#when you think your art doesn’t matter. do you ever really know. the long history of artists who died broke and maybe broken

[bytebun]

the more I think abt it the more I feel a little insane that the first of my major artistic influences were just randos on the internet with maybe a couple hundred followers that are all just. ghosts now. where are they now. what are they doing…. etc

[denimbex1986]

'Scientific grunt work doesn’t render very well on the silver screen. But neither do most jobs, or for that matter, most people. When it comes to theoretical physicists and aesthetic appeal, it’s best to channel quantum mechanics and suspend your disbelief.

Enter Oppenheimer, where Brigadier General Matt Damon says things like, “This is the most important thing to ever happen in the history of the world!” And, “We’ve given them an ace. It’s up to them to play the hand.” No doubt these sentiments were actually delivered as 700-page memorandums, Pendaflex-foldered and date-stamped. But this is Hollywood we’re talking about. You’ll find little in the way of stationery here, at least not on screen. And when the occasional differential equation rolls into frame, writer/director Christopher Nolan cuts smartly away before the audience might nod off.

To Nolan’s credit, Oppenheimer is a terrifically researched film. But it’s a film nonetheless, and translating sprawling, decades-long military sagas via camera necessitates shortcuts. I’m not a vetted expert on nuclear history but I’ve dabbled, having acted as research assistant for a 2020 treatise on plutonium production. This is to say that I’m familiar with the players.

I know, for example, that Matt Damon is far too cuddly, good-looking, and agreeable to portray the irascible Leslie Groves, nicknamed “Greasy” by his fellow West Point cadets. I know that Niels Bohr, the Danish physicist with a famously soft, nigh-unintelligible voice, is misrepresented by Shakespearean enunciator Kenneth Branagh. Nolan’s rolodex runs deeper than Wes Anderson’s these days, and if there’s a gripe to be had with Oppenheimer, it’s that everyone involved is just too damned sexy.

But, again, this is Hollywood, and where Nolan leaves the beaten path of record he generally does so to sate our dopamine addiction. Come to think of it, I haven’t been inside an actual physics department in a while. Maybe the professors really are incredibly gorgeous.

Luckily for Nolan, the subject of his cinematic obsession was a high-cheeked academic anomaly. The poet Edith Jenkins, who overlapped with J. Robert Oppenheimer in leftwing circles, describes his “precocity and brilliance… his jerky walk, feet turned out, a Jewish Pan with his blue eyes and his wild Einstein hair.” Manhattan Project scientist Robert Wilson agrees, admitting that he was “caught up by the Oppenheimer charisma,” “his style, the poetic vision of what we were doing.”

No, Oppy’s jawline never approached the artful chisel of Cillian Murphy’s, but there are unmistakable parallels—a bit elfin, a bit skeletal—to be drawn. Certainly Oppenheimer availed himself of more mistresses than your average mid-century physicist. Nolan spends perhaps too much time focusing on one of them (Jean Tatlock, played by Florence Pugh) and mentions a second in passing (Ruth Tolman, a bit part Louise Lombard), while avoiding speculation of yet others, such as when Berkeley cops found grad student Melba Phillips sleeping in Oppy’s car somewhere in the Coastal Range, the professor himself suspiciously absent.

Oppenheimer’s messy personal life makes him an ideal candidate for exposé—look no further than Kai Bird and Martin J. Sherwin’s bestselling American Prometheus, Nolan’s source material. But here I’ll return to Hollywoodization, for it’s one thing to get wind of Oppenheimer’s foibles and quite another to see Florence Pugh writhing hallucinatorily on his lap during the 1954 AEC security hearings.

If Nolan goes too far in this film, if he stretches the Oppenheimer envelope past its roomy Pendaflex accommodations, it’s in the context of Oppy outside the Manhattan Project. Despite magnificent wartime subject matter—not all of which is touched upon—Nolan can’t quit his blockbuster tropes. Monochrome senate hearings, petty political twists (how is RDJ’s aide still employed?), Oppy’s fingers gracing Emily Blunt’s as she asks for a cocktail science primer.

Maybe audiences require such touchstones to contextualize the rest of the film. Nolan seems to think so. But as the string section swelled during a trite turn in the relatively forgettable career of Lewis Strauss, I found myself wishing we could’ve stayed put in New Mexico, on the high mesa that forms this film’s heart.

Nolan’s feat comes in recreating Los Alamos, a critical American moment with more than enough narrative to forgo some of the politico-romantic schlock that drags this thing to a three-hour runtime. Fascinated by character, by gray morality, Nolan found Oppy such an attractive case study that it nearly steered his magnum opus (I do think this film qualifies) off track. Each of the factual and immensely complicated bomb-related obstacles—for example, thunderstorms the morning of the Trinity Test—holds a world-changing thrall entirely separate from the whims of one man, no matter how chiseled his jaw.

Speaking of moralistic study, there’s one character who escapes Oppenheimer scot-free: Matt Damon’s overly fit and preposterously understated Leslie Groves. “I’ve known General Groves since I was 2nd lieutenant,” said the real-world David Nichols (cast as Dane DeHaan) in a 1965 interview. “To start off with, I would say he is the biggest son-of-a-bitch I’ve ever met, bar none.”

“Impatient, brusque, intolerant,” writes Robert S. Norris in his comprehensive Groves biography Racing for the Bomb. “He had few close friends, and others generally kept their distance.”

“When you looked at Captain Groves, a little alarm bell rang ‘Caution’ in your brain,” said a colleague.

Damon bulked up, lumped up—whatever—for his role as Nike executive Sonny Vaccaro in this year’s Air. But it’s a serious leap from office park Vaccaro to Army taskmaster Groves, who even in his 1970 New York Times obituary suffered the redundant label of, “a chunky, heavyset man, with a tendency toward paunchiness.” More unfounded than Damon’s weight, however, is a good guy nature cultivated over decades of Good Will Hunting television marathons, Invictus advertisements, and so on.

Cillian Murphy’s shell-shocked victory speech presents a nice commentary on the ethical morass of atomic weaponry. But Damon/Groves makes for an even juicier moralistic target, and he’s let off the hook with that aforementioned one-liner: “We’ve given them an ace, it’s up to them to play the hand.” If anyone bore responsibility for detonating two atomic bombs over civilian populations, it was General Leslie R. Groves, the only person playing said poker game in the first place.

Racing for the Bomb explains, “Groves, sitting atop his security pyramid, was the only person who knew everything about the bomb project—more than the chief of staff, more than the secretary of war, more than the president.” He was therefore “singularly concerned with the bomb, with getting it finished, tested, and used, and his superiors deferred to him time and again to make the choices that would make this happen.”

Nolan illustrates how the bomb haunted Oppenheimer. Groves, cinematically absent after Trinity, showed no such regret. Critiquing the general’s 1962 autobiography Now It Can Be Told, the Saturday Review wrote, “Groves is motivated by a simple and all-sufficing patriotism that is untroubled by what others see in the atom. He does not probe for any new vision of national interest in the age he helped create.”

Simple and all-sufficing patriotism—sounds familiar. Make of it what you will.

The only Oppenheimer character who comes across as legitimately malevolent is Benny Safdie’s terrific Ed Teller. Maybe I fell for Teller because Safdie, a director by trade, looks more like a physicist than a cologne model. Still, I get the sense that Safdie studied his source material. When he pipes up about the “Super”—the hydrogen bomb—his eyes hold nary a flicker of regret. And he keeps doing so despite repeated disdain from his colleagues.

Look, I get it, I really do, on the attractiveness quotient. This is a movie, and if scientists and bureaucrats don’t suffice for a visual study then we’ll goddamn pretend. It’s only sensible that Ernest Lawrence— who, per physicist Jeremy Bernstein, “looked a bit like a country bumpkin”—becomes Josh Hartnett. That Lewis Strauss, a crooked-toothed self-made paper pusher, turns into silver fox Robert Downey Jr. I guess I even understand why Olivia Thirlby got thrown in out of absolutely nowhere, probably as Lilli Hornig, though I can’t recall her name being said aloud.

Nolan had to beautify this stuff because the big screen is a beautiful place. He gets most of the issues absolutely right, and I’ll be pulling for him come Oscar season. I doubt I’ll wind up remembering Emily Blunt’s Kitty Oppenheimer, Matthew Modine’s Vannevar Bush, or whoever the hell Rami Malek was supposed to be. But I’ll surely remember the Trinity Test, fingers trembling over that big red button, “10-9-8” and the towering explosion and the pressure wave—even if, no shade at Nolan, David Lynch already did it better on television.'

[tropes-and-tales-archives]

Sonny Carisi:  Meditative

Word Count:  3348

TW:  Heavy angst; smut (PiV, unprotected). 18+ only.

AN:  Part two of a two part series:  Part One

Sonny Carisi tries to move on.  He really, really does.

He thinks on his relationship to you and how he ended it.  He thinks about how he had tried to hold you back.  He thinks about how he hurt you – he really deliberates on how you must have felt when he broke up with you, when he pushed you away, when he accused you of terrible things before you ever left for Europe.

He thinks about that lone night of the wedding.  He thinks about how you kicked him out of your room immediately after that unexpected moment of intimacy.  If that was all, Sonny would leave you alone, but he thinks too of how you reached for him in the elevator, how desperately you wrapped your arms around his neck.

It’s madness, and Sonny is a glutton for punishment, but he reaches out to his friend who married your sister.  He asks for your number.

“I can’t promise anything,” your sister says, sighing over the line.  “I’ll see if she wants to talk to you at all.  Don’t hold your breath, Dom.”

It takes a month, and all Sonny can do is hold his breath.  He can barely sleep, and every spare moment he gets, he prays.  For what, it’s hard to say.  If nothing else, he prays for the peace of acceptance, no matter what happens.

But in his heart of hearts, when he’s kneeling with his Nonna’s rosary threaded through his fingers, Sonny prays for a miracle.

It takes a month before his cell phone chimes with a message from your sister.  One sentence – she’ll talk to you – and a number.  Your number.

-----

Sonny doesn’t text you.  He technically dumped you via text – after that last fight, after you left to cool off at a friend’s apartment, he had texted you to end it.  A coward’s way out, and it still makes him burn with shame now.

So he doesn’t text you.  He steels his courage and calls you, and that first conversation is barely even a conversation.  It’s awkward and halting, full of long pauses and then both of you trying to talk at once.

Finally, you sigh and ask what he wants.  “Why did you need to talk to me, Sonny?” you ask.  You sound tired, and that makes him sting with shame too.

There was no good answer to that.  Because he never got over you.  Because he wants to apologize, over and over for the rest of his life.  He gives the simplest answer.

“Because I miss you,” he says.  “And I want to apologize.”

You sigh again, and there’s a long stretch of silence.  Sonny is afraid you’re going to hang up on him, so he adds, a little desperately, “can we at least just meet for a coffee?”

The long silence extends until you finally sigh a third time and agree to meet him for a coffee on Sunday afternoon.

-----

Sonny’s hands are clammy with sweat.  He notices how your own hands tremble a little, but it doesn’t allay his fears.  The two of you sit outside with coffees that neither of you really touch.

He tries some small talk, but it sputters out pretty quickly.  He asks about your job, but you’re reluctant to answer.  He understands why – it was one of the things he threw in your face in that final fight.  He had called your graduate work ‘pointless.’  Art history.  Art restoration.  He feels his face redden to remember the harsh things he’d said.

Ten minutes pass.  Twenty.  When the awkward coffee date hits half an hour, you place one hand on the table, palm up in supplication.  

“Why are we here, Sonny?” you ask, and the look on your face is both curious and sad.  It takes all of his restraint to not reach out and take your hand in his.

He takes a deep breath and launches into his rehearsed speech:  a long apology that unfortunately meanders too much.  He rehashes your relationship.  He rehashes that final fight.  He talks about his life after you left for Europe to get your PhD.  He sees how your face goes from curious and sad to irritated, to angry.  He’s powerless to stop his mouth, though.

“Stop,” you finally say, and you rap the tabletop with your knuckles.  “You aren’t saying anything I don’t know.”  Your mouth twists into a version of a smile, all bitterness and rancor.  “I was there, remember.”

“I just – “

You shake your head to cut him off.  “Until you can give me a good story on the why, I don’t want to hear it.”

Sonny doesn’t have the why.  In all his introspection, he never really got one.  He can only look at you right now and shake his head faintly.

You take a single sip of your coffee, and then you stand up.  The gauntlet has been laid down, and Sonny knows it.  He turns to watch you walk away, and he notes that you never turn back once.

-----

It takes therapy to get to the why, after all.  A couple of months pass – ten therapy sessions, in fact – before he has a solid story on the why.

So he calls you again.

-----

He convinces you to meet him at his apartment.  He knows he’ll get emotional, and it’s bad enough that he may cry in front of you, let alone in public.

But that’s part of the problem, isn’t it?

You are wary when you step into his place.  It’s a new apartment for you – you’ve never been there before – but you probably recognize stuff.  His couch.  The bookshelf stuffed with crime novels and literary fiction.  The framed pictures of his family.  You perch on the edge of his couch and accept a bottle of beer from him that you never actually drink.  You’re tense, like a rabbit on alert, ready to flee in a second.

Sonny sits down across from you at the other end of the couch, giving you as much space as he can.  He turns to face you, and you turn a little to face him too.  Without much preamble, he gives you the why.

He isn’t sure why he never saw it before.  He certainly sees it plenty in his job.  It comes down to family patterns, deeply engrained for generations.

Sonny takes you back to when you dated:  how you met in undergraduate, and how he went on to work for the NYPD while you kept going through graduate school.  How, once he started working, the subtle pressure from his parents to settle down, to get his adult life finally started grew and grew.  How every time he went home to Staten Island, or talked to his parents over the phone, the questions inevitably came.  And from those questions, the criticism of you.  Restrained at first, then more direct.  

The Carisi family is, after all, traditional.  Catholic.  His mother went straight from her high school graduation to married to his father.  Aside from part-time work in high school, she never held a job other than mother and wife.  All of Sonny’s aunts?  The exact same story.  

And you?  You came from a Protestant family that is hardly religious, with amicably divorced parents, a brother that co-parents with his ex, and a sister that lived with her boyfriend for years before finally marrying.  You may as well be from Saturn for how alien you seem to his family.

