#I THINK IT WOULD BE NICE TO FINISH but im drawing blanks every time I start to work on it again

[fisherrprince]

Oooooo you (me) wanna finish this so bad. Drafting………………..

[nova-is-a-writer-now]

Hidden embers

Chapter 3

Chapter summary: Joel needs help with his yard, you need help with figuring your feelings out

A/N: Im so excited you guys have been liking this!! last chapter was a good one, but this is my favorite so far. I also started a tag list so if y’all want to be part of that comment down here <3 Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: No outbreak AU, Age gap, DBF!Joel, Mean!Joel if you squint, some accidental physical contact lol, sexual tension but no smut

Series masterlist

“You can’t spend your whole summer doing nothing. You should really find something productive to do while you’re back home.”

Four years of college, every summer break, and most holidays spent working to cover tuition and other expenses—a lifetime of never catching a break until now—and that’s what your mother tells you after just two weeks of "doing nothing"?

You knew this was coming. It was only a matter of time before she decided to insert herself into your life and dictate your every move. It’s nothing you haven’t dealt with before. “I’ve been helping out around the house,” you say, trying to sound casual.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she says with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, “that’s not what I meant. You can’t be locked up in here all day. People will think you’re wasting your life away. I’ve been asking around at the town’s pageant commission, and they would be absolutely delighted to have you around to help us organize this year’s Teen Country Queen Pageant.”

There it was. Nothing your mother did was ever for anyone’s interests other than herself. If she had no interest in parading you around her pageant organizer friends, you were absolutely sure she couldn’t care less what you did with your days.

Right on cue, just before you’re about to give her a piece of your mind, your dad walks in. “What’s the long face for?”

“Oh, Hank, great! You can back me up here. I was telling her she needs to find something to do with her days. All this lazing around can’t be good for her. My friends at the—”

“Actually, I was thinking the exact same thing,” your dad says, surprising both of you.

“Really?” you ask incredulously. For all his flaws, your dad has never been one to meddle in your affairs.

“Yeah, Joel has been complaining about his front and back yard looking like shit since Cindy left.”

“Hank! Language!” your mom’s voice rises to that ear-shattering pitch she uses when she’s trying to be stern.

“Sorry, looking terrible since Cindy left,” your dad corrects himself, laughing it off. Sometimes he forgets he can only be that relaxed when he’s alone with you; your mom is a whole different ballgame.

“Um… Cindy?” you ask, drawing a blank on the name.

“The ex-wife. That’s not the point, kiddo. The point is he’s been whining about it for the longest time but is always too lazy to figure out gardening by himself. Then I remembered you were in the gardening club back in high school. It’d be nice of you to offer him some help. Poor man doesn't know how to keep a cactus alive.”

“Dad, that was ages ago. I don’t know if I remember much of it anyway. I only joined for my college applications,” you retort.

“It’s just a few plants and flowers here and there. How hard can it be? He even said he bought everything he should need for it but never got ‘round to actually doing it, so it’s all laid out for ya.”

Your choices were clear: spend however long it took to finish Joel’s yard while pretending you don’t have a massive crush on your dad’s best friend, or run around town with your mom organizing a beauty pageant. The decision wasn’t hard at all.

“I’ll go over and check it out.”

The walk to Joel’s house should’ve been short—barely a five-minute stroll up the road—but a nasty crack in the pavement had other plans. You were so lost in your thoughts today that you missed it entirely, stepping right into the trap.

Alright, maybe it wasn’t just today. You’ve been in your head ever since you first saw Joel standing at the bottom of your stairs. The way his hands had gripped your arms, steadying you, had left an imprint that you couldn’t seem to shake. And now, here you were, back in that same position, your mind consumed by this man who seemed to be as bad for your sanity as he was for your attention span.

So what should’ve been a walk up the road turned into a drawn-out pause as you sat on the sidewalk, waiting for the sharp pain in your twisted ankle to dull.

About ten minutes later, you finally make it to Joel’s lawn. You brace yourself to climb his porch stairs, pretending your ankle wasn’t bothering you, when you notice his garage door open. You hadn’t seen him from your previous angle, but as you got closer, the view of Joel's back muscles came into frame. And what a view that was. He was leaning over his truck, completely absorbed on whatever needed fixing under that hood.

For a moment, you just stand there, staring at the way his shirt clings to the sweat glistening on his skin. It takes a few seconds to remember that it isn’t socially acceptable to ogle someone from their front lawn, so you clear your throat and take a few more steps toward him.

“Hey” he greeted you, looking up from his work.

“Hey, yourself” you say back, playing it as cool as you could. It wasn’t a particularly hot day, but Joel's face glisten with sweat, as do his arms and you don’t not even want to think about what’s going on under that t-shirt.

“Come to pay me a visit?” he asked with a smirk

“My dad didn’t tell you? I’m your gardener for the day… or however long it takes to make your front lawn and back yard all pretty.”

Joel’s response is a breathy laugh, followed by him dropping his head between his forearms resting on the truck.“My gardener, huh?” he finally brings his eyes back up to meet yours. “Your daddy don’t know how to mind his own business, do he, sweetheart?”

Let’s unpack that. This man didn’t just throw in a new pet name you’d be replaying in your mind at any random moment of the day, but he also said it in that tone he seems to reserve only for you—or so you hoped, at least.

And that other word coming from his lips… you were aware people in the south used it more casually, without the connotation it had in your mind, but the way it sounded coming from him…

Oh, it made you think of a million ways Joel Miller could say the word Daddy in plenty of different contexts.

You quickly drop your gaze, hoping to hide the intense blush creeping up your cheeks. “I uh… I’m afraid not.”

The sound of his boots on the garage floor pulls you back to reality as he steps closer. “You don’t gotta do this, y’know?” His tone shifts, becoming more serious. “It’s no big deal, I’ll get to this mess eventually.”

You look up at him once again, more desperate than you’d like to admit. “Joel, I’ve been cooped up in my house with my mother and her pageant friends for weeks now. Please, give me an excuse to be anywhere else.”

A chuckle. You could live for those, make it your entire profession to earn them. You really need to calm the fuck down and get a grip if you are to spend the entire day around this man.

“Alright, then. If it’ll make you happy, I’m not gonna say no” says before turning back into the garage. He returns with a small crate filled with gardening tools and a few potted plants, setting them down on the grass. “Got most of what you’ll need here. Not much, but it’s a start.” His gaze drops to your ankle. “You doin’ alright? You’re limping.”

You wave off his concern, not wanting to admit just how much your ankle is actually bothering you. “It’s nothing, just a little misstep on my way here . I’m fine, really.” You flash him a smile you hope is convincing enough.

Joel studies you for a moment longer, then nods. “Alright, but if it gets to be too much, you let me know, okay? Last thing I need is you hurtin’ yourself on my account.”

“Deal,” you lie. There’s no way in hell you’re backing out of this now.

He gestures toward the mess of overgrown grass, weeds, and flower beds that haven’t seen attention in who knows how long. “I guess that’s the worst of it. Clearing out the weeds should leave enough space for these plants. Don’t overthink it, I trust your instincts.”

You take your first good look at the pots he brought from the back of the garage. “Oh, daisies! They’re my favorite.” You glance up at him, sweetness lacing your tone.

He pauses, something unreadable passing over his face. “ ‘Course they are.” He says, the corners of his mouth tugging up a bit. “Well, let me know if you need anything else. I'll be working over there.”

With Joel back under the hood, you set to work on the lawn. Despite the dull throb in your ankle, you find a steady rhythm in the repetitive motions—pulling out stubborn roots, digging small holes for the flowers, and patting down the soil around them. It’s oddly satisfying, watching the neglected garden start to come to life under your hands. You’ve always had a knack for taking rugged things and making them pretty.

Every so often, you glance over at Joel, who’s completely engrossed in whatever he’s tinkering with under the hood. The way his muscles flex as he works, the concentration etched on his face and how it makes him look a lot more serious than he ever is when talking to you—it’s hard to not get distracted.

There’s something about him, something that pulls you in despite your better judgment, despite every self-preservation instinct in you. Maybe it’s the way he makes you feel grounded, even when your mind is spinning out of control. It’s such a foreign concept for you, you’ve always been the one who has to defuse tensions, be the bigger person, manage the chaos. It’s never like that with Joel.

You’re careful to keep your ankle steady, not wanting to give Joel any more reason to worry. But as the hours pass and the sun climbs higher, you can feel the strain starting to build. Ever the overachiever, you push through it, there isn’t much left to get done in the front lawn anyway.

By the time you’ve planted the last of the daisies, you’re more than a little proud of yourself. There are still a few bare spots here and there and a handful of marigold pots waiting to be planted, but the lawn is starting to look less like a jungle and more like somewhere you’d actually want to spend time in. You wipe your brow, satisfied.

Joel must’ve noticed you slowing down because he calls out from where he’s working, “How’re you holding up? You thirsty?”

You hadn’t realized how parched you were until he mentioned it. “Yeah, a drink sounds good.”

Joel gives you a quick once-over, his eyes lingering on your ankle for a moment longer than you’d like. But he doesn’t say anything as he leads the way into the house, holding the door open for you.

The cool air inside is a welcome relief from the midday sun, and you sigh as you step into the kitchen. Joel pulls a couple of glasses from the cupboard and fills them with ice water, handing one to you. You take a sip, feeling the cold liquid soothe your dry throat.

You lean against the counter, trying to take some weight off your bad ankle. But as soon as you shift your weight, a sharp pain shoots up your leg, and you can’t hold back the small whine that escapes your lips.

Joel’s eyes snap to yours, his brow furrowing with concern. “You sure you’re alright?”

“Yes, Joel. I’m fine,” you insist, even though you know you’re not fooling him. “It’s just—”

“ ‘S that why you’re whining every time you put weight on it?”

“It’s just a bit sore. Don’t—”

Before you can finish, Joel’s on you in a flash, closing the distance between you. He’s careful but firm as he lifts you effortlessly, setting you down on the kitchen counter. “Let me see.”

“Joel, really, it’s not a big deal,” you start to protest, but the look he gives you silences any argument you might have had.

“Humor me,” he says, his voice low and steady. There’s a note of authority there that makes your heart race. There’s no disobeying him when he uses that tone.

You sigh dramatically, letting him gently take your injured ankle in his hands. His touch is warm, and the way his fingers graze your skin sends shivers down your spine. He inspects your ankle with a seriousness that makes your heart flutter, his brows knitted in concentration.

“This is more than a ‘little misstep,’” he looks back up, his eyes stern and serious. He slowly drops your leg, turning back to reach into the freezer and pull out a pack of frozen peas. He presses it against your ankle, holding it there with one hand while his other hand lingers on your calf.

It doesn’t take long for his thumb to start brushing up and down in a way that feels more comforting than it should. He starts adding a little pressure to his touch, the lingering touch from before turning into a massage up and down your calf.

Your breath catches as you look down at him, the way he’s so focused on taking care of you. The tenderness in his touch is at odds with the roughness of his hands, and the combination is making it hard to think straight. It’s even harder to keep the little sounds his touch arises in you contained, some of them escaping out of your parted lips despite your best efforts.

“Joel,” you start, your voice softer now, almost hesitant.

He looks up at you, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken. His hand is still on your leg, his face overtaken by a dark expression you hadn’t seen on him until now.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The air between you feels charged, like something unspoken is hovering just out of reach. You can feel it in the way his grip on your leg tightens ever so slightly, in the way his breathing seems to sync with yours.

And then, as if realizing where his hand is, Joel slowly pulls back. “I should get you back home, let you rest that ankle.”

You frown slightly, the way he spoke such a stark contrast to the tenderness of his touch still lingering on your leg. “I’m alright. I’m gonna have to be kneeling down for most of what’s left anyways, so I won’t be putting any weight on it.”

“No, it’s best if you just go. I’ll sort the lawn out later.”

The words hit you like a bucket of cold water. You’re left staring at him, confused by the sudden shift in his demeanor. Normally, your pride would keep you from asking, but something about Joel makes it impossible to let this go. “Did I… do something wrong?”

Joel pauses, his eyes softening for a split second before his expression hardens again. “No, you're fine. Thank you for your help, but I’m taking you home.”

He doesn’t leave room for discussion as he brushes past you, heading into the living room to grab his truck keys. Your chest tightens, the shame of the moment crashing down on you all at once.

Except… you didn’t do anything wrong. You weren’t the one who was running her hands up and down his body, or pulling him close and throwing him on the counter like it was nothing. He did all that. He made you feel like something more was happening, and now he’s treating you like some desperate girl who threw herself at him, needing to be ushered out of his house as quickly as possible.

The ache in your heart is quickly overshadowed by a fiery rage, building more and more with each passing second. You turn sharply in the kitchen, your mind made up as you march toward the open door leading to the garage.

“Don’t bother,” you snap, your voice cutting through the silence as you head for the exit.

“What?” Joel turns around just in time to see you storming out.

You don’t even answer him, your steps quickening even as pain shoots up your leg with every movement.

“The hell are you doin’? You can’t walk home with that busted ankle,” he calls after you, his tone much harsher than it was just moments ago.

You laugh bitterly, not bothering to look back. This man clearly doesn’t know you and your stubborn ass well enough yet. “Oh, I’ll fucking live.”

Without another word, you push through the pain, taking it one torturous step at a time. Each step feels like defiance, a middle finger to your own pride and to Joel’s sudden coldness. But it’s better this way—better to feel the sharp sting in your ankle than the dull ache in your heart. The whole way home, you curse yourself for being so goddamn stubborn, even as the fiery rage keeps you moving forward.

Tag list:

@yesjazzywazzylove-blog , @untamedheart81 , @mellymbee

[bullet-prooflove]

Vanished!Series Part Four: Live Ammo - Mike Duarte x Reader (feat: Joe Velasco)

Tagging: @resonmalvo @littleone65 @thesandbeneathmytoes @mydarkestsecretlol @evee87 @wooshwastaken @hearthockey @justreblogginfics @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @rosaliedepp @thatesqcrush @storiesofsvu @whateversomethingbruh @burningpeachpuppy @legit9thlunaticwarrior @kiwiithecrazybird @spooky-pomegranate @telepathay @weiwei0210 @spaghettificationandpretzels @plaidbooks @witches-unruly-heart @magic-multicolored-miracle @cycat4077 @deekaag @cixrosie @upsteadlogic @imaginecrushes @anime-weeb-4-life @hey-dw @alwaysachorusgirl @nu1freakshow

When Mike finds you, you’re clad in a white haz-mat suit with a ventilator strapped over your head. He’s never been so fucking relieved because you’re standing in the midst of a fully operational fentanyl lab and every single person involved in the raid knows just how dangerous that is. When he does the walk through the crime scene, he finds himself standing in a side room with a camp bed and a bin that’s filled with energy drinks and fast-food wrappers. The outside of the door has three different locks on it. It’s very clear you’ve been held prisoner here not because your cover has been blown, but because you’re exceptional at what you do. The evidence of that is stacked up in bricks against the south wall, ready to be packed up and distributed.

“The Niners put pressure on Connolly to pay back the money sooner. It put him into a spin, he needed more product and needed it fast.” You tell Mike when you finally get outside into the fresh air. “He’s been working me eighteen hours a day. Locking me in before starting all over again the next day.”

You’re sitting on the kerb sipping from a bottle of water. It’s the first time you’ve been outside in almost two weeks and it’s nice to feel the breeze on your face. You’ve stripped out of the haz-mat suit and are clad in a white vest and black cycling shorts, your hair is pulled back into messy bun. You would literally kill for a shower.

“Can I… Can I use your phone to call Joe? I just need to see Leah.”

Mike kicks himself because that should have been the first thing he thought of. The problem is he has other concerns. You both left something unresolved during your last phone call, something important and right now it’s all Mike can think about. He slips his phone out of his pocket before handing it to you and stepping away to give you a little privacy.

You’re crying when he returns, and it breaks his heart because he fucking hates seeing you upset. He wraps his arms around you, clasping you close, his palms soothing over your back as you bury your face into his shirt. It’s been two months since you saw your baby girl and he can’t imagine how you must be feeling right now.

“Sorry.” You murmur, drawing away and wiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand. “She’s just got so big since I last saw her. Joe’s going to bring her home when we’re finished up here.”

Mike smiles sadly, his thumb ghosting over the apple of your cheek.

“Mi Vida,” He says, his voice breaking just a little. “You know we need to talk about our other little one.”

You’d discovered you were pregnant again three weeks ago. It had started the same way it had with Leah, exhaustion, constant nausea, tender breasts. You were hoping it was the stress of the op but then you’d missed your period. You couldn’t believe it when that test had come back positive.

“My vasectomy failed.” Mike had told you during your last check in with him. “I checked with my doctor; all this time we’ve thought I was firing blanks, but we’ve been playing with live ammo.”

You both know what this means. There’s a very real possibility that Leah might not be Joe’s daughter and if that’s true…

It would be devastating for all of you.

“I’m scared.” You whisper, your hands smoothing upon the space where your new baby resides, the one that you and Mike made together. “All those fumes and chemicals…”

You had tried to be as safe as possible during your time in captivity, but you were cooking eighteen hours a day. You have no idea what you’d been exposed to during that time, how it might affect your unborn child.

“I know.” Mike says quietly, his forehead coming to rest against yours. “I’m scared too.”

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[neocoffeecafe]

sugar n spice n everything nice! (f) | home | writing masterlist | fic rec library

includes/warnings just fluff , cursing, fem!reader

wc .7k

a/n pt1/fluff ver. of my xmas special! the second part will be published on xmas day

“white.. green.. red.. any other colors?” you hum, as you finish up mixing the red food coloring into the white icing.

“how about pink?” yangyang suggested, retrieving another can of the icing from the fridge.

“why pink?” you ask, the mixing of the food coloring making the icing a scarlet shade of red.

“i dunno, i think a pink santa hat would be cute.” he shrugs, stealing the red dye from you and dropping little amounts so the color isn’t too red.

“oh! we need yellow.” you say, squeezing behind yangyang to the fridge to get another can of icing. previously, you and him had spent nearly $200 just to get the things you needed, including several, several cans of icing. you reach your arm over his pink abomination to get the yellow dye.

“are we gonna give some to the neighbors?” he asks, tilting his head to the boxes of plain christmas themed cookies. “because we’ve got a shit ton of cookies.”

you giggle. “yeah we will. we can give them to your friends, too.” you suggest, squeezing the edible dye to make a bright shade of yellow to your icing.

“what did you want to do for christmas?” he asks, finishing the pink icing and beginning to open one of the boxes of cookies.

“maybe we could just cuddle in the couch, share blankets and drink hot cocoa!” you press a soft kiss to the side of his cheek, which he takes his free arm and wraps it around you and pulls you in for a side hug.

“absolutely. we can watch movies or play video games all day. whatever you want, princess.” he pulls away from you to retrieve some spatulas and the piping bags. you both begin emptying the contents of bowls into the bags, each bag having its own dedicated color.

he hands you a cookie when each bag was filled, coincidentally (or probably planned) a santa hat. “time to use that pink icing.” he winks at you.

“you turd.” you bite back, chuckling and set the cookie on your paper plate. he grabs a christmas tree for himself and gets the yellow. you watch as his tongue pokes out in concentration, watching as he’s delicate and careful in drawing a little star on the top of the tree. “you look so cute.” you comment, pressing another peck to his side.

“do you like my star?”

“i love it.” you begin with the white fluff on the bottom and top of the hat, and then fill in the rest with the pink.

“do you want sprinkles?” he’s still working on his tree, his decorations precise and focused.

“what kind of question is that?” you ask, rolling your eyes playfully. he hands you the little container of christmas sprinkles, sprinkles that you dump on the side and carefully pick out where the red candy cane went and where the little white stars went. you finish your creation and show it off to him, displaying it with a wide smile.

“cute.” he says, handing you a new blank cookie of a candy cane. you set it on your plate and fetch your decorated cookie, setting it in the plastic container where you decided your creations would go.

“well, one down. about seven hundred to go.” you eye the handful of boxes of cookies, the both of you your own boxes of giggles.

“that’s why it’s us doing this. out tag team is quite unmatched, if i say so myself.” he carefully sprinkles yellow and green dusty sprinkles on his creation. “thats two down.” he does the same as you but his next cookie is a heart. “oh i know what im doing with this one.” out of curiosity, you watch as he covers the cookie with red icing, covering every inch. once its covered, he grabs the white and begins writing out three words: i love you. he sprinkles some red sparkly sprinkles on and adds some white stars. “my heart for my lady.” he playfully bows down to you, holding his hand out to display his cookie.

“you’re so cringe.” you take it from him. “i love it.” he smiles and strengthens himself up, pulling you in for a kiss. the cookies and icings were forgotten for a few moments when you’re tied in his embrace of kisses and warmth.

once you pull away to breathe, you glance down at the rest of the cookies and sweet treats. “well. we’ve got tons more cookies to go. perhaps, they could wait a minute.”

@neocoffeecafe

[arsenicosises]

On Journaling

Hi, so i LOVE journaling. im obsessed with it, i love talking about, its my main personality trait, i try to convince everyone i meet to journal (and have succesfully convinced many of my friends to do so).

I would like to talk about it, and answer questions about it. More than anything i think this is an interest and hobby of mine that has become so integral to my being and i cannot live without it and i think its super super helpful and fun. Obviously for many people it isnt helpful or inspiring but it could be! give it a try! so here is a LONG post about my basic journaling practice, why i journal, and how i became consistent and happy with it.

