matter what it took, for although he knew the role was one which stretched his friend he had faith in him to get it right. All through workshopping a boy called Raphael had dominated Ombretto, throwing him into dramatic confrontation with Rosso and drawing him back into introspective monologues. To be honest, it had hurt Roman greatly when Raphael left ‘due to creative differences’ and Kyle had to be pulled from the role of Giallo, but he much preferred his friend’s delivery because he had learnt from Patton the importance of an actor subordinating themselves to the character.  

It was six o’clock on a Saturday night and they had been there all day assembling the set, but Kyle ran the lines again - with more feeling. It wasn’t good enough for Roman, but then again hardly anything was. They moved on and he saw Talyn give Kyle encouraging finger guns from the wings. Kyle returned a small smile. Everyone was tired, but Roman had asked them to run through the whole thing again, so they had. While Patton’s entire year would go to the moon and back for him, Roman’s few friends would paint the Kuiper belt rainbow if he asked them to.

They should have gone home and caught up on homework after putting up the set, but the beauty of the set had transported Roman into ecstasies of inspiration, and he doubted Virgil would leave until the building was shut. The boy for once in his life was not scrolling through Tumblr, listening to music or fiddling with his sweater paws. He just sat starry-eyed in the front row of the seating, hunched forward in his over-sized hoody as he tried to hide a grin behind his hands.

The set Virgil had built was amazing. Fate had finally given the theatre troupe a helping hand as Dahlia’s neighbours had spare planks of wood from a loft extension they had not technically forbidden her from taking. Virgil had understood the aesthetic of Talyn’s designs and had decided to play around with the handmade nature of the set. Basically, it looked like the child of a Victorian toy theatre and the illustrations in a book of fairy tales raised by a goth/steampunk in the hedge of thorns from Sleeping Beauty. Or that’s how Virgil had pitched it. Originally there had been a scaffolding tower, but they had to improvise with the tall metal balcony from West Side Story Patton had once sung on so happily.

Virgil was weirdly proud of himself. He tried to be self-deprecating about his set, however he couldn’t help but be happy with it. Logan had always been complimentary about his work, but he did not have a great understanding of art, and Virgil had suspected the positive feedback was a key bullet point in the Word document ‘How to Get Self-doubting Friend to Apply for College.’ In contrast his new friends had very high standards, so a single nice word from Talyn would go around his head for days and days. Roman had been extremely exacting – a picture of the cliff from the Nightmare before Christmas had literally been ripped off Virgil’s mood board because the smoothness of it ‘didn’t fit the vibe, the emotion’ of the play – and now he was playing in the set like a kid in a candy store. Virgil understood it now, Logan and Roman’s drive for perfection. Oh sure, Logan was a textbook perfectionist and Roman was slapdash and confident in his own abilities, but in his own way the actor was just as meticulous about his work. The play – not yet named because there was not something which fit it well enough – was his baby. And while the set was a part of that brainchild it was Virgil’s own – baby was a weird comparison, it was just…he just had lots of feelings about it he hadn’t had for anything else before, OK? The exercise in 3D space was interesting.  

At 22:00, a janitor finally came around. He peeked his head into the auditorium, then walked into it fully. Kyle was perched on the balcony, which was festooned with sequinned purple fabric vines, and Roman was kneeling in centre stage entreating him to come down, framed by chaotic brambles the size of tree trunks and twisted metal spider webs throwing bizarre shadows onto the wall behind him, covered with sheer green fabric donated by Mrs Damon. He looked at Virgil, who was entranced by the scene.

‘Hey kid, you part of this?’ he spoke quietly, not wanting to disturb the actors. Virgil looked up at him and nodded with a grin.

‘Good on you, kid. I told you that you shouldn’t use your drawing skills for rude caricatures. And now look at you!’

Virgil was rapidly beginning to lose his sense of mystery and magic. ‘That…that was not me. I told you, and I told the principal that that drawing wasn’t by me.’

The janitor took off his hat and sat next to Virgil in a fatherly manner. ‘If you didn’t draw that cartoon, then why was it on your locker, heh?’

Trying to be absorbed into the tear in the seat covering, Virgil gave the man an exasperated look.

‘Well, I’m here to ask you guys to leave. You need to sleep!’ replied the janitor brightly, completely unfazed by Virgil’s silence. He leaned in even closer to him. ‘How long is there left?’

‘Fif-een min’tes.’ was mumbled from behind a wall of purple hair.

‘Fine. You guys promise to look up, then you can have the time.’

‘Thks.’

‘Careful of that balcony. Bit rickety.’ With that Malcom headed into the hallway again, marvelling at the impact that simple sentence of his had made on that punk kid. Permanent sharpie and Tipp-ex on that locker as well. Sometimes kids just need a bit of self-belief.

Exactly fifteen minutes later, Roman bounded off the stage and thundered up to Virgil. Ignoring the fact that Virgil was putting into practice everything he’d learnt trying to disengage Malcom, he grabbed his hands and pulled him to his feet. ‘A cheer for Virgil!’ he yelled to the others.

There were scattered cheers from the cast and crew as they cleared up. ‘Visionary, visionary!’ shouted Roman, throwing his hands in the air.

Virgil blushed. ‘What does that even mean?’

Roman threw himself down on the gangway, pulling the emo down beside him. ‘One who has unique visions!’

Virgil looked at him sceptically. ‘I’m sure that’s not the exact definition.’

‘We can’t all be the calculator watch, can we?’ The annoyance entering Roman’s voice was jarring.

There was a beat of awkward silence as Virgil refused to forgive Roman or defend Logan.

Brightly, Roman grabbed Virgil’s hand and admired his nail polish. He looked up at Virgil and whispered, ‘Visionary, visionary.’ Over his knuckles.

Virgil recoiled and stood up. ‘What the ever-loving fuck was that?!’

Roman face-palmed. ‘It was meant to be…friendly.’

‘It was really weird! And not friendly! That was not in the realm of friendly!’

Roman rocketed to his feet, ‘Sorry to break it to you Virgil, but just because I’m gay, it doesn’t mean that I’m flirting with every straight guy I talk to!’

‘How is that-? It wasn’t- I didn’t even know that! Anyway, I’m not straight either.’

‘Well, fine. I’m not.’ Roman put his hands on his hips.

‘Fine!’

‘Fine!’

The two stood angrily staring at each other before dissolving into laughter.

‘How could you think I was straight?’ howled Roman, ‘And you’re not either? Yes!’ he punched the air.

Virgil was bent over, clutching his stomach. ‘I…I didn’t want to assume…’

Dahlia came up the gangway halfway, since the rest of it was blocked by two dorks rolling around on the floor. ‘We’re going to head, if you guys could lock up.’ Breathlessly, Roman waved her on.

Once the two came to they sat up, lounging against the seating.

Roman studiously didn’t look at Virgil as he spoke to him. ‘Your set – I love it.’

‘I know.’ The emo smirked at him, ‘you spent all evening playing in it.’

Roman’s hand shot to his chest as he gasped, ‘PLAYING! How dare you? I was acting!’ he made a point to gesture dramatically to signal his thespian talent. He put his hand down and turned to Virgil. ‘I do, though,’ he said earnestly, ‘it’s beautiful, and dark, and creepy, and fantastical, and better than I could ever have hoped for. We can do this – we can put on this play.’

Virgil’s insides twisted as he looked at the boy across from him, his face desaturated and pupils dilated by the dark. He wasn’t so sure of success. The costumes needed to be big and bold, and that meant lots of fabric and shiny things in elaborate designs. They had asked to use the black fabric which backed the curtain but had unsurprisingly been turned down, and money from rainbow T-shirt sales had covered enough for a dirndl for Margherita bought online and a shimmery brown and green leotard for the malevolent fairy (nicknamed Bob) after the set had been built, but for now the magnificent hoop skirts of the Evil Queen and flowing robe of Ombretto were impossible to realise.

‘Virgil?’

The emo snapped his eyes from Roman’s face. ‘Yeah. Let’s not count on…let’s not give on up this.’ He made eye contact again. ‘I believe in you. Or whatever. Dork.’

Roman smiled to himself a little. ‘And here I was thinking you were some massive edgelord.’

Virgil raised his eyebrows. ‘You saw my Nightmare before Christmas poster.’

‘True.’ Roman grinned, ‘But you were too cool for my Randy Newman impression.’