“It’s not that we don’t like her,” his mother told Sonny once about you.  “She’s a sweet girl.  It’s just…how serious is this?”  She was already picturing a daughter-in-law fighting over baptisms, First Communions, weekly Masses.  A daughter-in-law who worked and, therefore, neglected her children - because “neglect” in Sonny’s mother’s world was a very broad definition that was as much about home-cooked meals and hand-sewn Halloween costumes.

All those little comments and questions, the indirect criticisms…they burrowed into Sonny’s subconscious.  He stopped seeing all the things that made you wonderful to him.  He started to only see the differences.  When you told him about your opportunity to study in Italy, to get your PhD in the most prestigious program in the world, Sonny didn’t see it for what it was:  you getting the career of your dreams.  Instead, he saw it as the penultimate difference between the two of you.  

“I want you to know that I went to therapy to understand it,” he tells you now.  You haven’t said a word as he talked.  You’ve hardly moved other than to reach up and swipe away an errant tear that slides down the side of your nose.  “But it was never, ever your fault.”

You nod finally, but then reply, “it must have been a little my fault, Sonny.”  You look so sad again, those big eyes of yours swimming with tears.  “I wasn’t what you were looking for, after all.”

“But that’s the thing,” he says, and he reaches across the couch to lay his hand over your wrist.  You don’t pull away.  “I realize now how stupid it was.  I….”  He falters a little, and his voice catches in the lump that’s forming in his throat.  “I would have been happy with you.  Happier with whatever life we could have had together.  More than if I’d married and had kids with another woman.”

That makes you shake your head.  “Your family is important to you.  They didn’t accept me.  I don’t think they ever would have.”

“My parents are disappointed by all their kids,” he tells you, and that’s the other bit of revealed truth from therapy.  “None of us have lived up to their standards.  Theresa is divorced.  Gina has been engaged three times.  Bella had a kid out of wedlock.  I can’t live for their approval anymore.  I’ll never get it anyway.”

A silence descends between the two of you, but you pull your wrist out of his light grasp…and turn your palm to hold his hand.  It’s such a small thing, that gesture, but it slams Sonny right back to when you were together.  When he first started at Homicide and came home bone-weary and exhausted, you’d sit with him and just hold his hand when he didn’t want to talk.  Such a comforting gesture that spoke volumes for how much you had cared for him.

Sonny got to tell you his side, and now he has to listen to your side.  In halting words that eventually lose their tentative quality, you tell him everything he could only guess at before.  How you moved in with a friend for the month before you moved overseas.  How the two intervening years always felt sad:  as you started in Florence, then moved to Rome to study art restoration.  How you had always thought he could visit you in Italy, which meant that your long weekends to Venice or Naples or Milan always had a tinge of sorrow to them.

How your eventual return to New York should have been triumphant, but was instead melancholic.  How you had been sick to see him again at your sister’s wedding, the worry stealing your appetite and making you throw up so much that your mother thought you were either pregnant or had food poisoning.

How that moment in your hotel room had left you just as confused and sad as before.

As you talk, you cry.  Tears course down your face, drip off your chin, and it makes Sonny cry too.  He feels ashamed for a moment but remembers his therapist’s edict to challenge his preconceived notions to what makes a man.  So he doesn’t hide his own tears.  He lets you see it.

But he hates seeing you cry.  You aren’t emotional by nature, really, so he knows that all this sorrow is his fault.  He reaches out to brush away your tears, and you don’t duck from his touch.  In fact, you lean into it until his hand is cupping your face – your sweet face, the one he sees in his dreams.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice low.  He reaches with his other hand to cup the other side of your face, and he turns you a little to face him.  He tries to peer into your eyes.  “I’m sorry.”

“Sonny – “

“I could say it a million times,” he cuts you off.  “And it will never be enough.  But it’d be the truth.  I’m sorry.”

You shake your head against his hands.  “I know your parents didn’t like me, Sonny, but I always wanted to marry you.  Have kids with you.  You were it for me…”  You can’t finish that statement, you’re crying too hard, and something in your voice gives Sonny a thin thread of hope.  If you really, truly hated him, you wouldn’t have even bothered to take his calls.  You wouldn’t be on his couch, crying.

He hates to see you cry, so he cannot stop himself from leaning in and kissing you.

You freeze for a split-second and then kiss him back.  

At the hotel the night of the wedding, it had been frantic.  Now, it’s a little less so, a little hesitant as you each reacquaint yourselves to each other.  But it’s hardly leisurely, and before long, you are laying across his couch and Sonny is on top of you, kissing you and breaking away long enough to pant out that he is sorry, so sorry…and that he loves you.  That he never stopped loving you.  That he never will.

It’s less frantic then at the hotel, but Sonny is loath to climb off of you to pull you into his bedroom.  He parts from you enough to shed his own clothes – the button-down shirt, the jeans – and you undress too until you are naked underneath him on his couch.  He wishes he could lean back and drink the sight of you in.  You’re so beautiful, and he tells you so, but your face is skeptical like you don’t believe him.

You tug him back down to you; you kiss him with a fierceness that he hasn’t experienced before.  It takes his breath away and fans that spark of hope that’s smoldering in his chest.  This can’t just be hooking up or closure for you.  It feels too much like a reconnecting than an ending.  Your hands grip him too hard, your fingernails digging into his back and making him bite back a hiss of pain.  

Sonny kisses down the side of your neck, and he sucks a mark against your pulse point.  He doesn’t miss how your pulse is racing under his lips, and it seems to mirror his own thundering heartbeat.

He reaches down to grasp the smooth skin of you thigh, pushes your legs apart to wind one leg around his waist.  He moves just a little, enough for his erection to slip between your legs and catch at your entrance.  He raises his head to look into your eyes for permission, and you nod at him.

“Tell me,” he pleads, so you lean up to kiss him.

“Please, Sonny,” you say.

The slide into you is exquisite, and when Sonny bottoms out into your clenching heat, he nearly breaks down.  You feel like home.  He has to hold still for a moment, too overcome with feeling, and you pull his face down to yours to kiss him again.

This is where Sonny remembers how it was with you before, how it still could be if he’s extraordinarily lucky and you’re extraordinarily forgiving.  It was never just sex with you, even when you were two fumbling virgins in his terrible student apartment with its twin bed and thin walls.  It was always a connection for him, a tangible, physical link to you, his soulmate.

Without breaking the kiss, Sonny starts to move in you.  He barely pulls out at all, reluctant to leave you for even a second, so he just rocks against you, rolls his hips into you as you rise to meet him.  You’re gripping him tightly, and every tiny movement either of you make feels monumental.  He’s so sensitive, and the blood roaring in his ears signal his impending orgasm.  

The logical part of his brain is reduced to a quiet whisper, but it points out to him that this is the second time he’s been inside you without protection.  Before, the two of you had used condoms religiously, too scared of pregnancy outside of marriage.  Sonny’s logical brain whispers that it’s risky, that you may get pregnant, but he can hardly care now.  His thinking is singularly focused on how good it feels to be in you without anything between the two of you.  Your wet heat makes him groan every time he hilts himself back into you.

When you come a moment later, you cry out his name, and he can feel the way you grip him even harder, the smooth muscles of your core rippling along his length, trying to pull his own orgasm from him.  He groans again, tries to hold back, but he’s pure instinct now – thrusting you through your pleasure, chasing his own.  

You start to recover when you realize how close he is, and your eyes go wide when you feel how deep he is inside you.  

“Sonny, you have to pull out,” you say to him, and there’s no way he can miss the edge of panic in your voice.

But he does pull out.  He’d never betray your trust like that – he barely deserves it anyway – and you reach down to grasp his erection, stroking him that final bit until he erupts in your hand.  Sonny gives a tortured growl as he comes, his release painted across your belly and chest.

It takes a long moment for his pounding heart to calm, and you run your hand through his hair, soothing him as you wait.  When he’s finally calm, he leans forward to press a gentle, lingering kiss on your mouth.

“I love you,” he says, and when you murmur it back to him, he feels his heart twist to hear it.

Sonny climbs off of you, and you look down and wince at the mess he’s made of you, though it gives him a possessive jolt to see you painted with his cum.  It’s like he’s marked you as his.

“Wait here,” he says, and he hurries off to the bathroom to get a washcloth, and he returns to the living room.  You reach for the cloth but he waves you off, cleans you off himself, a gesture of infinite love and gentleness.

You sit up and look a little stunned, and you reach for your clothes.  “I should go,” you say, and you’re back to not quite making eye contact with him.

The old Sonny would let you go, but therapy hasn’t just given him insight into his past.  It’s given him the courage to ask for the things he wants and needs, so he takes your clothing gently from you and asks you to stay.

“Just for tonight,” he says, and he waits until you glance up and make eye contact with him.  “Stay tonight, and let me make you breakfast in the morning.”  It’s a low blow, but you’ve always been a sucker for his lemon ricotta pancakes. Judging by the shy smile you give him now, that hasn’t changed.

He’ll never be sure if it’s him or those pancakes, but you finally nod and agree to stay.  Sonny leads you back into his bedroom and gives you some comfortable clothes to wear.  A silence falls between the two of you again, and it’s awkward, but less than before.  As you each start to fall asleep, Sonny sends a silent prayer up to heaven – that the two of you can get through this and can truly find your way back to each other.

When you nestle a little closer to him and put your hand on his chest, right over his heart, it feels like a sign that his prayer will be answered.

[welldonebeca]

Miss, PhD (I)

Summary: Steve doesn’t have a crush. In fact, he is too old to have one. It doesn’t matter that he is too interested in the Stark girl. This means nothing. AKA: Steve has a crush on young Doctor Stark, PhD. He just needs to figure that out before she moves on from her crush on him. Pairing: Steve x F!Reader WC: 750+ words Warnings: Slow burn, university AU. 

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Masterlist

Professor Steve Rogers raised his gaze to the classroom door as he heard some giggles outside, scoffing and rolling his eyes. He would bet some good money on how it was you, walking around and about with some undergrad students, on your daily stop at his very own door. 

Currently, you were working towards your PhD, but Steve knew you for quite some time now.

Y/N Stark, an engineering prodigy just like your father before you.

You were an undergrad a long time before Steve was hired to teach Art Practise and Art History at Stanford. According to what he had heard about you, you were the youngest student to ever grace the Engineering department when you first landed in the school, at just 10. Today, as far as he knew, you were working on your PhD and weren’t even 18.

He had no idea what you were studying, or even how you did it, because anytime he lied eyes on you - and that was a lot, considering you were always at his door - you were just wasting your time with other young people.

You were the second-smartest person had ever met, only bested by your own father, who he had had the opportunity to meet when he was invited to a talk you were giving about women in STEM, and Doctor Anthony Stark was sat in the first row to applauds his only child, the pride of his heart. He was pretty young, still in his mid to late forties, and was accompanied by his wife, your mother, a tall redhead who was the first to hug you when your talk was over.

He wondered where he was most days, though. Who would leave their underage child living by herself in California?

It didn’t even sound legal.

Steve was an artist turned professor. He always wanted to do art, but never quite found his style or the drive to make it into a living job, but really like teaching. So here he was, in one of the best universities in the country, trying to show young kids the way to art.

“Hey,” you reprehended someone. “Don’t touch it!”

Steve walked to the door with a scoff on his face, ready to find a bunch of kids poking his small exposition around, but opened it only to find you and a pair of girls - who he had never seen around you before - staring at the little exhibition of paintings he had done in front of his classroom, with you standing closer to it than the two of them, looking puzzled at something.

“Appreciating the paintings, miss Stark?” he called you.

Your lips curled in an annoyed scoff before you even looked at him.

“I don’t know, Mister Rogers,” you frowned. “I just don’t understand this.”

He walked to your side, sighing.

Of course you didn’t. Every time you two met, you would be sure to tell him how you didn’t understand a single thing about his exhibitions, from paintings to sculptures, sketches, pictures and even the small free classes he would host once a month for the community.

“What don’t you understand, Miss Stark?”

You were staring at one of the bigger paintings, a storming sea under a clear sky, looking puzzled.

“This,” you turned at him. “I just don’t get it.”

He looked at the work and then at you.

“What do you think it means?” he asked, at last.

Something crossed your face, and he tilted his head in curiosity as you chuckled, looking too vulnerable for a brief moment.

“It looks like something I would make as a kid,” you told him, at last, looking a bit amused.

Steve lost the faint smile he still had on his lips, rolling his eyes as your friends giggled, and he was about to say something before you two heard someone clearing their throat, and he glances at your friends again, and they didn’t look interested at all in the art on the walls.

“Come on, Y/N,” a blonde girl poked you on your back, one of the friends you were with. “We should go shopping.”

You glanced back at her, seeming a little conflicted, and then checked the painting again, squinting your eyes and then stepping back.

“I have to go,” you spoke, finally, sounding a lot less caring than before and stepping back. “Thank you for your time, Mister Rogers.”

He sighed, pressing his lips together in annoyance.

“You are welcome, Miss Stark.”

You rolled your eyes, but said nothing, walking away with the two snickering girls.

Yes, he really hoped you found your way before it was too late.

. . .

"Miss, PhD" was posted on my Patreon back on January! To read the full story before anyone else and have early access to all of my works, subscribe to my page! It's just $2 a month!

. . .

