#I BOTH HAD WRITER'S BLOCK AND ALSO FELL ASLEEP AT MY DESK LAST NIGHT

[bullymagnet]

DAY SEVEN: Hallways

WELL... i’m a little late on this one. but whatever! 

FINAL DAY! EXCEPT NOT REALLY! a story about a world where soulmates are connected through their dreams by hallways. soulmates can pass through these hallways, but to their mates, they’ll always appear invisible in this dreaming world unless they’ve met once in the waking world. max and johnny are in this one.

               This idiot’s found a hallway into your dreams again.

               That’s the only commentary your mind makes as a mid-sized sedan goes floating lazily past your head, slow enough for you to pick out the graffiti written on its side: “EAT QUARTERS DAILY.”

               … You’re sure that said something meaningful at one point, like “EAT A BUTT,” or “xxx-xxxx CALL ME,” but you’ve “known” them for years and your… friend doesn’t seem to get that writing in dreams changes like the wind and you’ve almost never been able to read one of their messages as they intended.

               Over what sounds like an intercom across the city streets you’ve found yourself in, a bootleg MIDI rendition of Rick Astley’s Never Gonna Give You Up begins to play.

               … Then again. That’s probably not very important to them.

               “Son of a mother,” you whisper, rubbing your temples in attempt not to completely lose it. “You have rick rolled me for the last time.”

               Kicking and punching your way through a spontaneously manifested pile of packing-peanut filled boxes blocking the sidewalk, you take a moment to give a scoff of fatigued laughter about your situation.

               Hallways into each other’s dreams, they all say.

              If you have a soulmate, then you’ll have these hallways. The appear through doors, windows, mirrors, swimming pools, Looney Tunes-esque holes- just about any classical or non-classical means of going through could potentially lead to a hallway into the sleeping mind of your soulmate.

               Even though there’s a hallway in every dream you have, they can be hard to find, so it’s pretty rare that you bother seeking them out and slipping in to visit your soulmate. Not nearly as often as they come through your side.

               You’ve never seen or heard them- that’s just how the connection works. If you meet them in the real world at least once, you’ll be able to. But if that doesn’t happen, the only dream traces of your soulmate when they come through the hallway are the colored footprints they leave…

               And the stupid things they do.  

               You bust through into an unpopulated storefront after being up to your ankles in ball-pit balls outside. It’s dim inside and mostly empty, but this is the place you’ve decided houses the controls for the intercom system. You briskly walk across the music-room-esque carpet and hop the counter to the computer, shutting off the grating music echoing through the streets as quickly as possible.

               Now… Well, they can’t hear your voice, so yelling over the intercom would do nothing. Sighing, you just type out a message for them on the keyboard. It follows:

               HEY IDIOT. WHY DON’T YOU MAKE LIKE A TREE AND FIND THE NEAREST DOOR, GET YOUR BUTT BACK THROUGH THAT HALLWAY AND GET OUT OF MY DREAMS. I’M IN A NEW TOWN, TOMORROW IS MY FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL, AND I HAVE A LOT ON MY PLATE AS IT IS. HUGS AND KISSES, YOUR SOULMATE. PS STOP RICK ROLLING ME AND FIND A NEW MEME.

               You press enter, and you can hear the echoing voice of Microsoft Sam reading your message back to you out in the streets.

              You cross your arms and lean back. But the moment you relax, you hear a door swing open behind you. You turn to face it, and see a quick-fading trail of red footprints come through. The prankster themself.

               They stop for a moment, probably disoriented by the storefront you made up about three seconds ago, and probably by you. They take a step toward you, pause, and then a CD case materializes in front of where you imagine their face would be. It clatters to the floor, and they dash, leaving a hand print on the front desk as they book it toward the front doors.

               The doors swing open, and then close, and about five seconds later, a massive pile of snow comes down from the heavens, effectively snowing you in.

               God you hate them.

              You begrudgingly note, with a strange feeling in your heart, that you know you won’t, eventually, because that’s… also how this works. But for now. Yes.

               You turn around, shaking your head, and go to check out the CD case they left for you. You can’t make it out in the dark, so you scoop it up and squint down on it.

              On it is a terribly drawn spiky-haired smiling character that you sometimes see them draw, and an incomprehensible jumble of words that now says, “∞ SONGS?!???? ASTLEY.? beeb”  and must have at one point said something along the lines of, “RICK ASTLEY’S GREATEST HIT, BUT A LOT” because all else that’s on the CD case is a photo of Astley himself, winking sagely up at you.

               You wearily look up, studying the wall.

               You Cannot Imagine What Is On This CD.

               Your next morning is terrible.

               Apart from landing on a jerk’s face on your way to your first day of school, you woke up super late, you fell down the stairs a little, and you’re pretty sure all you managed to grab for breakfast was a can of soup and a bag of Pomegranate Thangs.

               But hey let’s get back to that landing on a jerk’s face thing right that part sounds interesting.

               The aforementioned jerk stands in front of you on the cracked sidewalk, miraculously alive and with a face covered in what you would assume was a tire track if you didn’t know it was the distinct imprint of your very own scooter, having indented his face not a minute ago. … Listen, you were texting while scooting, there’s a lot of ledges in this town… it’s actually a lot easier to accomplish than you’d think. Don’t beat yourself up over it. Well, you’re not, you feel pretty alright, but—

               “Okay kid,” the strange boy begins. “Listen up.” And you mutter under your breath that your name isn’t kid, it’s Max, but he doesn’t seem like the listening type.

              “You just landed on a very important face. Johnny’s face,” he goes on, and your brain takes special note of his name like it’s marking it off a grocery list. “My face.”

               He just keeps right on talking after that, but you kind of zone out to take him in. You’re probably not missing much. You’re pretty sure he fits right into the Bully character archetype.

               His hair is red. Bright red, and you’d say that it seemed kind of familiar, but you’re not psychic apart from the fact that your subconscious mind is forever linked to another human being’s. Your gay little brain says he’s handsome and you figure that’s true but would be more true if he wasn’t being so immediately intolerable in this moment. But it’s not that he’s drop-dead gorgeous or that he’s the most interesting man in the world, it’s something that you don’t quite knowingly notice but the narrative does. That you’re experiencing a kind of déjà vu that isn’t dizzying or vexing like it typically should be.

               That the moment you saw Johnny, you felt something unlock in your subconscious.

               … You think he just said he’s going to beat you up if you don’t give him 50 cents.

               It’s a strange two days that follows. You don’t get to sleep in the night that connects them.

              This school, this town- it’s like their culture, their social nuance, their infrastructure is just a few pixels askew from the lineart layer of reality. And in your first two round days here, you feel yourself sinking into the swamp of madness that is Mayview.

              Just about everyone you meet fits right into that madness, even the few “friends” that you make. But none of them seem to take quite as much utter glee out of being an agent of chaos as that Johnny.

              He does end up beating you up. Well, after an entire day of running away from him, you rise to his challenge… and then quickly un-rise. He beats you into the ground, essentially. That Bully archetype came with some pretty brute strength.

              He does give you a “life lesson” afterward, though.

              “Why take the maze,” he energetically asks, with shining eyes, as you wonder how many bruises you’ll be left with. “When you can bust on through the walls?”

              And it’s that lesson, his praise of your deciding to roll up your sleeves and accept his challenge to get beat up by him, and the special language of game-breaking logic that he seems to write and live by… that all seem intimately familiar to you. You’re not sure why.

              You think that’s probably because you’re already resigning yourself to a very long and very tiring fight-avoiding school year.

              He also breaks your scooter.

              The bulk of your second day goes off with about the level of interesting content you would expect in and that would likely be discussed at length had this story been a different medium and genre and universe.

              Though extracurriculars don’t hold you up until twilight like they did the first day, and housekeeping doesn’t hold you up indefinitely like the first night, you’re a pretty popular dude, and it’s not until about 3 AM that you manage to get the opportunity to sleep.

              But once you do, you’re out like a light.

               The vineyard you find yourself on is surrounded on all sides by thick, coniferous forest that seems to go on forever, but you can still taste the salt water in the air, and you can hear the waves and the seagulls of a beach that doesn’t seem to exist. You’re quick to realize it’s a dream.

               You get to your feet and brush the sand off your clothes, ducking under a low-hanging grape vine. You can see a beach house up ahead, and without much else to do but wander the acre of grape trellises sticking up out of the sand, you head toward it.

               The front door is unlocked when you reach the porch, so you walk into the house. Inside, the lights are off but it’s illuminated just fine by the daylight streaming in.

               You meander through the nautical-themed building. Nobody’s home. It’s not typical for you to be swarmed with dream characters in lucid dreams anyways. For now, you see what kind of interesting stuff is around here.

               After several rooms of treasure chests and seashell-covered guest beds alike, you walk by a rose-colored open door with a gaping wardrobe in the room inside. The wardrobe wouldn’t be so remarkable, though, without the homage that lies inside its open maw. There’s a hallway in there that breaks the laws of space. Your soulmate’s hallway. And so obvious, too.

               You cautiously walk into the room. Apart from the wardrobe and a screen door leading out onto the beach house’s back deck, it seems to be pretty empty. You approach the hallway wardrobe and peer inside. The wood floor is waxed and the tacky wallpaper is the same the whole way to the end. And there, down about twenty or thirty feet, is the open door of your soulmate’s mind. Green sky and yellow clouds.

               You can’t help but smile a bit and snort. Oh boy. They’ve been through here. Prepare for trouble.

               Turning around, you breathe to nobody in particular, “Guess I have…”

               You trail off. Turns out you failed a perception check and the room isn’t quite as empty as you thought it was. In the other half of the room, standing awkwardly in the middle of the dusty floor holding a boombox, is Johnny.

               “… Guests,” you lamely finish.

              He’s dressed in boxers and a Superman shirt, and he’s staring unblinkingly at you. He drops the boombox in his arms and it fizzles out of existence. He is very still.

              “Oh, great,” you mutter, bemused. Make it double. “Like I needed a Johnny on top of this.”

              He furrows his brows and breathes something, a one word question that you can’t make out from across the room. Wow, you’ve never seen the real him think this hard. The way he looks at you… it’s strange.

               Whatever. Dream characters are always weird. Johnny is extra weird.

               Deciding to clear the area before things kick off, you make a casual beeline for the screen door and the deck beyond it. From the corner of your eye, the dream Johnny tenses up the moment you begin taking steps again.

               “H-Hey. Hey!” You glance back. He steps toward you hesitantly. His eyes are locked on you and the ground behind you like homing missiles or something. “Max… Who’s dreamin’ about you?!”

               “No one’s dreaming about me,” you sigh, almost automatically. “I’m dreaming.”

               And you keep walking.

               And you stop walking.

               That question. That’s a really specific question. You pause in front of the door for a moment, just thinking, before looking over at him. He’s still gaping at you. His eyes are as wide as saucers and intense. You turn to face him fully, and squint.

               There on the floor, where he’d just taken a few steps toward you, are several fading red footprints.

               Nope. No way.

               Your thoughts are racing, but your words come out almost calm, however firm. “Johnny… are you a dream character?”

               His eye twitches. He sort of absentmindedly grabs the sides of his boxers in his fists. “Wh-what’s that mean?”

               You inhale and exhale.

               “Johnny,” you begin again, very slowly and very carefully. You take a few steps toward him. “Where did you come from.”

               Bit by bit, like his body is lagging behind his mind, he raises his arm and gestures over your shoulder with his finger, pointing toward the rose-motif wardrobe and the plain, stretching hallway within.

               And he says, confused and mystified like he’s unraveling a riddle and as his wide eyes seem to take the whole of you in like this, right here, is the first time he’s actually seeing you, “The hallway.”

               The hallway.

               Johnny, the boy you met by nearly concussing with a metal scooter. Johnny, who chased you three blocks down Mayview trying to beat the snot out of you, one as a member of a human totem pole. Who later beat the snot out of you (not as a member of a human totem pole). Who not only gave you change for the money he extorted and advice after he beat the snot out of you, but advice that you employed. Who is vexingly somehow the most irritating being you think you’ve met to date, but whose powers of frustration never stopped you from considering him handsome. Johnny, the energetic boy with the loud gang and the loud red hair and the fictionally golden eyes and the devious smile who may as well be the human equivalent of a far-too-hyper inferno.

              Johnny came through the hallway.

              Johnny’s your soulmate.

              You’ve gotta be kidding you.

#my fics #bullymagnet #SORRY I'M LATE #I BOTH HAD WRITER'S BLOCK AND ALSO FELL ASLEEP AT MY DESK LAST NIGHT #I REALLY WANTED TO BE ON TIME... #anyway this isn't my WITTIEST writing ever #it's sort of a little... ''people sitting in chairs'' if you know what i mean #but hey all these fics have sort of been first drafts without editing #next time i'll be way more prepared! #fics

[robinofinashiro]

prompt/note: i wanted to a break between the AoT posts so i wanted to post a prompt about the BNHA bois forgetting about your birthday and them attempting to make it up to you. / the req status should be opened soon if any of you want to start of thinking of reqs you want to send me. fandoms and rules are pinned to the top of my blog. also, for any other blog writers, isn’t the beta testing their doing super fucking annoying.

request status: CLOSED

pairing: bakugou katsuki, todoroki shouto, iida tenya

you were bit more dressed up more than usual today and bakugou noticed. he didn't say anything as he thought you were just getting more dolled up for the hell of it. he gave you a quick compliment and went on his way, stating that he had a few things to do with Kiri before the day ended

you got a bit down, feeling that maybe he had forgotten. you quickly dismissed that thought, realizing that maybe he was planning a birthday party for you and didn't want you finding out.

the rest of the day flew by, an excited feeling bubbling up inside you as you inched closer to the end of the day. you wondered by Bakugou was planning on doing for your birthday. you knew Bakugou wasn't good with planning such lovey dovey things but since it was your birthday, you figured he must've done something.

you went to Bakugou's room, knocking on the door softly as you heard a rough come in. you were about to say hello when you realized he was in training close, ready to go workout with Kiri.

+

"where are you going?" you asked, twiddling with your fingers. he didn't bother to even look back at you, "training with Kirishma," he murmured.

you sighed, "oh, I just thought you would be able to come out with me tonight," you tried to say. he shook his head no. "no, I already told you I was going to train with weird hair so stop asking!" he screamed, making you jump a bit.

Kirishima gave you a sympathetic look as you gave Bakugou one last look and walked out of his dorm.

you walked into the hallway, seeing Uraraka and Momo walking out of Momo's dorm with a small cake. they immediately saw your tear stained face and put the cake down.

"hey, what's wrong?" Momo asked. you sighed, trying to get out what you were saying but the sobs that racked your body wouldn't let you, "wait, are you trying to say that Bakugou forgot your birthday?" Uraraka asked.

you nodded, "I thought he was trying to throw me a surprise party but I walked in there, asking him if he wanted to do anything and he kicked me out saying that he was going to workout with Kirishima," upon you finishing your sentence, Bakugou and Kirishima walked out.

Uraraka gave Bakugou a death glare as Momo pulled you into her arms and walked you into your dorm. Bakugou paid no mind to them as Kirishima looked to him and sighed. "pretty crappy day for her, huh?" Kirishima asked, looking at your dorm room door. Bakugou shrugged, "she'll be fine later. she's probably mad about earlier," he said, not putting much mind on it.

Kiri gave him a look, making Bakugou confused, "I guess. just sucks she spent her birthday trapped in her room but whatever you said bro," Bakugou stood in place, wide eyed realizing that today was in fact your birthday. "

don't tell me you forgot." "FUCK."

Kirishima slammed his hands against his face, not wanting to see Bakugou's face. Bakugou felt his heart drop, feeling a huge sensation of guilt and sadness washing over him. "that's why everyone was surrounding her desk this morning," Kirishima nodded, shaking his head in disappointment, "I don't know dude, you better figure it out before it gets worse," he mentioned before walking away.

Bakugou walked into his room, slamming the door and laying his bed. he had no idea how he was going to even start to apologize to you but he knew he had to do it tonight.

he knew Kirishima had a point.

he hadn't been the most diligent in trying to be with you recently and he kept shoving and cancelling your dates last minute to train or get work done. Bakugou was the one who asked you out first and promised you he would try his hardest to make it work out and now you were crying on your birthday.

the night was coming in and he walked over to your door, quietly knocking on it. you didn't bother to open it, knowing it was Bakugou who was more than likely to be the one who was knocking.

you flipped to the other side of the bed and ignored the knock, figuring he would leave you alone if you didn't answer. Bakugou knew that you kept the spare key for your dorm room in the small pot by your door. he dug for it, panicking that maybe you had moved it but as he finally found it, he grabbed it and unlocked it.

“hey,” his rough voice said. you shut your eyes, pretending to be asleep so he could leave quicker. he went by your side of the bed, realizing that you had fallen asleep, “damn, I didn’t think you’d be in bed this early.”

he sighed, sitting on the edge of your bed.

“listen, I know you probably don’t care for what I have to say but you mean a lot to me, idiot. I know I fucked up, big time actually but I want to make it up to you. please? I thought maybe we could get dinner, let me treat you right and like I’m supposed too.”

Bakugou moved a piece of your hair out of the way and kissed your hair softly. a part of you wanted to continue to be upset at him but hearing his apology and what he wanted to do to make it up to you, you wanted to wake up.

“I guess I’ll be leaving before Aizawa kills us.”

you shuffled in place, pretending to wake up, making Bakugou turn his head around to look at you. “Suki?” you whispered, rubbing your eyes.

he made his way back to you, sitting on the edge of bed, “I’m sorry for what I did today,” he murmured, not even wanting to look at you in the eye, “I’ve been a dick, more than usual recently and none of it has been your fault. can I make it up to you?” he asked.

you stayed silent for a moment, “Suki, I understand that you’ve been a lot more busier than usual but that isn’t my fault. it really hurt that you forgot my birthday and it hurts even more that you’ve been putting me in second place,” you murmured, trying not to sound hurt.

Katsuki nodded.

“I know. I promise I’ll do better.”

he gave you a kiss on the cheek before getting up from the bed and getting ready to leave, “love you Suki’,” you said, finding a comfortable spot in bed again, “you better,” he laughed before leaving.

you were beyond livid. todoroki had been anticipating your birthday for weeks now. the two of you were planning on going out to dinner if Aizawa had given you both permission, which he gladly allowed but two days before the outing came and he wasn’t having a good day. insults were being said and now the two of you were angry to say the least.

you figured that maybe by Saturday, he would have forgotten about the argument and the date would still have happened but what you hoped for fell through and now it was noon on Saturday and you were in your room crying to Kaminari of all people. 

he rubbed your back, trying to get you to calm down as he told you to try and forget about the argument. he knew the two of you liked each other a lot but he couldn’t help but side with you on this one so he suggested a plan!

he took Todoroki’s spot for the day and the two of you went out for your birthday. since no one else had gotten permission to leave for the day, only Kaminari was able to do this but in the backside of your mind, you knew Todoroki was going to be upset to say the least. 

