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#zoe's a crumpled up piece of paper
branvashippers · 2 years
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Chapter 1 - Meetcute
Iva dashed through the halls, pushing people aside. She was late for class. Out of breath and trying to gain composure, she had arrived at the classroom. Looking through the glass, her heart fluttered and eyes gravitated to one boy in particular. He looked up at her and instantly smiled.
"Hi, I thought I'd introduce myself. I'm Brandon."
"Hi you're- I mean I'm Iva."
They looked up at each other staring, and already hopelessly in love.
She took a seat in the back, lightheaded and with a lingering smile.
Mr. Wheeler was staring at them both, and so was the rest of the class. Their piercing stares burned through her heart. All Iva could do was take out her computer and try to catch up with the class. Her brain was only on one thing: the seemingly gorgeous boy sitting 3 rows, no 4 in front of her.
"Iva. Iva!" Mr. Wheeler banged the desk in front of her. "Why the f*ck are you late."
"I was just daydreaming about Bran-"
"Look, I don't want to be mean, but if you're serious about debate, come to class on time and actually come learn. I don't care what you did, the fact is, you were late to class," His words made her stomach drop. Instead of light and fluttery it felt as if there was a rock dropped in her stomach.
"I apolo-"
"I told you once, and I'm not going to tell you twice. Stand up. We're doing practice debates now." She reluctantly stood up. "Zoe, you'll be debating Alexis. Audrey, debate Chenyue. Mike, debate Andrew. Brandon...you can debate Iva."
Her heart pumped out of her chest.
She sat back down in her chair and could only think about that smile.
Next thing you know, this time it was Brandon banging on the desk.
"Iva...Iva?" She had fallen asleep.
"BRANDON." She sat up once again.
"It's time for us to debate."
She had done no prep whatsoever and watched Brandon spread through his speech. She grabbed a crumpled piece of paper from her backpack and began flowing. 
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Hey could you do what being James potters little sister would include (shes in ravenclaw)
this is almost like my remus's sister hcs but even worse
because remus would be nice to you if he was your brother (mostly)
james is not nice to you :))))
In a joking way of course, he's willing to beat up anyone that tells you something mean, but he's also willing to ruin your day so that he n his bros can share a laugh <3
ex:
puts bleach in your shampoo (for dark hair), and hair dye (for light hair)
sits outside your dorms waiting for you to come down, then asks what spurred the sudden change in appearance
honestly remus is nicer to you than james is on a daily basis
but you know james just likes to wreak havoc
remus keeps you up to date on your studies, and james usually encourages you not to study, and ‘test your luck’
sirius would probably throw rocks at your window at night and you guys would go night swimming together in the lake
protected, of course, he cast enchantments to make sure neither of you got taken by any of the creatures lmfao
james takes you out under the cloak during breaks to sneak into hogsmeade and get some candy :D
you and remus probably take up origami together omg
and james and sirius take up throwing your origami at each other
“THAT WAS MY DINOSAUR??”
“it’s just a crumpled piece of paper now <3″
sirius tries getting you to pull pranks with them but you are not about to mess with the girls in your dorm
you can’t escape from them, you have to see them every night, so you call it quits every time he tries pulling something on them 
james always teases you because you’re ‘such a nerd! in the smart house, can’t even figure out how to sneak past flitwick at night’
‘i don’t do it because i don’t want to, not because i don’t know how.’
if you have friends outside of them
watch out
they’re gonna do everything in their power to embarrass you in front of them 
“Okay okay but have you told them about the time in second year when you-”
‘jamES STOP IT RIGHT NOW’
remus is the only one who takes your side in those situations he leads them away and distracts them  😭
what a good friend <3
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nyxicnymph · 2 years
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Guardians of Arcadia: Operation: Secret Santa
Christmas is quickly approaching in Arcadia. While the town may not get such luxuries like snow or ice-skating, the Guardians still want to participate in some form of Christmas tradition all together. Some might not know exactly what is happening, but they're giving it their best shot! (TOA CHRISTMAS SPECIAL WHEN?!)
Rating: ages 13 and up!
Warnings: Canon and character typical levels of teenage violence. Staja. Jlaire. No Zoe, sorry guys. Oh, and swearing.
Part Three: What do you get your sister's boyfriend?
Krel was fuming the whole way home. Not only had Aja talked him into participating in this whole Gaylen-forsaken human game, but out of all the names he could have possibly drawn, it had to have been the blond oaf's. Not that he could tell Aja, either, or swap names, or any reasonable course of action.
No. He was stuck with Steve.
"Kleb." He muttered as he entered his bedroom, tossing the crumpled up piece of paper at his human desk. "What am I supposed to get for the oaf?! He is just... agh!"
Krel flopped on his bed right as Ricky Blank opened the door and reminded him that it was time for bed. Krel frowned but complied, still frustrated.
He awoke to Aja and Varvatos scolding Luug. Krel rolled out of bed and opened his bedroom door. Luug immediately jumped onto the prince, knocking him to the floor. His transduction failed as he hit the ground.
"Eugh, Luug! What did you do this time?" He grumbled, pushing the dog off of himself, and reactivating his transduction.
Aja came forward and help him up, offering him her two right hands. "Luug here ate all our writing tools. And a few of those notebooks we left on the counter, too. And perhaps my human grade math phone."
"Calculator," Krel corrected her as he stood up straight. "But, yes, it is rudimentary at best, if not outright primitive."
Aja sighed, looking at the gloopy mess on the floor. "I suppose we will need to replace these items." She gasped. "I know! Let us go shopping! We can look for gifts for the Secret Santa while we're there! It'll be so fun!"
"Ai-ai-ai. Fine. We shall go shopping for the writing sticks and tree skins. Let's go, right now, and get it over with." Krel started towards the door.
"Wait, little brother! I have to get my transductor-serrator! I'll be right back!" She dashed into her room, and came back out in her human form. "All right, I am ready! Let us go forth and purchase the school supplies!"
Krel followed behind his sister reluctantly. "Ugh, how do you always have so much energy?"
"I do not know. Maybe I just like the adventures we can have in every new day!"
"Adventures mess with my projects, though."
"I am sorry, little brother- Oh, Steve!" Aja interrupted herself, dashing across the street to throw herself at her boyfriend. "What are you doing here?"
"Uh," Steve faltered, his voice going higher. "Thinking!"
"Oh, is my oaf finally using his head for more than breaking down doors?" Aja teased.
"Sister... The school supplies?" Krel prodded, not wanting to be around Steve for too long, lest he let something slip with a sarcastic retort or something.
"Ack! You're right, Krel, we do have to continue! Goodbye, Steve! We can call later!"
Krel rolled his eyes as he continued down the street. They passed the cafe that the wizard, Douxie, worked at, then crossed the street.
They arrived at the mart soon after, and Aja ran inside, her exuberance even infecting Krel a little bit. He chased after her, curious to see what the human emporium held in store for them.
Aja stopped in a lane full of brightly colored packages. "What are 'toys'?" She asked, examining what appeared to be a tiny human trapped in a box with a disturbing smile on her face.
"Creepy. Or that one is." Krel looked around at the rest of the lane. "What are these? Primitive, plastic building bricks?" Krel took a closer look. "Fascinating. You can build them into miniature versions of things."
Aja put the fake human back on the shelf. "Enough with these, we have notebooks to replace!"
Krel followed, leaving the intriguing 'toys' behind. They entered into the "School Supplies" section. Krel selected a couple of packs of mechanical pencils, as Luug didn't seem to enjoy eating plastic, while Aja grabbed several notebooks. She paused for a moment.
"This looks like a serrator. But it's not, it's called a 'protractor'. The Eli has one of these, I've seen him using it in math class. It makes me think...." His sister trailed off and shook her head clear. Krel did not miss how she added the protractor to their hand cart.
The royal twins went and checked out, where they met Jim. They conversed briefly, but then Aja started rambling, and Jim disappeared. Krel shrugged, and left the store with his sister.
They passed a bookstore, and Krel spotted Steve inside, looking nervous and regretful. It was a far cry from all the times Steve had looked fierce, even if he was oafish and clumsy. The gears in Krel's mind began to spin on high speed, and he started sprinting.
"Little brother!" Aja cried. "Wait! Why are you running?"
Krel spun around. "I have an idea. And no, you can't know about it. But somebody needs an upgrade, and that's what I'm best at."
He continued running home, a grin slowly spreading on his face. Steve was going to get the best upgrade for his primitive weapon, and Krel was going to make sure he knew it was the best.
Otherwise, Steve was just going to have to stop dating his sister. Simple.
--
Steve was not having a simple time at all. As a matter of fact, he was rather lost.
It's hard being an oaf, even if he was Aja's oaf.
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horrorboydyke · 3 years
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Hi!! could you write a fic about when Kieu My send the text saying she was always thinking about Fatou? Thank you!!!
Hi anon!! ask and you shall receive! (read on ao3)
Kieu My tugs her phone out of her pocket for the 10th time in the last few minutes she’s been sitting across from Zoe, homework spread out beneath them on the coffee table and Zoe’s laptop playing some random sit-com in the background for white noise, both girls distracted and not even focusing on their work anymore. Zoe nurses a hot cup of tea in her hand and is rapidly texting someone with her other hand if Kieu My knows Zoe like the back of her hand then she knew that Finn was on the other side of that conversation.
When Kieu My opens her phone the Whatsapp unread message notifications taunted her immediately, begging her to click on them and she gives in, rolling her eyes at the stupid turtle gif Ismail sent her, the messages from Constantin asking her for her undivided attention to help him with his homework and the random group chat notifications.
“All good?” Zoe asks without taking her eyes away from her phone where she’s obviously texting Finn considering her eyes are glued to the screen, Kieu My snaps her head up and rolls her eyes at Zoe’s attempt to be interested in whatever is happening outside her world of sending disgustingly lovely messages to her boyfriend but Kieu My nods her head anyways, not wanting to get into what’s getting her down, finding it too trivial but simultaneously too complex to even try explaining it to Zoe.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” She replies and when she thinks Zoe is satisfied with her answer, turns her eyes back to her phone, her finger hovering over her conversation thread with Fatou. Her eyes flickering up briefly to Zoe before looking back at her phone and tapping on to their conversation.
“Or at all? ” she types and hits send, continuing her question about when they were going to meet for the project. She breathes out as the two tick marks turn blue indicating that Fatou as seen her message. Her fingers again hover over the keyboard and she feels ridiculous, she doesn’t know how this one girl has made her so flustered and they don’t even speak anymore and the last time they did, Kieu My was pretty sure Fatou could glare holes into the side of her head.
She quickly shuts off her phone as Zoe starts talking about something Finn told her but Kieu My can’t seem to focus, her eyes keep falling back to her phone wondering if Fatou had messaged her back. She laughs and awws at the right moments when Zoe is talking and after what feels like hours, she turns her phone back on and feels her heart jump into her throat when she seeing the typing bubble in her and Fatou’s chat, it disappears and comes back a few times before it stops showing up.
“Somehow I’m thinking about you all the time,” Kieu My types out and sends before she even knows what she is doing and it’s not like it’s not true but she hadn’t been meaning to be so obvious about her feelings for Fatou, but again, the ticks turn blue but the typing bubble doesn’t appear.
Kieu My goes to type again, to apologise, that she didn’t mean to say that but she stops herself because she did mean to say that, she knows that Fatou wants clarity and Kieu My knows that she hasn’t been very clear lately so she leaves it and shuts off her phone. She doesn’t know if that was the best choice, to leave the message there and not apologise, for her to leave her feelings out in the open like that.
She adverts her eyes to look at the now slightly crumpled pieces of paper that she’s been leaning her elbows on. She picks up a page of assignment instructions and reads half of it before putting it back down to look at Zoe, a pencil hanging out of the corner of her mouth and huffing a laugh through her nose at something the person she’s texting said.
“I told you that Fatou and I are project partners right?” Kieu My asks, twirling a piece of hair around her finger, her socked feet drawing patterns on the rug on the floor as she watches Zoe who practically has to pry her eyes off her screen and spitting out the pencil from her mouth.
“Yeah, you mentioned it, why?” Zoe questions, her eyebrows creased, wondering why Kieu My had brought it up.
“I just feel really bad. I totally disregarded the kiss on new years eye and didn’t even defend her when Constantin was being an asshole and now I put my hand up to be her project partner even when I know she doesn’t want to speak to me. She unmatched me on tinder,” Kieu My says sadly.
“I know that you like her and everything but I feel like if she doesn’t want to speak to you then maybe you should give her some space and time? Just until you know that she doesn’t want to gut you,” Zoe says empathetically and Kieu My nods her head.
“I think the only problem I’m gonna have is that I don’t think Sir is going to let us change partners since I know that Fatou’s grades aren’t the best,” Kieu My says with a sigh and Zoe nods her head.
“Make the best out of this situation I guess?” Zoe says with a shrug and turns her eyes back to her phone and Kieu My huffs in frustration.
“I also kinda sent her a text about how I couldn’t stop thinking about her,” Kieu My says quickly and blushes when Zoe stares at her with raised eyebrows.
“Oh shit okay, so it’s like that then is it?” Zoe asks and Kieu My shrugs her shoulders, feeling embarrassed about admitting that to Zoe.
“Should I send her another cat gif?” Kieu My asks after a moment of silence and grabs her phone off the table.
“Absolutely not,” Zoe says and quickly snatches Kieu My’s phone out of her hands and laughs when Kieu My frowns.
“Give her some space,” Zoe says and Kieu My nods her head knowing that as soon as Zoe gives her the phone back she’ll probably send Fatou another dumb cat gif.
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all-things-skam · 4 years
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Jens’ season | Chapter three
Saturday, January 18th
After the pre-game at Robbe’s, they all moved to some party Jana had found and invited them to. He and Jana had made out a bit, but Jens’ mind couldn’t help wandering to Lucas who was making his phone buzz in his pocket. It felt wrong to make out with someone while thinking about someone else. Jens couldn’t do it. So, he made up some lie about feeling dizzy from alcohol and needing to go home.
Regardless, the night had ended late for Jens. He and Lucas had messaged back and forth all night, getting to know each other through Instagram DMs.
Jens learned that Lucas liked Indie Pop music and hated Marvel movies - even though they look really cool. They are just too long and Lucas could never sit through a whole movie. He broke his arm last year trying to do a trick on the half-pipe, but that didn't stop him from going back on his skateboard the following day. Sweet food was his favorite - as stated at the café. Cakes, pastries, chocolate, pancakes...anything sweet.
The more they chatted, Jens realized that Lucas must have plans with his friends. He only got to see them every other weekend and Jens felt bad from keeping the blue-eyed boy on his phone instead of spending time with them. But, Lucas assured him it was okay, that actually he was glad to have company.
His Friday night didn't go how he had expected it to. What was supposed to be a bowling night ended up being Lucas walking a drunk Isa home after she threw up in the bushes in front of the bowling alley. While he had a good laugh trying to get Isa upstairs, he’d rather lay in bed and talk with Jens.
When he woke up, Jens saw a notification from Lucas. His phone was so close to his face due to falling asleep with it last night that the flashing screen made him groan. He squinted and rubbed his eyes, adjusting to the bright light of the screen.
vanderheijden.lucas Jens? Still there?
vanderheijden.lucas Did you fall asleep? If so, good night. I think I’m going to crash too
A smile crept on Jens’ face, reading Lucas’ messages.
Before he could write anything back, his door opened and Lotte ran and jumped on her big brother’s bed, attacking Jens with morning hugs. A bit startled, Jens’ phone slipped from his hands, landing on his comforter. Lotte screeched as Jens caught her and started tickling her.
''S-stop, stop,'' she demanded between giggles, wiggling and trying to push Jens away with her hands and feet. ''It t-tickles.''
Jens pursued his tickle attack for a couple seconds, stopping when he felt his sister’s breath shorten. ‘’That’s what you get for waking me so early.’’