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Miss PhD: OPEN

[hellfiredemon]

15 people, 15 questions

tagged by @cuoredimuschio 💞

are you named after anyone? My English name comes from a Diana Wynne Jones’ character, like a straight up kid's book. My Chinese name is really embarrassing. It comes from a historical figure. My dad came to the US for his education and his father was resentful that he wanted to immigrate here and would not be able to spend as much time with his family in Hong Kong, so when my grandfather chose my name, he named me after a historical figure who was given away to* barbaric foreigners.* I want to change my name to something else but haven’t and only my relatives in HK call me this but I haven’t been back in so long so it doesn’t matter as much.

when was the last time you cried? About a month and a half ago, my friends put down their dog and Facetimed me so I could say goodbye to him.

do you have kids? Nope and can honestly say I’ve never wanted to have them. I understand from an aging standpoint that it makes sense to spawn a caretaker but I don’t think I’d be able to care for another human being like that, I can barely take care of myself and my dog as it is.

what sports do you play/have played? I dance a lot now, but I don’t compete so I don’t think it qualifies as a sport. In school, I did track and field, volleyball, and tennis.

do you use sarcasm? Frequently, but I’m also embarrassingly earnest about many things as well.

what's the first thing you notice about people? Probably how they dress, groom, and carry themselves and whether they seem comfortable to be in public or not.

what's your eye color? Brown

scary movies or happy endings? I don’t really watch horror, but maybe I do prefer scary movies because I like a lot of movies that are a little uncomfortable to watch, where you don’t know what will happen in the end. When it comes to movies, I think I’m ok with having a bittersweet or even unhappy ending, probably because movies tend to be shorter and less immersive for me. I guess I don't need a happy ending for me to enjoy something but the story's gotta be compelling.

any talents? I can whistle through my teeth, am an adept conversationalist IRL, and am good at interviews and general corporate bullshittery, which I think is how I’ve managed to stay employed but do very little work 🤐

where were you born? The US Midwest! But my parents moved a few months after I was born, so I never really lived there.

what are your hobbies? Reading, dancing, calisthenics, drawing, strategy games, playing with my dog, hiking, and admiring art, zoning out, floortime

do you have any pets? Yes, the love of my life and warmer of my cold feet, a 3.5 yr old muppet-ass looking border collie-poodle mix named Charlie. I couldn't figure out how to put a picture between the numbered list so his pic's at the end.

how tall are you? 164 cm 🥞 my mom's side is short 😔

favorite subject in school? English or history. I loved reading books and stories and talking about them, and still do.

dream job? I don't want to work, and don't dream of labor. The closest thing I can think of working for the US govt's Digital Service, which probably sounds crazy but I think at least that way I'd get to use my skills for something useful. I’d be perfectly content to pursue hobbies the rest of my life. I fantasize about moving to a country with universal benefits and not having to worry about the numbers on my paycheck and do something I actually think is good for the world or just work on art or dance full time. I wanted to be a mail carrier for a long while, walk around the city all day and listen to books or music and deliver people’s letters and meds and stuff, but you also have to deliver shitloads of stupid ads and bills as well. I think if I ever save enough money from my dumb corporate jobs that I still might try to work for the USPS. I don't know 15 people, tag yourself if you want to do it!!! And here's my lovely boy!!

[commaclear]

I just had an absolute banger idea so hear me out

So a few times it’s been mentioned that Quackity’s into lingerie and Wilbur will eventually own some if he doesn’t already.

Now get this. Imagine that one of Phil’s deep dark old man secrets is that he’s always had a thing for lingerie too. Nothing that ever mattered because he did his own laundry and it didn’t have anything to do with anyone but him.

One day while Quackity’s over, Wilbur starts complaining abt not having any clean shirts left and Quackity tells him to start his laundry then. They go to the laundry room together so Wilbur will actually get it done.

While they’re down there, Quackity notices quite a few baskets of clean, unfolded clothes. He asks Wilbur who’s laundry it is and Wilbur explains that it’s a mix of everyone’s from when Phil started laundry a few weeks ago. Quackity asks if he can fold them because his firbid there be unfolded clothes. Wilbur tells him Phil usually folds laundry when he does it and he doesn’t really like other people doing it.

Quackity rolls his eyes and starts folding laundry. Wilbur just awkwardly sits on top of the washer, occasionally helping Quackity sort out who’s clothes were who’s.

Eventually, Quackity starts finding some of Wilbur’s lingerie and folding it. Until he gets to an item he hasn’t seen before.

“Since when did you start buying this stuff for yourself?” Quackity asks, holding it up to fully see it.

Wilbur furrows his eyebrows. “Never?”

“Then whose is this? Because I’ve never seen it before.”

“I don’t know. It’s not mine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be sure? Quackity, you’re the only person who buys me stuff like that. I think I know what is mine or not. That doesn’t even look like the kind you’d buy.”

Quackity huffs and goes back to folding clothes. But it’s not long before he finds another piece he doesn’t recognize. And another. And another. Now he’s just confused.

“You know, if you’re buying lingerie for yourself, I’ll support you. I’m not gonna be mad. I’d be happy you’re comfortable with-“

Wilbur groaned and set his phone down on the surface next to him. “It’s not mine, I already told you that.”

“Well, then who’s is it?”

“I don’t know,” Wilbur said, crossing his arms. “Maybe Tommy got some to fuck with you or something. I don’t know. He can see your search history.”

“If you wanted something different from what you had you could’ve just told me. I would’ve helped you shop for some.”

“I already told you. It’s not mine.”

They continue to argue over it for a little bit until the laundry room door opens. It’s Phil. Both of them stop fighting and turn to look at him.

“What are you two fighting about?” Phil asks.

Neither of them say anything, just glancing at each other.

Phil looked behind Quackity, eyes landing on the lingerie Quackity had been folding. Grimacing, he quickly walks up to the folded stack of clothes. He awkwardly takes the lingerie and shoved it inside his coat, takinf extra steps to avoid eye contact.

“Sorry, uh-“ Phil coughs a bit as he makes his way out of the room. “Those are mine, sorry.”

Both Quackity and Wilbur share horrified looks with each other. Neither of them speak for a while. Dinner that night is painful to sit through.

Gotta say, I've read this about five times and it actually just gets worse every time /pos

The sheer cursed energy radiating off thus ask... I love it

SOMEONE DO ART GO GO GO I KNOW THERE ARE ARTISTS READING THIS

[icarusthelunarguard]

This Week’s Horrible-Scopes

It’s time for this week’s Horrible-Scopes! So for those of you that know your Astrological Signs, cool! If not, just pick one, roll a D12, or just make it up as you go along. It really doesn’t matter.

And now, with the new year upon us, let’s reminisce and look forward to the days ahead.

(Sorry for the delay. Was out with family for long-delayed Thanksgiving & Christmas meetup.) 

Aries 

You think you’re not imaginative, but we all know better. Remember all those flip-book animations you made as a kid in the bottom corner of your textbooks in school? All the ones you got in trouble for? You can make new animations, more impressive animations, more adult animations… Make a set of Midnight Bowl Animations that are decidedly naughty and sell them to some bowling alleys! You could make a MINT this year! Good Luck!

Taurus 

There’s something you might not have thought about, and it’s good to remember. Dictionaries are Descriptive not Proscriptive! Meaning… a dictionary lets us know how a word is being used by people, not telling us how to use it in communicating. It’s not the way we’re taught to use one, but that’s how it is. So enjoy questioning every other reference material you’ve ever used.  

Gemini  

You’re going to have a few days trapped indoors with the bad weather. Time to haul out your old Kindle reader and see what’s still on it. Knowing how sturdy that thing is, it might still have a charge to its battery. And if you want a challenge, find your old Palm Pilot III and drop a pair of Double-A Batteries and see what’s still in the memory. Might still have contacts you’d forgotten about.  

Cancer Moon-Child 

Time for a Blast from the Past! We take you back to August 1998 when GeoCities was all the rage and you have to answer the question, “How do I generate the most page views?” Well, if you’re Canadian art student Deidre LaCarte of Nanaimo, British Columbia, you create the first Web Fad page and name it… “Hampton's Hamster House”! Yes, the Hamster Dance turned 24 this past summer. Aren’t you glad you lived through this point in history? 

Leo 

Competitive drone racing really is a thing. It’s like Pod Racing from the first Star Wars mov… Ok, not the FIRST Star Wars movie, I meant the FOURTH Star Wars movie… And, yes, Episode FOUR came out FIRST, and Episode ONE came out FOURTH. Look, just… Drone Racing! It’s a THING! Check it out this year! And stop being a pedant!

Virgo 

This week, start off the year with a “You Laugh, You Lose” video playlist, but go in intending to laugh. Ignore the rules and play the game your way. Have a good laugh at crows snow surfing on a car’s windshield. Chuckle at the horse rolling on top of a giant inflatable ball. And before you laugh too hard at the Try Harder Roller Skater video, make sure it isn't a video of YOU.

Libra 

Ok… We’re only doing this ONE MORE TIME! The chalice is crystal - engraved with an image of the castle. The flagon has a dragon and the last has a pestle. Right? Ok. So… the potion with the pestle’s in the crystal with… no, wait. Ok. The Dragon with the pellet’s in the castle with the… Hold up. (*Slower*) The potion in the palace has the pellet with the flagon and the vessel with the poison is the chalice with the brew. (*Beat Pause*) That.. that’s it, right? (*Others answer uncertainty*) You know what? Just buy the damned movie and figure it out yourselves.

Scorpio 

Let’s play “Six Degrees of Separation” starting with BBC1’s “Till Death Us Do Part” and ending with President Bartlet and “The West Wing”. Follow this now; “Till Death do us Part” was turned into “All In The Family” for the U.S. “All In The Family” had a spin-off called “The Jeffersons”, co-starring Paul Benedict as “Harry Bentley”... who was “The Mad Painter” on Sesame Street… which had a recurring character of, “The Woman”, played by Stockard Channing… who played First Lady Abbey Bartlet, married to President Josiah Bartlet on… The West Wing! Now you go out there on Trivia Night and knock ‘em dead this year!     

Sagittarius 

You know where everyone is. You know how to find anyone you don’t already know about. You know how to use the Home Depot better than The A-Team to take out anyone who richly needs it. But the best part is with the turning of the year, your last kneecapping incident has passed its Statute of Limitations… So! With your knowledge from that event, hire a lawyer and Patent that vinyl-disk launcher! 

Capricorn 

The winter storms have, if you’ll excuse the expression, blown over now. You can relax a bit. Yes, you need to make sure your car’s battery is still charged, but that shouldn’t be too tough. If you wanted to, you could make your own wind generator with an old ceiling fan, some wire, magnets, and a free weekend. And since you’ll be snowed in, D.I.Y. YouTube series are your friend.  

Aquarius 

We want the new year to treat you well, so how about planning for the NEXT new year’s party; the Chinese Lunar New Year! This time it falls on Sunday, January 22nd, so scope out a locally owned and operated restaurant and ask about their New Year’s Specials. Keep whole milk on hand in case the spices are a little too much for you.

Pisces  

Listen carefully. (*Read CAREFULLY*) “Blinded by the light. Revved up like a deuce, another runner in the night.” Those are the actual lyrics. That line is about a car - a hotrod like the Little Deuce Coupe that the Beach Boys sang about. So if you’ve been singing a line about feminine hygiene products, you’re doing it wrong. Please start the new year by learning the right lines. 

And THOSE are your Hobble-Scopes for this week! Remember if you liked what you got, we’re obviously not working hard enough at these. BUT! If you want a better or nastier one for your own sign or someone else’s, all you need to do to bribe me is just Let Me Know! These will be posted online at the end of each week via Tumblr, Twitter, Facebook and Discord.

[of-foolish-and-wise]

a uni survival guide: tips from a phd

if there's one thing i know about, it's college. i've done it, i've taught it, i've lived and breathed it. these tips are for first years in particular, but honestly for everybody. i think it's so important for people to have balanced lives in these years -- academics are not everything. you know what didn't help me in the real world when i was afraid i wouldn't live through it? my fancy college note-taking format. you know what did help me? the friends i made there who i knew would get on a plane and fly across the country in a matter of hours if i told them i needed them.

academic

- figure out where class is held ahead of time: don't be that kid who's late on day one, i beg of you

- use the writing center: especially for basic grammatical editing, which a lot of professors don't have time to mark on papers

- speak up in class: talking through ideas helps you work through them, and asking questions about something you don't understand can open up great lines of conversation

- find a regular schedule that works for you and stick to it: my college schedule was morning free time, class, lunch, class, practice, homework. that consistency was a life-saver

- keep a planner: it's so important to have a central place to track deadlines, assignments, and engagements

- annotate your reading: when you're stressing about a paper topic, being able to go back to what you've highlighted and written in the margins is a life-saver

- color-code your coursework: i use the same color highlighter, pen, and notebook for any given class. it's super helpful

- if you can't focus while studying with friends, don't: i reserved group studying for days when i didn't have important work because i can't be in a room with other people without talking to them. if your school has one, the quiet floor of the library is your best friend

- treat yourself to a "fun" class: art was always my place to just sit back and chill, a way to end the night all zen in the darkroom instead of conjugating russian verbs in a fluorescent-lit cinderblock prison. for you, it could be gym, it could be pottery, it could be some random course about, like, the history of cooking or something -- explore!

- profs are people too: don't be too nervous around them. also, know that if you're struggling -- even b/c of something in your personal life -- you can admit it, and they'll almost always understand why you missed a deadline or bombed a test

- go to office hours: it's the only way to get to know professors in big courses, and it's so helpful for both your grades and learning how to navigate relationships with authority figures

social

- don't let academia keep you from your friends: it's a case-by-case basis, but sometimes it's okay to let the reading slide and spend time with friends. i graduated seven years ago and my college group text still talks every day. that's so much more important to me than the fact that i never finished brideshead revisited

- joining a club is one of the best ways to make friends: i played ultimate frisbee through college and it was the source of so many lasting relationships, as well as the way i met all my local friends when i was abroad

- say yes to things you don't know if you'll like: you'll surprise yourself. me? turns out i love drinking games. and theme parties. and skinny dipping. and rock climbing

- don't be that person who looks down on their peers for partying: honestly? that person kind of sucks. you don't have to party if you don't want to, but actually, a lot of those people are super nice and also good at school -- don't just write them off!

- show up for your friends: go to their games, their concerts, their art shows, their standup nights. show them that what matters to them matters to you, too

- set aside a night to do a group activity with others: whether your vibe is wednesday night trivia, a weekly "terrible movie" showing, or a get-high-and-watch-nature-documentaries-type thing, these are great ways to liven up the week and de-stress

- this is a great time to figure out who from high school really matters to you: you don't have to force relationships that were built mostly on convenience if there are friends at uni with whom you click more. people you became friends with purely based on the coincidence of where your parents lived do not have to be your forever friends. they can be! but they don't have to be

personal

- don't expect too much of yourself: a 4.0 is not the end-all, be-all. if your family or somebody tells you it is, tell them to call me, and i will personally talk some sense into them

- take advantage of university support services: mental health counseling, free yoga classes, multi-cultural societies, etc

- drink water: please, please don't get kidney stones in the middle of the semester, says the girl who got kidney stones in the middle of the semester

- let yourself take breaks: if you need to lie to a professor and say you're sick when really you're just feeling down and you need to sit in bed and watch a movie, that's totally valid

- don't freak about individual assignments: my students come to me freaking over a B+ and i tell them, honey, no job interviewer is ever going to ask you about your second paper from communications 101. i wish i'd known that

- go see speakers if there's someone interesting coming to campus: these talks are always cooler than you expect. i'll never get over the fact that i didn't go see anita hill when she came to my undergrad

- do your laundry on the same night every week: i can't explain why this is so helpful but it really is

- keep up on the news and the memes: read the school paper, the school blog, the memes page -- college politics and inside jokes are fun and convoluted and fascinating

- set the groundwork for long-term self-care: all of the above is really just to say -- university isn't just for learning about the french revolution, it's also about learning how to balance, how to handle failure, how to ask for help, how to make a salad that doesn't totally suck, etc

[iliveiloveiwrite]

I wonder what it’s like to be loved by you // Benedict Bridgerton

Summary: You’ve loved him for as long as you can remember. Is this the season where he finally realises?