+

both you and Kaminari walked to the nearest train station and took the ride to the outskirts of the city and went to a small ramen shop to catch a late lunch/early dinner. 

the only one who knew about you and Kaminari leaving was ironically enough, Bakugou. he had saw the two of you leaving the building, unenthusiastically asking where the two of you were going since you were leaving school premises. 

“so, we still have a few hours before we’re due back to school,” Kaminari reminded you. you gave him the signal to give you a minute and pulled up the nearest arcade, which happened only to be a few blocks from the ramen shop and a bit closer the train station, “you in the mood to play arcade games?” 

-

Todoroki walked down stairs to the kitchen, hoping that you were to see what kind of mood you were in. he wanted to apologize for getting angry at you and prepare himself for you dinner date in a few days. 

“hey Todoroki!” Midoriya greeted, as happily as ever. he waved at the green haired boy as he sat down next to him and watched him scroll through his Snapchat story, “oh, ( your name ) isn’t on campus?” Midoriya asked him. 

Todoroki gave him a confused look, “what do mean?” he asked back, a small bit of panic settling in the pit of his stomach. “oh, well, since it’s birthday, it looks like she went out with Kaminari,” he replied, showing Todoroki his snapchat. 

you and Kaminari both had posted a few photos and videos from the day. the ramen the two of you had eaten and then a few videos from the arcade. you were playing Mario Kart, singing some really REALLY shitty karaoke, and eating some really bad junk food. 

“is something wrong?” Midoriya asked. Todoroki ran his fingers through his hair, panic finally fully setting into his stomach, “I didn’t remember that today was her birthday,” he murmured, playing with his lip as Midoriya’s eyes widened, hearing what his friend was saying.

the two of you remained quiet, trying not to freak out. 

“what do you mean forgot? I thought the two of you were both planning something out!” Midoriya exclaimed, “we were but then the two of us got into a pretty bad argument and haven’t talked since. I forgot that we were supposed to go out together today and I think she took Kaminari instead,” he explained. 

Bakugou chuckled, shaking his head, “she sure did. I’m on Kaminari’s private Snapchat story and they seem to be getting really close,” he tossed his phone to Todoroki who watched the two of you dancing and singing together.  

Kaminari was sitting pretty close to you, his arm was around your waist, a little too firm for Todoroki’s liking. Bakugou couldn’t help but laugh at his ‘friends’ reaction as he tried to keep his anger to a minimum as he continued to watch his story. 

you were damn near cuddled up to his chest, laughing and giggling at whatever Denki was telling you and he HATED it. you never acted like that around him. you never laughed or giggled that way with him. never have you ever held yourself like that with him.

“well, did you get her anything at least? that should save your ass, at least a little bit,” Bakugou said. Todoroki stared at the floor, too scared to look at them when he replied no, “well then....don’t act surprised if she doesn’t take you back after this,” he added on. 

“Kacchan!” “it’s true! you’re just mad I’m right. Kaminari might be an idiot but he can actually hold a conversation with a girl and be civil around them when he puts his one brain cell to use.” 

Todoroki growled, remaining silent for the rest of the night as he stayed downstairs to wait for you. now that he was realizing it, the way you were being with Kaminari did correlate to what Bakugou was saying and although he didn’t want to admit to it, he knew Bakugou had a point. 

the night crawled in as Todoroki was now alone in the living room. you were getting to the front of the building, Kaminari telling you some stupid joke that made you hysterically laugh as you walked into the living space. upon entering it, you saw Todoroki sitting there with shame and anger on his face.

you waved Kaminari good, telling him you’d text him later to thank him for hanging out with you. you stared at half-n-half, not saying a word, your face saying everything it needed too. 

“where were you today?” “out with Kaminari.”

your short sentences made him realize you were still as angry as you were the day you argued with him. “I saw you getting pretty close with him,” Todoroki stated. you chuckled, not believing what he was telling you. “yup, that’s kind of what happens when your boyfriend was being a dick on your birthday,” and there it is, Todoroki thought. 

“you could have reminded me about today.” 

“REMINDED YOU ABOUT MY BIRTHDAY?” 

your voice was at an all time high, not caring who heard. “you know what? this is useless. your playing the victim when in reality I should be! it’s my fucking birthday and you know what I got as a birthday gift? another argument from my fucking boyfriend and not even a measly happy birthday text.” you continued to yell.

“you know what?” Todoroki was suddenly nervous about you quick attiude change, “maybe what Kami said was true. maybe you need to weed out the dicks in your life until you get to the good people.” you said before walking away and not sparing Todoroki another glance. 

this argument happened the day of your birthday, actually.  he had forgotten your birthday and although you had told him a few days in advanced, you weren’t making a big deal of the day itself. 

you just wanted to make a small cake, enough to feed you and Iida so when you asked him if he wanted to come to your dorm after dinner so you could eat the cake together and he outrightly denied, claiming he had a ton of training and homework to get done. 

“seriously? it’ll just be thirty minutes!” “no! I told you, I have to train for exactly an hour and a half before I take a shower and do homework! you should have known that. I wonder why we’re even together with that dismissive attitude of yours.” “IT’S MY BIRTHDAY YOU DICK!” 

he stared at you, your birthday had completely passed his mind and he felt so shitty as you dropped the cake on the floor, letting it splatter everywhere. 

+

everyone who heard the conversation stared at each other, not wanting to say anything as they saw Iida process what he had told you. he never meant to insinuate that he wanted to break up with you but it came out like word vomit and you were gone. 

he grabbed a mop and broom, slowly picking it up as he saw the disappointed faces of his friends. Iida knew he fucked up, way too badly this time and now you were crying on your birthday, practically broken hearted and angry at him. 

Iida sighed, sitting at his desk and mourning silently. the time read 7:30 and he wanted to do nothing more than bang on your door and apologize like there was no tomorrow but he knew that idea could be thrown out the window as you weren’t even texting him back. 

he saw the small gift you had given him on his birthday and felt a small wave tears hit his eyes. you did so much for him, going out of your way to bring him lunch on some days and other days, you offered to patch him up if you saw that he had gotten busted up during training. 

Iida stood up, going to the door and running to the kitchen. he knew this could be the only thing he could do to even start making it up to you again. you loved the cookies that Tensei had made for him a few weeks ago when he dropped by to visit.

he called his brother, explaining the situation to him as he immediately got a mini lecture as a response. Tensei basically yelling at him for not treating you right and how guilty he should be feeling for not only forgetting your birthday but also making you cry today. 

Iida got work as Tensei explained everything to make the cookies. he was lucky enough to have everything he needed to make the cookies, even going out of his way to remind himself to put small written notes on the cookies themselves when he finished. 

within that time, you were laying in bed, thinking about everything that Iida told you. you tried not to think about it, putting it on the fact that maybe he was stressed and forgot and everything just came tumbling out of his mouth. regardless, you tried to sleep, only to be awoken by a frantic knock.

you growled, slipping on one of Iida’s sweaters and going to the door. to your surprise, it was Iida himself, holding a plate of cookies and words coming out of his mouth like vomit. 

“I am so sorry. I meant nothing I said earlier and I apologize for acting extremely out of line. I never meant to insinuate that I wanted to break up with you and I never wanted to in the first place. please forgive me.”

you stared at him, lifting an eyebrow before rolling your eyes playfully, “the next time you decide to say something like that, we’re over and you’re not getting another chance after that,” you stated, taking a bite of the cookie and instantly letting out a moan of pleasure, “holy shit, are these Tensei’s cookies?” he nodded as you snatched the plate out of his hand. 

“that sucks that you made me cry tonight because we could have shared them but since you are on thin ice, these are mine! see you tomorrow, Iida!” you giggled, shutting the door on his face. “see you tomorrow, love.” he replied, a smile on his face as he made his way back to his dorm room to finish up some homework. 

#bnha #bnha x reader #bnha imagine #mha #mha imagine #mha x reader #my hero academia #my hero academia imagine #boku no hero academia #boku no hero x reader #todoroki shouto #todoroki shoto imagine #todoroki shoto x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki imagine #bakugou katsuki x you #iida tenya #iida tenya imagine #iida tenya x reader #iida tenya x you #anime #anime imagines #anime imagine

[404gendernotfound]

My Little Squirrel Part 3 (Hybrid!Jisung x Reader)

Summary: After spending the night with Jisung at the shelter you signed the adoption papers and took him home with you. But somehow he didn’t act like his usual self when you arrived at home and you started to get really worried.

Contains: fluff, little bit of angst

Warnings: none

Wordcount: 3,8 K

A/N: I’m sorry writing this part took so long but I had a really bad writers block whenever I came back to this story. I still hope you like this part.

Enjoy!

Part 1, Part 2

________________________________________________________________

I dried Jisungs tears with my sleeves and softly kissed his forehead. His eyes were still closed as I looked at him again. God he was way too cute to handle.

“You should rest now. After all this drama you must be tired”, I suggested since I saw that his eyes were almost shutting by themselves as I stroked his cheeks.

He nooded and slowly laid down on the bed. Jisung reached for my hand after he had covered himself with his star blanket and looked at me with big puppy eyes.

“Can you stay with me? I mean… you don’t have to spend the night but maybe…just at least until I fall asleep?”, he asked in a tiny voice with so much hope in his eyes that I couldn’t say no to his wish.

“Of course I’ll stay with you”, I answered and squeezed his hand reassuring.

Seeing him be so at peace just from knowing that I would stay with him made my heart melt. He really seemed to have opened up to me a lot even though I still didn’t know that much about him. I took off my shoes and laid down next to him. He looked at my face first to make sure that I wouldn’t push him away before he wrapped his arms around me and snuggled against my side.

“I’ll stay with you tonight.”, I whispered and softly kissed his head again.

“Thank you”, he whispered back and pulled me even closer.

“Good night…Hannie”, I hesitated since I was afraid he would get angry at me calling him that again.

“Good night, Y/n”

I watched Jisung for some time just to make sure that he was able to fall asleep before I closed my eyes. I would have a lecture in the morning but I didn’t really care about that right now. I could just get the information I would miss from a friend later on. Jisung was my top priority now.

As I woke up the next morning Jisungs and my legs were tangled under the sheets and he had snuggled even closer to me at night. I looked at the peaceful look on his face, moved my hand from his back to his head and began to softly stroke his hair. I watched his mouth curl into a smile.

“Good morning”, I whispered.

“Morning”, he mumbled still a bit sleepy and opened his eyes.

“Did you sleep well?”, I asked and softly stroked his cheek.

Jisung closed his eyes again and pressed his face against my hand. He quickly nodded. I was glad that he managed to sleep ok. I looked at the clock and sighed. Right now, I should be at university watching my professor talk about some “very important” things. I did feel a bit bad for slacking off but looking at Jisung right next to me with the happiest smile on his face eased my worry again. I couldn’t leave him alone after what had happened. I knew he needed me and to be honest, I needed him too. He must have noticed that I was lost in my thoughts since he had moved his arm from around my waist to place his hand on my cheek. I smiled and turned my head to kiss his palm before I began to speak again.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Yes. Thanks to you”, he said with a slight blush on his face and hugged me tight.

“I’m glad”

I hugged him back and nuzzled my face against his neck. He was so comfortably warm that I could almost fall asleep again. To my surprise, Jisung started to softly stroke my hair and I snuggled against him.

“When you go home today…will you take me with you?”, he asked whispering and kept holding me close to him.

His voice was full of hope and his tight grip around my waist showed me that he was afraid that I would leave him here.

“Of course I will take you with me. I’m not going to leave you behind”, I mumbled against his neck and playfully tickled him to lighten up the mood a bit.

He giggled and grabbed my hands to stop me from tickling him some more. I looked at him and smiled. His eyes were sparkling and he looked really happy.

“God why are you so cute?”, I asked and watched him blush as I cupped his face and nuzzled my nose against his.

“Stop…”, he mumbled embarrassed and moved his hands to take mine away from his cheeks before he hid his face in his own hands.

“I’m just telling the truth, Hannie”, I whispered and smiled as he peeked through his fingers.

“You can’t just do that…my heart…”, he said and took his hands back down to reveal his dark red cheeks.

My heart was melting right then and there. I would shower him with kisses right now but I didn’t want to make him even more flustered, so I decided to stop the teasing. I hugged him tight one more time before I rolled to the side and sat up on the edge of the mattress. Jisung watched me as I stretched myself yawning and got up from the bed.

“I’ll go and look if bf/n is here already so I can talk to her about taking you with me.”, I announced and saw Jisung smile.

“Alright…but come back soon”, he said and watched me leave the room.

I walked towards the entrance and already saw bf/n standing there completely focused on the computer screen in front of her.

“Hi”, I said and she flinched.

“My god! DON’T SCARE ME LIKE THAT!”, she almost screamed making me laugh.

“Sorry. You were so focused you didn’t even notice me”

She held her hand over her heart and breathed heavily.

“You almost gave me a heart attack. Jesus”, she added and took a deep breath before calming down.

“Oh come on. It wasn’t that bad”

“Enough about my weak heart. How did our squirrel sleep with his human body pillow?”, she asked smiling.

“I think he slept really good. Jisung was really cuddly already”, I explained and had to smile thinking back at the big ball of fluff.

Bf/n had to smile too. She grabbed some papers from her desk and laid them out onto the counter in front of me.

“I guess you are here for these. Am I right?”, she stated and I looked at the adoption papers.

“You know me too well”, I answered and grabbed a pen putting in all my information that I had to fill in.

After finishing filling out the papers I handed them back to her and watched her stamp them before she went to make a copy for her binder. She came back and handed the papers to me.

“I don’t have to explain the rules of adoptions to you since you already know that. I also think that the week of testing out if he can live with you is unnecessary since we both know how much he loves you and the same goes the other way around. So I guess there is nothing keeping you from just taking him home now. I’ll stop by sometime to see how you too are doing. Obviously not because I’m curious but because I wanna see my best friend and favourite squirrel, alright?”, she explained and I laughed at her last suggestion.

“I think we can arrange that”, I said laughing and winked at her.

“Now go rush to your cutie. I’m sure he’s already packing his stuff nervously waiting for you to come back”

She didn’t have to say that twice. I walked back to Jisungs room and peeked in through the slightly opened door. Bf/n was right. Jisung was sitting on his bed packing clothes into his bag and kept glancing towards the door every now and then. I opened the door and leaned against the doorframe.

“Aren’t you the cutest?”, I asked with my arms crossed in front of my chest and smiled at him.

“I’m not”, he said with a pouty mouth and a blush creeping onto his cheeks.

“Yes, you are”

I walked towards him, leaned down so I was on the same height as him and placed a kiss on his forehead. He giggled and looked up at me with big puppy eyes. Seeing him enjoy how I was showering him with love and affection felt amazing. He looked so happy.

“So?”, I asked and pointed to the bag next to him.

He raised a brow in slight confusion before I continued to talk.

“Are you ready to go home?”, I added and watched his eyes slightly start to water.

“HOME…that sounds so nice”, Jisung mumbled before he stood up and fell into my arms.

“Thank you so much”, he whispered against my neck and hugged me tight.

After hugging for a few minutes we separated and I helped him pack the rest of his stuff into his bag before we walked to the front desk. All the way there Jisung didn’t dare to let my hand go as if he was afraid that I would leave him if he let go. We said goodbye to bf/n before we walked to the bus station together. He kept on holding my hand the entire way home and didn’t say a word. He seemed to be really excited but also a bit scared of what was waiting for him when we arrived. I understood since this was going to be his home in the future and he had no idea what it even looked like. I was kind of getting worried about him not liking his new home even though I was sure that he would be fine as long as he could spend time with me. As we arrived at the apartment I opened the door and walked in with Jisungs bag in my hand.

“You can come in. Don’t be shy”, I said trying to encourage him to come in since he stood there hesitating to move.

“Should I take off my shoes?”, he asked walking in with small steps and then carefully and quietly closed the door behind him.

“You can keep them on if you want to”

He shook his head as he saw that I had taken mine off and then removed his shoes before he looked at me again as if he was waiting for me to tell him what to do now. I guess the confidence he had just a few minutes ago had vanished completely and was replaced by confusion and anxiety.

“You can go and take a look around. I’ll put your luggage in your room for the time being. If you need me I’ll be in the kitchen making us something for lunch. Take your time. I know this is new to you and  I can understand that you need some time. So go ahead and just look around”, I suggested and smiled at him.

“Ok”, he said in a quiet voice and then walked past me into the apartment.

I was a bit concerned since he seemed to be very anxious and scared but I decided to let him be for now. If something was going on I was sure that he would come to me. I quickly put Jisungs bag into his room and then walked into the kitchen to make us a simple lunch. I decided to make a simple noodle dish with a quick tomato sauce. While I was waiting for the noodle water to boil I looked around to see where Jisung was. He was nowhere to be seen from the corridor, so he was probably in one of the rooms. I went back to check on the water when I heard quiet steps behind me. As I looked to where the steps were coming from I saw Jisung walk in and sit down at the kitchen table. I wasn’t sure if he was really enjoying being here since he was so much quieter than this morning, but maybe it was just him being nervous.

“I’m making us noodles with tomato sauce and cheese. I hope you’re ok with that”, I said and saw him nod.

“Can I help?”, he asked still in a quiet voice.

“It’s fine. It will be ready in a bit and you can’t really help with anything at the moment”, I said, turned back to the oven and put the noodles into the water.

“Oh…ok”, he said in a slightly disappointed voice and stayed seated where he was.

I felt bad for refusing to let him help as I looked over my shoulder to see that he had a slightly sad look on his face. I looked around if there was something he could do, even if it was just something small.

“You can bring me two plates. They’re in the cabinet over there”, I said towards him and pointed to the just mentioned cabinet.

His face lightened up a bit and he jumped up from where he was sitting and grabbed two plates. Jisung brought them to me and I playfully pat his head.

“Thank you”, I said with a smile and watched him smile back.

Even though it was just a small praise, he seamed to really enjoy it. Since the noodles were ready, I separated them equally onto the plates and poured the tomato sauce over them. As I turned to put the pots I used into the sink I noticed how Jisung grabbed the plates and brought them to the table. He came back to me and looked through a few drawers before he found what he was searching for. A pair of forks and spoons for us to eat with. He brought them to the table before he sat down and waited for me to join him. I sat down across from him.

“Bon appetite”, I said before I began to eat.

He must have been really hungry since it didn’t take long for him to finish the entire plate.

“Did you like it?”, I asked and he nodded.

It took me some time to finish my plate since I was a little bit distracted by the way he was watching me eat. While I moved the empty plates from the table to the sink to wash them I continued to talk.

“Since I still have to work on an essay that is due tomorrow, you’ll have to entertain yourself for a few hours. You can unpack in the meantime and maybe think of something you might like to have in your room like decoration or something like that.”, I said and walked towards him after drying my hands.

“Ok”, he said and looked at the floor.

“Alright”

We walked to our rooms and I turned towards him as I arrived at the door.

“My room is right here so if you need anything just come in and ask.”