My journal collection.

Currently im actively using a 3 notebook system, and i have 4 total journals. the first (A) is my regular journal one that i will habit track, write my goals, ramble, diary entries, collages. anything. the second is my commonplace book (B) (the most recent additon) which i use to collect information i want to reference back to (everday reciepes, facts, excersizes/activities) and i also use it as a on the go notebook since its small enough to fit in my purse. 3rd (C) in my system is my planner. its a blank notebook that i draw a calender in and use it for to-do lists or things i need to remember, its the messiest of the 3. the 4th is a bit of a wildcard, i have a journal that i am making for a friend and they are making one for me and we trade them once they are done. fun little bonding activity, i do more prompts and artistic collages and lists for them.

I am pretty picky but also broke so i wanted to share the types of journals i use. type A is currently a art creation sketchbook (im canadian so a win for us) i adore it and its a good length of pages for me since i can finish them quickly and they are thick enough for me to draw in on occassion. B is a A6 spiral bound blank muji notebook, small enough for my purses and i like the hard cover so i can flip it over and write even without a hard surface. C was a gift, a grid notebook a freind got me but i have in the past used an A5 muji blank notebook, im the least picky with this type. Just no lines, my handwriting is messy and lines get in the way.

My History + Why

so i have been doing diary writing of some sort since i was a kid, if very sporatically. i was definitly inspired by dork diaries <3 and i for sure think it was a way for me to talk to someone about the traumas i was experiencing without guilt or shame. I have journaled on and off for years. i started taking it a bit more seriously in highschool, I'd finish one journal every like 2 years/1.5 years. last fall i had a pretty thin notebook that i didnt love that i had for oct-dec since i didnt want to start a new nice one so close to the end of the year and for some reason i just poured into it. i think the goal of finishing it was motivated 1. because i was excited to use my new one for the new year 2. i was very conciously working on my mental health and developing new hobbies, 3. i was away from my friends, and 4. I decied that instead of having the like 5 journal system i previously did (why idk) and being so precious about it i would mush them all into one and build from there. this year I have finished 2 journals and started my 3rd one yesterday. not even that i was trying. infact my first journal of the year i thought was so beautiful so i was a bit precious about it sometimes. It just got solidified as a habit, and i needed it as a coping mechanism. its definitely something i use more when I'm feeling lonley or my friends are away at school, but even during the summer i love it. I dont force myself anymore which is a wonderful feeling.

The biggest change i made to become consistent started with me noticing how bad of a vibe my journals had before. i only ever journaled the bad things or the things i was too embarassed to say. So everytime i picked it up i felt BAD. i stopped using my journal at the time half way through and started a new one with the express mentality that i was going to do both good and bad things in one space. make it my life. I started writing out my goals semi regularly, documenting good days like my birthdays, journaling while waiting for friends at cafes, sticking in receipts and packaging, doing pretty/ugly collages, all while also journaling through late night breakdowns, difficult times, therpay sessions, and coping strategies. i used it as a place to extend my joy AND process my sadness and mental health. the point is, make your journal a confidant. Its so helpful for me (a chronic oversharer) to write stuff down and then if i still feel the urge to talk to someone i do. this doesnt limit my social interaction but enhances the conversations i can have because I have already processed parts of my emotions.

So generally speaking i journal because its helpful and fun. I suspect i have ADHD and i also dissacociate from my depression/anxiety so i forget things. both good and bad. so i need a record of not only my plans but also the good things that happen in my life. Nostalgia runs deep in my bones and i cannot wait to read these back as i age. every year i wish i had journaled more in my childhood. its also a way for me to process my emtions and feelings without spiraling, i write slower than i type so it forces me to slow down. I also feel like externalizing my emotions to a book gets them out of my head. there are a few anxiety reducing things i have learned that help A TON

You dont need to be consistent about it, there has been days or weeks where i dont touch my journal because i dont feel the need to. But because of the years of practice i know when i havent been thinking about my emotions or I feel like my brain is a mess that i need to. Even when i've just had a really really good conversation i know its something i want to write down. sometimes i will type entries into my phone and either print them or copy them into my journal.

My journals, past and present, are some of my most prized possessions. PLEASEE feel free and encouraged to ask me things or tell me about your journaling practice!!!!

[rreeaahh]

Arms Tonite | draco malfoy

Arms Tonite - for @vogueweasley​ ‘s writing challenge (inspired by the song)

pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader (ravenclaw)

words count: 10k - lyrics in italic

summary; your relationship with draco went from strangers, to lovers, to strangers again - but it broke the barrier between life and death.

warnings: the word “mudblood”; swearing; death eaters; voldemort; death of a character; some fluff; angst; kinda sad; slow burn; blood mention; (that’s all i could think of, please let me know if there are more!)

a/n: im so so so sorry if thats too long, my loves! i got carried away by this idea - i had it in my mind for so so long i used @vogueweasley 's writing challenge as motivation. again, congratulations mere! You're one of the first writers ive followed here, and I'm happy to see your blog growing❤️

 “Can I sit there?” you asked softly, embracing the pile of books to your chest. They were all for your Potions’ essay, where you really wanted to excel, only to prove Professor Snape what you were capable of.

Since the first year, Snape turned out to be a walking nightmare for all the students in the entire castle, especially for the ones who hadn’t a green tie around their neck. Being a Ravenclaw, the desire to know more was a normal thing for you: always asking questions and making assumptions only to gain more information made Snape grow a feeling of hatred towards you. He’d externalize that hate by giving you extra work, asking you questions you had no idea to answer, criticizing your skills in front of the class – basically, everything he could do to embarrass yourself and to show your classmates that you weren’t as smart as you wanted to introduce yourself.

“What?” the boy asked in confusion, his fingers squeezing the silver quill he was using to take notes from a booked that seemed to be about Transfiguration – a subject where you were at the top of the class, as Professor McGonagall told you proudly.

“I asked if I could stay here,” you repeated in a quiet voice, not wanting to disturb the rest of the people who were struggling with their work. “All the tables are taken and that’s my spot, usually,” you added when he frowned his brows, scanning the room.

“Yeah, whatever,” he said careless, going back to his piece of parchment. “That’s my spot usually, too, but I haven’t seen you here,” he whispered as you sat down, in front of him.

“I don’t think we share classes, so I think we don’t go to the library at the same time. But maybe it could be our spot from now on.” Your explanation made the blonde boy look away, his cheeks running paler while the skin of his neck, revealed by the crack of his unbottoned shirt, seemed to burn.

The silence fell on you two, the room being filled only with whispers and quills running their ink on the papers. You really had to impress Snape with that essay, you had enough of his comments and ugly looks – he was a great teacher, a very skilled person, but he had a horrible way to be human – that if he could be considered a human being. Deep down you feared Snape – his cold eyes, his fluttering cloak and his loud steps: all of that gave you goosebumps all over your body. Thinking of those you felt your breath tangling up in your throat, and the letters started to dance in front of your eyes. At first, you looked around the room, searching for the Weasley twins, but it wasn’t a prank: it was the stress which took control over your mind, playing tricks and messing with you. Your throat was dry, and every time you tried to swallow your saliva it felt like you had sand in your mouth. Your tablemate seemed to notice your discomfort, because he looked at you under his eyelashes, his right brow raising in confusion or annoyance.

“What are you doing?” he asked, now looking at you without any reservation.

“Hm?” you buzzed, making eye contact with him. You couldn’t figure out if he was surprised by your daring glare, or intimidated or amused – he only kept on looking into your eyes, not revealing any true emotion.

“You keep on swallowing and it looks like you’re drowning or something.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” you smiled politely, which made him go back to his work. But when you kept on acting like you couldn’t breathe, he dropped his quill on the table and look like you with frustration. “What?”

“You’re distracting me, obviously,” he rolled his eyes. “Some of us are trying to focus, so keep quiet or leave.”

It was very rude of him – in your opinion – to talk to you, a complete stranger, like he could give you orders; especially when you did nothing wrong.

“Me too,” you sighed, “It’s only that…” But you stopped in the middle of the sentence, reminding that you didn’t know who you were talking to, and he probably didn’t care.

“Only what?” he asked, making you look at him again. His face was blank – relaxed, like he was an emotionless metal can.

“I’m not that good with Potions, so I’m struggling a little bit,” you smiled with shame, not knowing exactly why you felt that way admitting you weren’t good at something.

“We all are struggling,” he said like it wasn’t a big deal, pointing to his Transfiguration book. “Some of us on simple things, I see,” he commented after he took a sight at the books you chose and the big title you wrote on the parchment.

“Then maybe we could help each other,” you proposed, smiling at him in a friendly nature. He didn’t seem to understand your idea, given the frowned brows and half eyes that were starring at you. “I’m good at Transfiguration, the best if we’re to follow McGonagall’s words, so I could help you if you help me with my Potions essay.”

He took a moment to think, looking back and forward to your books and his, to your parchments and his – yours were filled with paragraphs and his were decorated with meaningless drawings. “I only need some notes, it’s not fair to do your whole essay in exchange of some stupid phrases,” he said like you were trying to fool him.

You chuckled and leaned back on your chair. “Yeah, nothing’s free,” you smiled, “Ok, then I’ll write your notes and you’ll write me the main ideas – after that I’ll write it on my own.” He stayed thoughtful and quiet, looking at your face; you tried hard not to run your fingers to your cheek, searching for dirt or anything that had him starring. “Deal?” you asked.

He held out his hand in your direction. “Deal,” was his only response, waiting for you to conclude the pact. And you did – you gently shook his hand, the skin of his palm feeling smooth against your own, like he was using lots of lotion every night before going to bed. But it was a nice feeling, which led a wave of warmth all over your body along with a good premonition about how he’d do your homework and him, in general.

The two of you switched your belongings, the only item that wasn’t switch being the quills – he was holding his like it was the biggest treasure he ever had; and maybe it was, you thought. Maybe it had an emotional story and he wanted to keep the quill only because of the memories it hold, but maybe he was only careful with what belonged to him. You never really had anyone to help you with your work – when you were a child your parents encouraged you to keep on trying by yourself in order to succeed, and you grew up avoiding other’s help, only to prove them that you could do it alone. After a while, in your third year of Hogwarts, you wanted to be helped, but it seemed like your older housemates were too busy and the ones your age were looking for you to help them. So, to be in the library on a Friday afternoon, helped by a boy you never crossed paths with before seemed like a new – and somehow exciting – experience. It was nice to write on the parchments which had their edges and corners filled with something that seemed to be flowers or some kind of plant with curled leaves. You often asked him questions about what you should or shouldn’t write, and depending on his answer you’d write down more explicit notes, as he kept on commenting how many useless things you’ve wrote in your essay by far – but he was funny, telling you that you should give Snape the essay the way it is so maybe you all could be lucky and get rid of the sulky teacher sooner than expected.

After some time, they boy looked at the silver watch on his left wrist and put down the quill. “My study time’s over,” he announced and you also put down the writing instrument, handing him the papers you tried to write as eligible as you could. “That’s all?” he asked and scoffed.

“Actually, I have more things to add, but…” You tried to say, but he already began to gather his things, closing the Transfiguration book and folding the parchments. “We could meet tomorrow, or Sunday,” you proposed and also got up when he did. You tried to make eye contact with him one more time, not paying that much attention to the height difference between you two.

“Again?” he spoke, fulfilling your wish. His eyes were mesmerizing – such a light blue, reminding you of a sunny sky.

“Yeah, I mean, if you want – it would be beneficial for both of us to finish what we started.”

And he thought that way too, because the next day he was already in the same spot of the library, all by himself, trying to decipher the entangled letter you wrote the other day. “Maybe Snape doesn’t like you because of your handwriting,” he said when you sat down, making you smile and chuckle – an action that caused him to have a little smile in the corner of his lips, too. And those smiles continued to grow on your faces, because besides the theoretical information you two changed, there were also a little funny comment slipped through the conversation.

“See you tomorrow?” you asked while gathering your things, because that time you were the one who needed to leave earlier.

“I can’t,” he simply said. “I have to study.”

“Isn’t that the reason we met here today?” you laughed, “To study together?”

“No, we met today to finish our deal – which is pretty much done,” he explained in a plain voice, pointing to the pages in your hand. The structure of the essay was done; you only needed to put it all together and his Transfiguration notes were enough for him to understand better the subject.

“Oh,” you said in a whisper. “Yeah, right, thank you…” you smiled to him, whishing that he’d realize that you two never introduced each other properly, but he only returned the smile in a polite way.

“You’re welcome,” was all he said and went back to his book, trying to put head to head the theory you made and the information from the book.

That Saturday you left the library with a strange feeling of loneliness – he was a stranger, but he helped you concentrate and also helped you with something that – maybe – was the most important opportunity for you to shut Snape’s mouth. That day flew by without you even realizing, but at night you found yourself thinking about the boy who tapped his fingers on the wooden surface anytime he’d search for the right words but couldn’t stand a strange breathing near him, and a pair of iced eyes was present in your dreams, doing nothing more than watching you with all the possible emotions mirroring in them.

“How was your weekend by far, Hermione?” you asked the girl only to break the strange silence between you two. She was looking for a specific book, and it happened to bump into her when you came to the library to continue your work.

It was a few hours after lunch, on a sunny Sunday when most of the students preferred to study or to simply hang out in the courtyards, lying on the grass. It wasn’t very weird that you had to deal with all those stares when you went to the library on such a beautiful day. You weren’t a bookworm or a nerd, but it was a special thing and you really wanted to have it all done by the end of Monday at least, so you wouldn’t be loaded with other things.

“It was�� acceptable,” she responded and shrugged, going back to look for that book on the selves. “As acceptable as it could be a weekend spend in the company of Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley,” she continued and you laughed. She was the brain of that trio, and it might be stressful to be their friend – but you were pretty sure it wasn’t that horrible since she stayed by their side for so long. “What about you?” she returned the question, giving up on her searching as she couldn’t find the right book.

Hermione followed you to your usual table, situated in a corner of the room, where the rays of sun came through the wide window and lighted all the pages. You sat down, leaving aside the parchments for some moments of chatting with your friend. “It was… fun,” you smiled, “I was here two days in a row doing homework.”

Hermione laughed while flipping the pages gently. “And Ronald says I’m the one who needs to sort out her priorities.”

“No,” you rolled your eyes, “It was fun because I had a study buddy. It was really nice,” the explanation made the girl leave her book and watch you with sudden interest. You knew Hermione wasn’t the type who gossip, so her attention was pure curiosity.

“Who?”

“I don’t really know,” you sighed, a little disappointment in your voice as you looked at your fingers, which were unconsciously tapping on the table. “We never made a proper introduction.”

The Gryffindor girl played with the zipper of her hoodie, looking like he was trying to remember all the persons who ever entered that room. “How was he looking?”

Handsome was the first word you wanted to say, as a joke, but a discarded book landed on your table, right on top of your papers and made you looks at the person whose shadow was covering your face.

“What is she doing at our spot?”

“Malfoy,” Hermione growled with hatred, “I don’t think your father bought the tables in the entire library, too,” she said and made the boy look at her with as much venom as a snake could carry.

So he was Malfoy – the mean boy Hermione would mention from time to time, the one who’d always have a harsh word to tell Ron and the one who despised The Chosen One so much. Your timetable never interfered with their, and you’d usually spend your weekends and breaks with some classmates you were friends with, so you never really crossed path with that Malfoy boy. You knew about him, but you didn’t know him – not until then.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Mudblood; learn to speak only when spoken to,” he said in a mockery tone, his eyes going back to you.

You looked at him, and then at Hermione, who seemed to search in you something you couldn’t actually find. “Well?” he repeated, but there was no response from you.

“What does he mean, Y/N? Your spot?” she asked, her voice cracking at the end.

“He’s… my study buddy,” you spoke and Malfoy raised his brow at the appellative, while Hermione froze.

“I’ll leave you with your study buddy, then,” she whispered to you and left, not before taking the book that was thrown on the table by the Slytherin boy.

Your hand was shaking when you grabbed the quill, going back to finish the essay that you started to properly write last night in your dormitory. “Yeah, take my scrap, you filthy Mudblood,” he commented and watched Hermione leave. He then sat down, in front of you, slightly pushing away from him the chair were your friend sat some seconds ago. “Don’t tell me she’s following you around like a little puppy,” he laughed and you looked at him in confusion.

“She’s my friend,” you simply said.

The confusion was now on Malfoy’s face. “Friend?” he scoffed.

“Don’t you have friends?”

“Plenty,” he responded quickly. “But my friends have my back when I’m in an argument.”

You shrugged and looked down again to your essay. “I’m a neutral person, I’m not picking sides,” you explained. He watched you write without any other interruption, but you were feeling weird to be aware of his presence in your perimeter and being as talkative as a fish. “What are you doing here?” you asked as you wrote your name at the bottom of the last paper. He quickly grabbed them all, smiling at your expression.

“I made some free time to come and read our final product.” He went back to be silent, his blue eyes running from left to right in order to read all the things you wrote more calligraphic, only thinking about his comment and about the nice letters he used to make the summary yesterday. “It’s good,” he said proudly, like it was his own.

“Really?” you asked shyly, not ready to have a criticism on that yet.

“Yes, I see you kept some of my phraseology,” he smiled in a kind way, returning the parchments to you.

“It was really well structured,” you laughed and ran a hand through your hair, blushing when you saw him starring intensely at your face – you really wanted to ask him if there was something on your face.

“It’s perfect, Y/N,” he repeated, “Snape can’t say otherwise. It’s nearly as good as mine are,” he assured you. His response made you laugh loudly, gaining some hissing from Madam Pince; your hands went to your mouth, covering it, and the boy looked at you with amusement.

“Thank you, Malfoy,” you whispered, scared to talk even in a quiet way. You knew how much the librarian hated the loud students, and you really didn’t want to be one of them. To be on her blacklist was something no one really wanted.

“Call me Draco,” he asked and got up. “I have to go, but I’m sure your work will be appreciated tomorrow.”

“It’s for Friday, actually.”

“So you had a week to do it, but you did it right away?” he laughed this time, but he seemed careless at Madam’s Pince hiss.

“What?” you pouted, already annoyed by his laugh. You knew what he was going to say, and it made you somehow ashamed.

“Nothing,” he said to your surprise, “It’s just that… I’ve never seen somebody to be that ambitious when it comes about school.”

“So you don’t make fun of me,” you thought out loud, making him chuckle again.

“Why would I make fun of you for being a determined person?” he asked and you returned his smile, more shyly, and waved him goodbye as you saw him walking away.

It was the last moment when you saw Draco Malfoy – Monday morning you looked for him in the Great Hall at breakfast, lunch, dinner and even after classes – but due to the large amount of students, he was nowhere to be seen. He didn’t put a foot in the library, because you stayed there awhile, doing your homework or reading – more like pretending to do any of those – but he never came. It was like he was swallowed by a big black hole and forgotten by all the people in Hogwarts. Nobody near you mentioned his name, and you didn’t dare to ask Hermione about him after the ‘study buddy’ situation. She said it was all fine between you two, because she knew about your neutral personality. It was simple: you never got into fights yourself or got involved when other people would argue – it was simple that way. You asked her if she was alright after Draco said all those things to her, of course, but when she told you it was alright you didn’t insisted more.

Friday came faster than you had thought and you were quite nervous to hand Snape your essay. All your classmates wished you good luck, even if they were in the exact same situation as you were – not quite the same, actually, because you were the only one asked to stay over class so the Potions Master could have a word with you.

“You wanted to talk to me, Professor?” you asked when the rest of the students left you all alone with Snape, who sat in the front of the class, hands crossed over his chest and a frowned look on his face.

“Obvious,” he spoke in his monotone voice, coming closer to your desk. “What is this, Miss L/N?” he asked, throwing in front of you the essay, all the pages spreading on the table.

“My essay, Sir,” you told him confident, already preparing your speech about how hard you worked on it and how he couldn’t say it was a piece of trash.

“Your essay?” he asked serious, and then he faked a laugh. “I think you mean Mister’s Malfoy essay,” he then handed you another parchment, with Draco’s name on it, neatly written.

You read a few phrases from his work, but there was nothing alike between them aside some expressions – the ones Draco observed you kept from his notes. “I didn’t steal his work, Sir,” you said in a quiet voice, not daring to look him in the eyes. You didn’t need to do that to know how mad he was.

“You didn’t steal it, you copied it.”

“No, I…” but he already made up his mind. He asked you to leave, informing you that you’d get more work to do, along with a week of detention.

Your blood was boiling and you only wanted to scream how much you hated everything: how much you hated Snape, for being a prick, how much you hated yourself, for not being able to do your own homework alone and how much you hated Draco, for ‘helping’ you and then disappearing – but he didn’t disappear, because he was in the end of the corridor, all by himself, his hands on his trousers’ pockets, standing in an elegant posture leaning on the wall. The dark always present on the Dungeons made him look paler that he seemed in the library’s sunrays, but the blue of his eyes was still remembering you of the clear sky in the moment he heard your steps.

“Y/N,” he greeted you from afar, a little smile growing on the corner of his lips. “How was…” but you didn’t give him the occasion to finish his sentence, leaving the dark corridor in a hurry.

It was odd that after a week of thinking only about him, about the blue of his eyes, about the way his voice would seem lighter when he was holding back his laugh, about the cute way he’d smile only a half of joy, you ran away from his presence like he was your worst nightmare when, in fact, he was present in your sweetest dreams.

