#i have about three different drafts that all went different directions yelling about them and none of them are coherent

[lightningbig]

gnawing on qpissa purgatory vibes. it's the perfect scenario for a role reversal, for them to see each other in ways they never have. qphil left without his armor, both literal and metaphorical - he doesn't have his backpack his wings are out and unkempt his balance is fucked he's losing his mind and spiraling, the island is getting to him in ways quesadilla island never did and at such a rapid pace. and then qmissa finding his footing in purgatory, embracing the harsher parts of himself that he never showed to phil before - the mean side he has, the bitter fierce need to survive above all else. do they know each other when they see each other again? do they recognize the person they love? despite everything it's still you. broken down to the worst parts of myself do you look at me and see me do you love me like you did before now that you know.

[hyperfixation-or-death]

I’m heading to bed now, but please talk about parallels. We’re going to be besties bro

>:) yes, absolutely, thank you-

Here is a list of the most recent parallels thoughts I have had yesterday alone:

I want to put Romane Berthauds in a time loop. That's the entire thought. (I mean, I've drafted a post about this, but it. Does not sound normal. So.)

I could make a fic with four chapters, each of which features the small child version of a main character somehow ending up time traveling to interact with the present versions of the other three. It would not explain how that happened whatsoever, except that each chapter takes place in a different timeline. I almost certainly will not actually write this, but it's a fun idea.

Stupid AU where it’s the parallels characters but the plot and setting are. uh. Vaguely based on Greek mythology. (I have a bad habit of combining my interests into weird ideas, and I've been listening to Epic the musical, so now the parallels kids get swords. And angst, I guess.)

On that note, my Percy Jackson-inspired AU (which is separate from the aforementioned AU and also less nonsensical) has recently been haunting me to the point of me turning in a scene from it for a creative writing assignment a few weeks ago. I ended up writing double the amount I was supposed to, but I also got a hundred on the assignment, so. Who's the real winner here.

The direct contrast between Romane and Victor's first interactions with their respective parents after traveling back. "Mom. It's me. […] Mom, look at me. It's me. I'm your daughter. I can tell you recognize me." Romane being so confident that her mom will recognize her. She knows her mom will see her. She knows her mom will see her and know it's her. Whereas, Victor is fully confident that his dad won't recognize him. He's taking his opportunity to take out his frustrations with his father under the cover of anonymity. And he's halfway right, because Arnaud doesn't recognize him until Victor's up in his face, yelling about how Arnaud has always wanted to hit him. (Not even going to get into that; that's a whole separate post.) But when his dad recognizes him, Victor isn't expecting it. Idk where I was going with this.

Several years post-canon fic idea where the main four move in together after high school. I don't have any reasoning other than I think it would be neat. I have half of one scene and half of another scene written for this. (We could add them and pretend I've written an entire scene, but…there wouldn't be much point to doing that.)

I think the "I remember everything" line in the finale was…not true. I think the kids thought they did, for a few minutes. Then they realized there were some gaps in their memories, and some things were less sharp than others. And Romane, Victor, and Bilal all get flashbacks, but Bilal's are definitely the hardest to deal with, since his memories are the most complex due to the timeline stuff.

I think that, while post-canon Bilal does have a genuine interest in physics, he also knows that a huge reason he went into physics in the other timeline was to try and save Sam and Victor. And now that he doesn't need to do that anymore, he's left unsure of whether he should still go in that direction. It's a different timeline; he's supposed to do things differently, right? But then again, he doesn't want to make decisions based just on that, and he does like the idea of studying physics. But there's also the irrational worry that something like the night in the bunker could happen again, which he knows doesn't make a lot of sense, but the thought is still there. So his thoughts kind of spiral for a little while on the topic of career. He eventually decides to stick with the physics route, though, after giving it a lot of thought.

Something about Victor and Sam being only a year apart, while Romane and Camille are farther apart in age? Yeah, I had no further thoughts on that, I just think about sibling dynamics a lot.

I think Sam has a lot of issues as a result of his parents and their whole family dynamic, they just show up a lot more subtly than Victor's parental issues do.

I wish Sofia and Victor interacted more in the show.

I think Victor Deslandes has ADHD. (I say this as if I haven't said it a thousand times already) also I think he's aromantic. I already made posts about both headcanons but I like talking, so I'm mentioning them again!

and while we're restating headcanons: the same way victor's powers kind of serve as a tangible outlet for his emotions, with anger usually being the catalyst - i think romane's powers do the same thing, but the catalyst with her powers is more of a freeze response to panic. i think i have a post where i word this better, somewhere? idk.

also i think it's interesting how a version of alice and arnaud realized the true extent of the emotional damage they had caused, but it's just before the kids travel back. so sam and victor never get the full resolution there, because their parents will never know what the tension in their family actually led to. and i have specific thoughts on how this lack of satisfying closure is kind of a theme with victor's relationship with his parents, but i unfortunately don't have time to expand on that right now. but. the thoughts are somewhere in my drafts, so maybe i'll expand on that concept later.

And then there's the thoughts that are always in the back of my mind, which are: I would die for the parallels kids. I need to rewatch parallels. hey I think maybe I'll cry over Romane and Victor's friendship in particular today.

anyways, those are just a few of yesterday's thoughts off the top of my head. i'm sure i have better thoughts that i can't remember, but i wrote most of this at like three AM, so my thoughts are. scattered.

thanks for the ask!!! :)

[addledmongoose]

First piece of fiction in 10 years

This is the only vomit draft I intend to post, but as it's the first piece of fiction I've written in at least ten years, I decided to toss it out there. This is the start of a novel, and it truly is a vomit draft.

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

I really needed to remind myself more often that no job is truly easy. Every one I take has its own unique challenges. I guess that isn't any different than most people’s jobs; they just usually don’t have to worry about bleeding out in an alley next to a rancid trash bin while some jackass with a gun stands at the entrance calling, “Little girl! Where are you, little girl?” in a sing-song voice like some movie axe murderer. Does he really think I’m going to respond? Stand up, backlit by the street lamp at the next corner, and dramatically call back, “I’m here, asshole. Let’s finish this.” 

I didn’t last this long by being stupid, even if my current situation seemed to suggest otherwise. If I survived, I would figure out what went wrong, but that if was doing a lot of heavy lifting right about now. 

But to be completely fair, it really did seem like a pretty straightforward job. My handler set me up in the townhouse across from the target’s. All I needed to do was watch him for a few days, figure out his patterns, then break in and wait for him to come home. He lived alone. I didn’t have to worry about a lover or kids, not even some poker buddies or a random fuck stopping by for a fun night.

Just two in the back of the head while he slept. Client's instructions. Easy job. Easy money. 

Or it would’ve been if not for the black SUV with the blackout tint that rolled to a stop a few houses down. By the time the three heavily armed men stepped out and headed straight for my location with all the confidence of killers who knew anyone unlucky enough to catch a glimpse of them would suddenly discover a fascination with their own shoes, I was on the move.

I abandoned my camera, swept up my phone and gun, and ran for the other bedroom on the opposite side of the house. It had a window to the backyard, and I had it cracked slightly, ready in case I needed to make a run for it. Always have at least two exits.

I reached the sill just as the back door slammed open and heavy footsteps stomped onto the kitchen tile. There was no way the three gunmen had reached the house that quickly, but I didn’t waste time trying to figure it out.

I gave him three steps into the house before I slid the window up, crawled over, and lowered myself to the back porch roof. I dropped as quietly as I could, crept to the edge, and slid over the side. Just before I dropped to the grass I caught a glimpse of the man inside the house through the open back door.

Drew Addaway. Everyone called him Blackjack, which sounded more like a superhero name made by a twelve-year-old comic book fan than a mob name, but he wasn’t exactly someone you mocked if you wanted to keep your head attached to your shoulders. He was a large man, muscles on top of muscles. No neck to speak of. Exactly the kind of soldier Ruslan Nechayev liked to use for his dirtiest jobs. 

How the fuck my target got past my surveillance was another question that would have to wait for later. 

He was just turning onto the stairs when I dropped down, and his eyes snapped my way. He looked momentarily surprised, his eyes flicking toward the stairs and back to me. I guess all those muscles pushed his brains out of his ears.

I didn’t give him a chance to recover. I swung my gun up and fired off two rounds in his general direction before twisting away and heading for the low fence separating the townhouse from its neighbor. 

I threw myself over. I’d almost made it over the next one when I heard him crash out of the house. He was yelling something in Russian to his friends as he ran for the fence. The crack and splintering of wood told me he wasn’t even bothering going over the fence. 

I threw myself over the next fence onto something hard that dug into my ribs. I rolled off and jumped up, looking down to see a broken terracotta pot. Something pink and flowery and now a little disheveled peeked up through the mound of dirt sitting among the broken pottery pieces. Lights were starting to come on inside the houses. 

A buzzing like a bee flew past my head as something slammed into my already-bruised ribs. I grunted as the crack of gunshots split the air. In the back of my mind I knew I’d been hit, but I figured as long as I was still standing, it couldn’t be that bad. 

That was bullshit, of course, but it would have to be enough. 

The next house was on the corner. Behind me, Blackjack was still tearing through fences. Loud Russian swearing and fast footsteps on the sidewalk that ran in front of the houses told me I was going to be cut off soon. I made it over the last fence onto a small side road. More townhouses stretched before me, but I could see a side alley just ahead.

A burning pain was blooming in my side, and a warm wetness spread down my hoodie. Every step I took increased the pain, and before long, I was running with one hand clutching my ribs, gasping with every breath.

[imaginemcyt]

sisterinnit!

cc!wilbur soot x tommy’s older sister

tw: language

note: this one uses specifically she/her pronouns, however, you can replace them with your pronouns. it won’t change the story at all. sorry that this is kinda shit but tumblr deleted my draft and i had to completely rewrite it so this is what i’ve got. hope you enjoy! <3

“y/n this is wilbur, wilbur this is y/n.” tommy gave the basic introductions with a bored look on his face.

“y/n simons, pleasure to meet you.”

“wilbur soot, the pleasure is all mine.”

as he shook your hand, you stared into each other’s eyes. he wore a small smile, that was almost a smirk. was it just you, or was there electricity when your hands touched? that had to be in your head, right? your gaze lingered on the other for perhaps a little too long before you let go of each other’s hands.

“now get out, y/n.” tommy pushed you towards the door.

•••

“y/n can you see wilbur out? i’m busy!”

wilbur looked at you with a smile, causing you to blush. you nodded and yelled back at your brother, “yeah!”

you led wilbur to the front door, opening it and stepping to the side. you looked at him to find he was already looking at you. he grabbed your hand and placed a kiss on your knuckles.

“it was nice meeting you, y/n.”

as you stuttered out a reply, he gave you that same almost-smirk and turned away, walking down your driveway.

•••

“what are you doing up?”

you jumped, not expecting to see someone in your kitchen at two am. then you remembered tommy had invited friends over.

“oh, it’s you. i… i can’t sleep. what are you still doing awake?”

you filled a glass up with water and began to drink it, putting it in the sink when you were done.

“tommy snores really loud.”

you both let out a light laugh at your younger brother’s expense.

“well, since we’re both awake, do you want to do something? we could watch friends? that’s all i was doing anyway.”

“that sounds great.”

you both made your way up the stairs and into your room. you sat on the bed and set up the laptop with the episode you were currently on. eventually you were laying down together watching joey do lunges in all of chandler’s clothes.

(like this ^^^)

you were about halfway through a second episode when tommy interrupted.

“what the hell are you guys doing?”

you both looked up at the tired gremlin child.

“watching friends.” wilbur gave him a cheeky smile.

•••

“hello?”

“oh! uh, hello…?”

“oh it’s you, wilbur!” you spoke over your brother’s headset while he was in the bathroom.

“y/n? hi! what are you doing?”

“well tommy’s in the toilet so i wanted to see who he was talking to. turns out it’s you!”

wilbur let out a chuckle. “it’s me!”

“GET OUT OF MY BEDROOM!”

“uh oh, gotta go!” you threw down the headset before running for your life.

•••

“y/n, hang out with us!”

you stopped at the doorway, looking back at the group of boys all sitting on the floor. jack manifold, tubbo, and wilbur all stared up at you.

“no, y/n, get out of my room.” tommy spoke from his spot on the bed.

“aww, why can’t she stay?”

“yeah, tommy, don’t be a dick, man.”

“y/n, stay!”

“no, y/n, leave.”

you looked nervous, being pulled in two different directions, before ultimately deciding that you had other things to do.

“sorry guys, i should probably go.”

a chorus of disappointed groans and “aww”s left the group before you waved and closed the door behind you.

you went back to your room, deciding to give your brother his space despite your loneliness and boredom. you knew you’d want the same from him.

you decided to mess around with your ukulele to pass the time. you played your favorite song, singing along quietly. it wasn’t long before a knock on the door made you stop.

“come in.”

the door opened and none other than wilbur soot popped his head in.

“hey.”

“hey. tommy asked me to tell you to shut up, but i think you sound lovely.”

you turned slightly pink. “oh, uh, thanks. tell tommy i’m sorry and i’ll keep it down.”

“no need, he’s a prick anyway.” he made his way to where you sat on the bed, taking a seat next to you.

“what are you playing?”

you smiled and told him about how it was your favorite song by your favorite artist and you loved how fun it was. he requested you play a little bit for him, so you did. when you were done, you started to talk about it a little more.

at least until you realized he wasn’t listening. he was staring at your lips, leaning in. you followed suit.

the door burst open, causing you two to spring apart.

“wilbur, what the hell is taking so long? and what are you two doing in here with the door closed?”

wilbur smiled at tommy. “playing music, of course.”

tommy gave a skeptical look, dragging wilbur out of the room with a “keep it down, y/n!”

wilbur stopped at the doorway. “by the way, i quite like hanging out with you, y/n.”

•••

“your hands are so tiny!”

“they are not,” you gasped. “your hands are just huge, probably because you’re a giant of a man.”

wilbur laughed. “put your hand up,” he instructed. he touched his to yours gently, showing off the size difference.

you both giggled before stopping and looking into each other’s eyes. he gave you a gentle smile and slipped his fingers in between yours, interlocking them and holding your hand in his larger one.

you looked back at him and smiled.

•••

you knocked on the door three times, and he answered not long after.

“y/n? what are you doing here?”

“tommy thinks he left his sweater here and asked if i could drop by and pick it up on my way home.”

“oh yeah, one second.”

he disappeared for a moment before returning, holding your brother’s red hoodie. “here you go,” he said with a smile.

“thank you. sorry to bother you.”

“it’s no trouble. can i walk you home?”

you felt yourself heating up and smiled. “if you’d like.”

he nodded and grabbed his jacket. then you both started off toward the simons residence. you almost made it before it started raining.

it was light rain at first, so you carried on. however, it got heavier by the second, and pretty soon it was pouring on you two.

wilbur took off his jacket and held it above your heads. “we’re almost there, run!”

the two of you ran the rest of the way, only stopping once you got to your porch. you looked at each other for a moment, catching your breath. then you started laughing. you were both soaked and standing there like idiots, laughing at yourselves.

your laughter soon died down, and then you were just smiling at each other. he reached over to you and brushed a wet piece of hair behind your ear, getting it out of your face.

you weren’t stupid. you knew the look he was giving you was a lovestruck gaze, but you decided to play dumb.

“what?”

then finally it happened. after months of flirting and mutual pining, he closed the gap and kissed you. with his right hand on your face he crashed his lips to yours (a/n: that sounds violent but it’s not meant to be lol), pulling you closer with his left. you wrapped your arms around him, hands tangling in his hair.

passion mingled with desperation and you kissed long after you were breathless. you didn’t part until you heard a loud yell of disgust.

you instantly sprang apart with swollen lips and red faces.

“are you fucking kidding me? that’s my sister, man!” tommy yelled, glaring at wilbur.

he then looked to you. “and you, kissing my best mate?!”

you stood there shocked for a moment before coming to your senses.

“uhhh, I wasn’t kissing, were you kissing?” you said, turning to wilbur and praying to god he caught on to your obvious lie.

“no, i wasn’t kissing.” he shook his head.

“neither was i! see, no kissing here.”

“i’m not stupid,” said tommy, voice low and angry as opposed to the shock and disgust from before. “i saw everything.”

he then turned and walked away from the door, leaving you two alone again.

a moment of awkward silence passed. “i should probably… you know.” you said, pointing to the house.

“oh yeah, no, definitely.” he rubbed the back of his neck.

“and look, i’m sorry if i ruined your friendship with tommy. i know you guys are close, and i hope he forgives you.”

he gave you a sad smile. “same here, love.” he then kissed your cheek and took off into the rain once more.

you went inside and tried fixing things with tommy, who refused to speak to you. after sitting outside his bedroom door for nearly an hour, you finally gave up and headed back into your room. you opened discord.

[your username]: tommy’s ignoring me. i’ve just sat outside his room for an hour and he refuses to talk to me.

WilburSoot: i’ll give it a go.

he did not speak to wilbur. tommy left him on read every time.

•••

tommy avoided you entirely for two weeks. he left the room if you walked in, and he wouldn’t speak to you at the dinner table. your mother was curious what was going on between you two, but neither of you would say anything about it.

finally, you’d had enough.

you asked your mother to call tommy out of his room, since he wouldn’t answer if you were to try. she did, just wanting you two to speak again. once he arrived in the living room, you jumped him. you grabbed him around the middle and threw him on the couch, planting yourself on top of him so he couldn’t run away. your mum left the room.

“hey, you asshole, get off of me!”

“no, tommy! enough is enough! you’re not leaving until you hear me out!”

“no, i don’t want to talk to you!”

“too bad because i’m not moving until you hear what i have to say! i don’t want us to keep avoiding each other like this.”

he went silent and thought about it for a moment, an angry and skeptical look on his face. “…fine. get it over with.”

you took a deep breath.

“tommy, you’re my little brother, and i love you. i’ll always love you, even when you hate me. just know that i never meant to hurt you or make you angry. however… you can’t tell me how to live my life, or who i can be with. i want to be with wilbur. i can’t help it, tommy, i love him. you can be happy for me or not, that’s your choice. but what isn’t your choice, is who i love.”

by the end of your speech, your voice was shaking and your eyes were watery. you got off of tommy and helped him sit up.

his face softened. “you… you love him?”

your tears ran down your cheeks. you nodded. “i do.”

tommy sighed before pulling you into a hug. it was rare for him to show affection, especially to you, but after everything that happened between the two of you, he felt it was important.

“i love you, y/n. you’re my sister, i could never hate you. i’m happy for you. but just know, best mate or not, i’ll castrate him if he makes you sad.”

you laughed, wiping away your tears.

“i should… probably speak with wilbur, yeah?”

you nodded. tommy stood and went back to his room. you followed not long after, and even though you knew it was frowned upon, you stopped to listen at his door.

“tommy, thank god you’re speaking to me. listen, man, i–”

“do you love her, wilbur?”

“what?”

“my sister. do you love her?”

“i– yeah. yeah, i do.”

“good. listen, all i want is for y/n to be happy. meaning if you make her cry, i’ll murder you.”

wilbur chuckled on the other line, making you smile.

“you won’t have to worry about that. i promise you i’ll take care of her.”

“just don’t make my sister cry and don’t be gross in front of me, alright big man?”

“you’ve got yourself a deal, tommyinnit.”

you smiled again before heading off in the direction of your room.

[kamathesebokos]

spoilers for kny manga? maybe

(this has been in the drafts for so long, but upon reblogging this post i decided to hit post because why not)

so i really hate nezuko’s character was handled in both the manga and anime adaptation, when i started reading i was really hoping she’d be a stronger deuteragonist but uh. all she was set up to be was uwu tiny imouto waifu and i really don’t like it

especially when you consider all the angst potential! the entertainment district kinda went in this direction, with her going feral and almost killing another human, but then she falls asleep and none of this is mentioned ever again.

give me a nezuko who’s scared of the corps. the sword that sits by tanjiro’s side, and though he only brandishes it to protect her, she still can’t help but tremble whenever it shines under the moonlight, knowing it could and would kill her if anyone else took hold of it. and her friends, whose families have been ripped to shreds by her kind; they’ve been nothing but gentle with her, and this pains her because she knows that will not last long the second she loses control.

give me a nezuko who’s scared of her brother. the red eyes and red hair that she can’t bring herself to meet. they awake an ancient memory, a terrible memory that is’t hers. the earrings that hang from her brother’s ears, the family heirloom, the only thing their father left behind before passing on, they give her a near heart attack every time she sees them.

a nezuko who comes back from the entertainment district without a single memory of how she almost killed an innocent bystander, but knows something has gone wrong when tanjiro insists on accompanying her wherever she goes. she gets her brother to tell the truth, and shuts herself in her box for the rest of the week because what if it happens again. she remembers the day she arrived at the ubayashiki estate - if she kills one person, three more will die. she looks at her claws a bit differently now; she ties her muzzle so tight it cuts into the nape of her neck and her fangs hurt, but what if it comes loose.

give me a nezuko who’s ashamed of being a demon. a girl who sits on the butterfly mansion roof while her friends sleep in the night, waiting for the sun to rise and free her from this nightmare, only for aoi or one of the girls to yell at her and drag her back inside, telling her how scared tanjiro was when he awoke to find her missing. a demon who hunts under the moon for small animals that she can secretly feed on, for fear of scaring her friends away with her wild ways, only for tanjiro and zenitsu to work together and come up with recipes that she could enjoy while inosuke enthusiastically offers to teach her how to hunt.

a nezuko, after conquering the sun and finally being able to speak, whose first words to her brother are endless ‘i’m sorry’s. i’m sorry i couldn’t protect our family. i’m sorry i got like this. i’m sorry i couldn’t be there for you. i’m sorry- an apology she is desperate to make up for by walking straight to the ubayashikis and thanking them for their care, but she can’t stay under their protection forever, she needs to train alongside the rest of the corps if she is to be of use in battle. to be of use to her brother.

a nezuko who, after getting zenitsu to read to her for weeks on end, writes her first letter to urokodaki-san, the wobbly strokes and messy kanjis almost slipping off the page but she will get the message across no matter what. he helped her survive. he helped her brother become the warrior he is today. it would’ve been better if he hadn’t needed to, but she is forever grateful to the man who showed them mercy when the world decided they didn’t deserve any.

not that these would fit perfectly into the narrative but it’s fun to think about them, don’t you think?