A/N: I LOVE BENEDICT. I love him so much. What do I have to do to get a Benedict? Title is from Shawn Mendes - Wonder. I had so much fun writing this fic, I can’t wait to write more for the Bridgerton fandom! I truly hope you all like it, let me know what you think please?

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, mentions of food and drink, fluff, pining, mutual pining, dancing, balls, obliviousness, friends to lovers, she/her pronouns, a lot of history - I am a historian after all and this is the regency era.

Word count: 4.8k

Lady Danbury never spared any expense on the balls she held every season. She knew full well that many a match could be made that night so there was not only pressure from the ton, but also a responsibility that this ball must outdo all others thrown before – by herself and other matriarchs in society.

A feat she always managed to achieve, the elder thinks to herself as she watches your eyes widen upon entering the ornately decorated room. Looking you up and down, she approves of your outfit – a dark blue dress punctuated with silver jewellery, hair twisted into an updo with only a few strands hanging loose to frame your face. From her spot across the ballroom, Lady Danbury wonders how you hadn’t married yet.

As the band strikes up, Lady Danbury walks into the fray, greeting her guests with a smile. All the while, she keeps a trained eye on you, wondering who on earth had captured your heart but had not noticed.

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

No matter how hard he tried, the charcoal would not wash from his fingers. Having scrubbed and scrubbed at his hands, Benedict could only offer you a smile of apology as you not only noted his lateness but the state of his hands.

“It’s very fortunate that you are a talented artist,” You comment with a teasing smile.

Benedict reaches for your hand, dropping a kiss to the back of it before answering. “I class myself as very fortunate to have a friend like you who understands how easy it is to get lost in a sketch or a painting.”

You roll your eyes, careful not to let anyone else but Benedict see your act of impropriety. He smirks, unable to help himself.

“You’re a shameful flatterer, Benedict.”

“Some might even call me a ‘rake’,” He replies, his tone teasing.

“I shall save that for when you’ve really annoyed me.”

He laughs; a loud chuckle that draws the attention of those closest to you. Most notably, Benedict’s mother, Violet Bridgerton and Lady Danbury.

Benedict clears his throat; cheeks flushed not only from the attention but from the knowledge that his mother would soon be making her way over to him. He adored his mother; was grateful for her every day, but he could happily admit he could live without the meddling in his love life. He grabs your gloved hand once more; kissing the back of it in parting before asking, “Save me a dance on your card?”

“Always,” You answer, watching his back as he stalks away. Benedict narrowly avoids being collared by his mother, an act to which you find yourself smiling at.

With thoughts of Benedict in mind, you wander around the outskirts of the ballroom, your dark blue skirts swishing pleasantly under foot. You pause only to grab a lemonade from the table, sipping happily at the cold drink.

You catch sight of the brunette that had stolen your heart dancing with Penelope Featherington and though you know there is no romance there, your heart is unable to stop the hurt that lashes through it. Schooling your face into a mask of polite delight, you force yourself to turn away from the sight of the man you had so readily given your heart to dancing with someone else.

“How long have you been in love with my brother?” A raspy voice asks from behind you.

Your lemonade splashes slightly as you turn to face your interrogator. “Eloise!” You laugh, smiling too wide to be comfortable, “Whatever do you mean?”

Eloise’s shrewd blue eyes narrow slightly as she takes in your dismissal. She waves her hand in the general direction of Benedict though you knew exactly where he was – could feel his location thrumming in your veins.

“Don’t play coy, (Y/N). It doesn’t become you. Now, how long have you been in love with Benedict?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? How long had you loved Benedict? Thinking back on it, you’re sure that you’ve always loved him. Your family had been good friends with the Bridgerton family for as long as you could remember. Your mother was always having tea with Violet and you were always thrust upon the eight siblings without much worry. Your friendship with Benedict had started in earnest when you had complimented his art skills, bringing up how you liked to draw too. From there, a close friendship was forged.

By your twentieth year on this earth, you realised that your feelings for the second Bridgerton were no longer platonic… that you craved something more. Falling for Benedict Bridgerton felt inevitable almost; that your heart was destined to be his whether he knew it or not.

Sighing heavily, you see no point in lying to the second eldest Bridgerton girl. “For as long as I can remember,” You admit, rushing to add on, “But he doesn’t know so please don’t tell him!”

Eloise’s eyes widen at your confession, not only shocked that you readily admitted your feelings for her elder brother, but for how long you have harboured them. “Is that why you have not yet married?” She demands, “Because you loved him?”

Biting your lip, you nod. “It wouldn’t be fair to my husband. Their wife in love with another man – it doesn’t exactly set stable foundations for a long, prosperous marriage and…”

“And…” Eloise prompts, her innate curiosity getting the better of her. If her mother could hear her now, she would surely receive a scolding.

You ball your hands into fists before letting them drop to your sides; letting them hang there like the constant hope you have for Benedict.

“And I still hope he’ll notice I’m here. That I have been here all along,” You voice cracks on the admission causing a pang of upset to flash through Eloise. She’d reach out to comfort you, but it would only draw attention from the many mothers circling and no doubt, Lady Whistledown.

“(Y/N)…” Eloise begins but you hold a single hand up to stop her before she starts. With a strained smile, you reassure her. “It’s fine, Eloise. I accept it with every season that passes that it is unlikely he shall ever return my feelings.”

“Then he is a fool,” Eloise states plaining, sending a glare in the direction of her beloved brother. She had no qualms admitting that Benedict was indeed her favourite sibling, but he had his moments where he vexed her beyond belief.

“Who is a fool?” A voice questions to the right of you. Benedict.

Freezing in place, you cast a helpless look at Eloise, begging her silently to take control of this situation. Eloise smiles and nods imperceptibly. She turns towards her brother, hooking her arm through yours as she declares, “The men that have not offered their hand to (Y/N) yet. They’re all fools, aren’t they dear brother.”

Benedict casts his gaze towards you; his eyes scanning your face for what, he does not know. “Fools,” He agrees quietly though he is heard perfectly over the music. “Would you care to dance?” He asks, wanting you to himself for a little while. As much as he loved his younger sister, she was a keen observer, and he wasn’t ready for her to figure out his feelings just yet. Not when he hadn’t admitted them to you.

Nodding your head, you take his outstretched hand, bidding goodbye to Eloise for now. The brunette shakes her head as the both of you walk away. Oblivious, she thinks to herself, completely oblivious.

As the music strikes up once more, it becomes obvious that the next dance is a waltz, requiring the closeness of your partner. It was only years ago that this dance had scandalised the ton for its closeness – now, it was required at every ball, many married couples savouring the intimacy.

Benedict’s hand settles on the small of your back as his other grips your hand. Your hand rests comfortably on his shoulder as he begins to lead you through the steps you have known since your youth.

Music around you fades as do the other couples. The only two people in the room are Benedict and yourself. The feel of his hand on your back and the look in his eyes; it’s enough to have you accept your fate then and there. It’s enough for you to admit that you have been ruined for any and all men; finding yourself in love with the man who holds you so tenderly and has always held you in high regard. Is this it? You ask yourself, is this what it feels like to be loved by him? To feel like the only one in the world. If it is, you’ll take it with open hands.

Your eyes do not leave his as Benedict leads you through the rises and falls of the dance. His hand remains a steady presence on your lower back; the feeling just enough to distract you from the crowd now watching you and instead, leading you to wonder what his hands would feel like elsewhere on your body.

As the music falls into another song; this one more upbeat, Benedict drops his hands, letting you free. He hadn’t wanted to; had wanted to pull you from the ballroom, to confess the feelings that have haunted him for years and to ask you to be his for better or for worse.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he bows and smiles, reaches for your hand to kiss it and then lets himself breathe as he turns and walks away.

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

Dear Reader,

Though there is much to report from Lady Danbury’s ball last night – the fashion, the food, the décor – This Author wants to focus on one moment in particular.

Now, Dear Reader, whilst you may wonder the importance of such a moment, remember that it is one’s job to observe all. That is why I want to bring attention to Mr. Benedict Bridgerton who found himself extremely popular last night, dancing with many eligible women and delighting them with his talents.

However, Dear Reader, this is not the moment I want to focus on.

No. Instead, I want to bring attention to the heart most likely suffering in silence as Mr. Bridgerton continues to charm the ton.

As you all know, I am not one to beat around the proverbial bush and hide identities, but for the sake of the woman who has found herself in love with the second eldest Bridgerton for as long she can remember, I shall endeavour to keep her name a secret.

Know, however, that This Author’s sympathies lie with you.

To love another unrequitedly is a dear shame.

----------

The gossip sheet is scrunched to a ball in your hands. It’s all you can do to keep the tears from falling down your face. As if you didn’t know your love was unrequited; as if you didn’t know you had all but doomed yourself to being a spinster as you wait for a man who did not know you loved him.

Lady Whistledown knew your secret, and your identity. As a result, the whole ton knew your secret but whatever morals the author possesses, she had not revealed your identity.

Summoning the carriage, you ask to be taken to Bridgerton House where you can speak to Eloise in confidence and ask for her advice on what she might do. Deep down, you had to know whether Benedict had read the paper too.

It doesn’t take long for Eloise to find you in the tea room; a cup of tea in your hands but readily ignored as you chew on the inside of your cheek. Her brown hair tied up in her usual bun, her eyes hold the pity you didn’t want to see or hear as of this moment.

“I didn’t know she was listening, I swear,” Eloise promises, sitting by your side and reaching for your hand.

“I know,” You comfort, “You would never tell a soul.”

“At least she didn’t reveal your identity,” Eloise chirps, trying to find a silver lining.

“Yet she has revealed my secret to the entirety of London society,” You sigh. Removing your hand from Eloise’s, you press your palm to your forehead, feeling overwhelmingly tired and desperate for the day to be over already. “Does he know?”

Eloise chews on her bottom lip, deciding whether to answer you. “He has read it,” She admits,  but rushes to add, “He doesn’t know it’s you! He doesn’t have a clue really. He’s angrier at himself for not noticing anything was amiss.”

“I don’t know what to do,” You whisper, feeling helpless.

“For now,” Eloise states, “We do nothing.”

---------

Your heels sink into the soft carpet as you wander down the stairs, pausing only to check you have everything. Your mind remains elsewhere as you check your bag out of habit, the conversation with Eloise, the latest gossip sheet, your feelings for Benedict. They circle around your mind, leaving you dizzy in their wake as you try to make sense of them all, try to find your next step in and amongst the mess.

“(Y/N),” Benedict greets, hurrying down the final few stairs, pleasantly surprised, “What are you doing here? I didn’t know you were visiting.”

“I came to drop in on Eloise. I wanted to thank her for last night; she was an ear when I needed someone to listen.”

“Is it anything I can help with?” He asks, voice taking on a concerned note as he reaches out for you.

You shake your head, squeezing his hand in return. “For now, everything is okay.”

Benedict clears his throat. “I’m glad to hear it, but please come to me next time. I want to help if I can.”

“I will,” You promise, your eyes now scanning over his fine clothes. “Where are you off to?”

“An art exhibition at Somerset House. They’re showing some Holbein’s from the Royal collection.”

“Holbein’s?” You ask, shocked at the name falling from Benedict’s mouth.

He nods, just as excited. It was a rare thing indeed to have Holbein’s on display; they were usually kept in whatever royal residence they found themselves in; hidden away from the public eye. Art was the very foundation of your friendship; having seen so many of his sketches as a young boy and watching them develop into surer lines and confident strokes. Benedict was an exceptionally talented artist – something he would say about yourself. Benedict was the only person to see such work; the watercolours in your sketchpad leaving him breathless as you bring life to the inanimate.

“Would you like to join me?” He asks before he can talk himself out of it. He had barely seen you all season; you had closed in yourself, as if accepting a fate that you did not want. Benedict would do what he could to ensure your happiness for a little bit longer.

“Unchaperoned?”

A faint blush rises on Benedict’s cheeks as he realises what he has asked of you. “I shall ask Eloise to accompany us,” He suggests, turning to face the direction in which you had just come, “Did she mention any plans to you?”

You shake your head to which Benedict leases a sigh of relief. “I’ll go ask her now. I’m sure she won’t mind… much.”

Laughing quietly, you wait patiently in the entryway of Bridgerton House. The house in London so often felt like a second home to you; spending so much of childhood summers here when your mother would take tea with the Bridgerton matriarch. As you grew into your teens, you would begin to visit the house with just your maid, calling on the family for social niceties. The friendship with Benedict and Eloise only solidified your standing in the close family unit.

Eloise’s voice brings you back to the present. She walks down the stairs, accompanied by her brother. Taking one look at you, waiting patiently for the both of them, Eloise gets a mischievous look in her eye. It isn’t a look that leaves you in comfort, but rather leaves you wondering just what she has planned for the art exhibition.  

“Eloise has so graciously accepted to join us,” Benedict announces, sounding rather pleased with himself.

Eloise smiles: a smile that sets Benedict’s nerves on edge. He would owe her for this, that much he knew. “I would be more than happy to accompany you, brother.”

Benedict resists the urge to groan; he’s in deep shit for this.

“Thank you, Eloise,” You murmur with a smile. Something in Eloise softens at your tone as if she would be unable to deny you this time with Benedict when it was their mother’s mission to see him married off this very season.

“Of course,” Eloise allows, glancing between you and Benedict – noting the longing in both sets of eyes. She shakes her head, gesturing to the door and where the carriages waits just beyond it. “Shall we?”