It was your desire to be alone the one which made you isolate yourself in your room for some good hours, crying and hitting the pillows, throwing them in the walls and then gathering them, only to throw them again. You felt the way Snape’d describe your skills, work or everything you did: trash – you felt like trash. You thought about going to dinner with your housemates when you heard them leaving the Common Room, but you realized that Snape’s face, eating at the teachers’ table would’ve turned your stomach upside down. So you stayed there for another hour, thinking about everything and nothing in particular; you just knew that you were sick of it, sick of everything and you just needed a break.

And that’s what you did: you took a break. You left the dormitory only undressing yourself from the blue robes and went running on the empty corridors. When you left, you weren’t sure where you’d go – but you found yourself in the Astronomy Tower, watching the entire yard and the environs of the castle. The sky was painted in pastel colors, the sun bathing in the red color of the lake. It was beautiful and you wanted nothing than to be the same with all of it.

“I hate it all!” you screamed looking up to the sky, closing your eyes. “I hate Severus Snape!” you screamed again, opening your eyes and looking down. It was a long, long way to the bottom, where the cobbled paths would wait. “I hate that he managed to make me feel so useless,” now you whispered, tightening the metal balustrade between your palm until they became white. You shook the metal as hard as you could, but it stood still; the effort left you breathless, but you still managed to scream from the bottom of your lungs: “I hate myself!”

You had no idea where that came from – it was the first time you thought that way about you, but it felt very honest. You hated how much pressure you’ve put on your shoulders and now that you were too weak to carry it all, you felt worthless. The only thing you knew was that you were crying, so hard that your sobs didn’t let you hear the steps approaching you in such a hurry. The force of the hand that grabbed your elbow was unexpected, making you stumble on your own legs. The warm feeling immediately invaded your whole body as soon as you fell in a pair of arms, which were holding you hard enough not to fall to the ground.

“What the hell were you doing, Y/N?!” he screamed, the image of his face being blurred because of the tears in your eyes. You blinked a few times and there he was: Draco Malfoy, with a worried look on his face but with the same beautiful blue eyes.

“Draco…” you whispered and grabbed the material of his white shirt, “What are you doing here?” you managed to ask without your voice cracking.

“You didn’t come to dinner, and after the way you walk away from earlier…” he said and became paler, “But what were you doing? Don’t tell me you tried to…”

But you shook your head in negation faster than the words he said. “No, of course not,” you said trying to convince yourself more than him. “I was just… having a moment,” you explained and withdrew from his arms, hugging yourself to calm down.

“What happened, Y/N?” he asked again and touched your shoulders, his hands burning the skin under your uniform shirt.

“Snape said I copied your essay,” you succeed to whisper after a long silence, the tears coming back into your eyes.

His brows went lower, his mouth in a line. “Have you told him that I helped you?”

“No,” you said, now crying again. He wiped away a tear that rolled on your cheek. “He told me to leave before I could say anything, and now I have detention a whole week.”

“Sh, sh, sh,” he hummed as he pulled you back into his arms, one of his hands laying on your back as the other one was caressing your hair. “You don’t need to cry,” he spoke gently and his movements became clumsy as you cried even harder. “I’ll take care of it, Y/N,” he assured you and suddenly, your tears dried up.

“What?” you asked, looking into his eyes.

“I… I’ll talk to Snape about it,” he repeated, “It’s not fair to act that way towards you when your essay was so good.”

All the parts of your body were screaming to kiss him only because he was that near to you. But you were too puzzled up to even hear those screams in your head. “You’ll get in trouble too, Draco.”

“No,” he smiled. “Let’s say that Snape owns my father one,” he smiled devilish, and contrary his expectations you smiled like you haven’t been crying until then.

“But why are you doing that?” you laughed and tried not to freak out because he was still holding you.

“So you could own me one later,” he continued to smile even after you hit them slightly in chest. “What? Nothing’s free, remember?”

You bit your cheek, trying to hold back a smile. “Yeah, sure.”

“So we have a deal?”

“No,” you said and raised a brow. “We have a deal only if you don’t get yourself in trouble by talking to Snape or, even worst, getting me into a bigger mess. You need to succeed in order to have a deal.”

“That sounds like a deal to me,” he smirked and ran a hand through his blonde hair, which seemed more like gray in the light given by the moon.

“We have a deal, then,” you laughed and tighten up a bit the grip on his shirt.

“Don’t ever stay that close to the edge again,” he asked you and you could see the same feeling of anxiety on his face. You nodded your head in agreement and he hugged you again. “You scared the shit out of me,” he confessed.

It was the first time in your life when you felt that somebody was truly worried about you. Your parents would’ve just watch you break down and then get up and try again, telling you that it’s the normal way to educate yourself. But that night, in his arms, you felt that you weren’t the same lonely child. It was a warm feeling, a feeling of a new burning in your heart. And it was a nice feeling.

  I fell in your arms tonight / I fell hard in your arms tonight / It was nice

 You agreed to meet Draco the next day in the Astronomy Tower half an hour before the dinner would finish and you were surprised to see him already there, welcoming you with the same somehow evil smirk he had the other day.

“You own me one,” he said without even waiting for you to say something. “Snape told me he’ll forget about the detention, but you need to make some rephrasing on your essay.” He was proud of his manipulative skills and you could see it in his eyes – there was a little sparkle as you approached him.

“Good job, Draco,” you said smiling from an ear to the other. “I guess I own you one.”

“Yes, yes you do.”

You look over the skyline and went closer to the balustrade, Draco following you closely even after you sat down on the stone floor, your legs hanging on the outside. You seemed to be secure enough, so Draco sat down and looked at the sunset as well.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You already did,” he puffed and you punched his shoulder, smiling.

“You’re an idiot, you know what I mean.”

“Why am I an idiot?” he asked and turned to face you with an ugly look.

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that!” you told him quickly. “I call my friends that way when they say something dumb but they’re funny at the same time,” you explained, ashamed that you offended him.

He was silent for a moment and looked at the lake again. “My father uses that term to talk about incompetent people,” he said and you looked away from his face.

“I guess it’s a way to use it, too,” you spoke shy.

“Why do you want to ask me?” he changed the subject, removing the awkward tension between you two.

“Why did you called Hermione Granger that word?” you asked cautious not to upset him with your curiosity.

“That’s what she is,” he said nonchalantly, “She’s a Mudblood, and she is inferior to us.”

“Only because of her blood?” you laughed. “And how do you know I’m not inferior to you too?”

“I made my research on you before talking to you again,” he shrugged.

“She’s superior to both of us in many ways, Draco,” you told him and looked at him in the moment he did the same. “She lives in another world at the same time she lives in this one,” you explained, “We were born surrounded by magic and that’s our only way of living.”

He lour. “Why do you say that?”

“I take the Muggle Studies class,” you smiled proudly.

“Why would you do that?” he scoffed. If you ignored his mentality on that subject, you could say he was really cute.

“It’s interesting,” you started. “They have many objects we have no idea about and they have fairy tales about anything – they’re kind of superstitious.”

“Superstitious?” he asked like he was curious and not like he wanted to mock you.

“Yeah,” you said and got up. “Maybe I’ll tell you about some superstitions one day.”

“Tomorrow night,” he asked you and got up as well.

“You want to know more about Muggles?” you laughed.

He shrugged. “It’s your chance to prove me they’re not inferior to us.”

“Ok,” you smiled and took the challenge.

You left the Tower walking by his side, and your heart skipped a beat when you realized that he walked you to your Common Room door, wishing you a goodnight. The next day Professor Snape wanted to talk to you again after class, this time apologizing for the way he managed the situation, but you could tell he wasn’t very pleased with what he was saying. When the dinner was nearly finished, you could see Draco leaving the Great Hall without looking in your direction and you knew it was the signal to get up and do the same thing after some minutes. You thought it’d be better if nobody would know where you were going and with who.

“Ready to learn about Muggles?” you asked him with joy as soon as you got in the highest place in Hogwarts.

“Whatever,” he laughed and rolled his eyes.

You brought a book you got last year on your birthday from Hermione, a book about a lot of things the Muggles believe in. You read out loud some pages and Draco only sat next to you, listening. It was somehow therapeutic to read in front of him because he didn’t disturb you, he even looked like he was enjoying it.

“So they even have a specific flower for when somebody dies?” he asked out of a sudden. He was really paying attention.

“Yeah, in some countries,” you smiled. “In Italy, France or Belgium – where it’s made the best chocolate – the white chrysanthemum is well known to be brought at somebody’s funeral. But they also represent loyalty and devoted love, so I think it makes it even more beautiful. They’re my favorites,” you smiled.

“A flower that represents the death is your favorite?” he laughed, making you roll your eyes. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I’ve never seen a chrysanthemum, and that’s something, considering the fact that my mother has a gigantic garden.”

He was often talking about his mother and you deducted that he’s a mummy boy – it was cute to know that he loved his mother dearly.

“I would love to see it,” you smiled politely.

“Maybe you will,” he said and caught you by surprise. “I mean, maybe you’ll see a garden as big as my mother’s,” he clarified when he observed those big eyes of yours.

“Yeah,” you said in a quiet voice, looking back into your book.

“What?” he asked and you didn’t respond him.

You were… sad? Disappointed? It was a strange and groundless feeling given by the idea that you’ll never see the garden of his house, and that also meant that you’ll never meet his mother, who was already painted in your mind like an elegant and kind woman.

“Are you upset?” he asked again and grabbed your jaw carefully, making you form eye contact.

“No,” you said simply, and the honesty in your voice surprised you. It was like all the hard feelings were erased by his eyes, by their calming color.

“Good,” he smiled, “Because you shouldn’t be upset.”

“Why?” you asked.

“I’ll bring you all the flowers from my mother’s garden if you’re not upset,” he traced his fingers up to your cheek, placing a strand of hair behind your red ear – all your emotions ran to your head, making the skin he touched burn.

“Why?” you asked again like a curious kid.

He rolled his eyes in a playful way, trying to pretend he was tired of your whys. “Because a pretty face like yours shouldn’t frown. You’ll get wrinkles,” he laughed and pinched your nose.

“Auch,” you hissed, massaging the end of your nose. “You say I’m pretty?”

“I say it’s time to get you back to your Common Room,” he nodded his head and got up, offering you his hand to help you get up.

The walk to the Ravenclaw’s door was silent, and when you got there it was an even more annoying silence. He only watched you like he was waiting for your next move.

“Uh, I can’t come tomorrow night,” you informed him. “I have to help my roommate study for Transfiguration.”

“So she’s stealing my study buddy,” he joked.

“I’ll see you around, though?”

“Yeah, of course,” he smiled and you just wanted to kiss that little dimple of his.

So you did – you got up to your toes and kissed his cheek. “Good night, Draco,” you smiled and entered the empty room, all your housemates already being off to their dormitories, probably. Your heart was pouting hard, like it was trying to escape the little cage of your ribs, but your soul was feeling warm and sweet, like honey.

The next day you tried to focus in all your classes, you tried to pay attention to your friends but all you could think of was Draco Malfoy, with his blue eyes and sweet dimple. It was a boring night the one you spent in your room, listening and explaining to your roommate simple things about your Transfiguration class, the same ones that Draco found difficult – even that made you think about him. It was a great relief to walk again on the stairs that led you to the Astronomy Tower, the excitement making your heart jump with joy. It dropped to the bottom of your soul when you didn’t find him there, and it broke when he didn’t come at all.

Maybe you scared him – maybe he didn’t want you to kiss his cheek, maybe he didn’t want you so close to him. Maybe you screwed it up. And you really believed that when he didn’t come two nights in a row, making you to skip dinner on the third night. You didn’t have the power to cry again, but you really wanted to – you nearly managed to get a tear out of you if it wouldn’t be eagle owl which entered your room through the open window.

“What’s up with you, stupid bird?” you asked in anger, making the owl give you a response in the same tonality. “Easy,” you spoke as you took the little parchment from its claw.

‘You didn’t come to dinner, are you sick? If you are, take a good sleep and get better. — D.M'

You crumbled the little letter and thrown it away telling the bird to leave you alone. You walked from left to right, biting your nails out of anxiety and anger – who was he to ignore you three days and then ask to meet you? You grabbed the letter from the floor and read it again, and the curiosity won against your anger. You grabbed a blue sweater and ran to the Astronomy Tower, but walked the steps so he wouldn’t know the speed with which you came. You were furious at him – you couldn’t wait to scream at him and tell him to fuck off with his unhealthy behaviors, but when you saw him leaning on the stone wall in front of you with a bouquet of white flowers in his hand and a small box on the other one, you just froze on the last step.

“Hello, Y/N,” he greeted you with a smile on the corner of his lips. You approached him slowly; your eyes going from his face go his hands and back to his hands. “I see you’re not sick,” he said when you were in front of him. “Why haven’t you come to dinner?”

“Why didn’t you give me a sign of living?” you asked straight, searching for his eyes.

“I was… busy,” he said and cleared his throat. “But I asked my mother to get me those,” he smiled and handed you the bouquet of chrysanthemums and the little box. “Open it,” he asked impatient.

You undone the little bow and opened it with one hand, the other holding carefully the flowers. Your hands were shaking. “Chocolate,” you laughed nervous.

“From Belgium, just like the flowers,” he said proud, smiling. “Don’t you like them?” he asked a little panicked when you didn’t say a thing, only watching the flowers in such an examining way.

“I love them!” you said, “I love them, Draco,” you assured them, holding them to your chest like you were scared he’d get them back.

“Good, I hoped you’d say that.”

You smelt them, and your whole soul was dancing – the sweet smell reminded you of the late autumn’s rains, of the lazy sunrays and all the nice skies in the world.

“I love them Draco, but what’s the occasion?”

He massaged the back of his head, avoiding your eyes. “You don’t need a reason to get flowers, Y/N. You deserve them anytime,” he said and your heart exploded at his cuteness. “My mother told me it’d be nice if I would give them to you before anything else,” he said and bite his lower lip immediately after, like he said something he didn’t mean to.

“Before what, Draco?” you asked curious. He was so good at making you all set on fire, unfocused and yet so, so concentrated on him.

“You’re a nice girl, Y/N, really nice,” he said in a quiet voice. His tonality made you thought about a break-up – like he wanted to break the bond that began to form between you two.

“What are you trying to tell me, Draco?” you asked in a harsh tone. “Just say it, ok? You don’t need to bring me flowers and chocolate if you want to say goodbye, it’s not like I’m dying,” you said pointing to the chrysanthemums.

“No, no, Y/N,” he interrupted you. “The white chrysanthemums represent loyalty and devoted love,” he whispered.

“Oh,” was all you could say. “Oh,” you repeated when you figured out what he really meant.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, and you laughed along with him. The sound of his laugh made your heart put itself back together. “So…” he started and came closer to you.

“So?” you said, biting your lips and blinking slowly.

“So may I kiss you, Y/N?” he asked in such a kind voice, all your body going soft at his words. His mother must’ve taught him how to talk to a girl – and she did such a good job.

You nodded shyly and let yourself carried by his hands, which dragged your body closer to his. He gently pressed his lips on your, letting them stay together for a couple of seconds and then retiring. His blue eyes were looking into yours, burning with desire and impatience. Your hands tightened the flowers and the little box harder, and you put them around his neck, getting him even closer to you and smashing your lips back together. His hands were on your waist, grabbing the material of your sweater between his fingers. Your eyes were closed and your body was filled with warmth – you saw nothing and yet, somehow, you were aware of everything in the Universe through a white light.

 White light in your arms tonight / I lost sight in your arms tonight / It was nice

 The next months were full of love and laughs for you – Draco was the most careful boy you’ve ever been with. He still wanted you two to have secret little dates in the Astronomy Tower, where you’d read to him about Muggles and poetry written by them.

“Don’t you think it’s kinda cute that I listen to you reading about that non-sense?” he asked once.

“It’s poetry, Draco,” you scoffed, “It’s about love!”

Besides the secret dates, he really wanted to go public. He was the type to show you off in front of everyone, only to make sure that every other boys knew that you were off their league but in a kind way – he’d kiss your forehead on the hallways, walk you to classes even if that meant he’d be late to his and gave you endless gifts. You received a lot of chrysanthemums, love letters and sweets anytime his mother would send him a package. Your roommates were jealous of you even if they told you directly that they didn’t like Draco and there was nothing to do about it. Hermione wasn’t so happy either and somehow distanced herself from you when she found out about your relationship, but Draco made you to forget all those things – he was the bad guy in everyone’s story, and even if some time ago he wasn’t even a side-character in yours, he became the climax of your story. You didn’t love Draco for his gift, you loved him truly – you loved him for the kind words, the warm glares, the sweet kisses and the tight hugs. And you knew he loved you too, because he made you feel safe in the whole madness with the Dark Lord and the war everyone was talking about.

“Do you think there’ll be a war, Draco?” you asked one night when you two where curled up into each other’s arms.

“I don’t know, Y/N,” he said absent.

“I heard that Harry’s forming an army,” you said and looked up to him, only to see him rolling his eyes.

“Potter isn’t capable to tie his own laces, my love, and you think he’s able to lead an army?” he laughed and that made you roll your eyes. “You’re funny.”

“But you’re the only one taking it as a joke, you’re the one who’s laughing,” you said and he frowned.

“Then I think I have to change that,” he said and his fingers came to your ribs, tickling you.

You started to laugh hard, to fight so you could escape his torture, begging him to stop. “Draco, that’s enough!” you screamed as you felt tears in your eyes, so you grabbed his arm and tried to scratch him playfully to make him stop.

Hissing, he let you go and pulled away from you, his hand over the left arm.

“What’s wrong, baby?” you asked worried that you hurt him.

“Nothing,” he said in an annoyed voice, getting up on his feet and looking down to you. “I’m fine,” he said and something in your mind clicked. For more than two weeks he’d say that stupid phrase whenever you asked him what happened – he seemed tired and anxious, but whenever you’d ask about him he’d become fine.

“Don’t try to fool me, Draco,” you said annoyed as well and, already on your feet, you’d try to grab his hand and reveal the possible wound.

“I said I’m fine, Y/N,” he repeated and avoided your hands like they’d burn him.

“And I said to stop fooling me!” you shouted and sneaked close enough to him to get his hand away from his arm, but he pushed you harder than he thought – you fell on the ground, a piece of material in your hand; his sleeve – ripped, revealing red lines, scratches – who were older, but reopened by your nails – which were covering the worst thing you could think of: the Dark Mark. The air left your lungs and your head started to spin, the vision becoming blurred.

“Y/N…” he tried to say, coming closer to you but you crawled away.

“What the fuck, Draco?!” you screamed and got up by yourself. “Stay away!” you said when he tried to approach you.

“I can explain, Y/N,” he said, his voice shaking.

“How on earth you could explain the Dark Mark on your arm?” you shouted again, your hands running in your hair and pulling it.

“Sh,” he said loud, asking you to be quiet. “It’s not what it looks like, my love, I swear.”

You laughed – loud, nervous. “Then what it is?”

“They made me do it, Y/N!”

“They made you get the Dark Mark, become a fucking Death Eater and join Voldemort?” you screamed again and step back when he tried to come closer.

“My father, he… I didn’t want to, Y/N,” he said quietly, his eyes starting to get wet.

“You lied to me, Draco,” you whispered. “You said everything will be fine, you said you’ll protect me!”

“And I will!” he also screamed. “I will,” he repeated breathing heavily.

“How? Making me join the Death Eaters so they wouldn’t kill me later?” you mocked him, and you could say it hurt him to see you that way – but you didn’t care.

“Nobody will kill you, Y/N,” he said, trying to calm you. “You’ll be fine, we’ll be fine.”

“A war is coming, Draco,” you said harshly, “The Dark Lord is alive and back and anyone who’s against him is in danger.”

“You’re not in danger, Y/N,” he repeated. “We’re in this together, please, love,” he begged you, tears running down his face.

“We’re not on the same side, Draco,” you whispered.

“I thought you didn’t like to pick sides,” he said like he was trying to make you change your mind.

“We’re talking about a war, Draco, not a fucking fight in the courtyard,” you said and shook your head. “Just… leave me alone, please,” you asked him and started to walk away.

“Y/N, please!” he grabbed your wrist but you pulled away immediately.

“Don’t touch me ever again, Draco Malfoy,” you said in hatred, giving him a disgusted look before leaving him alone in the Astronomy Tower – alone, hurt and crying. He saw the disgust in your eyes, the hate and the fear.

Hard times came for you – you decided to act like nothing was happening, like you had no idea what Draco was and a part of you felt miserable for doing so, but other part was believing him, the other part was still loving him and it was hurting to see him and not run in his arms. You decided to let the time pass and decide what would happen with everything – but the time was cruel, because nothing good happened since that night. Dumbledore’s death, the Death Eaters, the continuing agony. You became scared to stay alone, thinking that a Death Eater or even Voldemort would show up and kill you – and Draco wouldn’t be there to protect you.

But when the real battle began, you felt all the adrenaline rushing through your body – Professor McGonagall seemed worried but she gave you the power to fight back, to fight for Hogwarts, for your friends, for Harry, for life. You never tried to spell hexes because it wasn’t necessary, but in the battles you had with some Death Eaters you remembered them all – and you casted them loud, pointing your wand in their direction with hatred. You were running on the same old stairs that led you to the Astronomy Tower, a loud and crazy laugh following you along with a curly hair and dark, mad eyes, thirsty for blood.