[youwontlikethisblog]

Yo Soy Betty, la Fea

So about a month ago I started watching this show as a form to entertain myself, in other words, ironically.

I was introduced to this novela by the Mexican version of it. I grew up with La Fea Mas Bella and during my depressive episodes that was my go to binge show. One day I was sitting on the couch, as one does, and Betty La Fea was on. I laughed for like a solid minute because I thought that acting was so serious that it was hilarious. See I was so used to the dramatics and comedy effects of the Mexican version that I thought the original was just too serious. So as a form to mock myself and the original novela I went on a search for it. Sadly here in the states the only way to watch this show is through NBC/Telemundo and the ads are just so long and it's not even the complete, all 335 aired episodes. Also for me the NBC website crashed to frequent it just made me miserable BUT that's not the point of this.

Hey, hi, I'm a writer.

I feel the need to say this because this show has... I am extremely fascinated by the writer Fernando Gaitan. I haven't seen any of his other works but this show alone is a masterpiece and I don't mean to say this because of the tropes, the moral, or the characters themselves but the mastermind to create so much detail into three minute scenes, the directing and the acting as well just add such a lovely splash of color, of life to this already beautifully written story.

I'm new to this already well established fandom and while I have read many breakdowns of characters, mainly Marcela, I haven't seen much regarding the story itself and many things said and done that foreshadow certain events.

For example, (I'm not sure what episode I'm on because I accidently bought the bootleg version of this novela so chapters aren't titled) This episode is the one when they offer Betty a 10% commission so that she can get Armando to do business with RagTela. The scene in particular however is when Armando is laying in bed with his fiancé, Marcela.

Now this becomes almost a regular thing that I noticed between the lives out of the office between Armando and Betty. We get back to back scenes of Armando with Marcela and then scenes of Betty at home with family or her friends that it becomes almost a way for the viewer, or if this were a book, the reader, to distinguish the difference of lives these two characters have. Though one could assume one is lonely because they don't go out or have a S.O and only work or count numbers is shown in a home with loving parents that are always worried about their child and present in her life and a loving best friend that shares the burden of being outcaste by society and finding the humor in it then we get scenes of a couple always arguing and then jumping into bed. Of a man that while his S.O sleeps lays awake with unheard questions, whose best friend is constantly placing temptations and pushing him to do wrong by his S.O, and whose parents aren't really present and ever only talk about the company or his relationship with Marcela to then again Betty. However in this part of the episode it's Armando awake while Marcela is asleep while Betty writes in her diary and we hear her monologue and then they both drift into sleep.

This becomes a ritual where the viewer can tell the clear line between these two characters and their own worlds.

Why do I mention this?

Because dreams are often, in the literary world, seen as prophecies or for the reader to interpret the future or the secret desires of the character. In other words, a form of foreshadowing.

Now in this episode Armando is laying in bed with Marcela, Betty is writing in her diary and the scenes switch between the both of them until we are taken to a dream. In the dream Betty is wearing a bright red dress with long sleeves, and a red hat with Armando in a black suit(I have theories based on the clothing they wear lol) . They're both dancing to tango. While Betty isn't watching him much, more concentrated in her movements, Armando is busy watching her. We then see him dip her, where she finally stares at him and they near for a kiss, just as they are about to kiss we hear Betty's name echo and she straightens up and walks away, while Armando is left there confused and alone.

Why do I think the mention of this dream is important?

Up until this we've seen Armando go from feeling indifferent about Betty. He is a terrible boss and constantly yells and mistreats her to then being fazed by her tears, to having moments of being a good boss and defending her. We begin to see a pattern of Armando's change towards her. Even before the terrible plan to use her is set and I believe that Fernando Gaitan used these dreams to not only give a break of humor and show Betty's crush towards Armando but to give the viewers a look into an otherwise unbothered, unfazed, and mysterious character's mind. AKA Armando Mendoza's own personal feelings towards Betty.

This is solidify by the dream they both share the night that Mario tells Armando about the plan to win Betty's heart to secure the company.

When we're learning to be good story tellers we're told that when writing you writer for yourself. The first draft is a huge info dump. While editing you take out all the unimportant factors and scenes, no matter how much you love that scene if it doesn't help with the plot, character development, or pushing the story forward, it's to be taken out of the story. Therefore most things are written with the intention to mean something. The cuts between Armando and Betty before we see this dream signify that it was both of them having the same dream.

I believe that this was the moment we start seeing the bend between their own worlds outside of the office.

Now, I'd love to have more cohesive analyses of the episodes because this is as if a book came to life. A lot of people in the fandom believe that Armando wouldn't had ever fallen in love with Betty had it not been for Mario who told Armando to make Betty fall in love with him to secure the company, a lot of small details in the character development and the story say otherwise and I have no one to talk to about these small details so maybe this blog might change from being a writers blog to the occasional fandom reblog to now being an analytical commenter of Yo Soy Betty, La Fea.

Even if no one ends up reading this, I need to get it out of my system so until next time.

[blueskrugs]

That Don’t Sound Like You | Brock Boeser

title and inspiration come from the Lee Brice song of the same name. I like country music, okay? takes place roughly September 2015-August 2019. all games and other teammates are accurate.

because @captainkreider​ said “what if you write this for Brock” and I immediately had to rethink my priorities on who I will and will not write for. and then this happened. 

length: 4.7 words 

Girl, I’m glad you called

You met Brock early in your freshman year at University of North Dakota. He was always surrounded by people, popular and charismatic, even as a slightly awkward 18-year-old, but it seemed like he could, and would, talk to anyone who would listen.

You found that out for yourself when he plopped down a couple seats from you in some 100 level English lecture before leaning across the empty desk between you to introduce himself.

“I’m Brock,” he said with a grin.

You took a moment to assess him. His blond hair was tucked beneath a backwards snapback, looking every bit like a douche college athlete, but his blue eyes were kind, and his smile seemed genuine. You shot him a quick smile of your own before turning back to your notes.

“I’m Y/N,” you offered. Brock was still watching you closely; you flipped the page of your notebook.

Any further conversation was cut short by your professor coming in, his typical five minutes late. It was already the third week of class, and Brock had never sat near you before, usually choosing to sit more near the back, but you buried your confusion in favor of focusing on the lecture. 

Brock kept sitting next to you, though, would start a conversation with you most days. It was a week and a half before he asked for your phone number, another week before he actually texted you to complain about how he didn’t understand an assigned reading. In the meantime, you’d learned that you hadn’t grown up far from each other in Minnesota– just a couple towns away from each other outside Minneapolis, his favorite color– blue, but only one highly specific shade, and how he’d been drafted by the Canucks but was still trying out the whole college thing.

“So,” Brock started one day in October. You hummed in response, not looking up from your notes– you were trying to review for the test you had after this lecture was over. Brock nudged your elbow, but you still didn’t look up at him. “Hey. Y/N.” Brock was starting to whine now, so you glanced up at him. “So, uh, we have our first home game this Saturday.”

You raised an eyebrow at Brock. He looked nervous, fidgeting with a hoodie string and chewing on his bottom lip. You poked him in the arm with your pen. 

“Got something you wanna say, Boes?”

“Would you, y’know?”

You rolled your eyes. “No, Brock, I don’t know. Spit it out.”

“Do you wanna come to the game?” he finally managed.

Now, UND took hockey as seriously as some colleges took football, and you’d spent more than one conversation with Brock discussing hockey, so he knew you liked it. Of course you’d be at the game on Saturday. But Brock wasn’t asking if you were going as a hockey fan. He was asking if you’d come to see him play.

You grinned, and Brock ducked his head and refused to look at you. His cheeks looked a little pink. You poked him with your pen again, this time just below his ribs, and he squirmed and snatched the pen from your hand. 

“Yeah, Brock, I’ll be there,” you assured him. 

He threw your pen at you. 

Brock scored a hat trick in front of the sold-out crowd and swept you up in his arms outside the arena.

That became the new normal for you two. You went to every home game to watch as Brock tore up the league as one of the best freshmen anyone had ever seen. He’d meet you outside the arena, and you’d end up at a diner with the rest of the team with Brock’s arm draped around your shoulder. The team accepted you into their fold easily enough, teasing and chirping you just as they would any other player. There was time spent alone with Brock, too, or as alone as you could get in a dorm building. It had started under the pretense of studying together, but over time, it usually ended under a pile of blankets and Grey’s Anatomy playing on one of your laptops.

Brock kissed you for the first time in early December, after the team swept the weekend against Denver. It was cold, and his breath brushed across your face in a white cloud when he leaned in, but his lips were warm against yours. 

Not much changed after that, not really, except for the fact that Brock got much less shy about always wanting to be near you or touching you in some way, whether it was your knees pressed against each other beneath a table on a date, or a hand on your hip or linked with yours when you were hanging out with others.

He did trip over his own feet the first time he saw you wearing one of his hoodies, though. 

You surprised Brock in Tampa in April for the Frozen Four finals, where he had the game winning goal, and three more assists to boot. You weren’t sure you had ever seen him smile as big as when you jumped into his arms and wrapped your legs around his waist after the game, Stretch and Drake and everyone else still screaming somewhere behind you.

Truck tires on a gravel road Laughing at the world, blasting my radio Cannonballs splashing in the water

Brock called you one afternoon in June, after life had settled down into the lazy days of summer. “What’s up, babe?” you asked, absently throwing a tennis ball for your dog out in the yard.

Brock hesitated. “Do you still wanna come out to the lake with us?”

You had talked about it, a little, back when it was still ungodly cold in North Dakota, and Brock had mentioned that his family was going to try and rent a place on a lake for a week or two in July. It had seemed so far away then, as distant future as graduating or Brock heading off to Vancouver, which feels foolish now, with July creeping closer every day.

“Yeah, of course,” you said.

The two of you talked about the future for the first time that week at Minnetonka, between bets of who could make the biggest splash, or turning up Brock’s playlists as loud as you could, yelling the words to country songs up to the clouds.

Brock wanted to stay at UND another year, use it to develop his game, but he whispered in the dark one night that he was scared of making it all the way to the NHL and not living up to expectations, no longer a bright star, but a supernova, left to fade into nothing. 

You had dreams of your own, too. Graduating and getting a job in a big city, getting away from Minnesota and small towns where everyone knew everyone. California, maybe, or somewhere on the East Coast like D.C.

(Brock had made a face at you for that.)

You realized for the first time, too, that you just might be in love with Brock. You weren’t sure what to do with that realization, though, just tucked your face a little tighter into Brock’s shoulder, tried not to think about what you would do if Brock ever asked you to follow him to Vancouver. You weren’t sure you could give up your life plans for anyone.

July passed with days in the sun and nights near a bonfire, drowning in one of Brock’s hoodies as you sat in his lap under a blanket. You wished you could live in moments like those forever.

Sophomore year was different for both of you. You were busier with classes, and Brock was more focused on hockey than ever, determined not to let his freshman season be a fluke. 

Not that anyone thought it would be.

Brock became an alternate captain. Continued to dominate on the ice, came back stronger after a couple of injuries. Brock Boeser was making a name for himself, and it was only a matter of time before everyone started paying attention.

The day after the team lost to Boston University in double overtime, the defending champs going out on their very first game of the tournament, Brock was home in Minnesota, signing an entry-level contract, and playing his first game as a Vancouver Canuck.

He had kissed you goodbye on Thursday before the team left for Fargo, with an “I love you,” murmured against your lips, his hands tangled in your hair, the promise of “see you soon” unspoken but understood between you.

But you sat on your couch and watched as Brock took to the ice for the team that believed in him against the team he grew up watching, you started to wonder just how soon that would be, and if you’d ever get your Brock back, or if you’d lost his love to the city of Vancouver.

Brock scored a goal that night. You’d always known he would fit right in in Vancouver. 

Brock broke up with you that summer. You had seen it coming, maybe since last July, when you realized that your lives were heading in different directions, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less. You were supposed to go up to Minnetonka again, but you never made it that far before he was standing on your doorstep, hands shoved deep in your pockets.

Part of you wanted to insist that you could make the distance work, and maybe you could, maybe Brock thought it, too, but you couldn’t think of the words.

“I love you,” you said instead. 

You dropped a Target bag full of Brock’s things on his parents’ front porch, hoodies and beanies and other things that were too hard to keep, before you headed back to UND for the fall.

You kept in touch some, congratulatory texts (you) or pictures of the weather (him). You received dozens of Snapchats during All-Star Weekend in 2018, especially of the adorable dog he ended up adopting– you had vetoed changing his name from Cider– but you were pretty sure he was sending them to everyone.

Until you got one simply captioned “would be better with you here.” You stared at the picture– the view of Tampa outside his hotel room window– until the time ran out, and it disappeared. Then another came in, and you opened it quickly, unthinkingly. “Not quite like the last time we were in Tampa together tho.”

The only time you’d been to Tampa had been nearly two years before for the Frozen Four.

The picture disappeared again, and you didn’t know how to respond. So you didn’t.

You graduated a semester early and made plans to move to the East Coast and get a job, start your life for real. No one commented on how you were about as far away from Brock and Vancouver as you could get.

You were doing laundry at your parents’ house, packing most of what you owned in your car to move, when you came across a green UND hockey T-shirt. It still smelled a little like Brock, even though it had been buried in your room for years. You spared half a thought to wonder if Brock ever even missed it before you throw it in the washing machine. 

You were surprised, then, when you got a text– a real one, too, not a Snapchat message– from Brock later that summer. You had never responded to those messages he had sent during the All-Star Game, and he had stopped sending things after a while. That had been over a year ago. 

Brock’s message was simple, just a “hey, how have you been?” You wondered if he even knew you moved, and you were immediately suspicious of ulterior motives. 

You left him on read for a couple of hours, before responding, and your message was short, curt. Your suspicions were proved right when he responded within half an hour.

“so” “Some of the guys from UND are coming up north for a couple days” “and they’ve been making some noise about seeing you”

You sighed. You were too tired for playing games, talking coyly, pretending like you were anything more than a couple of exes, practically strangers at this point. You pressed the call button below Brock’s name, realized for the first time that you’d never removed the green heart emoji from his contact. 

“Y/N?” Brock sounded surprised, as if he hadn’t been the one to text you first.

“Why now, Brock?” you asked. Why do you still care, is what you didn’t.

“Stetch won’t shut up about wanting to see you, and some of the other guys picked up the chorus,” Brock said. He sounded as tired as you felt. It may have been years since you had last seen some of his teammates from UND, it certainly sounded like they haven’t changed much. 

You went quiet, chewing on your bottom lip. Brock rushed to fill the silence.

“You don’t have to come. I just- I don’t know what I was thinking. I shouldn’t have texted, I’m sorry.” His voice faded slightly, like he’d pulled the phone away from his ear to hang up.

And, well, you were going to blame what you said next on the fact that it was well after midnight and that you’d been awake for too many consecutive hours. 

“When is everyone coming up?”

Brock was silent, not even the sound of his breathing coming over the line. You checked to make sure he hadn’t, in fact, ended the call.

“Uh, second week of August,” he finally said.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Brock echoed. You could picture the crease between his eyebrows.

“Yeah, ‘okay.’ I’ll think about it,” you said. 

You didn’t know why you said that.

You didn’t know why you booked a flight to Minneapolis, or why you were actually looking forward to it. Even when Brock texted to warn you that some of his Canucks teammates would be there with the old faces from UND. 

You didn’t know what you were doing as you stood in the entryway of a lake house in Minnesota. Out on the deck, you could see some familiar faces, but you had never felt so out of place in your life. 

This was a bad idea. No, it was a terrible idea. You weren’t in college anymore. These weren’t your friends, your people. They had all moved on with their lives, and so had you. A weekend on a lake in Minnesota would only bring back the memories and the regrets of years gone by. 

You were just debating turning around and pretending that you had never even come when Brock stepped in and saw you standing there, looking like a fool. He looks surprised to see you. You take another step into the house.

“Hey, Y/N!” The surprise is gone nearly as quickly as it had appeared, replaced with what looks like genuine happiness. “C’mon, everyone’s outside.”

You follow silently, taking in Brock’s bare, tanned shoulders, the way his hair looks blonder from hours spent out on the lake. For a moment, you’re both 19 again.

Stetch yells when he sees you first, and then you’re being mobbed by hockey players. You only know a couple from UND– Stetch, Drake, and Josty, to start– and the rest are from Vancouver, introductions blurring together in a mess of faces and nicknames– Tuna, Petey, and Chris, who had definitely been called Dad by at least three different people.

You finally manage to break away and head for a drink, but Brock follows you.

“I’m glad you came,” he says, and you believe him, look into his eyes, painfully earnest and real and blue like the reflection of the sky on the lake. You offer a weak smile in return, not sure if you can say the same, not yet. Brock steps closer and opens the lid of the cooler you’re standing next to. “Jess says you ended up in D.C. after all. How is that? You happy?” 

His question catches you off-guard, and you hesitate, too long. “Yeah,” you say finally. “Yeah, it’s great.” Everything I’ve ever wanted, except you’re not there, is what you don’t say. You wonder briefly if he can still see right through you.

Brock’s head is buried in the cooler as he digs through the ice, but you can still see the way his shoulders go up like they always do when he’s frowning. That’s a yes, then. 

“What’s the difference between a White Claw and a Truly, anyway?” he muses instead of calling you out, before surfacing with one of each in his hands. He offers them both to you, and you take the Truly– wild berry, your favorite, not that Brock would have any reason to know that– and leave him the White Claw. He cracks it open and takes a long drink. You tear your eyes away from the line of his throat as he swallows.

“Boyfriend couldn’t make it?” Brock asks pointedly. Damn, he still follows you on Instagram.

You take a drink yourself instead of answering right away. “Couldn’t get off work,” you say. Which isn’t a lie, not really, but you hadn’t even asked, just told him you would be visiting home for the week. You didn’t think he’d love the idea of spending a weekend with a bunch of hockey players, especially when the one who’d invited you happened to be your ex-boyfriend.

Brock just blinks at you for a moment. “Well, I’m glad you could make it,” he says again, just as honest as before. 

When the next person asks if you’re happy in D.C., you’re not quite as off-guard, and you manage to smile when you answer this time. Brock is watching you from across the deck, though, and you wonder if the smile looked as fake as it felt to everyone else, or if it was just Brock. 

You’re arguing with Josty about something ridiculous, when Emma, Troy’s girlfriend, sees you for the first time. 

“Oh my God, you cut your hair! It’s so cute!” she said before wrapping you up in a hug.

When she lets you go, you sweep your hair over one shoulder, an old habit from when it hung halfway down your back; it barely brushed your shoulders now.

“Thought it was time for a change,” you say, “and my boyfriend really likes it this way.”

Next to you, Tyson frowns and mumbles something about finding Brock. You and Emma both watch him go, a little confused.

I know it’s been a while, I don’t mean to pry But when I asked you if you’re happy, I didn’t hear a smile,  and that don’t sound like you

You’re sitting on the dock with your feet in the water that night when Brock settles next to you. Up at the house, everyone is either asleep or on their way to it. You’re both quiet for a moment, just the sound of crickets and the water lapping against the dock. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d actually come,” Brock says lowly. 

You breathe out a laugh. “I wasn’t either, not until I was actually here,” you admit. 

“Why did you come?”

“Why did you invite me?” you counter. It was the thing that kept bothering you about all this. Why had Brock decided to reach out now, after so long, after you’d moved on?

Brock sighs. “Hadn’t heard from you in a while.” It’s almost defensive, the way he says it. 

“Not like you tried very hard to catch up ever,” you say, and it’s mean, because you had stopped responding first, but you hadn’t known what else to do, how else to handle the heartbreak you had to relive with every text. 

“You fucking stopped talking to me!” Brock says, and, yeah, you deserve that, deserve the anger in his voice. You don’t expect to hear sadness, too, but you do. 

“What else was I supposed to do, Brock? Keep torturing myself with every text I sent?” You can’t bring yourself to be mad. You tilt your chin to look up at the stars instead, pretend you can’t feel Brock’s eyes on you. The stars are so much brighter out here, back home. “You were off chasing your dream, so it was time I went after mine.”

There’s silence for a moment. Then, “Why’d you come here, Y/N?”

“I don’t know. One last hurrah for when we were all in college? For freshman year when the future seemed so bright? For when I still thought having a good job in a good city with a guy who loves me would make me happy, but sometimes I feel like I’m in the wrong city with the wrong guy?”

You get up before Brock can answer and leave him sitting on the dock in the dark. 

Morning comes, and you’re not sure the conversation with Brock even happened, except for the fact that Brock is alternating between watching you intently and refusing to make eye contact. Chris makes everyone breakfast, and you now understand why everyone was calling him Dad. You settle next to Troy, lean your head on his shoulder. 

