#i need to change my talk tag bc these days i am only ever spitting facts

[thelonelynindroid]

Finding out people unironically hate John Doggett threw me so hard. Like how are you misunderstanding him so bad. What did he do to you. He's my babygirl. Why are you throwing rocks at my babygirl

[unsaidholland]

vintage, but feels brand new

reposted this bc the tags weren’t working!

i am finally getting this out omg! this is inspired by the bridge in come back home by arkells (great song, one of my favourites!)

warnings: the use of no-no words

being married to your best friend was one of the greatest things that you’ve ever experienced. after only being married for two and a half years, you had a little girl named bryana astrid holland. she had your complexion, eyes, and nose, but harry’s hair and lips. she was the most adorable curly, copper headed baby to ever grace your life, harry of course was a close second. now, at three years old she was one of the biggest blessings in yours and harry’s life.

the honeymoon phase never really ended completely for the two of you, but it was slowly dying out. the buzz of being newlyweds had ended, but the love you had for each other never ended. how could it? he was everything you could’ve ever dreamt of in a husband. he also was amazing with your daughter, which you loved about him. the soft harry that came out around bry was one of your favourites, sarcastic harry was a close second. you often found the two of them cuddled up on the couch together when it was nap time, and when you guys went out, her favourite place was on top of harry’s shoulders. he would do anything for his girls, and that’s one of the things you discovered about him after you guys got married. you always knew he was selfless and extremely dedicated to everything, but it took a different form when it came to your family.

as you were in the kitchen preparing dinner for the three of you, the tv was playing a show that bry loved. the sound of her giggles and her singing along with the songs filled the room. a smile appeared on your face as you continued to saute the vegetables.

harry said he would be home in time for dinner, but he had been filming his newest short film and you had a bit of a hunch that he wouldn’t be home for dinner. recently there weren’t family dinners. just you, bry, and an empty spot where harry should have been. it hurt, but you knew he was working hard. the perfectionist in him always made filming meticulous, but it was his passion. everyone understood that whenever harry was working, nothing was ever short of perfect. however, it was starting to take a toll on you.

you missed going to bed with him, not him crawling into bed when you’re already half asleep. you missed having dinner with him, not watching him have dinner when you were winding down for the night. you missed him being around to play with bry, not her asking when he was going to come home. you just missed him being there.

as you were about to finish cooking, your phone went off.

hi love, sorry i can’t make it for dinner. we’re redoing a few shots, they didn’t turn out the way they should have the first few times around. i’ll try not to be home late, i love you!

you were excited that he was supposed to be home for dinner, but a part of you knew that this text was going to come sometime later in the night. you texted back a simple, okay h, we’ll see you when you get home :) don’t overwork yourself, i love you. you wanted him to be home, but you couldn’t change his work, so you decided to push the sadness aside and enjoy the time you were going to spend with your daughter.

“bry! time for dinner bubba,” you called out into the living room. you put the food out on the table after setting it for the two of you. the sounds of her small, chubby feet hitting the hardwood floors was enough to make you feel better in an instant, but you knew that it would only be a temporary fix.

“where’s daddy? he workin’?” bry asked as she entered the room. your face softened at the slight disappointment on her face.

“it’s just you and me for dinner tonight bubba, i’m sorry.” bry’s face fell. she missed harry, you knew that, but there wasn’t anything you could do to make him come home instantly. “come on, let’s eat, yeah?” she nodded in agreement, climbing into her chair. you felt terrible for her being so let down that harry wasn’t at dinner, but you tried your best to make it up to her. “how about this, let’s eat dinner in the living room and watch a movie. what do you wanna watch?” her face lit up at the sudden change in dinner plans. for the past few days, dinners have been spent at the table with just the two of you, but the introduction of a movie and the subtraction of the kitchen somehow made it more exciting for the curly haired girl.

“mmmm, i wanna watch toothless!” the disappointment left her voice as she thought of the night fury.

“okay bubba! let’s get our food first, and then we can put on the movie, okay?” she carefully grabbed her plate from the table, and waddled over to the living room, putting her plate down on the coffee table and sitting down on the rug that lay below it. you followed in her steps, putting how to train your dragon on the tv, and sitting down beside her. “can i have a hug baby?” she gave you a hug, and you said a quiet “i love you” to her, one she didn’t hear over her own excitement.

as the movie finished, bry was already asleep, so you carried her to her room, laying her down in her bed. you placed a soft kiss on her forehead after tucking her in, closing the door behind you as you left the room. you went back to the living room to clean up the dishes the two of you left behind, and to pack up the leftover food that was sitting on the dining table.

the time your phone screen read 9:23 pm,  dinner was about three hours ago and harry still wasn’t home. you decided to begin unwinding for the night, heading to your bathroom to begin your skincare routine, then heading to your bedroom to put on a pair of shorts and one of harry’s t-shirts. a part of you wanted to lay in bed and put on a show before going to bed, but another part of you wanted to wait in the living room for harry to come home. deciding on the latter, you walked into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water, then heading into the living room. you decided to watch the good place while waiting for your husband to get home from work. even though the show was on, your mind couldn’t help but focus on where he was.

•••

harry walked into the house quietly. it was 11:13 pm, but he didn’t intentionally come home that late. they just needed to get the perfect shot. he swore it was only going to take another hour or so, not five. he saw you sleeping on the couch, the glow of the tv being the main source of light filling the room. he walked over to you, squatted down, and placed a kiss on your forehead, causing you to stir. he waited for you to go back to sleep, but that never came. you opened your eyes  and groggily you said, “harry?”

“i’m here now love, i’m sorry i’m late,” harry’s apologetic tone was obvious, but it didn’t make up for the fact that his daughter was extremely let down that he didn’t go through with dinner plans that you both had made. you were upset, truthfully you were beyond upset, but you knew you were only upset because you missed him. you sat up, letting him sit on the couch beside you. you were turned so you were facing him. his jacket still on, but unzipped, hat abandoned somewhere.

“did you get the shot you wanted?” your five years of marriage plus the three and a half years of dating prior to getting married made you able to read him like a book. he wanted to tell you about work today and pretend everything was okay, but you weren’t okay. harry, too blinded by his own excitement, proceeded to tell you about the shot and how perfect it had turned out. he went on about how nathan his cameraman kept messing up and going too fast at times and too slow at others. he talked about how the actors’ chemistry was too much at times, which wouldn’t make sense when you watched it back given the storyline. he talked about everything that happened that day. you watched as his eyes lit up, and how his body language immediately changed.

he realized near the end of his story that something was wrong. you weren’t as excited as you usually were. “darling, what’s on your mind?” he asked. he searched your eyes for an answer, but they were filled with an odd mix of pride, anger, and disappointment.

“you weren’t at dinner tonight.” the single statement was enough for him to start piecing everything together, but before he could open his mouth to let an apology roll out, you continued. “bry was really disappointed you know. she really misses having you around. i know that this is your job and your passion, but h we’re your family. we need to spend time with you too.” you looked down at your hands and started fiddling with the wedding ring that sat on your ring finger. “i really, really miss you h.”

“is that what this is about? that i wasn’t at dinner?” he asks. when you look up at him, all you see is his face twisted in confusion. “don’t you want me to work?” you scoff. he’s clearly not getting it, you think. as your eyes roll in annoyance, harry begins to see red. “what now, i don’t fucking get it.”

“yeah, clearly.” the sarcastic remark burned on your tongue as you spit it out. having enough of this, you get up and walk to your shared room but not before saying, “your dinners on the island, just reheat it.”

soon enough you found yourself alone in the king-sized bed. the white duvet was pulled up over your legs, the end of it sitting above your waistline. your laptop sat on top of your thighs as you aimlessly scrolled through pinterest. your mind wasn’t focused on the aesthetically pleasing photos, but rather on how harry couldn’t understand that his family missed and needed him. as what felt like hours passed, harry finally entered your room. he closed the door behind him and went straight to his closet to grab a pair of sweatpants for him to sleep in. as he was getting undressed, the silence filled the room, being louder than it should have been.  

harry sat on his side of the bed, pulling the covers up and over his legs, then beginning to read a book that was left on his nightstand. his brown eyes gazed over the pages. like you, his mind wasn’t focused on the words that were on the page, but rather the ones that left your lips. how could she say something like that? she knows my work is important to me, he thought.

“how could i say something like that? harry, you haven’t even been home for dinner for the past week! you haven’t been here to put our child to bed, who by the way, always asks me when you’re gonna spend time with her. i know your work is important to me, and i’m not saying it shouldn’t matter, but i’m saying you need to learn how to give yourself to us and work at the same time.” you said, shutting the laptop. his thoughts weren’t supposed to leave his head, but now they were out in the open. you both were grateful that he had broken the silence, even if he didn’t realize that he had.

“are you kidding me? who the fuck do you think is putting the food on the table? you’re still on maternity leave and we know damn well that money covers all the bills so don’t even try to act like you’re doing more than me.” you were looking at him, and he was turned so he was facing you. “whenever i’m around i give all my time to you and to bry, so why are you even complaining?” he let out a scoff, one that infuriated you more than you already were. you turned so you were facing him, but moved back towards the foot of the bed so you weren’t right next to him.

“i honestly can’t believe that when i say your fucking daughter misses you all you retaliate with is how much money you make.” you got up, grabbing your phone and a book. “i’m sleeping in the guest room because you’re acting like a child right now.” harry stood up and met you as you walked around the bed towards the door.

“don’t just leave when we’re actually talking about this, what the fuck!” he exclaimed. his volume was rising unintentionally, but he was still sure to try and not wake bryana who was sleeping in her room down the hall. you tossed your stuff gently onto the bed.

“fine, you want to talk? let’s talk then. you leave every day at 8:30 am, bry wakes up at 7. you spend about an hour and a half with her, then leave and don’t even come back until it’s around eleven pm. this happens every fucking day harry. i bring her to school every morning and all she asks me is, ‘is daddy gonna be home for dinner today?’ and all i can say to her is i hope so. don’t act like we don’t appreciate what you’re doing for us.” you’re looking at him in the eyes now and all you can see is anger. harry is filled with rage, but what you don’t see is that he is determined to win this argument.

you continued anyways, “do you enjoy having dinner alone when your wife and kid are upstairs sleeping? ‘cause we sure as hell don’t like having dinner with your seat empty. and i-” harry was quick to cut you off.

“literally just shut the fuck up for thirty seconds and let me speak.” you were shocked. not once has a fight between the two of you escalated this far or gotten this heated. “i fucking work hard for our family and however many kids we’re going to have, okay? i’m sorry i’m not always around when i’m working, but you knew when you married me that i give my all to whatever project i’m working on.” he stopped to rub his face with his hand. tears were welling up in your y/e/c eyes, but that didn’t stop either of you from continuing. “i love you and i love our family, but i have a job and a career that makes me have long workdays at times and not have worked at all other days. you just have to accept that.”

harry’s tone softened when he saw you fighting back tears, though he wasn’t going to give in. but then you choked back a sob, and he immediately let his defence fall. he pulled you into his bare chest, wrapping his arms around you. as much as you wanted to refuse his touch, you couldn’t. the bedroom was only lit by the lamps that sat on each nightstand and the moonlight, and as the two of you stood there you wondered how you were so lucky to be with harry. yes, you were still technically in the middle of a fight, but somehow you both felt as if there was some common understanding that was reached as soon as the tears fell.

“you know i never meant to attack you like that?” you asked. “i just want you to spend more time with us when you can,” you said, feeling guilty about all the words you said to him. they weren’t particularly nasty perse, they just came out too hostile. “i’m really sorry baby.” you looked up into his brown eyes to see him staring back at you. the anger that once clouded them was replaced with soft love, that’s all he felt when he saw you.

“i’m sorry too bub. i swear i’ll be home for dinner tomorrow night. don’t tell bry, i wanna surprise her.” after planting a soft kiss to the top of your y/h/c hair, his hands went up under your shirt to rest on your waist, wanting to be closer to you. nothing was fully resolved just yet, but at least the two of you could go to bed that night without being angry with each other.

the next morning, you had woken up to an empty bed. the sun had already risen, and as you looked at the clock that sat on the wall opposite to your bed, you saw that it was past seven am. you had woken up late. you immediately checked your phone, already freaking out about your alarm not going off. you didn’t have time to prepare lunches and breakfast for everyone if you wanted to have a morning shower, nor did you have the time for yourself that you reserved every morning when you did your morning skincare just a little bit slower than you should have.

as you were about to get out of bed, the door opened to reveal harry and bryana. harry was holding a wooden tray, breakfast sat on top of it with either a cup of tea for both you and harry.