Virgil giggled. ‘You had a cowboy hat. And a pink plastic radio. And you were fifteen.’

‘I took it seriously! I wanted to be your friend.’ Roman emphasised each word.

‘Well, I wanted you to stop singing before I cringed myself a six-pack.’

They sat in silence for a while, neither wanting to suggest leaving.

‘I don’t know what I’m going to do with my future.’ Virgil’s head was flung back to look at the set, and his voice was soft.

Roman rolled onto his stomach, supporting his head on his hands. ‘What do you want to do?’

‘This.’

Roman put his hand on Virgil’s and smiled at him reassuringly, ‘Then do it. This is good.’

‘I…’ Virgil took a shaky breath. ‘I can’t. I’m not good enough.’

‘Virgil. I have been to four Broadway shows and twenty-three shows in other towns. I watch bootlegs like other kids watch let’s plays. I read about this stuff. I think you could easily design for a smaller show, and once you go to college…Broadway, baby.’

Virgil felt something suspiciously like hope rise to fill his chest. ‘Why would they take someone like me? From a school like this, which isn’t particularly keen on the arts, if you hadn’t noticed.’

‘Virgil – you have Mrs Damon who would write a book about you, let alone a recommendation letter. You’ve got this production, which will make one hell of an essay. The school is academic, and your grades are good. Besides, Patton did it – my older brother.’

‘I guess. But wasn’t he like some genius or something?’

It was Roman’s turn to break eye contact. ‘Yeah, he is. But we don’t need to be scholarship holders like him or anything. Just good enough.’

Virgil sat up, ‘You’re worried about acting school, princey? Big brother in New York and half-a-billion extracurriculars. Please.’

‘No extracurriculars now. But yes, of course I’m worried. I want to go to the same place as Patton, when we went to check it out with him it was…magical. These past few years it’s like he’s living every single dream I have. And I’m happy for him! I am! I’m super proud, but I don’t want to apply and be rejected, and he’ll be super nice about it…you know.’

‘Do your parents compare you a lot?’

‘No, god no.’ Roman shook his head emphatically. ‘They’re incredibly proud of both of us. It’s me. I do. And I know I shouldn’t…’

He broke off and tried to hide the fact that he was crying. The emo scooted closer and awkwardly pulled him into a loose hug, at which point Roman attached himself to Virgil’s hoodie like a baby koala.

‘Aw, jeez. Come on, dude. Don’t make me give a heartfelt speech. Just like, know, that I think you’re - good.’

‘Huh! Yeah, I am pretty good! Thanks for reminding me, J-Delightful.’ Roman pulled himself up and punched Virgil in the shoulder.

‘Alright, dudebro.’

The boy slumped again. ‘Arggggg. Now you think everything is fine!’

‘You do not look like everything is fine.’

‘Well, yeah, no.’

Virgil just wanted to paint and listen to emo music and be left alone. Why the hell was he landed with looking after overachievers?

‘Wanna come to my house tonight? We could watch Disney, or whatever. My parents would be happy I have someone to invite over.’

‘I would love that! I’ll text the old parents…Odin’s eyepatch! It’s eleven already! We’d better hurry!’

That night as Roman was spread-eagled on his bedroom floor, Virgil tried not to think of the lack of money for costumes, but they joined the usual procession of Logan’s eye bags, situations in which his set would collapse and his plan for the future which marched round his head whenever he tried to sleep.

Increasingly old-school Disney songs sung in bass, a voice passionately and loudly delivering lines or unaffectedly and quietly trying to explain ideas had echoed around his darkened bedroom too, but he preferred to not think about that.

[ruwithmeguys]

For @scu11y22 - sorry, wrote this in like, ten minutes so it’s probs poo:

6.20

The smell of coffee hit him first. The acrid scent of bronzed beans liquidated at scorching temperatures, welcoming him into a home without walls.

A home that was just… her.

It made him stop; made him pause against the wall for a moment. Made him take a breath and close his eyes at the ache in his chest. The way he’d missed her hitting him full force.

The scent of her perfume. The way she’d linger as he exercised - the way he knew, the way he’d always known, how much she liked watching him move and twist and stretch - and smile like she knew something he didn’t. The way she’d finish his sentences, like she could read his mind and how she’d turn her face into his palm whenever he reached up to touch her ear, her cheek, her hair.

The way he could tell he made her day better simply by entering the room.

Early mornings in bed were a thing of past since Rene, Dinah and Curtis left but they’d managed to find a curve after a while. They’d talk before sleep. Before making love, sometimes after as well. The way they’d hold each other, touching skin-

Her skin. Another reason to be leaning. There was nothing so sensitised as his skin when hers touched his. His muscles would jump or relax or tighten and it was all delicious and wanted and more, more, more. Like coming home, only in a way he’d never known before Felicity. There was something infinite and timeless about hers too. It was smooth; soft in a way that he’d once thought he had no right to know. And somehow, even with her size and stature against his bulk and scars, she was the perfect fit. Heaven.

Remembering it, made his body tremble against the wall: his sore arm not properly holding him up. Want made him tense and it wasn’t all about being naked with his wife. It was about her voice. About her smile. About her. The way she could heal without really doing anything at all.

Physically… he wasn’t fine.

He hurt.

He’d been hurt before but… never like this. Days later and he still felt broken. His face was no longer swollen and he could walk without looking like he needed a cane, but his bones felt week. He’d escaped, but had he really?

All he knew was that he missed his wife.

He wanted to see if his son was alright.

…And he needed help.

He’d been a fool.

But I had to try.

He had two people in the world that could not be hurt, be touched, by Diaz. By the corruption still plaguing Starling. William, who it was his duty to protect, always. And Felicity, who he couldn’t loose; not ever.

Instead, they’d almost lost him. And they didn’t know they had because it had been more than 7 days since he’d last made contact, not by choice. He’d found Diaz. He’d seen his hideout, taken out half his men; had mapped the grid, located the drugs, and had discovered Black Siren’s involvement.

Then he’d been taken: overwhelmed. Injured. Beaten to a pulp.

But he knew how to stop it now. Not alone like this, like he’d told Felicity he must just a few weeks before, to keep her and William safe. But if Felicity had been in the basement, if she’d had eyes on the situation and her fingers creating works of technical genius, he wouldn’t be in this sorry state.

Diaz had evidence to expose them all.

And Oliver needed his partner.

So when he found the will to move once more, towards her voice - down an unfamiliar hallway and into an office-like area that would be the first full room in Felicity and Curtis’s new company - he was taken over by a memory. A memory that fit this situation, this moment, unlike any other.

It was a few weeks after his initial return to Starling… Oliver had needed help then too.

He’d deliberately found the one person who’d made a dim memory a bright one: he was ashamed to say he polished it on the regular. Kept such a simple moment between them that she’d never been privy too, so attended, so that speaking to this stranger, felt more real than all the words he’d shared with Tommy at the time.

And so – feeling the similarities – his tired face softened as he cleared his throat and spoke to her like it was the first time. “Felicity Smoak?”

Leaning over a table with 3 or 4 computer components, 4 running laptops, a large screen overhead - all presenting what he recognised to be the searches on said laptops - and a stack of paperwork he could only assume was meant for closure on the deal of the building they were in, Felicity froze.

Very slowly, carefully, she looked up; peering first over the rims of her glasses and sucking in a breath once her eyes landed on him. “Oh.”

Oh.

It was barely a sound; overcome and highlighted by the slight tiredness in her face and the way she’d braced for her hopes to be shot down again.

Oh baby. In a way, it was always like the first time. The first hello. But without the red pen.

The first I love you.

It always felt the same.

Perfect.

“Hey.” He murmured as if they’d seen each other that morning; eyes locked not her own - her beautiful mouth parted in shock - he smiled slightly despite the bruise on his jaw because there she was. “I was told,” his brow tapered with deep affection and some delight at the way she was drinking him in - the way he lips spread into a smile of welcome and everything a welcome home from Felicity entailed - taking in every word and remembering as he lifted the tablet from behind his back, “that you were the best person to come to with this.”

Now he was warm. Now he’d be alright.

But then she was taking him in and- “God, Oliver…”

He looked a mess.