I opened the door to my room and waited to see that he went into his room before closing the door. I was still kind of concerned about him but maybe I was just overthinking the situation too much again. After sitting down at my desk, I was so focused on my essay that I didn’t even notice the time flying by so fast. I was brought back to reality when I heard something shatter in the next room. I instantly rushed to Jisungs room since it must have come from there. As I walked in I saw him kneel on the floor picking up pieces of the mirror that was now shattered on the floor.

“Hey. Don’t pick them up. You’re going to hurt yourself”, I said, quickly walked over to him and pulled him away from the sharp pieces on the floor.

I just now noticed that his face was covered in tears and his body was trembling like crazy. Oh no.

“Jisung…”, I whispered and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I…I didn’t mean to break it. I forgot it was there and…I turned around and knocked it over. I’m so sorry”, he cried looking at the pieces of the broken mirror that he was still holding in his hand.

“It’s fine. Don’t cry, please. It wasn’t your intention to break it so I’m not mad at you. Give me those shards. I don’t want you to hurt yourself”, I tried to calm him a bit and carefully took the broken mirror pieces from his hands putting them onto the table where the small mirror had been standing before.

As I turned back towards him I saw that there were some small cuts on the inside of his hand. Nothing major but they were still bleeding a little bit. I grabbed his hand and lifted it up to my face so I could take a better look.

“See. You hurt yourself just because of that stupid mirror. I don’t care about it being broken or not but I do care about your wellbeing. So please next time when something like this happens don’t pick up the pieces. Just let them lie there and call for me. I’ll handle it then”, I explained and softly kissed the little wounds in his hands.

“O…Ok”, he said still sniffling.

“Come here”, I said and pulled him into a hug.

“Everything’s ok. I’m not mad at you. So don’t worry about it too much”, I whispered and hugged him tight.

He buried his face in my neck and held me as close to him as possible. It probably wasn’t just the mirror why he was crying. There was something else he wasn’t telling me.

“Let’s clean up this mess and then I’ll treat your cuts, alright?”, I asked and cautiously separated from the hug.

Jisung nodded and stayed seated on his bed while I grabbed the vacuum, a shovel and a broom to get rid of all the shards. He was watching me carefully while I gathered the left-over pieces of the mirror making sure that I wasn’t hurting myself. After I was done I walked towards him and reached out with my hand for him to take it.

“Come on”

He hesitantly took my hand and stood up from his bed following me to the bathroom. He sat down on the edge of the bathtub as I searched for a bandage and some ointment and then kneeled before Jisung. He watched my every move as I applied ointment on the wounds and then carefully bandaged his hand so it wouldn’t get infected. I carefully took his hand in mine and softly stroked it.

“I hope it doesn’t hurt too much”, I said in a soft voice and pulled him up with me.

“It’s fine. Thanks to you”, he answered and squeezed my hand as I dragged him with me into my room.

Since the essay was almost done I decided to focus on Jisung now rather than writing the last pages even though they needed to be finished soon. He was my top priority right now. I sat down on the bed and pat the empty space next to me. Jisung looked as if he wasn’t sure if he should join me or not so I waited for him to decide. He hesitated a bit before he crawled onto the bed and looked at me. He didn’t need to say a word for me to understand. I opened my arms and he instantly took that as an invitation to cuddle. Jisung snuggled close to me and wrapped his arms around my waist. I placed one hand on his back and the other in his hair running my fingers through it softly. After some time of silence I began to speak.

“If somethings wrong you can tell me you know that, right?”, I said more as a fact than a question.

He nodded his head and stayed silent for some time. Maybe he didn’t want to talk about it with me or it was something he didn’t feel comfortable sharing with me yet.

“You haven’t been acting like yourself ever since I brought you here. Do you not like it here? Or did I do something wrong?”

Jisung lifted his head and looked at me. He had that sad expression on his face again that I couldn’t really understand.

“No. It’s not that I don’t like it here. It’s just…I’m scared…”

“Scared of what?”

“Of you bringing me back when I’m being myself. I know that I’m too clingy and excited and loud. I don’t want to lose you just because I’m me”, he explained and avoided to look me in the eyes.

“Jisung”, I said in I quiet voice trying to get his attention back to me.

“Hannie?”

He finally turned his head towards me again. The look on his face made my heart almost break. I reached out to softly stroke his cheeks. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the touch.

“I wanted to take you in because you were being yourself and weren’t trying to act different just to get my attention. So please don’t hold back and be your quirky self like usually. I want you to run around and almost jump into my arms when you are excited. I want you to be as clingy as you can. Who doesn’t love the cutest squirrel on the planet clinging to themself all the time?”, I explained and watched his expression change from sadness to slight confusion.

“I don’t understand…why are you like this?”, he asked.

“Like what?”

“You are so understanding. You are encouraging myself to be who I am. You aren’t bossing me around telling me what to do. I don’t understand why? What do you get out of it?”

I was confused. Why would I want to get something out of this?

“I don’t get anything out of it, and I don’t need anything. I’m not sure if you’ve understood this already but I’m not and I will never treat you like a pet. You’re a human being and I will treat you like one. I have no intentions to make you feel inferior to me. You are worth just as much as I am.”, I explained trying to make him understand what was behind my behavior.

Jisung buried his face in the crook of my neck before I heard him sniffle again.

“Hey. Don’t cry”, I whispered and softly stroked his head.

“I can’t believe I found you. I’m so lucky”, he cried against my neck, his hands gripping me tight.

My heart was starting to race at his words. He was way too cute.

“I am the one whose lucky here. I get to spend all of my future days with a cute squirrel. I couldn’t be happier”

#stray kids #han jisung #jisung stray kids #hannie #squirrel han #hybrid jisung #hybrid au #squirrel hybrid jisung #hybrid jisung x reader #han x reader #jisung x reader #j.one #3racha han #3racha

[helahades]

The Goddess and the Grocer

(Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Sappy and hopelessly romantic, the part time art student, part time grocery bagger, and full time fantasy creator Steve Rogers lives in his head, with you as his muse. Making puzzles out of your groceries, and portraits of your every curve and edge, he fears and craves every interaction, while living with you as a lover in his mind.

A/N: Well. I have struggled with motivation for the longest. Something hit me though, and by something I mean other supportive writers and great friends. Hugest shoutout to @threeminutesoflife for being a darling and @imanuglywombat for making TWO beautiful mood boards I stare at more than Steve stares at the Peggy compass.

Warnings: creepy, obsessive Steve. ideation of creepy thoughts. food focused talk. mention of overeating. dub-con concepts. two mentions of alcohol consumption.

New blog, new me! I’ll take this moment to say I’m taking requests, and I love feedback even more than Steve loves you! hope you enjoy

Word Count: about 3k

-

Now rain slicked, the sheen of oil and water twists the reflections of the tonights red, red, green—-“can I make the turn, no too late” on yellow—now red traffic lights into a twisted rainbow on the city streets.

Down those streets, and across a barren parking lot, parents, lovers, businesspeople and more squeak and clack and slap their rainy shoes on the old speckled tile at the entrance (that Steve had just mopped) as they do every week.

At the Potts Grocery Store, nothing ever changes. And never in the night.

It isn’t just night though, it’s dead night. The odd time after things have slowed for sleep, after the rush in between when people bumble in (promising themselves promises they won’t keep about doing the shopping sooner next month), after the ten minute period within which Dr. Banner wordlessly picks up the same array of bland teas.

The night has crawled beyond all the events that happen as they do, and entered the dead night.

Maybe Steve is too poetic—like his dad says he is—too tied up in fate, and hope in life’s mystique, but he holds hope for what happens where the night is dead.

When the night dies, and most are asleep, with it, facades die too. The only people to come in the dead of night, are drunks, doctors, various night shifters, and… you.

He hasn’t yet questioned your reason for showing up so late. Hasn’t really, technically, spoken to you at all, really.

Some part of Steve thinks, maybe if he startles you, says something that clangs too loud or awkward, all your pieces will blow away, like some agitated dandelion, and he will never know you again, if he ever even knew you at all.

No, Steve’s job isn’t to startle you, or to take up your space. It’s to try and meet your eyes as you hand him the reusable bags. It’s to try and figure out what meal you’re planning from what he’s bagging, and what he already knows lies unused in your kitchen. It’s to put the bags in your cart if you’ll let him.

He hasn’t seen you yet. It’s getting late, where are you?

Somewhere between cold fluorescent and neutral warm desk lamps, the lights of the grocery store seem to exist both to chase shadows on tired shoppers' faces, and to mock him, like a candle finally blown out by a stood up date.

Had he done something wrong the last time? If he had, that couldn’t be helped. You were wearing those shorts and looked like you had just gotten ready for bed and you had your hair pulled back, but just a little fell into your face anyway.

And your scent. It always wraps around him like the saccharine spice of pastries when he swings open the bakery door for his morning shift.

The moment you breezed by him after checkout was almost too much to bear. He caught the fresh damp scent of your tied up and deep conditioned hair. You smelled like fresh linens and a life he can only imagine having when he’s chasing orgasms alone and twisting up his sheets.

He could have devoured you.

But he didn’t.

Not even when your shoulder accidentally grazed him while you were rushing out in a frenzy.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” came your frantic whisper.

He dreams of making you that delicate again. He thinks he could shape your unsure apologies in his hands like clay, or spread you thin on a canvas when you whisper so soft. But he didn’t do those things at all.

Steve being Steve, he tried to make his large frame slouch, your aura wrapping him up into a double life Clark Kent shyness, despite your gentleness.

He didn’t say a word.

A wordless, mirthless stretch of his lips. An “It’s okay, walk all over me” grin. You regarded him with a flicker of an odd glance, and then you were out the door.

As he finishes up with the last shopper in his lane, his worn Converse squeak as he leans his frame against the bagging station at checkout.

-

Last class, last week, his art teacher dropped a big assignment. Stuffy and sadistic, the man seemed to only eat the pain of lovers kept from expression, so of course, he relished in the moment he told the class to try a new medium, with a subject they hadn’t previously captured.

He seemed to look directly at Steve as he delivered the blow.

Steve's problem certainly isn’t creativity. It isn’t talent or lack of effort. He surely is adaptable, he rarely tells on his love!

For the still life project, he captured the tree that blocks your kitchen window. Heavy strokes in his sketchbook.

He even painted the park in blooms on a paper towel—yes a paper towel—when you justified to a cashier one day that all the crackers and deli meats were for a picnic.

So he has a muse. But he’s not a fool. Sometimes he spends so much time trying not to look like a fool, and paints so much around you instead of you, that it’s a self portrait of his own obsession.

Your face. Your curves. The many separated sections where he tried to master the texture of your hair. All those traces of you live in his sketchbook. Only twice has he turned in a portrait of you.

Being told he can’t have you makes Steve feel like he’s been too obvious. You’re his little secret. And he is no fool. He’ll have to be more careful. So here he is.

The canvas is as bare as the walls of his studio apartment.

Three jobs and a potted plant from his mom just aren’t enough to decorate life. He wishes he could capture sleep in a picture frame and hang it on the wall. When he got too tired and caffeine stopped working, he thinks he’d pick up those frames and absorb the sleep in the way he can absorb nostalgia when looking at a real picture.

Then, he thinks, that’s the sort of thing art majors say when they haven’t slept in three weeks.

The canvas is still bare. It isn’t like Steve. He always knows where to go, what he feels, what he wants.

His teacher told him to try something different. Had the nerve to clap Steve on the back after class and say something about stretching creative wings and finding a new muse.

He thinks the guy should have punched him in the face instead.

There’s nothing stuck about Steve. He knows what he wants and how to get there.

He also knows that schooling ruins the intent of art, he knows how to put love into colors, that art teachers know the least about expression out of everyone on earth, and that he works two night jobs a week to barely afford to be taught by that man anyway.

Life is full of oddities.

-

Some of life’s oddities are right there in your cart as you approach. Steve notices the rain has frizzed your hair, the lovely heart shaped curve of your lips as they stretch into a smile, and the way you yawn before you say hello to the cashier.

He makes a mental note that your hair might have a warmer tinge when illuminated by the sun. You’re already his sun. His stars too. Maybe even his whole universe.

You’re always warm in his paintings. Anything to separate you from the dreadful scheme of this commercial death trap.

What’s for dinner this week?

Your groceries thump onto the counter in practiced succession. Perishables together at the front, and non perishables as neatly as possible following behind.

So thoughtful, my sweet darling.

Your produce today mostly consists of fruit. It reminds Steve of how practiced he is with a knife. How he’d slice up your apples just right for you. He has the practiced skills of an artist. He’d take care of you.

Bucky likes to tell him that cooking is the art and baking is the science. That’s meant to mean that it’s no surprise that Buckys got a perfect little life with a perfect little baker who smiles like the sun and only trusts Bucky in her kitchen.

...And it’s no surprise that Steve’s artsy streak has led him here. Thinking about folding mandarin slices between your perfect lips and letting the flavor explode across your tongue.

He thinks about kissing you. How you would taste tangy and sweet as you try not so hard to push him off so he gets back to cooking and doesn’t burn the house down.

The house. A house with you. A home.

He sees you’re wearing a sundress, and tries not to pity you for the irony. In the closet of some cookie cutter three bedroom, you might ask him how you look in it. He would beg you to wear it just for him a little longer, but ultimately, he would have been able to warn you about the rain.

You wouldn’t have listened though, my stubborn angel.

He thinks about your thighs beneath your dress, and the heat between them.

Sometimes, his dreams betray him, and he steps through the threshold to your shared home, not an artist, but a “Honey, I'm home” suit wearing prisoner.

He fears the simple life, but with you, he believes simplicity could be enough. Maybe he would be rich enough to buy you a million sundresses.

But without his art, he’d be powerless to show you how rich you look, bathed in color, divine from his perspective.

Without his art, he has no outlet for imagination. The only thing that gets him off these days is imagining what you look like under your clothes, and how it might sound if you spoke his name.

When you buy lotion, or a candle, he makes a mental note of the scent, and uses it to color his experience later. You like warm sugary scents, or natural outdoorsy ones, with no in between.

As you small talk with the cashier, your card slips from between your fingers and clatters onto the unswept floor. Finishing a thought, you delay in retrieving it, but by the time you’re leaning down, Steve’s already handing it back.

Eyes flitting up to meet the baggage boy standing up at full height, you melt into an easier smile.

You notice first that his eyes are incredibly blue behind the dark window frames, and second that his hands are incredibly warm as he hands your card back.

Frazzled, and just a bit smitten, you smile kindly.

“Thank you,” you say sweetly, regarding him fully, perhaps for the first time, and pausing only to let your eyes drift to the knitted cotton polo stretched across his broad chest—no, to the name tag resting on it…

“Steve,” you finish with a smile that makes it ring like an exclamation point. To hear you finally pronounce his name… it’s like church bells. But they’re muted because now he can only consider your eyes locked on his.

He’s never wanted to escape somewhere and go home with someone so badly. And would it be so wrong?

He could slice up fruit for you. He could bring sausages and deli meats and blocks of cheeses whole from the market where they slipped him things free. He’d slice them up nice and wrap them in cloth and surprise you with an old fashioned wicker basket picnic in the mountains.

He’d let you eat yourself round. And after you were full, he’d still offer to feed you grapes, to pour you more wine.

Steve never understood why the rich ate bread with olive oil, but God he wanted to be rich enough to give you that. All the things that sound ridiculous to people who work to live. He wanted to work so hard you’d never work again.

He wanted to kiss you dizzy, bunch up the fabric of your dress on your hip and tell you he loves you while you’re wine drunk. He’d carry you back to the car and surprise you with wildflowers in a bunch.

Later, he’d paint you nude with them in your hair, and he’d feed you more grapes.

He would tuck you in and wrap you up for later when you woke up missing him. Maybe he wouldn’t leave at all. Maybe you would want to spend the whole day with him too.

He’s got a twinkle of charm in his eye and just a bit of sadness that looks every bit like the starving artist people believe him to be. Bucky hasn’t stopped bringing him the leftover rolls at closing since he found out Steve spends more money on paint than meals.

And is it so wrong? As Steve looks into your eyes, he musters all that charm his mom said he was born with. He blinks brighter the twinkle in his eye.

“You’re welcome,” comes Steve’s gentle, but sure reply.

You pause at that, because really it’s nothing... But people always seem to say “Don’t worry about it!”, “It’s nothing”, or maybe nothing at all.

You pause at how the reaction seemed genuine, in a world of practiced replies, and on a day that you’re feeling shitty because the rain ruined your hair and happiness.

You smile at him again, grateful for a pocket of truthful kindness, and turn back to the cashier, effectively ending the interaction.

Steve’s mind is spinning in ways he just can’t bring himself to understand. So he bags your groceries. You forgot the reusable bags, he doesn’t pause to wonder why.

Click. Click. Click. Beep!

Tomatoes. He bags them with the apples. Double bags for good measure.

Beep.

Spaghetti. The good kind that most people overlook in favor of a more common brand. New bag.

Beep.

Frozen garlic bread. He adores you. You’ve got garlic and basil and more herbs than you’ll ever need at home. You’d probably make the spaghetti noodles and parmesan yourself if you could. But you love five minutes at 400 garlic bread.

He imagines your pretty little kitchen, with all its various knick knacks, smelling like garlic and tomato sauce. He can’t help thinking you’d be impressed with his chopping skills too. Just how his mom taught him.

He imagines cooking with you in the dead of night, instead of being here. He imagines you bending over with your legs straight and your back curved and the oven mitts on to get garlic bread out of the oven. You put the tray on the cold burners Steve’s not using.

Maybe he would ask you to try the sauce, he’d hold the spoon to your lips after blowing off for you. Your eyes always flutter closed to process the taste of things, and sometimes he swears he could read your mind.

Then they would open. Wide. The same way they did when you tasted the new product double chocolate brownie sample last Tuesday. You would tell him how perfect it is and praise how he finally isn’t shy about using garlic anymore. Turning off the burners, he’d pull you into his arms, he’d kiss you til you saw stars…

-

Walking you backwards, still entangled in the breathless kiss, he wouldn’t stop until you bumped the padded kitchen bench. Then he’d fall to his knees.

“Steve, honey”���

You’d cut yourself off with a breathy moan because he’d already be under your skirt.

Kissing up your thighs, flattening his tongue against you, kissing you gently, before sucking your clit, while working it with the tip of his tongue, he’d show you again, like always, how passionate of a lover he is.

You’d moan like heaven, because you are.

You’d lean back, propping yourself up on an arm and pushing the other hand through his golden hair. You just can’t stop your hips from rolling against his tongue that’s still worshipping you.

He won’t use his fingers. It wouldn’t be proper, he’s just been cooking. So instead, he uses those hands to pull your thighs up onto his shoulders.

Still swirling his tongue around your clit, Steve is drawing you closer, your body seeming to know it’s own ways to pull him to you too.

It’s electric. You can’t stop and you’d never want to. He’d make love to you every single—

-

That’s not where he is though. He grabs the paper bags he’s bagged up with your ingredients and some other oddities, and he places them in the cart you’ve pushed forward.