“what’s this?” you ask, confused as to what you did to deserve this. it was a normal saturday, there wasn’t any special occasions coming up, and it wasn’t like you and harry were yelling at each other less than twelve hours prior.

“it’s breakfast in bed mumma! we’re having breakfast in your bed!” you knew the confusion was painted onto your face, but as you looked at your husband a soft smile appeared on your face.

“well come on then! get over here you two,” you said as your arms opened up for bry to come cuddle you. she ran and hopped up onto the bed, harry following behind her, careful not to spill anything. he placed the tray down in the middle of the bed, it had three plates on it, all of them had scrambled eggs, a piece of buttered toast cut on the diagonal, and some strawberries and blueberries on the side. he sat down beside you and leaned in to give you a kiss. you met him halfway despite your morning breath. “before we eat, i’m gonna go brush my teeth okay?” you asked bry, and she nodded in agreement, already munching down on her toast.

you came back from the bathroom to see bry starting to eat some scrambled eggs, half of her toast was gone. harry was putting his tea down on a coaster that sat on the wooden nightstand on his side of the bed. you sat down in between him and bry, on your side of the bed, and took a sip of the tea that he made you. bry had a cup of orange juice that sat on the tray that she reached for.

once bryana was done with her breakfast, she ran off to her room to play with her toys and to get dressed for the day leaving you and harry alone. you and harry had taken photos of the breakfast arrangement prior to her leaving, but you still wished she had stayed. there wasn’t much left for the three year old to do but go and play.

“thank you for this.” a smile appeared on both of your faces, ones that harry wanted to savour and remember forever, so he took his phone out and took a selfie of the both of you.

“anything for you, my love.” he didn’t need to say more for you both to know that this was an apology breakfast, a breakfast that told you he was going to try and divide himself up more whenever he was working on a project.

the almost half an hour that the two of you spent together before getting ready to fully start the day made the butterflies stronger. the love that you had for each other only seemed to grow if that was even possible. though the marriage was a little bit vintage, it still felt brand new.

[peachade]

Writing Asks

thank u to sarah @soldouthaz, lily @theisolatedlily and late @tomlinvelvetfics for tagging me !!

1. describe how you first started writing and when you first posted

started in eighth grade after moving which fucked me up (i’m still to recover lmao) n i needed a distraction, reading had always helped but writing is what let me see what the root of my agony was. (im not trying to be pretentious i swear) i first started on wattpad (love hate relationship to this day) and beginning of lockdown this year gravitated to ao3 which has been my saving grace !!!

2. which of your characters do you typically resonate most closely with? do you base any characters off of yourself?

so far i’ve mostly written in louis’ pov. i’ve had to ask this question in the early stages — i resonate the closest to harry. most of my wips are harry centric for that reason. i mean, yes and no — i tend to take some part of me and fit it into the character but at the same time i don’t like seeing me on a page so yes and no.

3. where do you often find inspiration?

EVERYWHERE. mostly others’ stories be it in the way of songs, music, writing, art. usually it’s me coming across a vaguely aesthetic picture and my brain spitting out one or two random scenes and me trying to make that a story.

4. has quarantine helped or hindered your writing process?

both !!! i have new wips but also i lost a lot of motivation to do anything for a bit. school is sucking the soul out of me — it’s both easier and harder with it being online, the worst part is i can never truly feel like i’m getting a break from it. recently it’s been easier for me bc of the friends i made (ily all) it’s hindered a little bit bc i can’t go out and watch people and streetlights and the blur of cars and try to pour out that feeling into words and create something. at the same time it’s helped me gain more perspective on people and relationships which has been a massive help to writing in general.

5. do you listen to music/noise while you write or do you prefer silence?

depending on the number of classes i have/attend, my mental stability, the story and my sensitivity. i often can’t stand loud noises so there’s that but there is always some noise or the other so it’s never truly silent. i like it that way. sometimes i just play intense studying playlist on spotify and write, Lucida by Odin Sørlie and Haunted Heart by Dawn, Dawn, Dawn are my favourites.

6. what is your biggest writing pet peeve in your writing or in general?

excessive usage of the same word in mine. in general, i’m not a fan of stereotypical characters or romanticising harmful themes.

7. describe your ideal writing setup

2 am, in bed, music still ringing in my ears, three texts from my best friend about a story or about their day. under the blanket, the room smelling of chocolate or something sweet.

8. favorite time of day to write?

anytime but afternoon. those hours are for naps.

9. favorite genre to write + one you’d like to try writing in the future?

fiction? i’d love to write a fantasy au 👀

10. do you struggle with writer’s block? how do you typically overcome it?

yep yep. i just edit an old story or read my old works or other writers’ fics. i gave up trying to force myself into writing — i hated the end product and felt bad so.

11. what is the easiest part of your writing process and the most difficult?

probably the emotions? dialogue without a doubt — i dread writing it. it doesn’t come to me naturally. i can write lengths without dialogue tbh. also smut — it’s an eh eh aspect.

12. how do you come up with original characters? (if applicable)

my wonderful friends. they do dumb shit and i want to tell the world about their dumb shit so i make characters out of them.

13. what is your favorite and least favorite word?

as of now it is fucker — delightful word that one. least favourite is probably squelch — just no.

14. what is one thing about your writing that you’re really proud of and one thing you hope to continue working at?

the dreamy feeling i manage to write without a doubt !!!! dialogue and pacing. i don’t have the best dialogue or the pacing or the length for fics but i’m working on all of those !!

15. what work of yours has your favorite ‘verse/world building? how did you come up with it?

still a wip so i can’t tell you much except that it’s a proper treat. will write this once i’ve posted that fic !!

16. what font and size do you write in? single spaced or double?

*nervous laughter* the font changes from fic to fic — crush is comic sans, size 11. October was Lora, 11. Twisted in bedsheets is courier new, 11. stargazing is spectral, 11. so yeah — whatever the fic demands. single spaced !!!! except when i’m overwhelmed i do double spaces.

17. what is a typo(s) you find yourself making consistently?

I Cannot Type. if you think i can — congratulations you were fooled. autocorrect is the loml.

18. (if applicable) do you separate fic writing from fandom?

of course !!!! i basically do not exist out of my writing.

19. what emotion is your favorite to write? which is the most difficult?

pain, pining, longing. lust.

20. what is one thing you hope readers always take away from your works?

we’re all fucked up but we’re trying and trying sometimes is enough. you shouldn’t spend your life carved out around one person. it’s okay to ask for help and need a shoulder to lean on. i hope these come across in my future fics !!!!

21. what is the best and worst writing advice you’ve ever received?

bold of you to assume i’ve ever received advice.

22. which one of your works would you most want to see turned into a film/television show?

a new fic. will update the answer once that fic is out !!!!!

23. do you write scenes chronologically or out of order?

chronologically. i can’t do out of order. i do have a page full of scribbles but they are to tell me the order sjakmd.

24. how do you handle criticism?

if it’s constructive then well. no thick skin tbh. makes me feel as if i need validation from someone else on my art which isn’t necessary but my brain is wired to seek it and it’s a hassle.

25. what is the advice you would give to someone who is looking to start writing?

write everything you would want to read. write it bad, don’t worry about the quality. don’t worry about the audience. end of the day, it should be something you can turn to for comfort not something that makes you feel bad.

26. what kind of feedback on your work always makes your day?

people telling me they like my writing and it could take them out of this world for a few minutes !!!!!

27. which fic ‘verse of your own would you most like to exist in? which fic’s characters would you most like to befriend?

probably crush verse !!!! harry — his is probably the one character where i dump most of me in.

28. what do you always enjoy getting asks about/wish people would ask about more?

rant to me about anything. i enjoy talking. ask me about wips so i can take the little guilt and write more.

29. what has writing added to your life? how has it changed you?

it’s nice to let go and express things and create characters with a better situation than mine.

30. why do you write?

keep myself busy.

boost yourself + tags

1a. share the last sentence you wrote

No kissing. No flashbacks.

2a. describe the wip you’re most excited about

a little something i’m writing inspired by @brickredtoe’s art !!!!

3a. share the piece of dialogue from one of your works you’re most proud of

ok. well. from 5436 miles

“Or we could always add a trail of stars to one of those moons,” he replies, words dragged out, rolling around in his mouth.

He can see the glint in his eyes even behind his closed lids. Everything about Louis is inked and etched into every fiber of his being.

He would’ve kissed him, words pouring from his mouth into Harry’s, only half his.

He snorts. “And make it seem like the moon has a buttplug? No, thanks.”

4a. share the best first and last lines from your work(s)

both my published fics have circular endings.

5436 miles — Louis always had more stars in his eyes.

these tornadoes are for you — His heart beats in peace.

5a. link to the last fic you read.

sugary sweet by the immensely talented @soldouthaz

6a. link the last work you published

here

7a. link to your ao3 (if applicable)

wheeee

8a. someone that inspires you

taylor. she’s so so wonderful.

9a. a comfort fic/work that you’ve been grateful for this year

all of riv, sarah, ris and late’s fics. they’ve been so so comforting. Event Horizon by @mercurial-madhouse

10a. other writers that you’d like to tag!

@mercurial-madhouse @harryanthus are the only ones coming to mind atm. i’ve been up for too long apologies.

[pmtexts]

Tic Tic Tok

⤑ Prompt: Everyone is injected with two permanent watches on their arm. One is the time that they have left until they meet their soulmate. The other is the time that they have left until they die.

⤑ Word count: ~2k

⤑ Angst, Soulmate!Yugyeom

–

When I was born the doctors implemented this watch-band thingy to my wrist that told me how long I have left until I die. I basically have three more months at this point, and I’m only 19.

I was also given another watch-band thingy that told me how much longer I have left until I meet my soulmate. It hasn’t turned on yet bc my soulmate hasn’t gone to get his turned on. That’s the thing about the soulmate watch, you need to go to a specialist to get it turned on. So I guess my soulmate, whoever they are, either doesn’t believe in soulmates, or they just think I’ll be ugly. Ouch.

Ever since I was younger I had fantasized about my forever lover. “Maybe he’ll be a prince on horseback!” I wondered when I was 6. “Maybe he’ll be in some kind of band.” When I was 13 and boy-crazed for guys with instruments – I had always wanted the drummers. And now I wonder if I’ll ever even get the chance to meet him, since I have such little life left.

—-

Now here I am, 11pm and cramming in my Honors Biology homework for tomorrow and really wishing I had someone that I loved to help me with my stress.

‘I wish I was still 6 years old, because I really need my prince char-’

PING!!

Slowly and hesitantly, I looked down to where my soulmate band is, right under my life band.

3MO 2DAYS 01HR 00MIN 05SEC

Immediately my face went whiter than my bedsheets. My eyes shifted slightly upwards where I read my life band.

3MO 2DAYS 01HR 00MIN 04SEC

The two watches were in sync.

‘I meet my soulmate…at the same time I die?’

—-

“Your soulmate must be Jesus himself. Why else would your soulmate meet you at the same time that you die?”

For the next few weeks after my soulmate band lit up with the, now dreadful, numbers, this is the majority of comments I’d get from people. I get that they’re trying to make me feel more lighthearted about this whole ordeal, but I’d really appreciate if they would just shut up sometimes. I know now that this is probably a glitch in the system. I mean, why would my soulmate be the one who kills me? 

“Maybe we should go get it checked out, like, I’m sure there must be glitches in the system. After all, this only started about a year before I was born, so it was still fairly new when you were born. They must have accidentally programmed the same number twice.” Sometimes, my best friend Jackson actually has good ideas. “Okay yeah, that’s reasonable. Let’s go downtown next week to their regional headquarters and settle this out, because I don’t think Jesus would be that great of a match for me.” I responded back, with the last remark resulting in Jackson erupting in his ever-so contagious laughter.

So with that, next week has rolled around and we’re now standing in front of the ominous government building about 20 miles away from campus. I feel a hand reach over to grab mine with a little squeeze, and I squeeze back while looking up and giving Jackson a half smile. He could definitely see the hesitation lingering in my eyes, as he gave me an even bigger smile back. One that told me everything would work out alright.

Gulping, I look down at my two bands to get an update until D-Day.

2MO 15DAYS 10HR 42MIN 34SEC

‘Maybe they just got my soulmate day mixed up with my death day. It’s not like I’ll probably be terminally ill in two months.’ My mind reassured me. 

Taking in my last breath of fresh air, I let go of Jackson’s hand and entered the building.