Nodding in acquiescence, he moved. He walked over to her frozen form, silently presenting the tablet to her; unblinking in his approach, eyes locked to hers, not daring to breathe and smell her in the air: bated. Every inch of him. Shaky with the wait for the go-ahead from her.

Watching, pleading, loving her silently as she straightened.

“Please.” He mouthed.

She took the tablet from him, slowly nodding - as if thoughtful and knowing - at the cracks on its glass surface. “Bullets?” She hazarded; voice still more air than words.

“Rough neighbourhood.” He whispered back.

He wanted to kiss her. Cup her face and taste her. Fall into her.

But she let out a loud exhale - her eyes wetting - and one hand lifted to the side of his much bruised face; her fingers immediately stroking over his cheek with the kind of gentleness a butterflies wings would exhibit.

His eyes slammed shut.

It had been 8 days. He’d missed her this much after only 8 days.

Her words came out just as much breath as they were voice. “You’re hurt.”

Oh, you were shot-

Hey… It’s nothing.

“I’m here.” Because he wasn’t alright but he would be, and his coarse voice let her know. “I’m home.” And opened his eyes again.

She looked like- “I’m afraid to hug you.” Her voice wobbled.

“I-” he shook his head, feeling every second of this exchange behind his ribcage. “I could use a hug-”

Arms shooting upwards and around his neck, she stood on her tiptoes and her face pushed into his throat; his own arms automatically pulling her closer. She nuzzled her nose against him and his eyes fluttered shut again. Feeling her. Reveling. Letting it shake his knees…

“No latte this time?” She whispered.

A wet laugh made his chest jump into hers. “No bullets either.”

“How about a kiss then?” The words were inches from his ear, sending a rush of all things good southward.

Oddly breathless - or maybe it was just her and the way she could make him be - he pulled back, stole around

Took her lips, the same time she took his.

The plan could wait a minute.

[rebeccafurrillustration]

University of Brighton BA Illustration Year 1 reflection 2019-2020: (for myself and my new tutors in level 5).

Coming straight from college having done the A Levels: Art and Design (A), Film Studies (A), History (B). Aged 18 from Nottingham, my move to Brighton and onto this unique and diverse course wasn’t an easy and smooth adjustment.

I immediately felt overwhelmed by my surrounding classmates of varied ages (most a few years older than me) and with a wide range of high quality skills either backed with foundation courses or successful commission work I felt out of my depth. The level of talent around the studio was unanticipated and coming from consistent good grades at college university was very humbling as there was so much yet to learn.

I didn’t truly understand the course nor was I confident to come out of my shell and truly experiment in the way I wanted and needed to. Durning my college years in art we were pressured to stick on one visual path and perfect one technique to ensure good grades at the end. We had two self lead projects, mine interlinking closely as the visuals were meant to do so. While I am confident in my drawing ability, it is in close portraiture and my ability to exercise body proportions and dimensions of objects and perspective surroundings is limited.

I have also really embraced the idea that illustration is not limited to drawing on a paper base, and that process is becoming less and less important to me/desired. Having been a person only confined to the use of a sketchbook, pencil, fine liner and rubber, my growth has been great. While I am still keen to work initially from sketchbooks and analogue drawing is still important to me and the practise of the drawing skill, I’ve had much more fun with my out of sketch book experiments. I never used to use colour in my work and I’ve found myself to actually be a very playful and colourful person. My work always had a serious and almost depressing tone, and while I like the fine art skill, I’ve become much more entertained by my silly work (you can convey serious messages and profound concepts in a light and uplifting way, if anything it feels more powerful reclaiming pain a way that shows you to have strength in your good health and happiness).

My fist semester was rocky and I was battling with mental and physical health problems. I was used to not opening up to authority figures and generally having little contact with my teachers. My tutor Claire stressed the importance of good communication and made me feel very comfortable to approach the tutors with help and any general guidance, which would be key to improving. After an unsatisfying and average grade of a weak C after the fist semester (52%), I could understand so as I was not enjoying the work I was making and was still limiting myself to mundane and average ideas with little ambition and outcome. My productivity was not impressive but it was an ok way to start. I had passed and started to understand the course while settling in to the university and new home life, while my health had begun to improve. I had a good support system of tutors and friends but I had yet to come out of my shell.

The semiotics project was the first that I truly enjoyed and I finally gave up on my own censorship as I was unsatisfied with being average and not being entertained by my own practise. Being in an adult environment I felt less afraid to explore more “inappropriate” and ridiculous themes. As a child you expect to be punished to say things you were not allowed to say in school, I could have explored this in college but was too afraid to put my self into a potential light that might incite question and confrontation. I am no longer a child and my first year really helped me to grow into the adult I am now.

My productivity sky rocketed as I was living the work I was making, and really felt the privilege that I was on a course that allowed my to do what ever I wanted to express myself creatively every day, and that’s my life. I love working hard and pushing the boundaries of what I know and honestly feel that an evolved version of my former self. I don’t think I have changed as such but become more of the person I knew I was through my practise in my work and daily life. I have felt comfortable to be the best and most extra version of my self.

After another successful project (the self directed project) both interlinking with improved practise and evolution of new skill, I was confident I was in a much improved place both personally and grade wise. My end of year grades/ for the projects and last semesters were improved but dissatisfying to me personally.

I think as my own mental health and productivity grew, as well as great ambition and good exploration of experimentation and new techniques I’d broke own own boundaries to explore, I had clouded my own reasonable judgement of the actual academic outcome of these projects. My AGP404 (semiotics) had reached 59% (C+) and my AGP403 (self directed) 62% (B-). While I was up a grade boundary from where I’d begin I felt my progress had made so much more of an impact on my grade, but with reflection there’s so much I have left to learn.

While I am happy with my most recent projects, and have made more progress and personal growth as I could have imagined this year, personal growth does not nessesarily reflect a perfected practise. With all I had leaned over come to accept this is only the very beginning and I’m happy with the start I’ve made. This fist year in a way was the foundation year I didn’t have and I have no regrets starting university when I did.

With the feedback I received from my tutors and a one on one tutorial with Claire, I now understand and accept my grades. I feel like the grade boundary explanations they give us are quite vague and I feel like a lot of where I go wrong or don’t go far enough is due to my lack of understanding with some parts of the course or how I am meant to present things for assessment/ how things are actually graded. Dave wanted to group us with people in our boundary’s to understand where we were and look at both the work above and below us to understand where we need to be going more clearly, due to teacher strikes we were never able to do this.

A lot of my improvement has to do with reflection. As I was being very productive I have myself a lot to do with a set vision, not taking the time to stop and reflect on where I could improve and push final outcomes even further. There are somethings I wished to do with my final outcomes but couldn’t due to a lack of the required resources as the university had closed due to the epidemic. I had only the technology of my mobile phone at the time, and to do the collected magazines/ books and photo shoots I wanted to which was the desired final outcome I needed a computer, photocopier, other people to model and the photography studio (as well as tutor guidance to show me how someone the technology worked). However as I wasn’t able to do this I was resourceful with what I did have, I used my phone to create video work, and instead of doing my photo shoots I created performance art using myself as I was living alone. While I’m happy with what I did do I understand how this could’ve been pushed further, but was proving difficult on my old phone with limited storage and no editing software. I realise tutors cannot mark what is not there so I feel that lockdown did affect my grade.

None the less I am happy with the progress I’ve made, the work I’ve produced and the person I have become from my first year of university. I am happy and comfortable in that environment and love the course and it’s wide range of possibilities only being limited to what I limit myself. I understand moving forward from here I need to take more reflection time to polish, perfect and truly realise my visuals while always pushing the outcomes even further for the best possible final products. Presenting my work for assessment could use more focus as well as finding more relevant research.

I will take the time in the summer to keep busy with more self lead creative projects, exploring new techniques, outcomes and possibilities with reflection time to try and act on my feedback so I may start my second year (level 5) with confidence and a good chance to improve.

[earpdearp]

just another tuesday

It’s shaping up to be another uneventful, forgotten birthday for Waverly Earp. Purgatory is nothing if not consistent in that regard. Because why hope for anything more after 22 years? Except someone did remember this time. And she went out of her way to make it special for her favorite Earp. Also on AO3. Approximately 3,357 words.

Waverly Earp angrily scrubbed the counter of Shorty’s bar, desperate to work away the pinpricks of heat lurking in her eyes. It was so frustrating. She was fine a minute ago. Just another day at work, the same lunch rush, the same familiar faces… It was fine.