He tries not to think about the fact that you’re going home alone. He tries not to think about how he’ll be sleeping alone, and in cold colors. Tries to skip forward to later when he has all the time in the world to imagine the way things should be.

A quiet goodnight and you’re on your way. You’re careful not to graze him as you walk away, and he’s careful not to be obvious watching.

The cashier leaves the station, and Steve puts his head down as he passes, before looking up in your direction as he always does.

Except… when he looks up to see your sundress swishing, it isn’t. And you’re turned back looking at him with this funny little look.

You smile. A twinkle of embarrassment, nervous to have been caught looking. He tries not to chuckle for all the irony.

He watches you as you watch him just a bit longer, before your sundress swishes out the door, and the light of your halo fades into the distance, consumed by the rain.

-

By the time his shift is up, the rain has stopped and the sky is colored like a bruise. The sun knocks at a threshold unseen, just slightly feathering light through the sky.

Steve is dead tired, but he won’t sleep a wink. Once he arrives at his apartment, he begins the project.

A mixed medium piece. Acrylic paint, charcoal shadowed details. It’s a wicker basket, full of apples, grapes, and wildflowers.

-

Later, as the sun rises, and the painting is half done, he flops into bed, finishing up a stale roll from the bakery, and dreams about waking up to you.

He pretends there’s no job to be at in three and a half hours, but instead, that it’s a quiet Sunday, and he’s waking up to you in his arms...

Soft and ethereal.

-

Thank you for reading!

Whether or not this is your type of writing, or you liked it at all, I just want to tag some authors who generally inspire me and helped in some way to motivate me posting my first piece: @threeminutesoflife @imanuglywombat @sherrybaby14 @jtargaryen18 @heavenbarnes @tropicalcap @allaboardthereadingrailroad @thotty-tatertot @sapphirescrolls

#dark!steve #steve #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers #steve x reader #dark!steve x reader #dark!steve rogers #steve au #steve rogers au #civillian!steve #artist!steve

[scoobydoominuscoobydoo]

Can you write and example of "good shaphne angst?"

Oh there are so many different categories of angst that could be considered good but this tends to be my default so here you go!

(This was a slow process and I’m super sorry for the wait but writers block was intense the past couple of weeks!)

-

Daphne was no novice when it came to being tied up.

The whole routine of getting constricted by a bunch of rope and tossed into the nearest crypt or sarcophagus had gotten old and the amount of time it took for the gang to find her again was shrinking. It gave her just enough time to assess the damages done to her manicure or wonder how well she did on her chemistry test that Monday. It had all become rather lighthearted to her (at this point she had to get used to it the poor girl practically carried a big neon sign begging criminals in rubber masks to kidnap her).

That is - when she didn’t sense any immediate danger.

Men in masks had the tendency to just toss their hostages (Daphne) somewhere (see previous crypts or sarcophagus) and then forget about them which had worked out in Daph’s favor for the most part.

She’s really trying to separate herself entirely from the situation she’s in now. Being handcuffed to a lead pipe was not the same as being tied up with rope. The rope would start to scratch and burn her skin at this point if she was still struggling to get out of it. She usually wasn’t, just to avoid the aforementioned scratching and burning. The handcuffs however, started digging into her wrists right from the get-go and even if Daphne was perfectly still she could feel how raw the skin was becoming.

She wasn’t stowed away in some abandoned storage shed behind the creepy house at the end of the street that nobody talks about. No - Daph was actually cuffed to a lead pipe and sitting right behind the man who had captured her. That was all she was able to discern about her captor; the broad shoulders and large hands couldn’t belong to a woman. Although she has been surprised before. The space seemed to be some sort of rinky dink office with file cabinets and a big mahogany desk in the center of the room.

The man in the mask was currently sitting at this desk.

It sounded like he was shuffling through papers, Daphne would occasionally hear the scratch of a pencil. She noted that he was very careful not to speak around her - she wondered if she would recognize his voice if he spoke. I wasn’t much of a clue but Daph was doing anything she could to not let the nerves get to her.

‘Amazing that being tied up and alone in a crypt is more relaxing than this.’ Daphne thought, joking about the situation made her feel a little more at ease.

Shaggy was a lot better at it but he wasn’t here and Daph kept being plagued by the terrible thought that him and the rest of the gang had no earthly idea where she was.

If her mouth wasn’t sealed by a strip of duct tape than you would see her lower lip tremble. The image of Fred breaking down the door to this office was becoming more and more akin to a hopeless dream. Daphne was losing hope and she was losing it fast.

She ran scenarios in her head of the worst possible things this man could do to her and shuddered at all of the ones she genuinely feared. Over and over again, on repeat in her mind. Daph had no clue how long she was in that office but by the time her captor had stood from his chair and pressed the foul smelling cloth to her nose - Daphne’s legs had gone numb.

The last thing she remembered before darkness were vibrant green eyes. Eyes she had definitely seen somewhere before.

Daph awoke to a jarring change in scenery.

The cramped office was now what looked to be an abandoned warehouse. Although her vision was semi-blurry and her head was killing her, Daphne knew where she was. They had been here once before while investigating the case but had quickly ruled it as a dead end and crossed it off the map. She then noticed a second thing - it was nighttime.

Daph had first been taken in the late afternoon and thrown in the trunk of an old  blue Mustang. She stayed there for a little bit (she actually fell asleep at one point because this wasn’t her first time being locked in the trunk of a car) and when she was eventually taken out night had already fallen.

‘I’ve been missing for at least two days then...’ She thought as her head began to clear up.

She, once again, had both hands cuffed to a lead pipe (this one was a little bigger though) and was resting on her knees. The concrete floor of the building was a little too cold to be comforting and that was the first time Daphne noticed her shoes were missing.

‘Ugh and I just bought those too!’

The tape was still over her mouth, although Daph didn’t see much point in shouting for help since there wasn’t much of a chance anyone would hear her. It was at that point that Daphne realized she was currently alone.

‘Has that asshole finally decided to ditch me?’

She barely had time to consider it when a loud creaking echoed throughout the area. Her heart leapt for a moment, against all odds somebody had decided to investigate this seemingly inconspicuous location. Then everything in her went cold when she saw the familiar white coat of the man who kidnapped her.

The culprit’s whole shtick was somewhere along the lines of zombie mad scientist. Which - as dumb as it sounds - is surprisingly intimidating. Maybe it’s just how realistic the details of his mask are.

‘Nothing is truly creepier than the uncanny valley. And mullets.’ Daphne could almost picture the eye rolls that comment would earn from the gang. It embarrassed her since humor wasn’t exactly her forte but it never stopped Daph from giving it a shot. Plus, every so often her attempts at jokes would earn a soft laugh from Shaggy. And those laughs sent butterflies storming in her stomach.

Suddenly, the lump is back in her throat.

She misses him. She misses them. And she’s worried that they’re pulling their hair out trying to find her. Daphne hates seeing her friends so distressed.

She almost jumps out of her own skin when she sees that Zombie Albert Einstein is standing directly in front of her, just staring down at her.  

Without missing a beat, Daphne glares up at him and desperately hopes that it doesn’t look like she’s a step away from bursting into tears. Those green eyes seem to crinkle in amusement - evidently her anger wasn’t all that convincing. Daph’s shoulders droop and she tries with all of her might to swallow the lump in her throat.

And most likely with the desire of prolonging her suffering, Albert decides to rip the tape off her mouth.

The sudden sting is just enough to bring tears pooling in her eyes.

“Ouch...” she murmurs with a shaky gasp. Biting down hard on her lip with the hope of pulling it together. When Daphne let herself go hysterical then she went hysterical to the highest degree and then she wasn’t any help to anyone.

But then she hears a chuckle; it’s low and gravelly and so dang familiar that it’s killing her. And it’s telling her one thing:

She’s giving him exactly what he wanted.

All of her efforts to remain calm and collected have failed because he can still see how she really feels. He can see how hopeless Daphne feels.

She sucks in a deep breath through her teeth, trying desperately to hold onto that composure; trying so hard to put a face to that laugh. And it’s just not working - he’s still looking down at her like the game is finished and she never had a fighting chance.

As he turns his back to her and walks away, Daph bows her head and tries her best to cry silently. Not that there’s any point to it, Mr. Einstein already knows that she’s given up. She coughs out a laugh at the nickname she’s christened her kidnapper with in between her sobs - she can still find the humor in the situation and that brings her some comfort.

Shaggy did that all the time without any effort at all, boosting moral without even realizing it.

Daphne wonders how worried he is, if he’s able to keep the mood light so that Fred and Velma can stay focused. God she hoped so.

He was always the one to keep everyone grounded despite not ever being grounded himself. Daph couldn’t help but wish she tried more to be that for him; wish she was brave enough to say all of the things resting on her tongue.

Not just that she loved him (even though that was a biggie) but that he was valuable and mattered so much to not just her but the rest of the gang.

It was hard not to just force him to gain the self-confidence he lacked (since that was her main way of solving problems) but she knew that wasn’t what he needed.

Damn it she wished she knew what he did need.

If she ever made it out of this alive, she was gonna figure it out.

She sobbed softly through the night and eventually woke up to sunlight pouring in from the large windows and skylights above her. Leaving Daph to wonder when exactly she fell asleep and how long she’s been out.

Her decomposing captor was nowhere to be seen which fills her with a small amount of relief.

Judging by the color of the light and the angle that it was shining in on it had to be late afternoon-ish.

‘It’s been three days...’

At that thought, Daphne suddenly realized how hungry and thirsty she was. Her head was pounding her tongue was almost totally dry (which she was sure was really bad). She remained dizzy after waking up even after waiting for around an hour and Daph wondered if Albert had any intention of keeping her alive.

‘Ugh and I had just cried all night too! I just want to waste water and die of dehydration.’

She also noted that her body was still sweating, or at least trying to. This was not good, Daphne knew that she could survive for a while without food but water needed to be going through her constantly.

‘This is gonna make my skin look awful.’ Daph thought, finding it harder to make jokes about the impending doom her body was facing.

She could feel herself trembling and her stomach began to twist in knots as the whole warehouse seemed to start spinning.

Suddenly, she was shaken awake by the sound of one of the huge doors creaking open. Her whole body felt as if it was frozen inside a huge ice cube even though she knew it wasn’t cold. A shaken examination of the area showed that night had already fallen. The fact that she had lost consciousness without recollection was seriously concerning but she didn’t have time to worry about her health. Because Albert was dragging in another body.

The room may have been spinning and noises sounded a little echoey but she didn’t need to be at full strength to recognize that familiar shade of green.

Instantly her body became alert and she leaned forward, being stopped by the damned handcuffs. She’s soon able to process all the muffled noise as Shaggy talking a mile a minute.

“Listen- I-.. I don’t think you understand dude. Like we’re living in the 20th century and kidnapping minors - and probably eating them - is totally not okay! Look I get it... Entering into the workforce as a respected American citizen is hard and seems like a... like a major sacrifice of your time - not to mention your social life - but I promise you - anything is better than eating people!”

He’s being dragged in by his ankles and - despite the fact that he isn’t tied up - he isn’t making any move to escape. Which doesn’t seem on brand for the gang’s own Harry Houdini.

As Shaggy continued to nervously ramble, Albert dragged him to the center of the room beneath the largest skylight where most of the moonlight was pooling in. He was about 20 feet directly in front of her and right when Daphne was about to announce her presence to the highly distracted boy, she choked.

Daph fell into a violent coughing fit as her throat complained about the lack of moisture.

She begins to tear up and bows her head as she tries to calm the whole situation. When she looks up again, lungs on fire, her eyes lock onto Shaggy’s brown ones. He’s seen her.

Instantly his eyes widen and he begins to struggle with Albert for the freedom of his legs, “Daphne! You’re alive!”

Daph finds herself filled with so many conflicting emotions that she isn’t sure if she should laugh, cry, or yell at him for getting captured. Especially since it’s almost impossible to catch him.

Not that it matters anyway, she’s afraid to try and speak again. That fit had caused her head to pound even worse than before and now she could barely hear Shaggy over the drumming.

The fight for the freedom of Shag’s legs is brought to an abrupt end when Albert simply lets go. Shaggy’s heels crash hard into the concrete and Daph can barely make out his face contorting in pain. She pulls against the handcuffs again and this time she is aware of how irate the skin of her wrists is. Ignoring it, Daphne continues to try and lean further toward him only with the hope of seeing him in a clearer focus.

“Sha-...Shaggy...” She just barely rasps out and after a moment she can tell he probably didn’t hear her.

Perhaps because he’s a tad distracted, what with the massive demon in a lab coat pinning him down by pressing a knee right to the center of Shaggy’s chest.

“Alright! Agh- Okay!” He coughs, “You’ve made your point! A-And who...who am I to argue really?! Especially when you outweigh me by like 800 tofu dogs!” He lets out a nervous laugh and Daphne wants to cry again because she can just hear the trembling in that laugh.

She presses her forehead down against the cool warehouse floor; she can’t handle watching one of her best friends get hurt while she remains powerless to do something.

“Like, do you really wanna add assaulting a minor to the list of charges stacking up against you buddy?” Now the shaking in his voice is so clear it’s making Daph’s toes curl, she bites her lip.

A few seconds pass and Daph finds that she doesn’t hear anything, no cries of pain or anything. She has no time to deliberate if this is a good or bad thing because another few seconds go by and suddenly warm hands are gripping her shoulders. She gasps and looks up before shoving herself roughly against the wall in an effort to distance herself from whoever grabbed her. This doesn’t entirely work out in her favor because she forgot that there was a large lead pipe behind her and she had just slammed her lower back into it head-on. A loud clang echos throughout the building.

Daphne lets another shaky gasp, this time in response to the pain running all over her body.

“Jesus Daph... Like are you alright?” The warmth is back on her shoulders and it sends a wave a relief that almost overpowers all of her other senses. Evidently, Albert had been swayed by Shag’s persuasive words.

She nods slowly, “How-” Did you find me? Instead of choking out the rest of that sentence, Daphne rests her forehead on his shoulder.

Not that she even needed to finish the question - Daph knows that he understood. Shaggy just barely whispers out his answer against her ear and my God she is just so happy to hear his voice.

“Well we had gone back to ask the HR guy some more questions when we saw your shoes just chilling under a chair in the waiting room. Professor Freakenstein over there had left a note demanding some things in exchange for your location.” He said with a touch of annoyance at the end.

Daphne nodded against him, “I-... I was wondering where they were...” Whispering is so much easier than talking

“Yeah, like mystery solved.” He deadpans, she smiles in response, “Anyway... I wanted to go to the fucking police but you know how Mr. and Mrs Taking Matters Into Our Own Hands answered.

Her body tensed, “Is that why you’re here?”

There was silence for a moment and Daphne was building up quite the lecture when she saw Fred and Velma again. If she saw Fred and Velma again.

“Like, to be fair we all thought Fred’s trap was gonna work...” He mumbled. He explains that the note had a time and location for a meeting and so Fred and Velms had spent the day setting up a trap in the area. But she isn’t listening.

Daphne groaned, “I thought we agreed that ransom notes were when we actually get qualified adults involved. The vote was unanimous on that movement!”

“I don’t really think they pay attention during our staff meetings.” He replies with a lilt of amusement.

“They’re not staff meetings! They’re discussions on our code of conduct, we need rules Shags! Order!”

He lets out a short laugh before wrapping his arms around her neck and saying, “Shit I was so worried about you...”

Daphne feels her chest go warm and her cheeks heat up - she nuzzles further into the crook of his neck.

‘Shit I am so in love with you...’

She thinks.

And then... blackness.

When she awakes she hears the almost heavenly beeping of a heart monitor.

The second she opens her eyes three teenagers and dog practically jump on top of her. All of their words are overlapping and Scooby is licking at her face ferociously so Daphne doesn’t even bother trying to glean anything. The one thing she does do is reach out and grab onto Shaggy’s hand in a sort of death grip - something she wasn’t able to do with her wrists cuffed.

Fred and Velma both excitedly recount the details of tracking down Shaggy all the way back to the warehouse through tire tracks and corresponding surveillance footage. It truly was a riveting tale that Daphne couldn’t be bothered to listen to, she was way too exhausted. Plus, Shag was looking down at her with those beautiful eyes and how the hell was she supposed to look away.

“And! And - you’re gonna love this Daph - we called the police!” Fred stated proudly, eyes glittering like he was a child who cleaned his room without his mother asking him to.

Daphne’s eyes widened and she smiled, “Wow! I’m really proud of you two!”

Velma rolled her eyes, picking up on the sarcasm, “Whatever the big issue is that asshole got away.”

“Albert Einstein?”

“Professor Freakenstein?”

Daphne and Shag inquired at the same time, they both looked at each other and Shaggy smirked. Daph blushed.

“Riiigghtt... I’m sticking with that asshole.” Velma stated.

Suddenly, Daphne perked up, “Shags... You said that you guys found my shoes at the office building where Mr. Griesling worked right?”

Shaggy nodded and squeezed her hand; she squeezed back.

“Well before he moved me to the warehouse, I was kept in a private office-thingy. And this whole time I swore I had recognized the guy’s eyes before. I mean they were practically glowing green there is no way I would miss them!” She can feel her voice shake as she recalls the way those eyes pushed down on her when she believed she was gonna die.

Shaggy squeezes her hand again.

She takes in a breath and then says, “Well I was thinking about it for a moment and I remember that I saw one of the interns that worked for Mr. Griesling’s department had these gorgeous eyes and I was this close to complimenting him on them!”

Velma and Fred’s eyes widen and Shaggy gasps before saying, “Oh my God that fucking gigantic college sophomore! We’re idiots!”

Velms plants her face in her hands and Fred sighs, “Good thing we had Daphne and her attention to seemingly unimportant details.”

Daph smirks and shrugs, “Just make sure to keep me far away from him.”

“Like we will Daphne.” Shaggy says gently and the tone is enough to soothe all of the dread latched onto her.

#falling more and more in love with writing scooby stuff placed during the 80s and 90s #also i have like three other times where i wrote a kidnap fic as my angst of the week #but i do also love like emotionally driven fights between people in love with each other #i think ive done that a little bit #my angst tastes are really shaped by all the crime shows i grew up watching #but kidnapping makes the most sense within the scooby theme #id have to go full au to try anything else out #panic attack and comfort angst is also something i like but i dont trust in myself enough to write that well #i think the bottom line is that hodgins and angela from bones just shape everything about couples angst #ask minus scooby #mod ninja #shaphne #shaphne fanfiction #Shaggy Rogers #daphne blake #shaggy x daphne #scooby doo

[obsidianfr3sk]

Rise of the Renegades (Chapter 2)

Summary: Heroes come from the most unexpected places. Heroes sometimes feel a little too different, a little too scared, a little too alone. But heroes also know when enough is enough, and that before saving the world, they need to save themselves. And they cannot do it alone.

They were going to be the hope of the world. They were going to call themselves the Renegades. Even if they didn’t know it yet.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26246812/chapters/64292134#workskin

A few weeks ago I was having kind of a writer’s block and my mom a friend of mine (cof cof @dawniebb cof cof) recommended me to create a playlist for my fic... and I did. @nodrianbcyes already listened to it and said it ruled so I’m gonna share it with you guys, pls don’t make fun of my music taste (? You can listen to it clicking here. 