--------

“He wasn’t a handsome monarch, was he?” Eloise murmurs quietly, staring up at the grand portrait of the fearsome king who preferred executing his wives rather than loving them.

The walls of Somerset House have become dedicated to the eyes of the past. Past monarchs and relatives decorate the walls; their eyes following each attendant, as if curious to see how society is progressing less than three hundred years after the death of the artist.

Benedict chuckles; the very sound raising goosebumps across your skin. You barely repress the shiver the sound elicits. Trying your best to listen as the siblings argue about the reign of this particular monarch – the pros and the cons to what he did for the very country he ruled over for decades.

“Oh!” Eloise gasps, interrupting the argument and loosening her grip on your arm, she waves frantically at Penelope Featherington. “Would you mind terribly if I go say hello?”

“Not at all,” You laugh.

“You’re sure you’ll be okay with Benedict?”

The man in question scoffs, rolling his eyes at his little sister. “Off with you,” He dismisses, “I’ll escort (Y/N) – someone who actually appreciates the art.”

Eloise laughs as she turns away, but you do not miss the wink she sends in your direction. It hits you all at once; her mischievous look before you all left the house. She had concocted this plan in her head; accepting to accompany you as a rouse to get you and Benedict alone.

You didn’t know whether to appreciate her genius or hide her favourite book.

Jumping at the sound of someone clearing their throat, you focus your attention on Benedict. He watches you with an amused look, and it’s then that you realise that he has stood beside you waiting with his arm out for a minute or so whilst you glared after his younger sister. Taking his arm, you rid yourself of any thoughts of violence against Eloise. Instead, focusing on the man beside you.

“How are you?” You ask, hand resting gently on Benedict’s forearm.

“Do you mean in general or after today’s publication?”

“Both, I suppose.”

“In general, I am quite well. I have a wonderful lady on my arm, and I am in the presence of excellent art work. However, after today’s publication, I must admit I am rather angry.”

“Oh?” You sound, trying hard not to let his words affect you so much but they rattle around your mind on repeat, committing themselves where they will last for an eternity.

“I’ve never been the focus of the gossip paper and now after one ball, I am. I don’t think I like the attention.”

“I don’t believe that for one second, Benedict Bridgerton.”

He pauses, smiling widely down at you. His eyes light up with the smile and your heart begins to pound at the sight of it. “Alright, I do like the attention,” He concedes, “But what I don’t like are the looks I’m getting from all mothers.”

“Why?”

“They all look like I’m about to break their daughter’s heart.”

“I’m sure you’re just imagining things,” You reassure, tightening your grip on his arm.

“I don’t think I am,” He states, nodding politely at Lady Whitelaw who in turn glares at the younger man. He turns his gaze to you as if to say, see?

You turn your face away from him, trying your best to hide the smile and laugh that threatens to break free. “You’re laughing at me, aren’t you?” Benedict guesses, a smile in his own voice.

“I’m not,” You promise, schooling your face into a mask of indifference, focusing on the closest sketch to you. A graphite sketch of Anne Boleyn; marking her beauty only years before her death.

“You are,” Benedict argues, standing beside you, admiring the same sketch. Throwing him a knowing smile, you turn your attentions to rest of the exhibition, unable to hide your awe at just what is being shown to the public.

The art is incredible; your watercolours barely compare to what is being shown in Somerset House. He would disagree in a heartbeat, but Benedict could come close to producing something of this calibre. He had shown his portraits of his mother and brothers; Anthony making the perfect candidate for a painting.

You come to a natural stop in front of a portrait of a young women. A young queen, in fact. This particular queen had never got to reign in the manner that she was capable, dying after giving birth the king’s heir. His one true love, the king had called her after he death.

“She’s beautiful,” You whisper, admiring not only the artistry but also the focus on the painting.

Benedict watches you admiring the portrait painted so carefully by Holbein. Though the portrait is indeed beautiful, Benedict finds himself agreeing that they do not hold a candle to you. As he watches you lift a single hand, trying to dampen the urge to run your fingers over the brush strokes, he thinks to himself that there would be no artist on this earth that would be so talented to capture your beauty.

His breath comes faster; his heart rate increases. He recognises the symptoms; he’s only experienced such signs before. He had been eighteen then; barely a man but man enough to accept that he had fallen in love with his best friend. Years later, here he was, experiencing such feelings once more. Once more, he wonders what it would be like to be loved by you. He cannot help but hope that the mystery woman in the society papers is you.

-------

Dear Reader,

It seems that Mr. Benedict Bridgerton reads my paper!

He was overheard at the Somerset House Holbein exhibition, complaining to Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N) about my last column in which I criticised his treatment of the lady in love with him.

All I have to say on the matter is this:

Mr. Bridgerton, for every complaint you offer, you break her heart further. Stop now before you do irreparable damage.

-----

“What does she mean ‘break her heart further’? I’ve been trying to figure out who it is so I can put a stop to it!”

“It doesn’t matter whether you know who it is, Benedict,” You argue, placing your teacup on the table, “But rather the fact that you unknowingly hurt whoever it is that is in love with you.”

“Do my feelings not matter?” He demands, throwing the damned paper onto the table. Benedict runs a hand through his hair, sighing in frustration. “I’m sorry,” He apologises, “I should not have taken that tone with you. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“You’re forgiven,” You laugh, “I’ve heard you say a lot worse.”

He smiles though it doesn’t reach his eyes. Leaning forward on your chair, you wring your hands together, working up the nerve. “What feelings haven’t they taken into account?”

“Lady Whistledown,” He spits the name with derision, “Hasn’t taken into account that I may not have noticed someone in love with me because I am in love with someone myself.”

It’s as if the chair is pulled out from under you; your stomach dips and flips as the world crashes around you and Benedict is none the wiser. He’s none the wiser to the palpable shift that has taken place. Instead, he’s sat down across from, looking utterly defeated.

“Does she know?” You ask after a moment of silence, using the time to pull yourself back together, to compile it all and put it away for later.

Benedict shakes his head; eyes sad as he watches you. “Why haven’t you told her?” You ask, unable to stop the questions now they’re on the tip of your tongue.

“I suppose for the same reason she hasn’t told me. Fear maybe?”

“Fear of what? I’ve never known you to be afraid of anything.”

“Fear of rejection. Fear of humiliation. Fear of ruining a friendship,” He lists off, counting the reasons on his fingers, holding them up for you to see.

“Have you thought about telling her?”

“All the time,” He answers honestly, and you wonder whether the crack your heart makes was audible to the whole of the ton.

“Do you plan on telling them?”

“Eventually.”

You take a deep breath, staring at the teacup instead of him, readying yourself to offer up your broken heart. To confess that the two most recent society papers have been about you; have shown your heart to the whole of London.

“It’s me,” You confess quietly, voice no louder than a whisper but he hears you all the same.

Benedict’s head whips towards you. Had this been another situation, it would have been funny, but the look on his face… “What?” He whispers, shocked.

“It’s me,” You announce; louder this time, ready to lay your heart out on the floor for him to break entirely. “It’s me, Benedict. Lady Whistledown must have overheard Eloise and myself talking at Lady Danbury’s ball the other night. She had caught me watching you dance and asked me outright. I couldn’t deny it. I’ve been in love with you for years, Benedict. For as long as I can remember.”

“For as long as you can remember?”

You nod, wringing your hands together once more. “I didn’t realise until I turned twenty, just what my feelings meant. I think I’ve always been in love with you, Benedict.”

Benedict remains silent; eyes wide, hands slack as they rest on his thighs. He looks like he doesn't believe the very words leaving your mouth; as if he is unworthy of the love you offer him so willingly. 

“Say something, please,” You plead, “I know it isn’t proper for the woman to announce her feelings for the man, but I couldn’t keep it a secret any longer. Not when it is the focus for Lady Whistledown to sell more copies of her paper.”

“I didn’t know,” He whispers after a prolonged silence.

“You weren’t to know. You don’t have to feel the same, Benedict.”

“I do as it happens.”

“What?”

“I do feel the same,” Benedict clarifies, standing from his chair, “I’ve loved you since I was eighteen.”

You sniffle slightly; emotional from hearing the words you have longed to hear for years. The words that have haunted your dreams; had you rushing from sleep, so you didn’t let yourself believe an alternate reality.

“You do?”

Benedict nods, “I do. I love you very much.”

“I love you too,” You reply, standing from your chair, reaching for him – not wanting anymore space between the two of you.

He dips his head, pausing mere millimetres away from your lips. The question burns in his eyes; desperate to know whether he can kiss you after so long waiting. Your nod is barely imperceptible but it’s nod, nonetheless.

Slowly, almost wanting to savour every moment, Benedict presses his lips to yours. Reaching up, you haul him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him pressed against you after having waited so long, after having dreamed of this moment for too long.

He tastes like tea and his hands bring to life the butterflies in your stomach as they wander the path of your back, settling on your lower back, dipping you slightly. Benedict groans softly at the feel of you lined up against him. If he had known heaven was this close, he would not have waited this long.

Benedict breaks the kiss; not out of need of air, but to stop himself from taking this too far when you feel like heaven pressed against him. You smile widely, kissing his jaw lovingly before starting to laugh lightly. Benedict’s hands on your waist tighten possessively as he joins you in laughter.

Briefly, he wonders whether this is what it feels like to be loved by you.

********

Bridgerton Taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore​ @dreaming-about-fanfictions​ @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown​

[writteninkat]

Heyy🦙 I'm writing fanfiction for Hinata (form Haikyuu) and I'm gonna post it once I'm done but that's besides the point..

actually request: Any of the MHA/BNHA boys catch you writing/reading/drawing fanfiction/fan art

the characters are your pick

um- I never tell you this but dont stress yourself either🥰😚

BNHA GUYS CATCHING YOU WITH FANFICTION/FANART

w/ Bakugou, Iida, Kirishima, Denki, Shoto

warnings: suggestive themes

a/n: i'm having trouble falling asleep these days and it's taking a toll on my daily activities but i'm sure i'll manage, thank you :")

navigation

KATSUKI BAKUGOU

catches you reading fanfiction

blond bb knows you love to read, as a matter of fact, he's aware you read more than you spend time with him. and he's alright with that cause he'd rather chill with you in silence than listen to you talk his ear out lol

just because he doesn't mind you with your hobby doesn't mean he isn't curious about it

what kind of books are you reading that have your eyes glued to your screen the whole day every day?

he never does this and really doesn't want to do it but curiosity killed the cat. as you bake cookies with Mina downstairs, you left your phone in your room to charge

Katsuki takes this as his chance to snoop. He won't go to any other app, he'll head straight to your reading apps and sites.

Jujutsu Kaisen x Reader?

Haikyuu x Reader?

Naruto x Reader?

and what the fuck is 'lemon' and 'smut'?

he puts your phone back, discreetly leaving your room to do some research in his room

ah, so you've been reading 2k-10k worth of words of fanfiction about Jujustu Kaisen, Haikyuu and Naruto characters pleasing you...

he shall now delete his search history and pretend he never found out about this part of you

TENYA IIDA

catches you drawing fanart

everyone in 1A knows you draw and that you're amazing at it

Class press never forgets/fails to compliment your drawings, even if you the pieces are half down

but that's the thing. you always let him see and sometimes you even let him watch as you draw, so why are you hiding this particular piece from him?

he guesses it's a surprise for him- but hold on, he doesn't have tattoos or pink hair. so who is it?

while you're in the bathroom, he sneakily takes a peak at your work and thinks he should regret it but honestly, the art is so good he can't even find it anything remotely negative

it's a fanart of who he remembers is Sukuna, the kind of curses from the TV show Jujutsu Kaisen. he's on a throne with a mountain of skulls underneath it, a corner of his lips tugged up into a smile as a woman's head rests in between his thighs

he probably should regret ever taking a peek but the details, holy shit. the shading, the hand- everything just sends shivers down his spine

EIJIRO KIRISHIMA

catches you writing fan fiction

red boi always loves listening to you type as you study or do your homework, he uses it as a sleeping aid. as you work diligently on your desk, he lays on your bed, slowly drifting to sleep land

today, however, your typing sounds different. it's much faster, more rushed and he can't help his curiosity from growing at how you're biting on your lip, smiling as you typed

from what he knows, you absolutely hate typing essays so why do you look so excited right now?

he lets it slide, sleeping to the sound of your rushed typing.

the next day, you ask Eijiro to bring your laptop with him cause you're about to watch a movie with the whole class and the files are in your comouter

it's not even his fault, your laptop was left open and on and when he moved to turn it off, he catches a glimpse of "Tsukishima runs a hand down your thigh, his hot breath rising goosebumps all over your body." and suddenly he's reading the whole chapter

you barge in your room, yelling and asking what took him so long only to catch him glued to your computer screen, mouth left ajar.

you quickly snatch the PC from him, earning a whine. "Give it back! I need to know if Tsukki likes me back!" He pouts.

"This isn't for you to read, Eij! Leave it alone!"

"Oh sure, so your ten thousand followers in tumblr can read it but I, your boyfriend, can't. Okay, yeah. I see just how Eijirophobic you are."

he's pouting the whole day until you finally give in and let him read your drafts. allowing him to correct your grammar and spelling errors along the way

SHOTO TODOROKI

catches you reading fan fiction

this man is utterly confused why you're suddenly reading so much and how your vocabulary is slowly expanding but he's happy for you

as the both of you are in his room, silent as the both of you read your own books, Shoto can't help but get curious

so as you fall asleep with your phone still turned on, he takes his chance to get a peek

he also wants to read the books you're reading, he wants to learn more and improve himself. if your english grades had risen up from reading what you read, surely he'll also learn from how "Toji places your leg on his shoulder as he continues to pound in"-

as a matter of fact maybe he is okay with what he knows now. sometimes ignorance is bliss after all

DENKI KAMINARI

catches you watching fanart

you've forgotten about the wall of mirrors behind you and you're scrolling down your current favorite artist's twitter page, flood liking their posts

mind you their fanarts are 18+ so you thought it'd be best to face your boyfriend so he won't be able to see what you're looking at.

no, yeah you're a complete idiot.

Denki presses his lips together, trying to contain his laughter as he videotapes your reflection. you're zooming into the intricate details of a Gojo fanart with his blue polo shirt completely unbuttoned and sweat glistens over his sculpted abs

"Babe what are you doing?" Denki asks, now zooming into your face after showing to the camera what you're zooming in to

"There's a mirror behind me, is there?" You ask, now feeling like a complete idiot as your boyfriend laughs, absolutely no sound coming out of his mouth as his mouth stretches widely

You face your phone screen at him, showing the fanart. "I'd cheat on you with Gojo."