Same old, same old.

She scrubbed harder, thinking of her stupid sister Wynonna and stupid Deputy Marshall Dolls off in the woods doing God Knows What with some stupid Revenants (without Waverly). They’d been gone since yesterday with barely more than a “don’t wait up” and a spin of Peacemaker. 

Just another Tuesday in Purgatory.

Except it wasn’t another stupid Tuesday in stupid Purgatory.

It was just another disappointing Tuesday in Purgatory. Because why wouldn’t it be?

No one had remembered. Again.

Her birthday. Her Goddamn birthday was today and no one had remembered.

Story of Waverly’s life.

She’d tried a few different tactics over the years. Junior high was spent befriending Chrissy Nedley and Stephanie Jones and dropping unsubtle hints. At least then she’d get a trip to the city or a pizza party out of it when they forgot. 

High school had been full of unaffected nonchalance. She was too busy and popular to make a big deal out of her birthday. That had backfired because then everyone almost had permission to forget.

Three years of dating Champ Hardy after that had been an exercise in futility. He at least had the decency to pretend to be sorry when he forgot, and her rage on the matter guaranteed a nice dinner and new shoes.

But now? At the ripe old age of 22? Waverly was just single and tired. Tired of trying. Sure, it made her perpetually upset the entire day. Especially since she was setting herself for a test that everyone around her had perfected failing with years of practice. The small, petty glee from confirming her worst fears quickly gave way to hollow, aching disappointment.

Waverly very much hated—hated—being proven right all the time.

She was past the point of tantrums at Champ or sad looks at a very tired Gus. And she couldn’t even get mad at Wynonna who was off trying to save the world. There was no outlet for her anger or sadness so it just sat in her gut, festering quietly.

A low, familiar voice off to Waverly’s right made her jump. “I think you’re gonna start a fire on that counter from rubbing so hard.”

Officer Nicole Haught stood sheepishly at the entrance, white hat in one hand. She held up another hand in surrender. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Waverly smiled and tossed the towel into the laundry hamper below the bar. “It’s fine. And at least then I’d get the rest of the day off.”

The other woman nodded, her face half-scrunched in consideration. “True, but only cuz you’d be in lock-up. Something something arson something insurance fraud.”

A light, slightly bitter laugh from Waverly. “Right.” She made a mock-scowl before shaking a theatric fist. “You damn cops are always one step ahead of me.”

Nicole’s answering breath of a laugh accompanied a wide, dimpled smile. She slid into the barstool closest to Waverly, Stetson placed on the counter. A crumpled $5 appeared from a breast pocket. “Still serving coffee? 

Waving off the cash, Waverly nodded and bounced over to the coffee pot. She scrutinized the small collection of mugs until she found one that met her very high standards for this particular customer before pouring.

The distraction was welcome. Waverly had briefly forgotten that hollow feeling in her chest and found herself smiling.

Waverly checked the dangling watch on her wrist before passing over the steaming mug along with a few packets of sugar (the bowl of one-hit creamers following close behind). “Isn’t it kind of early for coffee? Or kind of late?”

“Late,” Nicole gruffly confirmed as she assembled a pair of sugars and creamers into her mug. There were deep circles under the woman’s eyes and her normally tight French braid was loose in places at the back. “Just got off night shift. Running on fumes. You’re my last hope of making it home instead of sleeping in my cruiser.” She nodded her thanks and inched the crumpled fiver closer to Waverly again.

“Anything exciting happen?” Waverly asked, still ignoring the payment.

The woman took a long, deep sip of the (now medium-brown) coffee. Nicole made a satisfied sighing noise before opening her eyes and smiling back at Waverly. “Caught a punk this morning, red-handed. Vandalizing cars. So very, very high school.”

“Thank you for keeping our streets safe from these monsters,” Waverly replied solemnly with a wink.

Nicole stiffened, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know they showed no remorse. The world is a safer place now.”

“I believe it.” It was meant to be sarcastic, but Waverly found she meant it genuinely.

The Officer noticed and smiled back. “How are you on this beautiful afternoon in Purgatory?”

Waverly had to suppress a scowl. How quickly that all came back. “Fine. Just another Tuesday.” She went back to wiping down the stack of glasses fresh from the dishwasher. 

A moment of silence passed before the clink of the coffee mug on the counter. “Is it?” Nicole asked seriously. 

“Is it what?”

“Just another Tuesday?”

The patient, serious way Nicole phrased that question… it made Waverly’s chest ache. She was so very tired of holding it all in all the time. Here was someone actually asking for once.

Waverly spun on her heel and started to open her mouth, but hesitated. Nicole just sat on her barstool, mug in hand, peering back at her with focus. It was… nice.

Instead, Waverly closed her mouth with a sigh. She didn’t want to ruin it. She didn’t want to explode all over this nice friend who was just being nice. She didn’t want Nicole’s pity. She didn’t want Nicole to see her cry. She didn’t want to look like the child she felt she was in front of Nicole. She wanted Nicole to think she was— 

What?

Waverly bit her lip to cut off that train of thought and went back to the glasses. She managed to lie with only a small strain in her voice. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course,” Waverly returned automatically, her mask of politeness slipping into place. Part of her hated putting up that particular wall around Nicole, who was obviously trying to be nice. But Waverly just didn’t have the energy to get into it right now.

“Okay, if you’re sure.” Nicole sat in companionable silence with Waverly, her coffee only taking a few minutes to consume. Waverly was worried she’d be irritated, but the woman’s presence was surprisingly calming. Nicole didn’t try to fill the void with chitchat. She just tapped at her phone and allowed Waverly the space to continue her busywork.

It was getting harder and harder for Waverly to stay silent. Her resolve was weakening with each clean glass she tucked back into the cabinet. Just as Waverly was approaching her breaking point, she heard the scraping of a barstool. 

Sweeping her Stetson onto her head, Nicole pushed the coffee mug back towards Waverly. An obvious coaster of a $5 bill was tucked underneath it. She waved her phone at Waverly. “I’m gonna head home. I’ll send you some Snapchats of the trick I taught Calamity Jane, yea?”

“CJ wearing your hat is not a trick, Nicole…” Waverly trailed off in mock-warning but she nodded. She found she loved trading pictures with Nicole. Even about the stupidest shit. It was nice.

“It is when you know how long it takes her to sit still with the damn thing on, Waves.” Nicole smiled warmly as she tucked the phone into a back pocket. She tilted her hat at Waverly in salute. “Have a wonderful Tuesday, Waverly Earp.” There was a pause and it looked like Nicole wanted to say something more.

But at Waverly’s curious head-tilt, the moment passed and Nicole only turned on her heel.

And just like every time Nicole Haught left Shorty’s, Waverly found herself sighing. She didn’t know why she did that, like Waverly had to let out all the air in her lungs. It didn’t make sense.

And despite Nicole’s brief visit… Waverly found she felt a little better. The work of getting Shorty’s flipped for the evening went by surprisingly quickly. Why, Waverly even managed to not remember her birthday every other minute.

Just every other other minute. 

Around sundown, Aunt Gus patted Waverly’s shoulder. “Knock off, girl. It’s not gonna be busy and you should go enjoy yourself.” 

“But—" 

“No ‘buts.’ I can take care of things here. Get going.” Another pat as Gus pulled the apron off Waverly’s waist. Gus pressed a kiss to her niece’s temple and whispered a soft “Happy birthday.”

That almost did Waverly in. Gus had been withdrawn since Uncle Curtis had died. And growing up, she’d never been very sentimental about things like birthdays. It was… nice. It made a good heat come to Waverly’s eyes, but she held it together with a “thank you.”

As Waverly spun her keys on her finger and headed for the brightly lit alley, something stopped her. Something was different.

Her red Jeep, parked behind Gus’s truck, seemed darker somehow. Like there was someone inside it. Moving. As Waverly maneuvered around the black truck, a laugh strangled out of her throat. She had to cover her mouth as a few tears escaped down her cheeks.

The familiar Jeep was covered in white soapy polish. A big “22” on the hood, a “BIRTHDAY GIRL” over the passenger side windshield plus the sides and back had “HAPPY BIRTHDAY WAVERLY” all over in bubble letters. Whoever this was had the foresight not to cover the driver’s side windshield or side window for safety.

