#thealanabloom

[noteasilyswayed-arc]

     FORMERLY THE-ALANA-BLOOM   //  loved eternally by jessica.

[yankeeballs-a]

A  LONG  TIME  SINCE  HE’D  LAST  COOKED  FOR  SOMEONE ,      since there’d last been an occasion ,        a person he’d liked enough to put all nonexistent culinary skills into the preparation of one evening .        but she’d smiled like she had ,        features he finds not only appealing but for some reason strangely  calming  too        (   he can see why she’d be an amazing psychiatrist   )        forming a smile that had just immediately tickled the question from his tongue ,        without much thinking .        and now ,        after the steak had turned out  fairly decent  and they’re sitting opposite each other ,        it feels good ,        domestic almost        (   he’d missed that   )        and he’s glad he’d asked .        

they’re finished with the food when he’s leaning back in his chair ,        digit againt lower lip as if pondering ,        while he watches her .           ‘     so .  .  .        are you satisfied   ?     ’           brow’s raised for a moment ,        his other hand lazily swirling the wine in his glass ,        before a  mischievous ,        partly amused smirk curls lips .         ‘    did i please   ?     ’

@the-alana-bloom   gets  a  date  .

[cruelonlytobekindarchived]

@the-alana-bloom (x)

“You done psychoanalyzing me, doctor?”

It’s not venomous, but it’s definitely not pleased. The Stark heir(ess) is in the midst of making breakfast for the both of them-- they’re constantly fallen into a comfortable silence and conversation, alternating between the do. Stark talks because talking is her second-nature-- it’s relieving, and it reduces her anxiety to hear herself out loud. People think that she’s just a blow-hard who wants to intake her own voice, but mostly it’s calming her endlessly stretched, lengthy anxiety. The kind that rolls on and on as far as the eye can see.

(Today is an okay pain day. The kind that could teeter between a 4 or a 6, given to how her stress levels alternate. Right now, little white undershirt and black bike shorts, she’s hovering between a 4 and a 5. The Arc is always worse when the weather’s cold.)

“No. I’ve been as myself as I usually am,” Which means she goes through manic cycles and then depressive ones, so that’s likely a veiled are you feeling stable statement. It sets her teeth a little on edge. As far as she’s concerned, everyone is the enemy, most of the time, “Tell me if you wanna instigate something, doc. I’ll pencil you in for a few hours. I’m a pretty good time.”

She winks with a pleasant hum, sets a plate of strawberry pancakes and take a sip of (very spiked) coffee, pouring some more batter into the pan. She doesn’t know why she’s still relentlessly flirting like it hasn’t been years and Alana isn’t aware she’s less sleazy than this, but behold, here she is.

“If those are too sugary for you, tell me. I’ll make you another stack, gorgeous.”

[vikingprince-blog]

Did you think I would forget?

@the-alana-bloom​ | continuation of one-sentence starter

Eric sensed the vulnerability behind her eyes, her gestures. God, she was so soft. It was his instinct to protect her, to shield her, to reassure her. But it seemed he wasn’t very good at it, if she thought he could forget her.

His gaze was steady as he watched her face. He didn’t look away, or get nervous. It was something that most people found off-putting about him. It was the way he was -- and always had been. The only exception to this rule was his maker, Godric. The only one who could truly bring Eric to his knees -- but he was gone, and had been gone for a long time now.

The vampire raised his hand to run his forefinger along her cheek. He knew she was trying to be strong. “How could I forget you?” He returned the smile, though nothing was hidden behind his. “Sometimes, Alana, I think the only one in this world who does not realize how unforgettable you are -- is you.”

Stepping closer, he gently cupped her face in his hands, mesmerized by her femininity, her beauty. “You don’t have to hide from me. Cry if you want to cry. I’m not going anywhere.”

[mistressnorth-a]

[ @the-alana-bloom​​ liked ]

         “It’s nice to cook for someone else again for a change. After the divorce, and with the kids at college, I got a little lazy I admit.” 

[starraised-archive]

modern au for @the-alana-bloom

Most people would say that Spock didn’t have friends -- that he didn’t have anyone other that patients or colleagues in his life, and that was mostly due to the professional but borderline painfully stoic demeanor he possessed. That being said, there were some people who were able to see the human side of him... but those few quickly realized that Connor had a heart, and a rather large one at that. 

So when he arrived at Alana’s, he was prepared: tie loosened, jacket unbuttoned, and sleeves rolled. He also had grabbed a six pack of a new local brewery’s first batch of a grapefruit IPA -- it attracted his interest enough that Spock could only hope Alana would enjoy it as well. The package store also had tortilla chips and salsa and Spock couldn’t help himself, so they were ina bag around his wrist. Pale knuckles knocked at her door, and he even offered her a small smile once he finally saw her.

“I heard you were going to be here late... I thought you would enjoy some company. I brought refreshments --” he showed her the beer and snacks, dark eyes a little brighter. “May I come in?”

[goodwillprofessor-archive-blog]

@the-alana-bloom:

She frowns. Not because of WHAT he said, necessarily. In fact, the way he said I’m not okay was quite possible the most innocent & adorable way anyone could say such a thing, without REALLY saying it. But it was the fact that she knew what he meant. Jack—–from what little Alana had gathered from him in the short amount of time they had gotten to know each other, she knew that he was the most ENTHUSIASTIC person on the face of the planet. He radiated joy & life. He————much like herself, was probably too stubborn to admit they weren’t okay. Or to even take it seriously.

‘ That’s fair. Sometimes I do that too. I mean, when is there not something inside of us screaming aaaaaa at least once a week? ‘ she’s smiling now. Deciding not to READ into the situation until she had to. Sometimes, she really did wish she could turn off DOCTORBloom. ‘ What’s got you screaming today? ‘ she asks. Nonchalant. Non invasive. Good.

     That’s the thing with most people; there’s always a part of them that’s screaming, controlled by a little meter; at the bottom end of the scale was a small aaaaaaa that’s so distant it may as well be shouted from the bottom of a canyon, heard only barely by those at the very top. Then it climbs the scale, and the internal screaming gets so loud that it forces its way out of the person’s mouth and becomes audible to everybody around. Jack was probably at the stage of aaaaaaaaaaaaa, which is not quite enough to to be of concern to anybody else, but enough that he might just fall from where he was standing and muffle it into whatever flooring was beneath him, probably because he broke his nose on the way down.

     ‘I haven’t slept in two days,’ he replies. The words are slightly slurred through his apparent excitement and sleepiness, but Jack tries his best to keep himself in tact. ‘I might have fallen asleep for half an hour some time this morning but if I did my dream was so realistic that I can’t be sure anymore. I’m on the verge of something, Alana, and it’s too early to say what, but I’m afraid that I’ll lose everything if I let myself give into sleep before I’m done figuring.’

[itsnotpatsy]

@the-alana-bloom liked the thing to probably cuddle This Mess.

She’s sitting here. On this couch. In this warm, bright home. Listening to the little doctor in the other room fetch something or another. She’d mentioned that she doesn’t drink, so she can only presume it’s non alcoholic or, god forbid, pie. Or. She doesn’t know.

She’s been in a stalemate with Alana’s dogs for twenty minutes anyway. A row of animals staring intently at her as she stares back. She’s still and immovable. Her hands are on the knees of her expensive jeans.

(Mother always said dogs were messy, no pets.)

“You guys think anything suspicious, you should know you’re wrong,” there’s a wink. She’s talking. To dogs. And her teeth, still falling out, are largely capped for their still humanistic facade. Her head turns up quick at the sound of feet on a floor, and she smiles.

“Your dogs are so well behaved.”