Mmmm, what else, what else??? Hope you like it! Reblogs, funny tags, likes and dead threats are always welcome!

Tag list: @healing-winston-pratt @alecjamesartino @ohmyskies @blueraspberry-official (tell me if you want in or out, don’t worry)

The stupidest plan 

You fell asleep in my car, I drove the whole time,

but that's ok, I'll just avoid the holes so you sleep fine.

I'm driving here I sit, cursing my government,

for not using my taxes to fill holes with more cement.

Hugh

He had spent the whole night sketching the battle between Wonder Man and Ace Anarchy. It had been very tedious to be working without proper lighting. For a moment he believed that when morning came, his drawing would not look as good as he thought. However, the morning had come.

And it was perfect.

Although now that he was polishing the last details while waiting for classes to begin, he came across a question that kept him from concentrating.

Simon quietly walked into the classroom, as if he was afraid of bothering someone with his mere presence (although they literally were only ones there). He sat in the first seat in the row to his right. Simon hated sitting upfront because he said it only brought more attention to himself than he wanted to. However, Hugh couldn't sit anywhere else. His glasses weren't the best.

Also, it was strangely depressing to sit on the last row and see that of the forty tables in the room, only fifteen were filled. Twenty if it was a busy day. From the front, it was easier to ignore that more than half of the kids in his class had dropped out of school. 

But Hugh had enough of ignoring things.

“What color are Ace Anarchy’s eyes?” he asked Simon.

“Good morning to you too,” he replied sarcastically.

“Good morning.” He took gray in one hand and blue in the other. “What color are Ace Anarchy's eyes?”

Simon looked carefully at the colors. “I don't know, gray? I feel like they are gray. I can't imagine him having blue eyes.”

Hugh agreed.

“What are you drawing?” Simon asked.

“Propaganda,” he replied with a mischievous smile.

“It looks good.”

“I’m a propaganda expert, indeed.” He grabbed his classroom chair and pushed it to the right next to Simon's. He would return it to its place when the professor entered. “Have you thought about what I told you about yesterday?”

He looked away. “No.”

He shook his head. Simon was lying. “I was being very serious, you know.”

“And I was too. Stop thinking bullshit,” and he smacked him on the back of the neck. “Or do I have to beat those ideas out of you, Wonder Man?”

Hugh hit him back, but in the arm. “Come on. I don’t believe it is bullshit.”

And I don't think you believe that either.

“All right, but you believe many things. You believed in Santa Claus until very recently.” Simon started playing with a ball of crumpled paper that had been lying on the floor for a week. “When you told me ‘Simon, but it has all the logic in the world that Santa exists, he is a prodigy, like us ’ and I was like—"

“A part of me died that tragic day,” he said in a dramatic voice, one hand on his chest. “My childhood…”

“You were eleven years old. It was to save you from bullying. I was protecting you.” The door opened again and they both turned at the same time to see who it was. It was just a group of girls. Good. “It's not like it helped that much though.”

He shrugged.

Neither Simon nor he had been spared from bullying during those years. All the schools in the district were mostly filled with non-prodigies because most of the prodigies were in gangs or hiding in their homes. The few who were still in school did their best not to cause problems and to go unnoticed. They were part of that last group since middle school.

However, the entire school found out about their powers when Simon got so nervous at a presentation that he disappeared in front of his entire class. Hugh tried to intervene but stood up so fast that he tripped over his backpack and hit his nose on the floor. He did not bleed or receive a single scratch. People were quick to connect the dots.

Obviously if one was a prodigy, the other one was too. 

Alter all, freaks stuck together. 

They thought high school was going to be different, but no. On the first day, an older boy caught Simon turning invisible intermittently in the bathroom while having a panic attack. A few hours later, a girl tried to stab Hugh with a pencil and all it did was break it as soon as it made contact with his skin.

“The next time you have a panic attack,” he told Simon on their way home, “tell me.”

“And the next time someone tries to stab you with a pencil, you stab them back.”

When you were a prodigy, it didn't matter if one believed in Santa or not. The mere fact of existing was enough to cause problems.

“At eleven you're still a kid,” Simon kicked him under the bench as he laughed. “Did you ever believe in Santa?”

“No. At my house the one who gave the presents was Baby Jesus,” he replied. “But I didn't believe in him either. How could a baby deliver all those gifts? His hands are too tiny”

Simon gave a light laugh, but Hugh couldn't even smile.

He toyed with the color blue. “Simon, did you ever believe in something?”

Simon bit the inside of his cheek and looked up at the ceiling. He took his sweet time thinking before replying, “I have believed in things.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Like what things?”

“Well... I believed the stories my mom told me before bed,” he replied. “I also believed they were never going to stop producing The Scarlet Enchantress and the Phantom Feline comics—” He gestured for him to come closer— “or that I was going to be a prodigy,” he whispered.

Hugh smiled at him. “The best curse ever.”

“What did you believe in?”

He laid his head on his desk. “I have a whole list.”

Simon covered his head with his hood and pretended to be ready to fall asleep. “The short version of that list, then.”

Hugh imitated him. “I used to believe that adults never grew up. Like, they were born as adults,” Simon laughed and rolled his eyes. “I thought little people were running the television inside of it. I thought my aunt was the most beautiful woman in the world—”

“She is,” Simon replied.

“Simon, stop it. She is my aunt. You have many other girls to choose from.”

“They are not as pretty as your aunt.”

“Simon!”

Simon laughed and the girls shushed him. His friend turned red in the ears as they returned to their conversation like nothing. Hugh wanted to point out how rude they had been.

However, when Simon discreetly smiled at him again, he decided to continue with his list. Those girls were not worthy of his attention. “I also believed in Santa Claus, until someone ruined my hopes and dreams.” Another kick. Simon kicked people too much. “But I also believe in that someone, you know.”

Simon's smile almost disappeared. “Well... that someone doesn't believe in himself.”

I knew it.

He understood his friend. He really did. He knew there were times when Simon would get more nervous than normal in banal situations. Or that he had some days when he didn't want to get out of bed at all. 

Those were the worst.

But despite that, not a single day passed that Simon didn't get up and go to school with him. Even when Hugh had to stop at his house and practically beg him to do it. 

Simon had never left him alone. And Hugh wasn't going to do it now.

He gifted him the widest of his smiles. “Well that someone doesn't have to worry about it. I can believe in him for both of us.”

Simon stared into his eyes for several seconds. He felt like he knew that face as well as he knew his. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“I am sure,” he replied.

Simon kicked him again.

Hugh felt sparks exploding inside his stomach.

Suddenly, a body slammed into the lockers, and screams filled the school hallway. The trio of girls ran out to see who was involved. Hugh leaned out of the small window in the door. He had always believed he was above that kind of thing, and he was. But it was also the most interesting thing that was going to happen all day.

Simon followed him.

They were a couple of boys from their grade, the same ones who constantly teased them. One with curly blond hair was holding his friend by the collar of his shirt and was yelling an infinity of curse words. The other three in his group, instead of separating them as good friends would do, they had joined the chorus of “Fight! Fight!"

Who knows why they were fighting. They were always fighting someone, but never with each other. They usually grabbed someone smaller than themselves for that, like the prodigy boy that was a grade below them. (They would never physically fight Hugh or Simon, making jokes at their expense was enough for them.) 

Cowards.

Maybe they were just brutally bored.

But there had to be other ways to shake off the boredom.

“I'm going to tell a teacher,” Hugh said.

At that moment, one of the girls ran out of the scene in the direction of the teachers' office. Well, at least now he wouldn't be the one to look like a snitch in front of his entire grade.

“That someone is slightly concerned,” Simon whispered.

“Why?” The blond slammed his friend again, but this time, against the door. “For them?”

“No,” he replied, a little disturbed by the tremendous blow that boy had received. “I am— that someone is... Well, what if the plan you have in your head is stupid?”

At that moment, Hugh realized that he had no plans. That was weird. He always had a plan for everything.

Beating Ace Anarchy should be no exception.

“I suppose we can come up with something. The two of us,” he added.

The fight was broken up by a short-haired teacher. They hurriedly returned their school chairs to their places and the rest of their class entered. Five, six, nine...

Eleven. Only eleven kids had attended that day. And that counting the ones who were fighting a few moments ago. 

“Don't think that someone is just going to blindly follow you,” Simon whispered. “He will tell you when you have a stupid plan.”

“I would be very grateful for that,” he also replied in a whisper. “Although I always have amazing plans, to begin with.”

Simon tried to kick him, but at that moment, the teacher from the first class entered. Hugh chuckled, and in response, Simon discreetly raised his middle finger in his direction.

He knew at that moment that it would not be a stupid plan.

#renegades #archenemies #supernova #renegades trilogy #fic #ao3 #OG renegades #hugh everhart #simon westwood #georgia rawles #tamaya rae #kasumi hasegawa #evander wade #rise of the renegades #two bros trying to be straight #humon #i guess #lol

[rhinoswriting]

A Life On The Road - Part 3 (A Luke Hemmings FanFic)

A/N: Hi, sorry it’s been a while since I posted. I’ve been busy moving home and doing all the admin shit that comes along with it. But anyway, Part 3 is here! It ends a little abruptly because I’ve got writer’s block, but I didn’t want to hold off posting for even longer. Part 4 will be here soon, I promise.

Part 2 Ending Recap: After a great gig you and the boys celebrate on the bus. It’s now the early hours of the morning and it’s just you and Luke left in the tour bus lounge chatting and getting to know each other better.

Part 1, Part 2

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

My drunk get-to-know-you-better chat with Luke was really fun, sweet and eye-opening. We asked about each other’s families, dreams, fears, regrets and fondest memories. And we answered with the truth; bearing our souls drunkenly to one another to build a closer friendship.

It was nearly 5 am and we were still sat asking each other questions.

"What’s your favourite breakfast?” Luke asked.

“If we’re talking sweet, it’s banana pancakes. If we’re talking savoury, it’s anything with a poached egg on top.” I answered before firing my next question at him, “Would you rather visit the moon or Atlantis?”

“Easy! Atlantis; there’d be way more to do there. What’s your biggest fear?”

“Developing some form of memory loss. What do you miss most from your pre-fame life?”

“Not being able to form genuine connections with people.”

Luke’s answer caught me a little off guard and tugged at my heart strings. Before I could respond he spoke again,

“Right now being a much welcomed exception.” He smiled at me with eyelids heavy from a lack of sleep and his head tilted to rest on the sofa.

“Right now being a much welcome exception.” I repeated and mirrored his closed lip smile, “We should probably go get some sleep though y’know. You look shattered and it’s a press day tomorrow. And I mean that in a caring friend way, not a Lou way.”

I forced my tired, stiff body up from the sofa and put my hand out to him. He gratefully took it and used me as a counterbalance as he pulled himself up from the sofa. We kept our hands loosely held together on the short walk to the bunks.

“Goodnight, Luke. And thank you for tonight. It was really nice getting to know you a little better.” I told him as I pulled the curtain of my bunk open.

“Honestly, thank you. I look forward to more late night tour talks.” Luke admitted before pulling me into a lazy, sleepy hug, “Goodnight, Elizabeth.”

And with that we both clambered into our respective bunks for what little remained of the night. Just as I was beginning to drift off to sleep, I heard my phone double vibrate to let me know I had just received a text. I opened one eye and saw my bunk had been slightly illuminated by my phone screen. Too tired to muster enough energy to see who was messaging me gone 5 in the morning I simply flipped my phone over and allowed the mattress to absorb the annoying rectangle of light.

What felt like an hour later I woke up and instinctively reached for my phone to check the time, only to find it had actually been 10 hours since my head hit the pillow. I also saw now that the message I received just before I fell asleep was from Luke. I held my thumb on the fingerprint sensor and opened his message.

Luke Hemmy: Lets grab a coffee tomorrow after we finish up at Oui FM x

Seeing as I’d already left him hanging for 10 hours I immediately typed out my response:

Shit! Sorry! I’ve only just seen this. I’m awake and definitely down for coffee. Meet you where? X

Then I grabbed my toiletry bag from the foot of my bunk, hopped out my bunk and freshened up in the tiny tour bus bathroom. When I got back to the row of bunks I pulled on fresh underwear, my jeans, a t-shirt I’d grabbed from the batch of merch being sold on this tour and then went in search of my docs and jacket. 

The tiny coat cupboard was an overflowing mess. Instead of digging around I grabbed one of the many leather jackets stuffed in there. The jacket smelt like Cal, so I knew I’d definitely be fine to borrow it. I quickly glanced in the cupboard door’s mirror. Satisfied with my outfit choice and how well Cal’s jacket added to the look, I grabbed my purse and phone off the counter before exiting the bus and locking up.

Not knowing what direction to head in I checked my phone to see if I had had a response from Luke. I had a few.

Luke Hemmy: Meet you here x Luke Hemmy has shared his location with you. Tracks done about to go in for the interview dk how long Given your name to the station so you can get in the building to wait x

Now having a destination, I made my way to the little red pin on the map.

When I arrived at the tall, plain building I saw a large group of fans patiently waiting outside the entrance on one side of some metal railing the radio station had put up. I did a lap of the block hoping for another entrance to the building. I didn’t want to have to walk right through and in front of all those fans patiently waiting. I knew I’d look like an ass and they wouldn’t like that I could just turn up, in a 5SOS t-shirt of all things, and saunter into the building. But of course there was no alternate entrance; so I made my way over to the crowd again and zipped up Cal’s leather jacket.

“Excusez moi. Excusez moi. Désolée. Excusez moi. Merci.” I said as I made my way to the slight gap between one of the rails and the building and then approached the large, silent man stood in front of the glass doors, “Excusez moi, je m’appelle Elizabeth Phillips. Je suis attendue.”

Fuck I hope I said that right. And if it is right I hope I don’t sound like a dick saying ‘I’m expected’.

I stood awkwardly and blushing before the tall man and surrounded by 5SOS fans as he checked with someone inside over his radio that I was indeed expected and not a fan trying my luck at getting in. Eventually my name was confirmed as valid and the man stepped aside and opened one of the glass doors for me.

“Merci.” I thanked him with a smile then hurried in and over to the reception desk. I’d used up about as much French as I could remember from school so tried my luck in English with the receptionist, “Hiya, is it okay for me to wait on the sofa here or is there somewhere I should go?”

“The sofas here is fine. They should be done soon, but can I get you a drink?” The man behind the desk responded, who was so surprisingly young I assumed he must be an intern.

“Oh no, I’m fine thank you. Thank you for the offer.” I told him with a smile as I sat on one of the two leather sofas and fought the urge to take my jacket off.

To distract myself and appear occupied I pulled out my phone, popped in one earphone and started scrolling through my Instagram feed. Once I was caught up with the feed I went through a couple of stories. When it got to Ash’s story I was greeted by the video he uploaded last night of me, him and Luke dancing and singing to KISS. He hadn’t put my handle on it so I couldn’t re-share it onto my story. I made a mental note to get him to send me the clip later.

I was about to go into my emails when I heard the elevator ding. I looked up from my phone and saw the guys and Lou spill out into the lobby. The portion of fans with a good view through the glass doors also noticed this by the sounds of the sudden fanatic screaming outside.

I made my way over to the guys, 

“Hey, hey!” I smiled at them all.

“Nice jacket,” Cal said as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me into a side hug, “I better be getting that back.”

“Oh you will.” I said before adding playfully, “Although it does look damn good, so maybe not.”

“Honestly I wouldn’t keep it. You don’t know where that’s been or what liquids have been spilt on it.” Michael grimaced which cracked everyone up.

We quickly wrapped up the pleasantries so the guys could go outside and meet their fans. It turns out there was an underground car park with two cars waiting, so I stayed in the lobby with Lou and we chatted about the tour, business and my KPIs. Around 40 minutes later the guys came back in and we were led to the underground car park and the two waiting cars.

“Coffee?” Luke asked as he turned to me while simultaneously putting his hand out behind him to reach for the handle of one of the car doors.

“Coffee.” I confirmed with a nod, then turned to the others to be polite and extend the invitation, “Coffee?”

“Yeah I’d be down for coffee.” Cal said with a casual shrug and began walking towards the car we were stood in front of.

“I’m still feeling a bit rough from last night. I’m gonna head back to the bus and nap, so I’ll see you guys at the restaurant for dinner.” Ashton answered.

“I’ll be honest with you, I just want to go back to the bus and play some games.” Michael said.

So with our next activities decided, Cal, Luke and I jumped in one car and Ashton, Michael and Lou got in the other. Luke asked our driver to drop us off at a coffee shop he’d recommend and with that we were on our way to a mystery coffee shop.

Much to our delight, our driver had an exceptional taste in coffee shops. He dropped us off near a narrow road, that wasn’t quite an alley, and instructed us to go down it until we came to a coffee shop on the right. He also recommended their lattes. We dutifully followed his directions and were rewarded with a small and comfortably busy coffee shop that made an excellent latte.

Lattes in hand, we made our way over to the small circular table right by window. I was sat between Cal and Luke, looking directly out onto the street with the fourth chair opposite me left empty. We chatted a lot about their afternoon at the radio station as well as the press so far on this tour in general. Then, as we were finishing up our lattes, we moved onto trying to plan something to spend the night doing after our big meal out.

“More importantly, should we not actually be on our way to the restaurant now?” I asked after glancing at my watch.

We quickly donned our jackets and headed out of the coffee shops. When we were out on the street Cal looked up directions to the restaurant on his phone and began leading the way. 

I pulled out my phone to check my emails as the three of us mindlessly followed Maps. I saw a response had come in from one of the editors at ELLE. After reading the first two lines I stopped dead in my tracks and just stared at the screen I was cradling in both hands.

Luke was the first to notice I’d stopped walking alongside them both, 

“You alright back there?” He asked.

I looked up to see him and Cal taking a few steps towards me to close the little distance they had gained. I beamed at them giddily, 

“ELLE are interested in running two of my pieces in upcoming months!” I squealed, “They said they like the exert from the Glasgow piece I wrote. They want to publish the completed thing and they’re interested in the idea I outlined for Munich!” 

“That’s amazing!” They congratulated me as I was engulfed into a group hug.

“I’m so proud of you, EP!” Cal added as the three of us pulled apart.

“It’s such a relief that this gamble might actually pay off!” I said still smiling from ear to ear, “I need to tell Drew!”

I turned my attention back to my phone and excitedly told Drew the news in all caps.

YOU’RE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE THIS ELLE WANT TO RUN WITH TWO OF MY ARTICLES THIS MIGHT ACTUALLY GO WELL FOR ME ALSO HI FROM PARIS, I MISS YOU WE SHOULD FACETIME SOON XX

After hitting send I put my phone away and continued walking with the boys. After a left and two rights we found ourselves at the restaurant, and being the last to arrive, sat at the table’s remaining spaces.