“Did I somehow do something to make Petey not like me?” you ask, watching him talk quietly to Brock at the other end of the table. 

“Nah,” Stetch says, taking a bite of bacon. “His English still isn’t great, and his default resting face makes it look like he hates everyone.” He pauses, takes another bite. “Well, and the fact that you broke our boy Brock’s heart. He’s sensitive, don’t ya know?” His tone is light, teasing, but his words make you freeze.

You gasp, too loud for the morning air. A couple people glance over at you, but you’re turning to Stetch, who at least looks like he realizes his mistake.

“Brock broke up with me,” you hiss.

Troy barely glances down the table at Brock, but you still catch it. For a split second, you consider just getting up and leaving, but settle for glaring at Brock, who doesn’t look up. His cheeks still flush like he can feel your eyes on him.

“I no longer want to be a part of this conversation,” Stetch says, making a move to get up, but you grab his wrist. He winces but stays sitting. “Look, he came back for his rookie year and was always kinda quiet-” You scoff. “-but none of us asked any questions, and then after All-Star he said you’d stopped responding to his texts.” Stetch finishes with a shrug. 

“I stopped answering because I was still in love with him and stuck in North Dakota after he broke up with me that summer, dumbass. What the hell else was I supposed to do after he told me he wished I were at the All-Star Game with him? I was never going to be able to follow Brock to Vancouver, and he made it pretty clear he never really wanted me to, anyway.”

You didn’t realize that most of the conversations around the table had gone quiet until it was too late. Brock had gone pale. You had never wanted a confrontation, not here, but it was looking inevitable. Everyone else seemed to sense this, too, because soon the table was cleared, and it was just you and Brock. 

“Why do you stay if you’re not happy?” is what Brock says first.

“I- what?”

Brock smiles at you, but it’s sad. “Do you think I can’t tell?”

“I am happy,” you say, defensive. And you are, or you will be one day, once you can finally stop thinking about Brock, about all the what-ifs, the possibilities that are long gone. You were getting there, too, before you came back to Minnesota for this weekend and everything came crashing down around your ears. Still, maybe this is the closure you needed.

“Oh yeah?” Brock says in return, and it's a taunt, really, mean in a way that he’s never been with you.

“Since when do you have any right to my happiness? What do you want me to say, Brock? That I always knew we were never meant to work out, but I fell in love with you anyway? That I went to D.C. and got everything I wanted, but once I had it, it didn’t seem right anymore? They say you never forget your first love, and, dammit, it’s really hard when yours is living his dream and tearing it up in the NHL. Is that what you want to hear, Brock? That I’ll never really get over you, even as I fall in love again, resign myself to the fact that someone else is going to fall in love with you someday, and be everything for you I couldn’t?”

Brock is frozen at the other end of the table. You want to jump in the lake, stay underwater until your lungs burn and your tears are hidden. You want to get in your rental car and drive, drive all the way to Minneapolis and keep going until you’re out of Minnesota and never look back. You want to kiss Brock, for old time’s sake, and you never want to see his face again. 

He still hasn’t said anything, so you turn and go inside, past everyone pretending like they hadn’t just been watching everything. You’re throwing everything back in your bag when Brock stumbles up the stairs. You pause, cross your arms, and raise an eyebrow at him. 

“Shit, wait,” he pants.

You can’t hold back the smirk. “Aren’t you supposed to be a professional athlete?” you say, almost without thinking. 

Brock flips you off as he leans against the doorframe, but it’s half-hearted. 

“You can’t just say shit like that and then fucking walk away,” he says, and it comes out more like a whine. “I just- I had no idea. Should’ve probably, yeah, but-” he stops, collects his thoughts. “What did you mean when you said you could never follow me to Vancouver?”

“Would you even have asked,” you say, which isn’t an answer at all.

“I don’t know, you were always talking about all of your plans, and I never wanted to stop you. I didn’t know if you’d ever want to follow me.” And, finally, for the first time in years, it seems like you two understand each other.

“Of course I did,” you say softly, and Brock looks up at you, surprised. “I just didn’t know that then. And then I didn’t think you wanted me, not when I was just some girl from college.”

“You were never just some girl from college,” Brock says quickly. He rolls his eyes. “You wanna know why I asked if you were happy? You cut your hair.” Brock sounds pained, and you remember all the times he would play with your hair while you cuddled on the couch or in bed. “Since when do you change something like that for a guy?”

“And I wouldn’t have had to change for you? After I’d graduated, if you wanted me to come to Vancouver for you?” 

Brock’s recoils, your words like a slap to the face, but it’s not as vindicating as you thought it would be. “It’s not just the hair. It’s the way you talk, the way you smile. What happened to the girl I knew?”

And that’s the problem. You’re not the girl he knew, not anymore. You’ve both grown up, lived life a little more. You might still love Brock, but you love the Brock from North Dakota, not the one who’s been in Vancouver for two years. You don’t know that Brock, and maybe you could love him, but that’s not for you to find out. It’s not fair to anyone. It just took you coming out to the lake to realize that. 

So you smile at Brock and say, “She got her heart broken and left North Dakota behind.” But you follow Brock back downstairs, spend the day out on the water, feeling settled for the first time since you got there, maybe since you had last spoken to Brock way back in 2018. 

That town, that job, that guy You can leave them behind, girl, you know you’re better than that

The boys build a bonfire after dinner, as the sun sets over the lake, and someone breaks out the ingredients for s’mores. 

“Y’know,” Brock says, resting his hand on your knee after you’ve settled into a chair. His hand is warm through the blanket draped over your lap. “For what it’s worth, there would always be a place for you in Vancouver.” 

Maybe there would be, but you weren’t sure that that place was somewhere you belonged. You don’t say that, though, just settle your feet in Brock’s lap and take the marshmallow that’s being offered to you. 

There’s a life waiting for you on the other side of the continent, and it just might be the one you were always meant to have. 

[katnissmellarkkk]

I *DEMAND* part 3 of shattered pearl. I repeat. I *DEMAND*.

Hahahahaha omg. Well, I decided to legitimately dig through the archives of my writing drafts and found chapter three of the Peeta-Wasn’t-Hijacked fic. It’s been given like 1,000 different names on different sites. I’ve never loved any of them. And I don’t really think this is my best writing ngl. But I also figure ... why be so stingy, ya know? If I have an incomplete draft, that I probably won’t finish, why not post a little bit? Especially since I literally left everyone and their brother who were reading this fic on a cliffy for over a year.

With that said.... I wrote this part like ... 15 months ago? 14 ? 13 ? Something like that. And I haven’t edited it since so ... yeah! Here’s a small chunk of chapter three! 🥳🥳🥳 Hope it’s better than I remember it being!

But it’s lacking something and it’s only then I realize, what I’m searching for inside Gale’s mouth, is the spark that only Peeta’s ever ignited in me. I keep waiting in vain for the warmth that started in my stomach and then rose up and exploded in my chest, for the craving that no matter what I couldn’t manage to satisfy, for the thrilling, almost hysterical, tingly feeling, to overcome me and leave me lightheaded in a completely foreign way. A way that couldn’t be attributed to lack of oxygen.

But it never does. I pull back and wipe my mouth carelessly on my arm and sigh, already sensing Gale’s demeanor taking a nose dive at my lackluster reaction.

I’m not disappointed when I look to see his expression. His eyes are frustrated, his mouth is downturned, his eyebrows are pinched together. And I feel as bad as I knew I would. Because no matter what, I’m hurting someone I deeply care for.

But how I feel upon seeing Gale’s face isn’t even comparable to the amount of remorse that fills me, that overtakes my entire being, when I see Peeta standing in the doorway, having watched our entire exchange.

/

I yelled his name as he disappeared down the hall. I tried to rip out all the needles and wires connecting me to the machines and the stiff, sterilized bed but Gale used all his strength to push me down flat. I was overpowered and exhausted and my left side was screaming mercilessly, and I don’t even know what pain was the bruised lung and what pain was my hurt ribs and what pain was my heart violently smashing into the pit of my stomach.

All I know is that if I had been able to reach Peeta before he evaporated, I have no clue what I would have said to him.

What I could have said to make it alright.

Gale tried to talk to me again after that but I entirely tuned him out, no longer caring if I wounded his feelings, or anyone else's for that matter.

It seems like no matter what I do, no matter how careful or cautious or preemptive I try to be, someone still got hurt in the end.

I wish I could just shut out the world, like I did during those first few weeks in Thirteen. Hide inside closets when I had a flashback. Shove myself into a minuscule crawl space with every nightmare. Refuse to speak to anyone who wasn't Gale or my family. Only eat when my mother nearly forced me. Show no remorse for how rude or how clinically insane I came across.

But now there was an agreement in place, an agreement I made to protect the victors—namely the one who just disappeared down the hall on me—and the people who had no voice on their own. The people who’s only chance was a half-crazed, shell-shocked, battle worn seventeen year old girl, who was just gunned down on national television.

Even if I wanted to retreat to some safe haven inside my head—if such a thing even existed for me—like Annie Cresta, I knew it could never happen.

For me, that wasn’t an option. If I don’t fulfill my duties to Coin, Peeta, Johanna, Annie and probably countless more people will suffer. The districts would undoubtably suffer. Gale would suffer. My mother and Prim would suffer.

I was proven right when later that same night Plutarch came to visit me again. I'd been lying on my side to avoid having to see Gale, who was still soldered to my bedside. My good side was thankfully opposite his seat.

When the Gamemaker spoke I thought I would be forced back to work. Forced to head back to the rebels and engage in their plans.

And I was resigned to it, well aware all along that I wouldn't be given the luxury of time to grieve the hurt I just caused Peeta. Or even the pain I knew I was inflicting upon Gale. The constant seesaw my heart was bouncing up and down on.

I was endlessly thankful that I was still pumped with morphling when Plutarch said that I was needed in Coin's office, because it heavily suppressed any real emotion I had brewing deep inside.

Morphling can cause you to let down your guard sometimes, make you say or do things you wouldn't otherwise or allow things to happen you'd ordinarily have the sense to stop. But it also causes all your severe emotions, all your heightened feelings, to dull as well. And for that, in light of everything that had just transpired, I was eternally grateful for.

When the doctor had removed all the needles from my arm, and I had been given a robe to go over my hospital gown—which, shockingly, was even uglier and thinner and itchier than the gowns they gave in the Capitol hospitals—Gale escorts me down the halls, through the corridors and to President Coin’s office.

I don’t speak to him the entire time. Looking at him makes my stomach churn with remorse and regret, though I’m not even sure who those feelings are directed towards. I’m not even sure how to articulate the way I feel right now.

And, as much as I try to force him out of my mind—as much as I do my best to rip him out from wherever he crawled beneath my skin and flooded into my veins—I inexplicably miss Peeta.

In more ways than I even know how to decipher. Even inside my own head.

I thought that feeling of longing would have ebbed away once he was rescued from Snow and his twisted mansion, but even knowing he’s safe here in Thirteen, I still crave his presence next to me.

I still want him next to me almost all the time.

It’s at least partially attributable to the fact that for so long, it was me and Peeta against the world. He has been my partner in this whirlwind rollercoaster since the first games and, even when I feel like every single aspect that could potentially go wrong has, sometimes it seems like I couldn’t have gotten luckier with who was chosen that fateful reaping to stand by my side the entire horrific ride.

I wipe my eyes as inconspicuously as I can but Gale sees and almost instinctively puts his hand on my shoulder. And proves he knows me better than I give him credit for. “I’ll talk to him, Katniss.”

“Don’t,” I immediately hiss. “You’ll just make it worse, Gale. He-he,” I struggle with explaining what I want to say and I curse my best friend for even addressing my moment of weakness because now I have to go talk to Coin, looking like an unstable mess—with a near bullet wound—and I blurt out the very first thing I can think of. “He doesn’t even know you, okay? You’ll just-“

There’s no malice in Gale’s voice as he softly replies, “Well, he was fine when I went and saw him before you woke up.”

I stop now, dead in my tracks. “You saw him? After I was shot?”

He nods slowly. “Yeah, I felt like should check on him. I know...” He pauses and looks upwards and I recognize, once again, this whole thing isn’t easy for him either. “I know he means a lot to you. And I heard what happened when he saw you go down. So I went and checked in on him...” He stops again before shrugging nonchalantly. “He was calmer by the time I saw him. He was nice. He’s always been nice.” At that Gale rolls his eyes. “Too nice. Probably why Snow wanted to hurt him.”

I start walking again, moving ahead of him a few paces. “You’re not helping,” I state, my voice a monotone.

“I’ll talk to him,” Gale offers again, running to catch up.

“Please don’t, okay? Just let it be. I don’t even know if he’ll speak to me, I don’t want to have to worry about what you’ll say to him.”

I vigorously shake off his hand on my shoulder when he tries to comfort me again, and feel him root into place as I make the rest of the way to Coin’s office.

And I wonder if I hurt him now too.

I wonder if I managed to completely annihilate them both from me in one night.

/

Much to my surprise and, to be completely honest, my utter disappointment, Coin doesn’t want me to head back out and fight for the rebellion. She doesn’t want me to even film more propos.

Plutarch does, but his ideas now are pretty frivolous and have more to do with him being still stuck in the fantasy of putting on a good show and less to do with fighting for the good of the country.

Coin simply says, “You did your job, Miss Everdeen. You united the districts,” in her calm, disingenuous—completely unsettling—tone.

And argument I put up is met with a simple shake of the head and a pursing of her lips. All indisputable rejections, her cold, blank eyes telling me wordlessly that in no way could I sway her once her mind was made up.

Still doesn’t stop me from trying though.

“I want to help the rebels,” I plead, looking to Boggs behind Coin’s chair, his face still stoic but his eyes giving me a look that isn’t altogether dismissive.

That was something. It was more than I was getting from either Coin or Plutarch.

Coin though brushes off my words and cuts me down infuriatingly quick with a single sentence. “Plutarch wanted to see Peeta earlier, talk about some propos. But when he sent for him, one of the doctors working with Peeta said he wasn’t having a good day.”

Her tone is smooth and pleasant enough but there was an undercurrent to her words that she knew I would hear. “Do you know how Peeta is? I would have thought with your waking up this morning, he’d be in better shape than he was but if you two aren’t getting-“

“Me and Peeta are fine,” I snap, not liking whatever she’s implying.

She nods, slowly at me, choosing her next sentiment carefully. “Well, let’s hope so. We need both of you now to remain the faces of this revolution. And I wouldn’t want you to do anything rash because of... problems between you and your... between you and Peeta.”

I’m shaking my head, feigning certainty, before she even finishes. “That’s not why I want to help the rebels,” I insist firmly.

“Irregardless, Miss Everdeen, we don’t have a job for you. You aren’t qualified to go into the fight and we no longer need your propos to unite the districts. Your job is done. Thank you for your help.”

And I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I’m being definitively dismissed now. Indefinitely.

I don’t make any effort to keep my cool, instead choosing to storm out of the room, slamming the door cacophonously behind me and wonder why I let that woman get to me so much. Why her words and implications slice me open like a knife.

Why no matter how much I try, I just can’t like her.

Something about her rubs me the wrong way and, once again, I wish Peeta was here with me in the room, because he of all people could understand what about Coin felt off and strange and so familiar.

I curse myself again, as I suddenly miss him even more than before.

Unable to force myself to put my focus elsewhere—especially now that Gale is surely angry too—I change directions and head towards the recovery room.

I don’t even knock before entering. I push the door open, only to find him sitting on top of his bed, a sketchbook in hand, a lot more tranquil than I pictured.

He looks up as I enter—and then, simultaneously freeze in the doorway, like the coward I truly am inside. Before he can speak though, I blurt out, “I know you’re mad about me kissing Gale and I don’t know how much you saw or heard, but it wasn’t... it wasn’t exactly...” I stop because once again, I’m unprepared and out of my element and have no rhyme or reason in what I’m trying to say. I don’t know the right thing to say. I never know the right thing to say.

Maybe if I did, I wouldn’t screw always everything up. “It wasn’t,” I finally force myself to continue, off his patient and somewhat bewildered glance. “It wasn’t what I wanted... I didn’t want it to happen. I don’t, I don’t even know what-“

He finally puts me out of my misery now. “Katniss,” he speaks my name along with a sigh. I watch carefully, feeling a lump build in my throat, as his blonde brows furrow over his baby blues.

He shakes his head, slow and calm. Far more reasonable than I ever anticipated. “I’m not mad at you, Katniss,” he promises, with all the genuineness in the world.

I bite my lip, befuddled by his words. “But... where have you been then?” Why did you leave me? A small voice in the back of my mind demands.

He shrugs, his gaze falling down to his bed now. His demeanor is almost embarrassed, I realize with a start.

“I wanted to give you and Gale space. I’ve been practically mauling you since you woke up so I thought-“

“But I didn’t want you to leave,” I abruptly burst out, unable to shove the words down any longer.

A pang of embarrassment shoots through me though, for the pathetic crack, evident in my tone. And I mentally berate myself.

Not for the embarrassment. For the pathetic crack itself.

And for the fact that somehow I’m the frenzied one here and Peeta is the voice of reason.

Which used to be our norm but after everything that’s transpired, I would have thought things would be reversed by now.

He just stares at me for a long moment, carefully considering his next words.

Finally, he opens his arms slowly and utters, “Come here,” in a tender murmur and I practically fly into his arms before I can second guess the offer.

I feel my injured side screaming as I curl up like a ribbon in his arms, but I surpress the wince to the best of my ability and instead bury my face in his shoulder, breathing in his sweet scent like a mad girl.

He softly presses his lips to my messy locks, carefully massaging the back of my head soothingly. “I’m sorry I ran away,” he whispers, barely loud enough for even me to hear. “I was just embarrassed. I know—I’ve always known deep down—that it’s not right for me to constantly hold you to the things you said in the games. Or to project my own feelings onto you.”

“You didn’t,” I refute venomously, my brows knitting together.

“Katniss, I know you and Gale have had something between you for a long time.”

“Gale was just a friend until me and you came back from our first games. Maybe he wanted to be more even before, I don’t know, but I never felt anything romantic for him. I swear.”

“You don’t have to defend your feelings to me,” he states softly.

“I know, it’s just...” I sigh, moving to sit upright across his thighs. “No matter what I do, it’s wrong. If I say I’m confused, you’re both hurting. If I say I want to kiss you or sleep with you or just be with you, I’m leading you on because I can’t-I can’t make any promises about my feelings right now, because I don’t even know up from down anymore. And if I say I do or don’t want to kiss Gale or be around him or hunt with him still, I’m hurting him or giving him the wrong idea or telling him the wrong things, and it all gets confused and there’s an entire rebellion that I’m the face of, and now I don’t even know if I’m a part of that, but Snow and his followers all hate me still so I know family still won’t be safe until this is all over. And you. You and Johanna and Annie went through the ringer over me. And Gale gets upset whenever he sees us together—it hurts him to see us—but I can’t always seperate you two from one another and I just-I don’t know what I can do. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Peeta lets me rant the whole entire spiel out, his hand slowly moving in circles to rub my back, from the top of my spine down to my backside. “Katniss,” he whispers once I’m done. “You don’t have to defend yourself to me. I get it. You’re under immense pressure. The last thing I want to do is make things harder on you.”

“You’re not,” I say, shaking my head insistently. “You’re not making anything worse, Peeta. It’s-it’s not you.”

“Okay,” he concedes and unconsciously wraps me up tighter in his arms. “Just relax, okay? Relax and breathe.”

I quiver and quake against him. “I don’t think I can.”

I barely realize I’m crying until Peeta leans down to kiss my tearstained cheek softly. “Katniss, it’s okay. I’m not mad. And Gale shouldn’t be. If he is, then that’s on him. The rebellion isn’t just your responsibility. Do not let them put all that weight on your shoulders. I know they already have but it’s not all your responsibility. And no one is going to let anything happen to your mom or sister.” He pushes my hair away from my forehead, pressing his lips there for a long moment. “Or you. I promise I will not let anything else happen to you.”

I swallow hard as he rests his forehead against my temple. I squeeze my eyes shut in hopes that it will make my head stop spinning somehow. Deep breaths to center myself fail miserably and in the end, I feel my bruised ribs and lung disagree with the movement and ache worse than before.

Peeta feels me cringing against him in pain and remains careful as he shifts, reaching for something off his bedside table.

I’m in too much pain to react as pushes off my robe and tugs my hospital gown down in order to slide against my skin, his hand holding it firmly to my side.

The icy temperature brings some sort of relief to me almost instantly, and I let out an audible sigh of relief, feeling my rigid body relax even a minuscule amount for the first time.

“I don’t blame you for having feelings for Gale,” Peeta murmurs, drawing my attention back to our conversation and away from my painful left side. “And if you want to be with him, I won’t hold it against you. I’m not going to lie, I’d be ... sad but... it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t still be your friend. It doesn’t mean I wouldn’t still be at jere for you however you needed me. There’s no ultimatums here, Katniss. I’m still here for you, even if you’d rather be with Gale.”

I pause for a long moment, absorbing his words. He’d be willing to be my friend, even if I hurt him? Even if I chose someone else over him? Even after everything we went through, even after all the ways he’d been abused because Snow could see how much I care for him? How much I need him. He’s still willing to put it all aside and be there for me, no strings attached.

And I try not to compare but my brain draws the conclusion almost involuntarily, and I can’t stop myself from realizing that, in the same position, Gale would likely not be telling me the same thing.