The building looked like any other office building, you’ve got your waiting area, mass amounts of elevators, a big area for receptionists – probably one for each big area of business here – and there is also a few families crying on their way out, having just had to send their dead loved one away. We made our way over to the receptionist for the soulmate handlers, a very tall and handsome man with died blonde hair. 

Mark Tuan was what his name tag read. “Hello and welcome to the Soulmate Center. Do you have an appointment or would you like a walk in consultation?” He asked with a vibrantly bright smile. “Could we have a walk in?” I asked. “Sure thing, just sit on one of the couches and I will send a request for you two. Guess your match didn’t work out huh?” He responded, while looking at both of us and shaking his head. ‘Gross, he thinks I’m with Jackson!’ “Oh nono, I’ve already found my match, is her that has the problem.” Jackson referred to me and the receptionist nodded, mumbling a sorry out. 

“I just need your name to send out the request Miss.” Mark handed me a paper and pen to write out my name. Once I did so, I slid it back to him and Jackson and I took a seat on one of their fading red couches. “You’d think that for a place so high tech, they’d update their furniture every now and then.” I disgustingly whispered while pulling at a failing string attachment.

“Hey sugar relax, it’ll all be settled out in a little bit muffin. Just sit tight baby.” Mocked Jackson, alluding to the mix up. “Gross dude, I’d never go for you even IF you were my soulmate. I don’t want someone who does their laundry once a month.” I lightly hit his arm.

He started to defend himself, something about not wanting the colors to fade easily, when he got interrupted by a calling out of my name from a technician. I got up quickly and peered down at my wrist, seeing that I was supposedly ten minutes closer to both tragedies displayed. Taking another deep breath in, I strode over to the man who called out to me.

“Hello Miss Y/N, I’m Mr. Park. I understand you have an issue you would like to discuss about your soulmate watch?” He shook my hand and led me down the hall and took one right turn and then a left turn before arriving at the third door on the left.

“Hi yes, I think there must be something faulty in your system.” I raised my right wrist to show him the two identical countdowns and his face fell.

“Oh no, no no no there’s nothing wrong with our system. We’ve been trying to see if there’s any way that we could fix this, assuming our coding got messed up. I’m sorry to say this but there’s absolutely no way to fix this. I know it may sound crazy, but you will fall at the hands of your lover.”

Tears immediately started streaming down my face as each word he said was like a knife jabbing into my heart, which was ironic given the situation at hand. “The day that your soulmate came in, our servers immediately sent out red signals and sirens in my office after I turned on his timer. I checked into the system to see what went wrong, and I found you. Now, with this visit I was hoping you were requesting to shut off your timer and forget about this whole situation.”

At this point he was rambling on and on, trying to better asses the situation. However, all I could hear and feel was the world slowly going numb. I’m never going to have my prince charming. I’m never going to have my drummer boy in some punk band. 

At least I’ll get to see him. Once.

—-

Everyone talks about wanting to live up their last moments in life by throwing massive ragers or breaking petty laws to run from the police. I, however, have spent the last two months cooped up in my apartment with only my roommate and Jackson to keep me company, and it’s generally been just Jackson.

“Y/N, tomorrow’s the day. You can’t spend today just in a ball surrounded by your blanket’s and pillows.” Jackson wined, trying to pull my blankets off of me. “If I never get up though, maybe I won’t have to face him ever and I can just continue living my life, never needing a soulmate and dying at a normal age. Or even a car crash when I’m in my 40s.” I barely made out, as my face was buried in some pillows.

“Fine, whatever. Just don’t die thinking I couldn’t have done anything.” Jackson spit out while throwing the blanket part he had in his hands back onto me.

As soon as I heard the front door slam, signaling Jackson’s leave, warm tears filled my cheeks. The next few hours of the day were filled with different scenarios running through my mind of how I’ll die tomorrow.

At round 5pm, I finally got up. Not from some sudden want to go out and live my life, but purely because of hunger. I went into the kitchen to make some ramen, when I heard the news on in the living room. Putting the pot set to boil, I left the kitchen and sat on one of the chairs in the living room to watch what the people speaking had to say about my city.

“A string of breakins have been occurring in the apartment complex near the mall. An armed robber has been breaking into apartments and attempted to shoot some of the owners while raiding anything that they can. If you live near or in the complex, we suggest leaving the premise immediately and seek other shelter tonight and the rest of the time until the authorities catch the robber.”

The only thing that brought me out of my trance was hearing the boiled water spill over into the fire, singeing. I hopped off of the chair, turned off the water and ran into my room to grab a pair of clothes as well as other necessities and drove myself over to Jackson’s apartment complex, a 20 minute drive away.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNO-

“What do you WANT?!” Jackson threw open the front door and I squeezed under the available space under his arms. “Jackson I need to spend the night and I changed my mind I want to do something tomorrow night I don’t care where we go but I need to live for my last night we can go downtown and go drinking or we can completely go to another city I don’t care I just need to get out tomorrow night” I rambled trying to catch my breath in between words.

—-

The morning and afternoon went normally, I crashed on Jackson’s couch last night. Now, it is 8pm and we’re both getting ready to drink the night away. Last night, when I recovered my breath and my sanity, I better explained to Jackson the situation and that I might miss him tonight if he planned to come to my apartment. Plus, my room mate is out of town visiting her family so he won’t possibly get her either.

However, my life band never changed it’s time. It kept ticking. So I decided that it must just keep running no matter what so I forgot about it and continued getting ready for tonight.

“Ready?” I looked over in the mirror to Jackson’s resting body on the door frame. I put my last swatch of lip-gloss on my lips and nodded, moving through the door frame Jackson had just resided in.

I took a fresh breath in when I stepped outside, and made my way behind Jackson towards the Uber he had ordered us. 

“Let’s spend one of my possible last nights right by getting shitfaced.” I reached out to Jackson’s hand, giving it a quick squeeze before getting in the backseat.

—-

I could barely walk on my own two feet now. I lost count of how many shots I had after five and how many bottles of beer after my third. I didn’t realize, but I accidentally left Jackson alone in the club when I stumbled out of the doors, almost falling flat on my face and thus shattering my almost empty bottle in my hands.

On my way back to standing straight, I caught a glimpse of my band. 

0MO 00DAYS 00HR 00MIN 10SEC

Drunkenly, I started counting down as if it were new years eve. “10..9..8HIC7..6..5..4HIC3..2..1!” I took my last swig of beer in my hand.