#luke hemmings #luke hemmings fanfic #luke hemmings fanfiction #luke hemmings x ofc #5sos fanfiction #5sos fanfic #luke 5sos

[imagine-lumpygrab]

I see you reblogged a writing prompt list so if possible may I request... Number 3 for angst or number 14 for fluff... Take your pick whatever inspires you more

Surprisingly, in spite of my natural leaning towards fluff, I was inspired by the angst prompt: “Why are you awake right now?”

It did turn into fluff after a while though, so... oops :D

––––––––––––––––

The Storm Cloud

(for @charliecharlo)

The city full of lemonpeople was very quiet during most nights. Most citizens of the earldom had similar sleep patterns and went to sleep at the same time, after all, but there were exceptions. A small boy in a house on the outskirts was finishing up his new sculpture. Elsewhere, a mother of two was checking on her children (who she’d planted, grown and raised herself, mind you) for the last time before going to bed.

Just like the city, the castle towering over it was, too, very quiet. The earl of Lemongrab himself, though, was wide awake, and the longer he stayed awake, the more suffocating the silence around him seemed to be. He’d grown accustomed to being around people in these last few months, he spent some time with Fern after they both got candified, he appointed several meetings with princess Bubblegum in an attempt (made on both sides) to fix both their personal relationships and ties between the kingdom and the earldom, and he was planning a small reunion tour with a music band his first predecessor used to be in, The Unacceptables. So far he’d only texted with them but tomorrow they had a band meeting planned and he wandered how it would go.

Would they even come? Weren’t like two of them dead? What are they going to say about him being dead for a while?

As the night progressed, he decided to at least be productive if his anxieties wouldn’t let him sleep. He could try and write a new song, at least he’d have an offering for the band meeting. So, not really knowing if there was even anything to write, he took a small notebook and a pencil he kept in his nightstand’s drawer and ventured out into his castle. Wherever he went, gentle light of lanterns appeared seemingly out of nowhere, lit up by the servants living in the walls. On other nights, he had a tendency to notice a small delay as those in charge of night lights were only starting their shift and he would probably tell them to be more responsible when on duty, but tonight he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He had more important stuff to overthink.

Finally, he settled with sitting down to the empty dining table in one of the biggest rooms in the castle. He remembered Lemongrab the Second’s proposal of getting rid of it and turning the hall into a ballroom once. He also remembered Lemongrab the First’s hesitant agreement, as the “original” earl of Lemongrab didn’t particularly like the crowds at the time. Later, the idea almost turned into a fully planned project when the older brother started a band and grew to love the attention their fans showered them with.

So ironic that he’d been destroyed by music only months later, along with his clone.

Lemongrab shuddered, at times he could swear to have heard Lemonhope’s harp again, echoing through his home, through his mind, soft melody piercing him and tearing him apart bit by bit. It took a while after he was stitched together to muster up the courage to start listening to any sort of music again, and whenever there was a harp in the room he needed desperately to be anywhere else. Thank Glob most people who knew him understood that.

He tapped the flat end of his pencil against a blank page of the notebook. What did he feel like writing about?

His mind went blank.

Now that he had decided to write something, he didn’t know how to start.

Any given word he could think of felt wrong.

He couldn’t even start the first verse.

“Well this is annoying,” he spoke out loud, partly to fight against the silence wreathing around him, but that only seemed to draw it closer to his skin, embracing and crushing him, why did it feel like that, why did the silence feel so… tangible? Why wasn’t he asleep, he should be asleep, was it bad that he wasn’t asleep? Was he doing something wrong? Was something wrong with him – again??

Lemongrab gripped the pencil tighter and shut his eyes tight. His annoyance slowly but surely morphed into something else, something darker, anger, most likely. Yes, that was it, anger was the right word. He had survived the end of the world and he survived the elemental powers of Ooo getting out of hand and he had survived his own death, why did it feel like he shouldn’t have, why did he feel like he was doing everything wrong, what was the meaning of this?!

A tap on his shoulder wrenched him out of the panicky state he was slowly succumbing to. As he opened his eyes, he realized he was pressing his forehead against the blank paper and the pencil he held was moments away from snapping in half.

Next to him was standing one of the servants who lived in the walls. He was holding Lemongrab’s phone, which was at the moment buzzing. The name on the screen made him sigh in relief: it was Lumpy Space Princess. Just the person he needed to talk to. She’d recently movies back to the Lumpy Space for her official coronation and to deal with paperwork and administration related to the process, and even though they called each other all the time, it couldn’t quite compensate for her absence.

Trying to compose himself as to not sound like he just almost had a mental breakdown, he took the phone and picked up. “Hi–”

“Why are you awake right now?” his girlfriend’s voice came through, sounding a little scolding and more than a little worried.

The question caught him off-guard. He squinted his eyes in confusion: “How… how do you even know I’m awake?”

He heard her make the quiet “psh” scoff she made whenever she was about to state the obvious. “Well, you don’t sound like you’d just woken up. You sound like you’ve been up and about for a while before you picked up the phone.” She paused for a second and then added: “Also Bubblegum texted me saying she saw light in your castle with one of her new drones.”

Lemongrab sighed. Of course she did. “That’s mother princess for you, I guess,” he mumbled while standing up from the desk and walking over to a window, trying to spot the drone. He saw nothing, however. Either it was far away or gone already, but it didn’t help his mood any.

“Yeah.. but she cares, LG,” LSP offered, trying to soothe his annoyance. “I think she’s just been on edge since experiencing the actual end of the world and her own family declaring war on her.”

“I’ve been on edge too!” Lemongrab exclaimed, throwing his hands up even though she couldn’t see the gesture. “And you don’t see me stalking the candy people! …not anymore at least.” He groaned, the lack of sleep was getting to him and princess Bubblegum spying on him, even if from afar, was only worsening his already fragile state.

And even if she was in a completely different realm at the moment, he knew LSP could tell he wasn’t feeling well. “Lemongrab, why don’t you tell me what’s keeping you up?”

“You should be sleeping too, though.”

“Eh, I’d spent the next three hours watching cat videos, talking to you is always cooler. Now, what’s on your mind? Spill it.”

So, he decided to spill it. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d write a song for the band meeting tomorrow, but instead I had a meltdown, I think.”

“What?!”

“I’m fine now though!” he rushed to assure her, but it didn’t seem convincing even to him. Is he really fine? He didn’t feel fine. But he didn’t want her to worry, either.

“I know you don’t want me to worry,” she spoke up, and for half a second he wondered (not for the first time) if lumpy space people could read minds. “But you know it helps to talk about stuff.”

He let go of the pencil, giving up on song-writing. Obviously, his muse decided to evade him for the evening. Instead he wrapped his free arm around himself in an attempt to chase away the impending feeling of loneliness. How could he feel so alone when all around him there were the lemon citizens and how could he feel like he was missing more than a few pieces when he was out together with more pieces than he dared to count? How could he feel so…

“Wrong,” he admitted to her. “I feel wrong.”

She kept silent. She knew there was more to it.

He continued, if only to protect himself against the silence. Also because he really wanted her to know. He wanted her to understand, and he knew she would. She always did. “I was… I was okay earlier today, I was okay yesterday, I was okay a week ago, but tonight I feel horrible, I feel stupid and I hate everything.” Mostly myself, he didn’t say out loud. “And I feel wrong for being annoyed and tired and angry when I don’t have anything in particular to be so annoyed and tired and angry for, you know?”

“Oh, baby,” she said softly. She desperately wanted to be there, to hug him and kiss him and hold him until he fell asleep. But she couldn’t. So she settled for the next best thing. “Most people have these intrusive thoughts from time to time, that we’re somehow broken. Let’s face it, most of us are. But that’s good.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah. Scars and imperfections show that you’ve lived. Having a writer’s block is normal, and being in a horrible mood from time to time is normal too. You know, I really miss you, and sometimes I catch myself lashing out at mom and dad because of it. But I think they know I’m just irritated, because they’re always chill about it.”

Lemongrab couldn’t help but smile a little. He did have an opportunity to meet her parents already and they were the sweetest people he’d met in a while. And as much as she tried to act cool and tough, LSP had proven to him on numerous occasions that she could be just as sweet. Like now. Now, she was making him feel better. “I love you,” he informed her, because even if it was out of nowhere, it just… seemed appropriate.

“I love you too,” she responded and he could almost see her gentle smile. “Don’t worry about anything, okay? You’re strong, I’ve seen it, I know it. But even the strongest people have to take breaks. What I’m trying to say is, if you can’t write anything, don’t force yourself into it. Go hang out with the camel or the pegasus if you still don’t feel sleepy,” she offered.

He was about to follow her advice, honestly, why not? He told her once how the second earl came up with that idea a while ago and Lemongrab still spent time in his stable sometimes when he was feeling down. He suspected he wasn’t the only lemoncreature to do so, too.

But his eyes wandered down to the table, and the notebook, and the pencil, and he blinked. And just like that, the exact words he was searching for popped into his head. “Wait, stop,” he spoke up to interrupt LSP as she was still trying to think of more stuff to calm him down. “What rhymes with ‘us’?”

She hummed, pondering the sudden question before answering: “Maybe ‘thus’?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, setting the phone down and catching the pencil like a hawk snatching up its prey. “Yeah, that’ll work!”

“What, what will work?” Her voice was laced with excitement as she realized: “Did you get an idea for a song??? Oh my Glob am I your new muse? I’m a totally awesome muse.”

“Hold on for a second.”

“Sorry, I’ll stop talking. Write your heart out.”

And as he wrote the lyrics down verse after verse, he believed he might have done just that. When finished, he read the lyrics back to LSP and the sheer excitement in her voice as she gushed about how wonderful his work was melted away his remaining discomforts.

“It’s not exactly our band’s genre…”

“It’s not set in stone, you can come back to it later. Or make it the special song for the end of the night, you know, a goodbye song after a good concert. Whatever you do with it, it’s gonna be awesome,” she assured him. “Am I right or am I right?”

He grinned. “Both.” Just then, he let out a yawn.

“Aha! I heard that! You’re going to bed right now, mister!” she said half-jokingly.

He chuckled softly and complied. For whatever reason, he suddenly felt like he could doze off right then and there, but he’d done that a few times before and when Bubblegum found out, she scolded him for hurting his back that way.

Before settling back into his bed, Lemongrab wished LSP a good night and thanked her for being there for him. She replied with a smug “always, my dearest lemonboy,” and hung up shortly after.

And before he fell asleep, a melody of the song he’d just come up played softly in his mind, for once bringing not bad memories, but a sense of ease and warm, gentle embraces.

Little drops of blue

Keep falling down and touching you

It’s the sky weeping

Over the tragedy you’ve been through

Little broken heart

Keeps getting ripped and torn apart

No ugly strings of yours

Can fix what never had to start

Little broken us

The rain will keep on weeping thus:

“Go touch the strings now”

And ugly turns vibrant, just because.

Little drops of blue

Keep falling down as I kiss you

It’s the sky weeping

Over the truth that I love you.

[galpalaven]

sketches

A little something to break my writer’s block. I’ve been wanting to play with the possibility that MC was also on the team of researchers trying to stop the Plague for a while now, especially since some people brought up the idea that Julian’s curse might not be Asra’s handiwork.

This is fluffier than that though ;)

under the cut for length because 3300+ words~

“I thought you were supposed to be on Lucio duty today,” Julian’s voice says from his little cubby as she wanders into the library, idly grabbing a book from her pile on a table near the middle of the room as she walks by.

Nox shoots him a tired smile, just as Kala gives an annoyed huff behind her. Her familiar stalks over to the pile of pillows by the big window, flopping onto them to nap in the sun as Nox drags a chair over to Julian’s desk. A breeze floats in from the open window, warm and sweet with the summer bloom. Her eyes start to itch, just to remind her of her mortality, but she can’t be bothered by something so small today.

“He still hasn’t apologized to Nadia for the comment he made the other day,” she sighs, sliding sideways into the chair so that her back is pressed to the bookshelf, propping her arm up on the back of the chair. “So Asra’s with him right now.”

“Ha, I bet he’s enjoying that.”

She snorts, shaking her head as she reaches for one of the stacks of notes. “I’m sure. So, I was reading last night when I couldn’t sleep,” she begins, reaching for the quill and inkwell on his side of the table. “And I think I have an idea for how to help with the insane temperature spikes…”

And they jump right into theorizing, both suddenly filled with fresh determination, feeding off of each other’s enthusiasm. They must be halfway through all of the books in the library, she thinks as she pulls down another stack or three at some point in the day. She hasn’t read so much about magical properties of plants in years, and even less so about the inner-workings of the human body—her father had taught her a good deal of healing magic, and that was part of the reason the Count even kept her around at all (after single-handedly pulling him back from the brink of boiling to death under his own fever), but it was kind of nice.

Of course, it was also nice getting to work with the handsome doctor man for hours and hours on end. She’d have been lying if she said that part of the reason she continued to stick around wasn’t Julian.

She doesn’t remember dozing off, but there’s a lull in conversation as they bury their faces in their respective texts, and the next thing she knows, there’s a chilly breeze floating in from the open window, and something heavy and warm is being draped around her shoulders. Nox drags in a slow breath through her nose, prying one dry eye open to peek at Julian as he slides back into his seat across from her. The room has gone dark, the only light coming from the lamp he’d lit at some point while she slept. Prodding with her magic curiously, she finds that Kala has also wandered off, somewhere on the other side of the castle grounds now instead of in the room with them like she had been.

Groaning softy, she buries her face into the crook of her arm, and mumbles, “How long was I out?”

She can hear the smile on Julian’s face when he answers her. “I don’t know. I think I dozed off not long after you did.” She looks up at him over her sleeve and finds one side of his face is more red than the other, hair messy from where his hand must have been holding his head up as he napped. He shrugs at her. “I also think we might have missed dinner.”

Nox groans again. “Great.” Sighing, she pulls his cloak tighter around her shoulders, reaching lazily for the stack of papers by her arm. “Did we make any progress?”

He just hums. “You wrote down a few potion recipes before you fell asleep. I haven’t come up with anything new yet, besides—well…”

“He won’t like the leech idea, Julian, I can tell you that right now.”

“It could work,” he says, but there’s no real argument in his tone. “…Maybe.”

Nox props her cheek up with her hand and smiles at the look on his face, smiling a little more when his face goes red, and he coughs to hide the smile tugging at his lips.

“I love that you blush with your entire face, ears, and neck,” she says bluntly, biting back the urge to laugh when he somehow manages to go more red at the compliment. “I’ve always thought it was an endearing trait.”

“Yes, well,” he clears his throat, rubbing at his red cheeks. “Thank you, I suppose. I rather hate it myself.”

She tilts her head at him, pausing for a beat, considering her next words. There are many things she wants to tell him, admiration and adoration blossoming somewhere in her stomach as she lets her gaze trail across his face, hesitating only for a second on his mouth. Her limbs are still heavy with the lingering traces of sleep, and his cloak is warm around her shoulders, thick and smelling faintly of—cologne? It makes her head swim, and her ability to form anything very coherent falters.

“You’re cute,” is what ends up falling from her lips.

Julian, apparently surprised, starts something awful at that, inhaling sharply enough that he begins to cough, knee bumping roughly into leg of the table and sending one of the more precarious stacks of books tumbling to the ground. With an ear-piercing crash, the books land heavily on the marble, scrolls and papers scattering around the table legs as the two of them flinch, waiting for the books to settle before they move to pick them up. Nox worries in the back of her mind that his face might just stay that color now, unless he bursts a capillary or two, as he drops to his knees, gathering books and papers up haphazardly, fingers shaking. Nox drops beside him, smiling to herself as she helps put everything back on the table.

She’s almost done when the contents of a loose sheet of paper she’d grabbed catches her attention.

“…Julian? Did you draw this?”

Across the page are sketches, doodled in ink. There are notes scattered here and there—unimportant mostly, but the paper is still primarily drawings of a familiar face.

Her face.

Julian snatches it out of her hand, laughing nervously, and tucks it into the bottom of the pile of papers on the desk, face flushing even more than before. Nox’s lips twitch with the urge to grin, watching him cough and splutter, trying to find the words through a haze of embarrassment. Amused and feeling delightfully warm, Nox carefully pushes some of the books back towards the middle of the table, hopping up to sit on the edge of the desk, swinging her legs as she watches him try to figure out what to say.

“I—they were just—I—I’m,” he cuts off with a huff, rubbing at his burning face. Pinching at the bridge of his nose, he mumbles, “I’m sorry.”

Humming, Nox pulls the paper back out of the stack where he’d stuffed it, smoothing it out and running her fingers over some of the more detailed drawings. A lot of them are just her face as she’s reading—a few are of just her lips, some of them scribbled out in such a way that it looks like he must have been practicing their shape.

“They’re lovely,” she compliments softly, flicking her gaze back up to his and smiling at the startled look of shock that makes his jaw go slack.

“They’re—they are?”

“They are!” She runs her fingers across one of the bigger sketches of her, stretched out on the pillow nest by the big window, reading something while Kala naps behind her. She’s gnawing on her lower lip in that one, and her eyes drift to another one of just her mouth where he’d drawn her biting at her lip again. An idea begins to form in her mind as he leans against the desk beside her, anxiously looking at the paper over her shoulder, and she smiles a little to herself. “Although, I’m not sure of my lips in all of these.”

��Ah—those are—I was trying to get the curve right, but—,” he starts, but she cuts him off with a finger to his lips, making his eyes widen almost comically.

Leaning closer, she looks from one eye to the other, before slowly, deliberately, dropping her gaze to his mouth. “Maybe,” she sighs, leaning closer still, “you just need a closer look.”

She can feel how shallow his breathing goes as she drags her thumb across his bottom lip, watches the way his expression melts, something sweet and yearning settling over his features as his eyes are drawn back to her mouth. Her fingers move from his mouth to curl invitingly under his chin, gently guiding him closer until she can feel his shuddering breaths against her skin. His lips part against hers as she brushes her mouth against his, half expectant and half apprehensive, excited tension deep in his muscles as she sets the paper aside and brings her hand up to fiddle with the flimsy hem of his white shirt.

When she finally kisses him, soft lips sinking deliciously into his, fitting his lower lip comfortably between her own, he makes a quiet noise against her, a desperate little sound that sends heat coiling low in her gut as he kisses her back fervently. Nox lingers as long as she can, shifting her kiss to his upper lip in the next moment, sighing against him contentedly as one of his hands slides up the side of her neck, fingers slipping into the short hair at her nape. His other hand comes to rest on her hip then as the kiss deepens, Julian stepping closer hesitantly as he tilts his head, fingers tightening at the back of her neck, urging her closer, further into his embrace.