Inside the Jeep itself were those dark shadows from earlier. Though when Waverly approached, she could see those shadows were balloons. Her car was filled to the brim with multicolored balloons, mostly purples, reds and oranges (her favorite colors). When she opened the door, a fair number of them squeaked loudly before escaping into the bright sky.                                

Sticking her hand in, her arm was buried to the elbow in latex balloons (though a few silvery mylar balloons were sprinkled in with “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” and “22”). Her entire car smelled of fresh latex, a very bitter scent. But Waverly didn’t care. It was… more than nice…

A giddy feeling struck Waverly’s chest, replacing the hollow one almost in a rush. It was… all she’d ever wanted. Just for someone to notice…

Who did this?

It took some effort (and a few lost balloons) for Waverly to work her way into the car and still be able to see the road. Sacrifices had to be made, but more than a few balloons survived and bounced into each other in the back seat. Inside the passenger seat was a large piñata of a red dragon along with a small envelope and a large brown envelope. The small envelope had “open me first” in a neat script.

Hmmm… That writing is… familiar…

A cheesy birthday card with a cat in a party hat read “Happy Birthday! You’re Purr-fect!” It was just as terrible as Waverly had ever hoped for. She thumbed open the card to find a short, handwritten note:

“Dear Waverly,

If you’re reading this, it means I managed to keep a straight face (but had to lie through my teeth). Sorry about that.

I didn’t know what to get you (without being super obvious) so I stuck with a few things I think you’ll like. The big envelope is from Gus, the piñata is from me. I would have left you a baseball bat too, but something tells me you’re a girl who has a big stick for hitting things with on her own.

I hope you have a good one, Waverly Earp. You’re amazing and the best part of Purgatory to me.

 Celebrating you,

- Nicole”

The envelope was from Gus?

Hefting the flat package, Waverly felt a stiff, small weight. She ripped off the pull tab and slid out a large picture frame. A normal letter envelope with a sticky note fluttered out along with the picture frame.

The black and white framed photograph showed Shorty’s, probably taken a few years ago. Featured were Shorty, Curtis and Gus along with Waverly smiling out front. Around the edges were signatures of regular patrons. Sloppy and rough “happy birthdays” lined the image margin.

But… none of them said anything. They just ate their lunches and left. Did they know?

A sticky note, again in Nicole’s neat script, said “I had to sic Nedley on the Shorty’s lunch crowd to get them to sign this after they left the bar. They were also sworn to secrecy. Apparently, he also shook them down for extra tips, too. I neither condone nor deny this behavior.”

Poking a finger into the white letter envelope, Waverly was shocked to find a neat stack of cash (mostly $5s and $1s, but a few $10s and at least one $20). 

She couldn’t take it anymore. Waverly opened up Snapchat to send Nicole a message, though she briefly hesitated about waking the woman up after she’d been up all night.

She did this on purpose.

Smiling so wide her cheeks hurt, Waverly tapped out: [“You did all this?”]

There was a short wait before a response. [“I have no idea what you are referring to. I am at home. With my cat.”]

Shortly after, a picture of a ginger cat wearing Nicole’s white Stetson while socked feet could be seen at the bottom of the frame. Waverly chuckled. 

It took a few seconds of thinking before something clicked about their earlier conversation.

Chewing her cheek, Waverly’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as she typed. [“Or… wait, was this the car vandal you were talking about?”] She pulled back to send a photo of her Jeep.

[“Oh yea, that punk was out of control. You should be glad she’s off the streets.”]

[“She, huh?”]

[“Yes”]

A series of Snapchats suddenly streamed into Waverly’s phone, all selfies of a certain Purgatory Sheriff’s Deputy.

The first was Nicole standing in front of Waverly’s Jeep with a cup of coffee in hand. Her Stetson along with a several bags of balloons, a couple of grocery bags, the dragon piñata, and a small cylinder of helium rested on the car hood.

The next showed Nicole holding Waverly’s car keys with the caption [“Don’t be mad, Gus let me have them. I promise I won’t hurt your baby!”] Her brown eyes were wide with guilt as she bit her lower lip.

Another showed Nicole blowing up balloons and cramming them into the Jeep. Then one of her sitting in the Jeep making a silly, horrified face while surrounded by balloons. The last was of Nicole holding the dragon piñata like a baby in Waverly’s passenger seat.

[“See? She was a criminal mastermind. She had to be detained.”]

Waverly replied with a small giggle. [“Truly a mad genius”]

[“Did you crack the piñata yet?”]

[“I was gonna do that when I got home.”] Though the thought of the long drive back to the Homestead made Waverly impatient... Almost irrationally impatient, like if she didn’t know what this surprise was she might burst.

[“Good. Drive safe. You’ll have to tell me what you think.”]

[“You gonna be up?”]

[“I’ll wait”]

Waverly hurried home, her foot heavy on the gas. She couldn’t stop smiling, and her face around her cheeks and eyes were starting to ache from the effort. Occasionally there were tears, too. It was better than nice.

The Homestead was empty and quiet, her big sister still on a mission. An earlier text from Wynonna just read “Happy birthday, babygirl. Left you some of that shit pizza you like in the fridge. When I get back, we are going to the city. I missed your big 2-1 pub crawl and we have lost time to make up.”

Finding the pizza, Waverly tucked a piece into her mouth while carrying the piñata, the picture and some of the balloons that said “22” (for her scrapbook) upstairs. Inside her room, Waverly grabbed her metal softball bat. She picked up the piñata to shake it. There was something large inside, but also the shuffling of a bunch of small things. What could it be?

It took about 4 solid whacks (very satisfying) to break open the dragon. A font of candy and paper spilled out, as did a large roll of something soft.

The spread of candy included little Caramilks, a couple of smooshed Coffee Crisps, and a few Cadbury chocolates (all her favorites). The unfamiliar candies in with the rest included individually wrapped cherry cordials and a sour candy she’d never heard of. She wondered if they were Nicole’s favorites. She wondered how Nicole knew her favorites.

Larger than the candy, there were also unopened packs of her favorite post-it notes she used for research. And sprinkled among the small candies were clippings of her name in the Purgatory Gazette: cheerleading successes, academic honors mentions, her Nicest Person in Purgatory photo at the Chamber of Commerce…

The large item curled in a soft roll was a t-shirt that said “Class of 2015” from the online college she’d been studying language and history. Waverly hadn’t had an official graduation, just a certificate she’d printed herself. But this felt… real. Like she hadn’t just been playing at going to college, but that she had something to really show for it.

It was just… so nice.

She hugged the t-shirt to her chest, though she spied a few water droplets darkening the fabric. Tears had started to stream down Waverly’s cheeks. From her sitting position on the floor, Waverly extracted her phone to send Nicole a Snapchat of the murdered piñata.

Almost an immediate response from Nicole. [“You killed it! Hope it felt good”]

[“It was all amazing… thank you so much”]

[“Sorry if some of that came off creepy. I just didn’t know if anyone had ever put your report card on the fridge, so to speak, to make a big deal of all the awesome stuff you’ve done and how hard you work.”]

That gave Waverly pause.

No. Not really. Especially not when Daddy was alive or Momma was there. Gus and Curtis were always so tired and unsentimental. Wonderful people, just not the type to dwell on the past.

Waverly tapped out a few winking emojis. [“Just a little creepy. But I guess it’s public record and all. Cop domain. …just stay off my Facebook and Instagram.”]

[“Yes, ma’am”]

Waverly found herself looking at the pictures of Nicole messing with her car again, that big smile returning. A nagging thought crept in.

[“When did your shift really end?”]

A very long pause.

[“……10AM.”]

Lines of motherly concern crossed Waverly’s face. [“Nicole! You worked a 12 hour shift then stuck around to do all this?! For me?”] Her eyes darted up to her own phone clock. 8PM. Almost a full 24 hours awake for Nicole.

[“That’s why we have coffee, Waves. Push ourselves to the max.”]

Waverly chewed her lower lip.

Nicole quickly tapped out a followup. [“So what’s the verdict: surprises good or surprises bad? I know how much you like to plan things.”]

[“Surprises good”] She surprised herself at how quickly she responded. Especially since she usually hated surprises. Champ’s were terrible, Gus had no patience for them, and Wynonna was one never-ending surprise that Waverly couldn’t plan a second around.