Denki continues laughing, now out of breath. "And of course I'd be pissed cause why the hell did Gojo pick you and not me?"

[astaroth1357]

Demigod MC Series: Athena

So. I have to deal with the virgin goddesses… By mythos, there really shouldn't ever be children of Artemis, Hestia, or Athena (yes, Athena was a virgin goddess). PJ got past that by making it canon that Annabeth and her siblings were born from cracking open Athena's skull (yes, that's also more or less the canon explanation). They gloss over it real quick but I remember, Rick. I've always remembered and that mental image has haunted me for years...

I can't, in good conscience, ignore the history around Athena's worship (call it an academic restraint) but I REFUSE to do the skull thing. So, since I make the rules here, I'm going with magic adoption. They still get magic powers, they're just more human than demigod. Cool? Cool.

Demigod MC Series: Intro, Aphrodite, Hermes, Hades, Dionysus, Demeter, Athena

Lucifer

The human that popped out of the portal seemed to have enough sense not to attack everyone in the room for a change, but even Lucifer could tell that was more of a strategic choice than for lack of ability...

Their very existence was highly unusual… and quite worrisome. He wasn't even aware Athena could have "children" of her own, but apparently she had been taking in some particularly bright humans to raise and train like her own...

Unbeknownst to him, a surprising amount of human scholars, diplomats, and generals have her to thank for their trade… and that alone should speak to the level of intrigue at play here. 

Was this an accident or Athena's attempt to plant an Olympian spy in the Devildom too…? Either way, he didn't trust them from the get go…

Look, Lucifer isn’t stupid. Athena is a goddess of Wisdom and War and war happens on more than just the battlefield… 

Since they've shown up records have been going missing, official documents keep getting misplaced, and he swears that there's some kind of bug in the student council room...!

It's infuriating watching the MC suck up to Diavolo when he's almost certain that they're running their own agenda behind the scenes! And he can't prove any of it!! They cover their tracks too well!

Lucifer has one of those corkboards covered in newspapers and string in a secret wing of the Castle - 100% dedicated to just tracking the MC's activities…. The longer they're there, the more obsessed he becomes...

He swears between Simeon, Solomon, and MC he feels like a shepherd wondering why the sheep are growling… The Devildom has never been in more danger than it is right now... Send help.

Mammon

To be honest, he kind of thought that they were just going to be Satan 2.0 but that's not really true.

They're more than just a book sponge! Though they do read, like a lot. Let’s just say from one schemer to another… Game recognizes Game.

They come up with plans and ideas soooo fast, it’s insane! Honestly, there are times where he has a new money-making plot and he just brings it to the MC first to run it over. 

Nine times out of ten, not only do they sniff out any problems but they have a solution for him in a matter of minutes! His scheme game has been on point since they’ve shown up!!

They’re also even better tutoring than Satan is, so he’s even managed to get a couple A’s for the first time in his life! Lucifer actually told him he was proud (which he secretly recorded and now uses as a ringtone much to his brother’s regret...)

So yeah, he likes them... buuut that doesn’t keep him from thinking they act a little weird sometimes... 

Mammon: *points to a unused tower close to the RAD building* Over there is the Tower of Sorrow. We use it for storage.

MC: Ah. Interesting… *starts writing in a notebook, muttering* It may need a few minor tweaks but the location is defensible...

Mammon: *stops* Ya say somethin’?

MC: *looks back up* Nope! Say, you’ve been to the Castle a lot haven’t you? Do you know any good ways in?

Mammon: Uhm… Why do ya want to know that…? *starts looking around for Lucifer*

MC: In case of emergencies. I like being prepared. 🙂

Mammon: Look, I don’t know what Lucifer might’a told ya…

MC: I’ll pay you a thousand Grimm for it.

Mammon: Well shit, ya want those maps with or without color?

... Yeeeah, that’s pretty weird… But it’s probably fine. I mean, as long as they keep giving him money, who’s he to complain? 🤷‍♀️

Leviathan

Also thought that they’d be a lot more like Satan but was pleasantly surprised that they were into more than books.

What else did they like exactly? Military strategy!!

It’s been a looong time since he’s been able to talk to someone who’s actually interested in all the battles he’s fought, both in the Celestial Realm and the Devildom, and their curiosity is kind of flattering...! Not a lot of people take his strategic prowess all that seriously anymore...

Plus, they are the BEST partner to have any turn-based strategy game. Hands down. He once got stuck on a level of D-COM for weeks until the MC walked in and mopped the floor with the AI!! They have a serious head for probability and tactics.

The House once made the mistake of letting these two be on the same team during a Hell Game and they absolutely demolished the competition. Mammon didn’t even get a single shot off before half his team was lost to a rigged paint grenade… It took a whole day to clean up… 

However, Levi’s also noticed some odd things about the human… He likes that they’re interested in his past but maybe they’re a little… too interested?

Levi: -and that’s how we defeated the Four Horsemen before they escaped from Purgatory. 

MC: Wow, Levi that’s seriously impressive!! *furiously scribbling on a notebook*

Levi: Well t-thanks… 😅 But, uhm... are you writing that down…?

MC: Hm? Oh no, just doodling. *they lift up the notebook to show a bunch of cute little sketches on the page… and not the magic-based invisible ink all over them…*

Levi: Oh you draw too? Can you do fanart???

MC: Eh, sometimes. But say Levi, can you tell me about your naval ranks again? I’m still really curious… *gets the pen ready again with a smile*

Satan

Oh, it's been a long game of cat-and-mouse between these two… and unfortunately, it’s been pretty addicting too.

He honestly had every intention of tricking the human into making a huge mess do he could bother Lucifer, but at every turn they proved just a hair too clever for him...

He once gave them a cursed book to “lend” to Lucifer, but they saw through it the moment they touched it and lifted the spell before handing it over.

He rigged a podium to spray glitter during one of Lucifer's speeches but the MC disconnected the trigger mic before he even got on stage. It was pretty dang frustrating...

At one point he got so desperate that, just as a test, he tried to trap them in the House's Music Room. Fortunately for them, it only took a few minutes to work out an escape. They even passed by him in the hallway with a wink!

It's confounding! It's infuriating!! 

...and it's so damn sexy... He should be furious but he’s just in awe!!

Add on that they know their art, literature, and multiple different crafts thanks to the tutelage of their adopted mother and that’s it. He’s finished. This boy is in love.

Truthfully though, a part of him is 90% sure that they’re also gathering state secrets… Like, they’re watching Barbs and Diavolo far too close for comfort - but he just can't bring himself to care. 🤷‍♀️

The MC could walk into his room one day and say, "Hey, do you want to help overthrow the monarchy with me?" and he dreads it because deep down he knows that he wouldn’t say no…

Take some notes, kids. Some bad influences get you to drink or do drugs. Others pull you into a centuries long conspiracy to destabilize and topple rival realms from within… But he has fallen for their brain hard. Devil help them all…

Asmodeus 

They’re pretty clever, he’ll give them that, but uh… Are they a little off to anybody else?

Asmo is a charmer by birthright so he has a bit of nose for when someone’s just a liiittttle too nice… Not much of a nose mind you, because he can be thrown off by compliments himself, but enough to think that the MC might be a little too… “kind” for their own good...

First off, who wants to spend that much time with Levi?? They don’t even seem that interested in anime! They just keeping asking him for old war stories…

Then all the sucking up they do to Diavolo and Barbatos? Look, he gets it. Diavolo is a delicious piece of man-hunk and his butler could give him a lesson or two in sweet-talk (and he has), but they seem to be just a little too… nosy.

Of course, Asmo’s suspicions disappear pretty quickly after they start to spoil him with spa nights and beauty secrets they picked up from “casual research” into the subject.

And you know, get a little Demonus in Asmo and start massaging his back? Oh, sweetie he’ll sing like a bird!! … with gossip. Singing with gossip.

Asmo: So I’ve heard that Lucifer has been spending more time at RAD than usual… His whole club is talking about it, they think he’s meeting with some witch!

MC: Hm, is that so? *works on a knot near his shoulder blades* What do you think?

Asmo: Ooh~! Right there, MC! *purrs and lays his head on his arms* Well come on, this is Lucifer we’re talking about! I’m sure he’s just working.

Asmo: Hmm... though come to think of it, I think I heard him asking Barbatos for the spare keys to the Tower of Sorrow…

MC: Oh really? Huh. *works out the knot and gets up* I just remembered that I left some papers with Satan... I’ll be right back.

Asmo: You’re going already??

MC: *waves him off quickly* I’ll be right back, Asmo. *hurries out the door to do totally on-the-up-and-up things… surely*

Beelzebub 

Honestly he doesn't like this one… But not for the reasons you'd expect.

He agrees with everyone else that they seem a little shady, but Solomon and Simeon are too so it's not like that's anything new... 🤷‍♀️

No, no. He dislikes them because they're the person who FINALLY figured out how to keep him from eating all the food in the kitchen!!

Turns out that the trick was to put a teleportation charm on the fridge door that would send all the food away if it’s opened after a certain time of night… 

And where does it go? The Purgatory Hall fridge. And where does the Purgatory Hall food go…? The HoL fridge…

It doesn’t sound so bad until you remember that it means half of their fridge is now Solomon’s leftovers…. 🤢

After they put the same kind of spell on the pantry, it was all over… He couldn't get midnight snacks from the House anymore… Everything was contaminated by Solomon…

The MC is a nice enough person, he doesn’t have a lot of complaints about them, but he wants them to leave. Now. This is inexcusable… He’s so hungry… and he doesn’t want to die by “goulash” or whatever Solomon calls his latest culinary catastrophe… He’s still too young for death… 😓

Belphegor 

In a way, he absolutely could not have asked for a better person to help him get out of that attic.

… In another way, he got one of the worst possible people to try and kill... Like. They saw through his scheme sooo fast…

How was he supposed to know that the human had training in body language and sniffing out lies???

Getting the door open was a piece of cake for them. They knew enough magic to undo the seals and just rummaged around Lucifer's stuff long enough to find the key to the door. He could not have found a more competent individual for a break out, really.

It’s just… well he didn’t expect to go from locked in a room like a prisoner to tied up in enchanted rope, still like a prisoner but now mobile. 😑 

They even used his own hug ruse against him! They caught his wrists when they got close and tied him up before he could shake them off...

Admittedly, it wasn't exactly the best look for them either - what with walking Belphegor downstairs to the others like a one-man-prison-caravan but they're as silver-tongued as they are sly so they talked their way out of it beautifully… 

And like hell was he going to trust them after that!! And not even Beel liked them so something had to be up...

Well, you want a detective? Look no farther than Belphie (no seriously, it’s in the canon). He can put things together pretty fast when he puts his mind to it and watching the MC for a while gave him enough proof to work off of...

He always knew that, humans were bad news and the MC just proved it to him all over again. They are bad news, bad bad news and they’re going to-!

Overthrow… Diavolo…? Is that what he is getting from them…? Huh…

Wait a second, MC. You might just have him interested… 😏

[xcrystalzero]

so, when are you taking me out?

characters included: kaeya, zhongli, diluc, childe, albedo, venti, xiao

summary: some modern au first date scenarios with the wonderful genshin boys!

Kaeya takes you barhopping. Quality time with you and alcohol in the same night? Can't get better than that. Of course, just sitting around at one place would be boring, so he makes a plan. At the beginning of the night, he presents you with a paper map, certain locations marked in red pen with lines connecting them. The places marked are all bars of pubs in the area that he recommends and wanted to take you too at some point in time, so why not all in one night? He asks if you think you can manage in that infuriatingly smooth voice of his and you huff, turning it into a challenge. Certain benchmarks on the path have little notes scribbled next to them.

"first person to find a person wearing purple gets their next drink free"

"rock, paper, scissors. winner picks the loser's next drink."

It looks like it took a lot of work to come up with, which is somewhat out of character for this normally lazy guy. What can he say though, when it comes to you, things are different.

Zhongli brings up the new art gallery that opened down the street. It seems interesting, he points out, at which point it's in your hands to ask him if he's free that weekend to go. Despite not knowing a single thing about the theme or pieces going in, he still seems to know a strange amount of history about the most random pieces, rattling off facts that leave you staring at him open-mouthed in confusion. Who is this guy? Eventually, someone hears him blabbering and comes over to talk to him about it. Turns out, the two of you attracted the literal owner of the gallery who draws Zhongli into conversation. It goes on for a little while and after being given basically a free pass by the owner to come back when they add new exhibits, you two take your leave. Surprisingly, Zhongli feels a little bad about spending the time he meant to spend with you talking to someone else, and insists on treating you to dinner. While you doubt the man even remembered his wallet, you're not going to reject such a sweet offer.

Diluc thinks there's nothing wrong with being traditional and takes you out to the classiest restaurant you've ever set foot in. He's frighteningly punctual, ringing your doorbell at 8 on the dot, dressed in a pressed collared shirt with a bouquet of roses in his hand. Despite his actions though, he seems strangely nervous, glancing towards you multiple times on the drive to the place with a faint blush on his cheeks, though he doesn't say anything. He has everything spot on, from pulling out your chair for you to carefully listening to your waiter's wine recommendations despite hating the stuff. About halfway through the date, you can't help but chuckle softly. Diluc Ragnvindr, man of actions over words with a loathing for unnecessary interactions, is making small talk with you. All it takes is your hand laying gently atop his own and those forced words stutter to a halt. Startled eyes turn to you and you can't help enjoy this flustered side of the usually stoic, composed man.

"Diluc darling, you know you can relax right?"

He doesn't, but you don't mind.

Childe wants someone who can match his energy, so to test you, he picks you up bright an early for a day at the amusement park. He warns you outright that theme park days with him are not like a leisurely family holiday wandering about and nibbling on cotton candy. No, he has a list of all of the scariest rides the park offers typed into his notes app and he is dead-set on hitting them all before the day is over. Sure, there can be a few breaks for overpriced theme park food and ice cream cones that melt all over your hands immediately, but that is not what he's here for. The day is basically him dragging you around the park at the speed of sound, jumping into the shortest lines you come across, even if the rides aren't on his list, "just because". By the end, you're both sitting on a park bench, completely wiped out, throats rubbed raw by all of your screaming, but content because every single item on the list has been crossed off. That being said, there's a few small rides you missed along the way in your hurry that you kind of wish you stopped at. You turn to Childe and realize that your cheeks hurt from smiling for too long. His eyes are alive as he turns them to you before grabbing your wrist and pulling you back onto your feet.