Lotte frowned. ‘’It’s not early. It’s 10am.’’
‘’For me, it is.’’
The eight year old rolled her eyes, annoyed at her brother's late sleeping-in and morning laziness. ‘’I have something for you.’’
Sitting straighter, Jens raised an eyebrow, curious. ‘’Oh? What is it?’’
Looking around on the mattress, Lotte picked up the piece of paper at the end of Jen's bed and handed him the card she made. It was made out of pink cardboard paper and had drawings of colorful balloons on the cover, spelling 'Happy Birthday' in bold letters. There was a ton of stickers and glitter all around, making a mess on Jens' comforter.
The paper was a bit crumpled from the tickle attack, but it's the thought that mattered. Jens smiled and opened the card, reading Lotte's crooked handwriting. These homemade cards his sister gave him every year were Jens' favorite birthday presents - beside money and alcohol. They were childish, but so meaningful.
His smile widened as he read the short yet heartfelt message. He could tell she had the help of a teacher for the spelling, but they were her words.
''I'm going to a sleepover at Ines' tonight and won't be here to give it to you,’’ Lotte explained.
Jens pulled his sister for a big bear hug. “Thank you for this. You're the best little sister ever,'' he said, returning her own words. Lotte grinned and Jens decided to tease her a bit. ‘’You’re the only sister I have though...don’t have much of a choice.’’
The brunette pulled her eyebrows, giving her brother a look.
‘’I’m kidding.’’ Jens scooted over, tapping the space next to him. ‘’Get in. We can watch a movie before I have to get ready.’’
Lotte looked at Jens with the biggest grin on her face. “Can we watch the new Dr. Dolittle?”
Discontentment and annoyance flashed across Jens’ face. Animal movies were not his thing. Cats & Dogs, Beverly Hills Chihuahua, Marmaduke; he couldn't stand those. As a kid, he was always more into super heroes like Spiderman or Batman. He would watch those for hours on repeat - and had managed to learn all the lines.
The pout on Lotte’s face made him cave and reach for his laptop, about to look for that damn Dr. Dolittle movie.
.
''Birthday boy is here!'' Moyo called cheerfully, phone in hand, filming as Jens made his entrance into the flatshare. He hooked an arm around Jens' shoulder, pulling him in a bro hug. ‘’How does it feel to be seventeen?’’
Jens rolled his eyes at Moyo’s question. ‘’I don’t know. It’s not my birthday, yet…’’ he pointed out, laughing.
Aaron stepped in next, pushing a beer into Jens' hands. They had stronger stuff in the kitchen, but Aaron figured he could start with a beer. It was only 9pm, too early to get drunk. Unless you want to spend your evening sleeping in a corner or with your head in the toilet.
This party was a last minute idea. The initial plan was to go to a bar, but they were all too broke to go out - perks of being a teenager. Neither of the boys could host either, their parents all home this weekend. Except Robbe, who was at the flatshare. But, the place was already taken by Milan’s own birthday party. Having heard their dilema, Milan kindly offered to share his party and celebrate Jens’ birthday too. After all, birthday siblings gotta stick together.
Jens accepted the beer and took a long swig. ‘’Let’s get this party started!’’
Moyo and Aaron cheered on each of his sides, pulling their friend through the mass of people in the living room where they found Robbe - attached to Sander's neck, dancing.
The small boy detached himself from Sander when he spotted Jens, wishing his best friend a happy birthday. Sander did the same, exchanging a quick hug in greetings before pulling Robbe back to him, kissing his cheek.
In true Milan fashion, the apartment was decorated to the max. There was paper streamers taped all over the walls and ceilings along with balloons and even a huge banner on the living room’s wall. A pink fringed curtain separated the kitchen from the rest, as if to let everyone know where the good stuff was.
Jana quickly found Jens, stumbling and holding onto his shoulder for stability. ‘’Happy birthday,’’ she said to him, throwing her arms around his neck and spilling some wine on the floor. Thank god it was white wine.
.
Sunday, January 19th
Jens was a bit hungover when he woke up.
Who was he trying to fool? He was totally hungover. All the alcohol he had downed and mixed felt heavy in his stomach, threatening to come back up. His head was pounding and his back was aching due to sleeping on Milan’s couch.
Over all, he felt like...death.
Jens grunted in displeasure, trying to roll over and grab his phone on the floor - unplugged. If his head didn't hurt this much, he would’ve laughed at his failed attempt to plug his phone, the charger laying a few centimeters from his phone with no phone attached. Good job, Drunk-Jens…
He unlocked the screen and saw a message from his mom, asking what time he was planning to come home - followed by a quick ‘happy birthday’.
Sighing, Jens turned it off and stood, feeling the room spin for a few seconds, probably still a little bit drunk. Steadying himself, he walked past Aaron’s sleeping bag and almost tripped on Moyo’s makeshift bed on the floor. Can’t this boy clean up after himself? Or, was Jens too clumsy?
He heard Zoe and Milan talking, quickly followed by the sound of Moyo and Sander laughing. Jens followed the voices, coming from the kitchen, hood covering his messy hair.
''And he's up!'' Moyo commented as he made his entrance, interrupting the current conversation.
''How's the birthday boy feeling this morning?'' Milan teased, sensing his hangover.
Aaron and Moyo snickered and Jens flipped them off. ''Like I got rolled over by a fucking truck,'' he answered honestly, voice croaky from the lack of hydration.
Last night, Jana had made him chug wine while they danced, and the boys vodka. Seventeen shots for his seventeenth birthday. What a great idea.
Sander was sitting on the kitchen counter - lacking seats -, sipping coffee with Zoe. It was unlike him to wake up before Robbe - or be anywhere without him -, but someone had to make decent coffee.
‘’Want some?’’ Zoe kindly offered.
Jens nodded and she poured him a cup. Hopefully it'll wake him up and ease his hangover - or make it disappear altogether.
‘’Want some vodka in your coffee?’’ Sander asked with a smirk.
Jens made a grimace, stomach churning. ‘’Don’t mention the devil.’’
Sander laughed and got down from the counter, asking if anyone wanted breakfast. Zoe offered to help, knowing no one else could cook in this household.
They took everyone’s orders, settling on eggs and pancakes. Usually, Jens would be down for some good homemade breakfast, but there was no way he could stomach food right now. Just the smell of it made his stomach turn.
Head on the kitchen table, the birthday boy listened as Moyo shared his retelling of last night's escapades. Since his failed attempt with Noor, his pride was a bit wounded and he had taken Aaron's spot as the desperate one of the gang. He ranted about this cute blonde with a plunging top, putting emphasis on how close he was to kissing her, but skipped the part where she slapped him. Too bad for him, Jens happened to have caught the scene when coming out of the bathroom.
And while they all agreed Aaron was the worst in the flirting department... Moyo wasn't much better.
As they were talking, Jens felt like his head was about to explode, how was he supposed to go home like this later? He doubted his hangover would go unnoticed by his parents. Especially his mom. It’s like she has a sixth sense or something.
Just as Zoe and Sander deposited the food on the table, a sleepy eyed Robbe walked into the kitchen, hair messy and sticking up here and there. He wasn't even wearing pants, just an oversized tee shirt, covering just enough.
“Do I smell pancakes?” he asked.
Sander snorted, unimpressed. ‘’Of course, that’s what gets you out of bed.” Robbe smiled lazily and went to sit on Sander’s lap, already missing his boyfriend’s touch. “Now I know what gets you up in the morning!”
Robbe pressed his forehead against Sanders, mumbling quietly. “I can tell you of a few other things that get me up in the morning”
“Hey, we are eating here, man,” Moyo groaned, tearing his eyes away from the couple and scrunching his face.
“Well, at least you don’t have to live with them 24/7” Milan lamented.
Zoe agreed, scooping a pancake onto a plate and taking it to the counter to eat. The kitchen was a tad bit small for all these people, but they made it work.
‘’You’re not eating?’’ the blonde asked Jens, eyebrows raised, but the boy shook his head. ‘’It might not sound like it, but eating could make you feel better. Alcohol causes low blood sugar. Eating breakfast actually helps get your sugar levels up while the alcohol comes out of your system.’’
‘’I’m good.
Jens felt his phone buzz in his hand. He lifted his head and Looked at the screen, seeing an Instagram notification.
vanderheijden.lucas sent you a message.
Jens opened his phone and stared at a flashing ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY’ gif.
vanderheijden.lucas I hope you had a great birthday. Sorry I couldn’t be there, but I’ll definitely see you next Friday
.
Monday, January 20th
Jens felt a lot better on Monday. The content of his stomach was no longer threatening to come up and the elephant sitting on his head was gone.
He had vomited his guts in the bathroom when coming home yesterday and had to make up a lie about eating something bad at Robbe's and upsetting his stomach. His knew his lie was mediocre and his mom probably saw through it, but didn't say a thing. He was a teenager and it was his birthday, he's allowed to have fun once in a while.
He was on his way to meet the boys for lunch when someone walked past him and bumped into him on the staircase.
''Sorry, I should watch where I’m going.’’
Caught off guard, Jens forced a smile, turning more genuine when seeing Lucas. His curly fringe was perfectly swept on the side and the color of his jacket matching his blue eyes.
“It’s cool. How was your weekend?'' Jens said, trying to stay smooth and chill.
He didn't know why, but Lucas's presence had the tendency to destabilize his confidence a bit.
Lucas shrugged. “It was good. I hadn't gone home since my dad and I moved here two weeks ago. It felt good to spend some time with my mom and see my friends. I really miss it sometimes...but then I run into you and it doesn’t seem so bad.”
He smirked and Jens' didn't know how to react. His stomach dropped, surprised, but not shocked. Was Lucas flirting with him again?
''I saw your stories, it seemed like you had a lot of fun at your party?''
“Yeah, it was great, but I got a wicked hangover that I’m still getting over.''
''Have sex.''
''Excuse me?''
''Sex is an excellent cure for hangover.''
Jens raised an eyebrow. ‘’Does it?’’ He paused, raising his gaze to meet Lucas’, clear blue irises looking right into his. ’’I’m gonna need a partner for that, though...’’
The brunet cocked an eyebrow, still holding Jens' stare, reading through the heavy subtext. They had entered a new level of flirting and neither were mad about it.
Lucas licked his lips slowly, making something in Jens' stomach flipped over at the gesture, and the Netherland boy took a step closer towards him, nearly closing all the space between them. Lucas opened his mouth, but before he could say - or do - anything, someone called Lucas’ name.
''Luc! Come on, man, we’re going to be late.''
''I gotta go. See you later, Jens,’’ Lucas said, readjusting the bag on his shoulder and winking before leaving.
.
Tuesday, January 21st
A knock on Jens' door woke him from his slumber. His first thought was that it was his sister joining him for the night, but Lotte never knocked. Jens frowned. Slipping out from his covers, the teenager walked to the door, eyes barely open, still half-asleep.
The hallway light caused Jens to squint his eyes and hiss. He rubbed them with his palms, adjusting to the light. ''Mom?''
She was in her bathrobe, hair down from her usual bun, slightly messy due to her pillow. ''Sorry to wake you, honey,'' Fenna apologized in a hushed voice, cautious to not wake her sleeping daughter next door.
It was very unusual for his mom to wake him in the middle of the night - unless something was going on. Did she get an emergency call from work? Jens hadn't heard his father come home, did he get into an accident? His frown deepened, getting worried.
''What is it, Mom?''
Fenna sighed and looked down, the bags under her eyes appearing more prominent. ''Your dad is drunk. Can you help me take him to bed?'' He could sense the shame in her voice from having to ask her son for help with his drunk father.
Jens nodded, mentally shaking his head in disappointment.
He followed his mom down and walked into the living room, taking in the state of his inebriated father, passed out on the loveseat, shoes still on and jacket half off. Jens felt a burst of resentment towards his dad in that moment. How could he drink so much that his own son was having to drag him to his room so his little sister wouldn’t see her dad this way? How could he do that to his wife too? Doesn’t she work hard enough at the hospital? She doesn’t need to come home and have to deal with her drunk husband.
''I tried to get him to move, but he's being stubborn and-'' Fenna started to explain, a yawn interrupting her.
It was the first time it happened and Jens hoped it was the last - for his dad's own good. Coming home late and picking fights with his mom was one thing, coming home drunk was another.
''Go back to bed, Mom. I'll take care of this,'' Jens said, taking in the state his dad was in. He reeked of beer and whiskey.
Fenna refused. ''No. It shouldn't be your job to take care of your dad.''
‘’He’s just a dead weight. I'll manage.''
Her eyes shifted between her son and husband, feeling guilty for making Jens take care of Mohamed. He was a kid, it wasn’t his responsibility. But, she had already tried to get him upstairs and didn't succeed. All she did was get one half of his jacket off.
With one last look at her son, Fenna gave in. ''Alright. I'll go get his side of the bed ready. Just bring him upstairs, okay?''
Jens nodded and watched as his mom returned to the second floor, leaving him to deal with his dad. The teenager sighed, dreading the work to come.
''Dad?''
The man grumbled, half responsive. Jens didn't lose time trying to understand whatever he was trying to say and threw his dad's arm over his neck, getting him to sit up just enough to remove his jacket. Like he said, he was a dead weight which made the task a bit difficult.
''Can you stand?'' Jens asked, trying to not let his irritation show.
He helped his old man up, slinging one of his arms behind his neck and keeping one hand behind his dad's back as support. Mohamed felt heavy on Jens.
Mohamed mumbled something that Jens couldn’t understand.
“What did you say?”
“ I said, your mom hates me.” His voice was rough and slurred.
Jens sighed. “She doesn’t hate you, but you need to start doing better. She can’t keep working these double shifts all the time, and you can’t be coming home drunk like that. It’s not fair to her, and it’s not fair to Lotte or me either. I shouldn't have to do this, Dad.” He wasn't trying to guilt-trip his dad, just talk some sense into him.
There was a long silence before Mohamed responded. “I’m trying, okay? But nobody wants to hire a 40 year old with minimal training.'' He scoffed before going into a coughing fit. ''Anyway, why am I even telling you this? You're just a teenager that has no idea what it means to support a family.”
Jens tried to not let his dad's words get to him. While he wasn’t a parent, he had been kind of forced to take over his dad’s responsibilities and play the head of the house for his family recently.
After a difficult struggle, Jens finally got his dad to his room and safely into bed. He wasn't so drunk he'd have to be watched over, but Jens took all the precautions - just in case. He put a pillow behind him so he'd stay on his side during the night and set a glass of water on the nightstand, right by his phone.
Jens gave Mohamed one last glance, his eyes darting to his sleeping mother. He wished that things could be different for her, that she didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. She was a good mom and Jens knew she would do whatever it took to take care of her family, but he couldn't let her put her health in jeopardy.
With a heavy sigh, Jens quietly closed the door and returned to his own bed.
.
Thursday, January 23rd
''Hi,'' Amber said, interrupting Jens and Aaron's conversation, leaning in to kiss her boyfriend, lingering a bit too long - and with too much tongue - to be appropriate for school grounds. At least, in the middle of the main hall.
Jens rolled his eyes, tearing them away from the unwanted tongue battle in front of him. Seeing his annoyance, Jana saw this as an opening and smiled before going in for a kiss. Unlike Aaron, Jens dodged her lips and pulled out his phone, checking if he had any new messages.
He had seen her coming - of course he did -, but something inside him didn't want to kiss her. Especially when he was starting to feel something for a certain blue eyed boy.
Kissing at parties - or at home - was for fun, but kissing at school felt a bit too official for Jens' liking. No one kissed their Saturday hook up in the hallway between classes. He didn't want to give Jana the wrong idea and then hurt her feelings.
The brunette frowned, confused and hurt.
Jens could feel her sulking, but he didn’t say a thing, acting as if he wasn’t aware of what he did. Sometimes, playing dumb got you out of trouble.
Sulking, Jana pulled at her friend's arm, forcing their kiss to end. ''Amber.''