A long pause found Waverly’s thumbs hovering over the keypad. She would start to write something then immediately regret it and delete.

Nicole chimed in. [“I’m gonna go to sleep. Keep dozing off with my phone on my face. But next year, Waverly: we’ll do something you pick. Sound good?”]

[“That sounds amazing”]

[“Good night, Waverly Earp. Happy 22nd birthday. I hope it wasn’t just another Tuesday.”]

Indeed.

[actutrends]

Our Stone-Topped Coffee Table Hack

For everyone who has been asking for the details on our new coffee table (glimpses of it have made their way into my InstaStories over the last few months – and boy did you guys notice!), I’m finally writing up all the details.

How many words can someone possibly share about the hunt for and the creation of a living room coffee table that checks every one of their oddly specific boxes, you ask? Well, settle in. I shall regale you with a tale of woe and triumph and there’s even a random not-sure-it-even-works alien joke worked in there for good measure. Plus I’ll show you exactly how to get this exact coffee table if you want to pull this same hack at your house (it is BEGINNER LEVEL EASY).

Let’s back up for a second. You know how sometimes you dream about an item that doesn’t exist and you’re like “I like this one thing but wish it had that other top or that other wood finish.” Like you want to pull a Frankenstein combo move and merge three things together? That is exactly how my search for a living room coffee table has felt.

For ages we had a huge white padded ottoman and loved it. We literally kept it for like seven glorious years until it died a very slow death by flaking and peeling everywhere (we’d find little peels of it upstairs in our bedroom – it really got around in those final days). This is a picture from two years back:

It was perfect for small kids (no hard edges to bump into) and there was storage inside for games and blankets. A big padded ottoman is still my favorite living room tip for any family with smaller kids, but over the last few years we’ve started to really enjoy coffee tables since the kids are older. We have one at the beach house and it’s great for casually doing a puzzle or playing family games. There’s just something nice about having a centralized solid surface to you can rest things on and gather around.

And let me tell you, since upgrading from ottoman to coffee table in this living room, we have played SO MANY epic family games (Sequence or Ticket To Ride are near-nightly occurrences) and it’s really nice to use a room with a TV for way more than watching TV. Highly recommend it if your kids are old enough that the change would make sense for you.

But anyway, back my over-a-year-long coffee table hunt. I know. That sounds very high maintenance. I’m learning that I am, in fact, extremely needy when it comes to coffee tables. I’m ok with this fact. I’ve been called worse 😉

You might remember that last fall we bought a cheap secondhand coffee table for $35, just because the flaking ottoman NEEDED TO GO and I had been searching for a coffee table that I really loved for a while and couldn’t find one. So I basically was like: we are being crazy by holding out for this perfect thing, when all we need is something that’s cheap and fine in the meantime – so we can get that peeling beat up ottoman that literally drops “dandruff” all over our house outta here.

You know that saying: don’t let perfect be the enemy of good? We were literally living with terrible (the flakes everywhere were as maddening as inexplicably finding glitter everywhere), and for the cost of one meal at Panera we got a secondhand table that made zero mess and worked fine. We never should have waited that long. It was a huge step up. It wasn’t the perfect size or material that I wanted – but it was such a relief. No more shavings everywhere, plus it gave me a gift: the giant release of urgency to find that oddly elusive perfect coffee table.

Well, we got that “just for now” coffee table last fall. As in, over a year ago. And ever since I’ve looked pretty much everywhere, but this room is sort of an odd layout, so a rectangular coffee table is just too narrow. Even a very large round one feels too small in the room because it doesn’t connect the accent chairs as nicely as a larger square one does – which makes it feel like a legitimate connected conversation area. So after hours and hours of searching and scrolling… and even doing some in-person exercises, like trying a few different combos just to be sure (like a round coffee table two white leather poufs, etc) I was 100% certain I wanted a large square one. Like around 3′ wide by 3′ long. Big and solid.

Easy to find right? Well, to make a short story long (my specialty! Ha!), it wasn’t. Because I also wanted it to be a similar wood tone to the side chairs and the side table that we already had in there (the darker old “placeholder” table didn’t tie into anything and I didn’t love that – and I felt like metal legs would’t be as warm looking as wood ones with our old secondhand rug).

I also wanted it to have an extremely durable, water-ring-safe top so the kids could draw with markers or play spirited board games without worrying about the finish. Which led me to the following thought… “that sounds a lot like our kitchen island – which is polished quartz.”

Polished quartz is super durable, the shiny finish always looks gleaming and lovely, and there’s no worry about juice or wine stains like you have with marble. The kids do very messy art projects on the kitchen island, and everything wipes right off. It has just been wonderful for our family. But who the heck makes a giant square quartz coffee table with a wood base in the exact size that I wanted?

Nobody, that’s who.

So I was like… what if I make one…? Not exactly make it from scratch, but I bet I can find a nice solid square wood coffee table that I love (not necessarily the right wood tone, but that can be changed) and then stain it the color I want. And then what if I just go to a stone yard and buy a cheap remnant piece of quartz (we made our living room fireplace surround with marble remnants and it was so much easier and more affordable than I expected). And you guys… this idea that felt kinda hair-brained at first. Well, it worked like a charm.

It really was as simple as ordering this unfinished wood coffee table (I loved the shape of it and the x-details on the side of it – plus the fact that it was unfinished meant I didn’t have to do any stripping or sanding to get it back to a raw wood finish because it literally came that way). I ordered it on Amazon, it came within a few days, and I took it out of the box and assembled it.

After I wiped it down with a damp cloth to make sure no dust or weird dirt was on it, I stained it Provincial by Minwax (which is also what I stained our accent chairs a while back – it’s a great wood tone). I applied two coats of that in the garage, where it could air out – followed by two clear coats of Polycrylic matte sealer – make sure you get the blue labeled one that’s water based because the oil based one tends to get really yellowed over time).

Then we took a trip to the stone yard and I basically was like “TAKE ME TO YOUR LEADER! AND BY LEADER I MEAN CHEAPEST REMNANT PIECES!”

To anyone who doesn’t know about local stone yards and their remnant pieces, they’re basically the excess parts of the slabs that kitchen or bathroom clients don’t use (the stone yard cuts the counters for them, and some extra pieces of the original large slab are leftover). Since they’re smaller pieces for smaller jobs that typically wouldn’t work for a big kitchen island or a long span of cabinets, they’re traditionally marked at least half off. Our local place charges around $40 a square foot for quartz remnants, instead of the regular price which is usually around $90. For any locals wondering, we use Capitol Granite, who also made our kitchen island.

So for this huge block of quartz to top the table that is around 3′ wide by 3′ long, we paid around $370 ($40 x 9 square feet). Yes, that is NOT CHEAP. I had some second thoughts about if I was being extremely irrational and overthinking this far too much. So I did what any person who is teetering between “this is too much” and “but it’s exactly what I want” does, and I looked around for similar options to see if I really was getting the best deal, or paying through the nose. This gut check can be hugely helpful and illuminating either way it ends up going. And suddenly I felt much much better, because similarly sized stone-topped tables were upwards of $800 and in many instances they were $1,000 plus!

Even the ready-made ones that I found in those higher price points didn’t have all the features I was looking for (ex: wood legs, the right 3′ x 3′ dimension, good reviews, a quartz top that wouldn’t stain like marble, etc). Take this $1249.00 one for example. Suddenly the cost for my own quartz remnant ($370) added to the cost of the base that I bought (it was $149 thanks to the markdown they were running that day) didn’t sound that crazy. Especially for exactly what I wanted.

So yes, this coffee table was $519. Not the most expensive thing in our house, but definitely more than I thought I’d pay for a coffee table over a year ago when I started my search if I’m being honest. I don’t know what I expected, maybe under $300? But I can tell you that it completely meets all of my hopes & dreams for a coffee table, which I have since learned is surprisingly hard to do, so I can’t even be mad about that extra $219. Especially after the realization that I’d never end up with exactly what I wanted unless I made it myself. AND DANGIT THAT’S PRICELESS. Well, not priceless, but well worth the effort.

I love that it feels like something we’ll have forever and I really like how it ties into the marble on the fireplace and looks great with the kitchen counters too. Seeing the gleaming coffee table top between the shiny kitchen island and the stone fireplace surround is just lovely. In fact our son very enthusiastically proclaimed that he liked that the top of the coffee table is a giant coaster so they don’t have to use coasters on it. I laughed SO HARD (we have stone coasters in the same color/pattern – you can see one on the end table below). The table really is a giant coaster, so he’s onto something.