I burrow my face deeper in his shoulder, shutting my eyes in exhaustion.

Peeta catches me off-guard, moving my hair aside to kiss my neck, eliciting a flare of heat in the place where his lips brush my skin, and I may not know exactly how I feel, but I know in that moment exactly what I want right now.

“The only person I want to be with tonight is you,” I whisper honestly, looking up at him with pleading eyes, begging him to somehow understand an emotion I don’t know how to admit. “The only person I want right now is you, Peeta.”

[vintagedolan]

Oh my god...gray goes for a night drive after his "discussion" with E and sees her walking to the bus...

three: context clues

masterlist | request the next concept!

Ethan gave his brother a day. Maybe he’d had a shitty workout, or spilled coffee on his planche progress pages again. At least, Ethan hoped it was something, anything other than him just being that utterly pissed off about the book deal.

Grayson took the day alright. He took it to sulk, and mope, and essentially make an utter ass of himself to everyone around him until even the dogs didn’t want to be around him anymore.

Ethan made it to dinner the next day before he broke.

“Jesus fuck bro, enough. What is your deal?”

Grayson looked up from his phone, eyes stone.

“What’s my deal?” He mimicked back, incredulous that his brother was even asking.

“If you’re gonna be pissed at me fine, but you don’t have to be a dick to Koa. That’s not you.”

“Well I am pissed at you. And I’m pissed at her, and I’m pissed about everything, so fuck off.” 

“She didn’t even do anything to you!”

“Yet,” Grayson muttered. 

“You’re being a dick for literally no reason. You realize that we get final say over this book right? We get to look at the drafts, we get to read everything she writes before it goes off to be published. We can cut whatever we want to.”

Grayson didn’t know that. He hadn’t bothered to ask. 

“We can cut anything we want?”

“Literally anything, yeah.”

“Great. Then cut the deal.”

“What?”

“Cut the whole thing off, cut the book deal.”

Ethan braced.

“But no, of course not, because you fucking can’t! Because you went behind my back, like you always do because you think I’m too fucking stupid to help with decisions like this! And now, I have to play along with your stupid fucking plan because I’m your twin and I don’t have a choice!” Grayson’s fist hit the counter harder than he meant it to, and it stung all the way through his fingertips. 

He knew he wasn’t being fair. Not to Koa, and not to his brother. 

“We always said we wanted to write a book someday, together.” Ethan’s voice was smaller than it usually was, and it tugged at Grayson’s heart despite the anger that was heating him from the inside out. 

“I know that, but things change Ethan. We’ve changed. And if we’re in this together, why the fuck wouldn’t you just ask me?”

Ethan didn’t have an answer. It was a good deal, and a chance to get their voices out there, to accomplish another one of their dreams. But he knew he’d fucked up, and he only hoped his brother could see his side at some point.

Koa didn’t return to the Dolan’s house for three days. It didn’t faze her much, and frankly she enjoyed the time to get settled. She knew the contract was sound, and that she would be fine. They’d call eventually.

Sure enough, on Friday night she got a text. She read it three times before she believed who sent it.

Be over at 11 tomorrow

Grayson.

Her heart rate picked up before she answered. 

that’s vaguely threatening of you lmao. are we starting writing stuff or just another preliminary meeting?

The dots appeared and disappeared a few times before he finally answered.

Why does it matter?

“This bitch,” Koa mumbled to herself, typing hard enough for her nails to click against the screen.

because I need to know if I should bring all my shit or if you’re just gonna yell at me and tell me to leave :) 

Preliminary meeting. Just gonna set up some boundaries and shit. Can you make 11 or not?

I’ll be there. 

She resisted the urge to text Ethan to make sure it wouldn’t just be her and Grayson butting heads in the kitchen, but she thought better of it. Instead, she enjoyed the rest of the day in her apartment. Harlow took her to the beach that evening - it was nice, but it wasn’t Maui. They got ice cream down the street, shared stories about their younger years as they sat in the sand. The texts they’d sent Gabby to invite her went unresponded to. Neither of them were particularly fazed anyways. 

Harlow was good. Koa didn’t know enough about her to make more of a judgement than that, but she knew she was good and that was all that mattered for the time being. She was the character that everyone would root for, and Koa was grateful to have her - especially when she loaned her an extra fan for her room that night as the LA heat stuck around to greet the moon. 

The night didn’t go to plan. She woke up around 11 with sweat everywhere and blood down her thighs that had her ready to rip her uterus out. In all her packing, and all her preparation, she hadn’t thought to bring tampons. 

She got cleaned up, slightly humiliated when she had to fold toilet paper and shove it in her underwear before grabbing her wallet and heading out the door.

When she walked in Maui at night, she felt safe. Or, as safe as a girl could at night alone anyways. LA was different. It didn’t matter that she had less than a mile to walk to the bus stop - she was on high alert, keys between her fingers as she navigated the sidewalks. She didn’t take a deep breath until she saw the familiar little glass cubicle that indicated she’d made it. 

The bus routes were emptier that late at night, so she waited as patiently as she could for hers to arrive and take her a few stops down to the CVS on the corner that she would be irrationally excited to see.

Grayson hated that CVS. People never looked before they pulled out of that parking lot, with an almost blind right turn because of the bushes on the corner. He’d had one too many close calls on his way to Monty’s down the street from it that he always got over a lane just to be safe. 

He did it that night too, making the changes quickly as he pursued his usual late night craving of a milkshake. Sure, he had ice cream in the freezer at home, but it just wasn’t the same. 

It wasn’t as busy as usual, so he parked his car on the other side of the street and scurried over to place his order, waited by the window with his hat pulled down low so no one recognized him until they based over his shake and sent him on his way. 

Usually, he’d eat it while he drove, because he was a good brother who always got an extra of his order for his twin who was no doubt craving the same thing.

And he was a good brother. But he was also a petty brother, who soaked in the small vindication of sitting alone in his car with the one shake he’d bought and eating it himself. 

He took the chance to people watch through his tinted windows, saw the vloggers on the street and even someone he was pretty sure he recognized from tiktok. A cute old couple showed up and shared an order of tater tots that had him ready to go searching for the love of his life before he got to the vegan whipped cream in his cup. 

And then he saw her. It took him a minute - he was surprised he even remembered what she looked like. But it was the same curly hair, frizzed out by the LA heat, and the same bag that she’d had on her shoulder when she showed up at the door.

Koa was the only one who got off the bus at the stop across the street.

He didn’t like it. The sight of a woman walking alone at night didn’t sit well with him - he found himself searching the sidewalks for anyone who was headed in her direction. He watched her go around those stupid bushes and head into the store alone.

And he waited. It wasn’t a conscious decision really - but still, he waited, let the cherry disappear into the bottom of his cup that sat abandoned in the cupholder of the Tesla while he watched the CVS doors until she came back out and sat down at the bus stop. 

He didn’t put it in drive until she walked up the steps of the bus and disappeared the way she came. 

[morbidmotive]

I've had the beginnings of an Animaniacs/Bob's Burgers crossover fic sitting in my docs for a LONG time, but I'm not sure if I should pursue it, so I'm posting the first two chapters under the cut so that I can if it's something anyone would read or not. (Keep in mind these are still only rough drafts)

Chapter 1

Inside the Warner Bros. water tower, Wakko and Dot were literally bouncing off the walls with excitement. Dr. Scratchansniff was going to New Jersey for a big counselling conference, ‘Council Con’, and he’d agreed to let the Warners come along if -and only if- they behaved themselves. The three siblings promised to be on their best behavior and so far - with the exception of typical excited child-like behavior - they had held up their end of the bargain.

“And we’ll be able to see above the clouds!”

“And we’ll get those little packets of pretzels!”

“And they’ll have those little trays that fold into the chair in front of you!”

“And our ears will get plugged from the air pressure and then they’ll pop when we land!”

“And we’ll get to stay in a hotel!”

Yakko sighed as he listened to his siblings excitedly jabber on about their plane ride the next morning. He couldn’t blame them for being excited, he was excited too - this was their first vacation, but he had gotten his excitement out in the weeks prior, and now he was focused on making sure the three of them were ready for the next day as his younger siblings rattled on and on and on about all of the things they'd get to experience during their first vacation. After an hour, their list hadn't made it past the plane ride, let alone the rest of the trip.

“Are you two all packed?” he interrupted, putting the last few items into his suitcase.

“Yes!” his siblings confirmed before going back to their excited chatter. Satisfied, Yakko zipped up his suitcase and wheeled it over next to Wakko’s and Dot’s luggage.

With a satisfactory nod at everything being prepared, he walked over to his siblings. “Okay, sibs, we should probably go to bed.”

"What?" Wakko whined in disappointment. He then ran to the tower door and threw it open. “But it's still light out!"

“Besides, we aren’t even tired yet! We’re way too excited to go to sleep now!” Dot agreed. “Please can we stay up?” Dot asked, clasping her hands together and giving her oldest brother her best puppy eyes. Wakko joined in too; between the two of them, Yakko was sure to give in! “Pleeeeeeaaaaaaase!?” they begged in unison as they slid onto their knees.

Yakko smirked. “Nice try you two, but it isn’t going to work. With as early as we need to get up tomorrow, I’m not going to want to try and drag you both out of bed and get you dressed in the morning.” As expected, he was met with two exasperated groans. “Think of it this way, sibs; would you rather spend the first day of our first vacation too tired to do anything, or, ahhhh, do you want to spend it having some fun?” Wakko and Dot were silent for a moment, but then begrudgingly agreed that Yakko was right. “Of course I am, that's why I'm the oldest," Yakko said with a triumphant smile. He took his sibling’s hands and pulled them to their feet before ushering them to the bedroom. “I know we’re all excited now, but we’ll be even more excited when we get there tomorrow.”

When they entered the bedroom the three siblings got changed for bed. Dot crawled into her bed as Yakko finished buttoning his pajama shirt. He then turned to Wakko, who was buttoning his pajama shirt very slowly.

Yakko sighed. "Wakko, hurry up."

The younger Warner brother groaned dramatically but did as he was told. Once he was done and had crawled into his hammock, Yakko turned off the light and collapsed into his ball-pit, seeking sleep.

They had a long day ahead of them.

Chapter 2

“And… GO!” Gene yelled, and he lifted the plank of wood that kept the crabs they were racing behind the starting line. The crabs began to scuttle down the racetrack they had drawn in the sand as the siblings cheered for them. Gene’s crab was taking the lead with Tina’s close behind, and Louise’s crab was trailing behind in last place.

“Come on, come on, I have a race to win!” Louise yelled, and her siblings followed in cheering for their crabs as well.

For a moment it looked as though Gene’s crab was going to win, but it then stopped and turned around before heading back to the starting line.

“No, Crabatha Christie, you’re going the wrong way!”

“Come on, Jennifer Crabniston, you’ve got this!”

“Pick up the pace, Pablo Escrabar, you’re so close!”

The three continued to cheer on their crabs as they scuttled in different directions, and in the end, Tina’s crab was the winner.

“Yes!” Tina exclaimed, “I win! I believe you two losers owe me five bucks.”

With groans of disappointment, Louise and Gene handed over the money.

“How dare you betray me like this, Crabatha Christie!” Gene said, looking over at his crab. “Aw, who am I kidding, I still love ya, girl.”

“Well I don’t.” Louise said, glaring at her own crab, “This is why you got caught, Pablo, THIS IS WHY YOU GOT CAUGHT!”

They watched as the crabs began to walk back to the ocean. “Well, there they go, back to their home," Tina said. "Speaking of which, we should probably head home too, it’s almost time for the dinner rush.”

“Oh yeah, Tina, it's such a rush.” Louise said sarcastically.

“I mean, you never know, stranger things have happened.” 

"For four seasons," Gene said.

Louise just groaned. "Fine, let’s go pretend to help mom and dad give Teddy his burger for the night."

…….

The Belcher kids walked into the restaurant and were surprised to see there were several customers inside, almost at full capacity. Their mom smiled over at them.

“Hey, you three!” She greeted excitedly. “So, who won the big race?”

“As a matter of fact, it was me.” Tina said with a proud smile.

“Aw, my little winner!” Linda said happily. Louise grumbled something about her crab losing on purpose to spite her.

Bob peaked through the serving window. “Hey kids, get washed up, it's time for the dinner rush and this time it actually is a rush.”

The kids walked to the back and washed their hands, and Tina grabbed her apron.

“What are all these people doing here, dad?” Tina asked.

“Isn't it great?” Bob asked excitedly, “Some people got food poisoning at Jimmy Pesto’s, so everyone came here instead. I mean, it's bad that someone got sick, but good that we get his customers.”

“That's the spirit, dad.” Louise said, heading out to the dining area.

“And don’t forget, we’re catering that psychiatry conference thing this weekend, you’ll need to be on your best behaviour. All three of you.” He then looked at his youngest child. “Especially you, Louise.”

“So does that mean that if we don’t behave we don’t have to go?”

“No, you’re definitely going.” Bob said, and went back to grilling the burgers.

Louise groaned. “Fine.”

“Who knows, Louise, it could be fun.” Tina said, trying to cheer up her younger sister. Louise scoffed.

“Yeah, Tina, I'm sure it’ll be sooo much fun.”

“It could be.” Gene said, walking out of the employee bathroom in his burger costume. “Maybe we’ll meet someone interesting and learn something; like how I just learned that I look even better in this burger suit with my pants off!”

“Gene put your pants back on!” Bob scolded. 

“No!”

“Besides, all those psychiatrists under one roof? Oh, I bet it’ll be like an episode of Frasier!”

“I love that show.” said a customer who was sitting in the booth next to Linda, and the two of them got into a deep conversation about the show while the kids were forced to go back to work.

[hobicomeholla29]

Shatter - Part 1 - JHS

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Angst/ Romance/ Fluff in the future

Word Count:3.9k

Warnings: Mentions of death/Mentions of wars/Mentions(hints) of depression/Mourning

Rating: PG13

A/N: Hey! Hey! Before I get into anything else I first have to that all the beautiful who helped me with checkin, beta reading and giving me fantastic feedback in general! @sugaa-sugaaa​ @spicykoreantatertots​ @nottodayjjk​ Thank you so so much for your words of support and for pushing me through to deliver a good piece for everyone!

That being said, This is a 2 shot! Please look forward to part 2!

THIS IS A REPOST. Cuz it wasn’t showing up in the tags.

Summary: In a post-apocalyptic world, where humankind’s greed has lead planet earth to turn into a ball of dust, all Hoseok wants is a better and bright future, yet strong feelings and a positive mind doesn’t always cut it.

Masterlist

The early morning sky was filled with an eerie fog that threatened to smother anyone who didn’t wear the appropriate attire for being outdoors.

You stood straight; hands balled in tight fists. A mixture of emotions running through your body. Sadness, anger, helplessness, fear…

You were the only ones standing in the middle of the empty field, no one else daring to stand still and be surrounded by the suffocating drafts of air that carried large amounts of toxins –a consequence of humankind utilizing nuclear weapons in the past.

You remember stories being told about your ancestors taking long walks through lucious fields without sporting gas masks on their faces, just imagine enjoying the air in the atmosphere instead of fearing it.

Most parts of the beautiful earth that once existed were now wastelands, all thanks to what was called The Colossal War.

Civilization was anything but civilized after that, creating division and animosity between groups of people with different ideals.

Clans were created and with them the claiming of lands. Lands that provided resources for sustenance, yet the quick dwindling of resources and supplies made some clans selfish, refusing to barter with others and instead attempting to conquer their lands as well.

With bigger and stronger clans taking over the smaller and weaker ones, eventually only four major clans remained, the only exception being small factions that settled between the abandoned areas near the borders of each clan.

Some factions were harmless, only looking for a peaceful place to live, making them nomads, since they had to constantly move to avoid being forced to pledge to one of the four major clans. Others were rioters, ready to go against anything and anyone who posed a threat to their beliefs and wants.

During the long solars that came and went after The Colossal War, much had changed.

Technology, communication, transportation, settlements.

It had all changed, but you really couldn’t say it was all for good.

Technology had turned obsolete at a steady pace, leaving only a few gadgets that were still able to function without being saturated or losing signal without proper cell towers.

Most of them had been vandalized or burned to ashes, mostly to steal copper from the area.

The only remaining signal towers were those of glass recorders.

A glass recorder was the device that kept track of a person’s life.

Since The Colossal War in 3010, civil wars had been blowing up everywhere. Causing inconvenience in simple tasks like having troops return to a fallen soldier’s clan to inform their family about their passing.

A simple duty as this one might have worked back in 2020 but not in 3011.

If troops were sent back, they were at risk of running into an enemy faction and breaking into another battle.

Hence, in 3015, glass recorders were created.

A glass recorder was a device made out of bulletproof glass. Its interior was filled with cables and microchips that contained a person’s personal information, tracking and broadcasting an individual’s vital signs at all times. Constant long-ranged waves went from the glass recorder - to the signal towers around the globe - to the chip installed in the individual’s neck and back.

You could say its data sharing function was similar to the behaviour of olden times bluetooth connections, except that the only information it could send and receive was vital signs and  identification details.

Many tried hacking them, attempting to rob information from the device and using it for ulterior motives, however they are designed with an auto destruction mode in case of hacking or death and their towers were heavily protected by troops from each clan.

Usually their sizes were similar to that of an old cellphone.

On one side there’s a knob, remarkably similar to what DJs back in the day used on their mixing boards. It acted as a switch between the different modes the glass recorder could be set on, them being Vitals, Information and Hologram. And on the other side there was a touchscreen, where vitals could be read and holograms could be activated.

There was also an XBS dock entrance on one side of the device. It was mostly used by the law enforcers by transferring any new information about an individual from their archives to the glass recorder, whether it was good or bad.

All of that information, including marital status, first degree relatives, occupation, date of birth and allergies could be found on information mode.

On vitals, details were given about their current health status and the sound of their heartbeat could be played.

And finally on hologram mode, you could see a three-dimensional scale of the owner’s body, making it easier to check for injuries or if any internal damage had been taken.

Besides glass recorders, communication had jumped back to messaging via written letters or oral messages sent via a messenger.

Any vehicles that had existed on the face of earth, had been overhauled.

Updated to cater to the usage it now provided to the arid ground.

Motorcycles, cars, buses, trucks and ships, all modified.

Additional exhaust pipes, thicker tires, dust shields, dredging machinery, artillery and artillery holders, were examples of things you had seen being mounted on different transports, including aircrafts.

As for yourself, you lived in a colony that had been forced to be part of one of the major 4 clans, The Jeon Clan.

The Jeon clan was strong, the Jeon clan was powerful, the Jeon clan was feared, the Jeon clan was blinded by its greed, the Jeon clan stood above everyone and if you refused their ways, then you refused living.

That’s how your small clan ended up under their command.

It was common to hear stories as an infant about how the Jeon clan conquered. They always portrayed the glorious stories of how leader -Jeon the 1st-  had tirelessly battled large creatures and evil men to save small clans from their miserable lives, however in each capsule each family shared the story with their offspring as they remembered it best.

Meaning some stories were wonderful, while others were resentful memories and stories of how their clans had been forced to change their ways or how they had lost loved ones to the Jeon reign.

You were only 7 when it all happened.

You remember it so clearly, it felt like you were reliving it each time.

_

You stood in the middle of the large hangar, eyes searching left and right for your father.

Men and women ran all around, either towards shelter or towards the battle zone.

A military truck’s engine roared in the background, yet you couldn’t figure out which of the twenty something trucks near you had been brought to life.

You frantically ran in the opposite direction. You needed to find him, you needed to convince him not to go.

Running as fast as your short legs could take you, you tightly held on to the glass recorder in your hand.

Tears started prickling your eyes the longer it went without you being able to find him.

Two NSTV vehicles sped past you, swiftly followed by a caravan of men on choppers, armed to the teeth.

Luckily none of them seemed to be your father.

You were getting desperate.

All he had done was left a note on your bed with his glass recorder.

“My beautiful cyberflower, I love you so much. And because I love you, I must defend you. Papa might not be back for a while, but he will make sure that if he doesn’t come back at all, it is because he was able to create a better place for you to live in."

He promised he would never go, that he would stay no matter what.

That he wouldn’t do the same thing your mom did.

Leaving you behind was never the solution. You preferred having them both and figuring everything else out later than having none of them and still being lost.

Why was it so easy for them to leave you behind…?

You didn’t notice you had dropped to your knees, you didn’t notice the tears that cascaded from your face and you certainly didn’t notice how your mourning wail had halted all activities under the hangar.

All frozen in place, no one in the building could figure out why. How could the desperate cry of a child send shivers down their spine? How could it express without mistake, their inner thoughts and feelings.

They felt the grief and pain of having to put their lives on the line to give their loved ones a better future.

A future that should have been granted to them, but the Jeons thought differently.

Yet, your clearest memory from that day was the tight embrace that pulled you out of your dazed state.

The embrace that told you that even if everything didn’t turn out as you wanted, he would be there to walk you through it.

He would be there with that bright smile of his that cleared away all of your cloudy days.

_

A rundown metallic shed stood at a distance, it was probably used in the past by troops as a hideout, yet for several solars it had been a place you used for solace.

The location gave you a quiet place to think, a quiet place to run away to when everything got too hectic at the colony, a place to yell out of frustration. It was your place -even if it was on enemy’s territory.

However, today said shed felt smaller, its tall walls choking you, suppressing your lungs, no calm remained in it as the words that dropped from your lover’s mouth bounced from wall to wall. The echo made you feel like the words were mocking you by constantly repeating what he said.