‘’What?’’ the blonde said, turning to Jana. ‘’Oh! Right. Change of plans. My parents are away this weekend so I’m celebrating my birthday a bit early. You’ll come?’’
‘’Sure babe, we’ll be there, right Jens?’’ Aaron nudged him, forcing the raven haired one to look up from his phone.
Jens faked a smile. ‘’Sure.’’
.
Jens pressed the doorbell and waited.
He had texted Moyo's guy earlier today and had been given an address to meet at. At first, the guy was skeptical, but Jens mentioned Moyo and everything was chill.
Dogs started barking at the doorbell noise and Jens' back straightened. A man told them to shut up - which they did -, and someone popped their head out, keeping the door mostly shut. He had a buzz cut, clean cut beard and the tattoo on his neck gave Jens the chills.
Seeing a new face, the man glanced up and down at Jens and raised an expectant eyebrow, asking what he wanted.
''Erm, I've been given this address. I'm here to see...Michiel.''
If he had told Moyo the truth, he wouldn’t have given Jens his dealer’s number. While his intentions were good, dealing drugs - even just weed - was very unsafe. The risks of getting caught and consequences were higher than just smoking it. But, all Jens saw was a way to make a quick buck and help his family.
The guy disappeared inside for a few seconds, probably talking to his boss, and came back to let Jens inside.
Unlike the previous guy, this one was much shorter, but non the less intimidating. He had a thick gold chain around his neck and a scar above his eyebrow. ‘’You asked for me?’’
‘’I…’’
Jens felt like an idiot. He had always been a pretty confident person, but Michiel’s presence made him nervous - with good reason. Drug dealers weren’t the kind of people you want to mess with.
‘’If you want to buy, see one of my guys, Kid. I just make the big deals.’’ Michiel was around to turn his back and leave, but Jens spoke up.
‘’Actually, that’s what I’m here for. A friend referred me to you, saying you might have something for me. A job.’’
Michiel glanced at Jens up and down, just like the previous guy, and scoffed. ''I already have my guys.''
Under his grey hoodie, smooth skin and dangly earring, Jens was too clean for Michiel’s taste. He could never pass as a pusher, he looked too young.
Seeing through his thoughts, Jens took another approach.
''Look at me. No one will suspect it. I...I can cover at school? Or even the skatepark? People there are always looking for weed. I’m sure I could bring you good cash.’’
The man hesitated still. Teenagers weren't the most trustworthy pushers. Most would either use all the drug and run off. But, something was different about Jens. He had this insistence and self-motivation that got Michiel’s attention.
‘’I need fast cash. Give me a chance. I...I really need it,'' Jens almost begged. He tried to cover his emotions, not wanting to sound too desperate even though, in his head, he was on his knees. He needed this job really bad.
Michiel’s silence got Jens scared he had blown his shot. ‘’You do have a pretty face,’’ he pointed out. ‘’Make sure I don't have to ruin it, okay?''
Jens nodded rapidly.
‘’You’re on trial. I’ll give you a couple grams and I need them sold as fast as possible. Give me a shout when you’re done.’’ Michiel paused. ‘’Don’t disappoint me, Kid.’’
.
Friday, January 24th
The bag of weed in his backpack felt heavy. Cert, there was more grams than Jens usually took to parties, but weed doesn’t weight much. It was more the pressure of having to sell it that made it heavy.
Being a smoker of green for over two years, it was his first time actually selling weed. He had sold some to guys at the skatepark, a gram or two, but he was never a pusher, as they called them. The term sounded dirty and wrong in his head. Jens knew it was something he shouldn’t be doing, but his parents needed money.
Robbe giggled at something Sander said, already a bit tipsy from the beers they drank at his place. He had hosted a pre-game, the first one since he moved back with his mom, and he didn’t slow down on the beers. At his boyfriend's behavior, Sander had kept it low with the alcohol, knowing he’ll be the one to carry Robbe home later and couldn’t do that if he was too intoxicated.
For the first time, Aaron hadn’t been present at the pre-game. Being the boyfriend of the birthday girl, he was already at the party, helping Amber and the girls with the decorations and all that.
Moyo pressed the doorbell, waiting for someone to open. They could hear the shitty pop music Amber loved from the doorstep. Sander grimaced at the music choice, Amber’s music taste being added to the list of things he didn’t like about her.
‘’I’m gonna....go see Kobe,’’ Jens announced, seeing him by the window with a couple guys from the skatepark. ‘’I’ll be right back.’’
Jens and Kobe weren’t friends. He had sold him weed once and shared a blunt behind some bushes at the skatepark one afternoon. What Jens knew was that the guy was always looking to buy weed, having no regular dealer, aka easy cash for Jens.
Moyo nodded, heading to the kitchen to look for Aaron with Robbe and Sander following behind, holding hands and walking close.
‘’ ‘Sup, man,’’ Kobe said as Jens approached them.
‘’Good, good,’’ Jens responded, responding to the brunet’s fist exchange.
‘’Long time no see.’’
‘’Yeah… Eh, I might have something for you.’’ Jens raised his eyebrows and motionned for Kobe to follow him.
Kobe nodded, a knowing smile on his lips, getting what Jens meant. He told his friends he was going with Jens for a few minutes, having something he wanted to tell him in private.
Jens almost snorted at Kobe’s lack of subtlety. This guy was worse than Aaron - if possible.
.
Half of his stock sold, thanks to Kobe and the guys they ran into on Amber’s balcony. Turned out selling weed wasn’t as difficult as Jens had initially thought. Being at a party was helping his sales, but it was relatively easy. People bought by chunks of two or three grams with promises of buying more next time Jens had some, not having a lot of cash on them.
Fiddling with the doors, Jens found himself in the bathroom, trying to hide from the outside world that sometimes got a bit too overwhelming. It’s not that he didn't like to party, he just hadn't been in the mood lately. There was a lot on his mind and, sometimes, he just couldn’t escape it.
‘’Hiding from someone?’’
The voice startled Jens, but when he saw who it was he just shrugged. ‘’I don’t feel like partying tonight, is all.’’
Lucas hummed. ‘’Mind if I join?’’ He reached into his jacket’s pocket and pulled out a slightly cooked joint. ‘’I have weed. Straight from Netherlands.’’
Who was Jens to refuse free weed. He shifted in the tub, making room for Lucas.
‘’I’ve been wanting to ask: why did you move here? I know your parents got divorce, but isn’t changing countries is a bit extreme?’’ He passed the joint to Lucas, head leaned back against the tiled wall, starting to feel the buzz.
Lucas smiled at the ceiling. ‘’Try telling my father that. If you ask me, he tried to take me away from my mom; if you ask him, he got a job offer he couldn’t refuse.’’ He took a drag and exhaled the smoke through his nose. ‘’I didn’t want to go, but according to the judge, he’s the one who can offer me a ‘better life’. So I had to go with him.’’
‘’Why would he take you away from your mom? Is she ill or something.’’
‘’Or something,’’ Lucas confirmed, not comfortable talking about this part of his life yet. He handed Jens the joint again.
‘’Left a girl at home?’’
Lucas snorted. ‘’A girl? Who said I’m into girls?’’
Jens shrugged, not knowing what to answer.
Lucas never explicitly said who he was attracted to, why did Jens assume that he was straight? By default, maybe? Despite all the progress the LGBTQ+ community is making in society, history had a way of bleeding into our subconscious. So, unless someone showed a ‘behavior that defied the default’, they were classified as straight.
‘’I tried girls, but it wasn’t for me,’’ Lucas started. He shook his head, thinking back at his mistake. ‘’They’re pretty, but it wasn’t doing it for me, you know?’’
Jens nodded. A part of him understood what Lucas meant, but another didn’t. Unlike Lucas, Jens liked girls. Their long hair, sweet perfume, smooth skin - and boobs. But, more recently, he found himself looking at boys - one, in particular.
‘’I was in love with a boy - my best friend,’’ Lucas continued. ‘’He had a girlfriend, who was also my friend, and I fucked it all up.’’
‘’Your chances with him?’’ Jens tried.
‘’No. That was pretty much dead from the start,’’ Lucas explained with a chuckle. ‘’Our friendship, their relationship.’’
‘’So, you’re a homewrecker?’’
Lucas gasped, kicking Jens’ leg playfully. Jens gave him a small grin.
‘’Hey what happened to sharing? You’re hogging the weed,’’ Jens pointed out, mildly annoyed.
''Come and get it,'' Lucas teased, pulling the joint at arm's length, away from Jens's reach. There was a challenging tone in his voice, almost daring Jens to come closer.
A bit too intoxicated - and high - to think properly, Jens leaned over, hovering over Lucas as he tried to get a hold of the joint. Lucas laughed, moving the lit joint every time Jens was close to take it. Jens was getting frustrated, his reflexes slower than usual because of the marijuana.
Jens started laughed too, having difficulty holding himself up in the small tub. ''Stop it.''
Lucas continued his little game, their laughter caused Jens to lose balance and slip. Thankfully, he was able to grab at the tub's edge, preventing himself from crushing Lucas under - or cracking his skull.
''Sorry,'' Jens apologized.
He was about to raise himself back up, but stopped when he realized how dangerously close they were to each other, faces only a few inches apart. Jens's body stilled, breath catching in his throat as his heart rate started to pick up behind his chest. His dark eyes easily found Lucas's blue ones and Lucas stopped laughing. He stared back at Jens, taking in his sharp cheekbones and plump lips.
Jens made the first move, eyelids slowly fluttering shut as he closed the gap between them, pressing his lips on Lucas.
Undoubtedly, when Jens came to this party, he didn't have the intention of kissing Lucas in Amber's bathtub. But, one thing led to another and here he was, sitting back in the tub and kissing the new kid.
Sparks didn't fly when their lips touched, which was a bit disappointing. Or, maybe it did? The weed was confusing his senses.
Kissing a boy wasn't that much different than kissing girls, in the end. It was the same mechanics; lips on lips - and sometimes tongue. Lucas' lips were very soft for a boy. They tasted like weed and beer too, which Jens didn't mind. It was a nice change from the usual sweet and sticky feeling of glosses and lipsticks or whatever girls put on their lips.
A breathy moan left Lucas' lips as one of Jens' hands came up to cup his jaw, holding him in place as his tongue grazed over Lucas' mouth, teeth closing on his bottom lip and pulling. Jens' senses were buzzing and his mind was too far behind to function.
Lucas' free hand snaked behind Jens' neck, grasping at his thick, dark hair, giving it a slight tug, the single earring dangling as they kissed. Jens breathed a moan into the kiss at the feeling and Lucas smirked, content with himself, before doing it again.
Fuck. How did he get here?
Jens broke the kiss, needing to catch his breath and the brunet took advantage of the taller one's neck being exposed to trail his lips up and down the tanned skin. It will most likely leave marks behind, but Jens couldn’t be bothered to care. At the moment, it felt really good.
Jens cradled Lucas’ face in his hands, guiding him back up and brought their lips together again. This time, the kiss was softer and slower, savoring the feeling of those beautiful pouty lips he had wished to kiss for weeks.
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dancinglifeboat · 4 years
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Sign Language Coder Bfs Fanfic Part 2
Title: Sign me Your Love (which is what I’ll be signing it from now on!)
Pairing: Coder Boyfriends! (Leif x Tobin)
Post Canon (But max wasn’t fired in this fic bc I make my own rules)
Chapter 1: 
https://dancinglifeboat.tumblr.com/post/622574506020601856/sign-language-coder-boyfriends-fanfic
Chapter 2/?
The One in Which Abigail and Tobin Run the Office Gossip Mill
5 days to launch
Fast forward a few months and Leif thought he was ready. He had been steadily ignoring what he could of Tobin’s signing so that he could fully understand instead of picking up bits and pieces. The launch of the Chirp was at the end of this week, meaning when he dropped that bomb that he now knew sign language after a week of Tobin thinking everything he had signed was beyond Leif’s understanding at the launch party, it would be a very satisfying double victory.
Leif left the apartment earlier than Tobin did; as usual. He spent the bus ride to work only half-listening to his Dracula Audiobook. (He had it close to memorized at this point anyway) He got off at his usual stop, near his and Tobin’s favourite coffee shop. They had discovered that Max and Zoey frequented that same one; but they were easily able to avoid them. Neither Zoey nor Max were blessed with the “Morning Person” gift that Leif and Tobin had. Plus he had overheard them talking about scouting out a new place- so he assumed that he wouldn’t have to worry about running into them. He gave the barista Autumn his and Tobin’s usual order, who seemed cheerier than usual as she wrote on his cup in swirly writing. He didn’t ask- but if he had he would have found out that the reason was that she had gone stargazing the night before with her new boyfriend, who would be picking her up after her shift to go out to lunch with and meet her parents. The service was quick, as usual, and soon he was out the door and in the elevator at Sparkpoint. He dropped off the coffee at Tobin’s desk, who in favour chucked a yogurt at him, assuming (correctly) that Leif had once again forgotten to eat breakfast this morning. Leif lowered his desk from the standing position to a height more suitable for sitting and pulled out his swivel chair before snatching a spoon from the fruit bar and starting into both the yogurt (it was strawberry, one of his favourites) and one of the many last-minute coding issues with the chirp.
A few hours later, Leif swiveled in his chair in time to see Abigail return from her lunch break. He bit back a small grin as he watched her throw a sneaky glance at Tobin’s desk before whipping out a paper airplane and throwing it at him while Zoe wasn’t watching. Leif almost rolled his eyes when it bounced off Tobin’s head, who started and nearly dropped his fidget spinner before spinning to face Abigail with an equally mischievous looking face. Leif had to question if they really thought they were being or if they were just messing around for the fun of it.
Leif had been keeping an eye on Tobin all morning- and it had yet to yield much he didn’t know. Other than that Tobin knew far too many vine references than what was normal. And that any insults he did sign were far more juvenile and kind than he let on. Leif didn’t know why he found that surprising- Tobin was both the most intelligent and most stupid person Leif had ever met, but he wasn’t mean, at least not intentionally. So far “Mrs. Frizzle” was the most insulting thing he had signed that day, and admittedly Zoey’s sweater had been a bit...unorthodox that day.
But this had been what he had been waiting for, Tobin and Abigail's daily gossip session. They had hit it off when Abigail first came to visit- and now that Abigail was interning at Sparkpoint and they were seeing each other on a near daily basis, they had more or less become the prank duo of the floor. (Rip to all of Zoey’s pens) Luckily, as Tobins “BFF” Leif rarely found himself on the pranking side of their escapades. At least that was the excuse Tobin gave; Leif suspected it was because he, as Tobin’s roommate, had a great vantage point for revenge pranking.
Leif finished a line of code before subtly settling himself in to watch, if all went well, he could get some excellent blackmail material out of this.
-------------------------------perspective change *lightning noises*------------------------------------------
Tobin started off by melodramatically holding up the offending airplane;
“Lose something?” He dunked it into his trashcan and paused for effect before continuing, “I mean of course, something other than your fashion sense?” He jokingly raised a judgemental eyebrow,
“Says the one wearing his e-girl wannabe hoodie for the third time this week” She snarked right back, grinning as Tobin mimicked gasping in mock offense before also breaking into a smile. Greetings out of the way, she moved on. “Any updates?” Tobin rolled his eyes,
“Unfortunately Zoey is still oblivious as ever; she needs to step it up- I’ve got 10 bucks on them getting together before the launch” Abigail pulled a candy bar out of her purse and took a bite out of it.
“And Max? Any progress on his end?”
“He used a truly awful pickup line on her this morning, and that’s Me saying that. Luckily for his dignity and unluckily for my 10 bucks she didn’t even seem to notice.”
“Good Grief”
“I know! They’re so oblivious! At this point I might have to intervene!”
“Please do, it would be hilarious to see you butcher being match-maker.” She signed, biting off another chunk of the candy bar, pointedly ignoring the playful glare being sent her way. “Besides, it’s not like you have much  room to talk, huh Mr. Floofy Hair?”