Oh and as for making a solid table even more solid, we added these satin brass corner brackets around the edges, because they blend in and stabilize it even more. See, when you put your feet up on a table over and over again, it can start to rock and not stay super square, and when it starts to rock back and forth, you have to worry about it loosening and continuing to rock more and more. And in an extreme situation it could eventually collapse. These hold it square. No rocking = no getting rickety or unsteady. Such an easy way to add even more strength and it only took a few minutes to screw them in (we predrilled small holes so they went in smoothly).

This thing is SOLID. As in, the kids can’t move it. Not an inch. Which is kind of nice because they used to push the ottoman all over the place – and it would do that annoying thing to us where it slipped out from under our feet sometimes when we both had our feet up on it. This stays put. We also used a few dabs of adhesive to attach the quartz to the tabletop, just because we worried that it might shift somehow over time. Although once we got it home we were like… this is so heavy it probably won’t ever move. But it’s better to be safe than sorry.

Oh and one more tip: order the coffee table first & assemble it so you can measure the exact size of the top. Sometimes every single table varies slightly, and you want to get a remnant piece of quartz that’s around 1.5″ wider and 1.5″ longer than your tabletop so it has a 3/4″ overhang on all sides, which looks really proportional and doesn’t read like an afterthought.

So that’s it! The story of Frankenstein-ing a few things together to get exactly what I had been hoping to find. Life will not end if your coffee table doesn’t do everything you want it to, or fit into the room as well as you’d like, or if it gets drink rings, or if you buy a $35 craigslist stand in and it stays there for a year or even ten years. But if you have a picture in your mind of something that you think would be amazing for your family, it’s nice to consider that you don’t only have what’s available at a store to choose from – you can always try to hack or combo-move a few things to hopefully end up with something you love that’ll last a nice long time.

Speaking of the long haul, our $35 “placeholder” coffee table that used to be in our living room ended up being the perfect shape and size for the beach house living room! So it’s happily living there now (and we have big plans to alter the top to work really nicely in that room – more on that here).

I love that our “just for now” secondhand find has worked out to be a long term solution for another space. And the coffee table that was in the beach house living room before is living it up in our son’s room as an often used play table (picture it covered in Pokemon cards & blocks to his little heart’s content). In summary: the sisterhood of the traveling coffee tables is real, and I’m gonna need Alexis Bledel and Blake Lively to take this to the big screen.

P.S. Want to read about other things we’ve built or hacked? We have a whole category of posts about furniture upgrades & building stuff.

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[unicornmagic]

Gradence Star Wars AU cont’d

Previously on gay wizards in space (thanks for the prompt, dear anon, even if it wasn’t meant as such)!

*

Graves set out to explore the Temple gardens.  Moderate exercise, as prescribed, and good policy:  learning the lay of the land in new terrirory had more than once saved his skin.  His wandering led him to a reflecting pool, a silvered expanse fringed by fern-leafed trees.  A viewing deck stood beside the pool, and who should Graves find there, sitting all alone, but his new friend.

He waited, prepared to retreat rather than disturb, but then Barebone opened his eyes.

“You still meditate,” observed Graves.

The boy hadn’t changed out of his uniform, but his ID badge was gone.  His posture in meditation had been upright, centered, pretty as you please.  Now his shoulders hunched.  

“I stopped,” he murmured.  "For a while.  When I was sent to the Corps.  A friend encouraged me to come back to it.“

“Sounds like a good friend,” said Graves, settling down beside him.  The deck was native hardwood, polished to glossy smoothness by centuries of robed knees.  The surface of the pool shone mirrorlike, unruffled by any hint of wind.  The air hung close and moist, rich with the forest’s slow exhalations.  "What about katas?“

A frown creased the fine brow.  "What about them?”

“You still practice?”

“Why would I?  I’m never going to use a lightsaber.”  

Bitterness darted through the Force, twisting like a wounded fish.  Blood in the water.  But that was no surprise.   It dissipated, and the fish slipped away to re-submerge.  

“Don’t need one,” Graves said mildly.  Like every Initiate, Barebone would’ve learned open-handed forms, would’ve drilled until he could do them in his sleep.  "It’s good exercise.  Calms the mind.“  

“Is my mind in need of calming, Master Graves?”

“Whose isn’t?”

Barebone gave him a look, one that remarked sidelong on his Masterly robes. The cloak pooled around and behind Graves, dark sable lined with creamy white.  The lining was a shameless luxury.  Certain parties on the Council liked to give Graves shit for it.  Mouth gone crooked, he shook his head.  

“I need it as much as anybody.  Why else am I here?”

Barebone looked as if he’d forgotten. “Is it true you–”  A hesitation.  "One of the Healers said your mission was against Grindelwald.  The Dark Jedi.“

Not only mine, Graves wanted to say.  There’d been a team of Knights and Masters with him.  When they’d entered Nurmengard, Grindelwald had snapped the others with a wrench of the Force, like so many Jedi twigs. Hadn’t even bothered to draw his saber.  Not until he came at Graves.  

For a minute Graves closed his eyes, letting the horror replay as it would, a broken holo.  Letting guilt rise, vomitous, in his gorge.  Then, with an inward gesture like the closing of a hand, he stifled it.  He retained that much sway over his ragged mind, at least.

A shift of cloth beside him.  The attention on him quivered with concern, even before the boy spoke.

“Master Graves?”  In private conversation, outside the requisites of duty, Barebone shied from flat-out asking are you all right?

The mission had been covert, need to know.  Graves grudgingly supposed the Healers needed to.  Maybe their assistant did, too.  He said nothing aloud, only sent a wave of admission through the Force.  

Barebone sucked in a breath.  Graves opened his eyes to find him sitting up straight, gazing openly at Graves.  Distress shone from him like a muted beacon, suffused with nonsensical regret.  And conviction:  that someone should’ve been there, someone to guard Graves’ back, a presence just behind him, behind and one step to the left–

Dizziness smote Graves, and with it a clap of stark displacement.  Time twisted.  The hairs stood up on the back of his neck.  He saw with perfect clarity–

–the boy before him in Padawan’s robes, hair cropped pitiably short except for the braid behind one ear.  The lovely face unshrouded, the Force singing clear and true.  His own hand on the braid, thumb sliding down the length of it, more slowly than he’d done with Tina’s before making the cut–

As soon as it struck, the vision vanished.  Graves managed not to keel over wheezing, though his thumb twitched against his forefinger, feeling dazedly for a braid that wasn’t there.  He stared at Barebone, who blinked back.  

A past that hadn’t been?  Or a future that might yet?  

And what the hell was Graves supposed to do with either?  He couldn’t take a twenty-something member of the MedCorps as his next apprentice.  The Council would never consent. Master Seraphina would have his head.  Maybe his balls.  Likely both.  

Just what are you trying to pull here? Graves asked the Force.  

The Force kept its own counsel.  In the distance a bell began to ring.  Graves turned his head.

“Call to meditation?“ 

“To the refectory,” said Barebone.  "The dinner bell.“

“Even better,” said Graves, who hadn’t eaten on the ship, and Barebone smiled.  The warmth of it was heartening.  "We still on for sabacc after?“

Barebone nodded.  Then he lowered his eyes.  "Unless…I could show you the dining hall.  How everything works.”  His hands on his knees didn’t twitch.

Maybe the Force wasn’t yammering at Graves alone.  At least that made two of them.  Graves nodded sideways at the pool and the reflecting he had yet to do.

“Give me half an hour?  Unless the pudding’ll be gone.”

Barebone shook his head.  He unfolded, all limber leanness, and rose to his feet.  

“I’ll come back,” he said simply, and bowed his way off the deck, proper as any Padawan. 

Bemused, Graves watched him go, across the garden toward the resident dormitories.  Then he shifted to squarely face the pool.  From this angle he couldn’t see himself in the water, only the canopy of leaves and sky.  It was probably for the best. 

*

tbc?