“Stop running, little doll!” she screamed when you got up, waiting for her with your wand ready, something that made her laugh. “Stubborn one, aren’t you?” she asked and walked closer to you with tangled steps.

“Crazy one, aren’t you?” you managed to gather your nerve to ask her. She didn’t seem too happy with your comment, because she lifted her wand – before she’d say anything, you screamed the Disarming Charm as loud as you could, making her wand fly from her hand and fall to the ground.

“Well, well,” she laughed, running her tongue over her bloody lips. “You won, now kill me!” she laughed, the sound driving you crazy.

“Shut up! Just shut up!”

“Kill me!”

“Crucio!” you screamed and the green light flashed from the tip of your wand, hitting Bellatrix Lestrange in the middle of her chest. She fell to the ground, laughing – it was hurting, but Bellatrix have been insane for a long, long time.

“Y/N!”

“Draco?” you said to yourself, watching the boy you loved running to you. He grabbed your shoulders, looking at you from the top of your head to the bottom of your toes. “What are you doing here?”

“Are you alright? Did she hurt you?”

You looked at Bellatrix who was still to the ground, and you tighten your fingers around the wand.

“No,” you said and looked back to Draco. He seemed fine and a part of you wanted to scream that he was fine because he was one of them, they wouldn’t hurt him like that crazy woman tried to do to you, but the other part won that battle. You hugged him tight, wanting to make all the things disappear and be just you and him. “I’m scared, Draco,” you whispered.

“You’ll be fine, love,” he said and kissed your temple.

“So she’s the little doll that got you all soft, Draco?”

The fear ran through your body again and you pulled away from Draco, still holding his hands.

“Please,” he said and looked at the crazy woman who got her wand back. He let go of your hand and grabbed his wand, pointing it to her.

“Aw, Draco darling,” she laughed, “Does Cissy know that you’re pointing your want to your family?”Family?

“Aunt Bella, please, don’t hurt her,” Draco breathed heavily, not taking his eyes off of her.

“But she hurt me, Draco,” Bellatrix laughed, got her wand in your direction and casted an unspoken spell, only saying your name.

Draco tried to protect you, getting in front of you, but the purple light went through him and entered your body. The pain was indescribable, like all your internal organs were stabbed with hundred of knives. “No!” he screamed at his aunt, who only laughed louder and waved him goodbye before disappearing into a black cloud of smoke.

You’d feel your members go numb, dropping your wand and falling to the ground, making Draco to scream again like he could physically feel your agony. “Y/N!” he screamed.

Some balls of light were thrown in the tower’s direction, by the people outside, and they made the windows in the roof break, falling upon you along with pieces of tiles. Your sight went blurry, seeing Draco through red spots. “What’s happening, Draco?” you managed to ask him.

“You’re fine, my love,” he cried, tightening your shoulders, trying to hug you without hurting you.

“I can’t see you, hear you,” you cried and coughed; he started to sob even harder, watching the blood drop from your eyes and mouth as you tried to breathe. “I don’t feel very good,” you told him as it weren’t obvious.

“You’ll be alright, my love, stay with me,” he begged you.

His tears were falling on your face, mixing with the blood that was leaving your body – Bellatrix Lestrange chose a curse that gave you a slow and painful death.

“Hey, you,” you said, trying to make him pay attention to you. You looked him in the eyes, trying hard to see them clear. “Don’t you think it’s kinda cute?”

“What?” he whispered.

“Don’t you think it’s kinda cute,” you repeated, “That I died right inside your arms tonight?”

“No! No! No!” he said, his voice shaking. “Don’t you dare to do this to me, Y/N! Do you hear me? Stay with me!”

But you were gone – you left that world with a little smile on your lips, with bloody tears on your face and with the memory of his eyes watching you, of his arms holding you. And that made death a less painful thing for you.

 That I'm fine even after I have died / Because it was in your arms I died

 “No, Y/N!” he screamed, realizing you were gone. “Come back! Come back, Y/N, you own me one!”

“I’m sorry, Draco,” you whispered while watching him from behind – you could also see your lifeless body, laying on the ground with glass pieces, rocks and blood all over it and it made  you cry. You floated over your body and tried the stupidest thing you could think of: going back inside. But it was impossible – it felt like it was locked. Bloody tears were falling from your eyes, and you damned Bellatrix Lestrange for giving you such an ugly death: you’ll cry blood for eternity on the Hogwarts’ halls as a ghost. “I want to come back, Draco!” you screamed at the same time when he asked you to come back.

 I cry in the afterlife / I cry hard because I have died / And you're alive / I try to escape the afterlife / I try hard to get back inside / Your arms tonight

 The battle was over: Lord Voldemort was now dead, Bellatrix Lestrange was dead along with other Death Eaters, but so were a lot of innocent people: now, some students would stay forever in the castle because they chose to remain behind; they, just like you, were too scared of death and chose an imitation of life. As a ghost, you didn’t really felt like showing to everyone; it hurt you enough to know they missed you, and to see their broken souls when they’d realize you’re trapped in this world as a ghost would be more painful than your death. You knew nothing about Draco for a long time – you stayed in the tower all the time, and you already knew that after some years, when the school would be rebuilt, the little kids would call you the ghost of the Astronomy Tower – that thought made you smile; maybe they’d call you Bloody Y/N, or Bloody Crybaby Y/N, or… whatever name would fit a blood-crying ghost. That’s how you spent many months – thinking, crying, whishing you’d have chose the death.

A loud cry woke you up one day – you looked over to the balustrade, where a tall figure was shaking while looking down, down all the way to the ground. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said and you recognized him easily. “I’m so fucking sorry, my love,” he cried again and you approached him. On the ground, at his feet, was a bouquet of white chrysanthemums – they made your eyes tear up immediately.

“I promised you I’d protect you and I failed,” he whispered. “I hate myself since that day, my love,” he confessed.

To let him know about your presence was a bad idea – he’d be devastated to see you that way.

“I’ll see you soon, love,” he spoke to himself, or so he thought because he jumped in surprise when you screamed.

“Wait!”

“Y/N…” he cried, now facing you and crying harder. “You’re… alive?”

“Draco…” you sighed, “What are you doing here?”

He came closer and tried to hug you, but his arms went through you with ease. “You’re… a ghost.”

“Please don’t jump,” you said crying harder than him. It was a horrible image, indeed, to see a blood-crying ghost – but he was in love with you.

“I miss you, Y/N, I want to be with you,” he told you like he asked for permission.

But you shook your head in disapproval. “You won’t like it here, darling,” you smiled. “Please, stay – be happy and live.”

“I love you, Y/N, how could I live without you?” he cried like a little child, helpless.

You pointed to the flowers. “If your love is devoted, you’d spend the rest of your life fulfilling my wish, Draco.”

“Y/N…”

“Stay alive, Draco. I’ll be here, always,” you promised and cried.

He ran his hands through his hair, his blue eyes crying you a river. When he calmed down, he bent over and grabbed the flowers, handing them to you. You cried in pain, but still tried to get them – and you where surprised when you could.

“Come back to me, Y/N,” he said and you tried your best to make his wish come true. You tried to hug him, to kiss his forehead – he could swear he felt your cold skin on his.

“I wish I could, my love,” you said and stayed in front of him, with the sign of his devoted love in your hand.

 And hey (hey), you (you), don't you think it's kinda cute / That I (I) try (try) to escape the afterlife / That I (I) try (try) to get back in your arms alive / That I died in your arms

[messyliferip]

I posted 791 times in 2021

13 posts created (2%)

778 posts reblogged (98%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 59.8 posts.

I added 50 tags in 2021

#studyblr - 9 posts

#medblr - 9 posts

#medschool diaries - 8 posts

#uni diaries - 4 posts

#medschool - 4 posts

#studying - 4 posts

#university - 3 posts

#midterms - 3 posts

#booklr - 3 posts

#study - 3 posts

Longest Tag: 131 characters

#i told my sister if i fail more than one class this semester i’m gonna grow a pair and tell my parents that i have to change majors

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

back from my anatomy lab midterm. It was 29 questions and 45 seconds for each picture. I left so many qs empty smh like i would recognize the muscles and then the question would be about their innervations and origin/insertions like agslsjsoskndz. also like i knew all the foremen of the skull but i totally blanked when i came to naming the structures that run through them. i’m such an idiot for not studying more but i’m chill with whatever grade i get tbh i’ll just do good on the final. it was nice to study with friends and yea it was just a good day.

anyways i have physiology lab mid on tuesday so i have to study for that.

1 notes • Posted 2021-11-14 11:44:26 GMT

#4

First Final of 2nd Year Medschool……

i feel like garbage…. tmrw is my first final of the semester and i’m scared. it’s histology lab so it shouldn’t be too bad and as of right now i’m actually passing the class so again not that worried but i honestly haven’t studied that much. BUT i also have studied a lot of my histology class which the lab is heavily influenced by soooo i should be good PLUS i have studied like well enough i think i’m more stressed cause a lot of my friends are still studying and i’m like…. should i also still be studying ??? buts it’s literally like i studied so i shouldn’t be freaking out …. but i still am.

honestly i hate final seasons cause i always feel like such a trash human cause i rely on human interactions and i totally ghost all my friends and most of my friends live far away since i go to uni abroad so it’s soooo frustrating. like idc how much they say to just focus on my studies and dw like IM ALWAYS WORRYING and like whenever i do go back to texting it’s like no time has passed but I still feel like i need to be texting them 24/7…. which is sooo unhealthy ik but i just hate hate ghosting !!! i always try and be like sorry i’m busy with studying and finals but then sometimes i also just hate opening texts soooo ahdodmshuoaoa anywaayyysss s hopefully tmrw goes well!!!!!

2 notes • Posted 2021-12-12 21:00:21 GMT

#3

my life is a mess~

finals start in two weeks and i have nothing set i’m a mess and i’m panicking. my life is a mess, my mind is a labyrinth,my desk is a mess and everything is lost. I can’t even find my histology drawing book and the drawings are due tmrw. I have nothing done i’ve studied like two chapters since midterms what tf happened….. i’ve been so consumed with quizzes and hw that i haven’t been able to study. i literally just study for the quiz and go to the next and then forget what i’ve studied…..

i need like 80s in all my finals so i can pass my classes,,,, effff this is so bad…. and i still have two essays and a quiz this week and then next week i have histology and physiology lab finals ahdlnsisldjaodmnfe i need to get my shi* together.

3 notes • Posted 2021-12-02 13:28:28 GMT

#2

medschool guilt is real… and it sucks :/

so i finished my last midterm yesterday and today is the first day of the weekend and I still woke up at 5am but instead of going straight into studying I just wasted time, chilled, texted friends, watched yt etc. etc. etc. and then family came over and there was this whole party and everything…. I literally got some studying done and reviewed stuff but J feel like such an utter failure. It’s like if I don’t study everyday then suddenly there’s no hope for the other upcoming days?? like if i don’t MAKE this a habit by doing 64 consecutive days then might as well stop now?? and just like it’s so easy to feel so guilty about taking off ONE day after four weeks of midterms… :/// it’s 12am so hopefully these are just late night sad boo hour thoughts and they’ll all go away in the morning. It’s just scary cause I really need to do an AMAZING job on the finals and i’m just scared… i really need to do well and i have two or three quizzes this upcoming week so I really need to study.

anyways sorry for the depressing note but tmrw is going to be great!!! and if not we always have after tmrw :)

4 notes • Posted 2021-11-18 22:04:34 GMT

#1

JUST FINISHED ALL MY MIDTERMS OF SECOND YEAR AT MEDICAL SCHOOL!!! 🥳🥳🥳 honestly they last test totally sucked (histology lab) especially compared to physio lab which was Godsent but you know you reap what you sow. I studied the slides and totally missed and didnt study the stains like an idiot, i seriously had no idea that half of the freaking test was gonna be on stains, i literally only remembered H&E, sudan orange, and silver stain. like bruuuhhhh ashdoiwosnjdplwjer. anyways it izzz wat it izzz i’m actually a lot more motivated to study now cause like 1) i need like 80-90s in my finals to pass and 2) i got to end on a high note.

I have an upcoming anatomy quiz which covers the Scalp and Face which is all the muscles of the face and their actions and then temporal and infratemporal fossa. The muscles i’ve got dooowwwnn i just need to memorize the origins and insertions but the infratemporal fossa is so confusing for me idk why. And then next week I also have a physiology quiz which covers the parathyroid hormone and I haven’t reviewed that since before midterms soooo it’s been a minute. I also skipped a biochemistry and a histology lecture this week so I have one biochem chapter and then for histology half of the bone chapter, which tbh i’m seriosuly not looking forward to. Honestly what world are we living in that biochemistry is better than histology ??? like whaaattt?? Also my anatomy professor for lower limb is both so behind and also just going sooo damn fast like bruh…. so I have like three chapters to study one of them being nerves of the leg and if you know me you know i HATTEEE nerves and vessels so not looking forward to studying that.

This weekend I’m going to try and study mainly physiology and biochem. and then anatomy and histology. and literally yeet tf out of genetics. i’m seriously not even gonna look at the class until before finals like ew. anyways imma stop here cause i’m literally in physio class i just don’t know wtf this chick is talking abt. we just finished reproductive systems and this is the first lecture for GIT and i’m just lost. it’s also 8pm and a zoom class so yk i’m just in my phone.

8 notes • Posted 2021-11-17 18:14:13 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[mallowstep]

how do you find the energy and motivation to write like... everyday?? i literally cannot write unless i am possessed by a thought in my brain and forced to spew out everything onto paper. and then i cant look at it again ot edit it. like, i really love writing and if im forced to do it for school i will, but i cant write for myslef.

practice.

first, i want to say that i am going to describe how i write, but it is not necessarily going to work for most people, because it has to do with my own psychology and mental health.

second, i want to say that i view writing as writing for pleasure or writing for work. poetry, for example, i write for pleasure, and i would not apply what i am going to discuss to poetry. that happens when i have something to say. it is OK to not want to write for work. that's acceptable and encouraged.

third, i want to dispel a myth. writing consistently is not about motivation. it is about discipline. and you should take heart in that, because motivation is hard to control. you can't force yourself to want to do something, no matter how hard you try. but if you build up discipline, you can learn to do it anyway.

i'm not going to go into that now, because i'm coming at this from the specific perspective of someone with adhd who uses pressure to force myself to function, which is...a hard balance to strike, and not something i can strictly recommend. it does work for some people. i think of it as an arch.

but i digress, i said i wasn't discussing the specifics of how i function in day-to-day life, lest i encourage others to do as i do.

okay. so. where am i going with all of this?

part one: a long, fairly incoherent ramble about me and mental health and writing

well. i don't think the idea of writing for yourself is very helpful to a lot of people. i do write for myself. but that doesn't get my ass in the chair and my fingers on the keyboard. the thing that does that is not social obligation to others, either, it is the firm knowledge that putting words on paper is going to keep me from falling apart.

i don't do that for myself. i don't do that for anyone but the human need to hold yourself together. i am very happy i feel that need at the moment, and every time i have stopped writing* in the past ten years, i have lost that need.

* writing here should really be replaced with a broader term. creating things. making things. working with my hands and something real. but writing is the best thing i know to fill this in myself.

writing does not feel optional. i started writing seriously when i was not-quite-a-teenager and had untreated depression. it was desperate, then. the need to know i was capable of feeling emotions. since then, writing has been different things at different times. it has been a social need. it has been a creative need. it has been a demanding drive. it has been something i drag myself to do because i know it is good for me.

i don't have to write. i could paint, or draw, or knit, or code, or any number of things. i have used all of those things, and more, in the past, but writing is something i also enjoy.

sometimes writing is dragging myself to the keyboard. it is not always a flurry of words as an idea seizes me. it is, "i am publishing the next chapter of ashes because it is monday and that is what i do on mondays." but.

it is monday, and that is what i do on mondays.

i hate not posting every day. i hate it. i am Untethered. i spent ca. three weeks over the summer completely disconnected from time, but. i post ashes today, it is monday, i move on, i go through the days and they are not the same.

i hate not posting every day. i know that i would be doing better if i could just break through and start again, but figuring out how is hard. some things i know (ibtwicm is stressful because another person is involved, and that means that i cannot work with betas, even though the one i have is absolutely wonderful and i adore her), but other things are just that nebulous idea of not enough time to start.

i don't always have the energy to write. some days are bad. some days my head hurts. i don't have the expectation that i will never miss a day of posting. i've taken plenty of time off. but i like the rhythm.

anyway. let me try to turn that incoherent ramble about me into something...actionable?

part two: what i tangibly do

i have a schedule. that is not requisite, but it saves me from making decisions. i have a schedule and i have fics and one-shots and they all slot into that schedule by arc. i could have done it by anything, but arc was convenient.

anyway.

i figure out what i'm posting when i wake up in the morning, and i try to skim over what i've already got before starting my day. i flick back and forth between writing and whatever i am doing throughout the day.

(which is why, as i transition back into my normal pace, the thing i have been doing to fill the gap will diminish. less au chatter snippets etc, because that is what i have been doing instead of writing.)

by the evening, i'm usually close to done with the draft. i spend a solid chunk of time patching it up, then i do a round of edits, finish my other work, do line edits, and post.

if i have time after that, i start looking at tomorrow's post.

that's it. sometimes i don't want to work on something. too bad. it's on the schedule. or even, "too bad, we're posting something today." unless i am having a bad (read: low spoon) day, i do not waver in that expectation for myself.

in fact, i think the only way ibtwicm will get done is if the final chapter two chapters go up un-beta'd, because the deviation from routine makes me impossibly frustrated with them. we shall see.

anyway. i have spent years building the discipline to be able to do that. if you rely on motivation, do not think you can just flip over and magically learn how to turn an empty page into words because you told yourself that is what you are doing right now. so.

part three: how to build discipline

i said i won't be covering this, and i'm not Really. i'm going to tell you how to get started, and i am going to be the Bad Guy. i am not capable of doing this kindly. there are other, better, resources i encourage you to seek out.

so. you can't start by just. throwing yourself into it. it won't work, it'll be frustrating, etc.

you want to figure out what a reasonable word count/day is for you. i shoot for 3k words/day, but i figure as long as i'm above 1k, i'm happy.

[aside: if you are going to be writing a lot in a day, please take care of your body. have good posture. know how to hold yourself. etc. i credit years of playing piano as giving me strong wrists and nice, curved fingers, and exercises to build and strengthen the same muscles as you use for typing, but just keep this in mind.]

anyway, there's no right number. 100 words is enough. it should be -- what works for me is a number that's just slightly higher than what i can do comfortably, because it means i have to be focused, which keeps me on track. i think this is important. it is not the only way.

and then you just meet that goal. if you're new to this, writing 100 words every day might be hard. you don't have to limit yourself to 100, just hit 100 every. single. day.

eventually that will feel easy.

"i don't feel like writing," you will think, "but i've figured out how to get around that."

then you either feel happy with what you're doing or push your word count up.

me? i don't measure how many words i write, because i've already done all of that. for all i bemoan research and being stuck, i'm generally exceptionally effective. i don't think that's bragging; i think the number of asks i have answered with scenes i whipped out of nowhere demonstrate that.

i have spent years getting to the point where i can open up a blank page, on a day when i feel like crap (emotionally), when i have no ideas and no motivation and every word i put on paper feels robotic and stiff and terrible, and still finish what i started. it's hard work. it might not be worth the effort. but. that's what i do.

[hubbytaeil]

hello! i've been into taeil lately, so i was thinking about requesting him with prompts 46, 55, and 93, if possible. thank you in advance! 🌝💛

Taeil + #46 What’s this between us?, #55 Ruin me, #93 Don’t tell your parents

genre: angst, friends to lovers to strangers(?)

word count: 1k7 (this is taeil’s fault I swear)

warnings: smoking, slightly suggestive

a/n: now im s a d lol, this is what happens after bing watching sex and the city

-ˏˋ⋆ ̥  prompts ( send in your requests if you want <3)

This could be a dream, and yet it feels more like a nightmare. When you walked into your go-to bar, like you always do every other Friday, Taeil was the last person on Earth you thought you’d run into. The place is packed and certainly there isn’t enough space for you to run away and hide so you decide to just stand next to the counter with your friends, hoping he doesn’t come up to you.  

“Well, look who it is.” your blood freezes in your veins. You turn around in your heels slowly, preparing yourself for what you should say. “Hi, it’s been a long time.” You had broken up with him years ago and you hadn’t seen him after that. You knew that he was working for some corporate in the city but that was it. You had never run into him, not even once. To be fair, you had pictured how your eventual meeting would’ve turned out many times before, however all your fantasies can’t exceed this exact moment. Talking to him feels unreal, like being teleported back in time, a time before responsibilities, anxieties and fears. “You’ve grown taller, I see.” Taeil looks up at you pointing at your shoes. You hear your friends giggling behind you. “And you haven’t lost your sense of humour.” “That’s my only charm, you know that.” He swings his gin tonic in a circle before taking a sip. “C’mon, we both know that’s not true.” You reply gently tapping your fingers on your glass of Chardonnay. It’s definitely hard to keep eye contact, something is keeping your eyes glued to the counter. Taeil can feel it too, as he adjusts his tie.  

Fifteen years ago

“What do you mean you broke my mother’s favourite vase?!” “Exactly what it means, y/n. Oh God, please don’t tell your parents.” “Well, I’m not taking the blame again! Why the hell did you bring your football inside the house?!” “I’m sorry-” “That’s it, I’m never inviting you to my birthday party ever again.”