A deafening shot rang through the air. I fall back on my back. I look up to see the most handsome man with equally stunning eyes and hair. His black attire fades into the surrounding black of the night.

~~~~~

Oo my first story on here! I hope you guys enjoyed it and didn’t want to kill me the whole time :) please send feedback about my writing and maybe request something along the way ;))

[donghun-s]

the very large sp3arb tag

so @sp3arb has tagged me in a total four tags recently and i’m finally getting around to all of them!! tysm for all the tags, meri (btw i love your name?? i think its super cute!) and i hope you learn a bunch of unnecessary stuff abt me lmao (under the cut bc this is a long ass post)

i dont have a name for this tag

1ST RULE: Tag 9 people you want to get to know better

im not tagging anyone bc im bad at things and most ppl i wanna know about, meri has already tagged so

2ND RULE: BOLD the statements that are true.

APPEARANCE: - I am 5'7 or taller - I wear glasses - I have at least one tattoo - I have at least one piercing - I have blonde hair - I have brown eyes - I have short hair - My abs are at least somewhat defined - I have or had braces

PERSONALITY: - I love meeting new people - People tell me I am funny - Helping others with their problems is a big priority of mine - I enjoy physical challenges - I enjoy mental challenges - I am playfully rude to people I know- I started saying something ironically and now I can’t stop saying it - There is something I would change about my personality

ABILITY: - I can sing well - I can play an instrument - I can do over 30 pushups without stopping - I am a fast runner - I can draw well - I have a good memory - I am good at doing maths in my head - I can hold my breath underwater for over a minute - I have beaten at least 2 people arm wrestling - I can make at least 3 recipes from scratch - I know how to throw a proper punch

HOBBIES: - I enjoy sports - I’m on a sports team at my school or somewhere else - I’m in a orchestra or choir at my school or somewhere else - I have learned a new song in the past week - I exercise at least once a week - I have gone for runs at least once a week in warmer months - I have drawn something in the past month - I enjoy writing - Fandoms are my #1 priority  - I do some form of Martial arts

EXPERIENCES: - I have had my first kiss - I have had alcohol - I have scored a winning point in a sport - I have watched an entire TV series in one sitting - I have been at an overnight event - I have been in a taxi - I have been in the hospital or ER in the past year - I have beaten a video game in one day - I have visited another country - I have been to one of my favorite band’s concerts

MY LIFE: - I have one person that I consider to be my Best Friend - I live close to my school/work - My parents are still together - I have at least one sibling - I live in the United States - There is snow where I live right now - I have hung out with a friend in the past month - I have a smart phone - I own at least 15 CDs - I share my room with someone

RELATIONSHIPS: - I am in a Relationship - I have a crush on a celebrity - I have a crush on someone I know - I’ve been in at least 3 relationships - I have never been in a Relationship - I have admitted my feelings to a crush - I get crushes easily - I have had a crush for over a year - I have been in a relationship for over a year - I have had feelings for a friend

RANDOM: - I have break-danced - I know a person named Jamie  - I have had a teacher that has a name that is hard to pronounce - I have dyed my hair - I’m listening to a song on repeat right now - I have punched someone in the past week - I know someone who has gone to jail - I have broken a bone - I have eaten a waffle today - I know what I want to do in life - I speak at least two languages [i don’t speak two, i speak one and sign in another] - I have made a new friend in the past year

alphabet tag

Rules: answer the questions in a new post and tag 10 blogs you would like to get to know better

I was tagged by Roxanne ( is it ok if I call you Roxy? I like Roxy) Actually @lxx-fxlix  And for some reason it did not give me the notification you did, I was casually stalking your blog when I saw:

A: age? 16 (01 liner)

B: birthplace? North Carolina

C: current time? 7:53 pm

D: drink you had last? Arnold Palmer (half sweet tea, half lemonade)

E: easiest person to talk to? for me, it’s my irl best friend gwen and my best friend on here, krys

F: favorite song? oof i’m super indecisive so i’m just gonna commit to mayday by got7 (it always changes but mayday has stayed on my constantly rotating playlist for nearly six months now; most are on for six weeks, max)

G: grossest memory? uh probably when one of my swim lesson kids tried to eat a bug (they were like four) and i had to make them spit it out into my hands 

H: hogwarts house? proud slytherin!!

I: in love? i love a lot of people, but i’m not IN love

J: jealous of people? not anymore, my self-esteem has gotten so much better in past years

K: killed someone? uhm a couple of times in fics (*cough* jinjin in not like this *cough*)

L: love at first sight or should i walk by again? not love but pls walk by again bc i’m probably enjoying your aesthetics

M: middle name? christine

N: number of siblings? one, an older sister

O: one wish? to adopt a kid with no family or an unhealthy one (obvs when  older and financially stable)

P: person you called last? my sister called me yesterday morning, and before that i had called my friend to tell him abt a near death experience when i was driving

R: reasons to smile? something good will happen to you, you’ll meet someone wonderful, and there’s always new experiences to happen

S: song you sang last? poet by bastille (an underrated fave)

T: time you woke up? about 8 am

U: underwear color? light heathered grey

V: vacation destination? i’d love to go to greece someday! santorini would be my first choice, and then my great-grandparents old village near thessaloniki

W: worst habit? probs my dermatillia (picking at acne on my face until it bleeds, then picking at the scabs, leaving a bunch of scars that will never go away)

X: x-rays? i got one on my tailbone one time, two years after i sprained it bc my mom didn’t believe me

Y: your favorite food? uhhh most anything tbh; i quite like the honey butter chicken sandwich from pdq

Z: zodiac sign? libra

✨ Fun Facts Tag ✨

Rules for this are:

Have fun with it!  

Tag some of your mutuals

1) Favourite colours:

orange!! and after that, any kinds of pastel or muted darks

2) Favourite song at the moment:

lotto by exo has been on replay in my head, my car, and my earbuds

3) Last book you read:

the sun and her flowers by rupi kaur

4) Last TV show you watched:

i tried to watch part-time idol bc hyunbin from jbj was in it, but within the first 15 minutes they set up an unnecessary relationship so i had to nope out of there real hard; i then reverted back to rewatching white collar for the fifth time

5) Last movie you watched:

does john mulaney’s nerflix comedy special comeback kid count?? if not, probably nightmare before christmas way back around christmastime

6) If you have a pet whats their name?:

four dogs: pheonix, kino, midge, and bess; three horses: little man, gem, and andy (ironically i’m allergic to dogs and horses, and my dad keeps buying more)

7) If you have siblings how many?:

one, my older sister

8) Favourite thing to do on a weekend:

i love doing my swim lessons and seeing all my kids!! i haven’t been able to lately bc of the weather, 

9) Best tumblr friends:

i only talk to @cheesyramynry on a daily basis, but i have a lot of blogs that i consider friendly acquaintances or casual friends as well!!

10) Favourite thing about yourself:

i value my compassion and empathy above all else; i am very much the mom friend and love to be it

11) Favourite memory:

ah i have so many; i think rn i’m gonna go with this past christmas, bc it was my last one with my grandfather

12) 3 weird habits:

swallowing gum, taking all my pills in descending size order, i tend to mimic how a singer sounds when i sing along to the song (ex: if they have a british accent, i’ll subconsciously sing in a british accent; if they stress certain syllables in certain ways, i’ll do it too)

13) What would you call your style?:

comfortable (stretchy jeans, t-shirts, hoodies) and with a few signature Gay Things (jean jacket, flannels, oversized mens’ button ups, a couple gay/bi pride shirts)

14) Odd talent:

if i have lyrics in front of me to a song i’ve never heard before, i can predict the pattern of the tunes and rhythm and sing along the first time

15) Do you have a tumblr crush?:

literally all of aroha and all of the sk fandom (y’all are the loveliest fandoms i’ve ever been a part of)

the stray kids tag

Rules: answer the questions in a new post, and tag 10 blogs you would like to get to know better.

I’ve decided that in celebration of Stray Kids pre-debut album I needed to create a tag. The ultimate goal for The Stray Kids Tag is to learn about your Tumblr mutuals, and have fun answering the Stray Kids related questions!  Here we go:

1: When did you decide to join the Stray kids fandom?

i saw a thread of information abt the suspected nine members before they were officially announced and was like ‘yes i must stan them and love them with all of my heart.’ so uh,,,,, back in august or september??

2: What is your favorite episode of Stray Kids? uhm, i’m gonna expose myself rn and let y’all know that i’ve never actually seen a full episode of the show; as soon as i heard it was gonna be a survival show, i knew that i couldn’t watch it bc my heart was too weak and i was emotionally incapable of becoming too invested while watching it; but from clips, i quite like the episode with the 3:3:3 mission, and also the last episode when all nine were reunited and told they were going to debut together

3: Who would you say is your bias in Stray kids?

my initial one was chan, and they i got rlly confused, and then slowly came to realize that it was jeongin (anything else after that is a fucking mess)

4: Who would you say is your bias wrecker in Stray kids?

literally kill me all of them bias wreck me so hard bUT hyunjin, jisung, seungmin, and chan have been wrecking me so hard in particular lately

5: What line would you want to be apart of in Stray kids? uHHH not dance line bc swimmers have 0 coordination on land; i quite like singing even tho i’m not good at, so probably that, but i can also hit all of chan’s english rap parts in 3racha songs, and keep up with lafayette’s raps in hamilton, and a lot of the english rappers i like too so uh,,, sign me up for rap line too

6: What is the first song you heard of Stray kids? hellevator

7: What is the first song you heard of 3racha? i think it was either hoodie season or runner’s high

8: What is your favorite song on their pre-debut album?

young wings or school life or yayaya (or grr or 4419 or glow or hellevator)

9: What is a concept you’d like to see Stray Kids try in the future?

i love their current optimistic and slightly rebellious teenager concept rn bc its an Eternal Mood; but i always love myself a soft boyfriend concept 

10: if you could meet with the members of Stray kids for one day what would you say to them?

how proud of them i am, and how proud of themselves they should be; i would tell them about how they’re saying things that resonate deeply for their fans and i love that they’re talking abt real world problems; i would also make sure to tell them (chan and 3racha especially) to make sure to rest more, and eat well, and take care of themselves emotionally as well as physically; and finally i’d like to tell jeongin how wonderful he is and that he’s doing so much at such a young age (lmao he’s actually eight months older than me but that’s no the point) and to never lose his cute little smile

finally done!! meri, if you actually read all of this, uh thank you????? i hope you now know everything you wanted to know abt me, and probably more than you wanted to know

i’m bad at tagging people, so if you also made it this far and haven’t done some of these tags, choose one, or a couple, or all of them and do them yourself!! just say that i tagged you!!

[adampage]

Face the Facts | Sami Zayn

Pairing: Sami Zayn x Reader

I’m going to type the anon’s request at the bottom of the story because it gives away too much and I just want you guys to read it.

Word Count: 3,690 I GOT CARRIED AWAY BUT FOR GOOD REASON OK

Author’s Note: I’m taking requests!!!!  THIS REQUEST IS WAS SO CUTE AND SO HEAVENLY AND JUST. JUST READ IT. PLEASE. Please leave comments I love y’all <3 (And for the love of god i need to make a legit tag list so please send me an ask if you’d like to be in it, even if i already tag you bc i just tag whoever comes to mind at this point)

Tagging: @llowkeys / @unabashedwwesmut / @hardcorewwetrash / @roman-reigns-princess / @the-geekgoddes / @xxmaddhatter39xx / @reigns420 / @xstylesxclashx / @crowleysqueenofhell / @wrasslin-x / @wrestlewriting / @sjwrites22 / @wwefluffandstuff / @wrestlingbabe / @helluvawriter / @helluvaclash / @squirrel666 / 

It had started out very innocently. One evening, she sat at a table in the catering room, nibbling on her dinner. There was no one around, which was just the way she liked it. She held the book upright, just shy of her plate, as her other hand fed her forkfuls of spaghetti. It was a particularly harrowing situation, given that [Y/N] disliked getting food stains in her books, but it was a hazard of her addiction. Fact books were her life.

So as she cursed herself for splattering just a teensy bit of tomato sauce on page sixty five, All About Mosquitos, dabbing failingly at the spot, who should catch her in her own personal bubble of embarrassment but Sami Zayn? "Hey, [Y/N], mind if I sit?" She nodded in response, motioning to the chair in front of her with her fork, wincing when another stain hit the page. She gave the spot one last swipe before replacing the bookmark and swatting the book shut, settling it down on the chair to her right. His animated ginger brows expressed a flicker of mild amusement before his body settled in his seat. He was having the chicken salad. Of course he is, she thought. That would've been the better choice, given her own circumstances. Also, it was healthier. "What were you reading just now?" He asked amicably, the crunch of his salad hitting her ears as he took a bite. "Oh, um, that? Just a book." "I can see that," he said, smiling, "but about what?" "Uh..." [Y/N] mumbled. It wasn't something she liked to talk about. The few times she ever mentioned her fascination for the useless, guys and gals everywhere were immediately turned off. She could hear their voices change, the intonation in their mhm's differing slightly, monosyllables becoming more frequent replies. Their eyes would glaze over, no longer entertained by the conversation. And she never recognized it, until one day an old boyfriend broke up with her, his excuse being, "you just never shut up about that dumb, useless shit." So she never spoke of it aloud to anyone ever again. "It's nothing. Just dumb stuff." She could feel her body drawing back into itself, and she wondered just how much more of her spaghetti she would have to eat in front of him before she could make the excuse that she was full and leave. Sami gave her a wide smile. "Well, whatever it is, I bet it's interesting. When you're done with it, you mind if I borrow it? Most of the others don't really bring books along with them on the road, and I've been craving some new reading material." He took another bite of his salad. "You know, there was a study recently that said people who read are two and a half times less likely to get Alzheimer's?" It was like [Y/N] snapped back into reality after aeons of living inside her own mind. "W-what did you say?" "Yeah," Sami continued, "they said that even though reading doesn't outright prevent you from getting the disease, they proved that reading and Alzheimer's had a kind of correlation. Pretty useless, in the end," he chuckled. "But interesting to know all the same. I'm not going to take my chances." Suddenly, [Y/N]'s mouth went dry. The anticipation was killing her. "Do you know any other useless information? Anything else, ya know," she gestured with her hands, "interesting?" Chewing on his leaves, Sami thought long and hard. After about a minute, he remembered something. "Julius Caesar was kidnapped by pirates when he was in his twenties and held for ransom. When he heard the price, he told the pirates that it was an insult to his value and demanded they raise it. Once the ransom was paid and he was free, he tracked them down and executed them." [Y/N] giggled in response, hand reaching to cover her mouth. "Oh my God. That's amazing." "I wouldn't say amazing so much as arrogant, though," he argued gently. "No, I know," she replied, "but it's amazing that you know that." And that was it. The start of a budding friendship. He looked at her for what seemed like a year, biting his lip in contemplation. "Do you want to hang out later? Grab a smoothie or something, after the show?" [Y/N] flashed him a brilliantly beautiful smile. "I'd love to."