"I must go, and you must stay.”

You knew you had heard word of people in the colony joining forces with others near you, to topple the Jeon clan.

Nonetheless, you figured it was just tittle-tattle.

Yet here you are standing in the middle of the building, right in front of your lover, who is spewing the same nonsense your father did so many solara ago.

"Is this a joke? ‘Cause I’m not laughing…"

You saw his hands clenched into fists in annoyance, he tried holding in his feelings, yet the frustrated sigh that left his lips sold him out quickly.

Deep down he knew you wouldn’t take the news lightly, that you would want to accompany him on this journey as well or avoid the whole thing in general. But if he let you, if you came along, his departure would have no meaning. He was leaving for you. He thought you would be more rational.That the conversation would last less than a fraction of a solar, but he stood corrected.

"I can’t stay here on my own. You can’t leave me just like that.” You were distraught. Your eyes searched for his, yet his gaze remained on the door you had used moments ago to enter the shed.

You needed to bring his mind back to you, to the present where you both still remained, you needed to keep him away from thoughts of the unknown future and the doom that could be.

Why was he trying to be person number three on your mourning list?

Your eyes remained on his, yet your fingers occupied themselves trying to find his glove-covered ones, the action making him look down at your entwined fingers.

His eyes seemed to soften at your actions and that alone helped you breathe easier. Deep down you knew that you had to stay back and wait for him, it would be the safest place for you, the colony was your home, but the news he dropped on you like a bucket of cold water had your common senses frozen.Why would he want to leave you so suddenly?

Maybe he no longer wanted this, maybe you were too much, maybe that promise he made solars ago about walking the path with you was too heavy and too much of a burden…

“You must stay, for me,” He said, “and for them.” His eyes dropped to your stomach, his free hand caressing the bump that had started forming not long ago.

“Hoseok…please…” You had to try at least one more time. If he still was that warrior at heart that you had once met, then he was certain to leave even with you crying rivers.

“I must go, my love. I have to be a part of this fight that will give our family the freedom that they deserve. The freedom that WE deserve.” His eyes glossed over, yet not one tear abandoned his eye. He was sure of his decision and nothing could stop him now.

“You don’t have to… A lot of men are already there."

"And I am sure they also have families and other reasons to be there. I will lend them a hand and they shall lend me one. We will fight for a better life and world, a better place to raise our offspring, a better place to grow old.” At this point in conversation, his eyes are boring into yours, yet there is no anger towards you. Only love, strong, heated, unwavering, caring and passionate love. There was certainly no way for you to fight against that.

For a split second, his eyes left yours, and you followed the movements of his left hand. Carefully, he pushed his hand into his pocket, retrieving a device that you were very familiar with.

His glass recorder.

“I- I can’t."

"It’s the only way for you to know my status… and if it ever comes to worse, you’ll know not to wait for me any longer.” He said as he placed it in your hand.

“Please stop talking like you are a dead man already!"

"Y/n-” You interrupted him mid-sentence. You were blabbing now. All your thoughts and fears spilling out at once.

“No! I don’t want to hear it! I don’t want you to go! I want you here with me, with our babies. If you tell the Chief he will let you stay. We are expecting! I can’t lose you; you are walking to your grav-"

"Y/N!” His sudden yell made you flinch, but nonetheless, you looked him in the eyes, only to find them filled with tears. Filled with fear but determination as well.

He was always like this, a young man with a mission. Fire in his eyes, determined to make this world a better place, even if it scared him to the core. He always said…

“There is no better way to deal with fear than to walk right over it…” Those stupid words he repeated everyday since you were 7. “This is me walking all over it. This is me putting you -putting them over my fear of what may be."

"I love you."

"And I love you, my beautiful cyberflower.” His hand grabbed yours, slowly bringing each one of them to his face and kissing your knuckles and palms softly.

“I’ll always return to you."

And so, you watched him ride his chopper towards the horizon.

His silhouette quickly disappeared in the darkness of the night.

Even though the light of the moon shone brightly, it felt dark around you, as if your clouds had returned with the sole departure of his bright smile.

Your hand squeezed the device he left behind, your grip getting stronger the further he drove and now you really wondered, "How is it so easy for everyone to leave me behind?"

150 solars and 149 lunars went by, yet nothing had changed.

Since the day Hoseok had left, your days consisted of nothing but worrying, eating, and visiting the shed.

An old steel bench was set outside of the old metallic building and just like any other day you’d visited, you sat on the edge of it, contemplating life and hoping today was the day Hoseok would return to you as he had promised.

As time flew by, you added this day to the list of other ones where your lover didn’t return and although you tried to remain as positive as possible, you couldn’t stop thinking about why life was so cruel? Why did any of you have to live through this? It certainly wasn’t fair. No one deserved to be forced to choose death if they didn’t choose what someone else wanted.

Since your great-grandparents’ days, the future was supposed to be glorious, beautiful, and bright. Technology was supposed to make everything better. But somehow it all turned to worse.

Pride, arrogance, and selfishness had created the horrible world that you now lived in.

People lost their lives as an exchange for a promise they never received.

They fought battles to free people who were slaves to their own fears and now this was the consequence of all that was done. What a sad life to live. What a horrible life to live.

You rubbed your stomach feeling your bump as it continued to grow. Time doesn’t stop for anyone, is what they say and your clear example is how close you are to being due.

The walk back to your clan’s colony was an easy 10-minute walk that could turn mortal if taken while distracted, hence you carried a machete in your boot.

Once you set foot on your colony’s official territory, you swiftly made your way to your family home capsule, ready to wash off the sorrow and go to bed as you would wait for the next solar to come.

Sadly for you, that hope disappeared the second you made eye contact with someone you didn’t wish to see at the moment.

His eyes caught yours and you saw a mix of emotions: sorrow, understanding, relief and worry, all conveyed to you in a single glance.

You knew what was to come, it was always the same dialogue, but you didn’t want to do this today.

Today you felt drowned, disappointed, you could feel that dark cloud that loomed over your head enlarging day by day.

"You know it’s not s—”

“Save it, Namjoon. I’m not a chil—"

“—But you are a carrying woman, who is walking carelessly to a place where no one can or will follow you.”

“I am not carele—”

“Y/N, shut up for once and put this through your thick skull!! Hendra is enemy territory!!”

And with that he left to his own family capsule, stomping all the way to the door and slamming it closed.

For the first time, you felt different and maybe it had something to do with the fact that Namjoon and your argument didn’t end in the usual monotonous sermon he always gave you, where he remained calm all the way and you rolled your eyes in annoyance.

The funny part about the entire thing was that you were cousins, and your family capsules were right beside each other, so you were sure you’d have to see his sour expression the following day.

Finally in your own capsule - the one you used to share with Hoseok, you took that shower that you daydreamed about and headed to your room.

Just like every night, you muted your room to the outside world, opting to listen to the broadcast of your beloved’s heartbeat.

It was the only thing that helped you sleep at night and somehow you felt as if it pacified the two progenies in you.

You didn’t know when or how it happened, but eventually 365 solars had gone by.

365 solars since the day of his departure and you weren’t getting any better at being without him.

You were now a mother of two. A dawn and a dusk. One born in the early morning and one almost 12 hours later.

So, you gave them names that matched their arrivals to this world, Dawn and Dusk.

All times prior to that day, you felt that once they arrived, there would be this large turning point in your life. That once you had someone who depended on you, your days would start to shift into something brighter, yet somehow, even after the arrival of your children, you felt almost no difference, bordering on saying that you might even felt worse.

Their faces were the perfect mix of your deoxyribonucleic acid and his. Two different beings creating harmony in the body of two newer ones.

Their father had left to give them a better future but, in the process, he had left a broken family behind. It felt incomplete and hollow and somehow you envied the blissful ignorance that your infants currently lived in. Not able to understand the sorrowful life that currently surrounded them.

Another 365 solars went by.

You still listened to Hoseok’s heartbeats every night. The glass recorder remaining as your sole companion in addition to your —now— toddlers.

The night remained quiet. You could barely hear the murmur of voices from the capsule near yours. If you were right, you were sure it was Namjoon and his wife, discussing the plan for retrieving meals for the clan the following morning.

You shifted on the foam mattress that only reminded you more of him. A very faint and almost gone notion of his scent wafting up from what used to be his pillow.

From afar you watched the two small bodies –lying on the second mattress in your room— inhale and exhale deep in their slumber.

They had —just like you— fallen asleep to the beat of the heart of a stranger you placed in front of them and made them call him father.

You loved them, every bit of them. Would do anything for them not to suffer, and maybe just then, in that moment, you understood a bit of Hoseok’s reasoning.

You toss and turn all of a sudden jerking awake from your slumber. You could not recall when you had fallen asleep, so your mind remained disoriented for a short minute, trying to grasp your surroundings. Your heavy eyes roamed around the room, picking up on every detail, the babies were still asleep, the clock read 3AM and the glass recorder wasn’t beating…

THE GLASS RECORDER WASN’T BEATING!

Violently, you pulled the sheets off your body, grabbing the device as soon as your hands were close enough to grab it.

“Why are you not beating? Why are you not broadcasting? What the fu—”

And it hit you like a train… but you didn’t believe it, you couldn’t believe it.

You shook it and twisted the knob and switched it to hologram mode, but it wasn’t working and you didn’t know what to do, your hands were shaking, your thoughts were jumbled…

“This can’t be happening.”

And when a fake solar illuminated your mind, you quickly turned around to plug it in to your old computer, however, the universe had other plans for you and without announcement the device cracked.

You watched it crack little by little, extending all around the recorder, slowly marking the beautiful device with horrible lines that marked its ending, it didn’t stop until it was no longer graspable and all that was left behind was crystal dust in your cupped hands.

You didn’t hear when Namjoon and his wife entered your room or when your kids were taken out of there. Your sobs alerting 3 capsules nearby of the sorrowful occurrence of the night.

It was the worst type of Deja Vu, because just like your mother and father, you’d never see him again…

“Hoseok…”  

Thank you so much for reading part one of this 2 shot! Hopefully it didn’t scare you off for part 2!

[jpegjade]

En Pointe! - Spencer

i’m excited to announce that i actually finished another fic in order of when i meant to write the next set of fics! i finally got inspiration to finish this one that i’ve had drafted for a little while. 

Request: You are a ballerina who lands a huge role and your boyfriend, Spencer, and the team are there to support you. 

warnings? none. just fluff

____________________

“Guess what! I have something so, so, sooo special for you.” You said, squealing. 

“You can’t be pregnant, can you? Well I guess you can be if it isn’t mine but I highly doubt you’re having a kid with someone else because you’re always working.” He said, lightly. 

“I’m pregnant with Prentiss’ baby.” You chuckled. 

“I knew it.” Spencer said.  “I always thought there was something up with you two.” You could hear his smile over the phone.

“No, you doof. I got the lead! I’m Cinderella!” You yelled in your car. It came out more like a squeal but you knew Spencer knew what you were saying because he had been just as nervous as you after your second set of auditions. 

“Oh my god, I’m so proud of you! I wish I was there with you so I could pick you up and spin you around.” Spencer’s smile sounded bigger. 

“I hate this.” You pouted. Spencer knew you were pouting and could clearly remember your pouty face. 

“I’m sorry, baby. I wish I could be there but this case doesn’t seem like it’s wrapping up any time soon.” Spencer said into the phone. You could hear the sounds of police chatter in the background. 

You were the company’s lead ballerina now. You worked years to earn the position, even before you knew you wanted it. Your dream had always been to be Cinderella in the Cinderella Ballet and you finally worked your way up the ranks to be at the top. Thousands of hours of hard work finally paid off for you and the only thing you wanted to do was celebrate it with your boyfriend. Unfortunately he was halfway across the country. 

“We open on Friday. Do you think that it will be done by then?” You asked, looking for your sunglasses in the car. You always ended up misplacing them. 

It was a bright and sunny day for once to match your mood as you left for lunch. You didn’t have much time since you needed to get your Cinderella leotards fitted so they could make adjustments. You were just going to grab something light. 

“I don’t know, love. I can’t tell. Hopefully but I can’t be sure. You know how these things work…” Spencer trailed off. 

“I know, I know.” You sighed. 

“If we can’t make it back in time, I’ll send you a present. I promise.” Spencer said, hurriedly. 

“Okay, well… I love you.” You said, knowing that he was about to go back to the case. 

“I love you too, y/n. I’ll see you soon, okay?” Spencer said as the two of you signed off. 

The next few days went by in a blur. It was stressful, getting ready to open, but you knew all of the choreography by heart and by the time the grueling practices came to an end and it was time for the real thing, you were excited but still bummed. 

You loved Spencer, you did. But the one thing you hated so much was your conflicting schedules. It had been a topic of conversation before, when the two of you fought about it once, but it had been dropped after working through the real issue: you missed him and he missed you and that kept you together when the nights got cold and the days felt long. 

“Opening night…” You said, finishing your make-up touches. 

“I’m FBI. I can go back here if I please.” You heard someone trying to convince the security guard to move aside. You recognized that voice before. 

“Penelope?” You called, getting up from your seat in front of the mirror. 

“Hi! Your boyfriend sent me!” She smiled, covered in fairytale memorabilia. Everything on her shimmered and sparkled, even her glasses. 

“You’re my present?” You asked, slightly deflated. 

You loved everyone on Spencer’s team but you meshed with certain people better than others. You liked Emily. You loved JJ. You blended with Morgan. You got Hotch to smile once and you never let him live it down whenever Spencer had you around the team, when time allowed. Penelope was a different story. You loved her in theory but you would’ve taken Hotch over her any day just because Penelope was lovely, she just was a lot to handle at once. 

“No! But I come bearing gifts!” She said, pushing past the security guard. She was holding a small box in her hand. There was a tag with Spencer’s name in his weird handwriting on the top. 

Taking the box from Garcia and pulling her close to you, you realized that you didn’t need Spencer there on opening night to know that he was with you. He sent someone he cared about in his place. He sent you a present, something just between the two of you. He even got up super early, despite the time difference, and left you a voicemail while you were sleeping so you could hear his voice. He knew you got nervous before performances so he always left you something special. 

“Thank you, Penelope.” You told her as the security guard dragged her away, telling her to go find her seat or she wouldn’t find her way into the performance at all. 

You opened the box and found a heart locket. A gorgeous, gold heart locket. You pulled it open to find a picture of you and Spencer on one side and a picture of you dancing on the other side. You hadn’t seen this second picture before so you assumed that it was a photo Spencer took of you when you weren’t paying attention. He did that often when you allowed him to come into the studio with you on your days off. He loved to take photos of you dancing. He said you looked so happy, so natural. 

You put the box in your bag backstage and looked at the clock. You had time to listen to his voicemail one more time before the performance before you raced off to your first spot. 

The first act always passes by so quickly but intermission couldn’t get here fast enough. One thing you liked about being Cinderella was you had the choice of walking out with some of the smaller roles and meeting guests in the lobby. You were so used to doing it for the smaller roles you performed for the company that you decided to do it for the first night at least. 

Walking out with security and a handler, you saw the crowd of actual people looking at you in awe. All of these faces, all of them invested in your dancing. You got to meet so many little kids that were so inspired by you. Little girls had Cinderella shirts on and gorgeous dresses you found so beautiful. You were speaking to a young girl who reminded you of yourself when you were younger when her parents took her over to buy a shirt after they saw how happy she was to speak with you.

You glanced over in their direction and out the corner of your eye, you saw a head of brunette hair and a navy blue cardigan, something your boyfriend would wear. Your eyes adjusted past the little girl, only to see it was a false alarm. There was no one there except Penelope, waving at you. You smiled at her, waving back, and glanced around the area. People were starting to fill back into their seats but there was still a reasonable crowd settled outside, talking with the other dancers. You figured it was a good time to stretch before the second half of the ballet so you headed back to the dressing room to check your phone. Spencer had texted you one more time, sending a winky face. There was only one time he sent a winky face, meaning he would see you soon. 

You danced with precision and grace, hitting all of your marks perfectly. Of course, you had to be as perfect as possible for the role but even the pressure didn’t phase you now. You were flying, held up by your partner. You were flying, gliding on the wings of the applause. You were being showered by applause before you knew it, a smile bigger than ever on your face. The lights hindered your ability to see the crowd but you knew that all of these people were clapping for Cinderella, her story, you. 

So why did it feel so… Empty? 

You walked out of the dressing room, dressed in normal comfy clothes, greeted by Garcia with a single blue rose. You smiled and made small talk before you were tapped on the shoulder by someone you didn’t see walk up to you. 

“I believe this is yours.” Hotch said, presenting you with another blue rose. You smiled and hugged him, so excited. 

“I can’t believe you came!” You said, looking between Hotch and Garcia. 

Garcia was smiling but not at you. Around Hotch’s back stood Morgan, JJ, and Prentiss. All three of them holding roses for you. 

“Guys!” You were getting so overwhelmed with emotions that you almost forgot the biggest factor in all of this. 

“Surprise!” Spencer said in a small voice, a big smile on his face and open arms. 

You finally got to run into his arms and let him spin you around. Your smile was just as big as his, tears streaming down your cheeks. 

“Were you here the whole time?” You asked when he put you down. 

“I was! I wanted to surprise you. With the roses, our family, and my heart. Well, the locket but still my heart.” He said, hands still tightly wrapped around you. 

“You were amazing!” JJ said, followed by a chorus of agreement from the rest of the team. Spencer finally let you go when you pulled away to talk to everyone. He opted for holding your hand instead and he never let it go.

“I told them you looked stunning.” Garcia said, excitedly.

“You’re giving babygirl a run for her money.” Derek said, nudging Penelope. 

All of you continued to talk in the lobby until Derek suggested getting dinner. Everyone but you and Spencer decided to go but the two of you promised a rain check on that dinner. You were exhausted and all Spencer wanted to do was spend time with you. 

“You really surprised me.” You said, squeezed his hand in the car. 

“Good. I was hoping Garcia didn’t spoil anything. She’s been known to hold a secret for 13 hours at the most but even then, she’s pushing it.” Spencer chuckled as he drove the two of you home. 

“The picture in the locket. I didn’t recognize it. Where is it from?” You said, running the piece of jewelry between your fingers. 

“It’s the first picture I ever took of you, before we started dating, resized to fit in the locket.” Spencer said. 

“You saved that?” You said, chuckling. You didn’t think he was interested in you back then. 

“I saved it and the very next day, I told everyone about you. How beautiful you were, how you don't walk, you gracefully float places, and of course how delicately you danced.” Spencer said. 

You wanted to continue the conversation but when you tried to talk, you felt the feeling of sleep gripping your body. The two of you got back home to his apartment and as soon as you hit the bed, you fell into a deep, very needed sleep. 

[kenmas-videogame]

Umbrella| Akaashi smau!

13. profiles / masterlist | previous |

In the mist of transferring to a new school y/n get’s dragged into being part of the volleyball team’s manager group.

“put your head on my shoulder” you hummed as you put on your coat and grabbed the umbrella that was hanging from the rack in your living room. you smiled while remembering that Akaashi had given you this umbrella a couple months ago when he walked you to the station. The umbrella was black with a blue handle and a yellow button. It was really pretty and was also very durable, many times when it rained the strong wind would hit you but the umbrella never broke.

“I’m heading out!” you informed the semi empty house hold.“hold me in your arms” you sang while locking the door. There he was akaashi was leaning on the fence while scrolling through his phone. You would have never imagined that he was capable of being so straightforward. Three months back akaashi was very timid and was also very distant, but now three months foward he was very lively and loved to laugh at everything you did.

“Akaashi!” you yelled while waving at him. He looked up from his phone, smiling at you “oh hi, you look.. amazing!” he said while rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes followed you as you walked down the steps of your home, admiring you from your head to your feet. “you look great too!”

There was a moment of silence, it wasn’t awkward silence, it was comforting. The type of silence you get when you’re at peace and relaxed. “oh, we should go!” he said while laughing. “oh you brought the umbrella I gave you! I thought you said you didn’t want it~” he teased while you both walked to the station. you took a glance at the umbrella that hanged from your wrist“I never said that! I only wanted you to take it back.. because it’s yours” you argued back. “yeah yeah..” he smiled.

The walk to the station wasn’t a long one, everything was going perfect until the station decided to close due to an accident that happened on the next town over. “wait maybe we can go through another way..” akaashi reassured you while looking at the map app on his phone. ‘fuck’ you heard him curse under his breath, it was the first time you heard him curse. It wasn’t like the guys from fukurodani weren’t fond to vulgar language, on the other hand they would curse all the time during practice.

This was different though, akaashi never saw the reason to curse, not at someone, not at something so something must have happened for him to find the need to use such language. “Is everything okay keiji?” you asked. he gasped while looking at you, he looked back at his phone while smiling as if he wasn’t just mad a couple seconds ago. “keiji huh?~ guess we’re on first names basis now.” he teased. “you always called me by my first name–“

“you’re right, It’s just that your last name was similar to someone I know and it was weird.. I apologize”

“Don’t apologize!”

“No, I have to. The roads are closed, the station is closed and it wont open for another hour or so.. I’m sorry..”

Akaashi bowed in a 90 degree angle while bystanders watched. you started to panic while you nervously laughed “hey hey! you don’t have to.. listen we can go to my favorite cafe! it’s near my home and then we can go the park!” you reassured him while patting him on his back. “are you sure?”

“yes!”

So then you guys walked to your favorite cafe, he ended up paying for your meal and also bought you dessert.