Those were the kind of fights you would have; you were only thirteen, life had only just begun.  

The days were filled with stupid notes passed during Math class, making fun of each other at lunchtime, eating ice scream at the park. If anyone could’ve ever been your first love, it would’ve been Taeil. You joined the music club just to spend more time with him, but you never said a word on the matter. You have such a clear memory of sitting through hours of rehearsals just to hear him play the piano. It was just a mere crush, you thought, it would fade away eventually. Yet, even now, every time you hear someone playing the piano you are taken back to that sweaty auditorium, you are taken back to the first time ever you had ever felt anything for someone. You are taken back to him.

“Do you still play?” you ask after letting your friends exchange pleasantries with Taeil, introducing him as an ‘old friend’. Inevitably, when one of the tables was cleared, they asked him to join in along with his friends.  

“Sometimes, not as much as I used to. Do you still sing?” Taeil mocks you and you cover your eyes in embarrassment. “Oh God, no.” Your conversation reaches the ears of everyone at the table. “Y/n, you didn’t tell you could sing!” “It was a school thing, I was awful.” An echo of disapproval invades your ears. “Don’t believe her!” Taeil shouts slapping a hand on the hard wood as if to prove his point. You go on saying how Taeil plays the piano magnificently to shift the centre of attention.  

The night goes on between a few drinking games and ridiculous anecdotes about college. Suddenly you ask Taeil if he’d like to accompany you outside to smoke a cigarette. “Since when do you smoke?” he questions, his tone is not judgmental in any way. “I don’t really smoke...” you begin to answer as you try to light up the cigarette. A gentle wind is blowing so Taeil helps by cupping the lighter, you thank him with a nod. “...only when I drink.” you finish after inhaling. Taeil raises an eyebrow in disbelief before pulling out a pack from his pocket. “I guess that makes two of us.” You start to grin and you find yourself unable to stop. “What it is?” “Nothing.” you respond as your grin transform into a full-on laughter. Taeil glances at you and finally gets on the same track as you and joins you. “Man, we’re old.” he exclaims taking a deep draw. “I guess.” “But you haven’t changed much since I last saw you.” You mean when I dumped you. You shut down the little voice of guilt. “Really? I don’t think so...” “You’re still gorgeous.” all of a sudden, the atmosphere is heavier.  

Ten years ago

“I think I’m love with you, y/n.” Taeil told you after making love for the first time. You stared at him in disbelief, unable to wrap your head around the concept of someone loving you back, more than anything your middle school friend who you had known for so long. Even after confessing to him your feelings, him saying he felt the same, all your friends congratulating you because they knew you two would’ve ended up together, you still couldn't believe you were holding the boy of your dreams right in your arms. But when you’re eighteen it’s hard to accept love, even if we long for it with such ache. For a while, you two had your share of fairy tale. For instance, when he kissed you on the first New Year’s Eve you spent as a couple in a square full of people. The fireworks reflected in his eyes but you ardently affirmed how those were in fact stars.  

So where did you go wrong? Why did what you had grow cold one day? During college you realised something was off. You thought the distance between you and your boyfriend Taeil couldn't jeopardise your relationship. However, as time went by, the physical distance slowly became emotional as well, you two being so invested in your lives.There lied the problem, you were starting to lead different lives. The few times you two could meet it didn’t feel genuine, you were trying to act like the people you once were. But those two were mere ghosts at that point.  

“Taeil, what’s this between us? "During the Christmas break of your senior year, you finally sat down with him to have the so dreaded discussion. It went on for hours, but Taeil wouldn't hear any of that. “No, I don’t believe this.” “Taeil, we’ve changed. Everything’s changed and I don’t know if we can go on like this. I don’t want to ruin your life by chaining you up to me.” “Ruin me, I don’t care.” It was like running in circles. The fight burned out eventually, leaving you two exhausted. You both looked up and you knew. “So, it’s over?” you nodded, unable to come up with an answer. He asked you if he could walk you up to your car one last time and you let him. “You know I’m going to win you back one day, right?” Taeil had tears in his eyes but he managed to smile at you. “We’ll see.”

It’s getting late and the bar is slowly emptying. Your friends begin to take off as well, leaving you and Taeil alone. “Do you want to share a cab, y/n?” “Oh, no thanks. I live just five minutes away.” “Oh.” Taeil hesitates before speaking out again. “If you want, I can walk with you. Only if you want.” “That would be nice.” your answer is sincere, not only because you’re kind of scared of walking alone at night, but because you want to keep talking to Taeil. You want to hear about everything you’ve missed, anything at all.  

You start walking side by side into the night, two pair of hands in your respective pockets. Taeil makes fun of the weird noise your heels make when hitting the sidewalk. “Oh, shut up! You’re just jealous!” “Yeah, you’re right. Do you have an extra pair? I could use the few inches.” It definitely doesn’t feel like chasing ghosts anymore. No, you’re just two childhood friends picking up where you’ve left off.

“Okay, I’m going to pop out the big question.” “Shoot.” “Are you seeing anyone?” you knew it was coming, sooner or later. You run through your possible answers and decide that there’s no point in lying. “Absolutely not.” Taeil assumes a shocked expression. “Why so categorical?” he chuckles. “It’s just... I haven’t had much luck.” You go on, counting down mentally how much time you have before you reach your door. “Good.” Taeil says point-blank. You glare at him not expecting him to call you out like that. “Excuse me?” “That means karma is real.” You both burst out laughing yet again. “What about you, mister Karma? Are you dating anyone?” Taeil stays silence for a bit before looking at you dead in the eye. “Absolutely fucking not.”  

“Well, this is it.” You point at your door with you finger. Now you’re both facing each other in front of the stairs. You’ve reached the endgame, and you’re dying to see how all of this will end. “This was nice, y/n.” “It really was.” another break of silence and you feel your heart giving in. You know you both want to say something, yet it feels impossible to make the first step. “Is it okay if-” Taeil stops mid-sentence which sticks a dagger in your chest. “Yes?” you barely whisper, anticipating whatever he’s going to say. “Is it okay if we see each other again? I mean, not as... but as friends. Is that alright?” Those words bring you a kind of happiness you never thought could be felt again. You take a good look at your old friend. His eyes still sparkle and you thank whoever it is that brought him back to you. “I think we can arrange that.” You don’t what’ll happen next, but it doesn’t scare you. In the air there’s a feeling of expectation which you breath in as you walk up the stairs to your door. “Y/n!” you turn around immediately, Taeil is about to get inside a cab. “Remember what I told you!” and just like that you watch him disappear into the night. This scene somehow looks familiar.

Can it be that It was all so simple then? Or has time re-written every line? If we had the chance to do it all again Tell me, would we? Could we?

[softboyscully]

Public School Stuff I Wanted to Share

public school is both beautiful and horrifying am i right

so ill just go by the grades i guess

Kindergarten, first year

i did kindergartden at a catholic school in a relativly big city so this one’s got some shit

we went to church every wednesday, me and best friend (lost track of her when we moved, wish we’d stayed in touch, she was awesome) would giggle the whole time, pretty sure we made fun of jesus once, can’t remember why, possibly the hair

i had the nicest teacher, she was (as i remember her) young, blonde, and super sweet, that was the first and last year i ever had naptime

SPEAKING of naptime

i never slept during it

once i found what i remember being a nut of some sort on the ground, probably came off someone’s shoe

i grab it, turn to sarah (my best friend), say something about putting it up my nose

sarah, apparently having common sense, says, “no dont do it!! we’re supposed to be sleeping!!”

i put it up my fucking nose

try to get it out, just push it farther in

im crying a little bit now, that shit hurts

go up to my teacher

“you’re supposed to be asleep!”

“i have a nut up my nose and it wont come out”

teacher tries to get it out, but it wont budge

just. sends me back to my mat

that was it

the art room was tiny

like re-purposed broom closet tiny

there was a copy of the mona lisa in the hallway, someone had drawn ray bans on it with a pencil, never got replaced

there was a creepy-ass basement i went down to after school, we ate cheeseballs and sandwiches with some kind of meat, mayo, and that kinda yellow bread

someone broke his leg down there once, think an older kid threw him at the ceiling or something

we learned how to play Silver Bells with actual bells in music class

Kindergarten, second year

i remember these two teachers as the evil step sister-type look, but it might be my little kid imagination

but seriously they were horrible

we learned stuff in a room that was more middle-school styled, except everything was green or black and it was v dark

me and sarah attained a new friend, john

honestly i think we would’ve stayed friends for a while if i didnt move away

i have two vivid memories

one is of me really wanting to go home, so i walked by the teacher’s desk and did a fake sneeze

they laughed at me and told me to go sit back down

the other is  john leaning his chair back and then falling, so me and sarah went to help him back up

it was funny, so he did it again

and again

me and sarah were laughing, had the time of our lives

after the maybe fifth time the teachers said “john can get back up by himself. sit down and stay there.”

one of the reasons we moved was bc i got sent a letter from my fourth grade buddie

most of the words weren’t spelled correctly, many letters were backwards

my mother was horrified

ofc now we know it was probably a learning disability 

1st grade

this is when i moved

beginning of school i was ASTOUNDED we didnt have uniforms, one of the best things ever to happen to me

nothing wrong with this teacher, she was cool

thing is i was a little shit

told everyone my dogs died (they did but i was maybe three when it happened, i remember it not)

all my personal narratives were bullshit (only one sticks in my memory, wrote it about celebrating christmas AND hanukkah with my dad’s friends who were jewish, i have never even met those friends)

had a crush on this kid, best friend (she was terrible and helped wreck me emotionally) told me to kiss him in music class. me being a stupid ass bitch, i did it, aND HE GOES TO THE TEACHER AND CALLS ME OUT. at the end of class she gets both of us to stay for a bit, AND I DENYIED EVERYTHING. i walked across the fucking classroom, kissed him on the cheek, ran away giggling, told my teacher i didn’t do anything, AND GOT AWAY WITH IT. i’ve embarrassed myself further with this child but thats another story

2nd grade

i loved this teacher but honestly he was absolute shit

like. all he did was play the guitar and sing with us

never actually taught us stuff???

middle of the year, my mom goes in for a parent-teacher conference, he tells her i dont pay attention is math.

“what do you mean?”

“she doesn’t listen, she just takes out a book and starts reading.”

“........have you.... tried taking the book away?”

“sure, i could try that.”

“o....kay”

he also told her i’d be a girl who’d grow up to love spellcheck (which i do lmao)

like ???? why not just??? teach me to spell????

there was this one dude who one day showed up, gave me a pink stuffed cat, and then asked me where i lived

funniest thing was he lived on the same street as me

something that is vivid in my memory is showing up to class one day and realizing that i was wearing my regular clothes over my pajamas

also we had fish

every day someone else was in charge of feeding them

one of the times it was my job, i grab the fish food and walk over to the tank only to find all of the fish floating on the top

i screamed “THE FISH CAN FLY?!?!?!?!?!”

everyone ran over, all of us scarred for life when Mr. G walks over and goes in the most normal voice ever “no theyre dead”

we held a funeral

the cause of death is still undetermined

3rd grade

this year just draws a blank for me

all i know is that whoever the teacher was, they neglected to teach me how to tell time from a clock

also we learned the Cotten Eyed Joe dance in gym around here

4th grade

i had two teachers this year

one was the same one from 1st grade, the other one was a total bitch

made a girl named hannah ball her eyes out once, never apologized

i was (and am) and avid reader, so my reading skills were high above average

instead of being proud of me she told me i was weird, not normal, and too smart for a 4th grader, so i MUST be cheating. 

she was the start of a lot of self confidence issues for me ngl

this was around the time i went and got tested for ADHD (me and my grandmother almost broke down on the highway but thats another story), Mrs. M (the nice one) was super supportive when i told her why i was leaving early but Ms. S (bitch) told me ADHD wasn’t real and i just wanted to be special for once

she sucked, Ms. S

5th grade

this is getting super long so this’ll be the last one i do

but my teacher..... Mr. F was A+++++

he legitimately taught me math

we had i guess like,,, a buddie class we switched with sometimes

the teacher of that class was Mrs. R, who had crazy red hair and many freckles

at one point she referenced a meme and my entire class started screaming

also there was another Mrs. S (to differentiate this one will be called Mrs. Su)

she was kind of crazy

she was the astronomy teacher and she told us many times that the moon landing was faked

once she handed out sunscreen and had everyone put it on their whole body (this was in december, fyi)

Mr. F also hosted an ‘archeological dig’ which sounds cool but in reality he had a bunch of arcade prizes from his childhood buried in little flower pots we dug into with plastic spoons

also heres some stuff i cants pinpoint the time of/happened in multiple grades:

someone held a who-can-scream-the-most-like-a-goat contest

a guy named Makenzie won

remember we planned it while the teacher left the classroom so the teacher walks back in and one by one everyone in the room starts screaming, there was some applause, a few kids got a standing ovation

we cleaned out our desks in the middle of the year, i found 3 socks and a dog treat in mine

like how the fuck did any of those things get there

and where’s the fourth sock

b o t t l e f l i p p i n g

but no seriously there were at least five water bottles stuck in the ceiling in the cafeteria

my sorta friend charlie was obsessed with paper airplanes

one time he might’ve broken the world record for longest time in the air but he was counting in his head and it was at recess so there was no video

four square and gaga ball would be played no matter the setting, time, or conditions and it was super competitive

like if you could get to king in four square you got the everlasting respect of everyone

and everyone was super educated on four square special rules, special plays, that kinda shit

no but guys i grew up with bus stop, candy store, haunted house on mondays, haunted mansion on fridays, zombies was fair game unless it was Zach, Ryan, Chrissy or Vee

me and one other guy named andrew were the only known pjo fans, had the time of our LIVES making refrences

“HEY ANDREW IM NOBODY”

“I HAVE WAITED YEARS FOR YOU, NOBODY, COME HERE AND FACE YOUR DEATH”

“hey annabeth, i thought you looked like a princess when i first saw you. i printed out a picture you sent me casually and kept it with me. i snuck along on a quest so i could save you, endangering myself immensely. i held the sky for you. when you talk about your crush on luke, i get jealous. beckendorf understood, but hes dead.”

“ikr we’re literally the best of friends”

“RIGHT”  

also the first time we finished mark of athena we were in the same classroom and we individually dropped the book, stood up, looked at each other, and screamed “WELL FUCK YOU TOO RICK RIORDAN”

[astralaffairs]

secret agent laf delivering the final blow like “this is for france!” and thomas like “i have literally no idea what youre talking about”

im sorry but u KNOW that his dumb ass just jumps to the stupidest conclusions he could possibly find 🤡

---

Thomas was sick of monotonous Fridays, but this wasn't exactly the antibiotic he was looking for.

He was still half asleep behind his desk. His secretary had long since left for the evening; by then, it was the receptionist on the ground floor, his dying potted plants, a few abandoned draft reports, and him. The quiet almost would've been peaceful had the siren song of the couch in his office not been seducing him into a much-needed slumber. It was only a few feet away; who'd know in the morning that he'd slept in the office.

But no -- he needed to focus. If he finished everything he needed done that night, the rest of the weekend could actually be relaxing, which seemed all but a pipe dream from where he was sitting. He'd just managed to lock himself into his most daunting task when the call box on his desk buzzed. He furrowed his brow, leaning over to respond.

He pressed his thumb down on the call button. "Hey, Nancy, who's here at ten PM?"

"The Marquis de Lafayette says he has a meeting with you."

His eyebrows shot up. What could Lafayette possibly be doing there? No matter what it was, he was sure it was more exciting than poring over financial records for the remainder of his night. "Alright. Yeah, send him up."

In the few minutes from then until the elevator dinged, signaling that Lafayette had reached the floor of his office, Thomas's focus was all but nonexistent. His curiosity (and deep, deep desire for a distraction) had the better of him, so when he finally saw Lafayette approaching, his face lit up.

"Hey, Laf, what're you doin' here so late?" Thomas raised an eyebrow, wore an easy smile as Lafayette let himself into his office. However, his unexpected visitor seemed far from lighthearted.

"I am 'ere on a bit of urgent business."

Thomas's eyebrows shot up as he heard the door lock, and his concern only grew at Lafayette's grim expression. "Yeah? What's up?" he asked hesitantly.

"As though you do not know."

Thomas creased his forehead at Lafayette's scowl, but when he whirled around toward him with a gun clutched tightly in his grip, Thomas jumped back, pushing his rolling chair away from the desk as though the distance would protect him.

"Woah, there. Hey, now, Lafayette, whatever's goin' on, I'm sure we can try and talk about it first."

Lafayette let out a mirthless laugh as Thomas took in his stature. He was dressed in black from head to toe, wearing leather gloves to keep his fingerprints separate from his handgun. "It is far too late for talking. Zis is for France." His tone was as hard as his gaze. However, his words just pushed Thomas's confusion further.

"...Wait, what?" Lafayette looked unamused by the question, but Thomas was asking in earnest. "I love France; you know that. I mean, 'm sorry I haven't been back in a while, but don't think I've abandoned the whole country, or anythin'."

The scowl written across Lafayette's face deepened, and Thomas could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage when he heart Lafayette cock his gun. "Save it. I 'ave no time for your games." When Thomas didn't respond, Lafayette rolled his eyes at his blank expression. "I know all about your entanglement with Maximilien Robespierre. Your affairs 'ave not gone unnoticed."

"...'My affairs'? That's what this is about? You think I've been cheatin' on Y/N?" Though the action felt audacious, Thomas rolled his chair back toward his desk, wearing what he hoped came off as a reassuring smile. "I swear, I'd never--"

"Do not play dumb with me, Thomas," he cut him off, low voice bordering on a snarl. "I did not come 'ere to listen to you try to make excuses."

Thomas swallowed. Apparently, whoever Lafayette's informant was, they were extremely convincing. "Now, really, even if you did think he 'n I were together, wouldn't this be a little extreme? 'S nice that you're concerned about Y/N and all, but..."

"Stop stalling! I know all about your lies and treachery." When he took a step forward, Thomas was staring down the barrel of his gun, eyes wide, but he didn't move his chair back, didn't make any more to run. Bringing a stapler to a gun fight seemed like it'd be a losing battle.

"'Lies and treachery'?" Thomas repeated, disbelief heavy in his voice, and Lafayette nodded expectantly. Searching the spite in his assailant's eyes, Thomas let out a soft sigh. "Oh, this is really 'cause we never invited you drinkin'? Laf, really, I would've, but I didn't think you knew anyone in the group."

A beat passed in complete silence when Thomas shrugged. It was Lafayette's turn to be stunned, then. Either Thomas was an impeccable actor, or the misunderstanding was genuine. The conclusions Thomas was drawing seemed to indicate the latter; Lafayette doubted his ability to hold his own at an improv club.

However, he drew in a shuddering breath, steeling his gaze down at Thomas. "I did not know any of zem because I do not associate myself with such scoundrels," he spat, and Thomas pursed his lips, hands raised in defense.

"It's alright to be jealous, but you don't gotta stoop to the level of attackin' my other friends over it," he said, and Lafayette's eyes widened. His front of aggression was slowly being shaken into annoyance by the pity in Thomas's gaze, and his gun had nearly fallen to his side. "Promise I love you every bit as much as I love them, alright?"

"Zis is not about my own feelings!" Lafayette yelled, striding toward him until he stood against the front of Thomas's desk, the cold metal of the gun just a hair away from the bridge of Thomas's nose. However, the man in question looked more startled than afraid.

"Hey, no need to hide it. You shouldn't bottle things up; 's not healthy," Thomas said, and though he was trying to play peacemaker, Lafayette could only take his gentle tone as condescending. "All you need to worry about it how you act on it."

"I am not 'acting on my feelings'! I am 'ere to make you pay for your betrayal," Lafayette scoffed, and Thomas pursed his lips. Unbeknownst to both of them, they were on opposite ends of two different conversations.

"Don't you think the gun's a little bit extreme, though?" he asked, creasing his brow. He appeared to be more worried for Lafayette's mental health than for the threat on his own life, and Lafayette wasn't exactly elated about the turn of events. "Listen, let's get outta here. I'll buy you a drink, and we can talk everything over, alright?"

"I 'ave no interest in associating with ze likes of you." Lafayette's glare deepened, and Thomas's concerned frown fell into a disappointed one, the empathy in his eyes fading.

"Really? Now you're gonna degrade me over this?" he asked, reaching back for his computer mouse. He seemed to quickly be losing interest in the conversation Lafayette was trying to have. "You're bein' unreasonable, Laf. I'm allowed to have other friends."

Lafayette huffed. "Not zat kind of friends."

"For the last time, I'm not sleepin' with Robespierre!" Thomas looked beyond incredulous when he turned back to Lafayette, and Lafayette furrowed his brow. His hard stance faltered as he searched the conviction in Thomas's expression, and the other man continued, "C'mon, let's take a breather and then we can talk this all through."

There was a skip. "Do you really not know what it is I am talking about?"

"No, no, no, I get it. Believe me," Thomas said quickly, and he'd managed a kind smile by then as Lafayette's arm fell to his side, the point of his gun dropping far from its target. "I don't mean to invalidate your feelings, or anythin'. 'S just nothin' we can't work out, okay?"

Lafayette's brow was furrowed; his shoulders relaxed, but he was still squinting at Thomas as though trying to see past his expression. "... 'Ave you truly not been colluding with Maximilien?"