“ONCE, I called him that once! And we are not having this conversation again!”
“Why not? I for one think it’s adorable that you like him. And isn’t it kinda the queer agenda? Pining for your best friend?”
“Bold of you to assume I would adhere to any agenda- queer or not!”
“Yet here we are.” She signed, smirking.
“You are vexatious as they come Ms. Pugnat”
“And you aren’t?”
“Fair enough, and how was I not supposed to fall for him? Have you seen him? He’s flipping adorable!”
“None of the rest of us have.”
“You all have bad taste.”
“Sure Tobin.” She rolled her eyes, biting the last chunk off of the candy bar and crumpling up the wrapper. “But do let me know when you finally make a move, I have twenty bucks on you two.”
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flutteringphalanges · 4 years
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Summary: It is public knowledge that Zoe Van Helsing is the last of her blood line. Not to mention that, in a sense, Count Dracula is too. However, after an unexpected night of passion, both their lives dramatically change when Zoe becomes pregnant. Two unconventional parents, one extraordinary pregnancy. What could go wrong?
Rating: M
Pairings: Zoe Van Helsing/Dracula & Agatha Van Helsing/Dracula
Read on FFN and AO3
A/N: Thank you to all who have left kudos/comments/reviews and even have taken the time to read this story thus far! I'm having loads of fun writing this one and I'm hoping you are enjoying it too! Okay, enough of my blabber, here's the next chapter!
                                    Chapter Three
Gemellology. The scientific study of twins. One child out of every thirty two children born was a twin. In the United Kingdom alone, one in out of sixty five babies born were some number of multiples. And one, twin pregnancy, out of the billions of people in the world was the result of a paternal vampire. Singular. Unique. No one else on the planet would be like them. The statistics, though not publicly published, were there. Zoe had never felt so overwhelmed in her life.
"Because of your age, health complications, and the fact you are carrying twins, you're considered high risk," Dr. Clyde explained, Zoe sitting rather motionless as the doctor began to scribble instructions onto a pad.
"Is there something we should be concerned about?" Dracula inquired, his attention focused on the doctor. "Perhaps momentarily taking leave from her job?" Zoe didn't have to look over to know that the vampire was fighting a smirk.
"It's nothing you need stress about at this point," the doctor assured, smiling at Dr. Van Helsing. "We'll just have to schedule more routine visits and run some tests if need be. Monitoring you and making sure everything is going well with you and your babies is the important thing. Here," he held out a piece of paper that she hesitantly took. "Just some recommended prenatal vitamins, folate and iron supplements, the works."
"Iron, an important component of blood," Agatha commented. "Perhaps you consider increasing your dosage of that based on your fetuses' needs."
"Over the counter?" Zoe asked, ignoring the other two in the room. "Pharmacy?"
"Yes, whichever location is convenient to you," Dr. Clyde replied. "Generic or name brand doesn't matter. It is important to stay on them though, we strive for healthy babies." He reached out for Zoe's hand. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Dr. Van Helsing. They can schedule your next appointment up front. And congratulations again," he grinned at Dracula. "To the both of you."
"Thank you," the vampire answered. "This was quite the surprise for both of us. But I welcome this new chapter in our lives, isn't that right, darling?"
"Callous beast," Agatha frowned at Zoe's side. "This is why you never let your guard down with a vampire. Have you learned nothing?"
"Thank you, Dr. Clyde," the doctor exhaled, pushing herself out of the cot. "I'll see you soon I suppose."
Zoe did her best to ignore Dracula the moment she stepped back into the waiting room. She could sense him looming over her shoulder as she set up her next appointment. Blocking his view or not, she knew the man would find a way to attend. He was dreadfully good in that department. Still in shock over the whole experience, she made her way to the elevator.
"So twins," the vampire said, breaking the silence. "I cannot say that I was exactly expecting that. And both with beating hearts. How peculiar."
"I'd rather not discuss parenthood, especially with you," Zoe grumbled, pressing the down key. "You changing my appointment was inappropriate, even for you. Do you realize how late it is? I have to get up early for work tomorrow and-" The doctor was abruptly caught off when she felt a firm, cold grip on her shoulder.
"The Harker Foundation?" Dracula's amused expression had now darkened. "So you are really hellbent on going back there? After this?!" He motioned at her still flat abdomen. "That place. You know what it is. The purpose. What they are." The count touched her stomach, Zoe immediately swatted his hand away. "Do you know what they'd do to you if they found out? To them?"
"What I do isn't any of your concern," the doctor frowned deeply. "I hold high regards towards my job. Even with you gone, we've made progress."
"Then your intent is to experiment on them?" Dracula growled, Zoe beginning to feel slightly fearful. "And to think I was the one who was believed to be heartless-"
"I have absolutely no intentions to do anything of the sort you're accusing me of," she finally spat back. "Nor do I intend on informing people what I'm carrying. But I will say this, if I am truly hellbent on anything at this point, is keeping you out of my life." The elevator door opened but neither of them made a move to enter. "When you chose to leave the walls of the Foundation-"
"My prison," he corrected.
"...The institution, you made the choice to become not involved," it was an argument that didn't make much sense, but she needed something to go off on. "So now, like the Foundation, I'm choosing to be not involved with you. Not that our relationship was anything but distant acquaintances."
Dracula fell silent for a moment before letting out a low chuckle. "Are you trying to punish me, Zoe?" He asked, clearly amused. "Because if that is your goal, you are failing to achieve it."
"Leave," Agatha urged. "This is just going to keep going around in circles and despite being dead, it's giving me a headache."
"I'm done," the doctor said, finally walking into the elevator. "And if you had a shred of humanity left in you, you'd leave me be."
The vampire's mouth opened up to say something, but Zoe had already jammed the close button so hard the doors slid shut. She sighed, leaning against the wall as the speakers hummed a soft tune.
"Good girl," Agatha smiled. "Checkmate."
"The same goes for you," Zoe muttered, glaring at Agatha. "You're just as a thorn in my side as he is. Please...just give me peace."
The nun gave her a curious look before disappearing out of sight. How Zoe had kept from losing it, she wasn't sure. As the elevator doors opened and she stepped into the night, she began to question it all. Twins. Motherhood. Dracula. Her ghost of an aunt. Her eyes flickered down to the crumpled up piece of paper in her hands. The list of instructions the doctor gave her. Everything really was turning upside down.
                                         Two Months Later
Dracula seemed to heed her words from that night. Weeks had passed and Zoe had yet to see the vampire. Even at her appointments, she wasn't greeted to the unwelcome sight of the man. Agatha too had kept her distance, the doctor only seeing flickers of the woman occasional around her house. Life was turning out to be pretty alright-excluding the fact of the ever growing list of pregnancy symptoms she was starting to experience.
"That's your third bagel."
Zoe peered down at her plate, noting that she had indeed consumed yet another circular dough ball smothered with cream cheese. Her attention turned back to her former graduate student, Jack Seward, who'd joined her for lunch that day. He proved to be nice company, someone she could always count on.
"I'm hungry," she admitted. "A side effect of pregnancy."
"And you're still not going to tell me who the father is?" He inquired, smiling as Zoe went for another bite of her bagel. "I thought you never wanted kids."
"I didn't," she admitted. "But when I went into remission, something changed within me. I can't describe it. So I decided to try out in vitro fertilization," Zoe smirked. "Took the first time and now I'm having twins. You and I both know science is fascinating."
She gently placed a hand on her stomach that had already begun to swell. She had yet to feel anything other than bloating. But it was almost comforting. Knowing that she wasn't alone-well, besides Agatha's unwanted haunting. Everything had been running so smoothly, Zoe would almost forget at times that the twins weren't fully human.
"So the Foundation is still keeping tabs on Dracula," Jack said, taking a sip of his coffee. "You of all people must regret not having him around to study him."
Zoe nearly choked on her next bite. Coughing, she grabbed her glass of water and swallowed a few large gulps. Concern crossed the younger man's face, but the doctor waved away, nodding that she was fine.
"His whereabouts aren't a concern of mine," she inhaled. "His activity is being monitored and with that horrible lawyer of his, not much can be done."
"Has he tried to contact you?
"No," she replied. "Not recently."
"Recently?" Jack inquired, looking a little worried. "So he's tried in the past?"
This was the last subject she wanted to discuss. Thinking of a way out of it, she scrunched her face in displeasure. Placing her hands on her stomach, she tried to appear sick. Convincing.
"I'm feeling rather ill," Zoe lied, rising from the table. "Morning sickness. I should go home. I'll text you later. Thank you for lunch. It was great seeing you, Jack."
"But, I…"
Zoe had already hurried off towards her car before he could finish. Unlocking it, she threw her purse into the passenger seat and slid in. Dracula. Of all the subjects to discuss. The idea really did turn her stomach. Pulling out of the cafe parking lot, she started to make her way home. Some tea. Perhaps a movie. She needed to clear her mind.
The first thing she did when she walked through the door was collapse on the couch. Even though she wasn't going through chemotherapy treatments anymore, she still experienced extreme exhaustion. Pregnancy. The wonder of it all. Placing a hand on her stomach, she exhaled. It was hard to believe two tiny-well, babies, were growing in there. Surreal even. Zoe allowed her eyes to close, taking a moment to rest before going about her day. Peace of mind. That was the least she could ask for as she found herself drifting off…
A loud, but rhythmic knock startled Zoe from her slumber. She sat up abruptly, cursing herself from nodding off. She looked over at the time and to her horror realized the afternoon had become the night. Inhaling, she walked over to the door, wondering who it could be at this hour. Had she forgotten something and Jack came to return it? Certainly it wasn't the landlord. She always paid the rent on time. As she opened the door, she immediately realized her mistake.
"Good evening," the man said. "I apologize for the unannounced visit, I would have called but it appears you blocked my number. May I come in? I think there is a lot of catching up to do," his eyes fell onto her stomach, mouth twitching into a smile. "A lot."
Count Dracula.
God, smite her down where she stood.
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becauseiwanttowrite · 4 years
Text
Ctrl + Shift 3
Snippet Three
  To say Greenvine was huge stepped to an understatement. Upon entrance it flaunted the spiralling four levels of assorted stores, paired with fitting greenery for shifter accommodation. The crystal dome that loomed overhead emitted an unnatural sunlight. Mood settled beneath my skin – conversation, coffee, occasional intercom, solid marble at my soles.
I continued at my own pace, minding my surroundings just in case someone – anyone – recognized me. I would rather stay out of the radar for now.
“Hey you!”
I went on walking to the side at a brisk but easy pace. Looking to my side, I saw that not only my attention was grabbed but other people’s as well. A stout security guard ran across the center, chasing after what looked like a weasel.
“No shifting inside the mall!” The guard roared, swinging his stick around, “Don’t make me feed ‘ya to the damn hunters!”
A collective shift in tension swarmed over. I could sense it. Shifters simultaneously turned wary, even though no one would know who they were.
I realized I had stopped and stared while the guard tried to seize the animal. I turned away and picked up a quicker pace, wheels of my luggage making a ruckus behind me. However, I kept my head straight – no point found in appearing suspicious.
Shifters rarely shifted in public places, much less where they were aware that not all present were fellow shifters. Cold ice slid down my back, thinking about hunters blending amongst people. Hunters sitting next to shifters.
I shook my head and walked on.
I halted in a corner to catch my breath. Benches already brimmed with mall-goers. I was digging inside my backpack when something caught my eye.
There, right there in a bar, was Vic, who had an arm slung around another boy. They hunched over the counter, laughing over drinks. In another table, Vaughn sipped his boba tea.
I instantly had half the mind to march over them. But afterwards . . . nothing. I had nothing to tell them, nothing to scold them about. They were only partly to blame that I had no one to fetch me at the airport.
Releasing a breath, I dug deeper into my backpack. To make my situation easier, I could come over to them and ask for our house’s direction, but I could not expect useful information to spout from their mouths.
But I could not bring myself to disturb them. I felt around my backpack instead and fished out a piece of paper. Perhaps if I found a friendly face (which I doubt) I could ask for direction. In that torn out page of my notebook was a sketch of a map. Gaige sent the sketch to me and I fortunately had the chance to copy it down before my battery died.
But that little minx's drawing was undecipherable.
I frowned at the paper again before crumpling it in my fist. If I had to get home on my own, so be it.
I scanned the place once more. Another person caught my eye. Across from me, in a pizzeria, Frances sat by a table with a circle of friends. She had her arms rested on the surface in front of her as she smiled her widest grin.
My lip curled. That is another scene I did not want to disturb. With my recent knowledge, I knew Frances barely had the time to go out with friends.
I leaned against the wall. If the three of them were here, then perhaps at home . 
I stopped short on my thought process again. On a bench northeast from me, there sat a couple sickeningly staring at the fountain display at front. It was not any couple. It was Soren and . . . a girl I had never met before. Once more, I did not want to approach - or even look at - them.
Fazed, I blinked a few times. Then a few more times, rapidly. So this . . . this was something they had not told me.
The paper still sat roughly on my palm. If four of them were here, and if I assumed Mama and Papa were out with Maddox, that left only Gaige and Isidore home. And . . . no one would be watching them.
I trotted off to the side with my bags risk of Soren or the others seeing me. Just then, a child went past me, walking in a calm manner. But I noticed it. His eyes were different.
I raised my hand to stop him. But he stopped by himself. He turned around and stared up at me with the largest pupils, as if a magnifying glass passed over his eyes. I braved a step forward.
"You better not walk around like that," I pointed out, "Hunters might take you."
"They won't dare in a place like this," he said in equal monotone, "And I don't have much of a choice."
What . . . does he mean?
I bent down to my knees to level with me. He seemed about seven or eight, but with a matured look on his face (save for the eyes). "Where are your parents?" I asked.
"Not around here," said he, "I came with my brother."
I tilted my head slightly, "Won't he worry about you right now?"
"I'm not lost," he argued, crossing his arms and parting his feet, "I just went away from him. I know my way around."
"And you must also know your way outside Greenvine." This little boy must be my ticket out.
"I do," he told me, a ghost smile flickering. "You're lost, aren't you?"
Truly, I was asking help not from the people I knew but a stranger that was a little boy. Nonetheless, I placed trust him. He also seemed like he wants to be humored.
"Yes, I've just returned and I need to go home." I nodded to him, then held out my hand, "I'm Zoe."
He shook my hand with much formality, "I'm King."
"Really? King?"
His shoulders rose and fell, "That's what I asked my parents, too."
I stood up, wary of Soren and his significant other on the bench. Luckily, they remained in their lovestruck bubble. I smoothed out the piece of paper in my hand and gave it to King for a look. "Does this map make sense to you?"
King peered, his nose crinkling. His eyes shifted back to normal now, warm hazel irises staring at the paper. "Looks like chicken feet imprints," he mused.
"I only copied it from another drawing," I defended, fishing out my phone and showing him that it was dead.
King turned the paper around and around, examining the careful detail. "With the street names, I can take you there. But I can't say I've been to exactly where your house is."
"Thank you," I let out a sigh of relief.
"But hey," he returned the paper to me, "It will be easy if you call someone to fetch you right now. I have a phone."
I did a brief check around the place. They were still around, unmoving from their spots. "No thanks. They're all busy right now."
King's stare singed on me for a while. I stared back at him, "If it's not too much a hassle for you - "
"No," he waved his hand, "I want to take you there. It's not too far anyways. And the more I loiter around, the more my brother can get mad so it's a win-win."
"Again, thank you," I hung my head to a light bow.
King led us back to the exit and in that duration, I tried to escape the sight of those four people. When I looked at them, they were all engrossed, sucked in their own created abyss, too busy to raise their heads and notice their sister.
"Do we have to ride something to get there?" I asked King by the time we slipped out of Greenvine. The arm pulling my suitcase along began to ache. The pack on my shoulder was not too merciful either.
"Let me see the map again," King held out his hand, and I obliged. He took his phone out and compared.