“oh look it’s a pair of swings!!” you told akaashi who was now holding the umbrella. “let’s go on them!”

you and him raced to the swings, the night was perfect, he was perfect. “look y/n, there’s some fireflies..” he said while pointing at the bugs that surrounded the swings. The night went great, by now it was 11pm and akaashi was trying to find a way to get home. “I’ll order you a taxi!” you said while taking out your wallet. “you don’t have to! I’ll walk home.. I mean after all my home is around an hour away from here.”

“That’s dangerous!”

“oh well..”

“No—“

and then it’s started to pour, you both looked at each other while laughing. The umbrella was finally going to come in handy. “well aren’t you lucky I gave you this umbrella” “shut it akaashi, it was just a coincidence.” you argued back. “so you’ll take the taxi now..?” “fine.”

you both started to walk back to your home, the thing the umbrella was resistant against was the thing that ended up destroying it. Akaashi’s your umbrella had broken, and it was being dragged away by the wind. Both you and akaashi chased after it, getting drenched by the raging drops of rain that covered the city.

“look it broke, our umbrella broke..” he replied whil picking up the heavily damaged umbrella.

“our umbrella?”

“yeah, Hmmh..” you laughed at his silliness while you took it away.

“well it’s time to say bye to your umbrella..” you said while walking towards the trash can that stood in the middle of the sidewalk.

“no, let me keep it..” he responded while tugging it in his direction.

“why?”

“because it’s ours..”

“what?”

“ours.”

“but it’s yours—“

and then everything happened fast, you don’t know what happened all you knew was that you could feel butterflies and you could see the sparks. Your vision was blurry, ans your thoughts were fuzzy. Nothing was there at that moment. It was just him, the rain, and you. you were both the stars of the cliché movie that played in theaters.

a kiss in the rain

“go out with me...please.”

rain

tag list; @krxstynnn @manq-fandoms @zoppzoop @shinsvu-talks @svtbitch @miigoth @mikkasquare @therealwalmartjesus @wpspl-dda @pinkdohnuts @shi-dripdrop @bobothecircusclownn @kasandrafaye @schrodingersships @taylordenae @alexa360b4st @help-error @hqmakki @akaashisbih @authentictiramis @smellybananas @enchantedsoulgarden @lovnthunder @tehehaikyuu @bubbleteaa @soumynonasstuff @littleblackpheonix @watevermelon @adoring-obi-wan

—

and that’s wrap! umbrella is officially over! I’m currently thinking about doing a kageyama smau! but right now that is in the drafts! Thank you all for supporting this smau that started off as something that i thought of while it rained.

[xyliane]

AUgust 7: HAVE YOU SEEN THIS 12 YEAR OLD

PROMPT THE SEVENTH: CHILDHOOD FRIENDS wait how can you childhood friends au killugon, I asked myself, forgetting that I had a whole-ass idea in my drafts already. this one’s a proper fic, too (minus editing cuz l o l it’s an AU writing challenge, not editing challenge). T, aged-up killugon, modern day au. ft ambiguous descriptions of social media, alluka, kalluto, and leorio in killua’s corner, and zushi and spinner in gon’s, brief discussion of getting plastered and dealing with a hangover. 5000 words.

0o0o0o0o0

The first sign that today is going to be an absolutely terrible day, is when Killua wakes up with a hangover.

This does not happen. Killua can count on one hand the number of times he’s gotten so drunk he’s had a hangover, and most of them are the fault of his little siblings. Little siblings who are now living together, whose couch he is currently painfully existing upon, half too hot and his toes way too cold. And the couch is too soft, an old secondhand thing he’d helped Alluka grapple up the stairs months ago after they found it outside an old dorm. He makes a notch in his very sore brain to blame the current situation on them. Kalluto might be kind enough to let a drunk big brother crash with them, but Alluka has a devious streak a mile wide.

Yeah. This is definitely their fault.

One eye slowly creaks open, surveying his surroundings through blurry vision. Nothing out of the ordinary here. He’s in the pajamas he’s left with Alluka forever ago, curled up under an old blanket he gave her for Nanika’s birthday. It’s covered in the Matrix code, all green letters on black wool. It barely covers him from chest to knees, which explains the cold toes.

Sunlight flickers through the curtains, cheerful and bright, and Killua pulls the blanket over his face. He’ll take cold toes over being blinded by his headache.

The second sign that today is going to be an absolutely terrible day, is when a noise like a chainsaw burrowing through a marshmallow erupts from his phone buzzing on the coffee table, just barely out of reach.

Killua attempts to bury himself under the blanket. He’s not dealing with work today.

And then he remembers: He doesn’t have work. Work can’t bother him today. Not just because it’s a weekend—work never respected the sanctity of weekends, no matter that he was at least partially in charge and used to have a fancy degree hanging on his wall. He doesn’t have work anymore. Killua quit.

Which, well. That explains the hangover.

He’s still blaming his siblings.

His phone buzzes loud enough to break the sound barrier, and Killua decides, fuck it. He doesn’t have anything to lose. If it’s the-place-formerly-known-as-work, he can delete everything. If it’s Mom or Father, he can definitely delete everything. And maybe it’s a friendly person, congratulating him on giving up a job that for anyone else would have been an absolute money-making dream. He’ll delete those too.

It takes a few tries to unlock his phone, and it unfortunately involves opening his eyes, squinting against the glaring light of the screen. But once he does, he frowns. Maybe he’s seeing double. Or a hundredfold. Because he should not have this many notifications.

awwww cute, i hope u 2 find each other! the top one says. It has several hundred likes. Why is it in his notifications?

Scrolling down reveals that it’s not an anomaly.

wtf man how can you find a TWELVE YEAR OLD from FIFTEEN YEARS AGO.

Me and my mom went on a cruise around there once, it was really pretty!

this is so sweet T__T maybe this is him?

And then another hundred photos of brown-skinned men with varying degrees of shirt-wearing, all black haired and most of them buff in very appealing ways and all of them beaming at Killua.

“What the fuck,” Killua croaks as he scrolls through all of the images and messages. Maybe this is a dream. A really weird, hangover-induced dream about how little of a social life he has, that his phone is possessed by someone else’s. A warning of sorts, that he should never have installed any social media on his phone ever, not even for hookups.

The reason for all the notifications lies at the top of his own page. Just a few sentences, all-caps, with an image of an old crinkled photo of two boys on a tropical beach, grinning at the camera. Killua sees himself, white curly hair flying in all directions and pale skin sunburned and ruddy with the briny wind, happier than Killua can ever remember being. Next to him, one arm slung around his shoulders and the other holding a bucket full of seashells, is a brown-skinned boy with freckles dancing across his nose and the tops of his shoulders, brown eyes wide and laughing and black hair thick and spiked from some mix of wind and seawater and natural gravity defiance.

He didn’t know he still had this photo. It had followed him from childhood all the way through grad school, a carefully guarded keepsake hidden away from the watchful eyes of his parents and Illumi, before ending up in a box or a bag at some point in the last few years. Part of Killua thought he’d lost it in the move. He barely remembers much about being twelve, about the cruise he’d been forcibly dragged on. But he remembers…

HAVE YOU SEEN THIS BOY? yells the caption. WE WERE BEST FRIENDS FOR A WEEK WHEN I GOT DRAGGED ON A CRUISE BY MY ASSHOLE PARENTS. HE WAS 12 ON WHALE ISLAND 15 YEARS AGO. IF FOUND, DM IMMEDIATELY.

“Gon,” Killua breathes.

He gathers himself, wrapping the blanket around his head in a feeble protection against the morning, and lurches over to Alluka’s room.

He gets to bang on her door three times, confused spite winning out over his own pounding headache, before Kalluto appears out of their room, blinking blearily at Killua. “Shut up.”

Killua kicks Alluka’s door for good measure, and brandishes his phone in front of him like a weapon. “Not until you explain what the hell this is doing on the internet.”

Kalluto pales, then flushes, then pales again. “Oh. Um.”

At that, Alluka creaks her door open, guilty blue eyes far too awake for how close to noon it is. Killua kind of wants to kill her on principle alone. If he has to be hungover, so does everyone else.

“Explain,” he grinds out through his teeth.

The third and final sign that today is going to be an absolutely terrible day, is when Alluka puts on her most winning smile, the kind she uses to ward off angry customers and idiotic faux-academics on the internet. “Congratulations, Brother! I might have made you go viral.”

Killua throws his phone at her.

—————

Today’s going to be a good day, Gon decides. He’s been in the forests of East Gorteau for the better part of a month, which normally isn’t so bad. But this group has been…They’re nice enough, when Gon’s not spending half of his time explaining that, no, that species of plant does not make a good stew, and no, that species is endangered please don’t hunt them, and yes Gon is sure he doesn’t date his clients even after the hike, and no the reason the tent fell over again is because it wasn’t properly set up in the first place—

All of Aunt Mito’s complaints about tourists on Whale Island make so much more sense, now that Gon’s leading backwoods hikes.

But last night had been fun! Spinner had met the group at a pre-set campsite not far from their pickup so Gon hadn’t had to work the whole night, and he could relax with his friend over good food, more alcohol than he probably should have drunk, and not having to explain to Mrs. Yuldvin the difference between marijuana, buckeye, and poison oak again. Spinner had even taken care of the fire, although she had left him to rescue the Podomos siblings from the ruins of their tent with nothing more than a smirk and a wave. Nevertheless, Gon smiled through his headache all morning, because soon he’ll be home, and he can sleep.

Zushi is waiting in the parking lot once Gon’s done packing up the last of the gear and saying goodbye to Spinner, jeep idling while he flicks through his phone, thick eyebrows drawn together in increasing concern. He doesn’t even look up until Gon drops his pack onto the hood of the car, and he jolts so badly in surprise that he tosses his phone in the air.

“Are you okay?” Gon asks, and tries to peek at the screen.

Zushi pulls it up and away, a frantic look in his eyes. It won’t really keep Gon from seeing what’s happening, not if he wants to, but Zushi’s height is enough of a deterrent to make it hard. “You were gone way too long,” he says.

Gon leans against the hot metal of Zushi’s car. It wasn’t an unusual length for a trip, not really—this backcountry needs the length to be able to see and understand the region. Not to mention the Small Billed Swan preservation society keeping the whole place locked down except to authorized guides and trekkers. Zushi knows this. They’ve been roommates long enough that this isn’t even the longest time Gon’s been gone.

“You knew I’d be gone til today,” Gon says.

“Yeah, but…” Zushi’s eyebrows descend even further, scrunching his whole face up in worry. “You haven’t checked your phone, right?”

“No?” Even if he did have cell service, Gon never brings his own phone. He borrows Kite’s satellite phone, because it is more reliable and doesn’t need to be charged constantly.

“Okay. Well.” Zushi takes a deep breath, then another, one of Wing’s old meditation techniques. Despite his exhaustion and single-minded determination to sink into a real bed and sleep for a week, Gon feels a minor pang of worry. On breath three, he unlocks his phone and turns it towards Gon. “You’re a meme.”

On Zushi’s screen is a photo Gon can’t ever forget about. Backed by Whale Island’s sunbleached white beaches and the humid brilliant colors of summer, Gon sees himself—twelve, smiling from ear to ear, hair a mess from swimming and his shirt practically covered in sand from digging up all the seashells in his bucket. He’s got an arm around another boy, who’s caught mid-laugh so his blue eyes burn the same color as the sky, white curls even messier than Gon’s hair. They look like they’ve known each other their whole lives, like they’d still be best friends even if they haven’t seen or spoken to each other since the photo was taken.

Gon hopes Killua thinks so, too.

He cradles the phone in his hand, carefully zooming in on their faces and the errant crinkles visible through the photo. His own faded copy is in a drawer, having survived a whole trip around the world and countless apartment jumps. This one looks just as well cared for, in its own way.

“That…is you, right?” Zushi asks carefully. “Because Wing was asking, and half of Kite’s guide company is yelling about it on your social media page that you don’t even use, and now people are messaging me, and they’re saying the weirdest things, and the post is from last week, so—”

“It’s Killua,” Gon says. A smile spreads across his face, a mirror to the one he’d had when he was twelve. “That’s Killua!”

“Who?” the others ask, but Gon isn’t listening.

He spins, frantically searching his pockets for his phone. “Spinner, can you do me a favor?”

She narrows her eyes suspiciously.

Gon knew today was going to be a good day.

—————

It’s been a week, and Killua has quit all social media forever.

The steady buzz of his phone informing the apartment of his notifications is not his problem. Alluka’s the one who decided to hack into his phone and post something to his old public account, the one he mostly uses for photos of cats and complaining about terrible business precedents. He hasn’t posted much since school, and if anything, it should have simply vanished into the void of the internet.

He finds the culprit fairly quickly, and for once it’s not his sister’s moderate but dedicated video following.

“Old man, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Leorio lounges in Alluka and Kalluto’s living room, freshly out of his scrubs and looking pleased as all hell. “I just reblogged a fun post from my friend,” he says somewhat defensively. “You were a cute kid, Killua. What happened?”

Killua feels a growl creep up his throat. “You can’t just do that,” he snaps.

“It’s not my fault the people like my well-coiffed but rugged appearance and dedication to social justice in medicine.”

“You have 500,000 followers because you made a joke post two years ago, and some authorized user reblogged it five times. It has nothing to do with your ugly mug.” If Killua squints and plugs his ears, he can even see why people think Leorio’s attractive or whatever: tan skin, lean but strong as hell, actually takes care of his hair, not to mention a damn good doctor with one of the most prestigious institutions in Yorknew who spends most of his free time running health clinics in impoverished neighborhoods. That’s all swell. But then he starts talking, and Killua has no idea where the off button is.

Leorio spreads a hand out, gesturing vaguely with the glass of iced tea that he’d helped himself to out of Alluka’s stash. “It has everything to do with my ‘ugly mug,’” he says. “Which is why I used my powers for good and spread your post. Don’t you want to find him?”

“Not like this!”

“You were not going to find him at all,” Kalluto’s quiet voice pipes up from the kitchen. They have night classes tonight, but Killua has a feeling that even if they were supposed to be attending their Yorknew Uni lectures, they would still be here making Killua’s life worse. “You’ve had that picture for years, and you did not even try to look.”

Leorio gives him a judgmental look over the tops of his stupid tiny glasses. “You haven’t?”

It would be a losing game to bury his burning face in one of the throw pillows, so Killua does his best to cross his arms over his chest and glower instead. “I…tried.”

“And?”

“I don’t even know his last name!” Killua splutters. “I didn’t have his number or where he was from, other than his mom worked on the ship. And that cruiseline went bankrupt and liquidated everything before I could get out of the house, so I couldn’t even look that up.”

Kalluto crosses over from the kitchen and perches like a sweatshirt-wearing crow on the coffee table, their blue eyes carefully neutral under straight black bangs. “Alluka and Nanika would have helped. Or even Milluki, if you had explained the situation.”

“I was eighteen, okay? I just left home, and our parents were still being…shit, themselves, I guess.” He hadn’t even considered asking for help. Then again, he’d tried the moment he could, that first summer of undergrad where he didn’t have to come home and Illumi couldn’t spend half his time breathing down the back of Killua’s neck. He had a general idea of where they’d gone, maps of islands scurried away in the closet with the old photo and a bag full of seashells Gon had given him as a going-away present.

They’d been friends for a week, in the whirlwind way that only kids can be. The cruise ship was massive, and Killua’s parents were in meetings half the time and playing nice with the other rich people on board the other half. Killua had been bored witless, and Gon was everything he couldn’t have possibly imagined: encouraging Killua to go exploring, to stealing food from the kitchens, making him help clean up the decks, playing cards with the deckhands. Sneaking off the boat to visit an island without Killua’s parents while the ship was docked, scrambling over the burning hot sands and dashing through the jungle, diving into the waves fully clothed and competing to see who could find the biggest prettiest shells. Gon’d been Killua’s first friend, his first crush, his first…a lot of firsts.

Then the cruise had ended, and Killua forgot to give Gon his phone number. His address. Anything. They’d been so swept up in being friends, being best friends, it had seemed impossible that they would never see each other again.

Does Gon even remember? Why should he, when Killua hasn’t contacted him? Would they even be friends anymore?

Maybe he hadn’t searched hard enough. But part of Killua thinks he shouldn’t have tried at all.

The phone buzzes loudly, and Killua tries not to flinch.

“Hey, Killua. It’s okay.” Leorio leans forward, hands clasped over his too-long limbs and expression gentle. “If you want me to delete it, I will. Not sure I can help with the viral part of things, except maybe go through your messages and delete the gross ones, or at least find the weirdest ones for you to laugh at later.”

“Alluka and I have been doing this already,” Kalluto says, their posture a little too protective for Killua’s raw nerves at this point. “But perhaps you have some suggestions for what to do next, Dr. Paladiknight?”

Leorio smiles sympathetically. “Don’t read the comments? That said, most of your comments have been much more positive than anything I usually post. The masses seem to be genuinely rooting for you, kid.”

“I have only had to delete a dozen lewd messages for you this morning,” Kalluto adds, not mentioning the hundred or so that Alluka took care of yesterday.

Killua’s traitorous phone buzzes again, and that’s it. Time to bury himself in a pillow. Killua flops onto the couch, narrowly missing Leorio, and does his best to burrow into the cushions. “That’s just great,” he says into the fabric.

A comforting hand rubs against his hair, messing up the curls for a moment, and Killua refuses to admit that it’s nice, that he has friends like Leorio who even bother to care. “It could be worse. You could be dealing with this while still working a soul-sucking job making more money than most of us will see in our lifetimes, in exchange for giving up all of your morals.”

Killua groans loudly. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“You’re gonna need to do something, Killua! And hey, I might be able to set something up with my—”

“I already told you, no.”

“But it’s what you’re good at. And you wouldn’t be fucking people over to do it.”

“No.”

“Just listen for one—”

Killua lifts his head enough to glare as murderously as he can at Leorio. It must work at least a little, because the doctor shuts up.

Meanwhile, Kalluto is scrolling through Killua’s phone, poking at the screen occasionally. In the awkward silence, their sharp gasp is loud enough to shatter a window, and they hurriedly shove the phone in the pocket of their oversized sweatshirt.

Leorio raises an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”

Kalluto squeezes their eyes shut for a moment, then carefully places the phone on the coffee table, screen pointed innocently at the ceiling. “You will want to look at this one, Brother.”

“This isn’t another erotic sandcastle is it?” he says.

Kalluto shakes their head, and Killua’s stomach lurches up his throat. Alluka has been the one excited about this whole thing. But Kalluto, as reserved as they are, is a massive romantic. The whole thing might be Alluka’s fault, but Killua knows it’s Kalluto who almost lets themselves believe it’ll work. Despite all of the false positives, the people who send messages that don’t sound right or photos that have the wrong smile.

Killua doesn’t want to hope. It can’t possibly be Gon. But his hands shake nonetheless as he unlocks his phone and finds a new message in his DMs.

It’s not from Gon.

Instead, someone with the icon of a small-billed white swan in a soft small-billed hat and a handle of @flymypretties has sent a photo of a brown-skinned man with spiky black hair absolutely covered in dirt and grime. He’s waving at the camera, a backpacking bag propped against his shoulder and the widest smile Killua has ever seen beaming straight through the screen and into his chest. Next to him and half out of frame, a tall tanned man with massive black eyebrows and a tank top showing off an impressive amount of muscle has his head in his hands. Killua feels a sharp stab of sympathy, somewhere buried beneath the racing of his heart.

look im sorry about this but this idiot can’t find his phone and we r kind of in the middle of nowhere so reception’s shit. he wants to know if you admit he found the biggest seashell on the beach, whatever that means.

For a long, long moment—seconds? minutes maybe?—Killua can do nothing but stare at the screen of his phone. Leorio and Kalluto both look at him with a mix of curiosity and worry, Kalluto starting to slowly reach for the phone.

In a completely childish protective moment, Killua grabs it against his chest, like the image will vanish if he doesn’t keep it close.

“Is it…?” Leorio asks.

Killua swallows heavily, trying to think around the roaring of the ocean in his ears. “I think so,” he says faintly.

Kalluto’s eyes widen, and they spin on their heels towards their room. “I’m calling Alluka!”

—————

“Has he responded?”

“No!”

“…what about now?”

Spinner throws her hands in the air so violently that her hat falls off. “For god’s sake, Gon, it’s been an hour, you don’t even have your phone, and you still need to go home.”

Gon huffs and pouts. They’re still in the parking lot over an hour after the rest of the trekking group has left, and all the exhaustion that had settled into Gon’s body from the tour has been turned into a jittery energy that keeps trying to leak out from under his skin. He wants to go home immediately and dig out his copy of the photo, rub out the old fingerprints he and Aunt Mito have left on it over the years. He wants to find his phone and message Killua directly. He wants to wait right here until Killua responds, no matter how long it takes.

He knows it’s childish, to be this selfish. Spinner has work to do, work that she already put on hold to help with the last day of the tour. Kite probably will want to know what’s happening, or at least why his lead guide and his chief guide organizer have been stuck in a parking lot. And Gon can practically feel Zushi’s obsessive scrolling through social media, frantically trying to navigate Gon’s feeds without actually having access.

Gon needs to find his phone.

“Spinner, what if—”

It’s not that Spinner’s a large woman. Out of the three people standing in the parking lot, Zushi’s far and away the strongest, even if he is about as threatening as a large, muscular teddy bear. And Gon has only packed on weight and muscle over his years of backpacking around the wilderness, no matter that he’s not super tall. But Spinner goes for longer, harder treks on her own than anyone but Kite, and she packs in her own climbing gear on top of that, so when she tosses Gon into the back of Zushi’s jeep, he flies.