"Nah, we're just old friends. Nothin' more, nothin' less." Thomas shrugged, and though he hesitated for a long moment, Lafayette tucked his gun back into its holster. "We've honestly lost touch over the past couple years, but I'm over it."

"I..." Apparently, he and Thomas weren't quite on the same page. Lafayette couldn't gauge for the life of him how genuine Thomas's confusion was, but he also couldn't find a single flicker of inconsistency in his kind expression. He'd finally been presented with the circumstance he'd been looking for throughout the past three years, but his reasonable doubt was holding him back. "I am sorry, Thomas. I believe I am going to need to... touch base with someone. Zere may 'ave been a misunderstanding."

To Lafayette's surprise, Thomas chuckled lightly. "'S alright. It happens, right?" When Lafayette didn't respond, his struggle with his conscience was written across his face, and as Thomas leaned in to power off his computer on his desk, he added, "Know you'd forgive me if the roles were reversed."

"Of course." Lafayette's words were weak, but Thomas's smile in response was bright. He adjusted the jacket of his suit, glancing back out the window to Thomas's office, and sighed. "I should go."

"No, no, c'mon; you don't need to get outta here just 'cause we had a little miscommunication," Thomas reassured him, and Lafayette raised his eyebrows, gaze heavy with disbelief. Perhaps Thomas was simply a better man than he, but being interrogated at gunpoint was far from Lafayette's idea of 'a little miscommunication.' "I'm about to head out anyway. Wanna come get drinks with me 'n Y/N? 'M sure she wouldn't mind the company."

Thomas pushed himself up out of his seat and pulled on his coat, began packing the files he'd sorted into his briefcase. "Zat is alright," Lafayette said. "I am sure I 'ave already put enough of a strain on your evening."

"Hey, c'mon, don't worry about it, okay?" Thomas nudged his shoulder playfully as he stood, beginning to button up his jacket, but Lafayette sighed.

"You are too quick to forgive me."

Thomas grinned. "Nah, that's just what friends do. Now, you comin' out with us to the bar on West 26th, or what?"

Lafayette eyed his hopeful expression for another long moment, and the offer seemed entirely to be in earnest. All his trust was vested in France's Directorate-General for External Security, but he was praying by then that he'd simply been fed misinformed intelligence. Thomas quirked a brow.

"... I suppose."

"Good. 'M glad we could work this out."

"As am I, Thomas," Lafayette sighed, and they started together toward the door. "Believe me."

[kyber-kisses]

Torrential (3/3)

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: more cursing, more fluff, more Dean being totally in love and not knowing what to do

Summary: Deans tries to keep his feelings buried, but its extremely hard when Y/N is just so damn perfect.

A/n: I’m sorry this took so long to finish, i currently have the worst case of writers block and it feels like I've been stuck in an endless loop of zero inspiration. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy and feedback is always appreciated!

It was like some sort of weird drug.

That was one of the only ways Dean could describe his feelings. Everything was fine one second, and the next? You’d just waltz into the room and his palms would get sweaty and he would suddenly be stumbling on his words. 

Okay- so more accurately you were like a drug, and Dean was addicted. He partially blamed Sam for this. He was the one that had helped him realize his feelings towards you. His little brother had got him hooked on the drug that was Y/N Y/L/N.

For a moment he also blamed the damn thunderstorm still raging outside. It hadn’t let up and with each passing day Dean swore that he was falling deeper in love with you. You would still sit with the door open while you read and every once and awhile you would just patter into the room drenched to the bone with a smile that out shined the sun smeared across your face.

You were addicted to the rain just like the older Winchester was addicted to you. You came in drenched with water and Dean stayed drenched in love. It was somehow poetic, and the hunter had no idea what to do with it. He’d never felt this way about anyone before.

You had gotten up from your armchair awhile ago, disappearing into the confines of the bunker to do knows what, leaving him to steep in silence as he tried to come to terms with the truth. Even if it had been days, he still found it hard to believe. Should he tell you? Or should he just keep it buried as his little secret until eventually time ran out?

So caught up in his thoughts, He almost didn’t notice your return until you were siding up next to where he was seated, the laptop in front of him going unnoticed as he stayed locked in the zone.

“Grilled cheese for your thoughts?” You smiled, offering over the delicacy you had balanced on a plate, earning his attention as he turned to look at you.

“You made me grilled cheese?”

“Uh, yeah? You seemed a bit out of it earlier so I thought what better way to gain your attention than to bribe you with cheese and bread?” You grinned, sticking the plate out for him to take.

“You know me so well.”

“I know.” Sinking down into the chair besides him, you crossed your arms. “You wanna tell me why you’ve been acting so off lately?”

“I haven’t been acting off.”

Raising an eyebrow, you swiped half of the sandwich. “Try again cowboy. You’ve been awfully quiet these past few days.”

Shit. Had he really been that off? He thought he had been covering it up just fine. Clearly that was not the case.

Dean let out a sigh, picking off little pieces of crust from his portion of the sandwich. He just had to try and cover it up again. Throw you off so you didn’t poke anymore. He was afraid that if you did he wouldn’t be able to hold anything back.

“Do you wanna go on a walk?”

and there went that plan. . .

“A walk? Dean, it’s raining.” You shot him a quizzed look, his question catching you even more off guard. “And no offense but I thought you hated the rain.”

“I don’t hate it!” He fired back, standing up and reaching for his coat. “It’s just not- my ideal weather.”

Watching him walk towards the stairs, you tried to piece together what was going on with him, only to come up blank. You couldn’t for the life of you pin point why he was acting so weird.

“You coming or not?”

“Sheesh, calm down. Let me put on my jacket.” Tugging the canvas material over you body you let your feet carry you quickly across the room and up the stairs, Dean grabbing the lone umbrella that stayed propped against the railing most days.

Holding the door open for you, you stepped out into what felt like a never ending downpour. Rain beaded down the paintwork of the impala, bouncing off of every hard surface. The sound coming from every direction except down and the storm drains bubbling with brown runoff from the lonely dirt road. There was a subtle swoosh sound from behind you and a moment later the feeling of water dripping onto your head ceased, Dean standing besides you with the open umbrella:

“You know, you’re probably the last person I ever expected to just get up and go on a walk with. You shun exercise.”

“Oh shut up. This isn’t exercise.” Stepping up the stone stairs side by side, Dean adjusted his grip on the umbrella, making sure you were both protected from the downpour- not that you cared though. “This is- this is a leisurely stroll.”

“Ah. Got it. . . Still not like you at all.” You shot him an amused grin before linking your arm with his and pulling yourself closer to the Winchester. Thankfully for Dean, you hadn’t noticed his surprised look when you did it, the tender action catching him off guard as he looked down at your linked arms. Everything in him was telling him to pull away, to sever the connection before he fell even further. . . But he couldn’t. It was like a magnet kept him close to you, making it impossible for him to do anything rationally.

The two of you walked in silence for a few minutes, the sounds of your boots hitting the shallow puddles almost being drowned out by the droplets smacking against the material of the umbrella.

“Why do you like the rain so much?” He suddenly questioned, shifting to stick his free hand into his pocket. “You never told me.”

And like so many times before, Dena watched as your eyes lit up, a soft smile pulling at your lips and making the corners of your eyes crinkle. “Why do you want to know?”

“Just wondering.”

“You want the long answer or the sort one?”

Dean shrugged, doing his best to act casual in the whole situation. “I don’t care. Whatever you want.”

You smile grew at his response, taking in the hunter as you did so. How could someone be so complicated and so simple at the same time?

“I love the rain. I always have. It brings life and fills the earth. It smells good too- it smells fresh. Clean.” You paused. “And the sound? People always explain it as a steady pitter patter but I always compared it to the crackle of an old radio coming to life. The rain has always made me feel safe and secure. kind of like you.”

You paused once more, looking over the hunter you still linked arms with, taken back by his expression.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that? Is it really that cheesy?”

“No,no.” Dean quickly interjected, the soft smile on his lips slowly growing, eyes full as he gave you his attention. “I just like hearing you talk about things you love. You get excited.”

At that your grin grew, eyes almost as bright as his. “And what about you, Dean Winchester?”

“What about me?”

“What things do you love? What things make you happy? Besides double bacon cheeseburgers and your car of course.”

Dean tried to hide the falter in his steps, almost soaking his foot in a puddle with the action. So. . . He may have dug himself into a small hole with that one small comment.

Quick, Dean. Give her an answer. . . Preferably not the first thing that comes to mind.

“Y/N, you already know the things I love.”

“I know some things. I doubt I know everything.” You corrected him, giving his bicep a squeeze as you did.

“I love hunting, and classic rock.”

“Dean, I already know those things!”

The hunter shrugged in defense, practically white knuckling the umbrella handle in a futile attempt to keep himself in check. “I don’t know what to tell you Y/N! You know everything about me!”

“Oh c’mon. There has to be something. Give me something that will surprise me.”

“Y/n, I’m telling you. You already know what I love. I can’t surprise you.”

With a groan you un-linked your arm from his, once again stepping out into the downpour, tilting your face skyward. “And I’m telling you: I sincerely doubt that.”

“You do know if you do that your gonna have to walk back in wet clothes, right?” Dean grinned, watching as you hopped into a puddle, the childish part of you shining through with the small action as you got distracted.

“Does it look like I care?”

And then before the older Winchester even had a chance to react to ripped the umbrella from his grasp and snapped it shut, successful drenching him in a similar fashion to yourself.

“Y/N! What the hell?!”

“It’s just water, silly.” You laughed, suddenly choosing to hop from puddle to puddle momentarily. “Sure, it doesn’t look partially nice from under the umbrella, but once you’re out in it, it ain’t so bad.”

Squinting through the sheet of rain dividing you, Dean took in your features. tiny rivulets of water slid down your face, dripping of the top of your nose and collecting on your lips. Your hair at this point slicked back by the amount of water it had collected as well. 

God, you were beautiful.

“You.”

Your childish antics quickly ceased, your figure spinning around to face him. “What?”

“You asked me what do I love. That’s my answer.” He swallowed, suddenly finding it difficult to do so. “You. I’m- im in love with you.”

It was almost painful to stand there and watch you. Your eyes widened and you froze in the middle of a particularly big puddle, the last of the ripples you had made slowly beginning to fade. You blinked. Once. Twice.

“Okay, you gonna say something or you just gonna stand there and make me feel even more uncomfortable than I already am?”

You stayed silent for another minute, successfully stunned to silence by his words. Dean Winchester. . . In love with you?

“Me?”

“Yes, You.”

“Are you sure? I’m fucking crazy.”

“Yes, I’m damn sure. Why do you think I’ve been so quiet lately?” He paused, drawing in a breath.

“That’s why you were so quiet?! I thought you were mad at me!”

“I wasn’t mad at you!” Stomping through the small puddles, Dean came to a halt in front of you, wiping the rain from his vision, even if it only lasted a moment. “I just- I didn’t know what to do. I love you- I’ve been in love with you Y/N. Probably long before I even realized I was.” It was like the rain was a whole different kind of liquid courage, because like a switch being flicked the words just flowed out easily.

There was silence from your end again as you took in his words and then slowly but surely a smile spread across your face. “Dean.”

“What?”

“Well, I thought we were saying things we loved, right?”

It took a minute for the gears to click into place in his brain but you could pinpoint the moment they aligned, Deans eyes widening at the realization. “Wait- you-“ he never finished because you quickly flung your arms around him, and sweetly pressed your lips against his.

And then the bastard slipped. He fucking slipped. You don’t know how but all off a sudden his arms were around you, and his feet went out from underneath him, and Dean Winchester successfully pulled you to the muddy earth with him, your heads bonking during the decent as you let out a yell.

Except this time the hunter softened your fall as you landed on his chest, earning a harsh oof from him.

“Oh god, I’m sorry-“ bracing your hands on either side of his head, you pushed most of your body weight off him, your face hovering bunches from his own.

“You okay?”

“I’m okay. Are you? I think I crushed your lungs.” The words slowly fading on your lips as you quickly lost yourself in his eyes.

“Y/N.”

“Dean.” His name left your lips breathlessly, and then his arms snakes around your waist and pulled you flush against him, and you were kissing again. Dean swore he could taste the rainwater on your lips, and they were even more lush then they looked. His hands curled along your back, tracing your shape as he did.

Okay- so maybe you were right. The real thing wasn’t so bad once you stepped out into the downpour. It might be unsettling at first- but the feeling soon melts away.

*. *. *. *. *. *.

Maybe love is like rain. Sometimes gentle, sometimes torrential, flooding, eroding, joyful, steady, filling the earth, collecting in underground springs. When it rains, when we love, life grows. - Carol Gilligan

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[grumpyhedgehogs]

Liar, Liar

Summary: Virgil comes back from telling Thomas his secret. Deceit is there to pick up his pieces. 

Platonic Anxceit

Warnings: Panic Attacks, lying, unhealthy coping mechanisms. 

Deceit finds him in record time after the video. He’s barely finished rising up into his own room, the camera isn’t even cold in the living room, Thomas has yet to even move from his shocked, stock-still position when Virgil left, but Deceit is there already. Waiting. Always waiting for Virgil.

And he knows, oh, he knows just what the others would say if they were to see Virgil this way. They would be disgusted with how easily he falls into the other’s arms. They’d be horrified by him burying his face into the liar’s neck and clutching at him like he might crumble beneath Virgil’s fingertips. They’d be nauseated by Deceit’s reaction: a soft cooing noise in Virgil’s ear, a hand cupping the back of his head gently, fingertips stroking a steady path down his spine. 

“I t-told hi-im. I to-old T-th-tho-”

“Shh,” Deceit soothes. “I know, I know. I felt it.”

Virgil hiccups, sobs. His breath is hitching too much in his chest, oxygen isn’t getting to his brain, he’s going to hyperventilate but does that even matter anymore, does he even matter anymore, now that Thomas knows?

No, he doesn’t matter anymore because now Thomas knows and everyone will hate Virgil and he’ll have to leave and then he’ll only have Deceit and Deceit probably hates him for leaving in the first place and he’ll leave too and Virgil will be all alone in the dark.

“I will always leave you,” Deceit lies to him. “Always.”

“N-n-n-no,” Virgil denies, sure of it. His breath is hot on the other side’s neck. He’s created a moist, disgusting little cave between his own face and the other’s neck and he tries to pull away, sure Deceit must be uncomfortable, he must hate this, being so near to Virgil, God he’s a wreck and now he’s messing up Deceit’s clothes, oh good just another reason for Deceit to hate him like there aren’t enough already-

Deceit’s hand on the back of Virgil’s scalp tightens, though, and his other arm locks like an iron bar against Virgil’s back, preventing him from moving too far away. Deceit keeps up a stream of shushing noises and he guides Virgil’s face back into the crook of his neck. He makes an encouraging murmur when Virgil’s hands lift and clutch, white-knuckled, at his collar. He threads his fingers into Virgil’s hair and strokes, heavy handed and grounding. 

“You shouldn’t remember your counting,” Deceit says. 

“I can’t-can’t-”

“I won’t help you.”

Deceit runs through the paces with him, four-seven-eight, four-seven-eight, four-seven-eight. The first time Virgil can’t even get passed three seconds before he has to let go of the shallow breath he’s holding. It takes a long time before he can let it out without his chest hitching painfully and Deceit has to start over again. But finally, over half an hour later, Deceit gets to eight and Virgil’s lungs deflate obediently. 

Virgil doesn’t try to move away again even when his panic starts to receed down his throat, curling in a familiar, uncomfortable coil at the base of his stomach. He drops one arm to hold himself around the waist, bearing down like the pressure will alleviate the ache that’s all in his head. His other hand still holds Deceit’s collar, but loosely now. The other’s grip has not relaxed.

Deceit waits him out. 

“He hates me, Dee,” Virgil whispers into his old friend’s skin. Deceit hums a denial.

“He doesn’t,” Deceit rebukes. Virgil feels more than sees him shaking his head when Virgil jerks against him. Grief wells up, clogs his lungs and stuffs his nose until Deceit grips him even tighter. “I’m going to drop the lying for a second, Virgil. Trust me, Thomas doesn’t hate you. No one hates you.”

“You hate me,” Virgil says in a small voice. Deceit huffs and the warm puff of air on Virgil’s ear tickles in a way he remembers from when he was small, just newly formed, and Deceit used to carry him in his arms. 

“I could never hate you, dear. Where would I be without my little stormcloud?”

“But I- I left.”

Deceit’s chest expands slowly against his own as he sighs. “You flew the coop. That’s what kids do. And all in all, I guess you could have picked worse places to land than with the Light Sides.”

Virgil’s blank for a while after that. Deceit seems comfortable rocking them both slightly, humming under his breath, a pleasant rumble under Virgil’s cheek. He’s always tried to be patient with Anxiety; God knows Virgil always required a lot of patience to deal with.

“But even if you don’t hate me,” Virgil points out lowly, “doesn’t mean Thomas doesn’t.”

Logan would probably tell him to stop giving in to his Cognitive Distortions. Deceit just brushes his hand through his hair again and lets up enough for Virgil to pull his face away from his neck finally. Deceit hooks a finger underneath Virgil’s chin, waits until Virgil is comfortable meeting his mismatched gaze, and arches an unimpressed eyebrow. 

“You think that if I, one of the worst parts of Thomas, don’t hate you,” Deceit clarifies, “Thomas himself will?”

And wouldn’t it be so nice, Virgil thinks, to believe him? Wouldn’t it be a balm on the tear in his chest that refuses to close, the black hole beneath sucking all the light and hope out of the world? Wouldn’t it stop Virgil’s bleeding heart in its tracks if he could simply take Deceit’s word at face-value and know- not pray, not wish, not plead, but know- that Thomas will accept him no matter what?

But Virgil is Anxiety. He is fight or flight. He is an aspect of self-preservation at its most base sense. And Virgil knows that if a threat were to linger so close to him, disguised as a friend for so long, he’d never hesitate to tear it out of his life. To burn out every memory of it, to rip his goodwill for it to shreds and drown out the rest.

And so he can’t fault Thomas for readying himself to do the same to Virgil.

“Lie to me,” he asks. Deceit blanches, for the first time seeming out of his depth. Virgil has never asked this of him. “Please lie to me.”

“Virgil.” Deceit warns. His features are more pointed now, his scales more highly detailed against his skin. He always gentled himself when Virgil had panic attacks but now, wary as he is of this new request, he is in sharp definition. The yellow of his slit eye gleams in the dark of Virgil’s room.

“Lie to me!” He tries to make his voice demanding, sure, authoritative. He tries to insert some reverberation into it, give into his darkness if only to find this small comfort. His fingers clench around Deceit’s collar again, but all he succeeds in sounding is broken.

“You don’t want this.”

“Please,” Virgil whispers. “It’s- it’s all I have.”

Deceit sighs. He releases Virgil, takes a step back, draws himself up to his full height. He sweeps the hat off his head and sheds the bright gloves. Virgil closes his eyes as a sob hitches up under his ribcage again.

When he opens them again, Thomas is only inches away, smiling softly at him. It makes his airways close. He gulps down more tears. Wet warmth still trails furrows into his cheeks.

“Don’t cry, Virge,” Deceit says in Thomas’s voice. He cups Virgil’s face with Thomas’s hands, wipes the tears away with Thomas’s thumbs, smiles with Thomas’s eyes and mouth and dimples. “It’s okay. I love you.”

Virgil closes his eyes, leans into the hands that he wishes were true, and tries to trick himself into believing. Just for a little while. 

[hockeybabestars]

New Year, Same Us - Auston Matthews - Eight

a/n: im going out of town for a football game/visiting friends this weekend and i’m not bringing my computer so i thought i would post this early for yall!! thank you to every person who has been keeping up with this story and liking or reblogging! you mean so much to me! i hope yall enjoy the longest chapter of new year same us, to make up for the shortest in chapter seven (yikes!) we’re almost through with this story yall! we have a lil flashback in this chapter! (in italics) and finally have the prompt that started it all! (in bold)

September 18, 2018

Austons P.O.V

“Aus?!” She yelled from her room. “Are you almost ready?” 

I had been ready for 20 minutes and was sitting on our couch waiting for her to finish up. “Yeah I’m ready now!” I rolled up my sleeve to get a better look at my watch, “are you almost ready? It would look really bad if my plus one made us late.” I snicker as I heard her heels clack, the light to the hallway going off simultaneously.

 I got up from the sofa as she entered, and boy, was I going to have to keep an eye on her tonight. She looked stunning. The light pink dress cinched her curves in all the right places, and her hair was in waves. She was like something out of a dream. She didn’t bat an eye as she went to the kitchen looking for the keys. I came up behind her and dangled them in her face, and before she could snatch them I pulled them away. She reached for them again but I held them behind my head, and suddenly she was all too close to my face. I glanced down at her lips, wanting to kiss them badly but then I quickly diverted back up to her eyes. “You look stunning (Y/N).”

I could feel her breath hitch against my own lips and the minty flavor of her gum hit my nose before she smiled genuinely, her signature smile where her lips tilted a little crooked at the corners, and it made my heart flutter. “Thanks Aus, you don’t look too bad yourself.” 

She stepped away and we did a once over of our apartment, making sure we didn’t forget anything. I grinned and opened our front door for her, watching her walk as she went. I locked the door and we went down the hall towards the elevator, “just out of curiosity,” she toyed with a strand of her hair, eyes flicking up to me through long lashes, “how much did your suit cost?” She was smirking at me and I couldn’t resist really. “Wanna bet on it?” The elevator dinged for us to get on and she rolled her eyes, “do I even have a choice?”