I gave him a few minutes. He looked up at me, "It's within walking distance but it goes a few twists and turns. We can commute if you want."
"I want to know what you prefer," I told him.
King scratched his chin, "I assume you want to know your way around Delluna - walking is best that way." He eyed my suitcase, "That looks heavy, though. Let me have it."
"We walk," I said in finality and tossed him my backpack instead. King bounded ahead of as we rounded the perimeter of Greenvine to a back area with new roads. I decided then, that this was better than sharing a ride with my siblings.
King kept his eyes switched between the makeshift map and phone. In spite of this, he navigated smoothly, avoiding the long pavements that led to nowhere. Buses and cars sped by, and stalls and booths littered around, but the place was clean. The heat did not radiate as much.
In gradual succession, the city became familiar to me. I recognized the ice cream booth Vic often demanded to visit. The park still stood, with the memories of childhood along with it, and the preserved mark Gaige had carved on one of the slides. It was not home, and I recalled merely a few places, but Delluna was familiar, a lot familiar before Reddard.
I decided to make small talk to distract myself from the burns of my sore arm. "King," I kept up to walk right behind him, "You said you can't help it when you change your eyes."
Not once did he lift his gaze. "Yes. My alter ego pops up once in a while."
I remained silent as a motion for him to go on. King shut his mouth before saying, "I usually don't shift. I can't."
"You can't," I repeated, "You are unable to, or something is withholding you?"
"I'd go for the withholding option."
I nodded once, "I see."
There were some shifters blessed with quite unique animals. It caused danger for them to shift, especially if a hunter were to see. I had schoolmate back in Hythe who shifted to a recently extinct trophy animal. When those people did not shift regularly, their animal sides threatened to come out instead.
I did not pester King any further. We turned to a sharp corner, ascended a few steps and kept walking.
"Zoe, where did you come from?" He took his turn to ask.
"From Reddard," I replied, "For training." We squeezed past a few people. I had to check that my suitcase was in perfect condition every once in a while.
"You're a bit too trusting towards a kid like me," he commented, looking back an inch over his shoulder.
"I know who is trustworthy and who is not."
We entered an alley, so narrow that it allowed only two people at a time. Clotheslines with wooden pegs floated above us. Windows, as well as tiny balconies, jutted out of the gray walls. I smelled a faint hint of detergent and house plants.
King put down the map. He raised his phone, which was incessantly ringing. After six rings or so, I asked him, “Are you taking that?”
He pocketed his phone, “I’ll let my brother worry for a bit.”
I bit off a small piece of pity for his brother. Although it was hypocritical for me to keep King out like this, I knew he could find his way around and thus cause little worry.
“If it will benefit you,” I told him as we trudged through, “You can tell him it’s my fault.”
“He won’t believe me,” he grinned. “Don’t worry about it, Zoe.” We reached a brand new place outside the alley. Buildings took on a smaller size. There was a rotunda by the center and a proud city hall stood in front of it.
Beside the city hall was a domed building, the reason I really ever went to Delluna Capital before.
King pointed it out to me, “That’s – “
“The Shifter Provincial Council Hall,” I finished for him.
He stared at me. “I don’t visit Delluna without going there,” I explained.
With a few more steps, we ended by a corner where crossroads met. King gazed up at the road going uphill. Instead of houses or buildings, pine trees outlined each side of the path. The air was colder than usual.
“I think the house is up there,” King motioned, “Just continue up and you’ll see it.”
I looked back at him, “Up there.”
He nodded.
It looked like I had to haul my bags up a steep one. I rolled my shoulders and pressed on my back to relieve the ache for a moment. “Thanks, King. I should be seeing more of you soon. Can you go home?”
“You’re welcome,” said he, shaking my hand once more, “My house is nearby, actually.”
With final goodbyes, we set off to separate paths. King, hands on pockets with a wild phone ringing, strode off to another road. I gathered my strength to pull my bags up. I considered going up first and asking for help but I did not think Gaige could offer much help.
Forcing my feet to anchor on the asphalt, I wiped my sweat on my sleeve. In minutes, it gradually appeared in my sight. The house was a grand mansion in the middle of the woods – at the top of the hill. Certainly, it stood above our previous homes in Hythe in terms of size.
Unbelievable, how Mama and Papa had the money for this land and property.
I took heavy steady breaths. A few more, just a few more and I will be home.
Before the house was a gate made of long sharp steel. The black tips rounded the outside of the place. It took only a slight push to open it. A brief thought fluttered in my mind – it was dangerous for the gate to be open like this.
Either he did not do it on purpose . . . or he was expecting me to come home alone.
I released a breath, continuing upwards as I swung the gate closed behind me. I knew if I stopped to rest, I would be tired out even more. So, even when my arms screamed and my pulse quickened, I climbed the grassy hill leading to the house.
Just sitting within the grass were purple and pink toys, as well as a lone trike. Further upwards, there was a manmade pond. Next to the house there was also a spare storage. I continued and reached the front doorstep, which was lined with dark lanterns.
The double doors stared back at me. Not minding my loud breaths, I tried the door. I would not budge. Next, I tried the heavy knocker.
In that second, the window to my right flickered as the curtain drew. Right there was Gaige’s grinning face, glasses perched, shirt askew.
“Gaige, you little shit,” I said softly and tried the knocker again.
He gave me a shrug, drew the curtain back and left. I knocked again. As my fist began to land, the door clicked open and I was greeted by, not Gaige, but a little girl.
Her mouth dropped open, and I noticed her signature long brown hair, stray strands bobbing up and down. “Zoe!” Her face curved into a smile.
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The Last Time I Saw You {Part V}
Author: Zoe
(A/N: I’m back! See if you can catch the little reference I made to the character I based Ben on, Phillip Altman from This Is Where I Leave You.)
Modern! Ben Solo x Reader
Plot Summary: Ben Solo. The man who made it his job to tease you for the entirety of your high school existence, and all it took was a high school reunion for him to come back into your life. Leaving your big city lifestyle to help out with Rey and Finn's wedding, you see if Ben's really changed over the last ten years.
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"Have you decided on a location yet?" You ask, looking up at Rey and Finn as the possible locations for their engagement photos.
"The park is nice, but so is the fountain up where you work." Rey notes.
"...What about the school?" Finn asks. "That is where we met."
"I can talk to the principal, See if we can do it after school hours?" You ask, and they smile and nod. "I'll see what the place looks like, the lighting situation and all. Fluorescent light isn't the best, but I have equipment to fix it."
"We really appreciate this, Y/N." Rey takes your hand.
"It's nothing, I'm honored to take your pictures, guys." You smile.
"It's kind of weird." Ben notes, leaning back at his desk in the mechanic shop, twirling a pen.
"What is?"
"How easily she slipped back into our lives."
Kylo scoffs as he stops the coffee pot mid-pour. "She didn't slip back into our lives, you saw her once. And she's only here for the wedding."
"Still."
"Why are you so hung up about it?" Matt asks, grabbing his lunch from the fridge.
"I'm not."
"You clearly are." Kylo rolls his eyes.
"I'm not hung up about it, I'm just amazed that there wasn't any awkward conversation."
“That’s not what we saw.” Matt replies. “You kept on rocking on your heels like a creep.”
Ben throws a piece of crumpled paper at Matt, hitting him in the face. “What the hell?!”
“You deserved it.” He snickers, dodging a pencil as Kylo sighs, returning to his papers.
You groan as you try to start your car, the engine sputtering.
“Damn it.” You mutter to yourself, seeing Finn and Rey shaking their heads.
“Doesn’t seem like a jumper cable fix.” Finn answers. “I think you should call Han’s garage.”
“One more time? I don’t want to bother them unless it’s seriously important.”
Rey nods and starts the car again, only to no avail for yours. You throw your head back to the seat, rubbing your brow. “What’s the number?”
“Already calling it for you.” Finn replies, putting his phone to his ear. “Hello? ...Hey, Ben, it’s Finn. Y/N’s car isn’t starting, we already tried cables… Okay, thanks.”
“Well?” You ask.
“On their way with a tow truck. Kylo’s gonna load it up, Ben’s gonna get the garage prepped for the fix.”
“Thanks again, guys. Next week for your engagement photos?”
“Sounds perfect. Thank you again!” They both wave before getting into their car and driving off.
You sigh and take out your phone, waiting for a good half-hour before the tow truck arrives. “Hey!”
“Didn’t expect to see you so soon.” Kylo nods, opening the front. “...Burnt out radiator, low coolant, and a cracked head gasket. How old is this car?”
“It was my parents gift to me before college. It’s old.”
“We’ll do our best to fix it.” Kylo hooks up the car to the truck as you climb into the passenger seat.
“Thank you, I really appreciate it.” You smile as Kylo gets into the driver’s seat.
“Ben got excited.” He notes.
“That my car broke down?”
“Not about that, about seeing you again. He’ll never admit it but he’s glad you’re back around.”
You chuckle softly, crossing your arms. “I’m surprised, considering how he acted in high school.”
“He matured. Not by a lot, but matured nonetheless.” Kylo smirks, watching the road. “But it’s still good to see you again.”
“Same here. I missed my writing buddy.” You joke as he groans.
“Keep calling me that and we’ll fix that car extra slowly.”
You huff slightly. “You’re not fun.”
“I never was fun.” He replies. “I was angry, Remember?”
“You’d fight with Ben in front of me all the time.” You chuckle.
“Well, I just got my thirty-day chip from anger management, so who’s laughing now?” He answers, a slight smile on his face.
“Let go of me!” Ben huffs, as you watch him and Kylo with slight amusement.
“You erased my yearbook flash drive for your shitty MS Paint drawings!” He yells, holding Ben in a headlock.
“You didn’t put your name on it!”
“You know the black flash drives are mine, you asshole!”
“Y/N, help me!” Ben cries out, looking up at you sitting on the couch.
You shake your head, returning to the article you’re writing for the school newspaper. “You kind of deserve it, man.”
“I can’t believe you’d leave me hanging like this!” Ben yells, turning and pinning Kylo to the ground.
“Can’t you act like an adult?” You groan, watching him.
“I am an adult!” He shouts, pulling back Kylo’s arms.
“We’re here.” Kylo stops the tow truck as Ben and Matt push the car to the station.
“No wonder this is broken, you’re driving a rust bucket.” Ben chuckles.
“That rust bucket’s been with me since college.”
“Yeah, and it’s engine is shit.” He snickers, as you smack his arm.
“This is gonna take a while to fix.” Matt notes.
“How am I supposed to get around?” You groan. “Ubers are expensive.”
Matt and Kylo look at Ben expectantly and he rolls his eyes. “Fine. How are you on a motorcycle?”
“Huh?”
“I’ll give you rides, but I drive a motorcycle now. Are you too scared for a motorcycle?” He raises a brow.
“I’ll have you know I’m fine on motorcycles. I survived your shitty driving in high school, you know.” You huff.
“Alright, hurtful, but good. Because I’m not gonna deal with you screaming in my ear.” He smirks. “Unless it’s a different kind of-“
“Ew, shut up!” You punch his gut as he laughs heartily. You scoff and walk away, sitting down at a table and opening your laptop to work.
Ben steals a glance at you before putting on his gloves and opening up the hood of your car.
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cleverbroadwayurl · 5 years
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Chiaroscuro Portraiture (Connor Murphy x Artist!Reader)
Word Count: 3070
A/N: Okay so I attempted to get this done because I felt bad about not posting so uhh if this isn’t what you wanted, please tell me and I will fix it. I tried to kinda do like what McEwan does in Atonement because let’s be real that fluffy language is amazing. But uhh yeah again: I do take criticism if it’s not up to your standards, just let me know!
Trigger Warnings: uhh kissing, language, Zoe being angry, IF I MISSED ANYTHING PLEASE LET ME KNOW
Taglist: @catatonic-kuragin 
Connor didn’t mean to take a shower at 1:30 in the morning. It just sort of happened. He didn’t mean to walk past Zoe’s room when the door was cracked, it just happened. And he definitely didn’t mean to eavesdrop on the events unfolding second by second. It just kinda happened.
Of course, the staying behind to continue to listen to the conversation was a conscious decision. He’d made himself comfortable, perfectly unseen in the hallway by you and Zoe, just outside the cracked door that emitted a sliver of light. You two had been doing this for years, since before eighth grade. God, was that right? You’d been best friends with Zoe for over 4 years? He shrugged the thought off as he lowered himself to the floor, choosing to sit—sitting wouldn’t attract attention, wouldn’t make any extra noise. It would swear him to secrecy, which is exactly what he wanted. While each sentence that left your lips was inaudible, Zoe was loud. She knew her entire house would be asleep, well, unless Connor himself didn’t feel like it. But she also knew that he wouldn’t walk over and tell her to shut up. Not with you here, at least. “Oh! I remember this!” she exclaimed, followed by bangs and crashes. “Your old sketchbook! I wanna see your progress! Show me!”
That’s right, that yellow book that was bound with little metal pieces. The special paper that never seemed to flap in the wind but could catch shading like nobody’s business. He could remember you sitting in biology at the large black tables, eyes squinted in concentration towards the back of the classroom where the windows were. He always assumed you were drawing the spidery veins of branches outside, noticing how with each passing cold day, they would get bleaker and bleaker, until he assumed you were drawing something that would look like broken glass on a page. But in the summer, at the beginning of the school year, the leaves canopied the trail that the track and cross-country assholes would take to “condition” for their meets. As the year would go on, the trail would be used less and less; around Halloween, it was always muddy, and then always covered in gross slush by the time Winter came along. He assumed you liked to draw in the footprints of the poor people who had to still use those trails after a particularly rainy day. He guessed it would make for a cool drawing, at the very least.
He could remember you doing that a lot, noticing in the fall light how your hair perfectly framed your face, the light hitting it in such a way that almost made you look more delicate than those glass figurines that his mom had collected when he and Zoe were babies. Your eyes would scrunch at the windows, getting that new twig barely notable by the passing eye, but everything to you. You must’ve drawn those same trees often—Connor didn’t usually pay attention to his classmates, but he could distinctly remember you sketching like that, day after day. That had to mean you did it often. So yeah, Zoe had a point; your art must’ve gotten better as the years went on and as you kept pulling it out to do a new study of some new art term Connor had never heard before.
Connor could also remember you in his house sometime over the summer, or was it last year, sketching something in the room. Zoe would always claim to be studying with you as he lazily made a sandwich after his hellish school day, and yet somehow still irritating Zoe. He could remember you trying to capture how the light just barely lit the room in a golden glow and attempting to get each curve and angle of the room just right. He assumed you used softer leaded pencils for the walls, giving it texture that it deserved. If Connor didn’t know any better, you’d be getting into some high class college for architecture, right angles so sharp you could swear it would prick your finger by just running it over the page.
And there was of course the library. You’d always sketch in the library. Sitting at the same table, you’d construct your artistry with nothing more than imagination, a pencil, and some special paper. He’d only been in there to get a book, any book, to convince someone that he was actually doing work and actually trying. Maybe do something for his mom for once, or perhaps himself. But you were there, carefully crafting your version of the bookstacks and cases around you. It was a solid 20 minutes of him looking before he could hear you uncap that special pen with the felt tip and black ink that could stain every piece of paper if you weren’t careful enough. The angles must have been perfect that time; pen is permanent. With another glance at the aisle Connor had been in, he spotted the book he needed: Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?. A nod to the librarian, and a quick glance back at you, he was off.
And then—
“Wait a second. Why are most of these done as portraiture? You hate drawing faces. And more importantly, why are they of Connor?!”
Connor misheard something. He had to have. When did you have the time, the effort, or even the means to draw him? Zoe was right, why draw him when he wasn’t anything special? Silence didn’t last long, Zoe’s demanding continuing.
“Some of these are dating like months, fuck, years ago?!”
He finally heard your voice through the cracked door as his eyes remained wide and trained onto one of the hardwood floorboards. “Zoe I can explain.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“Zoe—”
“I’m serious, don’t go in depth about how much you adore my brother. I don’t want to hear it.”