Weeks passed, and [Y/N] and Sami became the best of friends. She still kept her book and her useless facts to herself, but she knew that if it ever came up again, she wouldn't be afraid to tell him about it. Something about the way they'd spoken that day in catering gave off this vibe, this instinct to trust him. For the most part, they talked about movies, shows, work, politics. She was glad to find out that they had similar lines of thinking with pretty much anything, and they remained pretty much inseparable. It must've been the politeness, the kindness with which he spoke to her, that sealed that deal. She had a gentle, quiet nature that seemed to mirror his own. They were two sides of the same coin, as it were. One night, after a particularly grueling match with Natalya, in which Natalya actually spat in her face to the reception of boo's from the crowd, [Y/N] was feeling exceptionally down. She knew it was coming. She had told Natalya to give it her all. And it was only a storyline. It really shouldn't have affected her as much as it had. As much as it did. Sami had been right behind the curtain throughout the whole ordeal. He handed [Y/N] a towel to wipe off her face. "Really put the spit in spit-take, huh?" She wiped herself off with the towel, and threw it back to him. "No one laughed." "Good. That means they love you as much as I do." Sami slung the towel around his neck, and an arm around her slumped shoulders. "Guess you can sleep easy tonight knowing the entire WWE universe is probably writing hate tweets to Nattie as we speak." She looked up at him as they walked towards the locker rooms, placed a hand on his scruff and scratched it adoringly, before giving him a light slap on the cheek. "That's not nice, Sami. I wish they'd send me love tweets instead of sending her hate tweets." "Now that is a very noble and sweet thing to say. But, the heel makes the face, so..." "Did you just quote Glow at me?" "Who? What? Me? That wasn't Glow, that was..." He snapped his fingers, the bullshit answer coming to him. "...Vince McMahon." "Sami Zayn, you dumb, lovable idiot." "I'll take that as a compliment."

She couldn't sleep. That nightmare couldn't have taken more than a couple minutes for her brain to concoct and perform, and yet it had kept her awake for hours. It was Nattie's face, and yet it wasn't her face at all. It was warped, like the mirrors in a funhouse. Actually, now that she thought about it, the nightmare might have been about Nattie chasing her through a never ending hallway of funhouse mirrors, but it was hard to tell at this point. It had freaked her out. She had woken up in a cold sweat, and now she couldn't fall back asleep. She checked the time. 1:27 am. Fuck me, she thought, biting her thumbnail. Everything in the hotel was probably locked up or closed by now. The gym, the pool, the bar where she might've been able to drink herself to sleep. She didn't want to do it, but...at this point, she had no choice. Grabbing her phone off the nightstand, swallowing down every thought she had to deny herself this small ease of her soul, she opened up her chat with Sami. It took her a solid, oh, fifteen minutes to decide on her factual opener. Did you know mosquitos are most attracted to the color blue? It was about another minute or two before she saw the tell-tale chat bubble appear on the screen, signaling that Sami was typing a response. I didn't, actually. Remind me never to wear blue when we visit the south in the summer.

She let out a sigh of relief. He wasn't going to ask, then. Why she was still up. Her respect for him grew with every passing moment. I will. Also, don't wear black in the summer. Or anything dark, for that matter. Dark colors absorb all colors of light rays, as well as heat. You sure know a lot about colors, don't you? She bit her lip, holding back a smile. Eh, well, you know. I dabble. Dabbling is good, haha. I enjoy dabbling, now and then. I am quite the dabbler. Really? Oh, yeah. I've dabbled in marine biology. For example, did you know that a whale's penis is, ahem, scientifically called a dork? The only dork here is you. No way that's its scientific name. Also, leave it to the man to start talking about penis in a little light hearted, dabbling conversation. Ouch, that hurts. You got me, I'm not sure if it's scientific. Did you know that a male giraffe's penis is approximately four feet in length? That's about the size of an emperor penguin, or about the average height of a seven year old child. Oh my god. Now who's talking about penises? (Penisi?) I hope Finn and his stuffed animal giraffes stay far away from me for the next few weeks. I won't be able to stop thinking about what you've just told me. I feel so emasculated. [Y/N] burst out laughing. She was glad she didn't have a roommate this week, or else they totally would've cussed her out by now. All that tossing and turning, and now she was giggling uncontrollably at her phone screen. Emasculated? Come on. I'm serious. I will never, in my life, have a penis that large. That's upsetting. It truly is. The common shrew's penis is only a fifth of an inch long, on average, but relative to its body size, they're well endowed. So don't feel too bad. I am absolutely in awe at how much more you know about penises than me. My hope is that you don't know any of this from experience. Christ, Sami, NO. Omg, ew. I have definitely NOT dabbled in bestiality, thank you very much. Hahahaha, okay. Just making sure. ...So is that all you got? 😉 [Y/N] stared at the bright screen. She'd already woken him up, and it was nearing two thirty in the morning already. They'd probably be awake in the next three hours, since the gym opened up at 5:30. At this point, sleep wasn't much of an issue. She looked up at the ceiling, then back at the clock. 2:25. ....Boy, I'm just getting started.

So you're telling me that a superstitious pope is to blame for the Black Death? Yes, that's exactly what I'm telling you. So if this pope had just, left these cats alone, and not told people that they were the devil's brood, that the Black Death probably wouldn't have happened, because cats kill rats. The rats, of course, being the cause of the plague. Absolutely. And that he is the reason people, to this day, are so put off by cats. Which is stupid. Cats are amazing. I'm totally in agreement. Gucci is a fine example. Gucci is probably the best example, imho. She's the paragon of all feline kind, if you ask her. Oh, speaking of cats. Did you know that cats were highly revered in Egypt I had heard about that, yeah. Yeah, pharaohs would be buried with their pets, mainly cats and dogs, along with their families and concubines. The cats were supposed to help guide their spirits to the afterlife. Is that why people say that cats can see ghosts? Sometimes Gucci yowls at the wall. OMG, are you serious? 😂 Yes. I'm totally serious. You might need to have her checked out, tbqh. Absolutely not. My Gucci is perfect. Okay, then.... So I've got a useless fact for you. In the nineteenth century, there was a construction foreman named Phineas Gage who, after some miscommunication or malfunction with explosives, got a metal rod shot through his brain, and lived. He fucking LIVED? Yeah, he lived. For another twelve years. That's just...that's insane. Twelve years? Christ. Yeah, crazy isn't it? Extraordinary. Now, I'm going back to animals because animals are fun. By all means. Did you know that bloodhounds are the only animals whose evidence is admissible in court? Really? Must be why Sherlock Holmes had one. Yeah. Apparently their noses have forty times the amount of receptors that human noses do, so it's easy for them to connect blood at the scene of a murder with the suspect who may have committed the act. Commit murder, stay away from dogs. Duly noted. Sami. Sami, no. I'm kidding, lol. Do I look like the type of guy who could kill someone? [Y/N] dropped her phone on her lap, incredulous. She sat there, head leaning against the headboard for a good long while. Could she imagine him killing someone? The answer was only too obvious. Sami, you wrestle for a living. The only reason you haven't killed someone yet is because you and the other person know what they're doing, and it's professional. Imagine yourself fighting someone who has no training whatsoever; you get mad one night and fists start flying. To me, you don’t look like you could hurt anyone. But you could hurt someone if you wanted to.

Why would I be fighting them, though? I feel like if I killed someone, it would have to be a very good reason. Not that I'm saying murder is justifiable. But. You know. The conversation had taken quite a turn. It was morbid at best, revealing at worst. She typed a response. Let's say they hurt me. Badly. On purpose. Would you kill someone for that? His response was static. It was like she'd accidentally pressed "scan" on the radio and nothing came up but noise. She was glad of it, though. It meant he was taking his time to think about it. If he said yes too quickly, it meant he really, honestly, couldn't give a fuck about human life, which she knew was untrue. If he said no too quickly, it meant he really could give a fuck about her. It was a selfish, loaded question. But she had typed it out anyway. I'd probably beat them to near death, if I could get away with it. Make sure they never hurt you again, or at least that they got the picture. An exhale of breath. Phew. Best answer, in her mind. Why is that so....sweet? Lol. I do consider myself sweet, so I'm glad to hear you say that. She dropped her phone on her chest with a smile. It was getting brighter, all of a sudden. Only then did she realize that soft light was glowing through the window shades. She checked the clock on the nightstand. 5:59. Sami, it's six o'clock in the morning. The gym's been open for a half hour! I know, [Y/N]. She stared at his answer. Why didn't he say anything? Why didn't you say so? I was having too much fun texting you. There they were. The butterflies that came to assault her tummy once every thousand exchanges. Sure, they toed the line of flirtation more times than she could count in a day. But sometimes, she could tell there was something different about the way he said certain things. That's all fine and great but we gotta go! Let's go, Sami, get ready. Gym time! 🤗 All right, [Y/N]. Give me ten minutes, I'll be knocking at your door.  

Teal sports bra, black yoga shorts, teal Adidas on her feet. Hair in a high ponytail. She looked at herself in the mirror. Maybe some eyeliner? Nah, just mascara. She rubbed her hands together, shifted weight between her left leg and her right. "Ooh," she shivered. The AC was way too low. Might have been half the reason she couldn't sleep. She grabbed a towel out of her gym bag, and a water bottle out of the mini fridge. A knock. Her mouth widened into a smile as she turned to open the door. She opened it to find a just showered Sami Zayn, ginger curls at the top of his head dripping lightly with moisture. He looked up to meet her eyes, and her heart nearly stopped at the sight. Those lovely dark eyes could melt the most cold hearted bitch. He stood there for a moment, didn't say a word. She wondered what he was thinking. Then, "Good morning, [Y/N]." "Good morning, Sami. How'd you sleep?" She shut the door behind her, and they made their way towards the elevator. "Not well. Some girl kept me awake last night. Kept spewing a bunch of weird facts at me." "Really?" She grinned. "Why didn't you tell her to stop?" A button pressed. The ding of an elevator, doors swinging open. He placed an arm to hold the doors, motioning as if to say, "ladies first." She pressed the button for the second floor, above the lobby, where the gym was. "Well, I don't know. She was really opening my mind about a lot of things. I learned a lot. She's really intelligent." "Nah. I wouldn't say spewing useless information is a result of intelligence. Anyone can remember a couple bullshit facts." He poked her in the tummy. "Well, I think it's endearing." He shifted on his feet, leaning against the back wall of the elevator. "Did you know that most people who die in elevators are elevator technicians? Statistically, it's the safest form of travel." Sami chuckled silently to himself. "Unless you have an elevator technician degree I don't know about, I guess we're fine, then, huh?" The elevator jolted suddenly, scaring them both. She grabbed his hand instinctually, dropping it once the elevator continued its descent to the second floor. He looked at her, and they both laughed awkwardly. "Why were you awake all night?" Sami asked her, finally. "Um." It was getting cold, and she could feel herself beginning to shiver. "You can tell me. You know you can." It was hard to dismiss those puppy dog eyes of his. They bore into her soul, begging her to spill her secrets. "I had a, a nightmare." It sounded like a question. She placed her water bottle on the floor of the elevator, the condensation of the beverage freezing her fingers. "I couldn't go back to sleep, but. I didn't want to say anything." "You could've told me." "I know, it's just," she crossed her arms against her, trying to draw heat from her own body that wasn't there. "I didn't want to worry you." "Hey, [Y/N]." His voice was a mere whisper, hardly audible if they hadn't been standing in an elevator, two feet apart. Sami closed the distance between them. "Yeah?" She whispered back. He cupped her chin, lightly pressing at her jaw. Their eyes met, and the butterflies and her stomach began their fluttering song. His eyes ran over her, studying every line of her face. When they paused a bit too long at her lips, the doors swung open, the sharp "ding" of the elevator indicating they had finally made it to the second floor. [Y/N] looked away from him, towards the open doors, but as she made to move, Sami shifted his body, stopping her for just a moment before he pushed a button. The doors dinged closed, and she looked back at him, confused. "There's something I need to tell you, and I don't think I should tell you in the middle of the gym, where our friends can see us. In fact, we've been lucky so far that no one's stopped this elevator." He scanned her again, the look on his face full of love and adoration. "What is it, Sami? What's wrong?" "What's wrong?" He chuckled. "There's nothing wrong. Everything's absolutely perfect." He paused. Then he continued. "Fact. I'm in love with my best friend and I think she's in love with me, too." What? "You heard me. Fact. I'm in love with my best friend. And I think," he paused again, looking straight through to the dark recesses of her soul, "she's in love with me, too." This was un-freaking-believable. Her mind was spinning. It was like the whole world had been turned upside down. But why? Why was this so difficult to understand? Just moments ago her heart was fluttering. Moments ago, she was wishing this was true and now it was and it was the one fact in the world she couldn't believe. "Believe it, baby. That's one fact that'll never change. I'm in love with you." And then his mouth was on hers like it was meant to be there all along. His body leaned in, begging to be touched. Her fingers ran under his shirt, grazing the ginger hairs of his tummy and his chest, feeling the goosebumps rising from his skin. His tongue flicked over her lips, and she opened them, every one of her vulnerabilities drifting away as he kissed her more passionately with every fleeting second, his tongue searching for hers in longing, and she met him briefly, before pushing him back just an inch to catch her breath. Her eyes looked away, shifting everywhere but to his own. Their breaths slowed and deepened, each passing moment bathing her in serenity. At last, her eyes locked onto his. "Fact. I'm in love with you, too. Now and always." He granted her a smile that would not go away, a smile that felt like starlight and sunshine, all at once. And the butterflies never stopped fluttering.