“No use fighting at this point babydoll.” I flashed her my signature smirk as the floor indicator ticked down.

“Does that really work on girls?” She played.

“Apparently not on you.” I laughed but deep down I kinda hoped it did.

“It’s because I know you better than you know you.” She stated matter of factly. She did though. That was the scary part. We hit the first level and strolled out, before she added thoughtfully, “did you want it to work on me?”

I felt my cheeks flame, and was thankful she was walking slightly ahead of me, “uhh,” I faltered before gaining my confidence back, “depends on if you wanted it too.” 

She stopped for a split second, giving me a chance to catch up before she continued walking, this time leaning into me a little bit, “maybe.”

My heart jumped at that, “Still wanna make that bet?” I opened the car door for her. She thanked me and I hopped in the drivers side.

“Am I betting high or low.” She gave me side eye as she buckled her seat belt and we were off.

“What do you think?” I grinned. There’s no way she gets this. “Do you know your suits? What brand am I even wearing?” I smiled. 

I could feel her eyes on me as mine were on the road, and she reached over and ran her finger down the lapel of it, feeling the fabric. I tried to concentrate on the road but she was leaned over the console examining the details of my suit, looking for anything that would give away the designer or price. I needed to think fast, I could tell this would be a long night already and it hadn’t really even begun. 

I swatted her hand away, “hey stop it! that’s cheating.” I smiled and looked over at her as we hit a light. She placed her palm flat against my chest as she mocked me, pulling her lower lip into a pout. I could feel my heartbeat pick up and surely she could too.

 “Just seeing what I have to work with Aus.” The nickname melted off her tongue like butter and really I only like it when she says it anyway. The light flashed green and I grabbed her hand off my chest, entwining our fingers together and resting them over the middle console. “I’m betting high, what like $7,000? Is that too much for a suit? What is it Gucci? Aren’t you like their poster boy or something?” 

I laughed at her accusations and she squeezed my hand a little too hard. “Ow! Jeez woman that hurt. Those are my money makers!” 

She swatted at me again, “sorry not sorry. Isn’t like half your closet Gucci or something. I feel like I should know this but I’m really drawing a blank here.”

A smile crept up onto my face. She’s cute when she’s thinking too hard. She always over thinks or over-analyzes everything. It’s like it’s written in her DNA or something.

She looked over at me and I attempted to keep a straight face, “it’s Gucci isn’t it.” I nodded. “$7000 close?”

I kept a tight lip. She turned towards me, “it’s fuckin higher isn’t it!!!” Her voice raised towards the end and I burst out laughing. 

“$10,000.” Her jaw dropped, “what do I get since you couldn’t guess it?”

“I can’t believe you spent $10,000 on a suit.” She was in awe, “that’s like a trip to Europe, or a down payment on a car, what are you psycho?”

“Are you really belittling me right now?” I chuckled, “you guessed $7,000 that’s just as high!!!” 

“Yeah but-“

“But what? $7000 okay to drop but $10 is too much?” Her face went blank as she tried to process it and I howled as her eyebrows knit together. She was something else.

“I hate you.” She fought to keep the smile off her face.

“Your mouth says otherwise.” She covered her lips with her hands as we pulled up to the venue, she finally pulled them off as we valeted the car. And as we walked into the rustic barn I elbowed her a bit, grinning wildly, “seriously though, what’s my prize since you didn’t guess right?” 

She linked our arms as we tried to figure out where we were sitting and smirked at me, “Bragging rights.”

“I bet we could make it a little more interesting.”

“Oh of course you bet huh.”

“You owe me a dance.”

She pouted. “Aus-“ 

“Nuh-Uh. We’re dancing later, it’s the least you can do.”

I can tell she wanted to press me further but instead she just nodded, “Okay.”

“Wow, I didn’t think that would be this easy. I need to win bets more often.” I knew how much she hated dancing. It was because she had two left feet and literally tripped over herself on any normal day. She didn’t like to embarrass herself. The truth was, she wasn’t a bad dancer at all. She could dance fine by herself, especially after a drink or two. But she was clumsy enough that partner dancing wasn’t really her thing. I always try to get her to at weddings and events but she doesn’t budge. She's stubborn as hell, but it’s why I love her. She doesn’t change for anyone. Not even me. I always ended up finding some random bridesmaid to dance with at these things, but tonight she was mine. 

We wandered further into the barn stopping for a few pictures together before the ceremony as Paige snapped away on her phone and a film camera as well. Mitch and Steph found their way to us too and soon enough we had group pictures with the six of us, then guys, girls, and finally as we finished up it was about time to find our seats. 

The Tavares wedding was really going to be something. Greenery was everywhere and there was a modern feel to their set up even with the more natural elements. I put a hand on (Y/N)’s lower back and guided her to our seats on the grooms side. We were in the middle back and slid into the refurbished white bench with ease, the rest of our group following suit, filing into the row after us. I wrapped an arm around the back of (Y/N)’s seat as she crossed her ankles, leaning into me while we waited for the ceremony to start. A comfortable silence settled over us and somehow both our free hands found each other on their own accord. Soon enough she was playing with my fingers, clasping and unclasping them, tracing the outline of my hand and holding our palms up to watch our hands align. It was something we had done plenty of times before. Whenever we got bored or were watching Netflix or at family events. It was inevitable that our hands would meet. Her hand was a lot smaller than mine, and we quietly played a game of thumb wars before the loud chattering settled down. I could hear the preacher say to rise, so I gently grabbed her hand in mine and lead her up. She was still leaning into me as we waited for the bride to make her way down the aisle. 

John and Aryne chose to say their own vows although short and sweet. It was nice. Being here, celebrating them. (Y/N) was the perfect wedding date. She was classy and reserved when needed but could definitely open up and make conversation with anyone who approached her. And soooo many people approached her. Which was crazy because she was the plus one. But that’s just (Y/N), stealing everyone’s heart the way she stole mine. 

It had to be obvious at this point. I thought my incessant flirting and annoying her every chance I got would be enough to give her the hint, but apparently not. I thought that living together was another sign that maybe I was kind of into her but she just took it at face value since it was the most logical option. I think I really realized how I've felt this past May. I mean, it was there all along, but I didn’t admit it to myself until then. She started hooking up with some random guy at college, and when I walked into some kid in our apartment it made my stomach lurch. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that sick in my life.

I had talked to her earlier in the day. We were on a long road trip in the west and I was excited to get back and see her. 

It felt like maybe things had been changing between us lately, and I wanted to get back and test the waters a little just to see if she even felt a tiny bit the same. It was easy with her. I missed her like crazy, constantly texting to see what she was up to, and sending snapchat updates of what the boys and I were doing, just because I knew she would send a picture back and I could see that gorgeous face again. 

Our flight was delayed because weather in Toronto was pretty bad.  And we didn’t end up landing till pretty late. I texted her when we landed at 12 that I would be home soon. I never got a response so I figured she was asleep. 

What I didn’t expect, when I came home at 1am on a Saturday, was some random guy going through the cupboards in our kitchen with just his boxers on. 

“Uh who are you?” I had a sour taste in my mouth.

The guy looked up from his position on the floor, going through the bottom cabinets and I swear almost shit himself. “Oh my god you’re Auston Matthews.” I frowned. Oh jeez a hockey fan, how rare in this city! He shook his head in disbelief and stood up, walking over to me and put his hand out for me to shake. I took it, begrudgingly. “I’m Reese, it’s really nice to meet you, although I never thought it would be like this.”

I scoffed, but he didn’t seem to notice. He found (Y/N)’s post it notes on the kitchen island and pulled one off handing it to me, “do you think you could sign this for me?”

“What the hell is going on here? Reese I thought-” (Y/N) ‘s voice sounded a little groggy, like she might’ve been sleeping, but when she came out of her room, only clad in black lace underwear and a t-shirt I presumed to be his, my breath caught in my throat. One because she looked damn good. And two because she was wearing his clothes and practically nothing else. I felt a fire in my chest. I swallowed hard and tried to remain neutral. 

When she finally realized I was home her eyes went wide. “Oh, uh, hey Aus.”

“(Y/N) you didn’t tell me your roommate was the Auston Matthews.” This guy was still here?

She uncomfortably glanced over at me. Yeah me too. “Uh roommate? Try best friend.” I said smugly.

“I didn't see a reason to bring it up.” She said. Ouch that hurt.

“Sorry Reese bro, but I’m gonna have to ask you to leave, I really need to get to bed and I’m sure your friend (Y/N) here can fill you in on all the dirty details later. Have a great night.” I walked past them and into my room, shutting the door. Trying to get ready for bed without my head exploding from everything that just happened. I waited until I could hear him leave before I went and knocked on her door.

“What Matthews?” I opened it slightly and peered in, leaning on the door frame and watching her fix her bedding a bit, now in another old t-shirt. 

“Matthews huh? Can I come in?” She nodded and crawled under the white comforter patting the spot next to her. I sat down on top of it before rethinking this whole situation. “Actually can we go to my room?” I wasn’t really comfortable that they just fucked in here and wasn’t too keen on sitting in the bed that someone else got to touch her in. 

She nodded and as I grabbed her hand, I felt tingles. I didn’t dare to look behind me as I lead her to my room. We crawled under the covers and sat against the headboard.

 We stared up at the ceiling a bit before she turned to me. “You’re so dramatic.” 

I looked over to her and I could tell she was slightly upset. “But I know that’s not exactly the most fun thing to come home to and I’m sorry.”

“S’okay. Were you ever gonna tell me you were kinda seeing someone?” My jealousy got the best of me, and I couldn’t help but let it seep into my voice a little as I ask.

“No not really, you never tell me when you do...So.” She shrugged, and I tilted my head back a little, groaning.

“You don’t tell people we’re friends either?” It sucked knowing that maybe she was ashamed of me for whatever reason. I always told everyone about her. I loved to talk about her and how proud I am of her for working hard in college and her internship which she officially secured, and just being the amazing, kind hearted person that she is.

“It’s different… I- I don’t tell strangers or people I just met or at least until I have a grasp on their personality. I stopped doing that a long time ago. I can never tell if they want to be friends with me, or have a relationship with me, for me or to get to you.” 

“Oh.” It sucks, but it makes sense.

“Oh. Is right. Also I don’t want people to be up either of our asses if they're just clout chasers.” She smiled, shaking her head as I laughed, “Just not how I want to spend my time.”

I sighed, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to kick him out, that was just weird and I wasn’t expecting you to have company and-“

“Auston. It’s okay. I should’ve warned you in some way, or gone to his place. Maybe this whole thing could’ve been prevented. I’m the one who’s sorry. That situation was pretty awkward.” I don’t want her at some guys place. I want her with me.

I grabbed her hand and placed a soft kiss on her cheek. My stomach churning as I did so, “Stop worrying. Don’t be sorry either. We good?” She nodded and entwined our pinky’s. “Always.” And with that she slipped out of the darkness of my room and back down the hallway to hers. And my heart ached with every step.

Maybe I wasn’t doing enough, maybe I just needed to be upfront. 

I took a swig of the beer I was drinking and set it back on the table as I watched her converse with Steph, Paige, and Aryne, Probably complementing the bride on her gown and the allure of the wedding.

Pretty soon we were eating steak, mashed potatoes and wedding cake, and my stomach was all too full when the bride and groom shared their first dance. I looked to (Y/N) to see her swooning at John and Aryne adoringly. She was facing the back of her chair, hands resting on the back of it, and chin resting on her hands. “Don’t you just love those two together?” Her nose crinkled. It was really cute.

I stood and held my hand out to her as other couples started to join in on the dance floor. She looked up to me, eyes slightly glazed from her glasses of champagne, but I knew she was at a good level. Sober enough to make good decisions, buzzed enough to have a good time. “Are you gonna dance with me?” My heart felt like it was racing as I waited for her answer.

She took my hand so I took it as a yes. I lead her out to the dance floor, Kiss Me by Ed Sheeran coming on as we stopped in the middle. She wrapped her arms around my neck and my hands settled on her waist, pulling her close. My stomach churned with nerves and a little bit of excitement. I looked down at her, her head on a swivel, looking everywhere but me. Other people are looking at us and her brow knit in confusion. Her hand was burning a hole where it was placed flat against my chest. 

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” I touched her forehead lightly, then bringing my hand back down and wrapping it around her waist securely.

She looked back to me, eyes widening, “It’s nothing.”

“You know you can tell me anything right?” I tried, pulling her back into me as she slowly tried to pull herself away. “That’s what friends are for. And hey, quit trying to leave me!” I laugh, grinning. “Were kind of in the middle of that dance you owe me.”

She smiles back softly but glances around the room again, this time almost self consciously. “It’s just that… I don’t know- I don’t really know how to say it without sounding weird.”

“Are you okay? Is something wrong? You know nothing you say will ever sound weird to me? I’m pretty sure we’ve been through it all.” I leaned my forehead against hers and try to ease her mind but she seems so off. I don’t know what happened because everything seemed normal when we first got here.

She took a breath and pulled back a little looking right at me, “Everyone thinks we’re a couple.” I could see the nerves riddling her features and it made me curious as to why. It’s not what I was expecting, but it made me grin, “I know.” 

“You know? It doesn’t bother you?” Her nose scrunched again.

“Should it? Does it bother you? I mean, personally I think I could do worse as far as fake lovers go, but…” She playfully shoved me and we fell right back into place, swaying as the song went on melodically.

“It really doesn’t bother you?” She seemed unsure, but avoided my question nonetheless, looking up at me as if the only answer I could give would be yes. That it does bother me. And that couldn’t be further from the truth.

I shrugged trying to play it cool, “why would it bother me?”

 “I don’t know…” She looked away, back to the surrounding crowd as the song changed. “You’re Auston Matthews.” She huffed. “You can get any girl you want. Wouldn’t people believing that… we’re an item… wouldn’t that get in the way?”

I grabbed her hands in mine, looking down at them. She instinctively clasped them together and my heart warmed as I glanced back up at her. “That’s just the thing.” We had stopped dancing at this point, and I’m pretty sure we were in the way of people trying to dance, but I didn’t mind. “You don’t see me as the Auston Matthews. You never did. You just see me as Auston Matthews, your extremely good looking and talented best friend.” I smirked.

“Way to ruin it.” She laughed.

I gently pulled her closer, “you see me as the dumb kid who broke his arm at your eighth birthday party, and the horrible friend who spilled punch on your prom dress, and the annoying son of bitch who always tries to force you to dance. You never see me as someone who’s untouchable,” I grab her hand and place it over my heart, “you always touch me.” She looked as if she lost her breath, eyes swirling with emotions. She carefully removed the hand that was over my heart and stood still for a second. She looked back up to me meticulously, “let’s get some air yeah?” I let my hand rest on the small of her back and nodded as she lead the way out, one step ahead of me. My heart was pounding in my chest.

I couldn’t be more grateful for the little piece of privacy that we had out here. The air had turned slightly cooler, and I could see her shiver a little, although she would never admit she’s cold. I shrugged my suit jacket off anyway as we walked along the outside of the barn. The sun was starting to go down and the chill in the air picked up. I wrapped my jacket around her shoulders, and used it to pull her in closer to me. 

She muttered a thanks and I sucked in a breath. Now or never Matt’s.

But she turned to me sharply, beating me to the punch, “you can’t just say stuff like that you know?” 

“Why not?” Her eyes met mine and the wary look on her face told me what I needed to know. I know what she’s thinking. And she means more to me than anyone. She must know that. She has too.

“You could never get in the way of anything (Y/N).” I tucked a lone strand of hair behind her ear as her eyes sparkled and flickered up to mine. “It doesn’t bother me because I don’t want just any girl.” I toe around the subject, hoping she can figure it out before I have to say it outright.

“Well, what do you want Aus?” I want you. Don’t make me say it. Don’t make me ruin a good thing (Y/N). I don’t want to lose us.

My eyes flicker down to her lips. I close my eyes and lean in a little, nudging her nose with my own. Slowly but surely closing the gap between us. I could feel the electricity radiating off her, our lips barely touching before I heard a voice coming from the door. We broke apart, wide eyed, hearts racing, both looking to see who joined us outside.

Kappy looked drunk. And Paige looked like she was dying from laughter. They spotted us and made their way over. I looked back at (Y/N), her cheeks flushed and managing to look anywhere but me, although my arm was still wrapped around her. She leaned into my touch as they approached.

“Youuuuu guyssss.” Kap slurred and Paige just seemed to notice the position we were in.

“Uh Kappy needed some air, but I see you guys did too.” She grabbed his hand and tried to lean him into her for leverage. “We’ll just let you guys have some privacy.”

(Y/N) turned her face into my shoulder as Paige tried to shove Kappy back into the reception. I looked down to her and laughed. She did too, bringing her face out of my shoulder. I would’ve tried to recreate the moment but it seemed like it was lost as she grabbed my hand and tugged me back inside. “C’mon Aus, we should get back.” And I had no choice but to follow.

[girlwiththegreenhat]

thoughts on ur favorite drink? ur favorite art program? thoughts on keeping a sketchbook? on any pets you have?

HELL yeah thanks for the ask i hope u like tangents on tangents and run on sentences because just like my blog description says, I Do Not Shut Up!

favorite type of drink: crystal pepsi

every fucking year i email the Bepsi company and ask when this god damn drink is coming back. last year? literally spent almost all of 2019 moving house, and i got no crystal pepsi anywhere in that time. now it’s 2020. there’s a plague. and the world is burning. and there’s still no fucking crystal pepsi. the moral of the story here is, as soon as pepsi brings back The Good Shit, everything can be nice again. i am .3 seconds away from breaking into pepsi HQ in the midst of this Rioting Chaos just to steal the Crystal Pepsi recipe from their fat stupid noses and start making it myself. I will market it as... Creestöl Bepsi.

oh wait im supposed to talk about the drink, right, shit’s good yo. you know how all clear sodas taste vaguely the same? they all taste like Clear Drink? this is like Clear Drink in it’s purest form. it is the Clearest Drink. with the most Clearest Drink taste. and thanks to it’s (formerly) limited annual runs at the end of summer it literally tastes like nostalgia. I have left the house like twice in the last three months but if they brought back crystal pepsi i would march out of my house like its on fire (wearing a mask of course) and buy every fucking bottle i could find, life savings be damned

so anyway yeah crystal pepsi’s good i guess

favorite art program: begrudgingly, photoshop

adobe may be a greedy bitch baby company who doesnt actually let you buy their software outright but damn,,, photoshop Nice,,, hehehehe,,, i can do so Much with it it’s such a multitool of a program,,, i just upgraded to the 2020 version in february and there’s SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO many more brushes than there were in the 2014 version, and most of them are actually really useful!! i’m living for this guy’s brushes, uh, kyle?? yeah, kyle t. webster. now THAT guy knows how to make some brushes. i’ve been using the same ones for like six years but he’s got this GORGEOUS lineart brush i’ve been using and dear god i love it too much to ever go back. I Will Never Go Back. AND I JUST FOUND OUT ABOUT LIKE, BLEND BRUSHES?? there are ones that perfectly emulate real pencils thanks to how photoshop handles brushes, it even wears out and widens with use (you can choose how fast...) and you can TILT your STYLUS to USE THE BROADER SIDE OF THE “LEAD”??? LIKE?? A REAL PENCIL???? still blows my mind,, photoshop’s brush engine is fucking amazing,,

Thoughts on keeping a sketchbook?

sketchbooks are great and i envy people who have those really nice, blank-page sketchbooks with the little rounded corners on each page? and they always fill them with studies and life drawings,,, its so Aesthetic,,,

meanwhile im adamant for some damn reason to do most of my drawings on lined paper still. not the serious ones, but if im doodling, or just doing a sketch i intend to finish in photoshop? composition notebook. i have Dozens of Actual sketchbooks, but those are so nice... i don’t want to fill them with stupid meme drawings and things i wont finish and things i draw Badly and things that i Will finish but not There. i’m glad im not going to college cuz i always hear “oh you have to submit your sketchbooks” im like haha What cuz my sketchbooks,,,, are probably some of the most unprofessional, badly organized, unfinished messes out there,,, like i do studies but it’s all on lined notebook paper and half-destroyed composition notebooks because at the end of 8th grade everyone was throwing out their unused or slightly used school supplies and there was a WHOLE RECYCLING BIN FULL OF COMPOSITION NOTEBOOKS?? MOST OF WHICH ONLY HAD THE FIRST LIKE 15 PAGES FILLED OUT IF THAT???? SO I JUST KINDA. RAIDED IT?? i havent bought lined paper in 8 years and all the school supplies i looted out of the garbage that day carried me all the way through high school. i bought maybe one notebook in highschool, that was it. i think i literally trash picked a lifetime of lined paper,,,

,,, anyway i have a Nice Sketchbook (no lined paper!) ive been toting around since sophomore year of high school. it’s still got printouts taped to it from supernatural and doctor who and black rock shooter. this was seven years ago, i still use it when i want to use Nice Paper, and only now am i approaching the last pages. i also have a separate sketchbook i decided to start using for concept art and sketches for my webcomic i will never actually start working on! that one’s about as professional as i get, it’s full of robot designs and sketches of scenes. its fun.

i am not a real artist aslkdfkljdfskjldsfkjl

Thoughts on any pets you have?

i love me pets! they are not my pets they are my parents pets but i take care of them more so who cares. i love them. i love all three doggos even if Gigi is an old lazy fart that doesn’t care about anything that isn’t sleeping, food, going outside, or bellyrubs. she doesn’t even listen to you if you call her or tell her to do something. i dont know what her deal is. and gemma!! is a depressed muppet. she’s probably just getting old herself even though she’s only,,, seven. we got a third dog and she never got over it. she is still my favorite though, she’s adorable and i love her little under bite and her big goofy eyes that don’t have a single thought or braincell behind them. she floofy and snuggley and a big ol scardey cat who always comes into my room for hours when there’s a Loud Sound outside which is great because i cant sleep when something else is alive in my room and its not me but whatever i cant say no to her, especially now that we’re both on the same floor and i would probably take a bullet for this funky lil fuzzball.

speaking of the third dog that is kiwi i post more pictures of her than anyone else for some reason but she’s a cute lil goblin. i mean what is this thing. what is it!! im not even entirely convinced its a dog, i think its a weird lil alien that knows what a dog looks like and that’s it

what is this thing!! dont know!! she’s plotting though!! i have never seen Thoughts happening in a dogs head before but she Knowes Things. she learned how to slap the other dogs. 80% of the time if you point a phone at her she stops moving because she somehow understands the concept of a “Camera.” she’s a little chaos bagel. a chaos bagel with a critical case of The Zoomies and a burning hatred of feet

we also have a budgie named olive. he’s pretty, but quiet

[skzrequests]

Orange Juice - Seo Changbin

anonymous said : “My pace 24 w changbin? uwu im a sucker for the idea of tattoist bin lmao”

24 ➝ “Is that a tattoo ?”