Zoe bolted out of the room, completely missing Connor outside of her door as she did so. She stepped down the stairs quickly, stomping on every step as she did so, her steps almost percussive as her anger. The door nearly slammed in the draft that followed her speed, but Connor caught the white door with his foot, carefully making sure that it wouldn’t slam and actually wake up the whole house. With that same foot, he opens the door a little wider so he can actually peer in, curious about the sketches in question.
The only light that’s on is Zoe’s bedside lamp. There’s a soft glow around the room, similar to lighting a dozen candles and leaving them as the sun sets past twilight into dusk. The colorful clock against the pink shaded lamp says a harsh 2:06 AM. Had he really been out there for half an hour? His eyes shift to you, who is crumpled on Zoe’s bed. He doesn’t need to look closer to know, to understand that you’re upset. You’d just caused some kind of conflict between you and your best friend of however many years it’d been now. It probably looked like you betrayed Zoe, using her only to get to him. It’s at this moment that Connor decides to slowly step in, but is wary of the things that are on the ground.
Your sketchbook catches his eye, the beat up book open to a sketch of him, the shadows of his face darkened by a bold marker, the lights done by a hard leaded pencil. The date underneath the drawing is marked last week, showing off your progress beautifully. Connor can’t come up with any words at first. It’s…perfect, which sounded dumb to him. It perfectly took each aspect of Connor and threw it onto a page. If anyone looked at it, they would easily be able to tell exactly what Connor was like, exactly what his mannerisms were, and they would be able to easily distinguish one mood from another. It’s almost a brighter version of himself staring back at him, one who looks so confident but so lost. And Connor remained speechless, unsure of how to express his feelings.
Another minute went by before he actually said something: “Fuck, that’s really good.” A sniffle practically erupts from you before you look up at him. The two of you make eye contact, and in a swift attempt to grab the book, it ends up in Connor’s slender fingers. He begins thumbing through the pages, his eyes grazing over each and every line, every erased mark, every place you’d used pen instead of pencil, each shading variation, each curl you’d drawn; every single time you chose to draw him in a different light than he could’ve ever imagined. None of them were did in color, almost as if you were preserving the pages, as if you’d scan them in and color them digitally so you could get the blending just right. His eyes flew over dates as he kept turning, pupils dilating at each new sketch; the first drawing he’d seen was dated a little over a year and a half ago.
Then there’s one he can place; it must’ve been an exam day or something in biology because he could see the trees behind him, each branch perfectly placed, almost like someone had altered a photo rather than drawn it out. The leaves were somewhat there, the lush summer branches fading away into fall. But they’re there enough that Connor knows this was drawn at the beginning of the year—only some of the leaves are shaded in to show their differing colors. Purple was done in a dark grey, a softer lead, while green leaves were almost stark white, done in a harder leaded pencil. They were outlined beautifully by a pen, or perhaps many different pens.
Then it hits him—you didn’t care about the trees. You weren’t getting the perfect pitch of the ceilings in the kitchen that sat downstairs, memories burning onto the sketchbook’s pages. You weren’t trying to capture the world in a new light. You had been trying to get him in different shadings—a test in chiaroscuro. He had to hand it to you, each sketch was done artfully, completely taking each curve of his face and each line flowing directly into another, but in such a way you’d gotten every little thought that had ran through his head on that particular date. Connor’s heart started beating a little harder as his hands got a little sweaty, eyes still trained on one particular drawing and the way the pen swirled on the page. He licked his lips before speaking up again, not even bothering to tear his eyes away. “All of them are actually, really fucking good.”
He heard you shift forward, Zoe’s bed making that too familiar creak he usually heard from the other side of the wall. “Really?”
“Yeah,” he finally looked up and locked eyes with you. It was obvious you were upset—which was a dumb thought, Connor realized. Of course you were upset. Your best friend just stormed out of the room and down the stairs because you’d been artfully drawing wonderful images of her brother. Pink surrounded the color of your eyes, your waterline more prominent than Connor had ever seen before. It was his turn to study your face, each contour in the dull light of the stupid pink lamp Zoe had gotten when she had turned 13. Your facial features cracked, a smile finally escaping through the blurry clouds that had been drawn up around you. “I mean, I’m not an art critic or anything, but I love them.”
“Oh.” It was a suppression of something, Connor couldn’t tell what—your eyes flicked to the floorboards. “Thank you.”
He nodded before stepping forward, wire bounded notebook being extended out towards you. You took it gently, almost as if the moment would be ruined by sharp, abstract movements. There was a moment of nothing, your eyes meeting his again, before you started going through the drawings just as Connor had. No words were exchanged, they didn’t need to be, as he sat down on the bed next to you, admiring your hard work. He hadn’t gone through all of them, that much was apparent even in the darkness. Your style changed as the dates became more and more present, almost grabbing Connor in a new way that he couldn’t even fathom—when he was in a bad mood, the lines were sharp, almost making him look stuck in an abstract world that consumed him. You had started to include white pencil to highlight the lights of his face and the darks that seemed to surround him at any given point. There was one that Connor had been smiling, the stark contrast of grid to fluid making itself clear. White colored pencil littered that page, giving his cheeks and overall vibe almost a sunshine attitude. He wasn’t even sure how you’d done that, how you’d caught him smiling so long that you actually could draw it out. Your latest date appears, only two days ago before you start to close the book.
There’s a moment of nothing, completely dullness except the yellow that blanketed the room. With another beat, he looks up, a newfound fondness of you completely taking over, heart ablaze like someone had used your sketchbook as kindling for something—anything other than numbness. It’s now that Connor realizes he was leaning into you, getting closer and closer until this very second—faces inches apart and eyes scanning, searching, almost fleeing around memorizing each color of your eyes. The pink is almost gone, and you start to lean forwards, eyes not deciding what they want to look at: his eyes or his lips. The space is closing more and more, the process expedited as Connor begins to mirror your actions, the moonlight outside now seeming like the only thing that’s illuminating in the room. Before proceeding, he pulls away for a second, deciding that maybe he was just misreading cues from you. You could just be trying to get up to find Zoe, soon leaving the house and out of Connor’s life. But he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want this to end, he wants to know the curves of your face, the way you look when everything is geometric and scheduled and when everything is fluid and free, the white pencil contrasted with the black marker, each level of shading on your face. He wanted to know you at your lightest and darkest, when the leaves are lush to the leaves die and make the windows look cracked from the inside. It’s another moment until he finally gets the grip he needs, asking you “Can I kiss you?”
You nod eagerly, hands already snaking around the back of his neck and pulling him closer. He resists for a second, a mumbled “I need a verbal yes or no. Otherwise I worry that I crossed a boundary,” escaping him.
“Yes,” is exhaled from you onto Connor’s lips, giving him full access to everything he didn’t know he needed or fuck wanted until this moment. There’s a level of softness to the moment your lips grazed his, the laziness of the night consuming both of you. Relaxation seeps into the kiss as it deepens, providing a sense of warmth that could only be described as rosy cheeks and whipped cream. It’s here that Connor realizes that his heart had skipped a beat, the pink organ working in tandem with yours, blossoming into something spontaneous and wonderful with you. Connor’s hands glide from where they were to your face, almost capturing the light you’re giving him, an ability to feel like the sun is inside of his hands as the kiss deepens further. Everything is synched—a puzzle finally put together by warm light and soft touches. Something erupts in Connor and he can only hope the same from you, it’s a sense of fluff, a sense of complete and total comfort and security, almost as if someone had come in here and wrapped you and him in a blanket as silent snow fell outside. It was heated, like a warm shower after a night in the rain, but soft, sweet, something fluttering from inside into the outside. It was almost like this was something long awaited, and better than expected; far better than expected.
Footsteps stomped up the stairs, and the air turned cold, a firm reminder that the world could touch them. Connor already knew what it was—Zoe was coming back from making hot chocolate downstairs. The darkness of the room returned, almost blinding to Connor as he attempts to smoothly get out of the room before Zoe sees and gets even more upset. Purples plague the walls, steps coming louder and louder as he practically stumbles out of the room, hoping that his sister wasn’t looking up as she went upstairs. With a sharp glide out of the room and into the complete darkness of the void, Zoe slipped in and began to talk to you about something he couldn’t quite hear.
Shuffling down the hall so he isn’t heard, Connor recounts the events in his head. Maybe that had been a bad idea. Maybe the warmth around you two as you kissed was just something to dwell on but never have. Maybe it was better this way.
Fuck that. He slipped into bed, covering himself with the covers, still imagining your hands around him, circling him with warm light that rivaled sunlight at the end of the first warm day of spring after a harsh winter in the Northeast. He attempted to get that from his blankets, but couldn’t. He craved that moment now that he’d had a taste of it, every contradiction, line break, finally forming into a continuum, an image of your smiling self depicted by the lines that finally painted a beautiful picture of life. He needed everything you offered: the darks, the lights, the curves, the edges. Connor craved it as he rolled over, eyes closing for the night, the last image in his head of you artfully crafting him on the page before smiling at him in that way you always do. His heart skips a beat before falling into a smooth rhythm, breathing following the pattern as the world washed away in the golden light that consumed him.
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notsoguiltykpop · 6 years
Text
The Tenth Floor pt19
Pairing: Yoongi x Reader & Taehyung x Reader
Min Yoongi had gone through 34 secretaries in the past 24 months, and each one of them left in tears. This fact alone should have warned you against taking the job, but the pay was too good to pass up. Surely you could put up with a billionaires temper-tantrums, right?
Genre: Fluff, humor, probably some angst. Borderline crack at times
Warnings: Strong language, smut talked about/implied, some dark themes
Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18
Jungkook looked slightly ill when he left Yoongi’s office. When you raised an eyebrow in question, he shook his head and closed his eyes.
“How do you do it?” He asked, walking around to sit on your desk, crumpling the papers that you’d only just finished sorting.
“Do what?” You asked, swatting at him to get up. He moved with an apologetic glance, instead standing somewhat awkwardly beside you with his arms crossed. 
“Yell at him. The guy’s crazy, you know that right? But that never stops you from telling him off,” Jungkook explained, eyeing Yoongi’s door. “Don’t tell him I said this, but he kind of scares me.” 
You couldn’t help a slight laugh, despite your dismal mood. “Yoongi’s all talk, Jungkook,” You tried to smooth out the papers Jungkook crushed, and finally decided you’d just have to print out new ones. “He isn’t all that different from you, really. You both put up fronts to protect yourselves, neither of you are particularly organized, and you’re both a bit strange.”
“I don’t know whether or not to be offended by that,” Jungkook sighed, beginning to walk away from your desk backwards. 
You rolled your eyes, ready to get back to work in the hopes of keeping your mind off the fact that you didn’t have the money to pay off your car. 
Your phone buzzed with a text the moment you were alone, and you grabbed it faster than you usually would have. You still hadn’t heard from Jessica since the previous night, and you were worried that whatever progress the two of you might have made was lost. When you saw her name at the top of your phone, you didn’t even bother to read the preview, just tapped on it. 
“You still have my dress.” Was the five word text you received.
Biting back disappointment, you told yourself that this was still a good sign. Jessica had finally texted you something, and that had to count. 
“Hard at work, I see,” A teasing voice interrupted your thoughts, and you looked up to see Changkyun standing in front of your desk with his hands in his pockets and a smirk on his lips. 
You blinked at him, trying to remember what he was doing there. How you’d forgotten about the previous nights conversation was a mystery even to yourself, but it came back to you as you shoved your phone out of sight. 
“Changkyun, how are you this morning?” You asked, forcing a smile. It wasn’t that you minded seeing him so much as were trying to think of a way to tell Yoongi that you’d completely forgotten to mention that you set up an appointment for him with the shareholder he was doing his best to avoid. 
“Decent,” He shrugged. “Is Yoongi in his office?”
You hesitated for a moment. “He is, but he was in the middle of something important. Let me go tell him you’re here.”
You didn’t wait for a response, hopping up and hurrying into his office. Yoongi was not doing anything that looked important at all--in fact, he appeared to be sleeping. He was leaned back in his chair, feet propped up on his desk and one arm flung over his eyes. 
“Yoongi?” You tried.
“Normal secretaries use the intercom system,” He sighed. “I’m really starting to hate how you just barge in here whenever you feel like it.” 
“Then I guess normal secretaries,” You said, folding your arms. “Don’t need to talk to you in private before sending people in.” 
Yoongi groaned, sitting up and blinking blearily at you. “Who is it this time?”
“Im Changkyun,” You figured there was no use beating around the bush, he’d find out sooner or later, and it would be better for him to get mad at you instead of the shareholder. 
“Tell him to go away.” Yoongi glared at you. “I’m not in the mood to deal with that lunatic.”
“I’ll tell him to come in,” You said anyway, and were about to step out when Yoongi stood up and walked over to face you.
“You’re really starting to get on my nerves,” He said. 
“So fire me,” You shrugged. At this point, you didn’t feel like you had anything to lose. 
Yoongi said nothing to that, instead pretending you hadn’t said anything and making his way over to the window. You made a face at his turned back; he was so over-dramatic. 
“Send him in,” Yoongi muttered reluctantly. “But if he stays for more than an hour, make up some excuse to get me out of here.” 
After Changkyun left, Yoongi thought he would finally get some peace and quiet. The hope was dashed as the door was thrown open again, and Yoongi was about to finally lose his temper and tell you to stop fucking doing that, but when he looked up it wasn’t your pretty eyes he was met with.
“How’s it going between the two of you?” Taehyung asked, scrolling through his phone rather than look at Yoongi as he took a seat.
“Who?” Yoongi sighed, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes. He’d had a headache all day and seeing Taehyung was only making it worse. 
“You and Y/n, duh.” Taehyung snorted. 
“Terrible.” Yoongi deadpanned. “In fact, if you want to get more specific than that, it isn’t “going” at all. She made it very clear she wants nothing to do with me, and I think it’s time I respected that.” Jungkook’s words, while unwanted, stuck with Yoongi more than he cared to admit. He had a point, whether Yoongi liked it or not.
Taehyung raised an eyebrow, putting his phone away. “So even after all I did, you still managed to screw things up?”
Yoongi let out a bark of a laugh. “You say that like you tried to help me.”
“I did,” Taehyung made a face. When Yoongi didn’t look convinced, he sighed dramatically. “Oh, come on. Are you really that dumb? I painted myself as the bad-guy to make you look better, and even made up that stupid lie about my house getting robbed so you’d have to drive her home--you do know I don’t own a house anymore, right?”
Yoongi stared at Taehyung as his words sunk in. “You what?”
“Seriously, your neighbor said you spent an entire weekend away from home, you were at her house, weren’t you?”
Yoongi blinked slowly. “Why were you talking to my neighbor?”
Taehyung dismissed Yoongi’s question entirely, waving a hand. “Unimportant. What is important is how you possibly managed to go from spending a weekend together to...whatever it is happening now.”
“Quit acting like you’re on my side, it’s weird,” Yoongi grumbled, looking back at the spreadsheet he was supposed to be reviewing.
“I’m not acting,” Taehyung said, pulling the paper off of Yoongi’s desk so he could look at it himself. “I think it’s time we put our differences aside and attempted to get along, don’t you?”
Yoongi scoffed, snatching the spreadsheet back. “Why?”
“We’re nearly thirty, for one thing. It was one thing when we were in our teens, but now it’s a little embarrassing, right?” Yoongi didn’t have anything to say to that. “Do you really want to still be fighting when we’re in our sixties--or older? Aren’t we better people than that, Yoongi?”
It was convincing, Yoongi gave him that. Taehyung met his eyes evenly and even pouted a little. “What do you want, Taehyung?” 
Taehyung switched back to his usual demeanor in an instant when Yoongi didn’t take the bait, grinning widely as he sat back in his chair.
“It was worth a try,” He chuckled, twirling a pencil idly. Yoongi nodded and waived a hand for him to continue. “I want a job here. A real one.”