[sdhs-connormurphy]

Therapy Session 2

(Long self-para under the cut. TW for therapy and general anger management talk)

Connor couldn’t concentrate the whole week. All he kept thinking about was therapy group, and those men, and how comfortable he felt with all of them despite only knowing them for an hour. The week flew by in a blur. Not much had changed anyhow. Mom and Dad still yelled, Zoe still tried too hard, teachers still kept an eye on him, and the other kids at school still avoided him. The only thing that really stood out was Connor convincing Zoe to forge Mom and Dad’s signatures taking a lot less convincing than he expected.

As quick as it had gone, Thursday came again. Connor bussed himself out to Clemens Community Centre with his folder in hand. He waved to Anna and found Peggy at the door to the therapy room.

“Hey Connor, how are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine Peggy. Thanks,” Connor smiled as he grabbed the consent form out of his folder. “Here’s my form.”

Peggy smiled in return and ushered him into the room, where he took his usual seat in between her and Jacob. He was greeted with a few waves and hellos. Connor smiled back.

“Hello gentlemen, welcome back. I’m glad to see that you’ve all returned and handed in your consent forms. How is everyone feeling?”

Connor bit his lip and looked around the room. Everyone else seemed to be just as uncomfortable as he was. Russell shifted in his chair, Carlos wasn’t looking anyone in the eye, Thad glanced around the group to see who would speak first. Jacob raised a hand non-committedly. “I got mad at a co-worker. Almost got myself fired like an idiot.”

Immediately, the tension in the room released.

“I got mad at my wife.”

“My girlfriend and I had another fight.”

“I fought with my parents, again,” Connor added.

Peggy nodded. “Thank you for being honest. Jacob, you said you got mad at a co-worker?”

“Yeah. He didn’t get any of his shit handed in on time, so I went off on him. We needed that for a presentation tomorrow, now everything’s behind. I yelled at him, the boss was walking by, almost got my ass fired.”

Connor shivered. That sounded like every group project he had ever been a part of in his life.

“What about that made you angry?”

“I already said, we needed his numbers for the presentation, now we don’t have it, so we aren’t ready. I hate it when people don’t do what they’re supposed to.”

“Me too,” Dennis added. “I hate it when I ask someone to do something, and they don’t. I might as well have just done it myself and saved my breath.”

“Exactly!” Jacob cut back in. “And I just got so mad—“

“Where did you feel that anger?” Peggy asked.

“Sorry?”

“When your co-worker told you he didn’t get his part of the presentation done, and you were getting angry, where did you feel the anger start?”

Jacob looked around to the group. Connor shrugged. He had no idea what Peggy meant by her question. Nobody else seemed to know either.

“Did you feel it in your chest? Your stomach?”

“My head,” Jacob answered. “Felt like my brain started boiling and I had to let it out.”

Peggy nodded. “Okay. So when you feel angry, Jacob, you feel it in your head. What about everyone else? Connor, when you fight with your parents or your sister, where do you feel the anger?”

“My hands,” Connor answered without giving it a second thought. “I feel like I have to throw something, or pull out my hair, or…” Hit your fucking sister. Your best friend since she was born. The only person you would ever consider dying for. “…yeah.” He looked down at his feet.

Peggy looked at him with soft, understanding eyes. “Thank you, Connor.” She posed the question to the rest of the group, but Connor only half listened. He couldn’t stop staring at his hands: the lines and curves of his palms, his nails, the nail polish, the ridges of his knuckles. He also couldn’t stop thinking about what Jacob had told him the week earlier. What other terrible things would he do?

He noticed Peggy stand and to the easel and pad of paper. He looked over as she wrote ‘Signs of Anger’ on the first sheet. “Okay, so what I’m hearing is that a lot of you notice similar things when you get angry. Jacob, you mentioned feeling like your brain’s boiling, and Thad, you mentioned feeling like you’re going to throw up.” She wrote those on the board. “Who else?”

“I need to stand up, I need to move. I’ve just got too much energy to know what to do with,” Connor spoke up. Peggy wrote it down.

“I can’t control how loud I am,” Russell added. “Everyone thinks I’m yelling at them, which makes me madder. More yelling, more anger, and it all just comes out.”

“I’m the opposite, I go quiet,” Thad replied.

Peggy nodded. “That’s a good point, not all these signs are the same for everyone. Once you know your own anger signs, you can start taking steps toward managing it more effectively.

“I don’t want to just manage my anger though,” Carlos piped up. Connor looked over, startled, he had almost forgotten that the other man was there. “I want to stop being angry. Every day I fight with my wife, and I can see my daughter get so scared of me when we start yelling. I don’t want my little girl to be scared of me anymore.”

Peggy nodded and looked as if she was about to respond, but Robert began speaking instead. “You can’t stop being angry though. Anger is a normal thing. Have you seen Inside Out?” Carlos nodded. “My son loves that movie, but the whole point is that we need all those emotions, cause they’re all important. Feeling anger is okay, but we can’t let it control us, you know?” Robert stopped and looked over the group sheepishly. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“You don’t need to apologize here, Robert. This is a space to share our feelings. How do you feel about what Robert said, Carlos?” Connor looked over at Carlos, prepared to leap out of the way if a fight broke out.

“It sounds all well and good, but when I realize my daughter’s been hiding under her bed for the past hour it isn’t that comforting,” Carlos replied. Dennis, Thad, and Russell nodded. “I just want to know why I get so damn mad all the time.”

“Me too,” Connor murmured. He understood what both men meant. “I hate being angry.”

Peggy nodded. “Yes, sometimes anger can be very harmful. But it can be helpful too, with limits.”

“I know,” Carlos replied. “If people never got angry nothing would change. I know all that stuff. But my problem isn’t that I get angry, my problem is that I always seem to blow past anger limits and hurt people I don’t want to hurt.”

The group fell silent. Connor looked down at his hands again. He knew that feeling all too well.

“Carlos, it sounds like you feel like your anger seems to sneak up on you,” Peggy said, breaking the silence. Carlos nodded. “Do other people feel that way?”

Connor nodded and murmured, “Yeah.” All the time. “It’s like a switch flips. In school we learned about the way the brain works when its threatened. They called it the Fight or Flight response. And I couldn’t help but laugh. The Fight response, that’s all me.”

The group laughed and voiced their agreement. Peggy smiled. “Do you feel like that’s always the best response?”

“Hell no!” Connor shook his head. “I’d love to just be able to walk away whenever something makes me mad. But if it’s like, in school or something, I can’t.”

“What do you usually do in that situation?”

Connor shrugged. “Just hold it in, I guess. I don’t know, I should probably learn some kind of deep breathing exercise or something.”

Peggy smiled. “That’s a perfect segue into what I wanted to talk about in our last forty-five minutes.” She grabbed some worksheets out of her folder and handed them out to the group. “This therapy is meant to help you discover the roots of your anger and how to best manage it. But until then, as you mentioned Connor, I wanted to teach you all some quick ways to keep your anger under control. These aren’t be-all-end-all magic solutions, but they are designed to help you in the moment. First, we have heart-belly breathing…”

Peggy led them through heart-belly breathing, then down the list of relaxation techniques. None of them particularly struck Connor as more helpful than any of the others, except for one. Imagery. Peggy instructed them to close their eyes and imagine that they were in their favorite place, a place that made them feel calm. Connor immediately found himself thinking of the orchard where his family would hunt Easter eggs in the spring, picnic in the summer, and apple-pick in the fall. He felt the wind whistle through his hair and the trees and his toes. He smelled the fresh life around him. The warmth of the sun settled in his heart. He felt…calm. So unbelievably calm.

He opened his eyes and saw the other men around him. Some seemed lost in a similar state of bliss. Peggy murmured, “I will control my anger. My anger will not control me.”

“I will control my anger. My anger will not control me,” the group repeated their mantra.

Peggy thanked them and Connor stuck around after all the other men left.

“Did you want to speak with me about something, Connor?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I was just wondering, Peggy, you mentioned leaving the situation? But a lot of times I find myself getting angry at school, and I can’t leave without my teachers noticing. Is it…well, would you be able to write me a note to give to my teachers? So I can prove it?”

“Of course. Is it okay if I give it to you next week?”

Connor scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah.”

“Is it really?” Peggy raised an eyebrow.

Connor laughed. “Yes, really. I’ll see you next week.”

“See you next week.”

Connor smiled and dashed out of the room, barely making the bus in time. He settled into his seat and texted Zoe.

‘Hey, Zoe? Do you want to go to the orchard this weekend?’