Trying to keep her grasp on her sanity, the hand she had under his chin moves to clutch desperately at his shoulder, eyebrows drawing together at the simmering heat in the press of his mouth, the rasping slide of his tongue against hers. Oh god, she thinks dazedly, heat prickling across her skin and burning at her ears as he continues to kiss her. She’d started this, of course, sick of pining, but she hadn’t expected that he’d be so—

His fingers curl at the back of her neck, and he pulls lightly at her hair, tilting her head back as he looms over her, so tall and broad that it makes her a little dizzy. She feels the corners of his mouth threaten to tug upward at the muffled groan she gives in response, and she nips at his lip teasingly even as she fights back the urge to grin, too. Her nails dig into the meat of his shoulder as he deepens the kiss again, lips tasting like adoration and heat and liquid desire and—and god, she can’t remember the last time anyone kissed her quite like this.

She’s just begun to feel wonderfully light-headed when he breaks away with a rough exhale, though he doesn’t go far, pressing his forehead against her temple as he takes a few shaky breaths against the skin on her cheek. Nox lets her hands slide up around his shoulders, fingers winding into his curly red hair, willing her heartbeat to slow just a bit.

She laughs breathlessly after a second, shaking her head as he presses a giddy grin against the side of her face.

“That was even better than I’d hoped it would be,” she laughs, opening her eyes as he pulls back to look at her, both of his hands cupping her face now.

The look of sheer, unrestrained awe on his face brings a fresh swell of heat to her cheeks, and a wave of affection washes over her as she meets his gaze. His grey eyes have darkened as the lamp burns low behind them, pupils blown wide as they zero in on her mouth again, watching his thumb as he drags it across her bottom lip. She watches his face as he stills for a moment, a contemplative look in his eye that makes her think he’s about to lean right back in and pick up where they left off—and then he blinks, meeting her eyes again.

“…Is this real?” he asks softly, and her stomach flips at the slight hoarseness of his voice.

Nox laughs, voice just as hushed as she replies, “As far as I’m aware, yeah.”

“Are you sure? We’re not still asleep?”

She quirks an eyebrow at him and mischief makes a smile dance on the corners of her lips. “I can bite you or something if you’re that unsure.”

The fading blush on his face returns full force at that suggestion, but he doesn’t shy away from it this time, eyeing her mouth for a long moment. Carefully, he leans back in, and her eyes fall shut almost immediately, lips parting expectantly… but nothing happens.

Julian brushes his nose against hers a few times, nudging her bottom lip with his and listening to the hitch in her breath in response. He makes no move to close the final few centimeters between them, though, and she can feel him grin against her mouth as he laughs, warm and deep when she huffs and grumbles, “Julian.”

“Ilya,” he says simply, pressing his lips to hers once, chaste and sweet.

Her stomach flips, and she pulls back to look at him as something like joy bubbles up in her chest. She’s heard other people call him that—mostly just Asra—but she’d been hesitant to call him that without permission. Nox, of all people, knows the value of people calling you exactly what you’ve asked them to call you. She wasn’t about to be the kind of person that went against that request.

“Call me Ilya.”

She grins at him, leaning into his embrace and playing with the hair at the back of his head. “What, really?”

He nods, smiling back at her as he slides his arms down to wrap around her back. “I’ve been waiting for you to pick it up from Asra,” he explains, “but if this isn’t just a one time thing, I’d like it if you’d call me Ilya.”

Delighted, she nods, pressing a pleased kiss to his mouth that both of them smile into. “I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to call you that. And, you know, as picky as I am about my name, I certainly wasn’t going to call you something else without your permission.”

He hums flatly. “Sweet.”

She rolls her eyes at the attempted jab. “No, decent, Ilya.”

Nox will swear for years to come that the grin that splits his face actually makes the lamp behind her burn brighter—or maybe its just her magic reacting to the contentment pulsing through her veins. He’s still smiling as he leans back in and—

“Nox!”

She comes back to herself with a strangled gasp, clutching at her throat and blinking rapidly. There are small, warm hands on her shoulders, a familiar worried voice in her ear, though she can’t quite make out sentences through the sharp, throbbing pain in her head. Something thick and wet drips onto the paper, and Nox slaps a hand over her mouth and nose to catch the blood before more red can stain the paper.

What… what the hell?

She doesn’t remember any of that, but it was very—it had felt real. The library, the warm banter, the feeling of his lips on hers. She’s dizzy with the implications of this new memory, of the physical proof that something like that must have happened, because how else would these drawings of her face be here? How else—?

“Kala,” is the next word that falls from her lips, barely more than an exhale as her eyes fall on the panther sleeping behind her in one of the sketches. Her familiar. Her familiar.

How had she forgotten? Even now, memories were swimming back into reach—the jungle on the way to Prakra, the injured cub she’d found and nursed back to health. She’d put so much effort into helping Kala get better, even though she’d had no idea where she was or if she’d ever find her way to her father, if she’d have to turn back and go home with her tail between her legs. Kala had seen her safely into the city, had been there through all of her training. She’d been there that summer that she and Nadia had spent together—had even pushed Nox to pursue the relationship, even though it had had to come to an end with that last festival.

How could she have she forgotten her? Where was she now? What happened to her? What happened to them? To everyone?

What happened?

Nox remembers that Portia is present when the paper with the sketches moves from her line of sight, and she looks up at her friend miserably, watching the dawning realization on her face.

“Is this—did you—did you know him? During the Plague?”

Nox sniffles, shrugging, pinching her nose to try and stop her nosebleed. Her head still throbs, sharp and demanding with every pulse of her heart, but it’s not as overwhelming as it could be. “I don’t know. I can’t—I can’t really remember.”

Portia’s pretty blue eyes move to her face then, concern etched into her face. “That’s right,” she hums, almost to herself. “Milady did say you also suffer from memory loss, too.”

Concentrating what little energy Nox has left, she uses her magic to heal her nose, sniffing to fight the urge to sneeze as the spell leaves a tingling sensation in its wake.

…wait. Why does that feel familiar—?

“I came to get you for dinner,” Portia says, wiping at the drop of blood with a handkerchief before rolling the paper up and handing it to her. Nox’s train of thought is lost as she takes the scroll dazedly. “I’m sure she’ll understand if you need to go lie down, though.”

Nox is shaking her head before Portia can even finish her thought. “No, I have—I’ve a few questions for Nadia.” Mainly what she remembers about my giant, spoiled cat. “I’d appreciate a little help getting to the dining hall, though.”

Portia smiles and the uneasy feeling in her gut eases as she helps her out of the seat, carefully steadying her when Nox sways precariously on her feet as the floor seems to rear beneath her. She feels raw, like an exposed nerve, as they make their way from the library together, magic prickling and spiking anxiously at every subtle shift at the edge of her consciousness. Just once, as they’re walking, she catches a glimpse of something large and looming, just barely in the corner of her eye, but when she turns her head…

Whatever it was is gone, leaving Nox to press a little closer to her companion in her apprehension.

Unwilling to let her mind play tricks like this, her thoughts wander back to Julian, and his voice echoes in her mind as they turn the last corner on the way to the dining hall.

“I know it’s only been a short time… but I feel like I’ve known you for years.”

Her hand rests lightly over the new lump in her bag where the sheet of drawings rests, and she smiles a little to herself. She’ll have to find time to return these to him one of these days, just to see his reaction.

Maybe there’s a chance for them yet.

I liiiiive. God, it’s nice to break the block hhhhh

@wolfsskull idk if you still want me to tag you but i’m gONNA

edit: now on AO3!

#the arcana #the arcana game #julian devorak #julian x apprentice #julian x mc #my writing #nox pendragon #50 notes #100 notes

[guksthighs]

Early Bird

Group: BTS

Pairing: YOONGI(SUGA) X JIMIN

Excerpt/summary: ‘ They were too different; an early bird and a night owl maybe it was doomed from just this small fact. ’

Genre: Angst, eventual fluff

Length: 3.1k

Warnings: mild swearing, sexual scene 

Inspired by: @artofennun (and her domesticau yoonmin )

A/N: I’ve always been pulled out of my writer’s block by looking at your art or watching your live streams and I hope I’ve done this piece justice!  

Jimin was an early bird, every morning he would be up long before Yoongi and with a satisfied sigh and opening the blinds with the same vigour every morning, he would be greeted by a groan or muttered swearing from Yoongi. It was their routine, and Jimin would always give compensation for it by showering him in kisses or making him a coffee.

Yoongi easily slipped into the pattern of being awoken by these blinding sun rays, just to have Jimin straddle him and pepper his face with kisses. And as much as Yoongi liked to pretend he hated it, it did eventually become the highlight of his morning.

This honeymoon period only lasted so long though. Yoongi was struggling to sleep, tossing and turning; his mind refusing to let him rest with the added pressure of composing; it all bundled itself up into irritation that was taken out on the easiest target, Jimin.

The first morning of many bad ones to come, played out as normal, Jimin got up and stretched before walking to the window and opening the blinds, he smiled as the sun illuminated his face and turning to look at Yoongi, he watched the small patch of black hair retreat into the white sheets. Gently he approached the figure, sitting on the bed Yoongi felt the mattress dip slightly and let out a groan to keep the boy away, Jimin didn’t get the hint. Dragging back the covers slowly Jimin dipped down to plant a kiss on the elder’s head only to be swatted away, pulling the duvet back up Jimin was not disheartened as he went to make Yoongi a coffee.

Whilst Jimin strolled into the small kitchen, Yoongi’s dog Holly played at his feet, and Jimin scooped him up and nuzzled his face into Holly’s fur. After a few minutes of having his face licked and baby talking the dog, Jimin put Holly back down, and with one last stroke he went back to making the coffee. A lock of bubblegum pink hair fell into his eyes and as he pushed it away, then continued to pour the hot water into the instant powder. But his shaky hand spilt some of it which landed on his fingers causing him to squeal and place it in his mouth, but he continued tirelessly in making the coffee.

Finally when he finished, did he allow himself a small grin of triumph before walking back into the bedroom, Holly in tow as he sat on the bed again and Holly dug into the covers.

“Get out, both of you.” Yoongi’s voice was gruff and Jimin wanted to fight back but he knew he was at fault for walking his boyfriend up the same way every day when he had been told countless times how much he needed to rest.

“There’s a coffee on the table,” Jimin muttered, before he scooped Holly up, who barked in protest as together they began to leave.

“I don’t want your fucking apology coffee; I want an uninterrupted morning for once.” Yoongi’s head was poking out of the covers and Jimin pushed down the urge to ruffle his hair, the urge to nestle into his clothes, the urge to nibble on his earrings. Jimin nodded and walked out, his feet dragging on the cold floor; he had left his slippers next to the bed.

Recently, Jimin had noticed that Yoongi enjoyed their morning ritual less and less; but the vocalised outburst had still taken him by surprise, he was still hurt every evening when he was clearing away another untouched coffee but those were just actions, these were words confirming his fears.

Jimin sat on the sofa, knees to his chest as he wondered if Yoongi was finally bored of him. Speculating if their love was not destined for a massive ending but just to fizzle out, Jimin shook his head trying to rid himself of the thoughts but they had been plaguing him for the last week. They were too different; an early bird and a night owl maybe it was doomed from just this small fact.

Jimin slept badly ever since he had decided that Yoongi no longer loved him, in fact, he finally understood why the elder never woke up early; now he was also exhausted all the time. Even when he was asleep, his dreams were intense and often lucid, Jimin constantly having these weird dreams meant he no longer looked forward to sleeping. But he still woke up before Yoongi, he still drew the blinds, he still tried to kiss him, still made an apology coffee and every day these actions seemed to drain him just a bit more.

Jimin refused to believe that what they had was over, but it was hard when the evidence was staring him in the face; the multiple coffee cups building up on Yoongi’s desk and the bags collecting under both of their eyes.

One morning Jimin woke on the sofa, alone and shivering. He was confused, pushing his hair back before getting up and walking back to the bedroom, but as he walked closer to the door; moaning and the creaking of the bed increased in sound. Jimin pushed open the door timidly, scared his worst fears were about to be confirmed. There was a girl on top of Yoongi, long black hair falling down her curvy figure and he could hear Yoongi’s grunts intertwining with her moans. He dropped to his knees, tears rolling down his face as he repeated no.

A hand moved the girl to the side and Yoongi looked at him with no emotion, “get out.” Jimin wanted to fight so badly, wanted to run up and slap his elder in the face. But as he stood back up, slightly wobbling on his feet the girl turned around and it was Jeongguk’s big eyes that met his.

Jimin woke up with a gasp, the room was still dark as he ran a hand over his face; he felt the dampness of his tears and just wanted to cuddle with Yoongi for a bit. But as he snuggled into his boyfriends chest he was pushed away, before Yoongi turned around again, muttering slightly.

Wide eyed Jimin covered his mouth with his hands as sobs racked his shaking body, Yoongi didn’t love him anymore.

So he got up and tugged open the blinds but this time slightly more viscously. Then got back into bed, tears still trickling down his face as he drifted back to a restless sleep.

Yoongi woke up a few minutes later, unlike Jimin unable to sleep when it was light and when he felt the slight dent in the bed next to him he turned ready to reprimand the boy, what he saw instead made his mouth go dry. Jimin was curled up, facing him with tears dripping from his eyes and onto the slightly damp patch of his pillow; his heads shaking from side to side every now and then.

Yoongi ran a hand through his hair, pulling it slightly in frustration. That must have been why Jimin had snuggled into him. Yoongi groaned slightly, scared to wake the younger boy but still running a hand slowly through the bubblegum locks did he manage to soothe him and the tears finally stopped.

Yoongi pushed the pink hair away from the boy’s face and studied him closely; it was the longest he had looked at him in such detail for a few weeks.

Finally, he noticed the bags collecting under Jimin’s eyes so similar to his and the slight frown that had settled on his forehead. Yoongi placed a light kiss on the line before getting out of the bed, determined to make up for being so shit.

When Jimin woke up again he automatically reached out for Yoongi. But the bed was empty, assuming he was hallucinating he stretched out an arm and felt around Yoongi’s side. But he found nothing.

The curtains were already drawn and the morning sun greeted him. But this was not normal and Jimin in an already shaken state pushed himself out of bed. He rushed to the door in a blind panic just to knock onto a hard chest, this was followed by a hot liquid being spilt on his top and the floor and was quickly followed by a string of curses from Yoongi.

“Jiminie,” Yoongi quickly pushed him back into the bedroom before placing the coffee on the table, “quickly take off your top otherwise it will stain.”

But Jimin stood there, arms crossed over his torso, “are you cheating on me?”

Yoongi dropped the glass, the sound of it shattering on the floor was the only sound in the apartment followed by Holly’s yaps. Then his arms were around Jimin as he held him firmly, “I could never- I would never cheat on you,” he murmured into Jimin’s ear.

Jimin didn’t return the hug, his body completely stiff and Yoongi backed away aware of his uncharacteristic frown.

“Jimminie?”

Jimin gave him a tight smile, “I’m not some sort of housewife Yoongi,” Yoongi looked at him shocked, it took a lot to get Jimin this angry and yet he could see where he was coming from, “I’m not always going to crawl back into your lap when you’re a dick to me for weeks.”

“I know, I’m so-”

Jimin cut him off, a broad smile on his face as he said with a laugh, “you obviously don’t. You think I’m weak. You think that love will fix this. What love Yoongi?” A tear slipped down his face, “you don’t love me so how can this be fixed?”

This time when Yoongi hugged Jimin, he wasn’t stiff but hugged back. “I understand you’re angry. But please at least take off your wet top I don’t want you to be ill.”

Jimin sat on the edge of the bed, pulling off his shirt and looking at the floor, tears still slipping down his face. Yoongi quickly pulled his maroon jumper off and pulled it over the younger’s head.

Then Yoongi rubbed his hands on his legs, obviously stuck for words before he began walking out of the room, suddenly he was turning on his heel and was running back to Jimin. They both paused before Yoongi ran his hands through bubblegum locks and looking into Jimin’s eyes kissed him softly on the lips.

After a few seconds, Jimin pulled away and Yoongi looked down before turning to leave again, but Jimin’s hand wrapped around his wrist and Yoongi realised he was being given a second chance.

Turning he smiled softly and with his free hand stroked Jimin’s head, “I’m sorry I am such a bad boyfriend. You’ve been the only thing getting me out of bed in the morning, thank you.” Jimin moved his head so he could look into Yoongi’s eyes and then at his lips, the next time they kissed it was hungry and possessive. But this just reinstated what Yoongi had said.

“Your breath is awful,” Jimin complained and Yoongi laughed running his neck bashfully causing Jimin to laugh and kiss him again. Then he got up and pulled Yoongi to his feet, as they walked arm in arm to the bathroom.

Standing next to each, Jimin looped his arm through Yoongi’s as they continued to brush their teeth, leaning his head on his shoulder, “Yoongi, you won’t believe this dream I had; so..”

But Yoongi was already zoning out as he watched Jimin’s reflection and deciding he would wake up earlier than Jimin from now on so he could always see his crazy bed head and listen to his bizarre dreams, “I love you Jimin.”

Jimin paused mid-word and blinked at the elder in confusion before grinning and planting a foamy kiss on his cheek; “I love you too idiot.”

If you enjoyed this please do not hesitate to like, reblog and comment~

REQUESTS ARE OPEN! For my masterlist: click here

#bangtan #bts #bangtan boys #yoonmin #Yoongi #min yoongi #suga #Jimin #park jimin #kpop #bts angst #bts fluff #ennun #yoongs #chim #writing

[peetabreadgirl]

Writer’s Block 4.237

I intended to get this churned out in little blocks and post every 2k words. This is actually 3k, so consider the extra 1,000 words my apology. It seems even a little bit takes two weeks these days! But it’s getting closer. This is all cheese and fluff. And unedited! Please don’t point out my mistakes :) lol. I will crawl into a hole and die! 4.1 is here and you can find the first 3 here. 

I’m warm, and comfortable. And flat on my stomach with my face in the mattress. The sun is peeking through the tiny slits in the blinds over my bed. There’s a soft snore next to me and I open one eye, letting a slow smile take over my face. Blonde bed hair sticks up from beneath arms as Peeta lays face down with his head buried in a pillow, elbows jutting out from underneath it. I normally enjoy sleeping alone, but that’s obviously because I have no idea what I’m missing.

 Oddly, I’m not alarmed in the slightest by his presence on my couch - bed. I’m also not ready to remove myself from this scenario, so I roll towards him and lift his arm, burrowing into him. He releases a soft groan and repositions himself on his side so we fit together better, then tightens his hold on me. I don’t want to disturb our peace, so I say nothing. Neither does he.

 I must fall back asleep because I’m jolted awake by a surprised Peeta sitting straight up, and I almost tumble off the side of the bed and onto the floor. He grabs my waist and when we lock eyes my stomach falls. His eyes are wide and wild, like he doesn’t know where he is. I hope it’s not regret I see there.

“Wh-what time is it?” he asks, pushing his hair back with his hands before glancing at the watch on his wrist. “Shit,” he mutters, climbing from the bed and grabbing his things. I sit up slowly, unsure of what I should say. I was content just moments ago, but now I’m beginning to wish he hadn’t stayed last night, even though we did nothing but sleep.

 “Can I use your bathroom real quick?” he asks. I nod and point, unable to find my voice even for such a simple word as ‘yes’.