Yoongi laughed. “No, seriously. What do you want?”
“I just told you,” Taehyung’s smile faded. “Give me a job working for you, preferably one that pays well.” 
“And I would do that because...?” Yoongi prompted.
“It would make both of your parents happy to see us working together and getting along,” Taehyung said simply. When Yoongi gave him an “are you kidding me” look, he sighed. “Look, I need a regular job to get custody. The courts don’t care how much is in my bank account, only that I’m a stable parent. Don’t do it for me, do it for Zoe. Do it for your niece, Yoongi.”
“That’s low, Taehyung,” Yoongi narrowed his eyes. “Even for you.” 
“I know you and I have our issues, but do you really think Mia is a fit parent?” Taehyung continued, completely unphased. “I’m not asking for the company, Yoongi. I’m asking you to give me some desk job until I’ve secured custody.”
Yoongi grimaced. He was just starting to think that Taehyung would leave soon. “I can’t just give you a job because we’re... family,” The word still felt strange to say even after so long. “But you can apply, just like everyone else. Give Namjoon your resume, and I’ll put in a good word for you.” 
“Wouldn’t that just mean talking to yourself?” Taehyung snorted, and Yoongi couldn’t help but halfheartedly throw a crumpled piece of paper at him.
“Get out of my office before I change my mind.”
The more you thought about it, the less you thought Jimin was actually at fault, and it was starting to bother you. It seemed pretty clear that Jimin wasn’t informed that you were getting any of the money, in which case Seokjin should’ve been the one to suffer. But when you asked around during lunch, everyone said that Jimin was always good for his money--apparently he’d lost a lot of bets, some of which for quite a bit more than what he bet against you. 
That left Seokjin, but he didn’t quite make sense either. He’d always treated you decently, even if he was a little annoying. He was the one who offered you the money, so why would he give you counterfeit? 
You went over the day several times in your mind while you ate, and every time it lead you back to the same unpleasant train of thought; Jungkook could, potentially, be behind it. He was the one who said Seokjin should give you the money, and you left him alone with it to tell Yoongi that Vanessa was there. 
You hated to think that he could have planned it all along, and that he might have been internally laughing at you the whole day, knowing that you bought a car with counterfeit.
Jungkook wasn’t that kind of person. He was the only half-way decent coworker you had, and he had gone out of his way to help you numerous times. He didn’t have any logical motive, anyway.
Then again, Jessica’s impression of him wasn’t good, and he had more enemies on the tenth floor than he had friends. There had to be a reason for that. He didn’t seem anything like what others thought of him, but you’d only known him for a month. And was is even possible for him to change this drastically in such a short amount of time?
You muttered a curse under your breath as you ran a hand down your face. Jungkook was your friend, wasn’t he? So why were you even entertaining the thought that he could do this to you?
Distracted, you ran headfirst into Jimin in the hall on your way back from lunch. 
“Sorry, Jimin,” You mumbled, and he gave you an exasperated look. 
“Whatever,” He said, and was about to continue away from you when you caught his arm.
“No, wait. Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Why? So you can accuse me of something else?” Jimin asked, raising an eyebrow. 
“No--I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions,” You said, feeling your cheeks heat up slightly. You’d made quite a scene earlier without any proof, and no matter what Jimin had said to you in the past, he deserved the benefit of a doubt. “And I’m sorry.”
Jimin looked slightly amused at this. “Yeah, well. As long as you know you were wrong.” 
The irritation at him you thought you’d put on hold rose up faster than you thought possible. “And what about you? You think all the horrible, unwarranted things you’ve said to me over the last month were right?”
The smirk dropped from his face. “Whatever. Let’s call it even.” He muttered, shoving past you. It wasn’t an apology, but was better than nothing. 
A/N It’s a short chapter, but I hope you enjoyed! I finally just decided to scrap what I wrote before and start over. To everyone who has sent me messages/chats, I’m really sorry I haven’t been keeping up with them. I haven’t had wifi for over a week now, so while I can write, it’s hard to reply. I promise I’ll try to get better about it next week, I should have more time then <3 <3 <3
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piperemerald · 6 years
Text
Paints
For Day 2 of @connormurphyweek 
Read on A03 
Commission me!
Connor was fourteen when he realized that paints were more expressive that language. Words were deceitful, they could convince you of one thing while sneaking another more dangerous message down your throat. They could hurl themselves at the people he loved and place the weapon in his hands. Words only caused pain and lost the trust of the people he fought to keep with him. Paints were different.
Growing up, art class had always been his favorite subject, but that was just because the art teachers seemed to hate him a little bit less than all of the other adults. He didn’t used art as an escape, it was just a quick breath of air in the suffocation that was school. The drawing and sculptures he made were tossed aside at the end of the year. Then, something changed.
He remembered the day. The air around him felt like water. It was pressing into him, turning his body into a crumpled and battered mess, but no one around was going to throw him a lifeline. He was drowning and everyone else was floating effortlessly. They navigated life so flawlessly and he didn’t understand how. He never understood and it hurt. 
It hurt and he hated it. He fucking hated it.
He got to class late, but his art teacher didn’t take attendance. Most of his peers like to skip this class, as long as they got most of the assignments in they didn’t get in trouble. The only reason Connor had forced himself through the door and not found a quiet corner of the school to brood in instead was because he knew he wasn’t going to have to deal with the shrill voices of the stupid kids in his grade.
They were supposed to be painting a vase that sat in the front of the studio. Connor had a blank paper pinned to his isle and a palate of nauseatingly bright colors in front of him. He hadn’t planned to touch either, but for some reason his shaking hands had grasped one of the brushes. 
He started with yellow. First it looked like someone had crushed a sunflower and smeared it across his paper. It was ugly and damaged and gross. He didn’t like it. Looking at it made him sick. 
So he added red. On the brush it had looked like blood. That was familiar. It reminded him of sitting alone in a bathroom pretending he wasn’t waiting for someone to find him. No one was going to find him. He was alone and broken and red and that couldn’t be soothed out by even the coolest and calmest of blues. 
The colors mixed together and formed something brighter. They melted into a hot and dangerous fire. It burned like anger but smoldered like weakness. It was Connor. It was the pain of every stare, every whisper, every shred of disappointment. It showed what a mirror never could, it told what his voice refused to. He was on the paper and he felt a little bit lighter.
He didn’t turn in his painting at the end of class. Instead he rolled it up and stuck it in his bag. It wasn’t right for other people to see it. That would feel like a betrayal. It was his fire and his only. Every brushstroke was secret. 
For months Connor didn’t know what to do with the rubber-banded scroll. At first he stowed it under his bed, but that didn’t feel right. He was smothering it. He was leaving it alone in a shallow but dark hole.
The second problem was easier to fix than the first. The next week Connor dipped his paint into a light pink. It swirled smoothly onto the paper, making loops and curves that even his hand couldn’t anticipate. It beckoned other colors. A bright green joined with freedom and a deep indigo silently complimented. Together they formed a symphony, harmonizing gloriously. 
At the end of class Connor looked at an image that should be happy. It should light up an entire room with it’s beauty but a sadness lingered in—a sadness and a fear. Connor had put that fear there.
This picture joined the first under his bed. They lived together even though he knew that they weren’t meant to coexist peacefully. One would suck the life out of the other, he just wasn’t sure which yet. 
There were more painting after this. Each class took him on a different journey and left him feeling a little less beaten by the world. He was still carrying his weight alone, but at least now he had a moment to rest.
A small snatch of air had turned into the ability to breathe. The water was still all around him, and there were still hundreds of people who did not want to teach him how to float, but at least he wasn’t sunk. Not just yet.
When his freshman year ended and took his art class with it, Connor realized that he needed to fight for his outlet. His parents stopped giving him allowances a long time ago, but his mother didn’t seem to realize the twenties that disappeared from her purse. Or maybe she did. Maybe she assumed he was buying weed or alcohol and instead of stopping him she was sitting alone and feeling bad. Because that was all she ever did, really. She felt bad, and she tried to talk to him, but there was never any action. 
It was just sorrow and disappointment. His mother’s sadness curled around Connor in thin purples strings. They bled onto the paper, but bleeding was all they could ever do. They weren’t strong enough. They were bogged down with the water of the world and they created something Connor didn’t fit into. They didn’t remember the shape of him enough to leave room.
The papers stayed under his bed until the summer before his senior year. It started with a fight. It started as his fault. Everything was always his fault because he couldn’t just be nice. He couldn’t just be happy like the rest of his family and all of their friends. He couldn’t just make friends of his own, as if finding accepting people was easy, as if his parents and Zoe weren’t already fully aware that all the people around him ever saw him as was a freak.
He exploded at his sister. Waves of red and orange burnt through the pink and indigo. They lashed out and tried to cause as much pain as they could because that was really all he was good at wasn’t it. He was the monster and the least he could do was be consistent about it.
His mother had tried to step in, but it was his father that silenced him. Neither of his parents had ever really yelled at him. They’d been mad and frustrated before, but they’d never let him break them. 
His father’s voice wasn’t the booming and blaring red that he thought it would be. It wasn’t the stifled and hurt purple of his mother or the saddened pink of his sister. There was no color in his father’s anger. It was devoid of that. The whites and blacks of exactly how the situation had to be looked at drowned everything out. 
Because that should be right. Connor was the one who was trying to hurt them. He always was. His family shouldn’t have to look for color when there wasn’t any, like everything else that was just in Connor’s head.
He stormed off to his room after that. He slammed the door and locked it. He knew his parents would try to let him cool down and that was what he wanted. 
Connor stuffed three years worth of paintings into his backpack and opened his window. He didn’t think that his family realized the error in their judgement until his car was already skidding out of the driveway.
In movies this moment always happened at night fall. Darkness always loomed over in shades of navy blue. It masked actions and hid intent. The day was bright when Connor stumbled into the park. It had been closed for five hours. He knew that no one was there. It worked as well as any other place. 
Connor hiked as far as he could before his legs threatened to give out. He found a cluster of trees and dropped his bag into the ground. He pulled out the first picture he’d ever made. The fire was still smoldering, it was still hot and it was never going too cool down. It wasn’t capable of that. He stapled it to the tree in front of him.
The next was the pink painting. He had still failed that one. It went on the tree next to the first. Connor kept going until all of his works were surrounding him. His life and every broken piece of it formed a ring around him.
It didn’t give him air anymore. These weren’t mirrors, they weren’t expression, they were screams. They were him calling out for help and knowing that no one was coming. No one was ever coming at it hurt. His lungs were full and he just wanted the agony to stop. 
He kept a lighter in his jacket pocket. At first it was because he knew it was against school rules. Then it was for when he had the chance to inhale a joint. Then just habit.
His mind hadn’t caught up to his shaking hands when he pulled it out a lit it. The flame didn’t look like the one he’d made. Real things never look like how we incarnate them. In a trance, he raised it to the fake fire. He watched them dance together, but only one lived. The other was only ever meant to be ash. 
It was the heat that brought him to his senses. Before his eyes every piece of his life he’d brought into the world was burning. The painting and paper were melting into nothing. And they were going to take him with them. 
Connor stumbled, then he tripped. He wanted to run. He wanted to scream because this wasn’t how he was going to die. He’d thought about it so many times but now he realized he wanted more. He wasn’t so much more. But he couldn’t move. He was trapped in a cage he’d created and he didn’t have the key. Someone else did. Someone else had to save him, but everyone knew that Connor wasn’t worth saving. 
He closed his eyes. Everything was hot and bright and he couldn’t breath again. This was worse than drowning, it was so much worse.
Then something was hauling him to his feet. He look up to see a boy with blonde hair and brown eyes. He looked familiar but Connor couldn’t place him. The boy pulled Connor away from the fire. He was saying something that Connor couldn’t hear. Everything was a blur to Connor, the world was fading and melting, and the only thing he could decipher was a soft light blue.
The fire department got there a minute later. Connor didn’t know how they’d been able to arrive so quickly. He was lucky they had. He was lucky the fire hadn’t spread beyond his cluster of trees. 
He sat next to the boy who had saved his life. An ambulance was coming for them. The firemen had said something about smoke inhalation. They had also asked how the fire was started. Connor didn’t know how to answer. He wanted to cry and knew how completely pathetic that would make him.
“I don’t know,” the boy uttered before he could say anything. “We were hiking and saw the smoke. I work here, I was showing him around.”
Connor was speechless. He looked at the boy for some sort of answer but didn’t received any until the fireman had walked away.
“You’re Connor Murphy, right?” The boy asked in a soft voice.
“Yes,” Connor uttered.
“I’m Evan,” the boy told him. “We go to school together.”
“Oh,” was all Connor could say because what the hell was going on right now.
“I’m sorry,” Evan stammered. “I just…were the paintings your’s?”
“You saw that,” Connor felt numb.
“Some of it,” Evan admitted. 
“You lied to that man,” Connor needed to know why. He needed to know why some kid he’d never spoken to was defending him.
“You’d be arrested for arson,” Evan said as if it was an answer. 
“I don’t need protection,” Connor informed him defensively. 
“I’m sorry,” Evan shrunk in on himself a little bit. Connor felt a pang of regret.
“The park’s closed, what are you even doing here?” Connor asked him.
“The same thing as you,” Evan’s voice was even smaller now. He wasn’t looking at Connor.
“You’re here to burn a bunch of paintings?” Connor scoffed.
“No.”
“Oh,” it took a second for Connor to get it. “Shit.”
“Yeah,” Evan inhaled sharply.
“So why save me?” He asked.
“I don’t know,” Evan sighed. “I really don’t.”
The light blue wrapped around the both of them. It diluted the red, putting an end to the fire that Connor knew would find a way to relight itself. That didn’t really matter right now. The fire would always be there. He had always understood that. The only difference was now he knew he didn’t want it to swallow him.
“I’m going to tell them the truth,” Connor looked at the firemen. “I think you should too.”
“I don’t think mine relates,” Evan told him.
“No,” Connor agreed. “But you need to tell someone. You need help. So do I.”
Evan nodded. The light blue wasn’t peaceful, but it wanted to be. Connor wanted it to be to. He wanted to paint it. Maybe instead of trapping parts of himself on paper, he could let in something else. Maybe he could breathe without burning. 
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zoemurph · 7 years
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dewey decimals
on ao3
i was doing a close reading assignment the other night and i started thinking about connor as an english major and then i started thinking about connor as a librarian and now im here
enjoy this and also my opinions on wuthering heights
Connor loves books.
He does, no matter what look Larry gives him whenever he locks himself in his room to read for a few hours. Larry probably thinks he’s getting high. Okay yes, sometimes he’s just getting high. But he also reads.
It’s cliche as fuck, but books are the best friends Connor’s got. They can’t hate him or judge him or abandon him. They’re just there. Plus it’s pretty morbid to sometimes think about how they’re insights to the minds of people who are dead.
So yeah, Connor likes books. He likes classics and gothic novels and young adult lit and middle grade books. He doesn’t really get book snobs, because there are shitty books in every genre. He tries to give all books a try.
Except Twilight. Zoe went through a Twilight phase. Fuck Twilight.
Loving books means that he should probably like his job more than he does. But he doesn’t love it. Because being a part time librarian is boring as shit.
All Connor has gotten from this experience is minimum wage and the ability to alphabetize things relatively fast.
Libraries are not active places. They just sort of exist. If Connor were anything like his father — and the day they become alike at all is the day he jumps out a window — he would say that libraries were dying because everyone was too focused on technology these days or something. Which is partially true, but the local library also…sucks.
They don’t get new books quickly, the computers they do have are old as fuck, and everything is slightly dusty. Which is just annoying, because Connor literally dusts on a weekly basis. It’s part of his job. Where the fuck is this dust coming from? They may be right across from the high school, but most high schoolers have better things to do than sit in a dimly lit library for a few hours. Like getting high behind McDonald’s.