“Zushi,” she says in a low exhausted snarl, and he jumps right off the hood of his car. Gon probably would have felt bad for him, if everything wasn’t spinning. “If you do not take your roommate home, I am not responsible for the consequences.”

“What if you hear back?” Gon groans around the aches in his side.

Spinner rolls her eyes, and Gon knows she’s just tired. “I’ll let you know.”

“But what if my phone’s gone? What will I do if someone stole it, or if I can’t—”

“I’ll call you go home already,” she says, and slams the door shut on his face.

For a long moment, the only sound is Spinner storming away, boots thudding heavily in the dirt until her car door slams.

The jeep shifts slightly as Zushi quietly lowers himself into the driver’s seat and puts the key into the ignition. Gon wants to tell him to follow Spinner, so she can yell out the window as soon as Killua gets back to her. But Zushi looks about ready to bolt. So Gon slumps back in the seat, the rumble of tires crunching through gravel making his already jittery nerves shake.

A small voice that sounds a lot like Kite tells Gon that it’s better to wait, that it will be easier to have a conversation and determine if this really is Killua after a rest and a shower.

Gon doesn’t want that, though. He wants…

It’s been a long time since he was on Whale Island. Longer still since he saw Killua. That doesn’t mean he stopped thinking about either of them, during the quiet moments out under the stars. They’re part of him, like his lungs are part of him—essential and irreplaceable, buried so far inside that removing them would change him irrevocably.

What is Killua like now? Is Gon just as important to him as he is to Gon? He has to be. Right?

They make it home without saying anything else. Gon floats in and out between bone-deep weariness and electric sparks of nervous joy, and Zushi flinches every time Gon jolts himself from one to the other.

“Hey, are you…I mean, maybe not okay, but.”

Gon lifts his chin up sharply at the sound of his roommate’s voice, and notices the familiar apartment complex in front of him. Oh, they’re home. “I’m good,” he says, and grins.

“Sure,” Zushi says like he doesn’t believe Gon.

A dubious silence stretches out between them as they gather the rest of the gear, dropping it in a heap on the sidewalk. “You were kids, though,” Zushi finally says.

Gon shrugs and slams the door shut hard enough to make the vehicle rattle. “I didn’t forget. So I don’t think Killua would, either.”

Zushi’s eyebrows wrinkle on each other, like they can’t decide whether to go up or down and settle on some combination of the two. “What if he did?”

“He didn’t,” Gon says, more sure of that than anything else in his life.

Zushi’s eyebrows dance again, but he doesn’t say anything else.

Between Gon’s camping gear and Zushi’s leftover practice pads, it takes longer than Gon’s excitement can take to get everything settled enough to look for his phone. Well, Gon would have liked to look for his phone, but Zushi makes a pointed look at the shower. There are only so many places the phone could be in the whole apartment, after all.

Gon’s just drying off when Zushi knocks on the door. “I found it, but it’s dead,” he says, voice muffled.

“Then charge it!” Gon shouts. After a moment, he adds, quieter and less snappishly, “Please?”

A faint laugh echoes through the apartment.

By the time Gon can make himself a very early dinner of whatever he could grab out of the cabinets without thinking, the phone is charged enough to turn on. Sure enough, there are a wide variety of messages, mostly from Kite’s groupchat asking about the viral post. A few are from former hikers, people who Gon liked enough to share contact info, offering to see if they can get in touch. There are even a few—okay, how did they get ahold of his old social media page? It’s practically defunct, since Gon’s never had a phone capable of more than the most basic apps. And those are…

It’s flattering in a way, but Gon’s not really into that. Or them.

Zushi catches sight of the grimace, and takes one look over Gon’s shoulder before turning beet red.

By the time he’s gone through and deleted the vast majority of what had been filling up his phone, there’s still no message from Spinner, and nothing at all from Killua. Gon sighs and lies his head down on the table with a heavy thunk.

The other chair scrapes heavily along the tiles as Zushi sits, a mug of coffee in his hands. “What will you do? When he messages you, I mean.”

When, not if, an unexpected certainty coming from Zushi. Gon has the best friends in the world. “Talk to him,” Gon says. “It’s only been fifteen years, right? We promised we’d be friends forever.”

“A lot changes in fifteen years,” Zushi says.

“Not that.”

“Then why didn’t you look for him?”

Gon frowns. It had taken a long, long time, but Aunt Mito managed to track down the cruise captain the last time they were in port, tracing through old charters until the right names came up. But when she’d called them up, she’d been met with stonewall after stonewall, pleasant-sounding voices insisting in no uncertain terms that she would never speak with a member of Killua’s family, let alone let her son speak to his friend. By the time Gon was old enough to look himself, he found nothing but a mansion full of people whose eyes matched Killua’s in everything except for his warmth, who refused to even acknowledge Gon’s presence except to throw him out.

That had been years ago. It’s not that Gon stopped looking. Not exactly.

“I did, but I—” Gon starts to say, but his phone buzzes violently against the table, and they both jump out of their chairs.

“Is it—?” Zushi asks, breath in his throat.

It’s a message from Spinner. you owe me big time, kid, she says, followed by a phone number.

Gon rips his phone off the cable, a wide smile spreading across his face. “It is,” he says, and dials Killua.

—————

bzz bzz—

bzz bzz—

bzz b—

“H-hello?”

“Killua! Hi!”

“…Gon? Is that—It’s really…?”

“Killua, it’s you, I thought I’d never—”

“I did find the biggest seashell, and you know it.”

A breath, sharp and astonished. “The blue and white one, with green lines.”

“I found it, and I gave it to you.”

“I still have it.”

A snort of amusement, slightly damp. “I know. You promised you’d keep it.”

“I did. And I promised—”

“That we’d be friends forever.”

A laugh, delighted and teary at the same time. “I knew you remembered.”

“I did promise you that I would.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

(AUgust prompts)

[wxlfstxrx]

My Love (Chapter Three!!!!)

FINALLY. the final chapter is up!! god, i’m tired. firstly, before i forget, pls forgive my ignorance regarding the passport thing. HAHA. i had no idea that a passport wasn't necessary when crossing between states. best believe i was shooketh when i found out. i tried to briefly correct it in this chapter. also, once again the French phrases were translated online, so apologies if there are any errors.

i wanna thank everyone who’s provided support one way or another. i love you guys <3<3

special thanks to @lumosinlove for the wonderful story & characters. you are very lovely :))

“DUMO,” Finn yelled as the Dumais’ door slammed open. “God damn, fuck, I’m sorry, oh god—”

“C’est bon, Harz,” Dumo, who had jumped in shock, got up off the couch and made his way over to Finn and Leo, meeting them halfway at the entryway of the living room. 

“I don’t understand,” Leo removed his glasses to rub at his eyes blearily, not bothering with contact lenses at six thirty in the morning. “Pourquoi est-il parti?”

“Je ne sais pas, mais quelque chose a dû lui arriver....”

Finn groaned and shoved Leo lightly. “French, guys.”

“Sorry, mon chéri,” Leo patted Finn’s unruly mop lightly.

Dumo raised an eyebrow at Leo, who yawned, unaware. “Dumo, you’ve got any coffee? I can’t think straight right now.”

Dumo gestured for the two boys to follow him into the kitchen, where he started heating water in the electric kettle. He busied himself with getting three mugs while Finn and Leo plonked themselves at the dining table. 

While Leo was still half asleep, despite dozing on the car ride to the Dumais’, Finn was filled with nervous energy, subconsciously shaking his knee out of habit until Leo softly slapped his thigh under the table to stop him from rocking the table.

None of them said a word, all lost in their own thoughts until Dumo placed the three steaming mugs of coffee on the table, along with creamer and sugar, before sitting down opposite the pair. He took a sip, while Finn and Leo jostled for the creamer and sugar. When they were sufficiently satisfied with their coffees, Finn spoke up again.

“Dumo… You didn’t speak to Logan at all yesterday?” 

“Non, not since before he left the house after training. D’you know where he went?” Dumo gave Finn a significant look, the latter flushing and quickly taking a big gulp of his coffee to avoid meeting the former’s eyes.

After several moments, Finn realised he hadn’t answered. He shrugged in what he hoped looked like a nonchalant way, “We went for lunch, and then he dropped by. He… He left before dinner, so I assumed he, err… I assumed he came back here right away.”

“Ah bon? Celeste and I brought the kids upstairs to bed around ten, and he still hadn’t come back by then.” Dumo frowned into his mug, as though his coffee had the answers to all his problems.

Finn and Leo shared a look, Leo raising his brows meaningfully. He jerked his head ever so slightly in Dumo’s direction, and Finn shook his head sadly, looking down at his hands. 

“And he’s not answering his phone?”

Dumo laughed humourlessly. “Never does, that boy. It’s bad enough on normal days, but I think he’s completely turned his phone off. I can’t get through at all, and his last seen was—”

“Yesterday night. Yeah.” Finn buried his face in his hands.

“Did… Did you try asking the rest of the team? Maybe they’ve seen him,” Leo suggested, running a hand through his messy blonde hair.

“Later, I guess,” Dumo hummed, looking out of the kitchen window. “‘s still a bit early.”

Finn stayed silent, draining the rest of his coffee in one gulp. His knee was shaking again, and Leo didn’t have the heart to stop him this time.

They went down to the basement, greeting a sleepy, bewildered Celeste at the stairs as she made her way to the kitchen. Dumo stayed to exchange terse whispers with her while the other two boys headed down.

Objectively, Logan’s room looked as it always had: his unmade double bed with pillows strewn all over and the duvet half falling off the bed (Why make your bed every morning when you’re just gonna mess it up again at night, hmm Harz? You know I’m right.), his dirty clothes clumsily thrown into a laundry hamper by the door, the small desk cluttered with random knick knacks such as his laptop, several caps that he hadn’t bothered to stow away properly, and a few bottles of cologne. The floor was in an even worse state, however, where a few stray tee shirts that had fallen out of the laundry hamper and a whole array of clothing items that had tumbled out of his wardrobe on the far end of the room. 

Finn approached the mess by his wardrobe, his stomach dropping. Crouching down, he let his hand run over the soft fabric of his red Lions hoodie. The exact one that he was wearing now. He lifted the hoodie up, biting down onto his bottom lip, and let himself fall backwards on his arse, into a sitting position. 

He felt a warm hand on his shoulder, and he turned his head to look up at Leo, wide brown eyes shining with tears. 

“Mon chou…” Leo’s eyes darted around Finn’s face, and he had just started to tug on his hoodie to pull him into a hug when they heard footsteps right outside the door.

Leo quickly stood up and took a step back, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants just as Dumo walked in.

“I’ve dropped Sirius and James a text, hopefully they’ll have some idea of where he is,” The older man frowned, his voice trembling, looking as heartbroken as Finn felt.

“Thanks, Dumo,” Finn ran his hand through his wild red curls, tugging on them in a weak attempt to calm his nerves. No such luck. “I’m sorry, this mustn’t be easy for you either, yeah?”

Dumo smiled dejectedly. 

“He’s like a son to me. Mon dieu. I don’t know what to do. I’ve never…” He dropped down onto the edge of Logan’s bed, wringing his hands together. “It’s just… He’s been with me for some time now, oui? I can sort of read him. Sometimes even better than he knows himself.”

He looked at Finn once again, who ignored the thundering of his heart in his chest. 

“I’ve noticed something off ever since he came to live with us. I mean… I do think he enjoys staying here, sincerely. We get along well. We all love him... Me and Celeste and the kids. We spend a lot of time at home just, being together, you know? Playing games and talking and watching the telly. We’ve always been close. But there’s just something, something that he’s not telling us. He gets closed off sometimes when we’re talking to him, and some nights he comes home refusing to talk to any of us at all, heading down to his room immediately. But then the next morning, he’ll kiss us all on the cheek, and he’ll take us out for breakfast, as if nothing happened.

“He acts as though he’s fine all the time, and maybe he doesn’t know it himself, but I know. Je la vois. Dad instincts,” Dumo tapped his temple with his pointer finger, the corner of his mouth turning upward slightly, but without a hint of joy. 

Leo sighed and asked Dumo a question, but Finn barely heard it. His mind was running in overdrive.

He knew that they had parted on awkward terms when he got drafted to the Lions, and other than the text reply that came a few days after Finn had messaged him when he had arrived in Gryffindor, they frankly hadn’t talked much for a couple of months. He felt like he had left his heart behind at Harvard, and the homesickness he had felt, combined with the heartbreak over being away from Logan for the first time in years had him feeling very, very lost and unsure. 

Several times, he had stared into his phone for long periods of time, Logan’s contact flashing on his screen, but he had never dared to make the call. Call me when you get there. I want to hear about everything. What would he even have said? Both of them had been in two very different places, and he knew Logan had been missing him too. Would he have just made things worse if he had called? 

So, he never did.

His first interaction with Logan after that had been when the younger boy had graduated. After several unsent drafts, he had finally decided to text Logan a simple Happy graduation, I’m proud of you.

Logan had called him almost immediately, chattering excitedly, and since he had been seemingly in higher spirits, Finn had let him, sitting in his apartment alone, feeling a sense of calm washing over him for the first time in almost a year. 

They had kept in contact regularly afterwards, after both of them had apologised, awkwardly, for not catching up sooner. Logan had not said a word about what had happened during the party two years ago, or the night before he had left Harvard. He had decided to let it slide, though. If ignoring what had happened would give him back his best friend, he’d take it in a heartbeat.

Soon after, Logan had been drafted into the Lions. Finn had felt a whole roller-coaster of emotions: pride, excitement, and love, but also fear and nervousness. He hadn’t known what to expect. Would things be the same between them? Or would their friendship be different, now that they were out of school and past their partying days? Would they still be living together, like they did in school? Would Logan ask to share the apartment with him? Would he ask Logan?

One day, he had woken up to receive news that Logan had chosen to billet with Dumo and his family, and Finn never did have the chance to ask. He had felt as though his heart had been ripped in half, and seeing him during trainings together had been strained and tense for some time after. 

Following one of their team dinners about a month after, they had talked it out, just the two of them, seated on the trunk of his car in the parking lot of Sid’s. Neither of them had really looked at each other. Basked in the warm glow of the streetlamp above them, Finn had never felt colder than he did then. 

Didn’t— Didn’t you think I would’ve asked you to stay with me?

I did. That’s exactly why I didn’t.

Finn had sucked in a deep breath at that, feeling the pain in his chest intensify until he had found it difficult to breathe.

Okay. Yeah, no, it’s alright.

I’m sorry. I couldn’t. I— I couldn’t. 

It hadn’t been alright.

read the rest on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24215410/chapters/58975165 <3

[junietc]

car rides with you - peter parker

peter parker x reader

pairing: peter parker/spiderman x reader

word count: 6567

warning: swearing, some asshole who doesn’t know how to respect women, and fluffffff

a/n: i’ve had this in my drafts for way too long so i decided to finish it before i forgot it ever existed. its really long but i hope you’ll enjoy a one shot with our favourite little peter benjamin parker :)

send in requests and share your love ~

If you were being honest, it wasn’t like you needed Peter to drive you to and from school each day. You had options. You could take the bus or ask your dad to pick you up or even walk. But having a personal chauffeur didn’t hurt, and if he was so nice as to offer it, then how could you say no? 

Plus, it was on his way. Sort of. It was only a detour of about a block; maybe less a detour and more an alternate route? Either way, his apartment complex was hardly two minutes away. Five minutes to walk, three with your bike, six if you hobble over with a tweaked ankle. 

This was a route you’ve been intimately familiar with since you became best friends in the seventh grade. Back when your hair was barely past your ears after a platinum blonde mishap (you still immediately dyed it green after lobbing off half of it) and Peter was wearing the same hideous Star Wars sweater every day. Somehow, both of you believed these fashion choices would help improve your social status.

Both of you were delusional. 

Luckily, by ages sixteen (you) and seventeen (Peter, by default), you’d come to your senses. Sure, Peter’s penchant for sweaters persisted – why would any one person need five of what was basically the same sweater? – but you grew your hair back out and kept its inoffensive natural colour. And neither of you wore shirts with puns on them. Not anymore.

Earlier this year, back when you were still sophomores, Peter passed his driver’s test. Now with a full license and his aunt’s old sedan, he’s taken the habit of waking up the whole neighbourhood with his obnoxious honking.

Okay, maybe not the entire neighbourhood. Really, just you. 

Still, today was no different.

“Hey, Peter,” you yelled out as you swung the door open, “How about shutting the fuck up?”

You shoved your feet into your shoes and scrambled out, backpack dangling off the crook of your elbow and burnt toast between your teeth as you try to shut the door. Peter leaned across to push open the passenger door so that you could throw your things into the backseat. Papers flew out of the half-zipped bag and spilled onto the floor. 

“For the expletives, I’m afraid I’ll have to only give you a three-star passenger rating,” Peter quipped.

You frowned deeply, pulling the seatbelt. The mechanism got stuck, and you had to pull it out a few more times again. Peter just grinned at you, clearly taking joy in your glares.

“So, ready for the chem test?” he asked, shifting the gears. 

You rolled your eyes, knowing very well that you had sent him a distressed voice message at four in the morning of you crying, saying how you were going to fail, but decided to respond as nicely as possible. “Fuck off.”

He chuckled. He pulled up to the intersection, slowing down but not stopping at the sign. 

You mock gasped. “Wow, illegal. Imagine if there were cops. I’m going to have to give you two stars. I can’t have my Uber driver potentially getting arrested.”

He sighed, shoving you with his free hand. You almost scolded him for not keeping both hands on the wheel (one star!), but he began talking before you could. “You should know, that if I ever was sent to jail, it would never be for something as lame as not stopping at a stop sign”

You snorted before rolling your eyes. “Oh? What would it be for then? Pirating video games?”

“Exactly.” He winked exaggeratedly; you shoved his face to focus back on the road. You looked down at the charred toast, which had been sprinkling crumbs all over your lap. It was far from appetizing, but your stomach growled, and you decided to scarf it down – it was that or no breakfast at all.

Peter laughed at the wince you tried to stomach what was basically a brick of carbon. (Honestly, he laughed at your expense a lot. Some friend.) “I really don’t know why you haven’t just started waking up earlier. I mean, I pick you up at the same time every day and-”

“Okay dad. I’ll start waking up earlier,” you lied.

“I hope you know that I know, you’re lying.”

You flipped him off. 

-----

Lunch seemed to be the only time that you and MJ ever got to hang out at school, so you took pride in making the most of your conversations. 

The two of you shared a laugh and through your peripheral vision, you saw Ned and Peter waving at you before coming to sit down. “So, what are we talking about?” Ned asked as you turned to face them with a smile. 

“Where MJ is going to hide my body after she kills me,” you notice her crack a smile as Ned and Peter both give you strange looks. “I was thinking maybe throw me in a river, but she thinks that burying me twenty feet underground would make it harder for the cops to find.”

The two boys looked at you apprehensively as MJ chuckled as you grinned cheerfully. “Should I be concerned?” Peter asked before you all laughed. 

“Anyways. I was thinking of finally taking my driver’s test. I decided might as well get it over with no?” MJ and Ned both nodded at your suggestion, MJ even mumbling something among the lines of “finally”. Peter on the hand looked, well, skeptical. 

“You want to take it now? Out of the blue? Why? I thought you wanted to wait until you had a job,” he questioned.

After taking another sip of the juice box you managed to steal from Ned, you shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I might as well get it over with. I mean, it’s been well over six months since my written test and I’ve been practicing enough with you and my dad, so I should be fine.”

Peter nodded, though a slight frown still prominent on his face. The conversation steered over to a completely different topic when Ned brought up the chemistry test causing you to pretend to bawl and everyone to laugh.

After lunch had ended, you said your goodbyes to Ned and MJ as you and Peter stopped at your locker. You were in the midst of grabbing your book when he sighed heavily, causing you to stare at him. “You know if you really wanted me to stop driving you, you could have just said so,” his voice was offended as you scoffed.

“What? Where would you get that idea from idiot?”

Huffing slightly, he shrugged, “I don’t know, maybe when you said you wanted to finally get your license.” 

“Are you serious? I’ve been meaning to get my license for the past few months you dummy. Plus, I can’t count on you to drive me everywhere. You’re busy with your own life, you know with that Stark internship and everything. Not to mention, you’re still going to have to drive me to school, since I don’t even have a car,” you roll your eyes at the boy. 

A light smile started to tug on his lips. “Alright. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t trying to get rid of me,” he joked as you snorted in response.

“Oh trust me, I’ve been trying since the day I met you,” Peter pouts as you flicked him in the forehead. “Stop with that face. You know I suck up to how cute each time,” his cheeks tinged a pinkish hue as you ruffled his hair and laughed. 

“O-Oh. Yeah, haha. Sorry,” he murmured as you started to walk in the opposite direction. He caught up with you before heading over to English – which truly was your worst subject – and sitting next to each other. 

Peter fiddled with his pencil for the most of class while you aggressively took notes, wishing that Mr. Petersons would slow down and breathe.

“Alright class. That’s it for today but if everyone could just pick their partners for the project and try and get started over the weekend, that would be great,” as he dismissed everyone, you and Peter turned to each other, giving a silent acknowledgement that you were each other’s partner. 

Heading out of the classroom, you and Peter both went your separate ways. “See you after school!” you waved before heading to History.