"If you don't have too many requests, would you be able to do a Sami Zayn one where the reader stays up all night texting texting Sami facts he'll never need to know or use in life. When he asks her why she stayed up all night, she says it's because she had a nightmare but she was too afraid to tell him about it. If you want to do this, thanks!" - anon

[written-s0ul]

Misdialed (1/4)

REQUEST. “I really liked that AU you reblogged that was like “you have the wrong number but you sound pretty upset about that person wanna talk it out” if you want could you write a Steve Rogers x Reader fic based off of that please. From anon.

SUMMARY. Lawyer AU. Steve Rogers x Reader. Your boss gives the case you’ve been working so hard on to someone else. Out of anger, you call a friend to rant – only to realize that you called the wrong number.

WARNINGS. Curse words. A bit of angst, mostly just hurt / comfort. Gender neutral reader.

WORD COUNT. Approximately 1.4k

AUTHOR’S NOTES. I’d like to thanks USA’s Suits for introducing me to the world of law drama, HAHAHHA jk. Sorry this took a while, dear anon! Had to do a bit of research. But I hope it does meet your standards. This fic will have three to four parts (bc it was getting so long lol). Enjoy! As always, I appreciate all feedback. (:

#1: you are here / #2 / #3 / #4 / epilogue

Go to hell, you wished you could say. You wished you could chuck those words at his pretty face, shove them up his Roman god nose or slap them across his high and mighty cheekbones. Just ruin him. But that would mean the end of your job, the end of your life. So as satisfying as it would be to smack the forced, sympathetic smile off his face, you can’t risk it. Can’t risk losing your career because of this. Even if right now, it felt exactly like that.

“–isn’t to say you’re incapable of handling this case, Y/N,” Mr. Barnes said, leaning back in his seat, fingers curled over its handles. “This is just more of Natasha’s area of expertise.”

You spared the redhead beside you a cutting glance. Legs crossed and hands folded in front of her, she was the most professional picture of prim and proper, with her steel eyes focused on Mr. Barnes. You turned back to him. “Sir, this is my client. I’ve won Wakanda Inc., when no other lawyer in the city could. I should be–”

“You’ve taking too long,” he said, lips thinning to a firm line. “And the longer you take, the less likely we’ll win – and we need to win this. You do guarantee that, don’t you?” he asked, gaze shifting to Natasha with arched brows.

Her lips parted, hesitant, and for a moment, hope flickered in your chest, tiny but sharp, like the click of a cigarette lighter. Maybe she’d say no. Maybe she’d give you the case. Maybe –

She nodded, edges of her lips twitching up. “Have I ever disappointed you, sir?”

Now, you wished you could tell her to go to hell. It wasn’t entirely implausible. But you knew better.

It took an immense amount of power to keep yourself from stomping your way out of there, or slamming the glass door of that office behind you. The fact that you haven’t pushed Natasha off a staircase was a goddamn accomplishment. Maybe even a miracle. You made sure not to hold the door open for her, though.

“Follow me,” you said, walking ahead of her towards your office. Had the floor not been carpeted, your heavy but quick footfalls would be bouncing off the glass walls, with the knifelike sound of someone keeping their rage on a leash.

But she caught up with you, effortless with her strong legs and big steps. She glanced at you, wary. “I could come by later–”

You shook your head, making sure to keep your eyes forward and your chin up. “The earlier you start working, the better.” Most of the cubicles you passed by were empty now, most of the employees having gone home for the day. The office felt quieter already.

Passing by a haggard intern, who gave you a warm nod, you gave him a tight smile in return. But once his bright expression wavered at Natasha’s friendlier, more natural smile, you looked away. Your teeth crunched, the muscles in your jaw springing taunt. She’s just so good at playing pretend, wasn’t she? As though she hadn’t just straight-up betrayed you –

Reaching your office, you glanced at your secretary’s desk, now empty. You frowned, stomach sinking. Scott must have gone home already. That’s disappointing. You were hoping to release some of the coiling tension inside you onto him – he’d make you laugh in no time – but you couldn’t blame him. He did say he couldn’t miss family dinner. Not anymore, at least.

Stepping into your office, comfortable despite its modest size, you rounded over to your desk and grabbed a box of files from underneath, setting it just above your scattered paperwork. You fingered through the folders and papers, scanning the labels.

Across you, Natasha fidgeted with a button on the long sleeve of her blouse, her soft sigh audible even to you. “Y/N–”

“Hold on,” you said, brows drawing together. Where were the – oh! Right! You had pulled out a few files earlier, right before you were called to Mr. Barnes’ office. Setting the box aside, you gathered the pieces of paper littering your desk, and flipped through them, the sound of the flicking paper slicing through the air.

“I’m not doing this against you, Y/N,” she said, voice measured but gentle. “The firm is–”

You scoffed. “Don’t even use the state of the firm as an excuse for your ambition, Nat.” Slamming the bottom of the pile down on the desk, Natasha wincing across you, you set it down and plucked a few documents out. “You know how hard I’ve been–” You shook your head, swallowing back the scathing words gathering on your tongue. It wasn’t worth it anymore.

Turning back to your work, you slipped the documents into the box, the small pile hitting the bottom with a satisfying thud. You pushed it towards her. “Sharon has some more files, but she’s probably gone home. I’ll tell her to give them to you tomorrow.”

With a resigned sigh, she stepped forward and caught the box, lifting it in her arms with ease. “I’ll just ask Scott to send me Mr. T’Challa’s number?”

You waved dismissively, before your now empty hands fell on your hips. “I’ll arrange the meeting myself – because I am coming with you. He should hear it from me first,” you said, shooting her a look. She didn’t seem fazed by the sharp rise of your tone. “Tomorrow, lunch time?”

Lips pursed, she nodded, then spun around. Just as she was about to step out, she looked at you over her shoulder, gaze soft. “Get home safe, Y/N.”

That stung more than you thought it would.

After changing into some comfortable clothes, you tossed yourself onto the bed, and stared at the blank ceiling above, jaw clenched. Memories swam in your mind: all the sleepless nights, the missed meals, the passed up holidays and hang-outs, the relentless research and the incessant ass-kissing – just to get where you were now. Still, it wasn’t enough. Even after winning Wakanda Inc., and ultimately saving the firm from collapsing after Mr. Stark left and took more than half of the clients and employees, you’re still a clumsy junior associate in Mr. Barnes’ eyes, and not the junior partner you were now. Goddamn it –

Your fingers curled into the mattress, nails digging into the soft material. The rage was building. Piling in your chest until it was too hard to breathe, until your heart was rebounding against your ribcage and shooting bullets into your veins, the pounding blood igniting the skin above, and –

You can’t keep this inside anymore. Where the hell was Scott when you needed him?

Taking your phone from the nightstand, the scene lit up red, and you could hardly see the phone number you were typing down, with the kind of speed that told how ingrained the number already was in your mind, after nearly a decade of working with him. With every ring, you grew more and more ready to scream at Scott if he didn’t pick the fucking phone up in the next –

“He–”

“Barnes is a dick,” you said, spitting as much spite as you can into his name. “He just gave the Wakanda case to Natasha. Can you believe it? I’ve been working my ass off for this firm, pretty much saving its own ass after Mr. Stark left and took our shit – and still, he doesn’t trust me to take care of my own case–”

He cleared his throat.

“So, instead, he gives it to Natasha. And you know what? Natasha fucking takes it! She knows how important this is to me, has seen how much work I’ve been putting into this, but no, she’s been a senior partner for far too fucking long, and she knows winning this case will put her name on the wall–”

He coughed again. You furrowed your brows, but forged on, uninterrupted.

“She even tried to act like she didn’t just stab me in the fucking back, that sick–” His cough was louder this time, and you frowned, propping yourself up with a hand behind you, annoyed but concerned. “What the hell’s with you, Scott? Are you okay?”

A beat passed. Some nervous shuffling, and another throat-clearing, then an intake of breath –

“I’m not Scott.”

A/N. I’ll be leaving this weekend, so I’ll make sure to have all the parts out before then. I hope you enjoyed! Especially the anon who requested this! (:

Tagging: (Let me know if you want to be tagged to the story or permanently!) @courtneychicken @riddikuluslyemily @zadyalyss

[marigoldbaker]

pint-size potential (1/?)

Sod the Council and their archaic concepts of what made a child worthy. He was given a job to do, and he would do it, but he would do it his way.

(au: Buffy's a baby Potential, and Giles is her new Watcher)

ao3

tagging @theforestlesbian and @sih bc u nerds supported me writing this & i love u both bunches

In comparison to England, California was unbearably hot. Giles was fairly certain that he was assigned this particular location just because someone in the Council hated him. No respectable Watcher wanted an American Potential to raise, let alone a Potential in the middle of the bloody desert. Merrick had initially been assigned to the child, but then that four-year-old Potential had cropped up in England, and no one else wanted to relocate to America to raise a baby.

So of course, the job went to Giles, the black sheep of the Council. He’d been working with them for long enough to merit the responsibility of training a Potential, though he had always imagined said Potential being a bit—older. Old enough to talk, certainly. Baby Potentials didn’t generally last that long, what with all the demons and vampires attempting to kill them—and bugger all, that was probably why he was being sent to care for this one. Giles did miss the days when Potentials were harder to find.

Tentatively, Giles entered the café, quietly surveying the room. A gaggle of giggly college girls wearing sweaters in similar shades of pink. A young couple who looked to be out on a date. A neat-looking middle-aged woman, standing primly next to a baby stroller. Ah, thought Giles, and crossed the room. “Ms. Smythe?” he inquired.

The woman looked critically at him, then said, “I do hope you’re qualified for this sort of rigor, Mr. Giles. Infant Potentials are a particularly serious responsibility.” Giles tried to look into the stroller, but Ms. Smythe moved in front of him, adding, “To be blunt, the Council has assigned you to this child due to your particularly unsavory past. We believe that, if nothing else, you are at least suited to defend this child from harm until she is old enough to do so herself.”

This was thoroughly unnerving to Giles, who hadn’t thrown a punch in years. But he hadn’t bought a plane ticket and flown down to this hellishly sunny city just to go straight back with nothing to show for it, so he said coolly, “I can assure you that I am fully capable of protecting the Potential.”

“Good,” said Ms. Smythe. “We shall expect reports on her well-being.” Handing him a file folder, she added, “All the information you need—addresses, phone numbers—it’s in there. The keys to your home are in the pocket of the Potential’s baby stroller.”

“Thank you,” said Giles, who wasn’t at all looking forward to living in Los Angeles. It seemed like some deeply tragic parody of an American sitcom—single father living alone in the big city, except the father wasn’t a father and the baby was one in a long line of possible preternaturally strong vampire killers. He took the folder from Ms. Smythe. Then, stepping neatly around her, he looked down into the stroller.

The Potential, the little girl he was now tasked with guarding until adulthood, was wearing a pink-and-blue striped onesie and bundled in one of the standard Council baby blankets. She was wearing a small hat and little mittens, one of which seemed to be missing, and she was fast asleep.

“What’s her name?” Giles inquired softly.

“That’s hardly relevant, is it?” Ms. Smythe sounded a bit exasperated. “Right now, your responsibility is to bring the Potential to your new apartment and make sure that the proper magical wards are placed to keep her safe.”

“But—”

“As I’ve said, all the information you need is in the folder,” said Ms. Smythe shortly. “Kindly do not dawdle, Mr. Giles.”

Giles pressed his lips together, taking the stroller and carefully wheeling it out of the café. He didn’t look back at Ms. Smythe; he hoped that he wouldn’t have to see her again.

About five feet from Giles’s car, there was a slight dip in the sidewalk, which jostled the stroller ever so slightly. This woke the Potential, who took one look at Giles and immediately started to cry.

Ah, yes, Giles thought. This is exactly what a headache feels like. Wheeling the stroller over to his car, he deposited the file folder in the front seat and carefully lifted the Potential out of the stroller. She cried harder.

“Shh,” said Giles awkwardly, trying to bounce the Potential a bit. “There now. We’re off to a new apartment.” Opening the other car door, he placed the sobbing Potential in the baby seat, thought for a moment, then found the file folder again, flipping through it. “Buffy Summers?” he repeated. “Good lord, do all Americans name their children like this?”

The Potential wailed.

Giles hesitated, then took her back out of the car seat. “Well,” he said, holding the Potential—Buffy—so that she was facing him. “Buffy Summers. I-I expect we’ll have to get used to each other, or this will be a very difficult arrangement for both of us, all right?”

Buffy spit up on his jacket.

Giles had had experience with much more toxic and potentially fatal substances (coming into contact with many different kinds of demons did happen to also mean coming into contact with many different kinds of bloods, fluids, and secretions), but no one—child or otherwise—had ever spit up on his good tweed jacket. Thoroughly upset, Giles was tempted to buckle Buffy back up into her car seat and just drive home without any other clumsy attempts at comfort; it was clear he wasn’t suited for this, anyway, and Watchers weren’t supposed to be comforting—