➵ Pairings : changbin x reader

➵ Warnings : explicit language ; mentions of blood

➵ Genre : tattoo artist!au ; fluff

➵ Word count : 4.3k

➵ Note : me too, anon, me too :’) thank you for requesting this, I’m a sucker for tattooist bin too and for real, I think you just cured my writer’s block, so I can’t thank you enough ! I hope the fic is okay, don’t hesitate to tell me what you think :)

You turned on your heels, looking around for the soy sauce brand you usually bought. Finally finding it, the familiar red and green colours of the label catching your eye, you extended your arm to grab it before you carefully placed it in your cart. Pushing it out of the alley and into the next, you thought about what you had written down on your list of groceries that—of course—you had forgotten on top of the kitchen counter before going out. 

What was missing ? You had eggs, milk, cookies, your favourite yogurt, your weekly stock of noodles, pretty much everything you needed. 

Orange juice ! Of course, how could you forget ? No orange juice in the morning, no functional you. 

Hitting your forehead with your palm at your own forgetfulness, you proceeded to turn around in the middle of the alley to go back to the juice section. 

Stopping in front of the numerous orange juice bottles and packs that the store offered, your eyes once more scanned the section for the one you always took. 

“Here” someone spoke next to you, but what you saw first was a hand extended to you, holding the bottle you had been looking for, with its childlike doodles of an orange in every colour of the rainbow. 

Your eyes widened slightly, brows arching in surprise and thankfulness at the action of—judging by the voice—the man who had somehow found what you’d been looking for. 

You looked up, surprised and wondering who it could be, although you did not expect it to be someone you knew. 

You were wrong. 

You almost didn’t recognise him. Not that his features had changed, he still had that same sharp jaw but soft curves on his face, but he gave off a totally different aura, to the point you weren’t even sure it was him anyway, no matter how much his face and soft smile left no place for doubt. 

He was wearing a black leather jacket over a white t-shirt that he’d paired with black distressed jeans and monochrome black Converse. Something you’d never imagined seeing him wearing. But some things never change, and the black ringed cap pushed so far down that it almost completely covered his eyes—it made you wonder how he could see anything—convinced you of the man’s identity. 

“Changbin ?!” you almost screamed in disbelief in the middle of the juice section, earning a few glares from the moms around, trying to shop peacefully, and some curious stares from their kids. You didn’t even notice though. 

He broke into a smile, cocking his head in the direction of his still extended arm holding the bottle of juice. 

“Your favourite, right ?” he asked and smirked when your mouth fell slightly open. 

Anticipating your question, he didn’t give you the time to open your mouth again as he explained : “You drank it all the time, back in high school” he said and you felt heat slowly rise to your cheeks, “Can’t remember a day when you didn’t have a bottle in your backpack” he laughed lightly. 

You didn’t know what to focus on : how he remembered your favourite brand of orange juice from high school, how much he had changed, how insanely good he looked ? It was way too much at once for your brain to process. 

“I- uh” you stuttered, not knowing what to say or where to begin. If your internal alarms could stop blaring in your head, it would be nice. “What are you doing here ?” you finally managed to get out but immediately mentally facepalmed yourself. He’s chasing a tiger, obviously. Come on, this is the grocery store, what could he possibly be doing here, y/n ? you scolded yourself.

He chuckled again, the sound ringing in your ears and bringing you back to reality. 

“Well, I guess I, too, need to eat sometimes” he joked and you forced a small laugh out of your throat. Nice job, y/n. 

You then just stood there and stared at him, mind completely blank, as if your internal program had stopped working and the computer needed a reboot. 

“So ?” Changbin inquired, making you widen your eyes at him again, brows arching, not understanding. “Are you gonna take it or not ?” He finished his sentence as he extended his arm even further. 

“Oh, yeah, sorry” was all you could manage to get out as you finally took the orange juice from him, your fingers brushing over his hand in the process. 

“It’s okay,” he laughed again, “I didn’t think you’d be that shocked to see me, though” he smirked once more. 

You rolled your eyes as you put the bottle down in your cart, next to the soy sauce. 

“It’s been years, Changbin, did you expect me to just go and have our super special handshake like that ?” you asked sarcastically. 

“We had a handshake ?” he asked, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. 

You looked at him with an annoyed expression. “No, we didn’t, idiot” you said and he just let out a small “phew”, resting his now free hand on his chest as if he had been worried about it. You and him were barely friends in high school, it was more like you had common friends so you were aware of each other’s existence. You’d only talked to him for school projects, seeing he was a rather quiet kid, unlike you.

“Oh thank god, I thought I'd forgotten it” he said. Oh, so he really was worried about it then. 

You shook your head in disbelief. 

“Anyway,” he said as he clasped his hands together, signalling a subject change, “how’s life going ?” he asked and you scoffed. 

“I should be asking you that,” you said, “it was you who had no idea what you wanted to do”. 

He shrugged. “I guess I found it now” he smiled. “But what about you ?” he asked again.

“Me ? I’m good, I guess,” you started, your face felt hotter than before and you were starting to wonder if it were going to explode at some point if it kept going, so you took off your scarf and turned around to put it in your cart with your groceries while you spoke : “I mean nothing really exciting but I have a job at least” you said, back facing him.

“Hold on,” Changbin stopped you and you whipped around, worried by the tone of his voice, “is that a tattoo ?” he asked as he took a step closer, pointing his finger to the back of your neck where the black curves of music notes peeked out of your shirt. 

“Oh that ?” you asked back as he came closer and you turned again to let him see it, tugging your shirt down a little, “yeah it’s a tattoo, why ?” You asked again. 

He looked at it for a few seconds without speaking before he stepped back, allowing you to face him again. 

“I’m a tattoo artist now” he explained and your eyes grew bigger than they ever had in your life. 

“No fucking way ?” You shouted, “That’s freaking awesome !” you exclaimed again and he smiled, fake dusting off his jacket as you laughed and pushed him lightly. 

He laughed and spoke up again : “No, but for real, are you that surprised ?”.

You stopped and looked him in the eye. 

“Not really. You were always really good at drawing, but I didn’t think you’d have the guts to do it, with the whole marking other people’s skin permanently, you know ?” you told him, “thought the responsibility might have been too much, but I guess I was wrong” you smiled. 

You came to realisation that his whole body was covered by his clothes, but surely there was more to see under it all. 

“Show me !” You exclaimed as your hands flew to his jacket and you tried to take it off him, “Show me the art !” 

He brought his arms closer to his torso, trying to protect himself from your hands that were actually tickling him. 

“Y/n !” he called between giggles, “If you want to see me without my clothes that much, you could wait until we’re somewhere a bit more private” he said with yet another smirk. 

You instantly retracted your hands, only extending the right one again to hit his shoulder, earning a wince from him. 

“Seriously,” he said, “let’s go pay for all that and get out of here” he told you, walking behind you to push your cart towards the check out. 

“Oh wow, didn’t it hurt like a bitch ?” you asked as he showed you the intricate designs inked on his elbows, and you grimaced at the thought of the pain. 

He grimaced too, as if remembering it perfectly, “Yup, thought I'd never use my arms again and that my bones had gotten pierced by the needle, but here I am” he answered as he sat back down, facing you again. 

You nodded while still grimacing, imagining if you did it yourself. Elbows were one of the spots you never wanted to get tattooed for that very reason. 

“Wow, I can’t believe you changed that much in just a few years” you confessed honestly, not looking him in the eye as you shook your head down. 

“Hey, you changed a lot too,” he shot back, “and I never thought you’d ever get a tattoo but here you are” he said, gesturing his hand over at you. 

“I have more than one, you know ?” you said, smiling lightly. 

His eyes widened. “What ? More tha- and you didn’t tell me ?” he exclaimed and you laughed out loud, shushing him in the middle of the café—although you were just as noisy as him. 

“Yeah, I have one on my thigh and one on my ribs” you said, smiling proudly. 

“And you were saying elbows must have hurt when you got a tattoo on your ribs” he shook his head. 

“Right” you said, “I must have been crazy to do it”. 

“I’d love to see it” he smirked and you chuckled. 

“Maybe I'll show you one day, who knows ?” you grinned. 

“Oh, I’m sure I'll see it soon” he said and grinned back at you cockily as you blushed furiously and tried not to let it show, biting your inner cheek. 

“A-Anyway,” you said, trying to seem unfazed, “I’d love to get a new one. What do you say ?” you asked, a little expectant. You had seen some of the things he had tattooed on himself, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love his style. It was just... so much like him. It was beautiful, mesmerising even, how he turned every simple thing into a piece of art. 

Changbin’s eyes lit up and he cracked another smile at you. 

“You’d want a tattoo from me ?” he asked, sounding genuinely surprised, but mostly flattered, coming from you.

You rolled your eyes. “Obviously, duh ? It’s amazing, and besides, you’re an old friend, so that’d mean something else too, right ?” you told him. 

“What you got in mind ?” he asked. 

You shrugged. “Surprise me”.

After that unexpected encounter with him in the supermarket, and after you’d gone to a café and talked for hours, you were now headed to the tattoo parlour Changbin worked at, a week and a half later, ready to get that new tattoo you wanted so much. 

At this point, you were pretty much convinced of two things : one, this tattoo would definitely be your favourite out of all the ones you’d be getting ; and two, you were undeniably crushing on Changbin. 

You felt annoyed about it, because you felt like a living cliché walking around, falling for a guy you’d never talked to that much in high school after miraculously meeting him years later, after puberty had finally done its job (right). But you brushed it off, maybe it wasn’t the right time for you to get into a relationship yet, and nothing told you he was interested in you anyway. You’d probably been staying awake at night for the past days for nothing.

Still, you wanted that tattoo, and you liked Changbin’s company, so at least, you wanted to become friends with him. Who knew ? Maybe one day, he’d even offer you a free tattoo. 

Picking up your pace a little to escape the cold, you walked up to the front door of the shop and pushed it open, making your way inside. You sighed in relief when you felt the warmth on your cheeks, your whole body unfreezing little by little. 

You turned to the counter and greeted the girl behind it warmly and she returned a smile. 

“You’re here for Changbin, right ?” she asked and you blinked a few times, taken aback by the bluntness. “You’re y/n, right ?” she pushed further. You couldn’t do anything but nod. She smiled at you again, although it looked like a bit of a smirk, as she told you to follow her and walked to the back of the shop. 

She stopped in front of a closed curtain and pushed it to the side, peeking her head inside. 

“Y/n is here,” she said, “you ready ?” she asked him. There was no audible answer, but he must have said he was because she stepped back and pointed behind her with her thumb, indicating you to go in. 

You thanked her and pushed the curtain again, curiously eyeing the inside of the room before stepping in. 

Changbin was sitting in his work chair, smiling softly when he saw you enter. You smiled back, feeling your heartbeat pick up a little. 

“Hey” you greeted him, somehow your voice managed to crack, no matter how short that was, and you hated yourself for it. 

Changbin’s smile widened, “Hey” he said back. “Stressed ?” he asked and you shook your head in response. 

“No, it’s not like it’s my first time anyway” you joked and he bit his lip, looking down and away from your eyes. 

“Right” he commented, followed by a discreet chuckle.

You pursed your lips. Way to go, y/n. When would you stop making things uncomfortable ? Probably the day you died, because that was the only moment you’d finally shut up. 

Brushing it off, you cleared your throat, making Changbin look up at you again from his sitting position. 

“So, uh, what you got ?” you asked, feeling the heat from both the embarrassment and the fact Changbin looked like a god right in front of you in that very moment. It was hard to keep your gaze on him, and yet at the same time you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off of his figure. 

“Uh ? Oh, yeah right” he came back to his senses and spun his chair around to his desk, pushing a pile of papers as he looked for his design. 

You waited as patiently as you could, feeling your guts twist a little in anticipation while he kept making a mess before you. 

“Ha !” he exclaimed as he picked a piece of paper and held it up, turning around with a proud smile on his face as he showed it to you. 

Taking the paper, your eyes widened at the pleasant surprise you found drawn on it. 

Pursing your lips again to try and contain your laugh, it was to no help as you burst out laughing, bending in half as you held your sides. 

Changbin watched you, smirking proudly. He chuckled when he saw you wipe the corners of your eyes from how hard you’d been laughing.

“Changbin, oh my gosh...” you trailed as you tried to steady your breathing, holding the paper in front of you so you could take a good look at it once more. 

“What ? You didn’t specify anything about the size.” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Changbin, that’s not it,” you said, not taking your eyes off of the drawing before your eyes. 

“You don’t like it ?” he asked you, panic suddenly taking over him evident in his voice as he sat straight up. 

That’s when you finally ripped your eyes off the sheet, eyes wide as you thought it was obvious that was not it. 

“Are you kidding me ?” you said, not easing Changbin’s worries with the tone of your voice as he tensed up a bit more. “Changbin, I love it.” you stated and watched him slump back in his seat with a long sigh of relief. 

“My heart is beating normally again” he said, resting his right hand on his chest over his heart. 

“This is genius,” you continued, looking back at his drawing again. The carton of orange juice seemed to be looking back at you on the paper, although it had no eyes. There was even a small orange doodle on it, just like on the one you always bought. You chuckled lightly and Changbin smiled as he watched you. “I just... I never expected this but it’s perfect.” you spoke your mind and looked at him. He was a genius. That was the best thing he could have suggested. It was so much like him, so much like you, and it would mean so much more than anything else would have. 

You handed him the sheet back and he set in on his desk, smile never fading as he spun around to put it down. 

“Where do you want it ?” he asked as he spun around again to face you. 

That, you had not thought of, since you didn’t know what to expect. You shrugged. “Where do you want to tattoo it ?” you asked back with a sly smile.

He pursed his lips, still looking you in the eye, as he thought. 

“It’ll be your arm, then” he said and you smiled, nodding. “Get yourself ready” he motioned for you to take off your coat, “I’ll go get the stencil printed.” he instructed and left the room, leaving you alone as you removed your winter coat and scarf before hanging them. You sat down, looking around at the drawings adorning the walls of the room. You could see which ones were Changbin’s and which ones weren’t. He just had that thing, and it made everything he drew unique and easily recognisable. 

You rolled up your sleeve over your right arm, looking one last time at your skin before it got inked. 

Changbin stepped back in, startling you a little as you hadn’t heard him come back. He smiled at you again and showed you two stencils, two different sizes. Same drawing, though. 

“Which one ?” he asked as he held up both stencils next to each other. 

You thought for a second. “Maybe the smaller one ? It has to fit on my arm, after all” you said and he licked his lips, letting his hands fall down at his sides. 

“Let’s go then” he said.

He told you to stand up and you obliged. Changbin took his sweet time to put on some gloves and pour some liquid on a compress.

He rolled his chair over to you and rubbed your shoulder and down your arm with it. The cold contact made you shiver a bit, although you knew it was mixed with anticipation. You’d never wanted a tattoo so bad. 

“Ok, time for the stencil. You stay relaxed and remember to breathe or it’ll look weird” he instructed and you smiled.

“Yes sir, I know how tattoos work” you told him as your eyes shifted to your right to meet his annoyed ones. 

“Let me do my job, will you ?” he said as he prepared the design. You smiled to yourself. 

He applied the sticky drawing right under your shoulder, rubbing it lightly at the borders. He rolled back a little to look at it and gave you a thumbs up, satisfied. 

You looked at the blue drawing on your arm. This was gonna look so good. 

Changbin instructed you to sit down in his work chair as he turned to prepare the ink and needle. He rubbed your arm with another compress before taking his work tool in his hand and rolling back to your side, the noise the machine made making you bite your lip.

“Ready ?” he looked at you with raised eyebrows as he rolled your sleeve back up. 

“I’ve been waiting for this my whole life” you cracked a big smile.

Changbin cocked his head a little as he scoffed. “Let’s do this” he said.

He brought the needle down. 

You winced a little, reminding yourself to keep breathing and stay relaxed as Changbin ran the needle on (more like in) your arm repeatedly. 

It was almost over, and you knew it, but that was exactly why it hurt even more now. Your skin was on fire after getting pierced through for so long, and you’d been bleeding quite a lot. More than you and Changbin had expected. It was a surprise, because it was only the arm and it was just a small tattoo. Y/n, you weak bitch. 

There were only a few minutes left to endure. It hadn’t taken long, since it was small, and you were glad because somehow, it hurt a lot more than you had expected. Not as bad as the ribs, but worse than you’d thought. 

Changbin straightened up next to you, turning around to grab some paper towels and this unidentified refreshing liquid he poured on your arm before he rubbed it. You felt the pain ease, soothing you instantly. 

He looked at you, eyes shining and smiling brightly : “All done !” he announced, beaming with pride. 

You sighed in relief as you got up while he cleaned his tools next to you. 

“There’s a mirror right there” he pointed at the back of the room, opposite his desk. 

Seeing a small bit of tattoo flashing on your arm in your reflection as you moved closer to it, you couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face, only growing bigger when you turned to see it completely. 

It looked amazing. It was so simple, and yet so elaborate. You had no words for it. No words would do it justice, and no words could express how you felt at that very moment. 

You turned back when Changbin called you to wrap your arm up. As he placed the transparent food wrap around your arm, he asked : “So, anything to say ?”

You looked up at him, blushing at the proximity. Gosh, he really was insanely handsome. 

“I don’t know what to say, to be honest. I can’t find anything to say.” you told him truthfully. “Thank you, Changbin”.

He gave you a lopsided smile as he patted your arm after finishing. 

“It’s my pleasure” he said. 

You stayed there for a second, looking at him with a soft smile. 

“How much do I owe you ?” you asked, walking to your coat to take your wallet out. 

Changbin grabbed your forearm, careful not to touch you on your new tattoo. You turned around, quaking an eyebrow at him questioningly.

“You don’t owe me anything, let’s say it’s a high school reunion present” he said and flashed you an eye smile that melted your heart. 

“No way, I can’t let you do that ! It’s too much” you shook your head, turning fully as he let go of your arm. 

“It’s fine, really” he said as he got up to grab your coat and scarf before handing them to you and pushing you out, hand on the small of your back. 

You made your way back to the front desk, carefully sliding your right arm into your coat’s sleeve as you put your clothes back on before stepping out, Changbin right behind you. 

Flipping your scarf over your shoulder, you sighed. 

“Okay, then I'll get going” you said. “Thank you again, and uh, I'll see you soon I guess ?” you told Changbin, the last part coming out as more of a question as you felt unsure about it. 

He simply nodded and let out a small “Sure” and you awkwardly nodded back before you turned on your heels and stepped out, letting the cold wind hit your face with its blow. 

You could always come back to get another tattoo from him anyway. Maybe you’d meet again at the grocery store. There was a chance you’d run into each other on the streets. Or maybe your high school would finally organise an alumni reunion and you’d get to see him again. Was it going to end just like this ? You couldn’t stand the thought of it. 

You’d been walking a few metres only when you got interrupted in your train of thoughts by a voice calling your name. You turned back, curious. 

Changbin jogged up to your level, wearing only a t-shirt, stopping right in front of you. 

“Wait I-I uh,” he stuttered, scratching the back of his neck nervously, “I just realised uh, I don- I don’t have your number, so if you have any problems or-”

“Changbin,” you cut him off as he started fiddling with his fingers, “just kiss me already” you said bluntly. 

He gaped at you and stuttered something you couldn’t quite make out, but he stepped closer to you and took your face in his hands nonetheless, crashing his lips on yours. 

In the end, you were the one to be surprised. 

He pulled away and looked in your eyes. He seemed shocked at what he’d just done, but showed no regret in doing it. Where had his confident flirty self gone, though ?

His eyes were as wide as yours, not believing what had just happened himself. Still, he asked you : “Wanna do that again ?”

You nodded quickly, “S-Sure, but let’s get back inside before you freeze to death” you told him and he cracked a smile before laughing lightly. 

“I’ll go get my coat” he said as he turned around, “wanna go grab some orange juice at the grocery store ?” he shot at you.

You smiled. There it was. 

———

~admin zia (@jinniesmeow)