 While he’s in the restroom I quickly plait my hair into a side braid, then start a cup of coffee in a to-go cup. Moments later he emerges from the small space, hair tidier-looking, eyes less groggy. His clothes are rumpled but he’s still handsome as ever. We stand still, staring at each other awkwardly, both of us clearly struggling for something to say.

 “I hope you don’t mind. I, um, borrowed some toothpaste,” he says first.

 “Uh, no. No that’s fine,” I tell him. The coffee maker gurgles and spits behind me, signaling that it’s finished. As I look at it I get an idea to give it to him, hoping it might erase some of this weirdness between us. Surely he could use a pick me up, and I have time to make another cup anyway. I reach for it and turn back towards him, extending my meager offering. If anyone would have told me that my senior year of college I’d fall for Peeta Mellark and be begging the universe not to let things get strange between us, I would have laughed in their face. And then spit on their shoes. But here I am.

 “Coffee?” I meet his eyes every few seconds, relieved when an easy smile lifts his lips. Our fingers brush when he accepts it, but instead of retreating he steps closer to me.

 “Thank you.” My breathing halts as he reaches up and runs his fingers over my hair, down my braid that curls around my neck and ends just above my left breast. He leans in slowly and I’m rooted in place as he brushes his lips across mine. It’s the faintest touch, but the desire it flares inside me is unmistakable. “I’ll see you in class?” His whisper tingles against my lips.

 My senses are so skewed I can barely afford him a nod. He lays his forehead against mine and sighs. “If I didn’t have class in ten minutes…” he trails off, leaving me guessing as to how he would have finished that sentence. I want to ask him, but before I can he kisses me. Just a press of lips together, nothing that should feel as intriguing as it does. It’s innocent and pure, yet the feeling it elicits in me is anything but.

 “See you soon,” he says, releasing me. And then he’s closing my door with a soft click, leaving me alone. Something I used to appreciate but at the moment I have a distinct disdain for.

 I collapse back on the bed and groan into the emptiness. When I roll over I can smell him on my pillow. If I wrap an arm around it, close my eyes I can almost pretend it’s him. Almost. If it weren’t for the downy fluff where Peeta is solid, and the cooling material no substitute for the warmth he provides.

 I have two hours until my first class so instead of wishing he would come back, which will do nothing but make my day drag on, I pull out my laptop and begin to write. The words are sweeter than I’ve managed before, flowing straight from the experience I’ve recently had. There’s nothing sexual and everything sensual about the scene with Julia and Adam as they fall asleep together. The affection he shows is comforting to her and the feelings surrounding this part of the story are pulling her into a game she’s never played before. A game with rules she’s not familiar with. I feel her butterflies as acutely as if we are sharing the same stomach, and for the first time, I’m excited to see what happens with these two.

 I slip into class a little late, which is still early compared to most people’s definition of being on time. The room is already filling up with students. I try not to find Peeta with my eyes  but it’s futile. He’s there, planted in the seat next to mine with his laptop already out and his bag on the desk I always sit at, saving my place.

 His smile lights up the room as I near and he reaches for his bag so I can sit down.

 “Hi,” I say, proud that I spoke first. Or that I was able to speak at all with him looking at me like that. The sunshine pouring out of him that once caused me misery now beckons me like a seedling breaking the Earth’s surface for the first time, desperately in need of vitamin D.

 “Hey.”

 We share a few glances at each other and an awkward smile, or at least mine feels awkward. Peeta looks like he could be a smile model. Straight white teeth, pink lips and a dimple that punctuates the joviality he always seems to exude. But before we can have any kind of conversation Effie greets the class and begins the day’s lecture.

 Our laptops are open and my fingers are flying across the keyboard, trying to keep up with Effie’s speaking pace. when the tab of my open story doc starts blinking. Curious, I switch screens and see a message from Peeta in the chat box.

 This is shaping up really nice. ;)

 A quick glance at his screen shows he’s taking notes as well, but I can see several open tabs there. He must have been reading while I was taking notes. I reply ‘thanks’ and send it, staring at the lonely word that conveys very little of what I’m feeling. I may be the one putting the words down, but he’s been a fundamental part of the tone and the direction, not to mention some of the experience I’ve been given. Just thinking about it warms my cheeks, so I touch them with cool hands, stopping short of fanning myself lest Peeta look over and read my face for the open book it seems to be.

 I’m about to go back to writing notes when three dots begin to dance in the corner of the chat, signaling Peeta typing.

 What are you doing tonight? is the message he sends through. I reply that I’m going to write the date scene.

 P - I have plans to help with that…

 K - Don’t you have to work on your art project?

 P - It can wait a few hours.

 It warms me to know that he’s not just leaving me to write the rest of our project, that he cares enough to put his other project on hold, even if I am willing to finish it on my own.

 K - Cool. Your place or mine?

 P - We’ll start at your place. ;) I’ll be there at 6.

 His icon closes out and he’s gone, leaving me to wonder what he’s planning. Start at my place?

 I spend the rest of class unable to pay attention to the lecture, and more than a little annoyed that Peeta can have that effect on me. What is happening? I used to be so focused on school and my goals. Now all my senses seem to be sharpened in his direction.

 We’re finally dismissed and I gather my things, ignoring Peeta as he packs up beside me. I’m determined to get my wandering mind and eyes back under control.

 “So I’ll see you tonight?” he asks.

 “Sure,” I answer. Even though I’m avoiding his gaze I can feel the warm smile radiating from him.

 Don’t look.

 I can see his jean-covered legs out of the corner of my eye. As I’m bent over my backpack I realize I’m eye level with his… that. A barrage of words describing it come to mind thanks to my recent project research. I’m glad for my embarrassment, even though he can’t read my thoughts - I hope - because now nothing can make me look him in the eyes. Though I’m no less distracted than if I were looking at him.

 I throw my pack over my shoulder and start to walk towards the exit. I can feel Peeta behind me, his hand hovering at my lower back, but he doesn’t touch me. His scent wraps around me as we move with the crowd. It’s mildly sweet and extremely intoxicating. At one point, the students in front of me stop abruptly, bottlenecked into the doorway and Peeta is so close he bumps into me, throwing me off balance. But his arms are there to steady me, coiling around my waist and he doesn’t let go. It reminds me of last night and this morning, and I’m tempted to lay my head back on his shoulder, but the crowd surges forward again and Peeta’s arms fall away. I’m wondering how I can get us back into a crowded area when he stops me.

 “I’m this way,” he says, angling his head in the direction opposite of my next class.

 “Okay. Bye, Peeta.” It’s a lame reply, but it’s all I’ve got. Everything he does or says catches me off guard. I should be getting used to it by now. Able to formulate a response in the face of utter charm and those beguiling grins of his. I can’t tell if the blinders fell away when our mutual animosity faded, or if they’ve just been replaced by rose colored goggles, but I know I’ve never looked at Peeta Mellark this way in the entire time I’ve known him.

 He smiles again and waves, then takes off. I glance at my watch and sigh as I mentally calculate the time between now and 6:00 PM. It’s going to be a long afternoon.

  I’m lounging in my room doing some literary research for the sex scene while I wait for Peeta to come over. I changed from jeans to yoga pants back to jeans before I made myself stop and do something that would actually help our story along. I shouldn’t care what he or anyone else thinks of how I look. I never have before.

 The kissing is turning to petting when a knock startles me and I shove the trashy novel underneath my pillow and hop from the bed like I’ve been caught. It take a few seconds for my breath to even out, but then I swing open the door to see Peeta on the other side holding a handful of wildflowers and the slow excitement that was building in me moments ago while reading the sensual words goes to warp speed. He’s so handsome it physically hurts. The red checkered button down he’s wearing is a stark, but beautiful contrast to his blue eyes and his dark wash jeans mold to his thighs perfectly.

 “For you,” he says, holding out the flowers. I stare at them too long without taking them and he pulls them back. “You don’t like them?”

 I realize my mistake too late, but I reach for them anyway. “No, that’s not it. I just, no one has ever brought me flowers before.” My voice trails off at the end with embarrassment. The girls in high school used to get them on Valentine’s and birthdays. I always rolled my eyes and told myself it was frivolous and stupid, but the way my stomach is dipping and soaring is a study in contrast to those beliefs.

 “You didn’t have to do this, you know,” I tell him, mostly because an awkward silence has fallen between us.

 “I wanted to,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Pretty girls should be given flowers.” He blushes and it seems as contagious as if he’d yawned. I feel my own heating up.

 “Are you coming in?” I ask and stand aside. He stays put and shakes his head.

 “No can do. I’ve got a hot date.” My bottom jaw is suddenly so heavy I can’t stop it from dropping open and my gut seizes up with dread. A date? He got a date since mid-morning when he promised to help me with our story?

 “Oh,” is all I can croak out. I’m frozen. I want to slam the door in his face and throw myself on the bed - couch! - but my appendages don’t seem capable of receiving communication from my brain right now.

 “Well, okay,” I force out before I burst into tears as it dawns on me that I’ve been fooled by my nemesis. A flash of anger hits me like lightning, and I know I won’t be able to stand being in his presence. Ever again. “You know, I bet I can finish up this story while you concentrate on art. No need for us to meet up again.” Like a horror movie set in a cemetery, the bitterness I thought I’d buried suddenly rises from the dead and before I can stop myself I bite out, “Tell your date I say hello.”

 The door is almost closed when a booted foot wedges between it and the frame. I’m growing agitated and swing it back open growling “What?” at him.

 He has the nerve to smile. That cocky, lopsided smile that makes his eyes twinkle and forms a stupid dimple in his left cheek. A dimple I feel like poking hard with my finger. I begin smacking the weeds against my thigh and envision the satisfaction I’ll feel when I drop them into the wastebasket.

 “Hello.”

 “You mean goodbye?” I say, growing more impatient for his absence. His grin widens and he  fucking laughs! I should probably tell him to leave because I’m two seconds from losing all self control and he has no idea the danger he’s in.

 “You said to tell my date ‘hello’, so I did.”

 Wait, what? His eyes search my face and he clamps his lips together, which still turn up in a grin despite his efforts.

 “You’re my date, Katniss,” he explains, clearly clued into my confusion by the look I’m wearing. “And if I weren’t convinced that you’d deck me right now, I’d kiss that scowl off your face.” His pulls his hands out of his pockets and pushed his sleeves up, revealing his forearms. Have they always been so muscular? And why am I so easily distracted by that?

 “We’re going on a…”

 “Date,” he finishes for me. “Come on, I’m starved.” He winks and extends a hand to me, which is like a magnet for my own as it joins his without hesitation. His touch is like a balm that soothes away the anxiety of the last few minutes and I instantly feel like I can breathe again.

 I look at the flowers in my hand, a little less full than they were when he handed them to me, but still pretty enough to salvage, and tell him to wait before he can pull me out of the apartment. My hand screams it’s disapproval as he releases me and I scurry to set the flowers in a plastic cup I use to rinse my mouth when I brush my teeth, then grab the key to my room. My legs can’t seem to carry me back to his side fast enough. I only hope I don’t seem as anxious as I feel.

I can’t help it, though. Peeta Mellark is taking me on my first date.

#writer's block 4.2 #katniss and peeta #everlark #fluff #hand holding

[writingevil]

One Word at a Time

by E.L.B 1.8k words

There’s something so satisfying about handwriting. When the ink in your pen flows smoothly onto the paper and the words and letters align in that beautiful way. The subtle scratch of graphite as the writer’s hand moves across the paper desperately trying to keep pace with the pace their mind is setting. Amy knew the satisfaction of having a word erase beautifully with no smudges or the subtle bliss of scratching across a page until her fingers had dents and cramped up. Amy knew all of this but she was more familiar with the clicking of keys as her fingers raced to keep up with the meeting her boss was having. Amy knew the annoyance of being asked to go get coffee as soon as she sat at her desk. What made it worse was her boss was really freaking hot, too.

Amy’s boss was in charge of finding good stories for the publishing agency they worked for. She sifted through unknown authors and bribes from well known authors. Amy was in charge of taking notes when her boss met with authors or agents or idiots. It seemed like the last one had a lot of meetings. Amy knew by now not to face her boss during these meetings as the first time she had gotten distracted by the way her hair fell from its ponytail. God, that woman pissed her off sometimes. She had once stayed so late at the office she had dark circles under her eyes the next day and she still looked like fricken Aphrodite, which is just not fair. 

Amy was really intelligent, too, not that her boss would know that when every time Amy made eye contact with her she suddenly forgets all her years of cleverness and turns into a blushing, mute, mess that can only apologize. 

“Aims?” her boss’s voice spoke through the intercom. “Can you bring me the notes from my meeting with Franklin?” 

Amy grabbed the notes on the incredibly boring book Franklin was writing. She had read over them since the interview and guessed from the bored tone in Franklin’s voice and by the flat plotline that he had no real interest in this book. It was a typical boy meets girl story except the boy was actually a fairy and the girl is troubled be cause she ‘loves’ him but obviously they could never be together. Eventually the girl makes the choice to become a fairy and leave her entire life behind, a loving family and promising school. Amy thought the entire thing was just a bit too Romeo and Juliet for her taste. 

Amy brought the notes to her boss’s office while thinking about how stupid it would be to have yet another heterosexual teen romance out in the world. Her bosses office always had the strange but nice smell of fresh paper and ink. Currently her boss sat behind the desk with her face turned towards her computer, her brown, curly hair pulled back into a ponytail. She wordlessly held her hands up for the notes which Amy gave her. Amy turned and made her way back to the door but was stopped by her boss clearing her throat. 

“Amy, sit down a minute please,” her boss said gesturing to the chair in front of her desk. Amy felt her stomach jump to her throat as she pulled the chair out and sat stick-straight in it. “What’s your opinion on Franklin’s new piece?”

Amy was shocked, “M-my opinion, ma’am?”

“Yes, yours. You’re intelligent and your notes reflect that but I would appreciate a different opinion on the subject,” her boss said making Amy flush under the steady eye contact.

“Well, in my own opinion ma’am, I think Franklin’s new piece is frankly... bullshit.”

Her boss leaned back a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of her lips, “Strong words in description of a very famous author. Why?”

Amy gulped looking down at her hands, “It’s just another Romeo and Juliet love story. The boy and girl fall in love and they live happily ever after. The worst part is the Juliet character doesn’t even try. As soon as he shows interest in her she’s willing to throw her life away and change everything about herself just to please him. We have enough stories like that affecting young girls. Both characters are the simple cookie-cutter characters we see in all the stories; nerdy, white, straight girl falls for jocky, white, straight boy. We have enough romances like that already.”

“Many would say because those stories work for the public.”

“Many would also say that it promotes heteronormality to young teenagers.”

“And if you had the opportunity what would you write for today’s youth?”

“A queer romance with racial diversity but with a plotline that doesn’t center around the romance.”

“Wouldn’t you be afraid of people attacking you for being too forward thinking?”

“No. As a child I would have loved to see a female character whose role was more important than ‘which guy should I change myself for?’ that’s not how real healthy relationships should be.”

“How long would you take to write this?” Her boss asked leaning forward.

“W-what?” she asked taken aback. She looked up to meet the piercing grey eyes of her boss.

“Well, here’s how I see it. Franklin’s been given a deadline of two months but continues to try and push for more time. If you can give us this masterpiece of yours before him then I don’t see why I can’t at least consider it. Unless of course you don’t think you have the expertise to write such a story,” her boss had her pinned under her gaze.

Amy already had a story she was working on in her free time about a bisexual girl pining after a beautiful girl that had just immigrated from India. She quickly went over it in her head, changing minor details. “I could get you 100,000 words by the end of this month.”

“100,000? That’s quite a high goal.”

“I already have a story with 50,000 words that fits the necessary criteria.”

Her boss looked at her, “Blow me away. You have thirty days from now.”

It was like a cold breeze slapped her across the face. Could she do this? Amy stood on shaking legs and nodded before rushing to her desk and clearing it off. She scrambled for the items her fingers were already itching for; her notebook and a nice, wooden pencil. She had thirty days of splinters, dented fingers, coffee stains, writers block, and typing to look forward too. She was addicted to the way the pencil felt as it flew across the page. 

For the first week she wrote every spare moment but still found she was loosing valuable thoughts during day to day things. Amy expressed this concern with a coworker while her boss was up getting coffee one day and the next day there was a marker attached to a necklace laying on her desk. Amy begun jotting down ideas on her arms if she was in a meeting or busy in some way. The first time she came in to give her boss coffee she caught her looking at her arm.

“The girl she’s interested is an immigrant from India?” her boss asked.

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“What do you know of immigration?”

“Um, not much my grandparents were from Germany but we didn’t see them often.”

“Try making her a third or fourth generation that way it’s easier to write and you won’t have to do as much research,” her boss said and shushed her protests. “You have twenty days and this will make it easier. Your next story can have a first generation and you can overdo your research then.”

They went on like that for a while. Her boss would give her tiny suggestions when she looked like she was stressed out. About halfway through the month she had her main plot down and was now filling in with subplot and backstory. One night after going on a late tangent she lost track of time and was soon the last person in the office. Her boss walked out and stopped and looked at her before leaving. Five minutes later she was back with two coffees.

“Late night?” she asked.

“My character did something stupid and now I want to delete the last thousand words I wrote.” Amy said gratefully taking the offered coffee. 

“Well, we can’t have that,” her boss said causing her to look up just in time to see her boss twist off the delete key from her keyboard.

“You bit-” she covered her mouth and her boss grinned at her.

“I can be, see you in the morning, Aims,” she smirked sliding the delete key into her front pocket and walking out the door. Amy didn’t get her delete key back for two days.

When her story was finally finished with just the right amount of emotion and drama she suddenly found herself unable to turn it in. She stared for hours at the screen, rereading the entire story. After a day she could find nothing more she wanted to add. She stayed late that night reading over her notes and then the story.

“Go home, Amy,” her boss said gently shaking her shoulder from where she had fallen asleep at her desk. 

“Just ten more minutes, ma’am.”

“You have five and I am driving you home.” 

“W-what?”

“We both know if I leave you here you will not be gone in ten minutes and you are in no state to drive yourself,” her boss said sitting next to her and checking her phone for the time. 

“It might take longer than five minutes to print, though,” Amy said softly.

“What? It’s done?” Her boss said standing and trying to look at the screen.

“Yeah,” Amy said.

Her boss sighed, “I will read it in the morning, after you and I have both had at least six hours of sleep.”

The next morning Amy put in the tiniest bit more effort into her appearance. She brushed her short hair and actually tried to make sure none of it stuck out at odd angles, it was no use, though, because her hair was at that awkward, short length where the last thing it did was listen to her. She stepped into her work space and immediately pulled up the story and clicked print before she could change her mind. She nervously made her bosses coffee and grabbed it on the way to her bosses office. 

Her feet turned to lead as she got nearer to the office. She breathed in deeply lifting her hand to knock three times on the door before waiting for the acknowledgement and pushed in. She set the coffee down first and then set down the folder. This was her finally standing for what she believed in. This was her trying to change the world, one word at a time. 

#writing #lgbt #lesbian #bi #1.8k words