"There's still some time left, let's finish this!"

Albedo wishes you could just meet in the lab he works at, but he compromises on a local coffee shop. It's that sort of cute place that influencers are always looking for but only locals really know about. The date doesn't really seem like a date when it starts. Albedo does offer to buy you coffee, but then you two just kind of go back to work for a little while? Obviously, he's quite dedicated to his work so he has no problem just working on it for hours on end, but you're a busy bee as well and have things you need to get done by the end of the week. Eventually though, one of you will say something mildly conversational, and then the work is tossed immediately to the side. Albedo isn't the biggest fan of most people, or social interaction in general. but with you, it comes easily. You two sit there until the place closes, talking, and people-watching, and pretending that you're still being productive. He extends an invitation to you to come back to his place as the cafe closes and even though you still blush at the idea, you're pretty sure that it was an innocent suggestion. Maybe you'll take him up on it.

Venti drags you to his friend's friend's gig in the basement of some trendy hipster comic store. As far as you know, he doesn't know any of these people, but he makes conversation like they're his best friends. There isn't a bar, but there is a bowl of strange orange liquid that Venti brings you a cup of and that you discard after a single sip that tastes like battery acid. There's a group that you assume is the band standing in the center of the floor, the singer belting at the top of her lungs words you can't understand but it's okay because Venti is beside you with his infectious grin and his hands that reach out to grasp your own, pulling you into a weird swaying motion that you think might be dancing? It feels more like floating though, as you two make your way to the front of the crowd. Venti starts yelling requests to the band, some of which they actually fulfill which has the two of you singing along at the top of your lungs. Maybe you're being disruptive, and maybe people are staring at you like you're crazy, but you are young and happy and together and that's all that matters.

Xiao picks the safe option and asks you out to the movies. You kind of expect him to chose whatever new action flick just hit the market, but instead, he chooses a cute animated film about an inflatable robot doctor. It's unexpected but exceedingly cute so you're not complaining. He's a little quiet when you first meet up, barely exchanging pleasantries before he excuses himself to buy you two some popcorn. About halfway through the movie though, you're laughing softly at whatever is happening in the movie and you can just tell that he's looking over at you. So, you do the expected thing and reach over to gently pull his hand into yours, intertwining your fingers. You feel him stiffen for a moment before he relaxes, giving your hand the smallest squeeze back. And then he doesn't let go of you for the rest of the movie.

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

another helping of living w/ bakugou thoughts:

pls i am so sorry, i feel like i bombard y’all with these constantly, but u don’t understand, he literally lives in my brain full time

- if you’re rolling your sleeves up, to wash your hands before dinner, he’ll whack your hands away and do it himself. very much “you’re takin’ too long, idiot. i wanna eat already. let me do it.”,, don’t be fooled tho, you could do it in 2.5 seconds and he’d still open his mouth. bc it has absolutely nothing to do with u and everything to do with him wanting to be close to you

-ik he watches the mha equivalent of the history channel. i just know it. dude is a grandpa at heart, n im so confident he would 100% sit down and watch a 3 hr docu on like, old weaponry or some nerdy shit

-bakugou is annoyingly arrogant, but only about things that don’t matter. like, he’ll fully sit in front of you and tell you he’s stronger/faster/smarter in passing conversation,, but when he does actually impressive shit??? the man clams up. absolutely clams up the second you praise him, trying to brush off whatever ridiculous feat he just pulled to protect u with a “It’s not that big a deal, shut up about it already, dumbass.” 

- pls mans is an absolute simp. u ask him to do something and he’s on his feet in a second. ofc he’s complaining but he’s also then following that up by doing things you didn’t even ask him to do. fan behavior honestly.

-when you’ve had a bad day, he’ll make u food and throw blankets in the dryer for u. don’t expect much verbal comforting from him, bc obviously, but he’s pretty good with actions. you always feel a little warmer after he’s wrapped you in a blanket n fed you something ungodly spicy

- i have absolutely no basis for this but ik he secretly watches kids movies. like, if it’s animated then he’s there. ofc no one is allowed to find out about this ‘embarrassing’ behavior tho, except maybe you. maybe. if you accidentally happen to see it bc he’d never tell u himself.

- he’s a beast to wake up in the morning, but he’s a lot more easy to convince if u pet his hair. or rub his back/shoulders. maybe even kiss his neck. look, u cannot tell me that he doesn’t want to be absolutely coddled in the morning- especially when he can get away with it so easily. 

-bakugou always pulls ur legs into his lap if u sit down next to him. pls he’s so weird, he’ll just like, tap his fingers on ur calves absentmindedly while he’s watching tv

-he probably created a playlist of songs ur ‘allowed’ to play around him. meaning, it’s only the songs on ur phone that he likes 🙄

-bakugou always takes his work phone calls outside. like if his phone rings he’ll just stand up n walk tf out the door to take it. even if it’s cold. u ask him once about it n he just “Work stays at work. This is my fuckin’ home. Now shut up about it already.”

-you’ve never once seen this man wearing socks around the house. don’t ask me, i cannot explain this whatsoever, but i just kno this man walks around constantly barefoot 🤢🤮 unfortunately.

-he’s like, the most functional person ever in almost every aspect, but the stuff katsuki is bad at?? pls he is hopelessly bad. like, lets say art stuff. omg he just doesnt have the patience for it, okay, so say goodbye to any dreams of cute lil couple’s crafts. like, he’ll sit there while u do yours, but his will look like utter shit

- during the week, katsuki is either at work, training, or at home. pls, he works so hard during the day that i highly doubt he’s anything but an absolute homebody during the work week.

- bakugou gets pissy if u re-arrange any of the furniture on a whim. pls he likes comfort and familiarity n if he stubs his toe on the stupid coffee table one more fucking time, he’s going to scream

-its a rare occurance,, especially bc of the crazy hours he works,, but bakugou rlly likes making dinner for u to come home to. he just likes to feel like he’s taking care of u tbh

-he still goes to bed at like 8:30. or thats what u think, but rlly he just goes to sit in your room and have some time to himself for a bit. as much as he loves u, he prob still needs some alone time to recharge

-bakugou takes meticulous care of any plants u have in the house. like he’ll water them on a strict-ass schedule, n preen them when necessary. pls the way he’ll curse them out if they even dare to wilt under his care?? very much “What the hell, you bitch? ‘m doin’ everything fuckin’ perfect! Grow already!”

-katsuki is such a little bitch when he’s sick. he’ll be running like a 103 temp, brain literally melting, and still trying to get up and work out. the only way u can get him to chill the hell out is if u take a nap with him. ofc that means u always get sick too,, but hey- lil sacrifices right??

-he never lets you get the door. like, if there’s a knock n neither of u knows who it could be,, pls he’s on his feet so fast. waving u away n looking thru the keyhole w/ sm suspicion

-he has his spot on the couch, n u will not find him sitting anywhere else. like, that’s his spot. u better pray for anybody who mistakenly takes it

-bakugou doesn’t like dirt or grime, so he won’t allow you or himself, to sit on your bed with clothes that have been outside. like, even if you’re just sitting on top of the covers, he’s gonna throw a fit and demand you change your clothes first bc “No way in hell am I gonna let your dumbass dirty up my bed.”

-katsuki rlly likes when it storms outside. he’ll go sit in front of the window and watch the rain, sipping on a warm drink while he waits for more thunder. 

-living with bakugou is incredibly frustrating, bc he’ll just show up with new skills all of the goddamn time. like you’ll be like, “hmm i’d love to remodel the bathroom someday”,, and the very next weekend bakugou is meticulously re-tiling the bathroom floor by hand, probably also painting the walls in a new color, maybe even installing a new sink just to spruce it up. n then he’ll just present the entirely new, upgraded room with such weird nonchalance that it pisses u off. pls and if you watch him while he does these little projects, with all the weird precision and skill he suddenly gains?? pls you’re sure he must be possessed by the ghost of a craftsman

- when he hangs out with the bakusquad, he’ll drag you along every time. he expects you to sit with him the entire time and act as a social buffer?? basically, someone’ll ask him a question, one he deems stupid and therefore not worth answering, and bakugou will just look at you expectantly. he’ll just stare at you blankly, hardly even blinking until you pick up the slack and answer for him. you call him out on this many times, but it doesn’t matter. it doesn’t change anything. he does this over and over and over again

-bakugou gets really unsettled when you guys fight. like, he can’t sleep and he’s snapping at everybody, and is somehow more aggressive than usual. he always wants to just make up already, but the pride in the way won’t allow it

-he’s a weird stickler about intended furniture functionality?? like, the table is for eating, and the couch is for watching tv, and then only way you’re gonna get him to mix the two is if you ask him rlly rlly nicely

-finally- i have no basis for this one, but ik it in my heart: bakugou has a very intense fight with your thermostat nearly every single day. he swears up and down that it never ‘behaves’ for him, but every time you check it, it’s working perfectly fine

--/-- 

ahahhaa sorry y’all for the super random spam today,, but here were are back to our regularly scheduled bakugou programming,,,, bc idk if it’s obvious ur honor, but i love him

[fernweh-writes]

I don't know if you already did this before but- what about the slashers reaction to a S/O that works as a tatoo artist?

I have not done this before, but this also reminded me I do need to update my masterlist so thank you. It’s the holiday weekend so we’ll see how well I can write…

-Fern🌿

Tattoo Artist S/O

Michael Myers

He would 100% let you tattoo him. Michael has probably always wanted a tattoo and just never had the means to get one. It’s hard to walk into a shop when you’re a wanted murderer after all. Plus, he most likely doesn’t trust other people enough to let them tattoo him. So feel special, cause it means he trusts you enough to take off his shirt and let you repeatedly poke him with a needle.

Michael respects tattooing as an art form. It takes a lot of dedication and precision to permanently place an image upon a persons skin.

He also just thinks it’s neat. Especially if you’ve done some of your own tattoos. He likes the way they look on your skin.

Probably has a weak spot for any red tattoos you have. We all know Michael loves the color red, especially on you.

Bo Sinclair

Again, would let you tattoo him but only after he trusts you enough. He can’t have you suddenly going rouge and trying to harm him with a tattoo gun. And lets be honest with ourselves here, Bo has trust issues so it’s going to take awhile.

He’s very indecisive about what he would want though. Luckily you know him well enough to come up with a few rough sketches of different ideas and placements just… pinky promise it will look good.

Also loves the tattoos on your own skin. Especially the more intricate ones with a lot of detail. He thinks that tattoos are hot in general.

Would try and get you to tattoo his name on yourself.

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent is glad that his S/O is also into art. He thinks you’re really good at what you do and loves to admire your work. I also believe that Vincent has a bit of a superiority complex… so h would be glad you’re into different art forms than he is because he doesn’t feel like he can be outdone by you.

With that being said, he occasionally will give you tips on things like placement and critique the details you add to any pieces.

Still, you’re great at what you do and Vincent knows it. So, he would be happy to let you give him a tattoo. After seeing his twin knives I believe he would go for something snake or Greek mythology themed.

Thomas Hewitt

Thomas would want you to incorporate some of his scars into tattoos to make him feel better about them. Don’t worry about hurting him, this man has an insane pain tolerance and he won’t even flinch no matter how long the piece takes.

Also likes watching you come up with concepts. You always add so many little details to even the rough sketches. He really appreciates the time, effort, and attention you put towards what you do.

Even though his very traditional family is against tattoos, Thomas loves them. At night, he enjoys tracing the ones on your own skin. He probably has each and every one memorized down to the smallest detail at this point.

Brahms Heelshire

Our uppity little English boy would not want a tattoo. His parents were very high class and snobby people so they most likely raised Brahms to think tattoos were for hooligans. In all honesty, Brahms may not even know what a tattoo is…

Once he sees the ones that you have though, he’s less against them. His eyes hungrily take in the way the black ink decorates your delicate skin, and he’s hooked. Brahms absolutely loves to look at them.

Also loves to watch as you draw ideas for new pieces. You just look so cute when you’re focused and he’s mesmerized by your sketches.

Billy Loomis

This man + patchwork tattoos= the hottest thing in the history of ever

Would be more than happy to let you tattoo him…you are doing it for free right?

Billy thinks that tattoos are cool and they definitely add onto his intimidating look. If you compliment them it definitely gives his ego a boost as well. You won’t be able to save yourself from this narcissist after he catches you eyeing the ink on his skin.

Also thinks that the tattoos on your own skin are very sexy. Please show him each and every one of them. Yes even if you have to take your clothes off, that’s the best part y/n.

Stu Macher

Stu is more than happy to let you use him as a human canvas as long as you promise to make him look cool. He trusts you enough to not mess up after he’s seen some of the amazing work that you’ve done.

Doesn’t really care what kind of tattoo you put on him. He’ll give you all the creative liberty, occasionally throwing in a suggestion that he would think’d be cool.

Likes the tattoos you have on yourself as well. Stu would be the one to think giving yourself a tattoo is insanely cool! He would never be able to concentrate on little details if he was stabbing himself with a needle.

Would let you give him a very stupid, simple tattoo. Like the really dumb line art ones. Also 100% down for matching tattoos. Even better! Matching stupid tattoos!

Asa Emory

You cannot convince me this man doesn’t have a butterfly tattoo like the one harry styles has. He most certainly does, end of story.

He wouldn’t let you give him a tattoo in a very visible place. As a professor he has to keep up his neat and organized appearance. Coming off as professional is very important to Asa.

He’s fine with your tattoos though. He appreciates your attention to detail in each of the intricate tattoos on your skin. Asa even enjoys watching you draw your ideas on paper.

Jesse Cromeans

He loves tattoos and is more than down to let you give him one. Please do, he’ll even pay you if you want, he doesn’t care.

If you give yourself a skull tattoo Jesse takes it as a confession of your undying love for him. After all, you’ve pretty much marked yourself as his possession anyways.

Needless to say he also loves seeing the ink you have on your own skin. Tattoos are a big turn on for him.