Most of Connor’s job is cleaning. Which is ironic because his room is a travesty. But as boring as it is, there’s something weirdly calming about shelving books. There’s a nice routine in pushing the cart through the shelves, making sure all the books are in the right order, pushing them all up to the right part of the shelf so they’re all perfectly aligned.
Sometimes the head librarian misplaces the duster. That switches things up.
Once all the books are reshelved and the shelves are straightened and dusted, Connor makes himself comfortable at the front desk. On slow days like this (but who is he kidding, every day is a slow day), he just sits at the desk and reads a random book until someone needs to check out books or needs help. Usually he’s kind of shit about the help part, but he’s getting better.
Some of the more elderly visitors like him, they find him charming or something. Entertaining maybe. Suburban mothers judge him for having his combat boots up on the desk. They also judge him for his hair and his piercings and the fact that he hasn’t worn a color other than black in two years. They literally keep their children away from him as long as they can. It’s more amusing than insulting, besides, kids think his hair is fucking awesome.
But almost no one is in the library today. It’s one of the slowest days they’ve had in weeks, which means Connor is able to get comfortable in the old desk chair and ignore all the other happenings of the world for much longer than usual.
Today, he’s reading Wuthering Heights. It’s for class, but he doesn’t hate it so that’s an improvement from the last book they were assigned. Supposedly it’s a romance but Connor isn’t seeing it. Some girl in his english class is trying to convince them all that it is, but whenever she brings it up, Connor just flips back to the page where Heathcliff breaks into Catherine’s coffin to see her dead body.
Sexy.
He tugs on his hair as he squints at the page, trying to see any sort of romance in any of these relationships. It all kind of just sucks.
“E-excuse me?”
Connor looks up without lowering his book. Libraries aren’t known for their customer service, right? “Can I help you?” he asks flatly.
“I-I…” The boy furrows his eyebrows and pulls on his sweatshirt. “There’s a book I’m— looking for a book.”
“Cool.”
“Uh… I’m…”
Connor sighs and puts down his book, marking the page with a sticky note. “Is there a specific book, because you can look it up on the computers.” He jerks his head toward the old machines that everyone pretends aren’t five years out of date.   
The boy stares at him with wide eyes. “H-how?”
Connor stares right back at him, expression blank. “I’m sorry, how?”
“I-I know how to use a computer!” he says quickly. “I just don’t know how to use those and I kept getting weird pop up messages and then something happened and I think maybe one of them timed out but I don’t really understand what I’m doing and I think I actually might’ve broken the middle one because it started making a weird noise and—”
“That thing is a fuc— freaking dinosaur,” Connor interrupts, catching himself on the swear and glancing over to the children’s section. No one’s here right now, but moms are like hawks. It’d be just his luck for one of them to swoop in and get him fired for swearing. “It’s impossible to break but if it’s broken it’s because it’s old as…crap.” He leans back in his chair. “Just follow the instructions.”  
Connor moves to pick his book back up. The boy does not move.
Shit. He’s going to be one of those people.
“Do you need me to show you?” Connor asks, trying to sound like he doesn’t hate life too much.
The boy jerks away. “N-no! It’s fine I’ve got this I just have to, um, figure it out quickly and then I think I should be able to get it but I just don’t want to break anything because if I do I might have to pay for it but I don’t actually think I can do that because computers are expensive and then not only will I not have my book but also I—”
Connor stands and the boy stops talking, shrinking away. Connor blinks. Holy fuck he’s a lot taller than this kid than he initially thought. “Do you need me to show you?” he asks. The faster this kid gets his book, the faster Connor can go back to reading.
“Yes,” the boy says shaking his head no. “I-I mean—!”
Connor sighs and steps around the desk. “Let me just…” He leads him to the computers and doesn’t even bother sitting down. He bends over and clicks the mouse a few times until the monitor wakes up. “What are you looking for?”
“A-a book for class,” the boy sputters. He digs through his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper, holding out the crumpled page to Connor.
Connor resists the urge to roll his eyes, smoothing it out on the desk and skimming over it before turning back to the computer. He inputs all the information, the book sounds familiar to him which is promising, and then lets the piece of shit they call a computer load.
The boy just awkwardly hovers next to him as he works.
If Connor were better at his job he’d probably, like, explain this process. So next time, the kid can do it himself. But he’s not.
“We have it,” Connor says when the page finally loads. He turns to the boy. “Can you find it with this info or…” he drawls. He really wants to sit back down.  
The boy steps a little closer and squints at the screen. He smells like cinnamon and something else that Connor can’t name but knows smells nice and this is creepy and he needs to stop immediately. “Is— um…” He tilts his head.
Connor raises his eyebrows at him. “It’s a science book. So it’s shelved using the Dewey Decimal System. Do you…?”
He stares at Connor with wide and terrified eyes. Yeah that was what Connor thought. “Follow me,” he mutters. The library isn’t big. It’s almost directly proportional to the size and quality of their town. So small and shitty. But if you don’t know your way around it is a little confusing. The labeling is bad and Connor still hates the Dewey Decimal System, even after working here for over a year.
He glances down at the boy, who’s trailing slightly behind him. He looks…familiar. “Do you go to school here?” he asks, gesturing vaguely toward where the high school probably is maybe. Usually Connor hates small talk, but this is bugging him.
The boy looks up with a start. “Y-yeah,” he says, getting the gist of Connor’s strange hand motions. “I’m a, uh, senior. There. Yeah.”
Connor slows his strides to study him carefully. Admittedly, Connor doesn’t pay much attention to anything in school, but most of the people in this town are born here and die here. He notices the collar of a shirt under the boy’s sweatshirt and it snaps into place. “Evan Hansen, right?”
Evan stops walking. “Ye-yeah? I’m not— you know who I am?”
“Vaguely,” Connor says dryly. He doesn’t think they’ve ever had any classes together and Evan isn’t exactly a memorable person. “I haven’t had a reason to.” “F-fair.”
“You know me, though.”
“I never said that!” Evan blurts out.
Connor looks at him with raised eyebrows. “Are you telling me you haven’t heard rumors about me.”
Evan pulls on the strings of his sweatshirt. “I-I never said that either. I just meant—”
Connor crosses his arms.
Evan ducks his head. “Okay yeah but I wasn’t going to… I should shut up now.”
Connor shakes his head. “Come on, let’s get your book. Who do you need it for?” He still hates small talk, but now he feels obligated. Fuck.
“AP Environmental Science,” Evan mumbles. “With Ele— Ms. Daniels.”
“Isn’t that the fake AP class?” Connor asks. He stops walking and skims the shelves. He sees Evan turning pink out of the corner of his eye.
“I-I mean… Yeah everyone kind of treats it that way so I guess it is but it could be more interesting if people actually tried and we get to go on field trips to like forests and stuff and it’s, um, I mean not fun but... It could be…worse?”
Connor pulls the book off the shelf and turns to hand it to Evan. “That’s cool.” He surprises himself by genuinely meaning it. He’s not super into the ideas of the outdoors, bugs can go fuck themselves, but it sounds like a chill class. Anything to get out of the hell hole that is their high school.
Evan takes the book and laughs awkwardly. “You’d be the first to think that, it’s a joke.”
Connor shrugs. “So is life.”
“I…guess that’s one way of looking at it.” Evan glances down to the floor, smiling a little.
Connor clears his throat and shakes his bangs out of his eyes. “Do you need anything else or do you want me to just check you out?”
“Please,” Evan says, his voice almost a squeak.
Connor leads Evan back to the front desk, grabbing a few misplaced books as he does so. Those will have to be reshelved before he leaves later. He takes the book back from Evan and Evan’s library card, scanning it and printing out the receipt.
“We got rid of the index card things,” Connor explains, grabbing his sticky note out of Wuthering Heights and flipping the book upside down. It’s not his book. Who cares if the spine breaks. “The due date is just on the receipt but honestly it’s shitty and easier to forget. So here.” He writes the due date on the sticky note and pauses for just a second before scribbling down ten digits in slightly messier handwriting. He sticks it on the inside cover before he can change his mind. “Here. You’ve got two weeks without renewal or we fine you some money because we need to make money somehow.”
“T-thanks.” Evan takes the book and opens the cover, checking the date. He frowns. “Wh-what’s that one?” He tilts the book so Connor can see what he’s pointing at.
“Haven’t you seen a phone number before?” Connor asks, raising an eyebrow.
Evan’s ears go red. “O-oh! That’s…” He ducks his head, but Connor catches the ghost of a smile. “Th-thank you I…yeah! I’ll uh…see you around? I guess?”
“In case you need help finding a book or something,” Connor says with a shrug.
“O-or something,” Evan repeats. “I’ll see you in school.” He smiles at Connor quickly before rushing out the double glass doors.
Connor grabs Wuthering Heights off the desk and hides his face in it. He’s almost smiling and if anyone sees him smiling that’ll definitely wreck his reputation as the grumpy emo librarian. He doesn’t manage to read any more of the book in the remaining hour of his shift, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s got a better romance, anyway.
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charactershoesfic · 6 years
Text
For the DVD commentary thing (spoilers for C&G Ch17)
“Oh,” says Connor abruptly, “I was going to- I found-“
He thrusts the crumpled paper he’s been holding at Zoe. She takes it, studies its wrinkled surface with no comprehension, and then her head comes up angrily. Her posture goes tight. 
“Don’t be a dick.”
“I wasn’t. You were just saying-“
“I’m not talking about this.”
“It could be cool. You like guitar. You like weird indie girl bands.”
“I don’t like guitar, actually.”
“You were just saying,” Connor endeavors, “that you missed it.”
“Yeah, I miss diner dates,” she snaps back. “Which I can’t go on anymore, because apparently my entire life revolves around babysitting you-“
There’s a honk from behind them. The light has been green for several seconds now, but Evan is too terrified to open his mouth and interrupt. Zoe swears, crumples the piece of paper, and tosses it pointedly into the backseat. She accelerates too quickly and Evan’s head bumps against his headrest.  
He stoops and retrieves the paper. It’s a flyer, crumpled and slightly dappled with rain, advertising an ALL-GIRL BAND SEEKING GUITARIST. TRY-OUTS NEXT WEDNESDAY. CONTACT EMMY IF INTERESTED. There are little tabs at the bottom that you’re supposed to rip off, but Connor seems to have elected to take the entire poster instead.
“I don’t miss fucking jazz band,” Zoe grumbles. “Jesus. The way you’re all acting, you’d think I was some prodigy, not a shitty amateur guitarist. Can everyone just leave me alone?”
“You weren’t shitty,” Connor says quietly. 
Zoe doesn’t answer. The windshield wipers scrape loudly against the window. Nobody speaks again until they’ve pulled into Evan’s driveway. He starts to get out of the car, hesitates, offers the crumpled flyer to Zoe. 
ok ty to @lotaire for submitting! 
so basically I knew I needed Zoe to go through Evan’s backpack at some point and find those letters he wrote to himself? but I needed a justification for that which didn’t feel forced 
so it originated from that. but then I’ve been thinking a lot about Zoe and Connor’s relationship and how Connor for sure feels like it’s his fault that Zoe quit jazz band and generally he kinda thinks he’s ruining her life. so this is him reaching out, trying to do something nice, bc he genuinely thinks she’s Awesome at guitar 
ALSO this happens a few days after the incident in the woods where Evan had a panic attack and Connor was high. Zoe blames Connor for Evan getting so upset and she’s mad that he was smoking when he promised to quit, so she feels like he’s never going to change, she’s done giving him second-chances etc. and so when he reaches out she reacts defensively and somewhat nastily 
also just bc I love the idea of Zoe playing guitar in a weird all-girl indie rock band 
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mirkandmidnight · 7 years
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10 and 35 (like combined lol)
I’m just doing 35 because I did 10 already
35. as a goodbye (tw: implied/referenced suicide)
She’s perched on a stool at the kitchen table, trying to concentrate on her Physics homework when her phone buzzes. Zoe sighs and checks it. There’s a text from Jeremy in jazz band, asking if she’s sick. It’s the third practice in a row she’s missed, he says. The other members are starting to wonder if she’s okay.
Zoe’s not okay. She’s trying to deal with her family, her schoolwork, college applications, and clubs all at the same time, and not getting support from anybody. Even Connor has been acting weird lately, and weird for him is borderline sociopathic for anyone else.
If things were different. If her parents would actually do something about him. But then that was about as likely as them acknowledging that something was wrong in the first place.
The front door slams open and Connor flies through the kitchen, slinging his backpack down by the refrigerator. He’s got a piece of paper crumpled in one hand, and his eyes are wild. 
“Connor?” Zoe isn’t sure why she bothers to ask. “You okay?”
He turns on her, and suddenly, he stills. “I’m fine,” he snaps, then sighs. “Fuck. I have to go, okay?” He presses a hurried kiss to her forehead. “Love you.” Then he’s gone up the stairs, feet clattering on the wooden floors.
Zoe watches him go for a second, then turns back to her homework. Weird.
want one? prompt + pairing
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13lack13alloonz · 5 years
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Oh, please give me time Cause I'm searchin' for these words to say to you right now Redemption's on your mind when you think about me
tw: incarceration, underage pregnancy, death, and terminal illness
To the woman who once loved me: Romeo was unsure if she had read any of his letters. If she was even staying in the home they had built together. It has been years since I’ve seen you. A decade. 120 months, 3667 days, 88013 minutes, or 5280780 seconds since I saw you holding our child in the court room the day that they scheduled the exact moment of my death. I broke your heart that day, and I have spent every calculated second since that moment in regret of the life I gave up. My life with you and our child. 
It was a letter Romeo had written many times before, the crumpled remains of past drafts overflowing the wastebasket, and littering the floor of his prison cell. When I saw your name on the return address of your letter, when I read the words you wrote down shakily on your stationary that still smelled of the cocoa butter from your hands, and the perfume you’ve worn since our first Christmas together, I cried for the first time since that day. The day I left you with our child on your hip, her tears staining your top.
Even surrounded by the thunderous roar of the prisoners around him, young bucks who had yet to accept their fates, he could feel the tightness in his throat, the shake of his own hands as he scrawled on his last piece of notebook paper. I want to tell you I’m sorry. Although knowing you the words will be no consolation. 
Will you ever be able to forgive me? 
Did she ever forgive me?
Romy and muse b met when they were very young. While the world expected Romy to be tough and cold hearted, muse b saw a different side of him. He was able to confide in her about his troubles: the loneliness he felt without his parents in his life, and the expectations he felt breaking his spirit. As they got older their relationship began to change from friendship into something more, and when Romy was 16 he managed to get muse b pregnant. The news didn’t sit well with muse b’s family, and she was kicked out of her home. Luckily for her Romy’s Aunt welcomed her into their mismatched family with open arms treating her as if she was just another of her children.
They all moved to Atlanta from Bessemer together where their child, a beautiful baby girl named Malika, was born. It didn’t take long for them to realize something was wrong with Malika, and she was diagnosed with sickle cell soon after her birth. This is when Romy began to fall into criminal life to pay for her treatments, and how he eventually ended up in prison. When Malika passed Romy was still on death row, and muse b sent him a sort of Dear John letter to let him know what had happened and that they were officially broken up. It was that day that Romy decided to change his life, and do everything in his power to get out of prison.
It’s been 25 years since Romy has seen muse b. No one expected the death row inmate to see the free world again, but after new evidence was entered in his case he was able to get his charge reduced to 25-life with time served making him eligible for parole. Now that he’s out of prison it’s only a matter of time until he sees muse b again. Will she be able to forgive him after all these years? Or do some wounds truly never heal?
Muse b is 42-45 with the suggested fc of Rosario Dawson, Zoe Saldana, or any fc that fits the age range (woc preferred)
Muse b’s life beyond these plot points is up to you. What her family was like before they kicked her out, how she felt about Romy’s gang ties (if she knew at all), and what she did after he went to prison— Feel free to go crazy with it. All I ask is that you take a peak at Romy’s bio before messaging me about this plot!
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