Then Giles looked down at Buffy. She had very wide, teary grey eyes, and looked just about as distressed as he felt. That wasn’t a Council-approved baby hat, Giles realized, and the outfit she was wearing most definitely wasn’t picked for her by the Council. It seemed very likely that Buffy’s mother had given her to the Council fairly recently—perhaps even today.

“Oh,” said Giles softly. For the first time, he felt a strange twist of sympathy and sadness. Most parents gave up their children willingly after some sort of traumatic incident or attack, and he did remember hearing that his Potential’s mother had nearly been attacked by a particularly clever vampire. But what struck him most about the situation was that Buffy knew none of this. All that she knew—all that she could know—was that she’d woken up without her mother there. “There now,” he said softly, and this time he genuinely did want to comfort her. “It’s all right.”

Buffy sniffled, still looking somewhat distressed.

Carefully, Giles removed his handkerchief from his front pocket, dabbing gently at Buffy’s face. “You’re tired, aren’t you?” he inquired gently. “I woke you up. I’m sorry about that.” Strangely, he felt that Buffy was on some sense aware of the change in his voice, because she seemed to be calming down. “Let’s get you to the apartment,” he said, placing her carefully in the baby seat and strapping her in. “You can rest there, and I,” he shrugged off his jacket, folding it carefully before placing it in the front seat, “will perhaps wash my jacket.”

In the baby seat, Buffy rubbed her cheek with her fist and looked at him with a forlorn expression. Giles shut her car door, packed up the stroller, and got into the car himself, making sure that the radio was at a low volume before flipping it on. He turned it to a station with classical music, looking back at Buffy. “How’s that?” he inquired.

Buffy whimpered.

“No?” Completely by accident, Giles changed the radio station to a peppy American pop station. “Oh, good lord,” he muttered, and was about to change it again when he saw that Buffy looked—not quite happy, but at least a bit calmer. “Right,” he said, dryly amused. “Well, you’re very clearly an American.”

Buffy made a sleepy hmm noise and rested her cheek against the side of the baby seat.

Giles hesitated, thinking, then rummaged in the satchel that he’d tucked under the front seat, finding the small, raggedy baby blanket that Buffy’s mother had given to the Council for her to keep. He had been instructed to keep the blanket only for when Buffy had been a quiet, well-behaved baby, but—Buffy was too small to really understand that, and he was beginning to realize how many parts of this arrangement were thoroughly unfair to her.

“Here,” he murmured, turning into the backseat and holding the blanket out to Buffy. She snatched it from him immediately, holding it very tightly and looking at him with bright, wide eyes. “Let’s go to the apartment, shall we?”

The “apartment” actually turned out to be a rather nice two-bedroom house. Giles supposed that this spoke to the fact that many of the Council members had old money. There was a rather nice living room, a sunny, well-lit kitchen, a study, and then two bedrooms upstairs. Giles’s room was quite lovely—olive green wallpaper, a comfortable bed, an easy chair by the window—and seeing it made him feel a bit better about the whole situation. He could imagine living here.

Buffy’s room was sparsely decorated, with only a small crib and a set of drawers. The walls were painted an unpleasant off-white that made the room feel clinical and lifeless.

“Absolutely not,” said Giles flatly, Buffy in his arms, and walked them both back to his bedroom.

Buffy, now well rested and significantly more cheerful, tried to grab his glasses. Something about that made Giles feel very happy—he didn’t like the thought of her being a miserable, afraid child in this house, though that seemed to be what the Council was encouraging. Gently, he removed her tiny hand from his face, placing her down in the middle of the bed.

“Stay here,” he said, and then began the arduous task of moving the crib from Buffy’s bedroom to his.

How on earth single parents managed to do things like this, Giles could not and would never understand. Not to mention that it was very clear that the Council had arranged the furniture in his room in such a way that it would be incredibly difficult to find space for a crib there, but Giles refused to be discouraged. With Buffy half-watching, half-staring-with-interest-at-the-ceiling, Giles managed to remove the easy chair from his bedroom, shove it into Buffy’s room, and place the crib by the window where the chair had been. Exhausted, he collapsed onto the bed.

Buffy rolled over and into his side, looking curiously up at him.

“You’re right,” said Giles blearily, “it is quite a nice ceiling,” and fell asleep.

The nap only ended up lasting five minutes, because Buffy attempted to take off his glasses again, which woke Giles up. He did feel a bit better, though; awake enough to pick up Buffy and place her in the crib with her baby blanket. She began to chew on one of the edges.

Giles went back into the awful white room (eventually it would be Buffy’s room, he decided, as soon as it had a better coat of paint) and opened the drawers, looking through the baby clothing. They were all very plain, monochromatic items, lots of small white socks and beige onesies and a set of gray pajamas he supposed Buffy could wear to bed that night. None of the colors seemed to suit a baby who liked pop music and had a bright pink blanket dotted with rainbow hearts.

“I shall have to go shopping,” Giles said to himself, and shut the drawer he was looking through. This room really was incredibly off-putting.

Re-entering his room, he found Buffy lying on her back and looking significantly less interested in the ceiling. He lifted her up and out of the crib, walking her back downstairs so that they could get a better look at the rest of the house. There was a cheap, barely-functional high chair in the kitchen, and no baby food in the refrigerator—honestly, the Council’s inability to understand the needs of a growing child was becoming clearer by the second.

The study was full of the boxes that Giles had sent for from England. He could work on unpacking tomorrow; it seemed as though today would be spent writing up a shopping list for Buffy, whose tiny hand was now tightly curled around a fistful of his shirt. When Giles looked down at her, Buffy held up her baby blanket, all but shoving it in his face.

“You like pink, I’d wager,” Giles quipped.

Buffy looked at him with the quiet solemnity that Giles had only ever seen on very small children, then draped the blanket over his head.

Giles looked over the file folder that night, Buffy now clad in the awful gray Council pajamas and asleep in her crib. A few papers on job options, a few maps of his neighborhood, an emergency phone list, and a neatly printed information sheet regarding Buffy. Buffy Anne Summers, it read, aged five months, unlikely Slayer status.

Unlikely Slayer status.

Something in Giles twisted very hard at that. This wasn’t any kind of great responsibility; this was a lost-cause Watcher raising a lost-cause Potential just because the Council didn’t have anywhere else to put them both. He’d given up his life in England for this, all to take care of a girl who might never get called in the first place. A girl who could have lived with her mother for longer than just a few months, if not for the Council’s foolish determination to keep tabs on every single possible Slayer in the world.

He placed the information sheet down and left the bedroom, angry and hurt and tired and sad all in one. He’d thought that there was some reason that justified his new status as Buffy’s caregiver, but it was abundantly clear what the Council thought of both of them.

Downstairs, the phone rang. Giles ran a hand through his hair, then went to answer it.

“Mr. Giles.” Travers sounded more bored than anything. “I’m calling to make sure that you have arrived safely in Los Angeles. Is the Potential with you?”

Giles was starting to like the word Potential less and less. It felt like more of a trap than a word. How many girls were stolen away from their families, raised for a calling that might never even be theirs in the first place? It might have been one thing if he’d been greeted with a girl old enough to talk and laugh and tell him what she thought of the whole affair, but Buffy was never even given a choice about her life being turned upside down. Buffy was too young to even understand that her life had been turned upside down.

“Mr. Giles?”

“Yes,” said Giles heavily. “The Potential is with me.”

“Excellent,” said Travers somewhat indifferently. “I am assuming you have read the documentation we provided you with?”

“I have.” Giles didn’t trust himself to say anything more than that.

“Then you will understand why we will not be requiring monthly reports,” Travers informed him. “A Potential who is less likely to be Called is of less relevance to the Council at this juncture, though that may change as time goes on. You shall send us a written summary of the Potential’s development each year.”

“I understand.” The jumble of emotions had settled down to a less specific “awful.”

“Thank you. Good day.” There was a click, and then the dial tone sounded.

Giles hung up the phone and sat down on the couch. It stung, to be cast aside, but more than that—the child upstairs, entrusted to his care simply because she wasn’t of relevance to the Council and he wasn’t of any use to anyone. What sort of a caretaker could he be to her if the Council thought so little of him?

For the first time in a very long while, Giles felt acutely aware of the absences in his life. It had been a long time since he’d felt himself a part of something, and even his involvement with the Council couldn’t erase the fact that there was no one who could tell him that he was suited for this position.

No one but himself, really.

Well. There was one more person in his life now, and—and Giles wanted to do right by her. Sod the Council and their archaic concepts of what made a child worthy. He was given a job to do, and he would do it, but he would do it his way.

Giles pulled himself up off the couch, climbed the stairs, and entered his bedroom, studying the small girl in the crib. “Unlikely Slayer status,” he said softly, and brushed a gentle hand across the top of Buffy’s head. “Well, then, I suppose it doesn’t matter whether I raise you according to Council standards, does it?”

[katranga]

Disclaimer: Fic is just for fun. Nobody on ao3, or tumblr, or wherever, is expecting perfection. Most of these tips are gonna take a little extra time and effort to implement, and if you don’t feel like doing that, because you just wanna post the darn thing? Go for it! I’m not here to tell you what to do, and I’m certainly not saying that your writing is bad if you don’t follow these tips. These are just suggestions that will hopefully help you improve your work, if that’s what you’re after.

Intro: Why Revise?

To kick things off, I’d like to go over the importance of revision!! This is more of a general writing tip, but it’s a great starting point, because I DON’T want you to be thinking about most of my future tips while you’re writing the first draft. 

I want you to get. those. words. on. the. page! That’s all you should be worried about when you’ve got a blank page staring you in the face. 

There’s so much pressure to get writing right the first time, but I’m here to tell you that’s pretty much impossible. So, pressure’s off! Just write the basics so you get to know your story first. I

I know it seems like writing it perfectly will save you editing/revising time later on, but you can’t revise—let alone post—what you don’t have written because you’re stuck on one line that doesn’t sound just right. You with me so far? Great!

Honestly, writing gets so much faster when you remind yourself that no one is going to see your first draft!

So I cannot overstate the importance of revision.

Because guess what? Everything you don’t like about your first draft can be fixed in revision!

Okay. What is it?

To clarify, when I say first draft, I don’t mean the stuff you do in high school, where you write out a shitty essay on paper first and then type it up basically the same, just to prove to the teacher you wrote a first draft?? Or whatever.

I mean you just write the absolute basics of your story down, and fill in the rest and perfect it later (I’ll go into detail about how exactly to do that in my motivation post).

Now, grammar, spelling, and overall readability, are all important things to fix before you post. But that’s little stuff, and your word processor will be able to pick up on some of that, and just rewording a few sentences to make them clearer probably won’t take too much effort on your end (though I am gonna have a post about filler words and clarity and stuff like that, so if that tends to be a problem for you, I gotchu).

Besides basic grammar/spelling, most of what I change as my first draft transforms into my second or third is: 

Improving the flow of a scene (it can’t all be dialogue, unfortunately)

Pacing throughout the fic (are they falling love too fast? is this scene too long? etc)

Overall clarity (I know why the character did that, but will the reader?)

It may be different for you. Basically, you’re polishing up whatever you didn’t worry about writing the first draft.

My first drafts, for example? They’re 80% dialogue. Because that’s my favourite! And that’s what comes to me when I’m dreaming up fics. But then I go back later and beef up the rest—the characters’ movements in a scene, their inner dialogue, description etc.

Because as much as I love dialogue, scenes feel empty and too-fast with just characters talking. Similarly, scenes can feel bogged down and slow with just characters thinking about things.

But revision isn’t just about adding things! Sometimes you need to take stuff out. Inner dialogue that later gets covered by dialogue? Cut it. (Or vice versa—maybe the detail isn’t important enough for the characters to talk about, and just the mention of it within the narration is enough).

The point is, repetition needs to go. The reader rarely needs to be told the same thing twice.

Quick example from the top of my head:

Lance had lost his jacket. He’d looked over the whole castle for it, but couldn’t find it anywhere. His brother gave him that jacket. One of his last ties to Earth, and it was missing in action.

Maybe Keith took it to spite him, that jerk.

“What’s up, Lance?” Hunk asked when he passed him in the hall.

“I lost my jacket!” Lance said. “My signature jacket, the one Marco gave me! I’ve looked everywhere, but it’s gone. Do you think Keith stole it?”

Same information twice: Lance can’t find his brother’s jacket despite a thorough search, and suspects Keith stole it. No reason to repeat that. Something’s gotta go.

I know cutting stuff isn’t fun. You worked hard on that! You spent hours/days/whatever perfecting a sentence until it gleamed like a diamond, and now just because you thought of a better way to get that information across you have to get rid of it? No way!

I’ve been there, trust me. But hanging on just slows down the whole writing process. Because, for me at least, I know when stuff needs to go, or needs a massive overhaul, or whatever. I’m just digging my heels in because I don’t wanna do any additional work.

Luckily, this is where your shitty first draft comes in handy! If all you did was spit words onto the page as soon as they entered your head, then you didn’t spend a lot of back-breaking effort on whatever you need to cut! And what you need to cut isn’t anything awe-inspiring, it’s just your rough notes, so tossing it aside isn’t nearly as stressful!