[spxllcxstxr]

Yellow Sticky Notes • R.L

(Gif not mine)

Request: maybe an imagine where the reader is dating remus and puts sweet love notes into his books to constantly remind him how loved he is 🥺 — anon

Summary: Remus finds your lovely paper trail in his books while in the hospital wing

Warnings: mention of food, mentions of injuries, mention of full moon, Remus being a bit insecure, fluff

Word Count: ~1k

A.N: Do me a favor? Disregard the fact that Post It Notes were invented in 1980. Let’s just push that date back a tad...I honestly don’t know how I feel about this one? I love Remus so much so maybe that’s why I can’t seem to love the things I write about him because I feel I don’t do him justice. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Love you all ❤️

****

Remus sits alone in the hospital wing, all his friends stuck in class, while he’s forced to suffer in the all too familiar scratchy bed.

The full moon the night before gave him deep purple bruises all along his abdomen, a foot facing the entirely wrong way, and a brand new inflamed scar running from the bottom of his left earlobe all the way to the corner of his left eye.

When Madam Pomfrey reluctantly held up a mirror in front of him earlier in the morning, he almost snatched it out of her hands in a fit of rage and threw it across the room. He would’ve, if he wasn’t too weak to even lift up a finger.

But that was before James made his way down with a plate of breakfast, Sirius with an armful of jumpers, and Peter with a fluffy pillow from Remus’ very own bed.

You had come running down with his school bag filled to the brim with his favorite Muggle novels.

Just seeing them gave him the strength he needed to get through the rest of the day.

The four of them stayed as long as possible, but Slughorn made it very clear the last time they were late to class that detentions would be the least of your problems. He was threatening to write home, and no one wanted that.

You pressed a quick kiss to his lips before dashing out, his eyes trailing after your retreating form.

He sighs before picking up the novel closest to him on the nightstand. It’s one he’s almost done with, only a chapter or two left.

Remus opens to the dog-eared page, but notices something different about the paper.

Smack dab in the center of the page sits a pale yellow square, your elegant scrawl resting on top of it. Bringing the book closer to his face, he reads out your note.

Dear Remus,

Over the summer, Lily sent me a pack of these Muggle things called sticky notes. I think they’re absolutely fascinating, don’t you? There’s this sticky stuff on the back and that’s what makes it stick onto stuff. Sometimes I think these Muggles are geniuses! There’s one hundred in a pack and I’ve decided to use them all. Let’s see if you can find the other ninety-nine.

Love forever,

(Y/n)

Narrowing his eyes, he turns his head to look at the other books you brought down for him.

Slowly, he closes the book in his hands and grabs another one from his bag.

Sure enough, on the first page, there’s another pale yellow sticky note with your handwriting.

100 Reasons Why I Love Remus Lupin (even though the list is ever expanding)

#46. You’re extremely kind and willing to help everyone. From helping first years with Herbology homework to quizzing me on History of Magic revolts because Merlin there are too many, you’re always happy to help. I don’t know how much you hear it, so thank you.

His thumb traces over the dried ink, soaking in the words. His heart swells as he bites his lip.

He repeats the process with another book.

100 Reasons Why I Love Remus Lupin (even though the list is ever expanding)

#96. You never complain when I fall asleep after begging you to read to me in bed.

Remus snorts, remembering all the times you’ve begged him to read to you while cuddled up underneath a mountain of blankets and then hearing your light snores in the middle of the chapter. You liked to tell him it was because his voice was so calming, but he never really believed it until now.

There were four more books in his bag and he lifts the rest of them onto his bed as fast as possible. His body groans in pain, but that doesn’t matter to him.

100 Reasons Why I Love Remus Lupin (even though the list is ever expanding)

#29. You are so strong. So much stronger than you believe. And your strength gives me hope every single day.

A blush runs up his neck, painting his face pink. Maybe because his emotions are running rampant, but he feels tears welling up in his eyes.

He swallows roughly, picking up the next book, it’s spine cracked from use.

100 Reasons Why I Love Remus Lupin (even though the list is ever expanding)

#7. Your smile. The way it lights up the room. I know you don’t like it so much because your canines are tinted a bit yellow and your front tooth is crooked, but honestly, love, it’s beautiful. Every time it makes its way across your face I forget how to breathe and my heart skips a few beats.

Instinctively, said smiles grows wide. He must look crazy, sitting all alone, smiling maniacally at some novel but he couldn’t care less.

Excitedly, he grabs another.

100 Reasons Why I Love Remus Lupin (even though the list is ever expanding)

#15. How on my bad days you’ll curl up in bed next to me and just hold me close to your chest. You’ll let me cry and make a snotty mess on your jumper. I swear I’m an ugly crier and yet you still look at me like I’m the most stunning person in the castle.

This note has a little heart scribbled in the corner, something he finds extremely cute.

He quickly flips open the cover of the last novel.

100 Reasons Why I Love Remus Lupin (even though the list is ever expanding)

#78. Would it be shallow of me to say that you’re extremely attractive? Because Godric, Rem, you are so fucking amazing to look at. Like a work of art. And I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking about your scars. Well guess what Lupin, those are beautiful too. It’s my mission to kiss every single one of those scars and I’m no quitter.

He brings his hand up to trace over the new scar, wincing. Before, he was feeling insecure about another white monstrosity ripping through his skin, but knowing that soon enough your soft lips were going to trace over said line, he felt a little bit better about it.

Though his smile has turned into a goofy grin, he’s saddened by the fact he has no more notes to look at. It’s probably for the best, so he can save them for another time.

You don’t get around to visiting your boyfriend in the hospital wing until after classes.

James and Sirius had Quidditch practice, so they dragged Peter with them so you could have some alone time with Remus.

You open the large oak doors quietly, hoping not to disturb him.

You push your way through the white curtains surrounding his bed, greeted by the sight of him surrounded by the books you brought down for him.

“How was class, love?” Remus asks, patting the spot next to him.

You take your seat, pressing your shoulder to his own.

“Quite boring, honestly—“

You’re cut off by Remus’ chapped lips connecting to your cheek. He repeats his actions, peppering seven kisses all around your face.

“What was that for, Rem?” You ask, your fingertips hovering over the spots he kissed.

“One kiss for every lovely note.” He replies, flashing you that bright smile that just makes your knees weak.

“Well in that case,” You smirk, gazing into his honey brown eyes. “I can’t wait for the other ninety-three.”

•

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20

[ifmywishescametrue]

Choosing which prompt to send you from list was an impossible task!! They’re just all that good🥺 but if u feel inspired, maybe 15 or 76 would be really cute for stevetony?

Also, hope you have the best and loveliest day, friend 💖💝

thank you for sending one!! for #76 - "thank you for making me smile" - here's 1.6k words of getting together and absolutely terrible jokes

also i hope you have the loveliest day too 🥺

"I'm never listening to your advice again," Steve says the second he walks in the door. He lets it slam shut behind him and stomps off to his bedroom with another rough bang.

Tony and Bucky exchange a look on the couch, and Tony pauses their video game.

"Me or you?"

"Probably you," Bucky says. "Your advice is usually shit."

Tony scoffs, "Please, I'm a genius for a reason. All of my advice is amazing. Or are you forgetting that I'm the reason that you have a boyfriend right now?"

"One time in the last three years and you won't let it go."

"It'd be you and your right hand for the rest of your life if it wasn't for me."

Bucky rolls his eyes, "I would have made it work with Sam on my own eventually. But that's besides the point. I haven't given Steve any advice lately, so it has to be you. And in case you forgot, I don't even live here. He didn't know I was here when he said it."

"You don't live here?" Tony says with mock surprise. "Wow, you eat an awful lot of our food then."

Bucky grins, "It's payback for all the times you did the same to me before I moved out. Now go fix Steve. We'll rematch tomorrow."

"I didn't break him," Tony argues, even as he sets his controller down and stands from the couch. "I am a beacon of wisdom."

"You started a fire in the microwave twice last week, beacon."

Tony flips him off on his way to Steve's bedroom. He knocks once and ignores it when Steve tells him to go away.

Steve is sitting at his desk with his back to the door and his sketchbook open in front of him. He has a pencil in his hand, but the page is untouched.

"So, uh, what's up with you?"

"Nothing."

Tony nods slowly, "Right, okay. Care to share what advice of mine went wrong exactly? Cause I gotta say I'm drawing a blank."

"I was talking to Buck."

"Oh," Tony says in relief, then he frowns. "How'd you even know he was here?"

"When isn't he here? Our fridge is always empty because of him."

Tony smiles and flops down on Steve's bed, propping himself up against the pillows with his arms folded behind his head. He pushes the back of Steve's chair with his foot, making it spin his way.

"So what did Bucky do?"

Steve looks like he's about to say, but then he bites his lip and shakes his head instead. "Really doesn't matter."

Tony looks at him for a long moment, taking in all those subtle tells of his. The slight downturn of the corners of his mouth and the crease between his brows, but they don't come with any tension in his jaw or shoulders, which means he's more disappointed than angry. His eyes never hide hurt, but there's none to be found in them. Whatever it was didn't crush him, and Tony knows just how to fix him when he's like this.

He pokes Steve's arm with his socked toes. "Hey, Steve, why did the golfer bring two pairs of pants?"

Steve sighs, but there's already a hint of a smile. Further evidence to support Tony's hypothesis.

"Why, Tony?"

"In case he got a hole in one."

Steve presses his lips together and shakes his head. "That's not very funny."

"Why do bees have sticky hair?"

The look Steve gives him is long-suffering.

"Because they use honeycombs," Tony grins, and Steve relaxes back into his chair a little. "What kind of music do planets like?"

"Neptunes," Steve says, smirking a little, and Tony pouts dramatically.

"Nooo, how did you know that?"

"Used it on me two months ago. Remember when you broke the sink and you didn't want me to be mad at you anymore?"

"I also remember fixing the sink in the same day, but fine dwell on the fact that I broke it in the first place."

Steve laughs, and Tony feels the knot in his own chest loosen. He hates it when Steve's upset. It throws him off his own axis, because his world revolves around Steve's sun.

He gets up from the desk chair, and Tony shifts over to make room for him on the bed. They reach for each other's hands at the same time, interlocking fingers in the small space between them.

It's moments like these when the longing hits him the most. When Steve is this close, but it doesn't mean nearly as much to him as it does to Tony.

Sometimes he pictures what it would be like if he leaned over a little more. If Steve's eyes would flicker down to his lips, then away quickly like he didn't want to be caught. He wonders what Steve's cheek would feel like under his hand as he pulls his attention back, silently telling him it's okay to look.

It always stops there in his mind, right before a first kiss that he just knows would change his life. Guilt creeps in, because he should be happy with what he has. Happy with all of the pieces Steve lets him have now. It's more than most people will ever get.

"Thank you," Steve says. "You're the only one who can ever get me to smile after a day like today."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Tony asks, tilting his head to the side to look at him.

Steve bites his lip again, staring up at the ceiling. It takes a long moment for him to talk.

"There's somebody that I like, but they don't like me back. Not like that, anyway."

Tony's heart sinks, but he tries not to let it show. "You told them and they rejected you?"

Steve shakes his head, "No, I don't need to tell them to know how they feel. But Bucky said that I should find someone else to get over them, so I asked out that girl in my art history class."

"The one with the nose ring?"

"That's the one, yeah. We went for coffee this morning."

"How was it?" Tony asks, and more guilt accompanies the fact that he's actively and selfishly hoping Steve is about to say that it was awful.

Steve shrugs, "It was fine, technically. But then she tried to kiss me, and I sort of freaked out and ruined it. She looked at me like I was insane, and, god, it was so embarrassing, but I just couldn't do it when I know that I don't actually want anything like that from her. I didn't want to lead her on. It's not fair to her."

"Not fair to you either," Tony says softly. "You shouldn't force yourself to like someone you don't. And whoever the other person is, the one that doesn't want you back, they're missing out on someone really amazing, and they're stupid to let you go."

Steve smiles, but it's tinged with sadness as he turns his head to look at Tony. "I don't know about that. They can do better than me."

"Hey, no, don't say that. You're incredible. You're funny and smart and gorgeous, and I've never met anyone as kind as you in my entire life. There isn't anyone better than you, okay? And if they don't see that, then fuck them. Clearly, they're dumb as hell anyway," Tony rants, getting progressively louder as he goes and his free hand gesturing wildly.

"They're kind of a genius, actually."

Tony rolls his eyes, "Yeah, sure they are. Way to miss the point."

Steve's smile turns amused. "No, but they really are."

"What is this?" Tony asks with narrow eyes. "Are you trying to make me jealous by saying you know other geniuses? Cause I'm the only know-it-all in your life. I claimed the spot. It's mine."

"Definitely yours," Steve agrees, and he shifts a little to turn on his side. With his left hand, he tentatively reaches up towards Tony's face, and Tony's breath catches at the brush of fingertips against his cheek. "I think I might have been wrong, though, about how they feel about me."

It takes a few seconds for it to click in Tony's, but even when it does he doesn't believe it just yet.

"Why's that?"

"Apparently they think I'm incredible, and they get really angry when anybody else thinks otherwise."

Tony smiles softly, "Yeah, they really don't like that."

Steve's thumb strokes across his cheekbone, then his fingers drift back to run through his hair.

"They think I'm funny, too, but they've also got a terrible sense of humor, so I don't know how accurate that is."

Tony laughs, then says, "You know what I think?"

"What's that?"

"I think you should kiss them. Just go for it and see what happens."

Steve smiles, slowly leaning down, "You really think so? It could make things weird. We might not be able to be friends anymore."

Tony puts his hand on the nape of Steve's neck, drawing him further in until he's a scant inch away. "Trust me, they don't really want to be just a friend, anyway."

He finds out that Steve's skin is smooth and warm beneath his palms, and his lips are unexpectedly soft. His hands are constantly in motion, slowly mapping out Tony's hips and sides and back like he's memorizing the feeling. As if it's his one chance to learn what Tony feels like he won't let it get away from him. But it won't be the only one. There will be second, third, and hundredth kisses, because Tony knows better than to let someone like Steve slip away.

"Hey, Tony?" Steve whispers after.

"Yeah?"

"What's the best thing about Switzerland?"

Tony smiles, "What?"

"I don't know, but the flag is a big plus."

They stare at each other, and Steve is the first to crack, but his laugh makes Tony follow right behind him.