History was blur of numbers, years and dead people that you were going to have to remember for an upcoming test, so you were thankful that the clock had finally read 3:00. Your teacher finally dismissed you, causin you to rush to the parking lot, seeing Peter already sitting in the front seat. “Hey there Parker,” you knocked on the window as he smiled and unlocked the door. 

“Hey, how was history?” rolling your eyes, you told him about the dumb test you were going to have to study for. He laughed as he buckled his seatbelt, “well at least you have the weekend to study for it. Speaking of which. When do you want to meet to work on the English project?”

Sighing slightly at the reminder that you had other things you also had to work on, you bit your lip. “Are you cool with Saturday? I’ll just walk over, maybe at like three or four,” Peter nodded as he started the car. 

“Sounds good to me.”

------

Swinging around Queens was always a nice break for Peter, seeing all of the buildings and feeling almost weightless was a nice distraction from all of his studies and duties but he always seemed to forget the time when he was doing so. 

Cue Peter – well Spiderman I guess – hurriedly swinging back to his apartment when he received a text from you saying you were at his door. “Shit, shit, shit!” he swore, finally reaching his window and climbing in. 

As he changed to some regular clothing, May’s voice echoed throughout the little apartment, talking to you as footsteps approached. “He’s been in his room for quite a while. I’m not sure what he’s been up to,” Peter was frantically trying to search for a shirt in his mess of a room when the footsteps got closer. “I have some muffins I baked earlier on the counter, feel free to have one if you get hungry. I’ll be off for a bit so just call if you –” May’s voice seems to be getting closer when she suddenly opened the door, revealing you staring at him, neck immediately snapping to turn the other direction. Peter tried covering himself with a pillow as May immediately said she had to go and left you both alone, very uncomfortable. 

You stood there, unsure of what to do and more so, where to look. Though obviously you looked away and allowed Peter to have his privacy finding a shirt, you couldn’t help but think of his shirtless figure. Since when did he start working out? ‘When did he get those abs? Is this the same Peter that literally dropped me during a drama performance last year?’ you thought to yourself, cheeks tinging pink as Peter finally put on a shirt.

“Hey, um – sorry about that. I was just –”

“Nope! It’s alright. We can just forget this ever happened,” you rushed to say, shaking your head.

Peter blushed before nodding. “Right. Let’s just erase the last two minutes from our brain.” 

You swung your legs as you sat on his bed. “You weren’t doing anything weird right? Because I know that guys - “

“That’s not what I was doing! I was just changing,” he shook his head as you laughed. “Asides from that. Do you want to start working on the project?” You nodded as the two of you got to work. 

– a few hours later –

  You were both hard at work, basically finished the first two parts of the project, leaving only the last section left when you flopped onto Peter’s bed dramatically. “I’m so exhausted,” you whined, as Peter chuckled. 

“We only have one more part to do and we’re practically done the project, so do you want to finish it now?” Peter asked, still typing in his laptop. 

You pursed your lips, pondering on the idea of that but shook your head ultimately. “Nah. I’m tired. Plus, we’ve been working our asses off the past three hours. I just need to breathe.” 

Peter laughed at your dramatics before he asking question. “Do you wanna watch a movie?”

Obviously agreeing to a break in any form, you nodded eagerly and headed over to the living room. You managed to steal a blanket from his bed and bundled yourself up as Peter turned on the television. “So, what are we watching?” he asked, flipped through the collection of old DVD’s. 

“Can we watch Star Wars?” he pleaded as you rolled your eyes, this was probably the third time this month he wanted to watch Star Wars, but you agreed to it anyways. 

“Fine, just don’t be annoying about it again.” 

------

The weekend seemed to breeze by with you desperately trying to study for the history test, and with only a few mental breakdowns and a couple thousand replays of your favourite song, you were ready.

Obviously, you severely underestimated how cruel Ms. Gail could have possibly been and left the classroom wanting to punch yourself, or her, in the face.

Luckily you didn’t have to endure another class seeing as the day was over and you could get home to your bed to cry in private. But before that of course, you were forced to see Peter’s face.

A light smile was etched on his face as you settled in the car. “So how was the –”

“Don’t bring it up. I am already debating whether or not I should throw myself off a building,” you groaned, leaning your head back on the seat. Peter laughed before trying to reassure you that it really couldn’t have been that bad, but you responded with, “no it really was. I honestly think I only got one or two answers right.”

Trying to raise your spirits, an idea popped in his head. “Do you want to get sandwiches at Mr. Delmar’s? Maybe that’ll lighten up your mood,” he suggested as a bright grin formed on your face. As devastated as you were, you were sure that a full stomach would make everything better. “Alright let’s go.”

Obviously, parking was a nightmare in central Queens, so, you decided it would be easier to walk there instead. The two of you headed to the small corner shop, making light conversation. After opening the door to the store, the two greeted Mr. Delmar, Peter snatching a packet of gummies worms and you going directly to pet Murph, Mr. Delmar’s cat. 

“Hey Murph! How’s my cutie doing?” he purred in response before you walked over to the cash with Peter. “Hey Mr. Delmar! Business running smoothly?”

He smiled at you before answering. “Of course. I’ve got my two most frequent costumers keeping me in business,” you and Peter laughed before ordering your sandwiches, paying and heading off. 

You walked back to the school and got back in Peter’s car, eating your sandwiches in the school parking lot. The two of you conversed, making up dumb scenarios and silly topics for a while. Peter nearly choked of laughter as you tried to defend Tik-Tok.

“Not all of Tik-Tok is thirst traps okay! Maybe yeah there’s a weird subsection of it, but it really depends on the algorithm! Most of the users are sane – ish,” you argued as Peter shook his head. 

“I really don’t get it. And somehow you stay up until morning watching them! Didn’t you do that when Vine was still around?” he took a pause, a dramatic gasp escaping from his lips. “You’re not saying what I think you’re saying are you?”

You placed on a hand on your chest in slight offence. “No! What? Listen, I’m not saying that Tik-Tok is better than Vine, don’t get me wrong but –”

“But what? Tell me?” he raised a brow at you, suspicious as to which team your truly were on. 

You shook your head laughing before punching him on the side of his arm. “You’re such a piss off Parker. Hey, should we get going? It’s getting late,” Peter looked at the time on his phone before nodding, taking a final bite of his sandwich before starting the car. 

“Oh, shoot you’re right,” you smugly flipped your hair, as he rolled his eyes. 

“Aren’t I always?”

----

“You said yes?” Peter demanded, trying to keep up with you as you walked to your locker. 

Sighing as you rummage through your locker you answer, “Yeah I said yes. Noah is a good guy and quite frankly, I don’t see why it would even matter to you?” 

“You said that you would think about it!”

Turning to face him as you shut your locker closed, you rolled your eyes. “That was nearly a week ago and I’ve thought about it since then. Besides, it’s not like it’s that big of a deal. It’s just one date.”

“You see that’s where it starts!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. “It’s just a first date but then it’s a second and a third and soon he’s your boyfriend and he’s the one driving you to school and everywhere and then, where am I?”

You shook your head laughing slightly at the brunette. “Would you calm down Peter? You’re getting way too ahead of yourself for the first part. And yeah, maybe it’ll be more than one date but trust me you can keep driving me to school. Also we’ve been best friends since middle school, I wouldn’t just ditch you when I got boyfriend,” he seemed to calm down, nodding slowly at the words you were saying but he knew it was more than just being allowed to drive you to school. “I’ll see you around okay?” you smiled before heading off to meet up with Noah, who was standing with a group of his friends. 

Peter’s smile faded away shortly as he watched Noah wrap his arm around your shoulder. He was too busy thinking of different scenarios to notice Ned had come up beside him or the fact that you had slapped Noah’s arm away. “Hey Peter. What are you looking – oh. Sorry man,” Ned tried to console Peter, but the words seemed to pass his mind. Sighing, Ned tried to pat his shoulder. “I mean, it is kind of your fault.” 

“Excuse me?” the words seemed to catch his attention as he turned around to face his best friend. 

Ned shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets. “Hey not trying to be rude but maybe if you hadn’t chickened out into asking her out, you could’ve been the one dating her,” Peter stared at his friend, slightly hurt but also aware that everything he was saying was right. 

“Yeah, maybe if I had.” 

He couldn’t help but look at you wistfully, his heart almost aching at the idea of you going out with anyone else but him but at this point, what could he really do?

Waving bye to Ned, Peter headed off into his car and drove home since you were already going with Noah on your date. Once he got into his apartment, he saw May and smiled.  “Hey Pete, how was your day?” tucking his hands in his sweater pocket he sighed slightly. 

“It was okay, I guess. Erm – I’m gonna work on my assignment in the library. I’ll be back in a bit,” he said, heading off to his room to grab a few things. 

May shouted from in the kitchen, “alright! I’ll be heading off to grab a few things. Just be back before dinner!” he grabbed his suit and tried to get some fresh air to distract himself.

----

A month had passed, and you and Noah were happily dating, much to the dismay of Peter, who constantly tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his heart every time you two would display physical affection, but it was whatever. 

You got in his car and buckled your seat belt without a word to Peter. You were tired of schoolwork as you always were, so you weren’t as talkative as you usually were. Slumping into the chair and sighing heavily Peter stared at you.

“Everything okay?”

You looked at him surprised, nodding. “Of course! I’m just really exhausted. Got a lot of work, that’s all.” You sighed, looking at the text on your phone. “Hey, we should get going. May’s probably wondering where you are, and I have a date with Noah so I can’t be late.” 

The moment that Noah’s name was mentioned, Peter mentally rolled his eyes but nodded and started to drive again. 

He dropped you off at your place before texting his aunt May that he would be heading over to the library to work. He drove over and got to the library, trying to find a place to sit.

After finding a seat, he pulled out his laptop and worked for a while, maybe a few hours or so before heading back home. May still wasn’t back and Peter really needed some air, so he put on the suit before leaving through his window and swinging around. It was a nice distraction as he watched the sun slowly start to set, dealing with a few petty crimes around the neighbourhood. He was about to call it a day when he heard a shout coming from someone. 

“Hey! Get off me!” the voice sounded awfully familiar and as soon as he realized who it was, Peter’s stomach dropped. “I said get off!” you were shouting from about a block away, trying to keep a man away from you. 

“Oh, come on, you look all nice and dolled up. Why won’t you just –” the man started before you started to attack him with your bag. Sure, you weren’t scared of him, but you were really hoping he would catch a clue and leave you alone for the rest of the night. You were tired and your feet hurt, and the sun was setting so you really didn’t want to be walking alone back to your place in the dark. You’d forgotten your phone like a dumbass in your room, so there really weren’t that many options. “You bitch! I can understand why you’re walking all alone! I wouldn’t want to be near such a whore either!” the words sank into your skin as you made a disgusted face at the man. 

“Listen if you could please just leave me alone it would be –” as you placed your hands up trying to be defensive, the man grabbed onto your wrists and started to pull on you. “Stop! What are you –?”

“She said stop.”

Your head whipped around, and you saw Spiderman hanging from a web. You watched the man smirk and laugh for a minute, his hands still holding onto your wrists. “And what are you gonna do? From what I’ve heard about you Spiderman is that you’re just a kid. Don’t think that I’d fear a –”

Before he could finish his sentence, Spiderman had knocked him cold with a single blow to the face. He turned to you and tried to make sure you were alright. “Wow, I wasn’t expecting him to get knocked out. Are you alright miss?” you nodded, trying to massage your wrists, damn that guy had a firm grip. You glared at his lying figure, still holding onto your wrists. Spiderman’s eyes, or well, you couldn’t really see his eyes through his mask but whatever, moved to your wrists. “Are you sure? Here, let me see.” 

He took your wrists gently, examining the potential bruises and making sure you were okay. You smiled before taking back your wrists. “I’m alright, honestly. Thank you for your help, even though I didn’t really need it,” you stated, causing him to scoff.

“Um what? From what I saw, he was holding you and you couldn’t move,” he crossed his arms making you snort.

“That’s because I was trying to reason with him before kicking him in the balls,” you mentioned, causing Spiderman to choke in response. “Kind of stupid that guy. I mean my legs weren’t restrained. But whatever. Thank you though. I do actually appreciate it,” you smiled and was about to walk off before he kept talking. 

“Why are you walking alone? I mean it’s getting late, no? Why not call someone to drive you home?” he asked making you stop and turn around. 

You placed your hand on your hip and shrugged. “I don’t know. I just thought it would be nice to get some fresh air so I just decided to walk. But I’m starting to think I should just take the bus for the rest of the way back.”

“I could swing you back?” Spiderman’s offer was a surprising one, considering how this was your first time encountering the hero. Though it was a bit skeptical, you agreed to it, wanting to go home. “Just hold on tight alright?” he asked as you nodded, latching yourself to him, arms wrapped around his neck. You heard his breath hitch slightly as you wrapped your legs around his waist but ignored it as he shot a web up and started to swing. 

You screamed loudly, the adrenaline of being so high up and swing fast soon kicking in. “Do you even know where we’re going?” you shouted, the wind smacking you in the face. You rolled your eyes before giving your address to him and soon landing safely at your windowsill. Thankfully, your widow was still unlocked so you lifted it up and slid in. Before he left you tapped his shoulder. “Thanks Spiderman.” 

“Not a problem. Just being your friendly neighbourhood Spiderman.” 

He left soon, leaving you in your room, bored. You walked over to your desk and saw your phone there, a bunch of texts from MJ asking you how your date went so you went and responded. After binging a bit on Netflix, you decided to get ready for bed, knowing Peter was going to come honking at the door the next morning. 

----

“Wow, you’re early for once,” Peter joked as you sat in his car. You rolled your eyes at him, before turning on the radio. “How was your, umm, date yesterday?” he asked, clearly uncomfortable. 

You raised an eyebrow, confused as to why he had suddenly taken interest into your date with Noah. “It was the same as usual I guess,” you shrug. “Why?” 

“You walked home last night?” he huffed, causing you to readjust your position. You awkwardly nodded, because you knew he was going to go into his “you shouldn’t be walking home alone late at night” speech. 

“Yeah,” you admitted, as he stopped at the red light. “How did you know –”

He kept his eyes on the road before speaking. “Why didn’t you tell me?” you pursed your lips, shrugging once more. “I went to bed pretty early for once. I just forgot about it, I guess. Sorry,” you tried to apologize yet Peter’s face stayed stern. 

“Why didn’t Noah drop you off?”

You were shocked at his tone but answered him, trying to keep your own temper. “He said he had to go somewhere once we were done the movie. He apologized for your information. He’s got more in his life then just me.”

“No one goes on a date with someone and just leaves because they were ‘busy’,” he argued. You rolled your eyes at his behaviour. 

“Would you cut it out? It really wasn’t that big of a deal,” you snapped, crossing your arms and turning to look outside of the window. 

Peter turned to you and glared. “Not that big of a deal? I heard some guy tried to attack you,” he retorted, causing you to turn back and face him, confused as to how he knew. 

“Who told you?” 

“That doesn’t matter!” his tone was harsher, making you wince at the volume. He took a breath and regained his composure. “I just can’t believe Noah let you go home alone. Why didn’t you take the bus?” 

You were getting tired of his protective behavior, sighing. “Oh my god Peter. I’m not a helpless child, I can walk home on my own! For your information I didn’t have my bus pass. Besides it was hardly dark!” your attempts to reason with him fell on deaf ears. 

“There were so many other things you could have done though!”

“Like what?” 

“You could have called me!” 

“You were busy! You have a life that’s not taking care of me twenty-four seven! I don’t want to have to rely on you for every fucking moment of my life!” you retaliated, breathing heavily. “Besides, I didn’t even have my phone.”

“You could have –”

“Could have what Parker?” you were sick of him treating you as if you were incapable of doing anything. “I get that you’re just trying to look after me, but I can handle things on my own!” 

“Can you? Because it seems like the one time you are on your own you get yourself in situations like yesterdays!” 

“You think that it was my fault? You think that some guy trying to assault me is my fault? Are you fucking serious right now? You know what, I’ll just get Noah to drive me home tonight seeing as you clearly don’t trust me walk home on my own, because I don’t want you to drive me anymore. Don’t wait for me after school,” and with those words, the car had come to a stop and you slammed his car door, leaving Peter to slap himself across the forehead at his stupid mistake. Groaning to himself, he placed his head on the steering wheel. 

“What the fuck did I just do?”

------

It had been two weeks since you and Peter’s argument and neither of you had spoken to each other since. There had been awkward moments where you two would cross paths, like if you were hanging out with MJ and Ned, but you made it seems as if it were your sworn duty to ignore the boy. You sat with Noah and his friends at lunch and either walked home or had your dad pick you up. 

That was all until one fateful night.

It was maybe eleven, possibly even midnight, and Peter had just gotten back from patrol. It was boring that night. Nothing happened, maybe a guy flashing people down the street but asides from that, the city was calm.

He had climbed back into his room and sat down on his bed, laying up at the ceiling. He hadn’t done much the past few weeks since he didn’t have you to bother him with, so his life was boring. He laid there for a few more minutes before his phone buzzed.

He was quick to get up and grab his phone, wow addicted much, and his eyes squinted when reading the name, making sure they weren’t deceiving him.

you: hey

you: do you think you could come over?

Peter: ofc! On my way right now

you: thanks :)

The ride to your house was short and before he knew it, you were sitting beside him, awkwardly staring forewords. “Can we drive? Anywhere is fine,” you mumbled under your breath, latching on your seatbelt.

Peter nodded and started to drive off. He glanced to look at you a couple times, watching as you anxiously played with the sleeves of your sweater. Maybe ten minutes had passed, and you motioned for Peter to park the car on the side of a quiet street.

“Me and Noah broke up.”

Peter looked at her surprised. “Oh. Do you want to talk about – “

“Do you still have those movies you downloaded on your phone?” you asked quickly, avoiding his previous question. He nodded as you smiled. “Can we watch one of them in the back? I really just don’t want to think about anything.”

Peter smiled at the girl. “Anything for you.”

So, the two of you sat in the backseats of Peter’s old sedan, wrapped up in an old blanket and watching trashy romcoms together.

And it was perfect.

-----

The two of you had finally made amends after the incident and nearly a month had passed until the two of you were working on a project in Peter’s apartment.

While Peter was vigour sly typing up the document, you laid on his bed, playing with various Knick knacks he had scattered around his room.

“Peter?” He hummed his response before you continued. “What’s the first thing that comes to your mind when you think about me?” 

“Sorry?” He paused his writing, confused at why you had suddenly decided to go into such a deep question.

You sat up for a second, repeating the same question. “What do you think of when you think of me?” you collapsed back down onto your back and laid your head on your arms. “Go on. Answer it?” 

He took a second to think about it before answering: “Annoying.”

“You think I’m annoying?” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes at his childish answer. 

“Undoubtedly. Every day I wonder how far I can shoot you into space,” he joked as you threw one of his pillows at his head. He caught it with ease, turning on his chair to face you. “Why are you asking? Did someone say something?” he asked defensively. 

You shook your head, playing with some strands of hair, braiding them carelessly. “No. I was just kind of sitting in my room earlier today and stumbled over a Tik Tok where a girl asked people what they thought of when they thought of her, so I just wondered about it. I asked MJ and she said that I reminded her of comfort and that one time we plotted to kill Ms. Gail,” Peter looked at you with a cocked brow as you shrugged. “I mean, at least her answer wasn’t as rude as yours.”

“Oh, come on. It was just a joke,” he tried to reason with you as you laughed. He left his desk and sat at the bottom of his bed beside you, taking a second to think about it. “I guess the first thing I think about, when I think about you, is cars.”

“Like the Pixar movie?”

Smacking you with the pillow he was holding, he rolled his eyes, “and you wonder why I said annoying?” 

“You love me,” you stated, as Peter sighed.

“No, but like cars. More so car rides,” he stopped himself, thinking of all the memories you have made in the car rides you had been on. “Like, I guess car rides with you are what I think of. Like how I pick you up and drop you every day. And all the stupid conversations we have, or watching you trying to put yourself together in the mornings when I pick you up. I think about the arguments we have gotten into, the tears that we shed, the terrible jokes you made, the movies we watched in the back of the car on your phone late at night,” a smile tugged at his lips as he thought: ‘It’s where I fell in love with you.’ He leaned his head back on the mattress of the bed. “I guess it’s just, our special thing.” 

You smiled to yourself at his answer, as you laid on your back staring at the ceiling. “That was a solid answer Parker,” you teased him. You slid down the bed, so that half of you was lying upside down and turned to face him. 

“Yeah well my real answer is just annoying,” he laughed before turning to face you. You both hadn’t realized how close you were to each other’s faces. Your nose was almost touching his as you stared into his soft brown eyes.

Neither of you moved. 

Just the sound of silence and your heartbeat going haywire.

“Do you want to know what comes to my mind when I think of you?” you asked smiling. “I think of how many times you’ve been there for me, showing up at midnight with your old sedan and your hair a mess. I think of how you always seem to be there no matter how pissed off I am at you or the world. I think of your cute face and how you always manage to make me smile. I think of how much I really love you Peter Parker. How your dorky face manages to be my entire world.”

Peter’s mind seemed to unravel as the words left your mouth. “You, love me?”

A light scoff seemed to escape your lips before you responded. “I do. Have been since sophomore year, but if you don’t feel the same, don’t feel obligated to answer. I know it’s really-“

His lips sealed over yours before another word could have been spoken. His hair tickled your eyes as you two got closer together, his hand placed on the back of your neck. The two of you parted, your eyes staring longingly into his. The two of you shared a pair of love sick smiles. 

“I guess that means you love me too?”

“You have no idea.”