Remember, you can always save scenes/dialogue/etc in a separate document! Maybe you’ll be able to salvage some it later. Alternatively, create separate versions of the doc as you edit/revise. If you end up actually needing part of a deleted scene, you’ve still got it somewhere!

And please, never think of the stuff you cut (or fics you never finished) as “wasted time”. Writing time is never wasted! You’re practicing, you’re honing your craft, and even if some bits never see the light of day, you’re still benefitting from all that work you did!

Now, I know I know I know most people edit/revise as they write. Can’t think of the next scene? Reread the previous scene and fiddle with it until something comes to you. That’s great! Revising already written material is loads better than just staring at your screen!

BUT I’ve recently started writing the whole gosh darn diddly thing without looking back and that is so much faster! While I highly recommend it, that’s obviously difficult to do when you don’t know what’s going to happen next in the fic.

Or if you just don’t have the motivation. So! That’ll be our next topic: Getting words on the page!

But for now, I’ve got an example under the cut, as well as additional resources and links if you want to learn more about revision!

Here’s where I take an old embarrassing fic of mine and revise it, hopefully clarifying the points I’ve been making, as well as proving that only practice makes better!

Okay so this is an excerpt of one of my unpublished fics from 2011. I’m just gonna be honest with you here, it was a Twilight human!AU where Edward was a massive nerd. 

For background, Bella has been at the new school like a week and is appalled at the bullying happening to Edward, who she barely knows. (It’s first person bc that’s how the books were written. Just deal with it.)

Here we go:

“They gave him a swirly yesterday,” I announced, appalled.

“Who?”

“Edward!”

Jessica shrugged, unaffected. “Nothing new.”

“Well what are they, twelve?” I demanded angrily.

“He kind of needed a hair wash,” Mike muttered.

Snorts of amusement followed.

“Stuffing his head into a toilet is not funny,” I argued.

“Yes it is, Bella,” Alice chuckled.

“Kay, next time we go to the bathroom, I’ll shove your head into a toilet,” I offered. “And we’ll all laugh about it.”

This was a whole scene, I kid you not. Now, this isn’t bad because it’s just dialogue. It’s ten lines. That’s a reasonable amount of space for a quick dialogue exchange. HOWEVER, there’s about four people in this scene, so the dialogue tags are a little sparse. ALSO, this is the first time Bella’s bringing her concerns about Edward to the group, so there should be more inner reflection on that.

Overall, it’s just way too minimalist lol. So  this is a good example to beef up.

First of all: where the fuck are we? Notice how no setting was given? Not the greatest habit to get into. If it’s already been established in the fic where people are, and the setting’s not that important, I guess you can skip it, but a quick mention isn’t gonna hurt. You don’t want the reader confused!

Since this a Twilight fic, let’s say they’re in the caf. (In Voltron fics, you’re probably gonna be on the ship, but you can always mention what room they’re in. Or, if it’s a new planet, give a line or two of description).

Explanations for changes I made are in [square brackets]:

I tossed my lunch tray onto the table before throwing myself onto the chair next to Alice. “They gave him a swirly yesterday.”

[Indicated setting. Also implied she was feeling “appalled” using verbs instead of outright stating it. Showing not telling!]

Across from me, Angela looked up from the sandwich she was picking at. “Who?”

[Indicated who was speaking—always important—as well as gave brief description of speaker].

“Edward,” I said like it should be obvious. I scanned the cafeteria for him, but the corner he usually sat in alone was empty.

[Another mention of setting. Also backed up her concern for Edward with action and not just talking about him].

Jessica shrugged, unaffected. “So what?”

“So?” I repeated incredulously.

So I’d never heard of someone actually getting a swirly. In real life. Shitty teen dramas? Yeah. Actual high school? No. It was ridiculous, and gross, and… I hadn’t seen anything to indicate Edward deserved it. (Nobody who’d ever deserved a swirly had ever received one, I was sure).

[The almighty character motivation! Note that you don’t actually have to explicitly state why they’re doing something—obviously we as the reader know the deep-down motivation is because Bella cares for Edward. But characters are not always forthcoming with information, even to themselves. Right now she’s focusing on the unjustness of the situation, and partially trying to convince herself that’s all it is].

Mike slung an arm across the back of Jessica’s chair, snorting a laugh. “He needed to wash his hair, anyway.”

“A toilet’s not gonna do that, Mike!”

[Just a cleverer response. Also, a dialogue tag isn’t needed, because no other speaker at the table is gonna be defending Edward. We know it’s Bella.]

He ignored my glare, choosing instead to steal a fry off my plate. I smacked his hand away.

[Again—action. The characters aren’t just static in their seats.]

“Well, really,” Alice began. “What’s it matter?” She sat up sharply, an idea just now occurring to her. “You haven’t been making friends with him, have you? I told you, Bella, it’s social suicide!”

[Gives Alice a chance to respond to Bella’s outburst—in this AU Alice is very concerned with popularity and does not want Bella associating with Edward. She would definitely have a problem with Bella sympathizing with Edward.]

I rolled my eyes. “No, I just…”

The whole situation was ridiculous. This wasn’t how people should be treated. Was I the only one who realized that? Was I really the only one who cared?

“Whatever,” I grumbled, crunching down on a fry.

[This feels like a more natural resolution to the conversation. Alice directly asks why Bella cares, and Bella reiterates to herself it’s just because. And then decides it’s not worth the argument. This is 2k into an (unfinished) 30k fic. She’ll make a bigger deal out of stuff later.]

Now it looks more like a real scene! 

So, to summarize, I added: Description—both setting and character! Character musing! Cleverer comebacks! 

These are just some of the things that you can fix with a keen-eyed round of revision.

--

And that about wraps this up! I didn’t want this to get too long, but it did anyway. (I’m sorry about the graphics I’m a writer, not a graphic designer. But I had to split the post up so it wasn’t one big block of text)

Was any of that helpful? Was it too long? Did the example clarify things? Let me know, I wanna make sure these tips are helpful!

--

Additional Resources That I Highly Recommend:

DRAFTING: THE THEORY OF SHITTY FIRST DRAFTS -- This post probably explains shitty first drafts better than I ever could! If you still have concerns about it, definitely check it out.

Editing & Revision Answerathon -- Okay, this video is pretty long, but I looove Max Kirin for anything writing-related and especially revision!! They’ve got a tumblr and a Youtube account filled with writing tips! If you like getting your writing info through videos, definitely check out their stuff.

Top 5 Writing Tips: Revision -- Here’s an infographic by Max if you don’t want to watch a 44 minute video lol. Also, you can go through their /tagged/revision for more!

[ravenvsfox]

okay i have probably an annoyingly specific prompt but god it would be amazing: no. 98 with jerejean but with JEREMY saying it. bc i feel like jean saying it is too obvious (and too sad, poor french bean)

Sometimes it takes Jean two extra minutes to leave the change room, because he’s so lost in the red and gold in the mirror. The helmet obscures his 3, and he almost looks like a real Trojan. You can’t even see his old puppet strings.

Every time he leaves for the court two minutes late, he braces himself for the consequences of his tardiness. He’s been trapped in his own reflection for long enough that Riko came to find him. He’s gone months after without looking at himself at all. 

He’s never watched the mirror through his helmet like this and felt like he was holding onto someone’s blood-slippery hand, petrified of letting go.

He wakes up every day and Jeremy has tossed the curtains open so that he won’t forget what time it is. If he wanders out of time anyway, and practices so hard that his fingers want to break, Jeremy steals his racquet and locks it away. Sometimes when he craves the nest like he used to crave death, for the sensory deprivation of it, Jeremy holds his face in both hands and doesn’t let him look away.

Every day that he steps onto the court and it’s raucous with laughter is another day that he has to relearn what’s right and wrong. Every day with the Trojans knits a wound closed. Every night tears them open again, but that reprieve is more than he could’ve ever imagined.

They practice just as hard as the Ravens, is the surprising thing. They end every practice absolutely soaked with sweat, bone-tired, and Jean’s the only one who isn’t smiling. He can’t fathom working yourself to the brink and just… walking away happy. Fighting as hard as they are without death being the scream in their ears. Losing and winning like they’re both viable options.

He’s so used to the sneer programmed into him at the mention of USC that he feels like a spy half the time.

“Alright, drills people, you’re not here to have fun,” Jeremy shouts over the din of running feet.

“Maybe you’re not,” someone shouts and Jeremy grins as the team all clambers over to meet him like some sort of pack of trained dogs.

“Oh I definitely am. I like the burn in my thighs.”

“It gets him hot,” Dermott stage whispers and Jean looks sharply at her. She doesn’t crumple to the ground. Nothing snaps and breaks. Talk back and you get hit is slowly being worked from his vocabulary like removing a splinter.

“You bet it does,” he laughs. “Someone toss me drill suggestions, my creativity’s just about dry.”

“Long day, Knox?” Alvarez teases.

“Yeah, I’ve got this rag-tag team to whip into shape.”

They all groan and Jeremy laughs.

“Can we switch positions? Play some three on three?” Laila asks, hopping from foot to foot like she’s trying to keep her heart rate up.

“You’re joking,” Jean says without meaning to. He rolls his shoulders in immediately. Jeremy catches his eye and smiles, reassuring.

“We’ve gotta keep up with those Palmetto hooligans. Day’s working with those numbers and I hate to be in second,” he jokes, and Jean flinches. Jeremy’s eyes flicker to his cheek, and his expression falls like rocks sliding.

“Switching positions,” Jean says, mouth dry, “isn’t done. At Edgar Allen.”

Alvarez throws an arm around Jean’s shoulder and he flinches so hard that he ducks all the way out of her grip. Her smile burns away around the edges. “This isn’t Edgar Allen.”

“Amen,” Dermott says under her breath.

“We shake things up,” Jeremy says carefully. “We adapt. That’s part of the fun.”

“Fun,” Jean echoes. His stomach is rebelling, and he swallows the acidic beginnings of nausea.

“You heard of it?” someone mutters.

“Yeah,” Jeremy says softly, and he walks in so it’s clear he’s talking only to Jean. “That’s why we’re playing, right?”

“I am playing for my life. As always,” Jean whispers.

Jeremy puts a hot hand on his shoulder, slowly and deliberately. “You’re good enough,” he says, “to have a little fun.” Jean shrugs his hand away.

“That is foolish.” He’s speaking with his chin tucked into his chest. He never knows quite if he’s supposed to treat Jeremy like the challenge he’s always been to the Ravens, or like a captain. The dissonance is jarring.

“It’s mandatory,” Jeremy says, and his smile sweetens his face slowly, a sugar canister upended into coffee. “Pick your teams,” he says, louder, for the trojans to hear. “Let’s rumble.”

“What is this, West Side Story?” Dermott snarks.

“You’d make a hot Maria, babe,” Alvarez says, kissing her on the cheek as she passes.

The team organizes into three on three, and Jean is thankfully passed over. His legs twitch with the muscle memory of pushing himself, but Jeremy walks him all the way back to the bench.

“You think I don’t see your legs shaking?” He sits Jean down and leans down in front of him, following the spasm in Jean’s calves with his fingers. “You’re not moving anymore tonight, okay? I’ll carry you back to the dorm if I have to.”

Jean’s face flushes. He’s a serial blusher, his fair skin lights up like flash paper.

“Cute,” Jeremy comments, head cocked. “Hey listen—” He scoots onto the bench next to Jean, close enough that he would hold all of Jean’s weight, if he let him. “I want to thank you for putting up with me. I know that I’m not the easiest person to get along with.”

Jean looks at him incredulously. “You remember my last captain, do you not?”

He expects Jeremy to laugh, but his whole face goes stormy. “Believe me, I remember him. It’s impossible now, but I would’ve liked to see that arrogant face punched.”

“Wes—Josten did, once,” Jean says. If it hadn’t been absolutely appalling it would’ve been thrilling.

“Good for him,” Jeremy laughs. “That one still needs a bit of house training, I think.”

“Or a muzzle,” Jean spits. He has an agreement with Neil now, but he wants his mouth duct taped shut more often than not.

“Anyway, this isn’t about Riko, or Neil, or Kevin. It’s not about captain and team. Get all those numbers out of your head. No pun intended.” He gestures to the three branding his cheekbone and Jean fervently wishes Jeremy couldn’t even see it. “I’m talking about me and you, you know. I’m really trying here. I want this to be a safe space for you.”

Jean watches Jeremy steadily. “Anywhere that isn’t the nest is a safe space.”

Jeremy’s mouth quirks. “Okay, let me rephrase. I want to be a safe space for you. I don’t want to push you out of your comfort zone too fast, or try to take this whole… work hard play hard attitude too far. I know that’s not really your scene.”

“It could be,” Jean says quickly. His accent stumbles and he looks down. “I want it to be.”

Jeremy’s eyes flicker back and forth between Jean’s, so sweetly earnest that Jean feels his steadying post-practice heartbeat skip ahead again.

“Natasha, can we pick it up please,” Jeremy calls out, distracted, and he gets a ‘you got it boss’ in return. Jean wants everything to be that easy for him. “Anyway. Where were we?”

“You were offering to be my safe space,” Jean supplies, and Jeremy goes a satisfying peachy pink through a smile.

“Well,” he starts, leaning in to squeeze Jean’s fingers with that same deliberate from-the-front motion. “That particular offer stands. Just as soon as I’m done captaining.”

“Oh, is this an outside court hours kind of thing?”

“Absolutely,” Jeremy says, winking, and then he jogs off to the court again. Jean realizes suddenly that he’s smiling, and he reaches up for his own face.

He watches the by now familiar exchange of constant warnings and laughter over brutal plays. Dermott is such hell in the net that his arms sympathetically twinge. He’s still learning pacing, patience, limits that weren’t given to him by another person.

His eyes follow Jeremy across the court, where he’s alternatively joyfully praising his team and making digs at their footwork.

He used to think he couldn’t possibly go anywhere else, that the Moreau’s belonged to the Moriyama’s, period. 

He never anticipated wanting to belong somewhere, to someone. He never expected that safety might be people.

Someone scores on Laila and Jeremy’s whole body twists around to bring Jean in on his excitement, fists pumping. Jean gives him a thumbs up, Laila shouts something nasty, and laughter shakes the court walls so hard it feels like they want to come down. (But they never, ever do.)